"Reaper"
Featuring

Prisoner Six-Six-Gamma
Hydran Prisoner of War
==ONPC

Gral’Mereth Kolya'ki
Hydran Officer
==NPC
=========================

Location: Hydran "Monarch"-class Destroyer "Bloodied Spirit"
In orbit around Altroth Three

The hydran known as Kolya'ki or more to the point Gral’Mereth Kolya'ki was going down the corridor towards the "special section" of the "Bloodied Spirit" in order to follow the commands of that he was sent. Gral'meshketh Grek'lr had several new prisoners from the Vered system including a Capellan of all creatures which brought a certain perverse joy to the hydran. It had been many years since that fateful day when his queen sent him to fight aboard this very ship against the very power that they were once allied to-the Federation.

Now as Kolya'ki walked down the corridor, he pondered on why Grek'lr would want the prisoner known as six six gamma of all creatures. Yes the prisoner in question was unique as was his entire species, but this wasn't just any creature… it was once a soldier for the Federation and now it served a different purpose. One that would soon be used as Kolya'ki finally reached his destination as the four guards stood at the ready as Kolya'ki reached over and activated the door and stood just outside of the doorway.

"Six Gamma, are you still with us?” Kolya'ki said in a questionable tone.

From the darkened cell, a slight chuckle could be heard. It was the same chuckle that Kolya'ki knew was meant to be offensive but it mattered not anymore to him. "I have a name, you know. A proud and strong name, Hydran." a voice, smooth yet rough came from the darkened corner of the cell.

"I know this, but since you are not worth of your own name for what happened on Arnessk...” Kolya'ki started to say before the source of the other voice walked more into the light.

The creature appeared to be human with the exception of the strange animal-like smaller black ears on its head. He wore a basic jumpsuit that all "pet projects" wore that was simple and easily replaceable. Females of other races may have found him to be attractive, but to Kolya'ki he was no Juurth'Kaeln beauty. "You didn't come here to remind me of the past, Kolya'ki. What do you want?” Six Gamma said in the same tone as before.

What passed for a dark chuckle escaped the vocal chords of Kolya'ki, "I briefly forgot how to the point you are, Six. You are needed in the prison below. We have several new prisoners including several of your fellow soldiers.” Kolya'ki explained.

Six's face took on a dark smile, "Anyone that I know?" he asked.

Kolya'ki shook his head, "No, not unless you know a vulcan or a capellan, Six. You are needed and as a humble Gi’Mereth of my people, I am of course to obey.” Kolya'ki said before he took a step forward to look "eye to eye" as it was with Six. "Your duties are simple as you are to help contain the prisoners and show them the futile nature of their federation before the might of the Hydran Kingdom."

Six simply snorted, "futile nature, Kolya'ki, to that I say bullshit. If anyone is futile it's...” Six started to say before Kolya'ki simply pushed a button on a controller which brought the creature to it's knees in pain as the other function of the jumpsuit made it's constant presence known-a simple device that would remind the creature of the injuries that he sustained in the conflict on the planet of Arnessk years ago that brought him into Kolya'ki's august presence.

"You will not do anything more than follow the orders of your betters, Six Six Gamma, then and only THEN will you be permitted to even remotely allow to think about dying." Kolya'ki said in a calm tone before he turned to face the four troopers. "I want him transported to the surface before we head out for patrol."

"Yes Mereth, it shall be done." the highest ranking of the guards said as the Gral’Mereth started to walk away but Six Gamma's voice stopped him.

"My name… is Thrace, get it fucking right or don't say it at all!" Six Gamma snarled at Kolya'ki before he went to his knees again in pain as Kolya'ki once again activated the device to remind him of what his place really was.

"No, your name is Prisoner Six Six Gamma. As it always shall be, slave." Kolya'ki said as he resumed his walk.

"Uninvited Guest"

Commander Arel Smith
Strategic Operations Officer
USS Galaxy

Colonel For'kel Arvelion - SFMC
Commanding Officer
188th Starfleet Marines Detachment

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

(CO's Office- Marine Country)

After hearing Commander Tarin break the news, For'kel couldn't sleep ... quite understandably so. It was hard to stay seated, let alone laying down, when you knew your wife who you'd promised to love, cherish, and stand beside throughout this life and into the next was in need of help, and you were unable to provide it in any way, shape, or form. People who didn't know better admired Starfleet Marines, seeing them as the universal gallant knights in white armor who ride to the rescue any place, any time, and any where... they admired it because it was perceived as difficult, as something not 'everyone' was capable of.

What they really didn't know was how much more difficult it was 'not' to do something.

People grieved in different ways. Some cried simply when the 'possibility' of not being reunited with a loved one arose ... and that was probably the typical response, or so the Chaplain made it seem. For'kel for his part was still clinging onto the hope that she would turn up. That some place where previous searchers didn't look she might be hiding and awaiting someone to come pick her up ... that in the end some Federation ship might bring her aboard, get her back to the Galaxy, and they could laugh everything off over a big dinner. Yup, as delusional as it was, that was most certainly his favorite possible outcome... regardless of how bleak and unlikely it may have seemed.

He couldn't help but worry what would happen to Koren. No child should grow up without a mother ... and as much as he'd tried to purge that particular thought from his mind, the fact was that he never really could shake the dreadful feeling of what might be reality. 'Plan for the worst, and pray for the best' is what the Chaplain had tried to state as delicately as she could.

On top of everything else, Maivia's squad missing, the whole disciplinary action before the mission, the mission itself (tearing people away from their homes isn't what he planned on doing when he went into the Exchange program, but so be it.), and the larger war, the last thing he really needed to hear was 'Oh by the way, your wife is missing and probably won't be back,’ even if not in so many words.

So when under stress For'kel coped by solving problems the way he ordinarily did ... one at a time. Falling back on instinct, he'd showed up for duty today as if last night never happened ... and other than the tiredness there was no indication anything 'did' happen. He would simply have to work on finding his missing Marines, conduct potential boarding operations this mission to get a first hand knowledge of Hydran technology, and then hopefully he'd get a chance to ride to his wife's rescue and save the day.

Keeping with routine, Arel entered his office without knocking on the door. "Hey."

"Hey," came the withdrawn reply. The desk in front of him looked less like the strictly ordered collection of PADDS, computer, and personal effects than it normally did, resembling instead less disciplined chaos, a plethora of maps and encrypted data files concerning the tactical intelligence assessments the Corps had on the Hydrans. Tucked under those 'someplace' was the sensor readings from a myriad of sources taken in the Vered Cluster. "How're you?"

"Worried about you," Arel replied. She followed that by saying that his desk was worse than hers and that was really saying something.

"So I presume you know." How she did was anyone's guess, but even on the Galaxy apparently word traveled fast. He ignored the comment on his desk. "I'm not the one you need to be worried about Arel. Berilyn..." he stopped after saying her name, feeling himself on the verge of blowing up and pausing long enough to try and collect himself. Instead he ended up burying his face in his hands to concentrate, and running them over his hair in an obviously distressed manner. "It's hard, Arel."

Arel nodded. She knew, though she doubted that would comfort him.

There wasn't really much she could do but stop his hands from porcupining his hair; she didn't know if he was ready for a hug. "You know you only have to tell me to go and look for her and I will." Screw the Fleet, this was family.

"We can't do that. We're both needed here." It was obvious he'd given the thought of leaving consideration already. He looked away, before slamming the desk in frustration. "Can you believe it was 'my' idea to let her go? We both thought it would be best for Koren but ..." another exasperated sigh. "It was my idea."

"You couldn't have predicted what would happen," Arel said with a frown.

'Couldn't have predicted that Starfleet would pull resources from policing to combat a war on three fronts?" Came the sarcastic reply laced with a good deal of self-directed anger. "What the hell good am I if I can't even protect those closest to me, hmm?

She loved her brother but honestly it was time for someone to talk some sense into him. "That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard."

He ignored her and just shook his head. "I shouldn't have let her go."

"Maybe you shouldn't have."

That kind of comment probably would've shocked the hell out of him, at least if it hadn't come from Arel. With her you could always expect the jab. "Thank you."

"Well if you're going to go down this stupid path of what ifs and maybes," Arel said, "then let's get it over with."

"Well what the hell else am I 'supposed' to do?!" He practically jumped out of his seat. "I've got four Marines missing, commanding officers who are more content with giving up their own people, who by the way felt compelled to snipe and blow up the messengers, to appease a third rate power than allowing me to 'fight' their damn war, and on top of it all my son is nearly killed and my wife, the woman to whom I swore my life and soul is ..." he couldn't bring himself to say it, and in frustration he kicked over his own desk, the composite and wood frame was light, so it probably shouldn't have surprised anyone when the damn thing hit the aft bulkhead. "So you'll have to forgive me for not knowing, my dear sister, but exactly 'when' is it I'm allowed to start doubting?!"

"When you've given up," She replied calmly.

"Yeah, well... sometimes that seems like the easiest option."

"Of course it is," Arel said. "But I know you. You're not going to, not yet."

"Maybe not yet, but... I'm just damned tired of 'losing' all the time. It gets tiring to help strangers who want to kill you, and to be helpless when your own family needs you... its maddening is what it is. Something's got to give..." he couldn't help but think had he just gone back home and stayed there with Bery, none of this would ever have happened.

"It will," His sister replied. "We'll make it give."

Although most people who didn't know her would characterize Arel as the quintessential 'bitch', For'kel had come to know better. She could be tough to stand at times, but when you needed somebody, there wasn't anyone you could count on more. He walked over, and pulled her forehead and nose to his in an embrace. "Thank you."

"Want some help putting your desk back together," She said when he pulled back.

"Nah, I think I can handle that." He pulled the desk up, and would get to the PADDs later. "Besides, anyone who might have heard that probably thinks you just killed me. You should probably get going before security shows up." A small and hesitant smile crossed his lips.

She nodded. "You call if you need me, For'kel."

"Brig the Truth"

Ophelia Zamora
Jaal Jaxom

Location: Galaxy Brig

------------------
The smirk rolled off her lips as she sat with her legs curled up underneath her. Her mind had not settled since she had been brought to the confining environment. 'That bitch' kept bouncing around her head. Double jeopardy rule was still on the books, and she wished she could use that. Unfortunately, it only worked if it was the same person. She'd give anything to end McAlister's life right about now and being a very skilled defense attorney, she could possibly get herself off with no more than a slap on the wrist. In the fantasy world of fiction.... Ophelia thought sourly to herself as the doors to the brig swished open.

Not bothering to glance up at the arrival, her mind instantly reasoned that it was the change of duty shifts. Things for the most part were relatively quiet in this area of the ship.

Jaal watched her with a furrowed brow. It was beyond him how Ophelia landed herself in the brig. There was right next to no scuttle about it on the rest of the ship, not that Jaal paid much attention to gossip anyways. He heard about it from Smith, who, besides being his strategic operations assistant, also work in security. The only way to get to the truth, he figured, was to ask her himself. Feeling at least lightly attached to her after their antics during and after For'kel's party, he decided to do just that.

"So... how did you end you here... if I may ask?"

Refusing to uncurl herself from her current position, her eyes looked straight ahead at the egg shell colored wall instead of at him.

"I'm accused of killing my ex husband." Ophelia stated simply. Turning slightly, her cold eyes matched his. "I didn't do it.....but I know who did."

Jaal blinked once. He just wasn't quite sure what to think of that. All kinds of scenarios ran through his mind. At last he settled on the question, "Uhm, if you know who did... what are 'you' in there?"

"Would you believe a JAG defensive attorney? We know the law Jaal, inside and out. We are taught to get around it, to win... to make guilty people appear innocent at all cost. I will not be able to prove my innocence until I arrive at San Fran. They won't permit me any contact with people outside of those that come and visit. I can't contact the people that can help me. Jaal....." Ophelia sighed before placing her face in her hands. "You have no idea what's involved here......it's bigger than just murder......"

Jaal was quiet for a few moments while he pondered if he should even get involved or not. His position in strategic operations allowed him more communication access than most people on the ship. 'There wasn't too much out there 'bigger' than murder… except war,' he thought sardonically.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, he refrained from his usual smart-alecky remark of, 'What'dja do? Pay someone to off your ex?' he simply asked, "Can I call someone for you?"

Zamora answered the question directly. "Admiral Moxxonar, Starfleet JAG headquarters in San

Francisco. Please, if you could inform him that I am in the brig and plans have changed as of this point. I am due in San Francisco shortly, and will attempt to contact him again then."

He nodded, "Sure thing."

"Thank you." She stated quietly. "Jaal... if you don't mind... I think I would like to be alone now..."

"I'll let you know if Moxxonar has anything for you," he told her. Then he turned and left the brig area.

==Jaxom's Cabin==

Jaal sat at his desk for a long time before actually doing anything. He rubbed his chin several times while wondering just what the heck was going on. Ophelia? Murder?

He turned on his computer terminal. Once it powered up he stated, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

This was his command to negate any recording of the communication he was about to make. It would also prevent the message from being saved in any form. It was handy bit of coding that he and some of his Academy classmates, namely Aello, came up with back in the day.

The tiny bit of code was brilliant and very few people could even detect its presence. On the Galaxy, those people could be counted on one hand if they even bothered to look.

Jaal hadn't thought about Erigone Aello in almost a year. They served aboard the Miranda for a short time together… until Captain Summers was killed by the starbeast strike over Romulus. She was the fourth musketeer that hung out with the 'troublesome trio' of Jaal, Daneel, and Kopak back then.

Setting nostalgic thoughts aside, he composed a short message to Admiral Moxxonar explaining what he knew about Ophelia's situation. The Galaxy was too far out to communicate in real time.

He hit 'send'.

Once the message was on its way and out of the Galaxy's data systems he ordered, "Mischief managed."

Now everything was back to normal and no one would be the wiser.

"Hell is other people"

Cadet Paige Sullivan
w/ Cadet Apple Wood-Lane

[ooc: takes place just before "Le Sacre du Printemps" while we're still docked at DS4]

---

To be midway through your fourth year as a cadet and be able to claim you had never once been onboard a starship was certainly unusual, but for Cadet Paige Sullivan it was nonetheless accurate.

Of course, Paige had been onboard space vessels before -- she was born on one, after all -- but her father's tiny three-decker that could hardly hit warp-three on a good day barely counted as a glorified shuttle. Other than that, she'd spent most of her life on Mars, and took the inter-system shuttle system to and from the Academy as necessary. Sure, she'd done tours of vessels, all on the Academy's holodecks, and she knew by rote the layouts of the most popular classifications in the Fleet, but all of her "practical" and "hands-on" experiences had been on Starbase 01, where she'd signed up for a two day a month "internship" with one of the Operations officers.

Which was why the fact she'd been accepted for a cadet cruise was all the more exciting.

The Defiant class "USS Storm Chaser" took her from Earth to Deep Space Four and that was an experience in and of itself. To Paige, the small, rugged, but study Defiant class was awe-inspiring but manageable, not nearly as overwhelming as many of the large classifications. She obtained permission from the Chief to explore the ship and spent most of the two weeks at hard warp going deck by deck through the Jeffery's tubes, studying the practical applications of Academy-taught theories and asking questions of any working crew members who would take a moment to answer. As the time wore on, she began to realize that the crew had started treating her like the irritating little sister you couldn't help but love anyway. Surprisingly, she was okay with that. Here, she was the youngest -- the Storm Chaser's crew was made up of older, veteran officers, the youngest being a full decade older than the cadet. With none of her peers to impress or confound, she was free to let her geek flag fly with no fear of a damaged reputation.

She knew the Galaxy would be different. Different class, larger crew, a roommate in her peer group... but Paige hadn't quite realized how different it would be. For some reason, she had the idea that her cadet cruise would be different than the Academy.

Stepping into her assigned quarters, she could already tell that would not be the case.

First of all, her roommate was wearing pink. Not that there was anything wrong with that, pink was a perfectly acceptable color and matched nearly everything, but it was easy to have *way too much pink*. Her roommate looked like she had bathed in pepto bismo, from the scrunchie (really? a srunchie?) in her blonde hair to the fuzzy pink socks on her big, size eleven feet.

Her roommate, a fellow cadet on her cruise, was name Apple Wood-Lane. It sounded like a porn star and when she'd first read the name, Paige had expected to meet a girl who oozed sex. But Apple wasn't exactly what she'd expected; the other girl was a five-foot, eleven-inch blonde haired rail, and looked a little bit like a lollypop: big head and an itty bitty body. There were eight inches between them and Paige would have been surprised if Apple weighed an ounce more than she did. It was a little disturbing; the girl needed a cookie or five, and for a moment, Paige wondered how someone in that condition could get through the battery of physical exams one had to take to make it in the Fleet. I couldn't just be metabolism... could it?

"Hi," Paige said, flatly, waving one hand across the air in front of her in a tight, waist-high 'wax-on' motion as she dropped the duffle bag at her feet and glanced around the small room in which she would be living with the lollypop.

Apple looked up from the padd she was studying and popped a pink bubble of gum, plucking an ear bud from her ear. Paige could hear the music -- terran, neo-punk, it sounded like, which was sort of interesting.

"Is that the Hippotrees?" Paige asked.

Apple blinked. She looked like she was half asleep as she glanced at the small white earbud, then back at the other cadet.

"Yeah. You can hear it from over there?"

Crystal clear, too, lyrics and everything; not even she listened to her music that loudly. At this rate, Apple would be hard of hearing by 25 -- if she wasn't already. But Paige didn't say that.

"I'm into music," she said instead with a shrug, moving to her bed and throwing her duffel onto it.

She sat on the foot of the bed, actually more comfortable than those in the Academy dorms, and she kicked off her boots without untying them. Paige would rather have been wearing her old, worn-in sneakers, but Matthew Garrison, the youngest Ops officer on the Storm Chaser, said she should be sure to board her ship in uniform to make a good first impression -- and for Prophet's sake, brush that hair. She did, had pulled it away in a braid, though it was rebelling and hung in free wisps around her face. It seemed to do that whenever she used a transporter, just went completely insane like she'd rubbed it with a balloon.

"For an earth band, they're pretty okay," she said, nodding. "I met Eunice Sewall at the 2383 Ma'adim Vallis music festival. She's fetch, I mean, talk about your performance! Four encores. But if you like them, you should really try Zefeldt. They are halla bomi."

"Mm," Apple said. "I don't like Martian music much."

"What?" Paige laughed, honestly shocked, trying to be good natured. That was like saying she didn't like *breathing*. "How can you say that?!"

Apple shrugged. "It's just so angry."

"Angry?" Paige had never thought of it like that. "I wouldn't call Zefeldt's music angry."

"I bet so," Apple replied, pulling her feet up so she was sitting cross-legged. Her pale, ice blue eyes were freaky -- seriously, they creeped her out -- and they focused on Paige in such a way that she felt a shiver crawl up her spine. "That's how contemporary Martian music is, it's all about how everything has always been about *Earth* and how Earth-centric the UFP is and how Mars should have separated
when they had the chance and 2103 incorporation should have happened earlier and God! was signing the charter the worst thing we ever could have done, blah blah blah blah blah. It's angry, it's outdated, and it's completely ridiculous."

She had the snooty tone of someone who knew exactly what they were talking about and if you didn't agree with them you were wrong, wrong, WRONG, you better believe.

Paige made a face, her forehead creasing. "You are completely misinterpreting it," she said. "You're not seeing it through a Martian lens, you have to take music in its context. Zefeldt's not very political, but you're talking about bands like Pandemonium, the Seganites, the Fighing Phobosians… Herbert Rossoff and the Little Green Men. Miriam Tarses. But they're talking about claiming our history and our culture because face it, we may all be human, but Martians and Terrans are completely different people. We have different ideas, and different politics and a different culture."

"And I'm saying that I don't really *like* that culture," Apple said. "I'm allowed to not like Mars, aren't I?"

"Have you ever been there?"

"Why would I want to?"

She'd never been to Mars? Never? Was that even possible? It was a forty minute shuttle ride, tops. Any music lover alone should have gone to Mars at least once, they had some of the best music festivals in the quadrant!

"Uhm, because it's halla karz?"

Apple just stared at her. "What does that even mean?" she asked.

"What? Halla karz? Seriously? Uhm. Frelling karzi? Fracking awesome. Ultimately stupendous. The most wonderful thing ever." She leaned back, dropping her voice into a sarcastic, stoned surfer imitation and offered up the classical 'cowabunga' sign, "Totally tubular, dude."

"Why couldn't you just say that?"

"Uhm, because I'm from Mars?"

Paige was rankled. It was only in moments like these that she claimed Mars as her 'hometown' so to speak; usually, when people asked she responded that she was born on her dad's ship. It was true, and it allowed people to believe how karzi she was, being a 'spacer' and all that. This was especially important around earthers because to them, being from Mars was something like being from the suburbs -- you were a little bit spoiled, a little bit sheltered, and most definitely far less cultured than they were.

"Uhm, I'm not?" Apple countered, eyes widening again.

Bitch. Seriously. Why did she always get stuck rooming with *this* girl? All of her roommates had been like this. Except for last year. Mamad Aisal was 'totally tubular'. But Paige had yet to meet a Bajoran who wasn't. Maybe that was stereotyping, but whatever. In her experience, it was completely true.

"Seriously, have you ever heard of speaking to your audience?"

"Have you ever heard of tolerance?"

"It's not like you're not human," Apple said. "If you weren't human, fine, but I shouldn't need a freakin' UT in order to understand someone of my own species."

This girl must have skipped the one-credit 'Introduction to Starfleet' seminar first semester. Her argument was all kinds of flawed. First, not all humans spoke Standard. Second, even a lot of those who did had accents so thick that it was easier for them to just speak through the UT. Third, even those who spoke Standard as their only language... sometimes, it didn't sound like it. Hadn't Apple ever heard a Glaswegian?

Then again, the girl was named for a fruit. Paige decided she had to give her some leeway, her mother was obviously mean-spirited. Or at least, Freya (Martian term for momma) Wood-Lane had a really dark sense of humor. (Editors note: apologies to Gwyneth Paltrow, but it's a valid supposition.)

Paige sighed. "I'll try, but I don't even notice it," she said, acquiescing in a show of good faith. The last thing she wanted was to antagonize this girl and wake up dead, poked to death by a sharp bony finger. It was probably Apple's only defense anyway – pointy appendages.

"Don't worry," Apple said, "I'll let you know."

Funny how Paige had absolutely no doubt.

"So have you looked around the ship yet?" she asked, hoping for a change of subject. She felt like the only person in the universe who was geeking out over the idea of being on the Galaxy; she needed to gush to someone or she might explode all over the consoles.

"Not really, you see one starship you see them all," Apple dismissed with a wave of a delicate and well manicured hand. "I pretty much grew up on a Miranda class, which is so much bigger than the Galaxy. And besides, the only important part to a ship is engineering anyway. The warp core's the heart you know, and that's all *I* need to see. I'm a warp-core specialist, which is cool because I'm like a heart surgeon?" Her pale ice blue eyes were wide at this, imploring, intense. "But without having to deal with blood. And so totally more important. A person's heart stops? And they die. But if the warp core goes crazy? Everyone dies."

This was getting funnier by the moment. A Starfleet brat *and* a warp core specialist? Captain, better sign me up for the brig now 'cause this huenda ain't gonna last a Martian minute.

"If the warp-core's the heart? I'm a frakin' brain surgeon. Shizz. I win."

Paige stood, shooting her roommate her best 'take that' look before she high-tailed it out of the room in her socked feet (not exactly Starfleet issue: they were white with dancing hat-wearing bananas on them, slight breach of protocol but no one else would ever see them under normal circumstances). To her credit, though, Paige did have the sense to grab her boots between her thumb and fingers, the long laces trailing behind her.

Twenty-seven minutes on board the USS Galaxy, and already she knew she'd made a huge mistake.

"Why does she not... hate me?"

(Takes Place Before Galaxy Departs DS4)

Shiarrael i'Rhehiv'je Terrh'vnau

****

Runabout Klystron
Somewhere in Space

"Voice recording on."

<device beeps>

"All right, let's see if what she told me was correct. Engage automatic date tracking for entries."

<device beeps twice>

"Well, that seemed to work. I wish these things came with instruction manuals in Romulan, though."

"Personal Diary Entry-" <soft beep> "Well, that's working, anyway."

"We left Earth over two weeks ago, and there hasn't been a lot of time - or privacy - to make entries since then. There was a transport to orbit, and then another to a ship that belonged to a research branch of Starfleet outbound to examine some imminent stellar collision that happened very rarely - a white dwarf hitting another star I think. I don't understand that; they're at war with the Triad, they're losing... and they're still doing research? Why weren't personnel transferred from the research ships to warships? It doesn't make any sense to me. Mother said that they would do things that seemed mad here, but there was a reason for it... and that one had only to look at their record, the systems assimilated and enemies defeated, to understand that madness or not, there was a successful method to it."

"Anyway, from that ship, we stopped at a starbase and picked up this craft to rendezvous with our destination. They call these 'runabouts' for some reason. It's about the size of a Charon-class shuttle, but narrower, because they don't put 'wings' on their ships. It's also ugly, it looks like a big white brick... but it flies surprisingly well. She let me take the helm for a while when she saw me looking at the controls yesterday."

<sigh>

"I wasn't sure what to expect when the Suders told me who was coming to get me. I'm a child he never knew, a child he doesn't want. He's left me here for so long, I wasn't sure he was ever going to send anyone... but he did. I thought that when -if - he did, he would send someone from his ship; one of his Intelligence officers to make certain I wasn't a spy, probably. But he didn't. He sent... her."

"She's... not what I expected. I've seen her picture of course, Mother had one. She had one of their daughter that died as well... and a file full of pictures of him, my father."

"She smiled at me when we met. Not the smiles that I saw at home, the ones where anything might hide behind them, but the kind that the Suders gave each other, a real smile. She smiled, and then she introduced herself, and then said that we had to leave quickly, because there was only a narrow window to get me to his ship because of the War. I looked at the Suders and they nodded that she was telling the truth."

How wonderful would it be to know what the people around you thought and felt - really thought and felt, not just what they said that did? How wonderful... and how terrible."

"Perhaps that's why the Suders live here, on the edge of the great wilderness preserve, with no one near to them."

"It didn't take me long to gather my things - I don't have anything but some clothes that the Suders replicated for me, this device, and a few small items that the Suders gave me. I don't have anything form him. Except his genetic code - and I've only got half of that."

The transport wasn't exciting, but the glimpse of ships coming and going at the Starfleet Orbital Facility we transported to was. There were so many ships there, not just Starfleet ships, but others, from all over the Quadrant and beyond. And the people... I recognized some of them from the pictures and training materials I'd seen growing up - Klingons, Vulcans, Bajorans, and even a few Caitians. I wonder if their fur is as soft as it looks? There was a group of Cardassians there, with some sort of official guide, probably to petition for assistance to their homeworld. And no one was afraid of anyone else, even though there were no security teams standing about; that was so odd. They talked and spoke and yelled and waved arms... and they weren't afraid, not really. Maybe they just kept the security teams on standby and transport them in?"

"Anyway, we transferred from there before I got a good look around to the ship we were taking passage on. She said that it was called the 'Occam's Razor' which sounded more like a good name for a warship than a science vessel to me. It was of the Oppenheimer Class, one that I wasn't familiar with, though I'd studied many of them over the years. Really, how many classes of ship does a galactic power need?

I was allowed to move about the ship unescorted at times; either a sign of trust, a shocking lapse of internal security, or a way to lull me into a false sense of security while observing me remotely with sensors. She was, as I was told, a research vessel, not a warship. She was armed, of course - only utter fools travel without some defensive capacity at the least - but she lacked the powerful weapons of a true warship. In their place was bank after bank of sensors of all types, to allow them to study astronomical phenomena from a safe distance... or scan enemy defenses, if properly tuned."

The 'Occam's Razor' wasn't the largest ship I'd been aboard, but it was one of the most luxurious. The quarters were spacious and private - at least they gave the appearance of being so - and individual décor was encouraged. It was like being aboard a luxury transport ship, like the ones that used to ply the starlanes of the Empire a century before. I am skeptical of their assertions that the accommodations were only of average quality for a Starfleet vessel; why would anyone waste so much space that could be devoted to better use?"

Luxurious or not, the Occam's razor was fast, and we transferred to a starbase - the number was meaningless to me - and our flying brick after a little more than a week. It's spacious as well, but she appears to be an important person from the way that the crew of the Occam's Razor deferred to her and the craft is obviously modular; perhaps she requested a more luxurious module than would have normally been assigned."

"I asked her about that, and she explained that she helped design computers to run ships for Starfleet. I'd known that she was important from Mother's friend's reports, but not that she was so significant a figure. She explained a little of her work to me, enough to let me understand that the crewmen were right to defer to her - she had written the code that the computer which controlled every aspect of their lives aboard their ship ran on."

"And she came to get me. An important person like her. His wife, the mother of his real daughter, the one he - they - lost. The woman who was what my Mother quietly wished that she had been for all the years after she had to leave him."

"I wanted to hate her. She would pity me, I was sure. Look down on me, as a reminder of her husband's past that she did not share, most likely. Perhaps even hate me for being here, alive, when her own child with hi was dead."

"But I couldn't... because she didn't."

"The last thing that Matron Suder said to me before I left, while she was hugging me, was a whisper into my ear: 'She doesn't hate you, child' she'd said, 'She's confused, and worried, and a little scared... but she doesn't hate you.'"

"Why would she do that? Not hate me, I mean? Why would she treat me like a person instead of a thing thrown into her heart by a former lover of her husband? Why would she answer questions, show me how to use this diary, cook real food - not replicated, but cooked by hand. By hand! - and above all, not hate me?"

"I don't understand. But I will. I'll figure it out. And then, whatever it is they're planning to do, I'll throw it back in their teeth so they'll know I'm not weak. So they'll know that I'm strong."

"So they'll know that I'm not afraid."

"Except late at night... in the dark..."

"Like now."

"End Log Entry."

~Muddied Waters~

Capt. Daren M'Kantu
Lt. Chris Daniels
Lt. Jg. T'Pei
Ens. Sharzhevashi zh'Rin

Battle. War.

As bloody and violent and destructive those things were, there was something romantic about them.

Perhaps it was honor. After all, whole cultures, like the Klingons, worshipped war purely for the honor. The honor of doing combat. The honor of planning a strategy and enacting it, calculated move after calculated move, like playing chess. The honor of cleaving the head of your foe in twain with a flattened and sharpened piece of metal and leaving them to die a horrible and grotesque death as you next went after their best friend. Honorable, because it was fair. Because it was straightforward what you were about to get into as you stared at each other across the battlefield. Tacit agreement upon full knowledge of the very real possibility of parting with your innards.

Daren M'Kantu had never fully been able to see the honor in that.

Perhaps it was the ideals. Wars are always painted to be black and white, the forces of good and purity against the forces of evil and darkness. Battle lines were drawn on the lines of ideals. Of religious wholesomeness and righteousness. Of freedom and liberty, and throwing off the yoke of your oppressors. Of liberation, and throwing off the yoke of the oppressors of others. Of nationalism, and for queen and country. Ideals that stirred passion, that enervated the soul.

Daren M'Kantu found it hard to be stirred by ideals while on the frontlines of war, even though he was, at his core, an idealist. He just had never let his ideals blind him to the complexities of situations - only guide him through them.

Perhaps it was simply the adrenaline rush. Wars were predominantly fought by men - testosterone fueled, hormone driven men, who, when not at war, frequently sought the same hormonal epinephrine high they experienced on the battle field. Seeking it by jumping off cliffs, facing great heights, firing powerful weapons, competing against each other for sport or by having sex as many times as possible.

Daren M'Kantu was not sure why such a sense of romanticism surrounded war, but it was hard to deny that it did.

Yet, however romantic actual battle may be, there was absolutely no greater mood killer than the moment just before battle. In that moment, there was nothing but waiting. There was no honor in waiting, there were no ideals, and there was absolutely no adrenaline high. There was only teasing and torture.

"Status report?" M'Kantu called out.

Unlike the man sitting directly in front of and below him, Chris Daniels was anticipating impatiently, if not eagerly, the start of the impending fight from his perch at the tactical arch. That ugly part of him that so longed to fight was rearing its ugly head again. The new tactical sensors were quietly tracking the Hyrdan fleet at a considerable distance, not giving him many other details at this point except that a large, tightly grouped flotilla was coming their way. He had everything ready, including putting in his code that gave his consent to fire, allowing the red trigger buttons on the arch to illuminate, indicating the ship's weapons were ready. Despite what some considered his excessive battle experience for a man of his age, Chris was still nervous, as this was his first time "at the arch" during a battle.

"All phaser banks and torpedo launchers energized, loaded and ready sir. Shield generators are standing by to erect our defenses and ECM systems standing by. Targeting sensors show that at current rate they will be within our engagement envelope in thirty minutes."

"Long range sensors confirm the Hydrans' heading and distance, Captain. Delta IV reports that veteron arrays are in place and that they will await your command."

T'Pei had long before reconciled herself to the presence of battle and violence in her Starfleet career, and wasn't thinking about their romance, either with trepidation or excitement. Instead, she considered their sudden reappearance in her life, in the war with the Hydrans, and even within her volatile crew mates. Contemplating the Lieutenant, she wondered at his seeming eagerness to begin the killing. She glanced around the bridge, and noted that it was not merely Daniels; everyone appeared to be edgy from the waiting, including the Captain. 'I doubt they will continue to feel this way once the Hydrans arrive,' she thought, and returned to her sensor readings on the planet and approaching fleet.

Having experienced fighting against the Hydrans firsthand on DS5, Sharzhevashi zh'Rin was not overly eager to face them in battle again. Yet, as a Starfleet officer, she was dutybound to do just that should the actions become necessary. When she joined Starfleet, fighting in a war had not ever occurred to her. And yet, had she known, she could not say she would have shied away from it. Her service was necessary and her duty was clear. Sighing softly and pulling her thoughts back to flying the ship, she surveyed the board to make sure all was still normal.

So, everything was ready. Everyone was prepared. All they had to do was wait. Wait for the Hydrans to come and for both sides to tacitly agree to the potential of parting with their innards.

Chris watched his sensor readout as the blips slowly inched closer to the red line indicating when they would be within the furthest reaches of the Galaxy's torpedoes. Then, out of the blue, something changed.

"Captain, I'm picking up a change in course of the Hydrans. It looks like they're bearing off to port. Ops, can your sensors get a better picture?"

T'Pei looked intently at her sensor readings, puzzled by the information.

"Lieutenant Daniels is correct, sir. Long range sensors show that the Hydrans have altered course to heading 315 mark 40. The most direct target at that heading is the Kateren planetary nebula."

"The Kateren nebula?" M'Kantu echoed. "Why?"

Chris looked up from his panel. "They could be baiting us, sir. Nebulas as we all know are notorious for being force multipliers for each side, due to the limitations they put on shields and sensors. If they know we're here, they could be trying to draw us in and take away our defensive advantage, or use the nebula to cover the direction from which they want to jump us."

T'Pei raised an eyebrow. "That hardly seems a logical move on their part, as the nebula will also limit their own shields and sensors. Although we have a defensive advantage, they have a much larger force. A direct assault was their most strategically advantageous option."

From the helm, Sharzhevashi zh'Rin made note of the Hydran course adjustment. She chewed her lip as she waited for the confirmation, ready to move into action if the captain ordered pursuit. In a subscreen at her station, she brought up the stellar maps of the region. Where were they headed?

"Can you scan the nebula from here? Are there additional ships waiting there?" M'Kantu asked.

T'Pei typed in some commands, unsuccessfully. "Our scanners cannot penetrate the nebula from here, Captain. We would have to get much closer, or perhaps even enter the nebula, to detect any additional ships."

"Lieutenant T'Pei, contact the Deltans, ask if they monitor their surrounding space. Have them check for any subspace ripples that might indicate an enemy fleet moving towards the nebula anytime within the last week or so," the captain ordered, then turned towards Shi. "Ensign, do you think Delta IV could be a red herring? Are there any other strategic or populated targets they could be diverting towards, through the nebula?"

"Uncertain, sir," Shi answered. She sent the data she had pulled up, and the forward viewscreen changed to reflect the surrounding sectors of space. "There is little to nothing else within range. No targets that appear to pose any tactical advantage to the Hydrans."

M'Kantu studied the star chart Sharzhevashi placed on the view screen. Indeed, there were no other potential targets nearby. What could they possibly be doing?

Shi readied a pursuit course. "Your orders, sir," she asked.

He paused for a moment before responding, trying to think, but he was baffled by this turn of events. "Hold," he said. "Continue watching them, for the moment. Let's try to figure out what they're up to."

"Aye, sir," Shi responded, and closed out the course changes that would have taken the Galaxy after the Hydrans.

"Sir, the Hydran fleet has entered the nebula. We have lost sensor contact." T'Pei looked up to see if the Captain had any further orders. But he just looked down at his hands, completely silent for the moment.

Daren M'Kantu acknowledged the information and continued to wait. He felt very different from just a few moments ago, yet he was doing the same exact thing. Waiting. Holding. But now, instead of waiting for a known outcome he was waiting for the unknown. The unknown was never good in battle - not knowing got you killed, lost battles and wars... and here he was, staring it in the face. The tacit agreement of honorable battle had been broken.

"Any change?" he asked.

"No sir. There is no sign of Hydran activity outside of the nebula," T'Pei answered.

"Ensign, Lieutenant, continue to monitor that nebula. Alert me if you see any signs of Hydran activity, or anything else unusual. Lt. Daniels, assemble the staff for a strategy meeting, immediately please."

"Aye, Captain," Shi answered. With a few quick adjustments to her station, she had the display configured to allow her to monitor the nebula for any sign of the Hydran's reappearance, or other activity that might shed some light on the situation. "Yes sir."

Chris tapped in the command to alert the senior staffers at their various positions. Things were about to get a lot more interesting.

"Once More Unto the Breach" - Part I

Starring...

The Crew of the U.S.S. Atlas:

Captain Amelse Brodey - Commanding Officer
Commander Valer ch'Thevran - Executive Officer
Commander Lorak gim Glorra - Chief Engineer
Ensign Uuyus - Helm Officer

Command Master Chief Carridos Jem - Chief of the Ship

* * * * *

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood...

-- HENRY V - Act III, Scene 1

* * * * *

STARDATE 62122.7

BRIDGE, DECK 1
ABOARD U.S.S. ATLAS (NCC-56701)

**BONG-BONG, BONG-BONG, BONG-BONG, BONG**

Seven bells.

It's the bottom of fourth watch, Beta Shift, and the XO of the U.S.S. Atlas, Valertherevthri ch'Thevran, is ready to call it a day. Or, rather, a night. Actually, his circadian rhythm is so out of whack that even though the ship's chronometer reads 19:30:18, his body insists that it is actually 04:30:18, and it is *very* cranky about not having been informed of said change. Valer attempts to stifle a yawn as he stretches his extenuated frame against the seat back of the command chair, his lower spine popping loudly.

"That's what too much time spent on Risa gets you, Val."

Ch'Thevran looks up and to his right, finding Carridos Jem hovering over him, her solid black eyes narrowing at him, reminding him, strangely, of the way his zhavey used to look at him when he did something stupid as a youngling, like getting sick from eating Yipgrass (on a dare, he had insisted), or when he had broken his leg jumping from the top of Beggar's Cliff. Of course, the latter accident had occurred as the result of trying to prove his chanliness to Yiloora sh'Neerithsj, something his zhavey had actually found quite amusing at the time, much to the chagrin of his then-bruised ego.

"Oh, stop it, Jem. From what I heard, you kept quite busy, yourself," Valer retorts, causing the Xanthe's large, rabbit-like ears to rotate backwards and press against the back of her head. "Rumor was," he continues slyly, savoring the look of panicked embarrassment developing on her face, "you were quite fond of the dancing pole at Furry Joe's..." He pauses, almost thoughtfully, watching as one of her ears ticks in annoyance. He always knows when he has her--that tick. "Hey, isn't that that place that caters to--"

"Shut it, old man," Jem suddenly cuts him off, jamming herself into the command chair beside him (normally, *his* chair). Unceremoniously, she thrusts a steaming-hot mug at him, seemingly not concerned by the small amount of scalding liquid that sloshes over the side onto Valer's duty trousers--he swears and brushes at the spilled liquid. Carridos smiles, her ears lazily rowing back and forth in amusement. "You know what they say, Valer," she purrs sweetly. "What happens on Risa *stays* on Risa."

"Uh-huh," he grunts, still dabbing at his trousers. Luckily, she hasn't spilled on anything...sensitive. He sighs loudly, then tentatively sips at the mug's contents. "Mmm, now *that* hits the spot, CoS," he says, smiling as his antennas curl in warm satisfaction, the hot cocoa washing down his throat and making a nice, warm place at the bottom of his gullet. He looks over to Carridos, his Chief of the Ship (CoS), catching the small smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Rigellian chocolate," she explains. "I know your weakness, XO," she teases, smiling as her ears rotate backwards, bashfully.

~That, you do,~ he thinks quietly to himself, sipping again at the hot cocoa. ~That you do.~ In many ways, Carridos Jem knows more about him than his own bondmates, back on Andoria. Things like his love ("addiction," she terms it) of anything chocolate. Or that he's a sucker for stupid "chick-flicks," or his hobby of building intricate models of ancient Andorian sailing vessels. Or the fact that, out here, far from home, he is quite...lonely. *That* she has been able to understand, quite well.

*Quite* well...

"So," Jem pipes up, somewhat embarrassed by the way he's looking at her. "How long is it going to take, this time?"

"Huh?" he responds, blinking.

"How loooong," she draws out, as if speaking to a attention-deficit pup, "is it going to take to get to wherever the hell we're going?"

"Oh," Valer responds, mentally switching gears. "Uh, I don't really know," he says while checking the padd display on the chair's access display. "Our training sector is near the Tholian border, that's all I've been told. At least 3 weeks or so, I'd imagine."

"Ohhhh, 3 weeks!--?" she groans, her body slouching dejectedly in the seat as her ears lower like balance beams on either side of her head in disappointment.

Valer swivels his gaze forward, toward the main viewscreen, trying not to show her that he, too, feels the same way. The sudden droop of his antennas gives his emotions away, however. "Look at it this way, Jem," he tries to console her as her eyes narrow and smolder at the same viewscreen, "we'll have plenty of time to brush up on--"

"Don't say it, Val--*Don't* say it--"

"Tactical readiness drills," he finishes.

Carridos huffs in annoyance.

"It's those damned Marines, isn't it?" she suddenly blurts, turning on him with both ears pointed forward at him--eyes narrowed--accusingly. "This is some war game that they're conducting--one of those ridiculous exercises that's going to completely waste our time while we sit around, doing nothing but launching and retrieving their asses so they can pretend how big they think their little di--"

Valer cuts her off with a raise of his hand. "Stop it, Car. First of all, I'm pretty sure their captain doesn't have one of those, last I noticed. Second, you know, just as well as I do, that ever since the Triad started causing trouble for the fleet, the Tholians have been stirring things up along their border, as well as riling up the Gorn by blockading their trade routes. The last thing we need is for a Gorn/Tholian situation right on our weakest border just at the time the Triad is bearing down near the RNZ," he concludes, making reference to the Romulan Neutral Zone.

"Yeah, yeah: raise the colors, flex our muscles, piss in their coffee, establish our 'presence' and make those lumbering crystals think twice about fucking with us," Jem responds saltily, canting her head slightly as she ticks off each point. "And, really, I'm all for that. But what I don't understand is why we don't have a full batallion of Marines on board--or, at the very least, a half-dozen companies. That would seem a little more apropos, wouldn't it? Why just a small TSD?" she asks, referring to the Tactical Strike Detachment, the smallest organized Marine field command attached to their ship. "What are *they* going to do against a brigade of Tholian shocktroopers?"

Valer sighs, realizing that he, himself, doesn't know the answers to her (very good) questions.

"I don't know, Jem. But whatever they're doing here, it came from On High," he replies, using the colloquial Fleet term for the general staff at command HQ in San Francisco. "I heard," he whispers, leaning conspiratorily close to her as she tilts an ear toward him, "that they're from Red Division."

Immediately, Carridos Jem's eyes go wide and both ears rotate backwards. "Kesha," she breathes, taking the Xanthe deity's name in vain. "What the frak is Red Division doing on our ship?" she queries coolly.

Too coolly.

Valer thinks better of telling her any more of his..."suspicions"--he sees he's gotten her agitated enough, already. But really, he can't blame her; he feels the same way. Just the thought that maybe the Atlas was carrying one of the SFMC's most elite black-op teams was enough to send chills down his antennas. Jem's question *was* pertinent: just what *were* they doing, and where was the captain taking them? If it *was* a secret op, did the captain really even know the full extent of the mission orders? What were they planning on *doing* near Tholian space, anyway?

Oh, Valer has heard rumors about Red Division's "teams": Some had said they were elite hunter-killer assassins, others had whispered that they were part of Section 9's Special Intelligence Group, a seemingly benign title for the strange cadre of scientists and field operatives that worked with some truly amazing--and truly scary--exotic technology. One person--a Commodore in charge of Hydran sector ops, no less--had claimed that they were tied somehow to the Corps' mysterious Field Technology Division; one of the SFMC's "blackest" black-ops arms, which reported only to a secret Assembly Defense Select committee--a committee, in turn, that reported directly to the President of the Federation.

Whoever they are, it's obvious to Valer that Red Division is clearly not a group to be trifled with. All of this gnaws at him, though. True, he has already met the TSD team's commander--a Marine Captain--and has found her to be quite...interesting, in an unsettling, mysterious, enigmatic way. But he hadn't sensed anything sinister from her--actually, she had seemed quite confident, if a bit reticent about sharing any of the details of her mission, which, he figures, is to be expected.

~You're reading too much into it, Val; just relax. This is just another training mission, like Jem said. Just another chance to haul this boat out to the Edge of Nowhere, shoot at some space targets, cycle some combat exercises, and basically show the Tholians just why it's not a good idea to (a) piss off the Gorn and (b) piss us off--~

"Captain on deck!"

The sudden announcement yanks Valer from his mulling thoughts, his body reflexively standing and snapping to attention. He stands absolutely still--eyes and antennae pointed forward, spine straight, arms straight at his sides, heels locked together. From the corner of his eye he sees Carridos--*Master Chief* Jem, now--do likewise. The port turbolift doors swishes closed as the deck reverberates the muffled footfalls drawing closer to the command dais.

"XO, report," the short but solidly-built Captain Amelse Brody commands in her thick Scottish brogue.

"Sir, XO reports situation normal, cruising steady at Warp 6 on heading one-six-four mark zero-zero-five," ch'Thevran automatically replies.

Brodey nods curtly in acknowledgment, then spins on her heel to face the ship's Helm, manned by Ensign Uuyus. "Helm, steer left, new course bearin' three-one-five mark zero-two-eight, ahead Maximum Warp," she instructs rapidly.

"Steer 315 mark 028, aye. Set speed ahead, Maximum Warp, aye," the young, gray-skinned Arkenite calls back professionally in his strange ditonal voice, the Anlac-ven draped over his head glowing brightly as it realigns his psycho-magnetic bearing with the Atlas's sudden relativistic changes. A moment later he reports: "Helm answers 315 mark 028. Engines answer Maximum Warp. Automatic core shut-down in 3 hours, 42 minutes, mark."

Everyone on the bridge stands statue-still, their collective breath holding, waiting. Even Valer, though, knows better than to ask Captain Brodey what has happened, or why they are suddenly reversing course. To do so would undermine her command authority: she will inform the crew of the circumstances. She always does.

"Ver'ry well, Helm," Brodey responds before turning to Valer. "XO, get me the Eng'neer." For a microsecond, Valer catches the look in her eye, the look he knows so well as his commander of 8 years: ~This is deep shit, Valer.~

"Aye: Engineer answers, Ma'am," Valer responds, opening a commchannel to the engine room.

"Eng'neer, I need'da 4 hours on th' core, make it hap'n."

["And I want harem of young, virginal grenlin's, Captain! Of which neither of us gonna be getting!"] the gruff, surly voice of Commander Lorak gim Glorra, the Atlas's Tellerite chief engineer responds.

"Nah excus's, Lorak. 4 hours. Pull power from ever'thn but'th weap'ns and life-support, if yeh havt'ta. I wan' this wag'n tah fly!" she practically growls, reaching over to the command chair's comm circuit and closing the channel.

The bridge is still silent, tensions palpably stretched taut in anticipation.

"XO, 1MC," she says next, calling for the ship-wide intercom system. As the automated bosun's pipe whistles the unmistakable low-high-low of the All Hands call, Captain Brodey looks around the circumference of her bridge. "It's time for you all to know: we're going to war."

The bridge remains ghostly silent as the crew stands aghast in amazement, the eerie echo of the ship's bells signaling the end of the watch:

**BONG-BONG, BONG-BONG, BONG-BONG, BONG-BONG*

*****

TO BE CONTINUED...

"Jihad"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Bridge

It was surprising, but the alien felt that the 'classic' lines of the Galaxy's bridge were cramped and confining. Used to something more open and spacious, and adjusting to the scale of his new surroundings would take some getting used to, as would the backward stares from some of Galaxy's crew. Still, orders were to be followed regardless of opinion. Duty mattered, regardless of the obvious discomfort in being in the close company of warm-blooded mammals.

The human lieutenant manning the Conn, decked in the deep blue of Sciences, nodded at the Gorn and motioned wordlessly to the small door to the left of the Ops station, K'aa nodded back, and tapped the chime with a claw.

"Enter," came the response after a moment's wait.

Entering the small office, the large reptile was surprised to see the Galaxy's CO carefully folding a small, intricately-woven carpet and placing it gently in a cabinet behind his desk. "Commander K'aa reporting assss ordered", he rumbled as he offered a PADD to the senior officer. "Hrrrrr... sssomething Operationsss can help you with concerning your ready-room'sss décor Captain?"

M'Kantu took the PADD and nodded. "Welcome aboard, Commander." He indicated a Gorn-designed seat that didn't fit the depressions in the carpet beneath it, signifying its recent placement in the office.
"Please, have a seat."

K'aa nodded, and eased himself into the seat, careful not to let his mass deform the furniture. For a moment, the reptilian craned his neck to look at the closed cabinet and his maw twitched as if to speak, but seeing the CO settle businesslike into his own seat, he remained silent.

Once the two were seated, M'Kantu continued, "Contacting Operations isn't necessary, Commander. That was a sajada - a prayer mat - not a decorative item. Members of my faith kneel on them when possible during our daily prayers." Daren considered the question understandable; the likelihood of a Gorn having encountered another Muslim in Starfleet was high, but to have seen one at prayers would have required being assigned a room with one, knowing one well enough to walk in on them during prayers - which would have made Daren's explanation unnecessary - or simple chance.

"That'sss... unexpected, sssir", K'aa drawled, glancing once more at the cabinet. "My experience with human religion in the fleet hassss been limited to profanity during timesss of great stressss." The Gorn caught himself staring, and returned his full attention to the Captain. "Apart from cultural rervesss on earth, I've never obssserved human piety before - my apologiesss if I have infringed on any form of taboo."

"There's no taboo involved, Commander," Daren assured him, "so no apologies are necessary. Starfleet is a secular agency, but it doesn't require that one abandon one's faith to be a member. If it did, there would be no need for chapels or chaplains aboard fleet starships."

"Indeed." The reptilian's crest-scales flexed as he adjusted his mass in the chair. He gave the human a curious glance, flickering the nictitating membranes of his globular eyes. "Very well Captain, hrrr... to businesss then. I have sssome promisssing strategiesss for dealing with Hydran fassst-attack shipsss that Tactical highly recommends for fleet-to-fleet engagements..."

"Actually," Daren considered his words carefully. Based on the Gorn's record, the assignment he needed to place him in was unlikely to be met with a great of enthusiasm - and unenthusiastic Gorns were known to be quite cranky. "I need you to consider a different posting, Commander. I have a solid compliment of Tactical officers at the moment; what I *don't* have, however, is someone with experience to handle Operations." He held up a hand to forestall the Gorn's reply. "I know that it's not your choice of departments, Commander, but you're better qualified to take charge there than anyone else I've got."

"Operationssss?"

"Yes, Operations," Daren had been yelled at by a Gorn years ago, as an Lieutenant JG, and hoped that he wasn't due for a repeat of the experience.

The Gorn sat back in his chair which squeaked in protest against his shifting mass. K'aa's throatbag swelled, and his lips receded from his fangs.

"Excellent."

"Excellent?" Daren couldn't help the response. Of all the things that he'd expected to hear after his perusal of the Commander's file, 'Excellent' simply wasn't on the list.

"Experience has taught me to reconsssider my preconceptionsss on certain thingsss", K'aa shrugged. "While Tactical isss very important, its focus isss on a sssingular activity - Operationsss provides a myriad of life experience, and itsss importance to ship'ss efficiency and effectivenesss is beyond doubt. A great deal of promisssing work to... ah, sssink my fangsss into. I'm eager to proceed - what'sss our mission, Captain?"

Daren relaxed a little. "You're certain, Commander? If a Tactical post is what you have as your goal, I think I can find you one without difficulty given our current circumstances?"

K'aa lowered his head and offered what the people of the Gorn homeworld might describe as a grin. "Absssolutely. I think it'sss very sssafe to sssay I can make more of a contribution to the war effort in Opsss than anywhere elsssse. Alssso, asss one would hope, the war with the Triad won't lassst forever. Opsss will sssuit my ambition better than Tactical."

"And what would that ambition be? A command of your own?" There were, to Daren's knowledge, no Gorns commanding ships for Starfleet. With his record, if that was what he wanted, K'aa could well become the first.

"There are lesss noble ambitionsss in the fleet", the reptilian said with a nod. "And I am acutely aware that I have sssome.... sssignificant development to achieve - that'sss why asssignment to the Galaxy issss ssso appropriate. I've done a good deal of resssearch - your sstaff isss a collection of fey charactersss and egosss, the reputation of which isss quite.... hrrrrsssss... 'unique' in the fleet. Yet they perform, and do ssso well. One can take a gutful of sssupplimentary courssses on leadership, but the obssservence of effective leadership firssst hand issss worth a million of sssuch lecturesss. Your own ssskilsss are formidable, and easssily catagorized sssave one - your ability to lead. I ssseeek to underssstand how you shepherd your 'black sheep'". K'aa sat back, pausing to consider his words carefully. "Now that I have met you, I mussst confesss I am curiousss asss to how your faith influencesss your leadership."

It had been a while since Daren talked about faith - his or anyone else's - with someone, whether alien or human, but he still knew the answer to that one. "If one follows a faith," he explained, "then that faith is, of a necessity, an element of everything that one is, and everything that they do. My beliefs regarding the nature of the Divine Creator - called 'Allah' in my faith - and my understanding of his will as outlined in the tenets of my faith, are a part of my moral compass, and as such, exert influence in my decision-making process."

"You have no idea how much of a revelation thisss isss, Captain", the Gorn hissed. "With Captain Elaithin, I knew hisss relationship with the Bajoran prophetsss would be part of hisss command style, but I wasss quite unprepared for sssuch... piety from a Human. Humanity hasss seemed more enrapt with giftsss of technology rather than the blesssingsss of the divine. It would ssseem that I have other preconceptions that mussst be re-evaluated."

"We all do, Commander. That's a part of journey that we make throughout our lives. We must reexamine and reevaluate ideas, understandings, feelings, and actions so that we can arrive at greater understanding of ourselves and the world around us. There is a saying in my faith that goes: 'The first thing created by God was the intellect.' If it was his first creation when designing us, then should we not recognize that importance and use it to it's fullest to examine ourselves, our ideas, and our surroundings? Which ties to another saying from my faith: 'The most excellent jihad is that for the conquest of self.' Classically, in my faith, a jihad is a struggle to improve one's self and/or society, although there was a period in the past where the meaning was twisted to justify war on political reasons under the guise of religious ones. The Prophet who outlined the tenets of my faith defined the jihad for the soul as the most important struggle of all. Many other faiths have similar beliefs, if phrased or approached differently."

If it was possible, the Gorn seemed genuinely tongue-tied. Several times it looked as if K'aa had something to say about Daren's interpretation of the Qur'?n, but second thought, prudence, or perhaps a reflection of his own piety demanded silence. "Jihad", he said finally. "An interesssting concept. My UT hasss transsslated it asss both 'ssstrive' or 'ssstruggle' - very....hrrrrr... unlike what many racesss would ussse the term for. When I think of what we face againsst the Triad, the Hydransss in particular, the work Jihad comesss to mind. Perhapsss, asss we struggle againssst them, we may try to underssstand them yessss?"

"It would be far preferable to understand them and seek out the things that we can learn together than to line up ships and blindly start shooting," Daren agreed. "Some of our strongest allies were once our enemies. I'm not certain that anything like that can happen with the Hydrans in the near future, but understanding and mutually beneficial coexistence is a goal that's worth striving towards for our children's, and our children's children's, sake."

The reptilian stood and gave Daren a slight bow, then offered a cold, scaled talon. "I look forward to exploring thissss 'Jihad' with you, Captain M'Kantu. I have much to learn, and I am quite pleasssed with the choice of teacher chance hasss given me. I hope that my servicesss will be asss rewarding."

Daren shook the proffered claw. "It's a pleasure to have you aboard, Mr. K'aa."

"Klingon, Phone Home"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Cmdr. Arel Smith
Kern of Ralok, npc

****

"What do you mean you're only sending three ships?" Arel Smith spat as soon as the old Klingon came into view.

For once she was glad for the distance between them. It was not respectful to throttle your own grandfather; she didn't, however, have a problem with smashing the computer screen.

"nuqneH," Kern replied as he eased himself into the chair. He was displeased with the way his bones creaked of late, not that he would complain. His body would just have to learn to comply with his will. On the sooner side, he hoped. "What ships do you speak of?"

"The three ships that the Empire is sending us," Arel said through gritted teeth. "What the fuck good is three ships against a fucking armada?"

"It's three more than you had before," He pointed out and looked around for anything that looked like it might be edible. In training Allen Smith to become his son, Kern had sadly neglected the human's cooking skills.

"Let me speak to my son," She demanded. "It may be the last time since the Empire is too mentally retarded to understand the seriousness of this threat."

The girl had definitely been spending too much time with humans. "You know that the Empire will give you more ships, 'Rel. This offer of three is just an opening bid."

"The Ferengi make bids," The security officer hissed. "Klingons do not."

"I suppose they should just lend you the ships because you demand them, "The Klingon said dryly.

"Of course," She said, ignoring his tone and crossing her arms. "So, what are you going to do about it, old man?"

Kern sighed. Some days he wished he had encouraged Arel to be more like her father.

****
Captain's Ready Room

"They're giving us eight ships," Arel said with a scowl.

"Who," M'Kantu asked carefully, "is giving us eight ships, Commander?"

"The Klingons," she said.

"Ah. Is it the Federation as a whole, or our task force in particular, that gets the eight ships, Commander?"

"That depends on where you want them, Sir," Arel replied.

M'Kantu considered that. "So... they're essentially ships that you've used personal leverage to have assigned?" Poaching a fleet tagged to Starfleet as a whole wasn't something that he was comfortable doing, but if they were House ships that were to be used at the discretion of Commander Smith....

"The Klingons finally agreed to send seventy to aid the fleet," she grunted, then smiled. "I got Kern to get us eight extra ships."

"Then I want them to rendezvous with us at Delta as soon as possible." Daren didn't particularly care what kinds of ships they were – Klingon lifeboats had more weapons on them than some species' fighters – eight ships were eight more than he had to meet the Hydrans at Delta with and hold them off. He made a few notes and handed them to her. "Here are coordinates and our current situational estimates. Tell them... Well, you know what to tell them better than I do, Commander. Just get them here as fast as you can."

"Yes, Sir."

M'Kantu considered his options. "Get back to me with arrival estimates and a list of the ships responding to Delta and their classes," he asked. "I'll need that once we start planning."

Arel nodded.

"Oh, and Commander... thank everyone involved for me, would you? The ships you've gathered up double our fleet strength, and that may make all the difference for the Deltans."

Definitely worth the deal she'd made with Kern then, Arel decided. "Yes, Captain."

"It was a good call, contacting your family, Commander," Daren said sincerely. "Your ships may make the difference for millions of lives that might be otherwise lost."

"I hope so, Sir," She replied.

"Of leashes and Leprechauns"
Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Lieutenant J.G. Valentina Kyznetsova
Intelligence Technical Operations Officer
* * *

He wanted to look at something, at anything, just not to lay eyes on what was left of his arm. It was exposed to the Operation theatre's sterile air now, free of the encasement which kept the horror gracefully hidden from the rest of the universe. And especially from Saul.

He couldn't stand the sight of his mutilated arm. He never removed the encasement, not even when he went to sleep. Not even with Nara sharing his bed, something that happened rarely since Manslaughter nearly murdered him.

The hissing of the door to the OR opened to admit Valentina and a wheeled container, its top left off. A tingle suffused her organics as the aftereffects of the sterilization fields took care of anything and everything on the surface of both her body and the delicate equipment she was bringing in with her. A mask covered her mouth and nose. As she began to remove the myriad components from the container to place them on the accessory table next to Saul's head, her demeanor was one of complete business; detachment from the world and everything else. She was about to undertake a task that even she wasn't 100% certain would work. But if it did then Saul would owe her one.

Saul took a deep breath. "Everything is ready?"

As she placed the last module on the awaiting tray Val nodded. "A few modules required reconstruction due to materialization matrix errors, but that's a good thing. I am incapable of creating a complete synthetic limb, but the resulting cybernetic Limb will be far superior to either your original organics or a synthetic model."

"Very good. That was the idea." Saul said. He intended to undergo full arm regrowth eventually, when time allows. If he'll still be alive when such time comes. He observed her prepare for a little while longer before speaking up again. "There's something I want to talk with you about before we start. It's better to do it now than after."

Val looked over to Saul from where she was picking up the first instruments, pausing for a moment before placing them back down on their tray. It wasn't often that she'd heard his voice in that particular tone, and in a situation such as this it was doubly curious. "What is it?" At this point all ranks were off - she could tell that this was a one to one exchange.

Saul bit his lower lip. This was a very bad timing for holding this conversation, but with Vered and his agenda the time was never right. Or perhaps he just wanted to avoid it, and now there was no choice. This had to be brought out in the open before he puts his life in Valentina's hands.

"Did Doctor Burton speak with you about the solution she came up with, regarding the methods to disable you?"

Valentina nodded, pulling a chair over and sitting down. He was going to SERIOUSLY owe her after this discussion. It didn't take a genius to figure this one out. "I was present during the discussion with Dr Burton and LT Eshe, and in fact was the one to suggest a biological approach." She paused, and looking him square in the eyes stated, "you want my consent." No beating around the bush. Not with something like this.

"I want your opinion. And I want to coordinate expectations."

"My opinion shouldn't need to be asked. Who really wants to have a leash installed, regardless of the circumstances and reasons?" She took a deep breath, to steady and calm herself, already having let go of her initial detachment. "As for 'coordinating expectations,' I have no clue what you're looking for there. A signal goes out and I'm unconscious for the better part of the day. We can install a dual confirmation system similar to the auto destruct so no one person can put me under, but that's about the limitation I can think of at the moment. You'll forgive me if I've elected not to consider the matter further."

Saul rolled sideways to face her. His arm came into his field of view.

"What I'm saying is this: As far as I'm concerned, the leash does not exist. I am not going to use it because you're not going to make me do it, and no one else is going to use it because we are going to protect you and make sure of it. I just want to make sure we understand each other." Before I go under your cyber-surgeon's laser scalpel, that is.

"A rose by any other name is still a rose," Val sighed. "And a leash 'that does not exist' is still a leash. There will still be a fail safe incorporated into my body that will be capable of rendering me completely helpless for several hours after the initial trigger." She stood up, her demeanor focused and detached once more. "And I don't care what you say or believe," she continued, reaching for those first implements once again. "Someone will eventually find out and then I'm screwed." The hiss of a hypo against his neck rendered him limp, though curiously the sensations from the neck up were still present. "While this won't be painful, it does require your body to be immobile. I have a bit of a time limit for some of these components," she said as she positioned Saul back onto his back, arm laying away from his body. "So, I tailored the anesthetic to allow us to continue our conversation, should you desire. You're going to feel a bit of a pinch ... now."

The Dutchman was struck with horror as the anesthetic began to take its effect. Was she actually going to operate him in full consciousness? But it was better, assuming he could still speak. He asked Lali to monitor the procedure, and to intervene if anything goes wrong, but he still wanted to be in control.

His greatest fear was to close his eyes and never open them again, and with his body in the hands of a bitter Valentina, it wasn't just a paranoia without foundation.

He gritted his teeth. He can't ask her to change the anesthetic. He has to stay awake. He has to.

"Let's do it." He murmured.

* * *

Externally, his left arm looked remarkably similar to the right. When he saw the CAD model, he expected it to appear metallic, like a robot's. But Valentina's 'makeshift' solution turned out to be quite sleek.

It was a tad smaller than his other arm and had tracers of silver running up and down the length of the limb in much the same pattern as his blood vessels once did. Almost his entire hand was synthetic now, save for the thumb and middle finger, the muscles had been augmented, and the bones of his arm had been completely replaced - the originals were unsalvageable.

As someone who was very familiar with cybernetic products and augmentations, Saul was very impressed. Being a good merchant, he did not let it show or the price would skyrocket.

Once Valentina had cleaned up and disposed of the organic refuse, she hit Saul with another hypo, the counter agent to the original anesthetic. "Now, the arm will require calibration, much the same way a physical therapist would help you to relearn how to use a limb. You WILL need to see a Physical Therapist, and I will be present at each session to further refine the tuning of your muscles and other systems."

"Fair enough."

"What the therapist won't cover will be the additions I've incorporated into your chassis." She helped him to sit up as she continued. "A type 2 microphaser has been mounted. It is currently uncharged and will remain so until your therapy is at least 50% complete. It charges off of the kinetic motion of your arm. Charge rate is constant so moving your arm faster won't speed things along; 2 hours from a dry cell to full charge, minimum. Its components are dispersed so it won't register as a weapon through conventional sensor scans. The emitter matrix is incorporated into your wrist and is aligned with the ulna."

'Holy crap' thought Saul. He asked her for a concealed weapon, but he didn't realize from the specs he was going to get that.

"Is there a way to remove the traceable parts of the weapon? I can think of situations where I would want to remove all chances of being detected, even be thorough scans."

"The only traceable component is the emitter matrix itself," she explained. "In an unpowered state the sensors on board the Galaxy will recognize it as an integral component of your limb. Only when the phaser has been placed into an active mode and is ready to be fired will it show up on Galaxy's sensors. The battery--"

"It's not the Galaxy's sensors I am concerned about." Saul said. "I need to know if it can withstand a tricorder scan, or, say, the automatic defense systems of an industrial facility. I need to know if there's scanning equipment 'on the street' that can locate the weapon."

"Unless it's more discriminating than my eyes, which is what I designed everything around, you're fine," she fired back. "Right now, the only reason I can identify the separate components within your arm is because I already know they are there." Val picked up a tricorder and opened it up, handing it to him. "Have a look yourself."

As the tricorder beeped and whirred in Saul's right hand she continued her dissertation. "You'll notice there are no ports in your skin; it's the same synthetic skin as I sport - I took a section of my own and cultured it into the appropriate patterns. Should you take damage; the skin will reseal itself, to include your self inflicted phaser 'wound.' Also incorporated are magnetic slips in the palm of the hand and along the underside of your fingers. While not strong enough to hold your body weight under normal gravities, it will provide for a superior grip and a satisfactory grappling point during micro gravity situations."

There were a few other things - concealed isolinear chip storage slots - 2 chips of Starfleet specification, 2 rods of cardassian specifications, and 2 modular storage ports of equivalent capacity - all located along the bicep of the arm and concealing the media storage devices within the space between the lower arm's bones. Also scan resistant, only the most sophisticated sensors would even hint at the chips being there - all others would regard the chips as being an integral part of the arm's control network.

"I would have done more, but the weight and balance would have been skewed too far, and it would have required ocular and neural surgery, two operations I'm not qualified to even think about trying."

Saul nodded. He requested specifically to minimize the surgical intervention. He assumed that Valentina would install back doors - he knew he would, if the person he would operate on had the key to disable him - and wanted her to have as little space as possible when it comes to that.

Besides, he saw the effect of overly intrusive cybernetics plenty of times. He didn't want to become a 'Metalhead' like they were nicked back on Utrecht III.

"Good work."

"Would you expect anything less?" Val glanced at him as she busied herself with the remainder of the 'cleanup' process - putting equipment away. Unmentioned were the safeties she'd installed alongside everything else. Safeties as integral to his arm as everything else. He could no more bypass them as he could will his heart to stop beating. They had been wormed into the coding she'd used to run his systems, innocuous lines scattered here and there. And there was more than one fail safe. Some would render individual components inert. Others could incapacitate Saul, cause brain damage, and under the right circumstances death could occur. Neural feedback was a nasty weapon.

Valentina wasn't taking any chances. All it would take is the proper combinations of other dimensional quantum formulas.

"Now, your first appointment with the physical therapist is tomorrow morning, 0900. Your arm will remain in a low power mode, mimicking the state it's been in for the last weeks so you don't hurt yourself tonight. The last thing we need is for your response time to go haywire and land yourself back in here to repair other organs."

"Raynor would say 'I use my other hand anyway'." Saul joked. "I'll be careful, thanks for your concern, and... thank you."

Val nodded. "One last thing. No nanites, so if ever you take damage beyond the regenerative dermal layer, or if the entire skin is destroyed, you'll need to come back and see me for repairs. And don't thank me yet."

"Of course no nanites." The last thing Saul wanted were a bunch of microscopic robots using his body to hold their disco parties.

"Well, other than that all you have to do is get a quick screening from the doctor waiting outside, just to make sure what's left of your organics is still in proper shape, and pending his decision you can get back to work tomorrow. Sir." Valentina picked up a PADD from one of the counters and handed it to him. "Your initial Physical Therapy appointment. Don't be late, I know where you live." She flashed him a smile, purely professional though there was a hint of humor in her voice, and with that she began pushing the cart with all of her equipment back out of the room.

"Aggravation : A von Ernst Epic"

Starring:
Rebecca von Ernst
Allison Von Ernst
With Special (unauthorized) Guest Stars:
Victor Krieghoff
Raven Darkstar
James Corgan

In the darkest reaches of space there hung a jewel of light.

A tiny bubble of tissue thin metal wrapped around a fragile puff of air and warmth that sustained thousands against the cold harsh realities of the eternal darkness outside.

This jewel of light was Deep Space 4, an island of life and light floating in the ocean of night.

It was here that the armed forces of the Federation of Planets had gathered to lick their collective wounds before heading back out into the cold.

Two Starships were docked here currently. Each in the final preparations for departure, that hustle and bustle of taking on supplies and making last minute repairs to systems that should have been replaced long ago.

One had to make do with what one had out here in the ocean.

The night took no pity on the weak or the unprepared. For all of humanities advances and technological prowess, the instant you didn't respect the darkness, it would take you.

At one end of the ring sat the spear-head wedge of the USS Zeus, silvery sleek and rumbling to herself in anticipation of blood.

Across the station hung the more graceful curves of the larger USS Galaxy, a starship more sculpted than built. An ageless design from a more peaceful past, that nonetheless had a war-fire burning in her belly.

If Zeus was a ravenous wolf, then Galaxy was a thundering stallion. One quick and deadly, the other beautiful in its thundering power.

Exactly halfway between the two sleeping beasts there stood a tiny slip of a girl, seemingly insignificant amongst the sea of people around her.

Barely five foot nothing. (152 cm) and weighing in at a mere 95 lbs (43kg) the woman was like unto a child amidst the hustle and bustle of burly Starfleet Marines and rumbling Klingon warriors that thundered back and forth across the Docking ring eager to catch their ride into glorious battle.

Deep Space 4 was going to war and nobody wanted to be late.

Captain Rebecca von Ernst (Age 32) however paused in her errand to peek inside the windows of one of the many quaint shops that lined the main docking ring of Deep Space 4.

~~~What adorable little teddy bears~~~ she cooed to herself brushing back a strand of brilliant red hair. ~~~Too bad the place is closed down, or I'd just have to send one back to Minnesota for Momma.~~~

She briefly considered if her powers as Starfleet Captain allowed her to have the shop forcibly opened up, but the beginning twinge of a headache against her temple brought her back to reality and reminded her of her errand.

Pausing a few more moments to sigh at the unfairness of it all, the tiny girl stepped back out into traffic and setting her freckled face with a grim stare, dared any mere Klingon or Marine to dare step into her path.

~~~Klingons…..ick….~~~ she thought as she came at last to the gangplank that lead up into the belly of the USS Galaxy.

~~~Well this certainly seems familiar~~~

*********
*********

Year 2376

Ensign Rebecca von Ernst (age 21) dropped her heavy sea-bag and nervously peered up at the huge gangplank leading up to the USS Galaxy.

~~~Noodles……its so big.~~~ she gulped as the sheer immensity of the huge wall of Duranium outside the Docking bay windows finally hit her.

The Galaxy hung like a glowing city of metal and light outside Starbase 108's main docking ring. She was in final preparations for an urgent rescue mission.

The planet of Ursid was threatened by a particularly deadly meteor shower….known locally as the Rain of Fire and it was the Galaxy's job to help relocate the local populace……..

And somehow the wee redheaded girl was supposed to help.

Gulping she stepped forward to the Security Officer that stood watch over the Gangplank.

"Uh…Ensign Rebecca v…v….v….von. Er…Ernst reporting f…f.for d…d….duty…uh….sir." she stammered.

**********
**********

"Captain Rebecca von Ernst arriving." she announced herself as the honorary bosun's pipes trilled a greeting for the visiting Captain.

A flank of Marines snapped to attention as the tiny woman stepped forward.

A single Security crewman met her at the base of the gangway and smiled broadly.
"Like you are totally welcome to come aboard the Galaxy mo….er….Captain." the blond haired girl gushed, "I'm Crewman Allison von……er…I mean Allison Jimsdottir and I'm here to escort you to Captain M'kantu."

Allison mentally kicked herself for almost slipping . She never thought she'd have to go back to using the fictitious 'Jimsdottir' name again, but Hel-lo….the prospect of seeing her mother again for the first time in over a year was too much of a temptation to resist.

People get too fussy about destroying the timeline anyways…….how's a girl supposed to have fun?

Rebecca looked the fidgety girl up and down with a raised eyebrow. Galaxy had always been famous for attracting the most unusual crewmembers in Starfleet, but this blond chick seemed a little too bubbly and excited to see a captain she never even met before.

"Very well Crewman." she sighed, wishing her headache would go away….."lead on."

**********
**********

The burly Security guard scrutinized the transfer papers closely. Ensign Raven Darkstar was new to the Galaxy himself, but he took his job seriously.

"Department?" he inquired sparsely as he loomed over the girl. Darkstar was good at looming. One word sentences were also a specialty.

"D…d…..department?" Rebecca stuttered as she always did, "Errr….ah…..isn't it in the p….p…papers there?…I mean ….ah……I mean t…t…t…tactical…..um….Im the new Tactical Ensign…….uh sir?"

She added the 'sir' on the back end just in case. The Guard had the same rank as her, but she figured it was wise to be nice to anybody who had a foot and a half on her.

Which meant nearly everybody.

"Tactical?" Darkstar's frown deepened. The Indian always frowned, but it varied by degrees. The papers seemed to be in order, but the item he latched onto in her file was the recent court-martial from the USS Victory. This was the girl he'd read about in the papers recently…… the Nar Hallas disaster and 15,000 dead civilians when some Ensign panicked in the face of the enemy Lyrans.

An even deeper frown……so this was 'her'.

"Welcome." he said, not meaning it.

Rebecca nervously snapped back her papers and struggled to heft the duffle bag that weighed more than she did.

Disapproving stares from the other Security guards present showed that Raven wasn't the only person that read the papers.

Coward.

As the little girl struggled up the ramp, another of the new Security Ensigns walked over to the Indian and nudged him.

"Hey Raven." Ensign James Corgan jerked his chin up at the departing redhead. "Isn't that the girl back from the Academy who accidentally shot herself with a phaser on survival training weekend?"

Darkstar had to think a minute, but nodded. He'd been a Sophomore, part of a squad under the command of Senior Cadets.

He seemed to remember something about some girl tripping over a branch and zapping herself with her own phaser thus getting disqualified in a record 17 seconds for the week long event.

"Stupid." he acknowledged.

"Yeah, but still….." James Corgan, was still watching her walk away. "Nice legs though."

***************
***************

Allison was beyond her usual bubbly self. It had been over a year since she'd seen her mother and there was just so much she wanted to share with her.

The people she'd met…..her totally zarky roomate Mary Poppins…..and like you are so totally correct, her Daddy, James Corgan was a total waste of time……Hel-lo can you say major perv-o ?

Unfortunately for the 16 year old girl there was nothing that she could safely reveal to the younger version of her mother, so poor Alli was left hopping up and down in excitement biting her tongue to keep from just throwing her arms around Mom.

~~~Wow….Mom sure has smooth skin despite all those freckles….and wow….red hair with no gray! Totally zarky! ~~~

In fact Allison was feeling a little jealous. While Rebecca would never be considered a classic beauty, she did have trim little figure and long legs that gave a definite 'hotness' to her.

Shaking her head, Alli resorted to talking about the previous mission, "So then the Colonists were all like…. boo-hoo we have to leave our homes, and I was like Hel-lo….Duh! Too bad so sad right? Get the heck out okay?" Alli tsked to show her displeasure. "And then like we're all like totally nice to beam them up and stuff…. cause like the Hunan slime monsters were gonna like eat their planet and stuff…"

"Hydrans." Rebecca corrected.

"Like huh?"

"Hydrans are the slime monsters… Hunan is a type of Chinese food." Rebecca idly traced a finger along the bulkheads as they walked. There was something oddly relaxing about the strange blond girl's insane chatter.

Somehow her headache didn't seem to bother her as much as it normally did.
Still….she'd hate to have to spend all her life around it.

"Hydrans….cool…whatever." Alli continued her rant. "Any-hoo we like totally beamed the colonist dudes aboard and ugh….can you believe it….what is it about refugees that makes them dress so scruffily? I mean if I like totally had to evacuate Earth with nothing but the clothes on my back I'd be like….at least wear my best outfit you know?"

Allison continued babbling on about various things……the drinking habits of her Horta roomate for instance. Apparently Mary Poppins had been hitting the molten Tungsten pretty hard of late.

She took a left turn at the next corridor, only to be brought up short when Rebecca didn't follow her.

"Uh….mom….I mean ma'am?"

"This is not the way to the bridge crewman." Rebecca was studying the walls. "I lived on the Galaxy for years, and I know my way around. Where am I meeting Captain M'kantu?"

Alli blushed slightly and shrugged. "Oh….I'm like totally sorry. Uh….the captain is just finishing up inspecting the new Impulsive engines, and said he's sorry to delay the meeting by about 20 minutes, and I was to show you around in the meantime….like y'know?"

Alli bit her bottom lip nervously. There was a special spot on board she wanted to take her mom. A place she'd heard about in stories for years and years, but had never visited herself until now. Hopefully she wouldn't object……

Rebecca sighed and rubbed her temples. "Fine….whatever. This is a big waste, but lead on and show me whatever you want to show me."

Alli clapped her hands and squealed, "Zarky!….Lets go!"

"Oh and crewmember….Its impulse engines…not Impulsive engines."

"Cool…Whatever."

*********
*********
25th century.

The year 2404.

"It’s really amazing how she's grown." 52 year old retired Rebecca von Ernst leaned against the rail and sighed.

"So young and full of life… bubbly and full of adventure." she paused and added, "And totally stubborn and pigheaded."

" Like mother, like daughter." Victor Krieghoff, age 56, came up behind his old friend and handed her a Peppermint Milkshake. "Gonna have to stop drinking these things Ernst. You're gonna get fat."

Her red hair was streaked with the beginnings of silver, and her pale freckled skin now had wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. But Rebecca von Ernst still only tipped the scales at 95 lbs.

"Yeah, I might actually break three digits." She made a face as Victor chuckled.

Leaning on the rail himself, he looked down into the pit of activity that was the shuttle bay below them.

The sleek private yacht was in the final stages of preparation for its journey back through time.

Funded by the impressive von Ernst personal fortune, powered by the latest in 25th century shielding technology, and guided by navigation equations worked out by the mathematical brain of Rebecca herself, the vessel was a ready as it ever was for the slingshot around the sun that would send 16 year old Allison von Ernst back in time in search of her long lost father.

The young Allison herself was below in the pit putting the final touches on her new ship, wielding a paintbrush, she delicately named the vessel with pretty pink calligraphy.

"Oded's Aggravation?" Victor read off the name with some puzzlement. "Where'd she get that?"

Rebecca sipped her drink and shrugged. "Something she was reading in school recently. About some famous 20th century writer who wasn't too thrilled with the idea of Time travel in literature. She thought it was kinda ironic to be doing it for real."

The two old shipmates watched the young girl complete her task and turn to directing the swarms of hired technicians to complete their preparations.

Rebecca had argued long and hard against this crazy stunt, but in the end when Alli threatened to go off on her own, Mom had thrown her full weight of influence behind the project if nothing else to ensure her daughters safety.

Going back in time to find her father, Rebecca grimaced…….what a waste.

**************
**************
2376

21 year old Ensign von Ernst was lost. Her previous ship, the USS Victory had been a mere Defiant Class vessel.

It never occurred to her how huge the Galaxy could be with all of its miles and miles of beige hallways that looked all the same.

She took a random left down an inviting looking corridor and was brought up short by a very innocent looking door.

~~Noodles……where the foozle am I?~~~ she worried, blushing slightly at her use of foul language.

*******************
*******************

2385

Captain von Ernst and Allison stood before an innocent looking door at the end of a corridor.

Rebecca narrowed her eyes and whirled upon her strange escort.

"Why did you bring me here? Who told you to bring me to this room?" she demanded, the headache pounding her unmercifully. "Speak up Crewman…..Who told you about this place?"

********************
********************

2376

Young Rebecca breathed in a sigh of awe as she stepped into the darkened room.
It was a viewing lounge….a small 10 by 15 room with soft lighting and a single plush couch in the middle.

What made the room special however was the huge floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out onto a huge underwater aquarium.

The refraction of light from the deep waters cast dancing blue shadows across the dark lounge, tracing Rebecca's freckled face with liquid light.

~~~Oh dear Noodles… it’s so beautiful……they are so beautiful……..~~~

And then they sang for her.

*****************
*****************

2385

The lounge was still the same as Captain von Ernst stepped into its blue light almost 9 years after her first visit. Her headache was almost blinding now, but she found she didn't care as she stepped forward like a little girl in wonder at the marvelous creatures just on the other side of the huge glass windows.

Allison watched from the doorway not daring to breathe, afraid of shattering the moment.

Rebecca touched the glass.

They were still here. So beautiful.

And then they sang.

The whales………

**********************
**********************
2404

"So where did she take you?" Victor Krieghoff ran fingers through his rapidly graying hair. "You know, that time you visited before the battle with the Hydrans?"

52 year old Rebecca put a finger to her lips hushing him. "Shhhhhh……she doesn't know that we still remember her visit to the past."

"So where…?"

"She took me to Cetacean Ops……The whale tanks down on Deck 12 Remember?"

Victor nodded absently. He'd been aware of the room, but had never bothered to visit other than during his normal security sweeps. "The whales……" he mused, "Why the heck were we lugging those things around again anyways?"

Rebecca made a face at her old friend and explained. "Backup Navigation protocols. Cetacean Ops was tasked with providing a biological back up to the ships navigational equipment. The whales it seemed were key in this."

She explained how that whales….driven to extinction in the 21st century were suddenly brought back into play following the famed whale song incident with Captain Kirk. Victor interrupted by saying he'd seen the movie, but liked the book better. They guy they got to play Kirk was too short.

"Anyways….." Rebecca continued, "After the Probe left, research into whale biology revealed a latent navigational ability that was bordering on the Divine."

"I thought they were always navigating themselves onto beaches and dying….doesn't sound too impressive."

Rebecca explained how it was discovered that the Earth's gravitational field confused the whales and it was only when they were brought into orbit that it was discovered that they could pinpoint their location anywhere in the Milky Way purely by instinct.

A team of telepathic Vulcans, Betazoids, and Deltans were hired to run Cetacean Ops to communicate with the Whales to update the Navigational processors from time to time.

Hence the fact that Galaxy class ships were equipped with huge multi-deck aquariums to carry around their aquatic friends.

"All those special moments and she doesn't remember them yet…." Rebecca sighed. "Doesn't know that from the moment she was born, that I already knew she as going to leave me someday."

Rebecca stared down at the ship preparing for departure. 'Oded's Aggravation' was finalizing her last minute tests. Shields, engines and inertial compensators designed to keep Momma von Ernst's baby girl safe on a slingshot around the sun were slowly brought online.

"I don't know why it never occurred to her that since we lived through it, we already know about her visit to the Galaxy" Rebecca sniffed tears forming in her tired brown eyes, "……that we already know about everything she did….everything that happened afrewards…"

A slight sob choked Rebecca's thin frame and Vic threw a protective arm around her shoulders. Those memories were painful he knew. So much pain.

******************
******************
2376

Ensign von Ernst pressed her freckled nose to the glass and drank in the beauty of the whales. Two huge leviathans that moved with slow deliberate grace , and that sang with deep throaty voices whose rumble could be felt deep in the young girl's chest.

Amos and Andy they were called. Continuing the tradition of naming whales after old vaudeville acts.

They were watching her as much as she watched them.

Great thoughtful eyes considered the pixie like girl with her nose against the glass.
All of the stress and worries about her new job melted away off of her. Maybe working for Captain Robert Price wouldn't be so bad if she could come down here on her off hours and just watch the whales swim.

Maybe she could do this after all.

***********************
***********************
2385

Allison sat at one edge of the comfy couch, watching as her mother softly tapped the glass, saying hello to her old friends.

Of all the places on the Galaxy, Mom had told her that Cetacean Ops was her favorite. It was quiet and dark, and relatively unknown to the rest of the crew, so she'd come down here to rest and think…..often times to cry.

On the few occasions when Mom elected to discuss James Corgan, she chose to reflect on the happy memories they shared near the whale tanks.

Young Ensigns James and Rebecca discussing their day on the couch, while Rebecca blushed and sipped at Peppermint Milkshakes.

Older Lieutenants James and Rebecca locking the doors during the Space Vampire Attack. James standing guard with a hand phaser, while Rebecca hid behind the couch and stuttered.

Later Commander von Ernst becoming colder and darker. Stuttering less, but becoming violent more. Lt Commander James leaning against the aquarium glass while he tried to figure out why his red-haired friend was turning into a cold killer.
An increasingly erratic Rebecca switching off her emotions, losing herself in the math of battle tactics…..and the new headaches that had popped up from somewhere. Visiting the whales less and less.

Allison never found out what happened next, but staring at Captain von Ernst before her……distant and withdrawn. Occasionally massaging her temples, she wondered…. Maybe this is what happened next.

**********************
**********************
2404

"I wish I knew who she was that day." Rebecca told Victor. "I think only James knew the truth at that time, but I still remember wondering who this strange blond girl had come from, and how she'd known exactly where to take me."

Rebecca sighed. "Maybe if I knew then, I could have stopped some of what was to follow."

Victor cut off that line of thinking. "None of us knew. How could we? She was just a cute…… extremely irritating crewman who wore too much makeup."

Rebecca stifled another sob. "I tell her not too much makeup………."

Preparations were complete for the yacht. Victor escorted Rebecca down the steps to the launch bay. She wasn't frail, but her tiny thin features always made those around here feel like they had to handle her like glass.

Instead of the hot iron that she was.

Allison stood before them in the hatch. A mix of eagerness and anger on her young face.

The arguments with her mother had been long and hard, and she wasn't ready to so easily forget them.

She as going to find her Dad! He was out there…..back in the past. She was going to find him, and he was going to love her and tell her what a clever little girl she was.
He had too. Everything had to turn out better. Didn't it? I mean….he wouldn't abandon her again?

"I'm going now." Allison announced simply. "You'll see when I get back. He'll love me and won’t try to stop me like you did."

Victor opened his mouth to defend Rebecca, but Alli cut him off. "No Uncle Vic….I know, and I love you, but this is between mom and I. I'll prove her wrong. I'll find him and make him love me."

There was nothing to argue, so instead Rebecca reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pink-sequin covered device.

"I….I….I covered it in y…y…y.your favorite color." Rebecca stuttered for the first time in years. "It contains all the Galaxy logbooks…..some information on where to hide d…d…during certain battles…..also when they nuked the sh….sh…..shuttle bay like I told you."

~~~Noodles….I can’t believe I'm sending her back…….Stop her….grab her….tell her she's gonna fail because she already did fail……~~~

Instead Rebecca kept talking, "Its protected b…b…..by a special mathematical algorithm, unbreakable by the technology 20 years ago." she shrugged, "I…I ….I wrote it myself."

Her mom's tears took some of the fire out of Allison's anger. Some but not much. Mom had been a bear to live with these past 16 years……not liking Allison's guitar playing….not talking about father…..

16 year old Allison was sure that her life was the most unfair teenaged life in the history of the universe.

She took the small pink device and pocketed it without a word. Turning towards 'Uncle Vic' she gave him a hug and ignoring her mother, stomped aboard the 'Aggravation'

"Steady Reb." Victor soothed as the redhead choked up from not even being told goodbye. "Remember what she told me all those years ago."

He rubbed Rebecca's shoulders. "She stormed into my office one day and told me how sorry she was she never said goodbye. Told me that seeing you again made her regret ever leaving, and that you were right."

Rebecca nodded and sniffled. She'd known for many years Allison would never say goodbye. Victor told her that Alli told him twenty years ago……..it was confusing when you thought about it.

It also didn't make losing your daughter any easier.

"I shouldn't let her go….I could stop her…."

"She's already gone……you can’t change that……no matter what the results were….."

***************
***************
2385

Captain Von Ernst pulled herself away from the Whale tank and considered the young crewman watching her from the couch.

Who was she?

Why did she look familiar?

That was impossible.

People didn't look familiar to Rebecca…..with her perfect memory, she either knew them instantly or she never met them before……..nobody could merely look familiar.

It was a new sensation.

Oh how her head hurt.

"Crewman…..Jimsdottir." she began….."I thank you but…." she trailed off.
Allison nodded sadly and got to her feet. "You’re absolutely right ma'am….I should get you to Captain M'Kantu now….."

She led her mother from the soft lights and deep rumblings of the whales. Allison's mind whirling, wondering if she made a mistake.

~~~I'm sorry mom….I'm sorry I never said goodbye….~~~~

Captain von Ernst, was trying to squash her new emotions and feelings…..this was a time for war, not fuzzy memories and stupid whales. There was no time for the past, and the future looked dark.

**********************
**********************
2376

Ensign Rebecca von Ernst reluctantly got to her feet and took a finale look at her whale buddies.

"G….g…..goodnight b…buddies." she stammered with a smile. "I've got a shift on the bridge now, but I'll be back l….l….l…later."

Blowing them a kiss, young Rebecca gaily hopped for the exit with a smile on her face.

The future certainly looked bright.

OOC: Notes….Old TOS writers will certainly remember the Whale tanks where Rebecca spent many of her early years. They were inspired by the USS ENTERPRISE-D Blueprints which … surprisingly show huge aquariums with whales swimming around in them. I felt I had to make a reason why we were lugging them around.

Oh and Oded…you can stop screaming now. ;)

"Captain's Table"

With:

Captain Bruno Ascencion
Commanding Officer, USS Jacmel (NPC)

Commander Wilbert Folsom
Executive Officer, USS Jacmel (NPC)

Commander Orson Daley
Chief of Engineering, USS Jacmel (NPC)

Lieutenant Commander Holliday Reine
Chief of Security/Senior Tactical Officer, USS Jacmel (NPC)

Lieutenant Commander Sorax
Chief of Sciences, USS Jacmel (NPC)

Lieutenant Commander Adala
Chief Medical Officer, USS Jacmel (NPC)

Master Chief Petty Officer Krurge, Son of Zos
Chief of the Boat/Senior Enlisted Advisor, USS Jacmel (NPC)

(All NPC's by Omar)

Time to scheduled rendezvous: 1 day, 19 hours
Estimated time of arrival: 1 day, 24 hours

Bridge Officer's Mess, Deck 2

Dinner service with the Captain was always a source of enlightenment, entertainment, and some embarrassment for the senior officers on board the Jacmel. That included the Captain, as well.

"So what you're implying, CoB," Bruno Ascencion was saying in a slow, dangerous tone, "is that I made an error in judgment?"

"I imply no such thing, sir," the burly Klingon replied around a mouthful of Qagh. His eyes were focused intently on the Captain's relishing the moment of verbal combat. "I am simply stating that you should have held your hand and bluffed the dealer. You would have won."

The group of officers present all chuckled at the memory. The poker game at Starbase 24 brought back some great memories for all. And of all the people to win big, Lt. Commander Adala, the Deltan doctor made out like a bandit in Ft. Knox.

"Yeah, good times, good times," chimed in Lt. Commander Holliday Reine. She dabbed her lips with a napkin as she savored the taste of her meal.

The officers (and CoB) had homemade Jambalaya, an Earth Cajun dish that Capt. Ascencion happened to be very good at making. It was always an extra treat to have the Captain cook for them.

"But seriously, Commander Folsom," he was saying now. "With you being new to the crew and all, I'd like to know your thoughts regarding the current state of affairs in the Federation." One would get the sense that everyone would have stopped dead in their tracks and all eyes would have been on Wilbert Folsom, but they knew better. This was a question that the Captain engaged every XO he has ever had since he obtained this command. So instead, it appeared to be business as usual, but everyone was waiting to hear the new guy's answer.

"Well," Folsom cleared his throat. "At current with the conflict the Federation is involved in apparently being a 'three front' war, we are put in a position where our resources are spread a bit thin. Our primary mission is not being accomplished."

"I see," murmured Ascencion. "So you believe that we're not doing our jobs?"

"It's not so much that we're not doing our jobs, just that we're not doing what we were meant to do," Folsom replied.

"Well, that's true in essence. We're not charting new frontiers, visiting strange new worlds, making first contact with diverse civilizations as we had in the 'olden' days, I suppose." At the comment of 'olden' days, the officers chuckled. The Jacmel enjoyed having some of the more seasoned officers amongst its senior staff, no one under the age of 40 Earth years. It was often joked that the Jacmel was the 'Geriatric Club'.

"However," the Captain continued, "you would agree that we find ourselves in a necessary situation. It was inevitable that we would have to take an aggressive stance against powers that would seek to end our very existence."

"Ah, I would have to disagree, Sir."

Now everyone stopped what they were doing and you could possibly hear an atom being split somewhere in the bowels of the ship.

"You don't agree, XO?"

"No, sir. I would have to state that it could have been business as usual, allow the diplomats to negotiate treatise, and such. There's no real reason why we should have all become masters of warships rather than directors of vessels of exploration and peace."

A dove, Bruno Ascencion thought distastefully. While he wasn't a war mongerer, per se, he understood that conflict was necessary to ensure one's own survival. First it was the Romulans, then later the Klingons, the Tholians, etc. However, he did not appreciate and much like those with pacifistic traits. As far as he was concerned, the galaxy and indeed the universe was a dangerous place. He voiced as much to the group, and especially his idealistic XO.

"...And that's why our ships come bearing teeth and claws, rather than a bosom to suckle from. We need to be prepared to survive. You would at least agree with that wouldn't you XO?"

"I think that a quote from the late Earth military thinker Carl von Clausewitz would serve as an appropriate answer," Folsom offered.

"Please, enlighten us, XO." The Captain was indeed interested to know what gem of philosophy would be offered here.

"Well, sir, according to von Clausewitz, 'war is merely a continuation of politics, or of policy, by other means.'"

"I see you've read 'On War", Commander. I commend you. Now many who have gone to command school go beyond the 'Cliff Notes' or something of that nature."

"You mean there was an actual whole book on that," interjected Commander Orson Daley, the ship's Engineer.

"Indeed," replied the Vulcan science officer, Sorax. "And might I add a very controversial and often misunderstood piece of literature. Other interesting works by historical Terran strategists include "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu."

"Oh, I've read that. Really, I did," the Engineer insisted.

"Indeed," was the Vulcan's stoic response.

Another round of chuckles came from around the table - with a raised eyebrow from Sorax - then Captain Ascencion continued his cross examination of his XO.

"And what is your interpretation of that particular morsel of philosophy," he asked.

"That all war boils down to is just that: Politics. And with that being the case, the true enemy could never be defeated."

"And who ...or what would that true enemy be, Commander Folsom?" Now every attention in the room was once again focused on the Executive Officer.

"Well, sir," he said without falter, "The true enemy is war itself. As long as that cycle is perpetuated, war in any form will never truly end."

Several eyebrows were raised, and Daley even let out a whistle. The CoB decided to find something interesting on the wall behind his Captain to keep his attention.

"Interesting outlook, XO," the Captain said and then focused on the Tira Misu that was for desert. Everyone else resumed their dinner in somewhat of a muted tone, and soon conversations resumed amongst the people.

Holliday Reine, who was sitting on the far side of Commander Folsom and thus out of earshot of the Captain, leaned in close and told the XO, "That's some pair of brass you've got down there."

"Longing for Home"

Lt. (JG) Artim Shivar - Chief of Life Sciences
Plt. Elrin Kit'ari (APC) - Saber 6

===================================
<<Holodeck 2 - Shivar Estate Program>>

There was a time, not long ago in fact, that Artim thought he'd never have to visit his old home again. He'd managed to get over Valera's death pretty easily as well has his ordeal on Deep Space 5. Even the Hydrans forcibly canceling his vacation hadn't upset him enough to come back here. He'd managed to go a full two months without coming back here. The shrinks thought he was doing so well. Then came the Vered mission.

Perhaps it was something about forcing people from their homes that made Artim come back to his. Perhaps he hadn't dealt with all those other things as completely as he thought. Whatever the reason this afternoon found him sitting in the study of his childhood home on Juram IV snuggled up comfortably in his father's overstuffed leather chair. As a fire crackled in the white marble fireplace off to his left the Miran simply stared out at the majestic mountain vistas that loomed out in the distance through the great bay windows. The snow covered landscape was extremely peaceful. It gave him the chance to think. And that's just what he needed right now.

Apparently someone else had other plans.

Artim couldn't help but turn around when the whoosh of the holodeck doors interrupted the peaceful moment he was enjoying. He expected to see one of the shrinks or perhaps his winged boss coming to show concern at his sudden reclusiveness. Instead it was the orange furred vulpinoid Elrin Kit'ari. Ever since they met on DS5 Artim had thought of Elrin as something of a kindred spirit who was approaching friend status. Perhaps he did need someone to talk to after all.

Elrin was as timid as ever when he spoke. He couldn't help it when he thought he was being rude. "Artim, I'm...I'm sorry to disturb you. Flight Officer Lansky was concerned when you canceled your fighter requalification session and..."

"...she figured that you might have a better time figuring out why. Possibly. Still surprised she wouldn't come herself." Artim finished Elrin's sentence when it became clear the vulpine couldn't. He had canceled the requalification test but he still had a few months to do it anyway and his head was defiantly up for it right now. He was genuinely surprised Ember had sent the fox though. Given what they'd been through he thought she could talk to him. She's one of the few others who had seen this program.

"I...I guess she figured I needed to make some more friends." Elrin's reply was still rather forced and trembling. Things like this always made him nervous.

"Don't worry about it. And calm down, I don't bite no matter what my assistant's might say. Please, have a seat." Artim gestured to a highbacked burgundy chair to his right just on the other side of the mahogany accent table on which rested a pot of steaming hot tea Artim had been nursing.

"Thanks." Elrin replied as he sat down carefully in order to not crush his floofy tail. He looked up and caught the sight of the snow-covered mountains and was as awestruck as anyone who saw them for the first time. "Wow. They're magnificent. Where is this? Earth?"

"Yes and no. This is actually a representation of my family's estate on Juram IV, or Miri's Planet as its more commonly known. As my world is a molecular replica of Earth you're both right and wrong. On Earth these would be the Alpine foothills of Southwestern France."

"Ah." Elrin replied as he fidgeted in an attempt to get comfortable. "I assume this is before the...um...events on your planet."

Artim nodded solemnly. "I prefer to remember it this way."

"Understandable. I've been told this is where you come when you need to clear your head. I'm...curious about something if you don't mind my asking." Elrin was beginning to calm down as he took in the view.

"Shoot. And would you like some tea?” Artim said casually as he refreshed his cup of tea from the gold rimmed white porcelain teapot.

"No thank you, Terran tea makes me shed. And I was curious...when was the last time you were here...for real."

Artim took a deep breath or two before answering. "Almost eighteen years, and that wasn't exactly for a cheerful reason. I went back in 2366 for the 400th anniversary of the outbreak. Was my first trip in fifty years then. Most of this is gone of course. Part of the house still stands though."

Elrin nodded and looked a bit sorry he asked. After a deep breath of his own the reason why he had asked became clear. "It’s been about that long for me as well. I...I can't even go back though. At least not for awhile. Maybe soon..." Elrin was referring to the fact that it was only late last year that the Federation located Elrin's homeworld and were still in the painstaking process of evaluating the world for potential first contact.

"Maybe isn't enough, trust me, I've seen a lot more maybes then you have." Artim couldn't help but be a little cynical right now.

"Perhaps not.” Elrin looked down into the fire contemplatively for a moment and then turned back to Artim. "At least you've got something to remember your home by. I'm...I'm not sure I remember enough to put together something like this. I was so young..."

"True, but you have something I don't that's even more important. You have something to go back to. Yeah, you lost your parents but your world is more or less as you left it. Mine...well...isn't this anymore. It's only a matter of time for you. For me, I'll never have this...ever.” Something had clearly rattled Artim, or at least he looked it. Elrin actually jerked back a bit when he heard the sharpness of Artim's voice.

"'I'm....I'm really sorry. I....didn't mean to upset you. I'll...I'll go.” Elrin hurriedly got up to leave.

Artim momentarily considered letting him go but then turned around and said in a gentler tone, "No, you don't have to. I overreacted. If you can't go visit your home the least I can do is share mine with you."

Elrin paused for a moment and then settled back into the chair. "Th...thanks. It’s...quite....nice."

"Anything for someone else longing for home Elrin."

"Peppermint Policies"

Starring
Captain Daren Makati (Robert)
Captain Rebecca von Ernst
Crewman Allison von Ernst

[[OOC: Takes place right after Aggravation]]

The twin elevator doors slid open with an inviting hiss, and for the first time in almost three years, Rebecca von Ernst stepped out onto the bridge of the USS Galaxy.
Hopping lightly to avoid getting her little bottom caught in the closing doors, she scanned the area with her deep brown eyes drinking in the memories.

Her escort was motioning her down the ramp towards Captain M'Kantu's waiting room, but Rebecca drifted off instead to the huge tactical arch that dominated the rear of the bridge.

The Tactical Ensign stationed there stiffened slightly as the tiny redhead approached his position. He noticed her pips and nodded in respect towards a visiting captain, although nervous at the same time for having his space invaded.

Then he recognized her. Rebecca's fuzzy picture hung on a wall somewhere down in the Tactical Department……the department she ran until just a few years ago.

"Ma'am…." he acknowledged finally.

Rebecca was lightly tracing her fingers over the smooth polished wood of the arch.
How many hours had she stood here…….stood on her tip toes mostly trying to reach all the buttons due to her shortness.

She could almost see the silver hair of old Captain Price in front of her. Almost see him turn around and give her a warning glare as she found herself nervously humming some tune off key to pass the boredom.

Allison watched from the ramp, as her mother once again stood on her tip toes to inspect part of her past.

The feelings of deep wonder and newfound admiration filled her again to see someone she always dismissed as an old 'fuddy-duddy' to be so young and strong, and obviously held in such high respect by the members of the bridge crew who remembered her. Allison frowned. Maybe the expression on some of their faces wasn't respect…..maybe more like…..fear?

For brief moment Rebecca seemed to sag, putting her hand to her head as if struck by a sudden headache. She shook her head slightly, and as quickly as it had begun, Captain von Ernst's trip down memory lane was over.

Giving the arch a final light pat, she rejoined her escort at the ready room door and allowed herself to be ushered into the presence of Captain Daren M'Kantu.

"Captain," Rebecca nodded slightly at the older man behind the desk. "It's been a long time and I……"

She stopped in mid sentence, noticing that the door had hissed shut, but the strange blond haired security crewman was still in the room.

Maybe things had changed in the intervening years, but she didn't remember Galaxy standing procedure as having mere crewmen join in on top secret tactical discussions. She raised a slight eyebrow at Daren.

"Crewman," Daren said quietly, "Why don't you wait for the Captain outside?" He had some inkling of what Crewman Jimsdottir's problem was, and because of that, he didn't think a raised voice was entirely appropriate.

Allison snapped out of her semi hypnotic reverie and blushed. "Oh….Oh…I'm like sorry…I…uh, hey you guys have got lots of stuff to catch up on…. She had been so entranced by her mother's presence that she completely forgot she was supposed to be doing a job. "I'll uh…I be right outside okay?" She beat a hasty retreat, berating herself mentally. ~~~Stupid stupidstupidstupid~~~

"I'm sorry," Daren said as he turned to Rebecca after the door had closed. "They seem to get younger every day, don't they?" Perhaps not the best choice of phrase under the circumstances, but was too late to take it back now.

Rebecca waved the apology away. "Don't worry….I seem to remember the Galaxy as being crewed by a…." she chose her words carefully, "a rather unique set of personalities."

"The best ships always do," Daren nodded. "Please, have a seat, there's no need to stand." He waved a hand at the chairs.

She sighed and accepted the invitation to sit gratefully. Her head was pounding her unmercifully. It seemed the more she came in contact with her past life, the more her brain rebelled and threatened to explode.

The expression on her face worried Daren enough that he asked, "Are you all right, Rebecca? You look… tired."

"I….I…I'm fine sir," she lapsed in calling her old Captain 'Sir' although they were equals now. "Just a bit of a headache." She shook it off with a toss of red hair. "What did you want to discuss tactically?"

The briefing was thorough.

Rebecca listened to M'Kantu's ideas and examined the provided charts. She nodded from time to time at the appropriate areas, but when he came out and asked her opinion she could only offer a shrug and a sad smile. "I served as your XO for over a year sir." she said. "You know as well as I do that it doesn't work that way. You of all people should know I don't have the slightest clue about grand strategy, and can't develop tactics from a set of charts."

She rubbed her head…….Noodles but it was pounding! "I have to actually be there in the moment before I can see what the enemy is doing and develop a mathematical solution to counter it," she shrugged. "The big secret is that the Killer Captain von Ernst is not a tactical genius…..she's just good at math and applying it to figuring a way out of a battle." She turned her brown eyes on M'Kantu. "But you already knew that Daren……Why did you really invite me here?"

He hadn't really expected to get away with it – Rebecca was too smart to be led anyplace that she didn't want to go, or wasn't already going, no matter how unused her people skills were. "Because we needed to talk, and doing it this way, informally and in private, it's not official, Rebecca. We're just two old shipmates talking about the upcoming mission and past memories, not a Task Force Commander and one of his subordinates." He met her eyes, hoping that she'd see why he did it this way. "Understand?"

There was s trap somewhere out there…but she nodded briefly. "Understood. Just two old…..pals." She paused a moment and added. "My good buddy Daren."

"Good," He nodded, and stood up, coffee cup in hand. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? One of those milkshakes you were always drinking? A tablet for your headache"

"Peppermint Milkshake." was the quick reply. Not really dignified in a Starfleet that seemed to prefer Earl Grey Tea or Steaming cups of Raktajino…….but Rebecca had never been able to resist the frosty glasses of peperminty goodness.

Daren smiled at the request. Not all of Rebecca's quirks were annoying.

Once he was back and they both had their drinks settled, he took a breath and started. "Here's the problem, Rebecca: you're brilliant, so brilliant that it's sometimes hard for you to relate to everyone around you because we're not as smart as you are." He stopped and shook his head at her.

"Protest it all you want, but you know it's true, Rebecca. There are only a handful of people in the Federation that can see the world the way that you do, as strings of mathematical equations describing everything around you, and none of them have your talent for intuitively *knowing* what to add to this equation, or subtract from that one, to change the way events around you are flowing." He paused, and took a sip of his coffee. "That's why you're such a terrifying opponent once battle starts, because of your gift. But it's also a problem."

"I don't see the problem." Rebecca slurped in a bit of peppermint. "I told Admiral Hoth years ago how things worked with me and what an awful choice he'd made. I win battles mathematically. They give me a Battlecruiser with 'x' number of guns and 'y' number of crewmen aboard and tell me 'go win a battle' I use what they give me and come out winning at the end. A solution is a solution okay? If I add two and two and get four, why the noodles is everybody upset at me if they really wanted the solution to be 'five' Who cares if the 'six and seven' got their feelings hurt along the way?"

She shrugged. "That's not how math works, so what's the problem?"

"Because your allies, the individuals on the ships attached to your command, aren't numbers, Rebecca; they're people, people with lives and hopes and dreams and families of their own. War is a terrible thing, not to be engaged in lightly, because each life that's lost – on both sides – touches and is touched by hundreds and thousands of others, and when they're lost, those connections are severed, leaving a void where that person had been, an emptiness that can't ever be filled again in the same way. Our job as commanders in time of war is to win, obviously – but to win with the minimum loss of life. Ideally with minimum losses on both sides, but practically speaking, primarily on our own side." He set his coffee down. "Which is where your brilliance is a problem."

"Admiral Hoth never thought it was a problem." she sniffed. "Captain Brohde never thought it was a problem. A thousand counselors at Starfleet who told them they were nuts to put me in a Command Chair couldn't stop them. I'm here now, and I win battles. I don't negotiate first contacts, and Zeus doesn't even need a science officer. I add two plus two and figure out how to win. I'm sorry if a few dozen crewmen get toasted along the way, but if they didn't want them to get hurt why did they assign them to my ship? I win battles because that's what they asked me to do."

"You win battles, Rebecca, but the cost… the cost is so very, very high. I think it's because you've forgotten – or that, in the heat of battle, surrounded by your equations, you *need* to forget – that the ships you're maneuvering are crewed by people, not by numbers. That each number subtracted *here* for a gain *there,* is a life that's been lost. That's why we're talking here, like this, just two old shipmates, because I'm hoping that I can make you understand that, I need you here, I need your help to win the coming battle – but if you're the only one left standing when it's all over… then it's not a victory at all."

Rebecca set down her empty milkshake cup and stood. She wandered across the room where she'd had so many arguments over the years….With Bob Price….With Brohde……always with Lysander Hawksley…..

"I don't understand Captain." She finally said, "How much is too much? One casualty….a dozen? How many times do you want me to re-compute a battle in my head trying to get different outcomes with fewer casualties? DO I keep running the numbers over and over until I get to Zero? I’m sorry but most times things don't add up that way no matter how I twist the numbers."

She paused and studied her tiny hands for a long moment. "I could drive myself insane by second guessing every equation….trying to minimize casualties…..If I say.. 'oh I know how to win, but wait….maybe I better recomputed to lose one less man…..but wait maybe if I did THIS I could lose three less men.'"

She shook her head. "It’s endless….Math has no bounds where do I draw the line with possibilities?"

"If you want a hard and fast rule, then I'm afraid that I can't give you one," Daren admitted. "Not because I want to set you up for failure or anything, but because there isn't one. It's something that you just have to learn by experience… and the only way to do that is, regrettably, to just do it."

"Command 101.….Just do it." Rebecca scrunched her nose.

"Rebecca…" Daren stood up and moved to look out the viewport in his office's wall. "I don't agree with what admiral Hoth did to you. Not," he added, "the part about making you a Captain – that part I endorsed at the time, and still do – but the part where he turned you into a weapon. You're brilliant, like I already said… but you're also sensitive and caring. What Hoth did was to overbalance you, to tip you too far to one side, the side he needed. But I'm not interested in Rebecca the intuitive tactical genius – I'm interested in Rebecca the woman that drinks peppermint milkshakes and says 'noodles' instead of swearing. I'm afraid that if you can't find a balance between the two, then that Rebecca, the one that was my XO, is going to be lost. And that's a shame. Allah gave you your gifts for a reason, and I believe that it wasn't just so that you can kill people more efficiently." He turned and looked at her. "I hope that made some sort of sense?"

She took a sip and considered his words. So much of her career was a blur. Racing to put her in a command chair, and never considering what she'd do once she got there. Zeus had suffered over 160 casualties in the last year or so of combat. Much higher than the fleet average, and yet she'd also won a surprising number of engagements. Also much higher than the fleet average.

"Win…..but don't win too much." she muttered. "Kill the enemy. But don't kill them too hard so that you lose men in the process."

Captain von Ernst set her empty glass on the desk and faced her old CO. "I don't pretend to have the slightest c…c….clue about what I'm supposed to do but……." she paused, "But Zeus is under your joint command for this task force, so I'll try."

M'kantu smiled at the tiny girl who'd grown into a woman. "My dear Rebecca…..that is all I've ever asked of you."

"In Blessings and Curses come Birthrights"

Lt. Commander Adrian An'quinsos
Assistant Chief Counselor
10th Fleet
And
Maxim An'quinsos- APC
Adrian's Son

"Daddy, what exactly are the Borg?"

It seemed little time had passed since Adrian's return to the Galaxy-A. His first real glimpse of the ship docked at Deep Space 4 brought a warm smile to his face and a feeling of excitement. The ship was probably a hodgepodge of old and new faces, probably more new than old. But to look physically unchanged while everyone else hadn't was possibly the most sobering thing about being El-Aurian. Relationships among your own kind were truly long-lasting; those among ephemeral races were fleeting. Though the bond might be as powerful and sacred as you'd forged in your life, it seemed to last but the span of a vapor in comparison to your own lifespan. However, while some would consider such ideas comber to reflect on, such was a different case for El-Aurians. These were memories to draw upon; recalling the times you shared, the laughter from some joke, prank or funny situation, and most importantly, the stories that were told through their lives. For this above all was something sacred and beautiful to reflect upon and cherish, celebrating, the life they lived and telling their story among your people.

On the lighter side of things, there was the subject of appearance, specifically his own, which wouldn't change really change for another few centuries to come. Perhaps that was what they meant when they said the El-Aurian don't age in any meaningful humanoid sense of the term. However, only the El-Aurian would know the truth behind those words. He's noted several odd stares in his direction while walking down corridors, in his office, or even entered and sat down in Ten-Forward. Not being regularly around a significant number of his kind, the reactions were nothing new to him and were usually ignored. But the old faces aboard this ship easily knew who he was; who couldn't spot the kid Commander when they saw him. He was Adrian, Quinn, the guy who looked fresh out the academy with enough pips to say others, and eyes that spoke of a thousand lifetimes hidden within him.

However, he wasn't alone in his return, and unlike Adrian, this particular someone had changed significantly since the last time he was aboard the Galaxy. Born on the original USS Galaxy, Maxim An'quinsos gone to Betazed with his mother when his father was aboard the Miranda, then joined him along with his mother when Adrian was transferred to the USS Galaxy-A. His seeming predilection for lightheartedness had begun to die down as he began to take up drawing, sketching, and painting, diminishing further as Maxim was transferred to the Stormwarden and he and Zerhi finally settling down on Risa. For someone of his age, his artistic talent was frightening; with only a description, he could render an image to accurate and sometimes vivid detail. It wasn't a surprise, that when Maxim painted the Angels of Thelaysia IV in Flight, followed the next year by Mount Selaya of Vulcan at Sunrise, that he took first place in an art contest on Risa. The first one had been a memory recalled by his mother; the latter was a memory he recalled after a visit to his Grandmother on Vulcan itself.

Despite the few years he had been away, and regardless of the idea that he must've forgotten so much, to the El-Aurian boy, it was coming back to an old homestead. Maxim still remembered much about living aboard the ship, more so than Adrian would have guessed. The names John Q Bhrode and Rebecca von Ernst were not lost in the Listener Boy, neither was the memory of Quentin; everything was still tucked away, safeguarded from any would be trespasser. When asked if the pair would like a tour of the ship, they shook their heads with a comment from Adrian that they knew where everything was, and a question from Maxim if a Mister James L. Corgan was still aboard (or as he knew the guy at the age of four, Mister Potty Mouth.) When the ensign issued her affirmation, Maxim nodded to the woman with an almost reminiscent smile etched upon his face.

"Where did you hear that name, Maxim?"

"There were two crewmen who mentioned them when we passed earlier." The boy replied. "You gave them a look… like you were about to throw them out the nearest airlock."

It was probably closer to the truth than Adrian An'quinsos would have admitted. The pair had left their quarters about half an hour ago dressed in what appeared to be black, mandarin jackets and matching trousers. The only differences lay in the fact that there were silver buttons with matching trim and a glyph on the back which appeared for lack of a better term to be flowing (if but ornate) scribble. They appeared either to be heading somewhere for a ceremony or take part in some interesting adventure on the Holodeck. Who would have guessed that the pair were actually heading for the gymnasium for a bit of practice and particularly for Maxim a continuation in his training. Before they had left, Adrian and Zerhi had been teaching the boy El-Aurian Martial Arts, specifically, their Homeworld's version of Baguazhang. Of this particular style, there were four distinct forms: Circle, Concentric, Triskelion, and Spiral, and the total mastery of one form took an upward total of seventy years, for a grand total of two hundred and eighty years for all four forms.

"The Borg… well…" He lowered his palms slightly, glancing pensively at his son; this was a subject that was breached way too soon. Adrian looked back at his son, face retaining that pensive expression. "The Borg are something we can discuss another time."

"Mom's mentioned them too." The eight-year-old calmly continued. "She had a conversation with Uncle Dyfed and as soon as she said the word, she sent me and Gracian outside to play."

"Humans have this saying about children straying into adult conversations that boils down to the child staying out of matters of adulthood… or some such." He frowned slightly. "Nott hat I keep myself abridged on their varied colloquialisms."

Maxim's expression shifted; initially thoughtful, it began to shift from thoughtful to practically scowling. "Dad… mom was shaking a little as they spoke. They talked of our own people dying and of other people being…” He sighed slightly as the word formed in his thoughts. "Assimilated." His words grew more persistent. "Come on Dad, I'm not Gracian, just this once, please?"

It seemed a lot had happened while he was away, more than he expected. Only recently was he made aware of the assimilation of the Barzan Homeworld, but it was fellow El-Aurian made had told him of his people's presence on that world. It made matters worse when that presence was there specifically to seek revenge on the Borg, something even he would have been wholly tempted have done. Countless tens of millions were killed on their Homeworld alone, not including the colony worlds or those lives that were snuffed out in vacuum of space. Any El-Aurian, would have been driven insane in their desire for revenge and it appeared this was the case. Yet, had he been around and not on some classified mission, the El-Aurian would have done his best to save them, even if they didn't want it. He may have hated them with his last breath, but there was more than enough time for revenge.

As for the words that came from his firstborn, he stood their silence doing what he did best, listening. The first syllable was subtle, yet it resounded with more pain than anyone might have imagined. The second syllable spoke of love and protectiveness along with undertones of anger and frustration. He was still too young and yet, those eyes, and blue as his own, had seen through the eyes of others, listened to them, and retained those memories to share with his own kind. His next sentence held immeasurable meaning; though his people were scattered across the galaxy, Adrian could hear the intoning of his words with a special meaning. He may have grown up around kids that were not of his kind, but inevitably he understood the differences; he was El-Aurian, which meant life held a sacred meaning to him. Or perhaps this was a Father who was reading into his son's words. Regardless, Maxim was right about one thing, he wasn't that four-year-old who used walls for his canvas. More importantly, what if the Borg did invade the ship; how would he know what to do if he was never instructed how to do it?

"Very well Maxim." Adrian stated, almost solemnly and lowered his hands altogether. "The Borg are a composite race of cyborgs- you know what that means, right?"

Adrian wasn't the only one who noticed subtleties around him. His son had watched him carefully as though not daring to take his eyes off him as he spoke to his father. With each syllable, each phrasing, he could see the it; the melancholy glistened on his face, and his eyes spoke of several lifetimes of sorrow. The young El-Aurian may have witnessed, though had never truly experienced this for himself. Only on one other person had he seen this expression and that was his mother and it almost drove him to tears being unable to do anything about it. Even if he'd seen so much through the eyes of others there was still a great deal for him to understand. As his father began, his frown died away; there was something in that voice that reminded him of his mother. He swallowed slightly and nodded; their son had been tutored very well.

"Good. Now, their quest is always one of perfection, no small task to be sure, but they have a singular goal in accomplishing this task. Each race has a distinctive characteristic about it, something that makes it unique… their technological and biological distinctiveness; this is incredibly valuable to the Borg. So, to achieve their goal of perfection, the Borg assimilate other species, adding their distinctiveness to the Borg Collective. Their logic dictates that with each new race assimilated, it brings them closer to perfection. Do you understand me so far?"

"I think so." He nodded slowly. "They assimilate other races to reach perfection… is that why we have no Homeworld?"

"Yes…" He trailed off, memories rising to the surface. "Only it didn't go as planned. They tried to and were unsuccessful; we were resistant and as such they attempted to wipe us out. The Homeworld is long gone, but the memories remain, and I'm sure your mom has showed you holodeck recreations, right?"

He nodded slowly.

"Good." He replied and continued. "Now, this is very important Maxim, so I want you to listen carefully. If the Borg ever board this vessel, you make yourself as scarce as oxygen in a vacuum, and use every resource you can at your disposal to stay safe and most importantly, away from them. I refuse to let anything happen to you… now… are you ready for one more move?"

It was a lot of information to take in; Maxim had just been told probably everything he wanted to know, and more maybe more than he should have known. It would take some time for him to completely digest his father's words, perhaps reflecting on them in mediation, or even sketching, drawing, and painting. But as this Martial Art he was studying a part of his heritage, so too was the story of Borg; the latter would be especially ingrained into his culture for all time. For whether it be in the gift of blessings or the bestowing of curses come birthrights…

"Quick Check-up"

Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom, Strategic Operations
Lt. Katara Elarin, ACMO

Jaxom Residence, Deck 6, USS Galaxy

*********************************************************************

Katara was smiling, something which seemed to illicit worry from the various members of the crew she passed on the upper decks. A lot of them had never served with a Cardassian and seeing one with a 'Cheshire-Cat' style smile was usually thought of as a sign of ones own impending death.

Today, however, little could have been farther from the truth. Katara was pleased because she was about to pay a visit to an old friend, an old friend who, in all the confusion and his hospitalization, didn't know she was on board. She found the door, tucked slightly out of the way from the main corridor, pressed the chime and waited for it to let her in.

When the door opened, Jaal looked rather surprised to see who was paying him a visit. "Katara?" he asked curiously, "When did YOU get aboard?"

"Hi Jaal," she smiled, "it's good to see you." It was too, although she wished it was under better circumstances, rather than for medical reasons. Jaal was still looking quite drained from his treatment although the fact he'd been discharged was a good sign in itself. "To answer your question about two days ago. I'm the new ACMO here on the Galaxy."

"I see," Jaal replied nodded and suddenly asked a pile of questions, "So how are things on Atlantis? Have they explored anymore of the station? Have they figured anything else out? How's my sister doing? I haven't heard from her in a while."

"Wow. That was a barage of inquisition." She smiled again. "One thing at a time, okay? Shall we continue this on the doorstep or are you going to invite me in?"

Jaal slapped his forehead, "Yeah, c'mon in. Have a seat."

Katara sat down and looked around the room, it looked a little spartan. "Not had time to put any homely touches in yet then?"

Jaal rolled his eyes taking a seat on the couch opposite the chair Katara sat in. "Well, you heard about the Carthage right? All my stuff is space dust now. I just haven't had the time to fix this place up." His eyes roamed around the cabin still devoid of any personal accoutrements. He shrugged, "I'll get time eventually."

"Well look on the bright side, at least you hadn't fully taken command of the Carthage, so you avoided all the unpleasantness of a court-marshal." She was only half joking, loosing a ship was something the fleet frowned on in particular, they were not cheap.

An uneasy smile showed on Jaal's features. She was right, but still, losing his ship from right under him still stung. "I guess that's true."

"Right," she motioned for Jaal to sit in a adjacent seat, "Let's get this test started. Could you roll up you sleeve please?"

"You mean this isn't a social call?" Jaal questioned while rolling up his sleeve as requested.

"Thanks." She opened the medical kit she had brought with her and removed a hypospray which she used to take a blood sample from Jaal.

"We're doing it here to avoid you getting into contact with other illness, the medication your on has a slight immune suppressive effect and we don't want to stop your radiation sickness only for you to contract the Trill equivalent of foaming dog fever." She sat the sample tube down. "So, you wanted to know how things are on Atlantis?"

'I don't want the Trill equivalent of foaming dog fever either,' he thought to himself. "Well, yeah, I'm understandably curious with my sister being there and all."

"Well first off I'll tell you that Janeen is doing great. She's got more than enough to do in that place and it's keeping her almost constantly occupied." Katara smiled. "Although it's not all work...I think she's got her eyes on one of the new ops officers. A Bajoran, he's nice enough but he's not too keen on Cardassians."

"Oh?" Jaal's eyebrows rose curiously, "I thought she was dating that Daniels guy in tactical?"

"Well, maybe but he's here now and she's still there. I'm not saying your sister is promiscuous but ship to ship relationships can put a strain on things. Especially since Atlantis isn't technically in our sector of operations, it might be a while before any of us are back."

Jaal knew how 'that' worked. The sudden thought of Erastus made him shiver inside. Why the hell hadn't she called back? As soon as the unbidden thought came Jaal shoved it aside. No use dwelling on the what was past now.

She took the small tube of blood and placed it in the case and set a timer. "We'll just let that settle out...which is more than can be said for Atlantis..."

"Really now?"

She scratched her cheek, trying to find the words. "It's hard to say, there's something fundamentally wrong with that place. It's something that makes you feel uneasy in your core, something you can't quite pin down. Do you know the feeling?

Jaal's eyes narrowed a bit. "I know the feeling but I didn't get that when we first found the place. I haven't had a chance to read the latest reports about the place though. How're the rest of the folks from the Miranda holding up there?"

"Well several of us, Daniels, Kaa, West and myself have all been shipped over here. They found...something...some entity or entities in the depths and the next thing we know it's broken free and attacking the crew. Then a team from SFI and the secret squirrel club showed up and several of us were suddenly needed elsewhere. I'm not saying that there's a connection but..."

Jaal rubbed his chin in thought. "Interesting coincidence though... ya know?"

"I do know, exactly. They say a paranoid is just someone who is in possession of all the facts...never truer than this let me tell you." She changed tac slightly, being shipped off Atlantis still bugged her and the things she'd seen in the depths still caused her a great amount of unease. "How're your contingent of Miranda refugees doing? I know Max is still somewhere about, I saw his locker in sickbay. How
about Mark and Arel...now there would be a cute couple." She tried to say with a straight face...failing.

Both of Jaal's eyebrows went up in amusement. "Those two? Are you serious?" He shook his head, "She sees him on a regular basis professionally. I don't think Mark would let things go past that."

"Ahh...isn't it always the quiet ones though." A small bleep came from the diagnostic unit. "Okay, the results are in, and you’re going to..." Katara squinted at the display, "...live."

"My dad always says any day you wake up above the ground is a good one," Jaal offered a thin lipped smile.

"We'll do another test in a couple of days and if that checks out, I see no reason why it won't, then you'll be cleared for return to active duty." She said standing.

"Great," outwardly Jaal conceded, inwardly, like any good officer in Starfleet, he'd already been actively back at work from his cabin thanks to the Galaxy's very efficient optical data network and a just as efficient yeoman.

"Well," Katara said, packing her gear back into its case, "I won't keep you any further. You're my first of the day so it's off to do the same test a dozen times. Still you're looking good and healthy so I fail to see why anyone else would be suffering. It'd be a good start if no-one died on my first shift."

"Yeah it will," Jaal agreed whole-heartedly.

"Thanks." She turned to leave. "Oh, by the way, if you want to catch up on everything in maybe a bit more of a relaxed environment we could always meet for drinks. Only if you wanted though."

Jaal mulled the thought over in his mind for a second before saying, "Okay. Let me know when you're ready."

"I will. I look forward to it." Then with a small wave and smile she stepped out the door leaving Jaal alone.

"Monologuing to the Devil"

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Cadet Paige Sullivan

--

Paige wasn't a crier, especially not in public. It took a lot to get under her skin, a lot to push her over the edge, but for some reason her run-in with her new roommate was enough to get through. She barely made it a hundred meters down the corridor before her throat was so tight she couldn't breathe and at that point, she had to let it out or she really would explode -- or at least, she would suffocate.

But she wasn't about to do it where everyone could see, so she crouched down at an Jeffries Tube access point, opened the hatch, and crawled inside, closing it behind her, forgetting her boots on the ground outside.

Once inside, tucked safely away in the confines of the tubes, she let it rip: one body wrenching sob after another.

Why was it so easy for Apple Wood-Lane to get to her? she wondered.

Perhaps it was because Paige was at the very least a second choice; she had a cruise position because someone else pulled out, because someone else didn't want it. And Apple was, inevitably, so perfect that she was the first choice -- she probably had pristine marks and glowing recommendations from everyone about everything. And Paige definitely didn't; she was there on the skin of her teeth and it was probably all just a mistake anyway.

Perhaps it was because somewhere deep inside she knew she was fooling herself, she had no business being here, on a ship like this wearing this uniform or any other. She was going to wash out of Starfleet just like her father had and she wouldn't have the guts to try it again either.

Perhaps it's because she'd gone from feeling so safe and welcome on board the Storm Chaser to feeling like the awkward, unwanted 'freak' she'd always been to members of her own peer group -- she was 'that girl' her entire life, the one who was popular for being completely unpopular and not seeming to give a shit (but she did, she really did).

Then again, perhaps, just maybe, this outpouring of emotional what-have-you was the result of the fact that she was just darn mad -- mad at Apple for being an idiot, mad at her father for not having tried harder, mad at herself for being so self pitying...

And that last thought made her cry even harder, though at least this time they were tears of anger.

--

Victor hadn't been certain what he'd find based on the report that Security had gotten. 'A pair of boots unattended under a Jeffries Tube entrance' left a good deal of room to include almost anything form an alien life form snatching crewmen up and dragging them into the Jeffries Tube network to eat/mate/perform some other function with them, to a pair of lovebird crewmen sneaking some quality time and leaving the boots below the hatch in some version of the old 'tie on the door latch' signal.

Given his personal choice, Victor reflected as he caught the call while in transit to his quarters, he'd pick the lovebirds over the alien - there might be some screaming involved with his choice, but the likelihood that he'd have to engage in mortal combat in the cramped confines of the Jeffries Tube was much lower.

He examined the boots - small, humanoid configuration, probably a woman under 155 centimeters and 45 kilos - called down to Security Main to acknowledge that he was on scene and was opening the Jeffries Tube to investigate, and reached for the access.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

The girl was as petite as he had expected, maybe slightly taller. She was tucked up into a ball as she leaned against the side of the Jeffries Tube, hugging her knees to her chest. Her feet were folded over each other, clad in white socks with what looked like dancing bananas adorning them. Her brown hair was a mess, wisping in all directions from her head.

The opening of the access startled the crap out of her, and when the man spoke a sense of terror washed over her. Paige tried to ignore it as hard as she tried to clean up her face with the back of her hand, the effort succeeding only in smearing the tears as she struggled to suppress the hiccups of a child post-temper tantrum.

She turned her face toward him, quivering, glad to see he was an adult -- a real, true adult with a man's face and demeanor and not someone only a year or two older than she was. It didn't make it better, but it made it slightly less embarrassing. And almost comforting, even though his adult demeanor was dark, cold and more than a little unusual (though at the moment she couldn't exactly put words to the sensation of his presence).

"I-- I-- I--" she blubbered a little, unable to catch her breath between the sobs and the hiccups. She buried her face away again, for a moment, trying to breathe regularly.

This was embarrassing. Seriously. For a moment, Paige thought she would actually die from her humiliation, but despite that she couldn't keep back her tears.

"Imsorry," she burst out, into her knees, not showing her face. "Ivemadeahorribleterribleawfulmistake." Deep breath. Sob. "Ishouldntevenbehere." Another deep shaking breath. Hiccup. "Idontevenknowwhatimdoinghere."

Victor almost replied to that one, but he decided that 'Crying, apparently' was unlikely to positively impact the situation.

She took several deep, hyperventilating gulps of air again before she suddenly, and surprisingly, managed to get herself under some resemblance of control, though her petite form was shaking as though she was freezing. She wiped at her nose with her sleeve, feeling about five years old, and looked at the man -- security gold, great, just great, 35 minutes on board as she was already in trouble, just proved her point -- who might have been really cute if he weren't halla creepy. And by creepy she meant just slightly right of sheer terrifying.

"Am I in trouble?" she mumbled pittifully. "I just had to hide, I coul... n't... ah... letanyonesee." Sniff. Cough. Hiccup.

Yes, yes I am five years old, Mr. Man, Lieutenant sir. The last 16? They count for squat.

Pull yourself together Sullivan! Stop acting like a baby. She took a deep breath, wishing the man would stop staring at her and say something. Anything. Hell, smack her good to get her out of this. After her pause, she cleared her throat and came back sounding far more adult than she had at any point since she left her new quarters.

"I'm sorry, I'm a mess, I'm really--" She laugh a little. "Frak I'm sorry. I'm exhausted and way premenstrual and this is like the worst time for that and my new roommate is a raging huenda, and I mean..." She looked at him, raising her eyebrows, her dark brown eyes looking at him in seriousness over tear stained cheeks. "Really." Her chin quivered a little bit, but she reined it in. "And this is soo-o embarrassing." Her voice caught halfway through the elongated 'so', but she powered through it.

"To answer the first question of importance in that chain," Victor offered, "the answer is 'no.' To my knowledge, there is no regulation that prevents any member of the crew, at any time, from crawling into a Jeffries Tube to have a good cry." There probably would be if he reported this, but he wasn't seeing the need for a formal report over this issue unless there was something deeper going on.

The cadet let out of deep sigh of relief and nodded. "I don't usually cry like this. Sounds lubo, but it's nothing but the truth. Maybe once an eon or something."

She lifted her hand, but then thought better of it and looked around as though search for something. She hesitated, and then wiped her right hard against the leg of her uniform before she offered it toward the security lieutenant.

"I'm Paige Sullivan," she said. "Uhm, Cadet Paige Sullivan. I just got on board."

"Victor Krieghoff," Victor shook her hand. "Most people wish I were just leaving."

That almost got a laugh out of her but she had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't saying that to be funny.

"You do have that dark and intimidating thing down," she said. She unfolded herself and climbed out of the Jeffries Tube, before dropping down beside her shoes and beginning to pull them on. "It's gotta serve you well, being in security and all."

"Sometimes," he admitted. "It would, perhaps, be more useful if it came with an 'off switch' - but that's neither here nor there.” He took a step back to try and alleviate the effects of his presence on the cadet. "Now, would you mind running through your explanation once more? Not for a report, but so I can make sure I suggest the correct course of action to avoid retreats like this?"

The cadet, he suddenly realized, reminded him of his oldest daughter... of Chulak's oldest daughter, really. He allowed himself a moment to hope that she hadn't simply been erased from existence when the shared communal katra had collapsed, that her katra had been saved and passed on so that she would, in a way, continue, even though he wasn't entirely certain that she'd ever been supposed to exist in the first place. He'd never checked, preferring the Schrödinger Theorem that her katra was saved until he looked in the box and had to face the stark reality that it wasn't.

"Oh, I don't know," Paige mumbled, suddenly and painfully aware of the ridiculousness of all this. "I guess I'm just... I'm supposed to be an adult, now, right? Or close enough. I mean, I'm going to graduate the Academy in May and I have this great opportunity here, on this cruise thing, that I mean -- I almost didn't get. But I still feel like this stupid, awkward, and totally weird kid.” She pulled on her left boot and began to tie it and the flood gates holding back all her fears and doubts lurched open. "And no one expects a whole lot of me except for, I mean, except for Professor Hanover who got me into this thing in the first place. I mean honestly? I kinda joined Starfleet to get everyone to leave me alone. I didn't know what else to do. But I like it. At least, I like the work. I mean crawling around the tubes, playing with the computer -- fetch, right? But everything else?” She shook her head.

"The trip to the station was great, I met nice people. And then bam! My new roommate and I talked for all of ten minutes, and she's one of those people who thinks *she's* right and everyone else is wrong and it's probably because everyone's always told her how wonderful she is. She's probably never failed anything. I'm sure everyone in her life thinks she shoots rainbows out her ass and walks on moonbeams or something." Paige tied her right boot now before flopping her feet out in front of her and leaning her head against the wall. A couple of crew members were walking by, trying not to look at the strange pair made by cadet and security officer -- this security officer, no less.

"We were even talking about music, which is seriously -- my favorite thing, and she was being so... Mars is practically the eighth continent or the second moon or other lubo. You don't really have your own culture and if you did, it's rouch anyway." She looked at Victor, forehead creased. "I mean -- how can you be in Starfleet and think things like that? Tolerance, right? I don't... you'd think I'd be used to... but when I meet these people, these perfect gifted people with all their extraordinary abilities and sheer perfection all I can think is what am I doing? I should just go back to Arsia Gardens and live in my mother's attic. I've tried to get away from people like that my entire life, and what happens? Thousands of light years later, I'm bunking with one. Never fails, huh?"

Stop monologuing Paige, she thought to herself, he's got better things to do.

She looked at Victor. "So, L-T, any sage advice for dealing with huenda frakheads?"

"Saying 'Hello' always seems to work for me," Victor observed. "But somehow I don't think it'll have the same effect coming from you."

"Ah, sure it will. I'm 63 inches of sheer intimidation," she stated, tone flat and dry, a partial smirk cocked across her features as her bangs fell into her face.

He considered her question further as several more crewmen walked by, skirting them on the far side of the corridor. "I'm not necessarily the best person to ask, Cadet. Is your roommate someone that you can simply ignore? Or do you need to ask for a different quarter’s assignment?"

"Asking for different quarters is a little bit like sounding retreat, isn't it? I mean, maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt. Can you really know someone in 10 minutes? Maybe the idiot stick figure with no soul has some hidden depth. Who am I to say?" She sighed and raked a hand again through her fly away hair. "Do I really want to be the cadet who couldn't make it work with her roommate? I don't think so." She paused, then narrowed her eyes studying him a brief moment. "I know. You could play Big Brother or something and go say 'hello' for me. I'm not above recruiting people into my army. And then, Apple will freak and we can exist in blissful ignorance of one another."

"If it helps, Cadet," Victor offered, "I went through six roommates my first year at the Academy. One of them - the first - jumped out the window six seconds after I walked in the door and said 'Hello.' They finally just let me room by myself for the last three years." He shrugged. "Not exactly the same as your problem, but lots of people have people that they can't get along with. I just seem to the one that most of them can't, that's all."

Paige thought about this for a moment, contemplating the lieutenant's dark aura and the bizarre sensation it cultivated. She supposed she could see someone reacting to it that adversely, especially if that person was already scared out of his wits by the bigger situation: away from home, starting a new adventure he might not be so sure about, worried about living with someone he didn't know (only to have said roommate turn out to be, well... unnerving).

She wondered if that first roommate had died; some of the rooms were pretty high up, though a lot of them did have security measures to prevent such things as suicide by falling. But she didn't ask. She thought it might be rude.

"I don't think you can really help yourself," she said, after a moment. "You might perpetuate it, but I don't think you made yourself like you are." Paige hoped she was being diplomatic about it. "I just find a lot of people irritating. I could probably try harder, but that means I have to admit I care what other people think about me and that'd do major damage to my reputation." She offered a crooked smirk, deciding to push herself to her now boot-clad feet. "Sorry man, I know you're not wearing teal or anything. Probably have a lot better things to do."

"I think it's safe to say that I don't have a future as a counselor, yes," Victor agreed. "Filing a report makes this official, and that's really pointless for something like this. Now if your roommate had hit you, or something of that sort, then I'd have to file one." He looked at her for a moment, and then continued when she shook her head in a negative, "Since that isn't the case, we'll just handle this all off the record. Good enough?"

"Yeah. I doubt she could hit me if she tried. Maybe poke me to death, but that's about it. She's like, this big." Paige held up her pinky. "You sure you don't want to give her a talking to?"

"I'm only supposed to use my powers for good," Victor replied. "And I'm not certain that terrifying cadets qualifies... but if you find that nothing else works, call me and we'll figure something out." He frowned at a passing rating, who sped up and was quickly out of earshot. "Now, are you going to be okay?"

"Careful, what you promise," Paige said, wagging her index finger. "An' I'll be alright. I think. Eventually. Might take me a decade or two. Thanks, though, Lieutenant, for listening?" She took a step closer, ignoring her instincts not to do so. "It means a lot. An' if your computer or anything ever wazzes, I'm your girl, okay?"

"I'll keep that in mind, Cadet - and you ought to be careful about promises like that, as well - the last person that said they thought they could handle working around me on a consistent basis for Operations wound up getting passed around from department to department every time I filed request that they had to send him back under sedation."

"Hey, I'm tougher than I look. So any time. I'm not much of an expert yet, but... I'll do in a pinch.” She offered a grin then reached out and goofily bopped his arm with the top of her fist before dropping her arm back to her side.

In a way, Victor kind of reminded her of her father – okay, so actually he didn't at all, in anyway, except for that he spoke to her in a similar, slightly awkward way as though he wasn't sure if she was a kid or an adult. She wondered if this man had children or maybe even a daughter. He seemed at least a little bit experience, was putting in an effort to relate if even on the most basic level (I'm a little strange, you're a little strange, I get that -- but not really), and Paige couldn't help but find it a bit endearing. At least, endearing in a halla intimidating (maybe just plain scary), older, pseudo father-figure (almost) sort of way.

"No sedation required, though caffeine is always good."

"Just try not to live on it," Victor cautioned. "And, although I know it's going to be tough, try and find something -- anything -- that you have in common with Miss Perfect. If not music, then chocolate, or coffee, or boys with red hair, or something -- and if you can't, then just do what half the people in my department did to deal with me: change your shift so that you're not in quarters or awake when she is." He smiled wryly. "It seems to work for them."

Paige wrinkled her freckled nose, but nodded at the sage advice no matter how passive-aggressive such avoidance might be. Avoidance was probably better than out and out conflict anyway.

Though she wasn't really sure about boys with red hair. Josiah Woshofsky was a carrot top and she remembered well how that one turned out.

"I'll try. On all accounts, though no promises on the caffeine." So maybe there were other comparisons to her father, who was notoriously anti-stimulants of any kind. Paige on the other hand practically breathed the stuff. "I'll, uhm, just maybe see you later then?"

"It's a small ship, Cadet, I'm sure we will," Victor nodded. "Good luck with your roommate -- and next time, if there is a next time... try the cetacean tank or the arboretum -- they're usually deserted and much more comfortable."

She expected him to tip his proverbial hat, but he was far too karzi to do something so cliché. She watched the man swagger away, the natural chill of his aura moving with him; crew members stood against the wall as he passed, some visibly holding their breath, and he didn't seem to give two shakes -- hell, he didn't even seem to notice. As he got further down the corridor, relief washed over her and Paige hadn't realized how overwhelming his presence had been until it lifted. She felt as though a hovercraft had just been lifted off her chest, and she concentrated on breathing the cold away for a moment.

"Do you realize you just had a 20 minute conversation with Victor Kreighoff?" someone behind her whispered. Paige turned to see a security ensign -- a big guy who towered over her; he was easily three times her general size and six and a half feet of solid muscle. His eyes were wide and his face was pale, an unnatural pale, the type people had when they had seen the proverbial ghost.

"What?" she asked, trying to sound as blasé as possible. "Is that supposed to be hard or something?"

His eyes almost bugged out of his head then, and with that, she turned and went the other direction down the hall, ready to tackle whatever may come.

~Turning the Tables~

Cpt. Daren M'Kantu
Cdr. Jaal Jaxom
Lt. K'aa
Lt. Chris Daniels
Lt. Saul Bental
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Lt. Nathan Everett
Col. For'kel Arvelion

The doors to the conference room parted and Captain M’Kantu walked through, looking over the senior officers assembled in the room. Less than half an hour ago, each of them had been at their duty stations, prepared to go into battle against an invading Hydran fleet in defense of Delta IV. But, those plans had unexpectedly changed and M’Kantu and his crew needed to retake hold of the situation.

He quickly walked around to the head of the table and sat down. "By now, you’ve all been informed that the Hydran fleet has altered course away from Delta IV and deterred to the Kateren planetary nebula. As far as our sensors have been able to detect, they are remaining there. We don't know why."

"Is it possible they know we're coming and are attempting to hide and wait for us?" Commander Jaxom spoke up. As always, he was trying to think a couple of steps ahead.

"I doubt that. There are a lot of potential disadvantages with setting up an ambush, so it's really only a good tactic when you know the enemy is coming, and where he's going." Colonel Arvelion spoke freely, folding his hands together in front of him. "I suggest a reconnaissance sweep first, Captain M'Kantu, if we want to try and even the odds."

"Ssstarfleet hasss at leassst a dozen different long-range sssensssor-arraysss centered on the frontier", the Ops chief drawled. K'aa had steepled his claws in deep concentration, yet seemed ill at ease with the subject. The crest scales over the reptilian’s head flexed periodically, as if it vented the stress boiling within the Gorn.
"Are we picking up any increassses in Hydran non-military comm.? traffic? Thrussst into a war scenario, we naturally draw upon warlike conclussions. Iss there any chance an internal dissassster like the desstruction of the Klingon moon Praxisss hasss befallen the Hydran Kingdom?"

Commander Jaxom tapped his chin with his forefinger before answering, "I haven't heard anything to that effect on my end. Has there been any word on that through the Intel channels?" he cast a sideways glance to Bental.

The Dutchman seemed irritable, almost as if being in the senior officers' meeting was a punishment. "No such thing.” He shot back to Jaxom.

'So much for intelligence,' the Trill thought privately, 'apparently we're on our own.'

"Perhaps they're waiting for reinforcements," Cutter Kara’nin suggested.

Lt Daniels, quiet up to this point, leaned forward in his chair. Large Fleet actions were his specialty, but even to him, this didn't seem like a completely battle-oriented situation. "I'd recommend we have our comm. guys and gals keep snooping for some sort of signal going towards these folks."

"Already doing that...” Saul interjected.

"... My gut says that if a Praxis type event had happened, they would have turned around, not gone and hid in a nebula right near an enemy fleet. The only tactical possibility I see is that after we showed up with a fleet of cloaked ships for Round two over Romulus, they may not believe it's just this small fleet of ships here. They may be trying to get us to show our hand before they decide what they do, like Commander Jaxom was alluding to. But going into the nebula negates their initiative. The best they can hope for in there is that we stumble unknowingly into their engagement envelope. An attempt to outflank us is also unlikely given the dimensions of the nebula... it doesn't give them any sort of good attack vector to...” Chris stopped in mid sentence, his eyes trailing off towards the ceiling for a quick sentence as his brain worked. "Is there any sort of detailed scientific survey for this nebula?"

"I'm told there is," M’Kantu said, "What do we know about the nebula, Lieutenant Kara'nin?"

The avian nodded and pushed him away from the table. He stood and walked over to the wall of the conference room, which held an embedded viewscreen. When he activated it, an obviously prepared presentation appeared. "You made a whole power point in half an hour," Nathan Everett scoffed from across the room.

"There are five crewmen in my lab who do nothing but perform literature searches, make graphs and prepare slides. This was simple,” the scientist explained matter-of-factly. Then, he fluffed his wings and cleared his throat, activating an animated slide with a collapsing and expanding layered sphere. "The Kateren nebula is a planetary nebula, which is what is formed when a star of less than twenty or so stellar masses dies. As you should probably know, most stars spend the majority of their life on the Main Sequence, where, at the stellar core, they fuse hydrogen into helium. This phase lasts an incredibly long time because, again, as you should probably know, ninety percent of all matter in the universe, and thus ninety percent of all stars, consists of hydrogen. So there is a lot of fuel.

"Eventually, though, the hydrogen in the stellar core is used up and fusion comes to a halt. At this point, there is no energy radiating outwards, fighting off the gravitational collapse of the star, so the star shrinks and becomes denser. When this occurs, the hydrogen in the stellar layers above the core will become dense enough to fuse. This new radiating energy has less gravitationally bound material to press against, and so, the equilibrium destabilizes and the outermost layers of the star expand, forming a red giant. Eventually, the density will increase to the point where helium fusion can begin in the core, in an event called a 'helium flash.’ Because there is only one tenth the amount of helium as there was hydrogen, this helium burning phase is relatively short. When it ends, the star once more begins to collapse until another hydrogen-rich layer ignites, and the star expands again. This repeated process of collapsing and expanding and collapsing and expanding continues with increased vigor until the outermost layers of the star are fully expelled out into space, leaving only a very hot white-dwarf core."

"We don't have time for a science lesson, Lieutenant," M'Kantu said, "Could you please cut to the chase?"

Cutter frowned and grumbled. "Very well," he said, and switched the slide to an image of the Kateren nebula. "When a star expels its outer layers into space, it forms a planetary nebula. The Kateren star has done this about a thousand years ago. The nebula consists of two ellipsoidal shells, marking the poles of the star, and an equatorial ring, creating a somewhat dumbbell shape. At its widest, the nebula is
0.14 light years across.

"Now, as you can tell, the nebula glows. This is due to the white dwarf at the core. The surface of this exposed stellar core is at, approximately, forty thousand Kelvin, or about six times hotter than the surface of Sol. It radiates an extreme amount of UV and X-ray radiation, which fully ionizes the very low density gas in the nebula.
This nebula has a density of thirty-five thousand particles per cubic centimeter. The nebula glow comes from emission lines when atomic nuclei and free electrons temporarily recombine."

"How dangerous is it?” Daren had toured the Badlands near Cardassian space years ago and didn't care to repeat that experience.

"Yes," Cutter said. "The nebula itself has an energetic temperature of over ten thousand Kelvin, and as I said, is flooded with dangerous UV and X-ray radiation. Anything alive in the nebula that is unprotected would die instantly. Not only that, the nebula is ionized. It is plasma. This creates very, very strong electromagnetic effects which can wreak considerable havoc on technological systems. It is a very dangerous environment."

"If we were to enter the nebula, would our shields protect us?” M'Kantu asked. Similar to the badlands or no, Dare had no desire to engage a hostile force with over three times his ships - and an unknown advantage in tonnage - in a fight where no one's shields were working.

Chris had been tapping some data into a PADD for the past minute or so and picked his head back up with the results. "With the nebula as strong as it is, our shields will be operating at 102% max operating output just to sustain life. Normal combat configuration has the shield generators operating in the 65-80% range, leaving the rest to absorb or reflect energy and then reinforce the bubble. With the generators operating at that high of a capacity, our ability to take hits is going to drop significantly. Engineering can probably give you the exact numbers. Targeting sensors will be damned near useless at long range, and our phasers run the risk of igniting the excess plasma. They won't see us coming sir, but, should we go in there, which as the Tactical representative I do not recommend, we better find them first, hit hard and get them all before they can adapt to our surprise attack. Otherwise, the odds in a head to head fight in there are a wash."

"So, our shields would be crippled, but so would theirs," M'Kantu pointed out. "The question is how much. How will our shields perform in the nebula?"

"Better than our adverssssaries, I believe", K'aa hissed between his claws. "Before Romulusss the Miranda seized a Hydran ssstarfighter, and we ssstudied the vesssel to consssiderable detail. While the weaponry on the fighter wasss outdated, the sensssorsss and shieldsss showed no recent improvementsss during the battle. Should we need to brave the nebula, shield adjussstmentsss pioneered againsst the Maquisss in the Badlandssss should give usss an edge."

"Is there a way of igniting the nebula, why don't we try that first? At best we trim their numbers down, and at worst we break their formation up into smaller, more manageable groups that we can take on one on one?” For'kel offered. "We may not need to take out 'every' Hydran ship to halt their assault. Between our fleet and Delta's planetary defenses, we shouldn't need to cut their numbers more than by half to make them realize continuing would be suicidal."

Across the table, Saul Bental nodded in agreement. The best way to eliminate a foe by doing so without ever getting into his crosshairs. "No, the Lieutenant is mistaken," Cutter said contemptuously, “This is not like the plasma that is exhausted from starships and other machines, and this plasma is fully ionized. All electrons have been stripped from their nuclei, and for most of the time, float free. It is as destructive as it is ever going to get. There is no way to ignite it or explode it or any other thing a military grunt like you might dream of doing."

"I think it best 'not' to antagonize the people charged with your safety." For'kel replied in a calmly authoritative tone. Cutter simply wasn't important enough to waste a raised voice on. "There are certain precautions that can be taken to blunt some of the effects of the nebula; unfortunately 'most' of them would require drawing power from primary systems." The one time Engineer offered. "Can the bussards be used to collect the ions from the plasma? Artificially boost the available power while we're in the nebula?"

"They can't be used to directly affect power supply," Cutter said, "But, they can be used to obtain fusable fuel for the impulse engines. We can run them at a lower efficiency, but higher output range without worrying about our dueterium supplies."

"So, the increased power needs won't be an issue," the captain summarized, then shifted his gaze to the Gorn Ops chief who had spoken earlier. "Mister K'aa, tell us about the shield modifications you mentioned?"

K'aa suddenly looked like a 'Gorn caught in the headlights’. "Hrr... a ... dual modification asss I recall", the reptilian answered haltingly. "We... ah... match a broad band of the nebula'sss mossst common electrimagnetic and radiation frequenciesss with the shieldsss, and create a... hssss.. null-rad wake with the main deflector dish usssing gravitonsss. I'll forward the more technical detailsss, but the
adjusstmentsss won't be an isssue."

"How exactly will the sensors be affected?" the captain asked.

"The nebula can be considered to be a wall," Cutter Kara'nin explained. "We cannot see in, they cannot see out. Inside the nebula, sensor range will be extremely limited. We would only be able to see approximately a few thousand kilometers in any direction. This is due to the very strong electromagnetic fields within the ionized plasma, the excited particles making up the plasma, and the very dense neutron star at the nebula's center, which will be overpowering any gravitational or subspace signals a starship would send out. Theoretically, a lot of the interference could be filtered out if I had a very accurate model of the nebula's dynamics. Unfortunately, the Deltans do not offer much funding for chaotic nebular dynamics, so this nebula has not been well studied."

M'Kantu smiled diplomatically, "You're a very intelligent man, Lieutenant. I'm sure you can come up with a program to filter out some of the interference. But, the key words you said was that the Hydrans would not be able to see outside of the nebula. They would not be able to see us coming. In fact, it sounds like if we combine all of these suggestions, if we launch an attack on them, the odds would be about even."

"Or perhaps that's what they want us to think.” Saul Bental spoke up. "I think that the reason they were first heading toward Delta was to draw as many Starfleet ships as possible to the region. Either they want us to charge into the nebula with guns blazing, or they're setting something up and they are not concerned by the possibility that we'll be foolish enough to interfere when we're outnumbered. I propose we wait for reinforcements."

For'kel saw the logic in Saul's argument. Hell, were circumstances different he'd probably agree... but in this instance they just didn't have the time. "I doubt we'll be able to delay an action that long... if we wait the Hydrans will be out of the nebula and we lose the force-ratio advantage."

"Then, I think we put the Hydrans on the defensive for a change,” M’Kantu concluded. "I want the power, shield and sensor modifications in place within three hours. Commander Jaxom, could you dispense word to the other ships of the fleet? Tell them that I'll send out a tactical briefing in an hour as well." he asked, and then looked at the room's chronometer, "We march at noon."

Jaal nodded affirmatively. He'd listened to everyone and agreed with the plans thinking he couldn't have done much better himself. "Aye aye sir."

"With one arm tied"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Lieutenant J.G. Naranda Sol Roswell
Engineer

Open palm.

Close palm.

Open.

Saul sat in his room, bent forward. With new arm's elbow resting on his knee. He did not know if he had time to complete the physical therapy. He needed to get as much control as he can of his arm before the time comes.

Close palm.

What has become of him? He asked himself that for a long time, and the nagging thought intensified after Vered. Starfleet tamed him. Yes, he used his spunk and cunning almost on every sortie the Galaxy participated in, be it manipulating the Hollingston corp or infiltrating the Hydran outpost at Vaden, but in the end of the day he was a good fleeter boy, nice and pleasant.

Open palm.

His ambition subdued him. He adapted himself to the game, setting his goals high and learning every day what it takes to climb the ladder. When the goal was to be a success in the trade or earn street reputation, it meant breaking the law but following the unspoken rules of the business. Starfleet was the same thing. There were unspoken rules, and if you were smart enough to comprehend them and follow, you're going to be a comet.

It was like he told Commander Stom: He was going to get his third pip before his twenty-eighth birthday, and a full Commander before his thirty-first. And from there, from there...

It was worse than offering his wrists to the jailor's handcuffs. He tied the leash around his neck with his own two hands.

Close palm.

Damnit. Someone's at the door.

* * *

Nara tried to stop her seething. She wasn't mad at her bosses. She didn't ask to take off to see Saul. She actually volunteered to take the next shift. She was mad at herself for being a workaholic. But she took a deep breath and composed herself as she touched the pad that would cause the beep inside to be heard. She was in a dress she knew he liked.

The doors parted, revealing Saul's room. This time it was uncharacteristically tidy. She caught her lover's face changing, from a frown to a broad and warm smile.

"Hello, beautiful lady." He greeted her.

She entered and saw the arm. She sat next to him. "How are you?"

"Recovering. Wait." He stood up, and moved to her left side, so that his right arm will be the one facing her. He brought her closer with the aforementioned arm, kissing her cheek lightly. "I'm supposed to be resting, but with the change of course I simply take all the work home."

Suddenly she didn't feel bad she was a workaholic. "What a bad boy." She stroked his arm.

He chuckled. "See anything different?"

"Looks more realistic than what they did to my father."

"Well, it's not for keeps. As soon as I get enough free time, I'll go to a hospital for limb restoration.” Though if everything goes as planned, Saul thought, Federation hospitals would possibly be off-limit for me.

She smiled at him nodding.

He bent toward her and nuzzled her cheek. "I love smell of your hair, you know that? I can sniff it all day. Should be made illegal."

In the corner of her eye, Nara saw Saul moving away one of the PADDs on the edge of the sofa. Without warning, the arm trembled, and the PADD fell on the floor.

"Saul?"

He looked slightly alarmed.

"Don't worry, I'm still getting used to handling the arm. It's a long process even under the best circumstances."

Nara looked at him sympathetically, then as he picked the device to store it away, Nara caught a glimpse of a familiar face. One would likely expect jealousy, but knowing Saul it was something not quite romantic. She didn't know what he was up to, but she had a feeling it wasn't going to be good for people in his life. She was willing to take that chance. She wasn't, however, willing to let Bran take that chance. Especially since Bran likely wasn't aware of it. Nara snatched the PADD to look more closely, not caring she was taking advantage of his handicap.

"That's classified material, Naranda.” Saul protested.

She looked at him, "By Starfleet or by Saul Bental?"

"Both. Now give it back."

Instinctively, he reached for her wrist. His arm flashed forward, fingers stopping mere millimeters from her skin.

He let his hand drop to the sofa.

"Sorry.” He said, "But it's really classified. I'm pulling many resources to find Branwen, and there are things there that aren't supposed to be outside the Intelligence center's doorstep."

She handed it back, but looked at him suspiciously.

"You are aware that she did not come back, right?" Saul inquired.

"I'm aware.” Of course she knew. She was worried. She was even sad. But she was beginning to wonder what Saul was up to. "Find her."

Saul flipped the PADD upside down. "Perhaps she's better off not being on the ship. The odds at Delta won't be in our favour.” To say the least.

"Maybe not, but do you know what they're likely doing to her there? No one knows. At least if she were here, we'd know."

"All I'm saying is..."

But Saul did not want to concern her. Nara was close to him, as close as anyone could be on the ship, but sharing his concerns and thoughts about the battle at hand with her would do no good, no matter what he's going to do at the end.

"... that I love you."

It had nothing to do with what they spoke of before, but it was usually a good solution. Besides, he thought as the words left his mouth; in this particular case it was easy to tell her the truth. She furrowed her brows. He was dodging the subject. Typical really. But the words were spoken genuinely and she had to understand.

She had to go back to her forced naivety. She hugged him, whispering, "I love you too."

"This reminds me."

He reached for one of the drawers beneath the table. Open palm, close palm, pull. Branwen's PADD went in, and a flat box covered with blue velvet box came out.

"I know it's a bit early, but happy Valentine's day."

She took it and opened it. She didn't recognize the symbol really, a triangle and an inverted triangle overlapping, but overall the necklace was beautiful. She put it on and kissed Saul, whispering in his ear, "If we're careful with the arm..." she nibbled at his ear to say the rest.

She could feel his cheeks his cheeks move and knew that he was smiling.

"Princess, I can love you with one arm tied behind my back."

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