"A Lesson and a Story: a Lighter Continuation of Birthrights"

Lt. Commander Adrian An'quinsos
Assistant Chief Counsellor
USS Galaxy
And
Maxim An'quinsos- APC
Adrian's Son

"Let your lead hand guide the strike and the opposing hand shield you.” Adrian moved in for the strike. "And remember your basics…"

"Now, block… transition… pause but for a moment if you have to, but always think on your feet."

"Very funny dad."

Since they had continued there had been no letting up. From the average onlooker's eyes it appeared to be a combination of interpretive dance and some intricate form of choreography that had been taking place for roughly an hour. Only the El-Aurian's words stated otherwise, with references to footwork, stances, palm, and fist strikes. To his credit, Maxim An'quinsos was following his father's every instruction, moving as needed. Initially stiff, the young El-Aurian quickly loosened up, his movements becoming more fluidic and flowing in form. To Adrian's credit they began with a good warm up, walking a circle, transitioning, and changing directions. There were no words said in all of this; the humanoid pair appeared to be in focused mediation as this took place.

Then it was time for the real work to begin and the pair assumed their stances. To Adrian's credit, he started gradually with Maxim, increasing the difficulty over the course of half an hour, in a similar manner as his father instructed him. With Adrian, his father always went over the basics, of which were paramount before going any further and the El-Aurian was no different with his son. However now they were passed the basics, progressing toward what Maxim knew, and finally working in new combinations that were worked in at a much slower pace incorporating the idea of flowing and changing, leading to an eventual conclusion…

"Redirect-"

In a turn of events the older El-Aurian found himself rather surprised by the next few seconds. Typically an uppercut was redirected and the opponent was double-palm-struck, sending them backwards and possibly to the floor if their balance failed them. However, there were advantages in being a kid, such as speed, dexterity, and oh yes, height, and the combination of all three meant you could be awesome. Maxim completely ducked, feet moving in a graceful sweep, arcing in a rotation that spanned maybe a second and sent that double-palm-strike into his father's side. Adrian was caught partially off guard with little time to counter and found himself falling to the ground, but before not before flashing an amazed, though proud smile.

"You're getting old Dad." Maxim joked, approaching his father who was still on the floor seemingly laughing a little.

"Oh, you just wait a century or so young man," He began, standing up with a grin. "They'll be saying the same thing about you, and where did you pick up spiral footwork from?"

"Aunt Sonriell," He replied simply, or as she was known by everyone else, Sonia. "She was on Risa for a few weeks and showed me a few basic things.” Maxim looked pensively back at his father. "You're not mad at me, are you dad?"

"Mad? No. Surprised? Yes.” He shook his head and continued. "Unless you're doing general sparring, don't mix forms, and even then incorporate them sparingly. Though all four forms have similar, basic movements, as one progresses the movements begin to grow more distinct with each style having its own characteristic. Circle is considered the most malleable as the movements have the feeling of continuous flowing, like the movement of wind. Concentric is best described as the word indicates, you move in a series of circular patterns of different sizes with the same middle point and common axis. Out of the four, Triskelion could arguably be described as the most intricate; you rotate along a series of curved lines radiating from a common center, all the while maneuvering as needed and maintaining precise footwork as needed. Spiral is your Aunt's favorite form.” He smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. "It's for lack of a better term, graceful, calling for complex, spinning foot work, meanwhile demanding exactness in everything you do and arguably the most difficult to learn."

"So is any one of them better than the other?"

"Not really…" He mused thoughtfully. "It really comes down to style preference and how well skilled you are. For instance, you couldn't pay me enough Latinum to spar your Aunt; I have no death wish at the moment or any time soon."

"What about back on… the Homeworld?"

"No, but does take me back to an interesting story."

Adrian turned to his son, hands clasped almost in a contemplative pose. Understanding immediately what was going on, the boy's connected and with that they bowed to each other signaling they were finished and slowly made their way out of the gymnasium…

"In every civilization, on every world, the laws of nature state that there is at least one braggart who believes themselves superior to everyone else, no matter what you or anyone else believes."

"Even on Vulcan?"

"ESPECIALLY on the Planet Vulcan!" The El-Aurian male affirmed to his son. "Now, back in the Capitol City there were a group of guys who believed that were the best at this art, and admittedly they were pretty good. However, the way they went about proving they were better than others was through challenges. Each challenge they won seemed to make their heads swell with pride until they believed there was no one who could beat them. This went on for some time until they met a venerable man in simple robes… a monk."

Adrian and Maxim had reached their quarters, changed and were now in the living room. The elder El-Aurian's eyes were filled with a reminiscent gleam that appeared to sparkle and resonate throughout the story.

"The monk was neither interested or impressed with them, and in fact his business at the Capitol dealt with other matters altogether, but still they pressed the issue. After a while, the monk agreed, and as it was the right of the challenged to name the location, the monk chose the center of the city. Not surprisingly a lot of people had gathered for this as well; many of them, including myself knew the monk's origins and were looking forward to what was about to happen. These guys weren't fools themselves as they began to catch on, and it was determined that leader would fight the monk…"

Adrian smiled.

"To this leader's credit, there no displays of might as the art is an internal one, no boasting at the beginning since a calm, sensible head was required, or even showy displays of mastery since it was over in maybe five seconds. The others were so shocked and angry that they pull out everything from swords to disruptors and went after the man in an all out run. Though everyone certainly ran for safety, glimpses were caught of the monk taking them down, one by one with a casual grace that was incredible. When the dust cleared, the group lay unconscious before his feet, everyone cheered, and the monk continued on his way.” He looked thoughtfully at Maxim. "What do you think is the moral of this story?"

Maxim listened to his father and couldn't help smiling as spoke of what happened. The El-Aurian looked at his father, down at the floor in thought, then back at the man. "Never challenge disruptor proof monks?"

Adrian nodded thoughtfully. "Precisely what I would have said…"

Alternity, Part 1

“The Last Days of Empire”

By Commodore James Lionel Corgan

Location: Starbase 12, somewhere in the Coreworlds, Alpha Quadrant
Time: Sometime in the future (?)

=/\=“Starbase 12, this is the USS Kindjal, flagship of Blue Fleet, requesting permission to dock and repair. Over.”=/\=

Organic speech converted to digital text and voice, cross referenced over a database of billions of Starfleet personnel by the most sophisticated cross galactic information network any Milky Way civilization has ever seen recognized the hail and confirmed the identity of the voice attached to it. It was a process that took nanoseconds to cap off a trip that took weeks of hardship, yet it was all that hinged on the Kindjal's safe return.

Could never be too careful these days. Trojan ships was just as viable a tactic as walking up to a space station and tri-cobalting it to hell and gone. The galaxy was pretty vicious these days.

Not the ship. The galaxy in general, as evidence to the battered Starfleet vessels, the USS Kindjal included, and the multitudes of civilian anything-with-warp-drives (or just awwds, pronounced odds, for short) clustering together like interstellar gypsy caravans, nosecones and deflectors aimed deeper for the Coreworlds, warp engines pushing away from the chaos outside the gates.

The last days of empire.

Couldn't be too careful.

=/\=USS Kindjal, this is Starbase 12 of Sector Alpha Front Command. State access code and keep at a speed of one quarter impulse in orbit around the station before verification. Over.=/\=

Never too careful.

A lesson pounded into Starfleet after years of successive disappointments, failures and misfortunes. He was already seeing it in the holovids. More doomsday naysayers than a choir in the middle of the second coming. The news was nothing but how the Federation was shrinking everyday from a multitude of threats. The Coreworlds, or slang for the centre of Federation civilization consisting of its most powerful and eldest member worlds, was starting to become the Federation all its own.

Never too careful. He could understand the station's paranoia, since the front was getting so close, but he still missed the days when the checkout lines only needed a hail and a greeting to the station's Admiral. None of that anymore. Station's were run by Captains now, not enough Admirals, and the best you could hail was a comm chief half your age and rank.

Oh well. Give the station it's due. He wanted to be quick anyways.

=/\=”Sector Command, my name is Commodore James Lionel Corgan, interim commander of Blue Fleet, part of Battlegroup Krieg. Authorization number Corgan... Gamma... Epsilon... Black... Seven Seven Seven. Now please let me the fuck in... over.”=/\=

There was a long pause at the integrated ops station. Lieutenant Vesta was the best console slinger Corgan could find, but even she looked tense as she waited for her console to light up a confirmation message. So far, the three dimensional controls floated over her 2d console backup, nimbus amber lights with no life. The zhen female fit in with the mostly Andorian crew, a requirement that became less picky as Starfleet became more desperate.

Then finally the word came. =/\=”Starbase 12 to USS Kindjal. Welcome home. Come in for repairs and report immediately to the main conference room. Admirals Brhode and Janeway would like to speak to you, over”=/\=

=/\=”Oh fucking joy. Roger that. Kindjal out. All hand, Space Station docking procedures.=/\=

In retrospect, and he thought a lot in retrospect when he had idle time, Starfleet's desperation was probably the reason why James Corgan was the first ever non Andorian to command Blue Fleet, Starfleet's historically all Andorian outfit. The dubious honor wasn't just luck... there just wasn't enough Andorians anymore, especially with the problems of their quintuple gendered reproduction these days, and James did have an insight in their people that didn't escape the eyes of his superiors. Combine that with a warrior culture that was always first to go when Starfleet was told to fight meant that historically Andorians were in a precarious balancing act, and now it was the reason their race was becoming so rare. Still, they fought well and were known for having one of the most effective fleets, because fighting well also meant their species survival. James utilized this back against the wall approach well, hence their success. It also helped that James also held the Blue Fleet's affinity for lightning strikes and deep raids. He fit perfectly for the job.

Not being the same Corgan of old, this Corgan had the fine lines of a battle wizened veteran and some grey hairs to go with his platinum blonde, a colour losing more of its lustre as premature age and stress wore him on. His eyes were grey as slates, seeing more battle than he cared to admit, and he sported a greying moustache that gave him a 'naval' look. The peaked officer's cap, ebon black on gold electroplated custom phaser and vibro saber screamed pirate of the spaceways. Five years ago it was all the rage for officers to wear these adornments. As Starfleet became more militarized during the wars on their frontiers, some Admiral in the Coreworlds decided it was a cool idea to reintroduce military markings like Terran swords, bat'leths with the Klingon Auxiliaries and Andorian icepicks as a way to tell the enemy they meant business. Did it work? Hard to tell with the enemies threatening the Coreworlds, but James knew from experience that a perfectly phaser cut density mutated tritanium alloy coated with razor thin synthetic diamond and charged with disruptor particles was the reason why bulky battle suits in ship boardings became obsolete. Never left without it.

It was modeled after a sword designed by an ancient general, George Patton. All his accolades, and nobody knew he made his own sword. Go figure.

Still, James had to breathe a sigh of relief. He was glad to not hear the constant thrum of the phase cloak, or the whine of phaser fire for a change. For the first time in fifteen... no... eighteen years was it? For the first time in a long time, James Corgan was in the Coreworlds. For the first time, after fighting years of dirty wars all threatening to kill The Federation with the death of a thousand phaser scalpels.

And stay there.

Not that he had a choice. After all, the barbarians were at the gate. Rome was falling. He had no choice.

More on that later. He had to look his dapper, militaristic best when meeting the most important military minds of Starfleet for what was to be the last days of his career.

******

He materialized in the conference hall, admiring the ever increasingly rare oak meeting table that was now deemed too much of an expense to put on regular starships. The transporter was fast and smoother than the last couple of generations, perfected for VIP duty and planetary landings (too fast for the enemy to shoot a disruptor and hold the beam there while you materialized, marines were thankful). It was not very noisy either, and felt like a blink back to reality, with no nausea for the extra sensitive. In the giant hall, aside from the 3D projections of various battle leaders and political importants represented in holoavatar form was two flesh and bloods to go with James.

Both looked sour, and it wasn't their old age. It was still rude to transport beam yourself directly into the middle of a meeting room. But then again, James figured that he was in enough deep shit to make it a moot point.

Admiral Katheryn Janeway was a hero of the Federation, most famous for her Marco Polo odyssey through the Delta Quadrant and tangling with more alien species than a Federation diplomatic mixer. She had enough dangerous situations under her belt to make James Corgan jealous, and was therefore the perfect leader for sector command. Admiral Janeway's hair was snow white, and had more wrinkles now that old age was affecting her. She was one of the all natural types, no artificial aging for her. It was this natural look and her time honed leadership abilities and sound judgements that made her effective. However, she tended to throw the rulebook out when her back was to the wall, a trait that survived the Delta Quadrant but not the Federation's latest crisis. James had to be careful around her.

Admiral Brhode never even heard of a rulebook. Former marine, former flagship captain, and now Commander of Battlegroup Kliest, James served under him in his younger days, and the more he wished he never did. Admiral Brhode was a hard charger, one that charged through brick walls rather than use the door next to it. He crisscrossed his Hirogen skin boots on the oak table, a token of his tough, shock and awe approach. The man was even rumoured to start war crimes by scorch earthing enemy planets. He was a hard man that was needed in a war, but too harsh to ever start peace. Dangerous. Poison to the Federation. The Federation's biggest hawk and most influential man, one of the reasons why Starfleet had been in a perpetual state of war for the last two decades.

A hell of a combination.

“Commodore Corgan.” Admiral Janeway opened up the greetings through her strange combination of naval speak and American prairie straight lace, altogether making her sound way too serious. “It seems you have some explanation to do.”

Corgan was not afraid. He had time to rehearse with Captain T'lan of the USS Tokyo. What were lifetime friends with privileges for? James felt he had nothing to apologize for, after agonizing over it while T'lan finally cut through the bullshit and said it in plane Vulcan terms.

“I guess I do.” James Corgan then said clearly to Admirals Brhode, Janeway and the holocrowd, “Admirals of Sector Command, other Sectors, and Starfleet Headquarters... I come back with the remnants of Battlegroup Krieg from the Battle of the Heavenly Gates. My ship is... regrettably, one of a handful of survivors from the battle, and we did so by retreating.”

So far, there was a wave of astonishment from the holos, a hostile sour face of Admiral Brhode, and the mask of Admiral Janeway slowly bleaching itself with shock. The Battle of the Heavenly Gates was a little bit of James Corgan flourish combined with the pet name of the rumoured last hurrah of Starfleet on the Hydran front as provided by the Federation News Network.

“As you can see in my report...” James Corgan summoned the display of the battle, like the chesspieces of a thousand Federation ships holographically and three dimensionally displayed over the oak table for the holos and the Admirals to watch, drift in their straight line dirge to the front. From all around, battlegroups from the Hydrans and Tr'Kith'kin were swarming. Some expressed fear as they saw the numbers of enemies increase, watched the ballet of starships manoeuvre and fire at each other. Easily the Federation miniships were swarmed, isolated into small mini fleets, then chewed apart by the triad fleets. “Our efforts to bolster the front at Argonis Prime were intercepted by a combined Triad fleet. We took defensive positions and struck a terrible toll. We held out as long as we could but once the Flagship of the Battlegroup was taken out, communcations were disrupted and we were headless. I took Blue Fleet and whatever else remained and called for a general retreat. Still... we could have gotten out sooner if...”

“But those weren't your orders, weren't they Commodore?” Admiral Brhode raised an accusing finger, “That fleet was our last hope to turn around the war against the Hydrans and now Battlegroup Krieg blew it! Worse, you broke battle discipline and ran in the face of the enemy. Do you know how many counts of cowardice, mutiny and abandonment of post that you are looking at? Your admiral never gave those orders. It was stay or die!”

A Binar representative cut in on its holoavatar, two bulb headed cybernetic twins. “According to the data retrieved by long range sensor probes and the logs of the remnants of Battlegroup Krieg, the Battlegroup was outnumbered by the Triad Fleet by a factor of five to one and outgunned three to one. They had no chance, statistically.”

A Vulcan, not representing his home planet that seceded from the United Federation of Planets as shown by his Starfleet Uniform, added in, “Logically, we could not win that battle. According to this data, as clarified by multiple ship readings, it appears that they had the advantage.”

Corgan said, “They saw through our phase cloaks, Admirals. Otherwise we could have gone silent all the way. Check with all the ships in my fleet. They have the logs to prove it.”

Janeway piped, “They saw through our cloaks?”

“Bet your ass. They also knew where the flagship was. Not hard... it was the biggest fucking claptrap in the fleet.”

Murmurs went through the crowd as if hearing the terrible news was a personal blow to the gut. Admiral Brhode asked, “You mean the USS Federation...”

“Yes. Destroyed in the first volley. Like I said, we were headless after that. Each fleet Admiral was being his own boss. Didn't quite get the concept of Chain of Command. They squabbled... they died too. So did my Admiral on the USS ch'Son'ra, so did his command staff. From there I took control. When that dickhead in 11th Fleet ordered Blue Fleet to stand off against a hundred ships to save his fleet's own ass, I figured it was all over. I had to call section eight on his panicky ass, let his second officer take what was left of his fleet with me and get out of there. He's in the brig of the USS Tokyo if you want to talk to him, but now not even the Betazeds can put his psyche together again. Good luck trying to get a coherent statement out of the stupid prick.”

“How dare you speak so insubordinately about your superiors, Commodore!” Admiral Brhode shot out of his seat so fast his seat spun, “That was your superior officer. He ordered you to make a stand and you did not listen! And Admiral deRossi had a goddamn name, you spinless piece of protoplasm shit!”

“Sticks and stones, Admiral! He was unfit for duty and ordered us all into a hopeless situation where we could not win and our efforts would not have changed the outcome of the battle. I was well within my rights, as the second highest ranking officer in the fleet as of two hours and thirty five minutes into the fight when it was either HIM OR ME to take control of the remnants of the fleet and turn them back to Federation territory!”

“Your cowardice gave the Hydrans a key sector and an open door to the Federation!”

“And my actions saved the lives of my men and throwing them into that grinder would have still given the Triad that open door!”

“That from the word of a coward and a liar with one of Starfleet's spottiest records!” Admiral Brhode spat with all his hatred, “You were always too touchy feely, too gun shy to take action. You always hid yourself behind the actions of your superiors, always blaming them for your failures. You were a security risk during your entire career, consorting with foreign spies and always talking defeatism when concerned with the enemy, and explaining away your mistake as someone else's fault. Now you have nobody to blame but yourself. I call for this man's court martial and execution immediately.”

“Bullshit!” Corgan barked back at the Admiral and the holos that were debating his fate before him. Admiral Janeway was still vexingly silent. “I own up to my mistakes when they are mine alone! This time I saved the remnants of a fleet to fight again when command was either dead or incompetent to go on. Call me what you will, but call me right. I did the right thing as according to my tactical experience, my conscience, and my duty to the officers under my command and thanks to my decision and the hard work of the survivors of the fleet we are alive! My record has nothing to do with what happens here and now!”

“We call for the court martial of Commodore Corgan!” The Klingon representative spoke up.

“Negative!” Cried out the representative of the Betazoid Refugees Union, “His actions were timely in saving the lives of thousands of our brave servicemen and women.”

“Figures...” Corgan muttered. His presence, once again, seemed to bring death and discord with him, the story of his career from cadethood to now Starfleet's shortest tenure as a Fleet Commander. Yet somehow he wasn't scared, though he had the scariest Admiral in Starfleet and his life wanting to hang the rope around Corgan's neck himself.

Admiral Janeway spoke up. It wasn't any particular trait that made her famous, but her ability to know just exactly what to be at the right time, and now she chose voice of reason in the sea of chaos. How she did it James did not know, and in a way he envied her judgment. “That is enough!” She brought silence to the room with her commanding presence, “I have heard of his service record and his contempt for high command has been well documented and contributing to multiple black marks on his record. Commodore Corgan, your... contempt for command has not gone unnoticed, and I will remind you that you will address us and those deceased commanders before you in the proper manner.

“Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am.” Corgan deadpanned.

“There is no doubt that your performance record is exemplary but stained by questionable judgement calls in the past. Consorting with a Tal'Shiar spy and even admitting her.. and your daughter into Starfleet was bad enough. Allegations of corruption and constant breaches of the chain of command... yet not once have you caused harm to The Federation by these actions. Still, Corgan's record is so questionable that I would not put him in the position of Fleet Commander in peacetime. However, this is not peacetime, it is war, and from what I heard of the reports he made a sound decision. He brought home thousands of our officers. For that he should be commended. And Admiral Brhode, need I remind you that I outrank you, so do not argue this further?”

James wanted a holorecorder for this moment in history. Admiral Brhode, the famous 'Old Leather Boots' and terror of the space ways was put in his place by an old woman two thirds his age and hardly two thirds of his mass. Priceless. Brhode's look, tomato red and wanting to scream but holding back to save his career, restraint uncharacteristic of him, held on and back by a pinprick. One word and James could set him off.

He denied himself the pleasure of setting Brhode off into a temper tantrum with one word or insult. His career wasn't that safe yet.

“Just so we're clear Commodore.” Admiral Janeway reiterated, “It is my call since you are under my command in this sector, and I say that you are cleared of any wrongdoings in this battle. But if I ever catch you cutting and running again without orders you will no longer find yourself in this war. Am I clear?”

“Crystal, ma'am.” Commodore Corgan.

“Good. Now you may take your leave. We Admirals have to discuss our next course of action. We'll brief you as soon as we can.”

“Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am.” James saluted to the crowd of holos and the Admirals. To Admiral Brhode, he wanted to salute with his middle finger, and Brhode didn't need a Betazoid concubine to know it. He made a hasty retreat out of the Starbase's ready room, to let the big boys and girls have their meeting.

He had never been more happy to be out of a room, but never more sad to hear the bad news.

Were things going really that bad in the war? The Admirals seemed to act as if the fleet was the last hope, a hope James dashed when he called the retreat. He heard things were bad, but discounted it as mostly civilian whining (they had a way of exaggerating calamity). But he could not deny the reports, the bad morale and now the Admirals shitting their holographic and real pants about the bad news he brought.

If he was still in the room, his suspicions would have been confirmed. Admiral Janeway said to what was essentially the entire Federation, “I'm afraid even with Commodore Corgan's hasty but timely actions, saving the remnants of Battlegroup Krieg may not be enough.” Admiral Janeway orated to the crowd of holos, “Battlegroup Krieg represented the last of our reserves in the entire Federation. Without those forces, there is only the front to hold back the Triad and the Borg, and if their scans and our intelligence of the Hydran forces encountered at the Battle of the Heavenly Gates is any indication... there is not much stopping them from invading the core worlds. My fellow Admirals and representatives of the Federation, the day has come, the day we most feared.”

Her words then rang famous through the Federation, “We are on the last days of empire. Unless we come up with a plan... the Federation as we know it will be destroyed.”

The rest was kept confidential for good reason. Admiral Brhode spoke, and it echoed a sentiment of so many in the room. “Our situation is desperate. We may have to call in every single trick that we have. If we want to preserve our way of life we may have to implement Protocol 34.”

The Deltan representative went pale, as she quivered, “That cannot be put lightly. If we do what you suggest... that means.”

“Yes...” Admiral Brhode said without hesitation, “Ever dirty trick in the book.”

Alternity, Part 2.
“The Absent Life”

Location: Still Starbase 12, somewhere in the Coreworlds of Federation territory
Time: Somewhere in the future (?)

Somewhere in his time on Starbase 12, the aged and war weary Commodore James Corgan found the time to patch into the Federation Comm.-Net, the galaxy spanning communications network that linked the Federation together like the roads of Rome. The Federation's communications network, along with transwarp drive and the starship, was a fundamental piece that kept The United Federation of Planets working so long as a multi species conglomerate, and was the finest in the Milky Way. Without it, empire would have crumbled long ago, trade and diplomacy in the Federation would have been an unbearably slow grind restricted by space travel and families of the wanderlust prone Starfleet would not be able to stay in contact.

It did not mean that families stayed together. As James knew all too well, light years was too much distance to put between yourself and loved ones.

He felt the urge to contact one of the loved ones that forsaken him long ago. Despite his wandering ways he cared about all the people he fell in love with. All of them. Dead and gone or alive, well, and ruing the day when Corgan's acts of impermanent kindness charmed heart and heat out of those he meet.

The one he wanted to contact was his ex-wife, former Captain Rebecca Von Ernst.

Tumultuous was to their relationship as a tsunami was to light property damage, under expressed and hardly doing it justice. Mikaiu was gone, the gentlest soul James meet in his travels, a woman he thought would be as the humans called it 'the one', but it wasn't so. Exploring space was a dangerous occupation and more unfair was that Mika was just a passenger, on board out of her loyalty for James. Distraught over the loss, James remembered the storms of his emotions and his purposeless life, until he meet at a reception his ex-wife. She was a woman James fenced emotions with, she never really let him in and he hardly had the patience to try further, yet somehow at the time he found her a panacea for his lonely soul while dear departed Mika's ghost was still hanging around. Rebecca and James got married, even beating out an old rival of his, and had a child together, a beautiful girl named Allison.

What drove them apart was the career. James couldn't let go of the actions of the frontiers. Rebecca went back to Earth to raise the child. James did not come home for months on end, until he was a stranger even to his own daughter. Five years ago, it had come to a head. Rebecca demanded divorce, and rather than have her live the months alone or suffer through the loss of a widow, James relented.

Yet he never stopped loving her, or any of them.

~”Maybe that was the problem.”~ He thought to himself as his commline patched through to Rebecca's home in Wisconsin, ~”Never stopped loving any of them.”~

Commnet summoned the three dimensional image of the diminutive redhead. Rebecca Von Ernst could be called a pixie, a dwarf, or just plain cute. Age didn't slow her down. At her fifties she could hold her youthfulness up to women two decade her junior and fool the most astute observer. James secretly suspected youth treatments, a common practice in The Federation, the rest of her tiny, sparkling self exaggerating its effects. Upon seeing James, she had the look of the scorned, emotionally wounded, vulnerable woman he loved but had to leave, her eyes sharply intelligent beyond his means but tracking him like a deer ready to bolt into the woods.

“James!” She said in an act of true surprise, “I did not expect you to call me.”

James was afraid to smile, but could not help himself. He was just glad to see her alive and well, but perplexed by a recently donned Starfleet uniform. She was a former tactical officer, but long retired. Was she really coming back? “Hey hon! I just got into Starbase 12. I wanted to contact you. It's... been awhile. How have you been?”

“How have I been?” The hurt in Rebecca's voice couldn't be more apparent, “You've been away for years! Noodles, James! The last time we talked was when you signed our divorce papers over subspace. Why couldn't you ask me then... or all those other times before?”

James wasn't in the mood for Rebecca's guilttrips. He could explain his lengthy absences from family duties as a result of years of fighting The Federation's wars, or try to explain why he wanted his new family to be as removed from Starfleet life as possible for fear of their safety. Those arguments didn't work years ago in the divorce proceedings and they wouldn't work now. James let the question drop.

“'Becca, come on. I just got back to the Coreworlds. I might get some time off from the front. I just wanted to see you and Allison.”

Rebecca had a keen intelligence. Tactical analysis was her specialty, but it seemed to James that she carried herself better in arguments after they eloped. No longer the naïve farmgirl, Rebecca's book smarts was more seasoned against emotional arguments. “James, you had years to see us and be a part of our family. You chose not to. You would rather charge into a battalion of Hydrans than see myself or your daughter. Do you know how much it killed me every time you charged into the nearest cosmic hellhole? I couldn't take it anymore and I can't take it now.”

James felt hurt by her argument. “What was I supposed to do, not fight? It's what I do, 'Becca. I have to do it or else someone else will have to go through that kind of hell. I would have lost you if you followed me.”

“You lost me anyways, James, and now your daughter is gone too.”

“Hey... just because I wasn't there doesn't mean I'm dead to her!” James snarled, “I'm still her father and I still love her, even if she doesn't see it.”

Huffing and puffing her lips, she held the air of an exasperated adult trying to explain the concept of quantum physics to a child. “Oh noodles! Shut up will you! That's not what I meant. I mean she... is... GONE!!!!!! AS IN GONE FOREVER!!!!!”

Her statement perked up his interest. He felt a ball of lead permeate itself in his stomach. “What do you mean? What's going on, 'Becca?”

“Noodles James!” Rebecca Von Ernst screamed at him, “You mean you didn't know?”

“Know what? Know what?!?!” James fired defensively.

“Allison is gone! She left last week!!”

He felt the world around him crash down. The downturn of the war, the recent drubbing from the Admirals, none of it mattered anymore. Paternal instincts were on overdrive. His little girl was missing.

Maybe not a little girl. She had to be eighteen by now, as far as he recalled. ~”Dammit! I don' t even know her fucking age! Shit... 'Becks is right. I was away too long.”~

He slowed down his speech to fake some semblance of calm. “'Becca, please tell me she is alright. What happened to her?”

“Oh nothing James.” She spat out sarcastically, crossing her arms and pouting her lips that muffled homicidal tendencies with innocent harmless acts of aggression, “She had the crazy idea that she would go see you and she went off to Lysander's to find a way to stay with you. Hawksley Industries was experimenting with a temporal shift device and...”

“Oh Jesus... oh Jesus Christ... you left her alone with that two faced piece of shit?!” This time James wanted to be angry, wanted to hell his lungs raw at Rebecca. “It's bad enough he's been trying to fuck you since high school for all I know, worse still when you took that job with his company. Now you're letting Allison hang with that egomaniacal shit wrangler? You're fucking kidding me. I will not let that pompous ass anywhere near my daughter!”

“LISTEN JAMES!!! He's a pompous ass that actually gave a damn and took care of me and our daughter when you wouldn't!” Rebecca shrivelled up, the years of pent up and unexpressed hatred for James venting out, “She had the crazy idea that somehow you gave a damn about her! She wanted to see you so badly... so badly when Lysander built the temporal shift device, she begged him to let her go into the past to see you. I thought she wasn't serious. I thought she was old enough to see how much of a deadbeat you are, but she would listen and Lysander would do anything for the both of us.”

“I DO GIVE A DAMN ABOUT HER!” James screamed back, the last refuge of a man backed in a argumentative corner, “You have this crazy fucking idea that somehow I don't care about the both of you just because I'm off fighting a fucking war! Well I'm sick of the fucking wars and sick of you thinking I'm a worthless shitnugget! But no, you're right! I was gone too long! Now things are even shittier than when I am around! How could you let her go?!”

What was left was the girl James fell for years before as a Lieutenant, small, vulnerable, lost. He wanted to collect her in his arms, wipe off the tears and reassure her that James Corgan would solve everything. Rebecca sobbed, “She said she would be a day. I even helped her pack, gave her the Galaxy's old logs to help her out. James... I'm scared that she's lost. Why couldn't you be there for her? She would have never gone if you were only there...”

Old issues that brought on the divorce. James was never there. She raised the child while James fought wars and explored space. James Corgan was painfully aware of his faults. The ghosts of his past love kept him away from a new one. Being away from his family responsibilities heaped guilt on his conscience, as did the guilt of never being there for his first daughter, Nuhir Tekri. When guilt built up, he retreated. Retreated by immersion into his old life, fighting and flying the spaceways. Rather than forget, it helped him justify his negligence and snowball his guilt further, which could only be relieved by more abandonment. When he finally became aware of his problem, it was partially solved for him. Rebecca divorced his unreliable ass. What did he do? Fell into old habits. Let the guilt mount, then escaped by going to worse hellholes, further dangers, deaths worthy of a Valhallan that he always seemed to walk away from.

This was not new issues to James. He was well aware of what was going on in his broken head. What he didn't know was what to do about it.

“What can I say that hasn't been said?” James sighed, ashamed of yelling but too stubborn to admit it, “Sorry isn't enough. I failed. But I just got back from the front. I can request some free time. We have to get her back.”

“How?” Rebecca replied, “I tried. I can't and I'm a genius! Lysander is a genius and he couldn't do it! What can you do? And seriously James, it's too late to come back. You could have done it years ago when we weren't losing the war.”

James conceded her point. “Is that why you have the uniform back on?”

Rebecca answered, “Yes. After The Battle of the Heavenly Gates, Starfleet recalled all former officers. I was assigned the USS Dieppe.”

“The Dieppe?” James scorned, “You're one of the best tactical minds in Starfleet and they give you and old Miranda class? Why would you get a bucket like that?”

“It's all they have. My ship joins the new scratch fleet in a week. James... is it really that bad out there?”

James nodded, “Yes. Our command structure is totally out to lunch, our politicians are still crying for war and we're close to losing it all. I saw the Triad fleets out there. If we don't do something quickly... Jesus... I'm so sorry. I tried as hard as I could to keep them away from you all.”

Rebecca looked down, sobering contemplation of their uncertain future. “I understand. James, you're one Captain. You always fight hard but you can't fight the whole war alone. You could have let everyone fight for a little while, if just to raise your daughter.”

James said, “I have to do something.”

“It's too late to do anything, James. Go back to the war. While I go off and fight, I'll have Lysander work on getting Allison back.”

“Babe, don't trust him.” Corgan shook his head, “He's an asshole and a creep. He'd hold Allison hostage just to get you. Let me take care of it.”

“He'll do what I say, James!” Rebecca snapped back, “He'd never hurt Allison. While you were gone he was the father figure you should have been and he cares about us both! You might not believe it, but he wouldn't hurt us, which is more than you can say. Just let him handle it. Don't get involved or you'll make it worse. Go back to the war. Please.”

James came to a sad revelation, “You don't trust me to do it? Why do you have to go to him?”

Rebecca paused, “Because he's there. Goodbye James. I have to go.”

Her arm stretched out to touch an invisible button. Her holographic avatar winked out of existence. James was surrounded by curious onlookers spying at the public communications booth, yet he felt the most isolated and alone person in the universe.

~”Shunned by Rebecca and she'd rather trust a stalker and a pervert than me to find my own daughter. Fuck me...”~

Dejected, James left the public booth to be alone with his thoughts. The week wasn't turning well. Surviving the most hopeless battle in his career, contact with his ex-wife that ended once again in arguments, hurt feelings and mistrust, a high command that didn't trust him and had every right not too... he was starting to see what Rebecca was telling him all along. His efforts all those years, that isolated himself from friends and family, yet crucified him whenever he stuck his neck out for them, looked to be a waste of his time and energy. He started to think what could have been, the dangerous tangent of what if. ~”What if I just quit Starfleet and raised Allison. What if I just forgot Mika, Atole, T'lan... everyone and just moved on? What if I didn't fight all those years? Would it have been different? Would I not have been such a colossal fuckup? Fuck... dare I entertain the idea that maybe history would have changed and we wouldn't be losing the war? I had a knack for being at those turning points and failing to change them. Maybe the universe would have been better without me?”~

He could have thought of a dozen turning points where his involvement would have changed the universe. Decisions in a battle that could have done better. Blue Fleet raids that hit civilians as well as military targets thereby raising the ire of the Hydran juggernaut? Not butting heads with every Admiral?

Somehow he thought it was supreme arrogance to believe one man like him could have saved the universe by one decision, but it was silly to go down that road of thought. The Federation he sacrificed his life for was hardly the universe. It was a political body, and when it fell and its races and civilization long became dust there would still be the universe.

A small picture man trying to change the big picture while forgetting to keep his own life in order.

The universe rarely had such noble follies.

~“So my place in the universe is the universe's biggest fucking tool. Dandy.”~ James thought sourly. ~”What am I going to do? I am in way over my head here. How am I going to get my daughter back, save The Federation and regain a modicum of respect from those around me? Huhhhh... it's too much. I need to take a break from all this thinking. I need a drink.”~

He walked to the Starbase bar, oblivious to the promenade's daily activities, the chaos and fear that was the undercurrent of daily shopping and life. So wrapped up in his misery too did he catch himself unaware, as hands closed over his eyes, wanting to take him away...

TBC?

Alternity, Part 3
"Denial by Distance"


“Nuhir?” James put away the glum face, thankful that the woman behind him obscuring his vision did not see him at his lowest point.

She confirmed his educated guess with a playful jest. “Of course it is Father. Now vanish that frown and go greet your daughter.”

It was easy to turn his frown away. James Corgan was always glad to see his daughter, blown away by Nuhir's uncanny resemblance to both himself and her mother Atole. She was a hybrid, taking Romulan genetics from her mother's side to give her a softened, Vulcan look. She lacked her mother's pronounced forehead ridges and green toned pale skin thanks to the contributions of her father. She had Corgan's blue eyes, and her nut brown hair was as James remembered similar to his mothers, slightly wavy but kept down by a neat Romulan short haired bowl trim. What she did keep from her mother was that ever so charming smile and hawkish brows, not to mention a physique that, for her young age, was obscenely generous. James had to thank the powers above for a Starfleet uniform that muted her physical assets. He didn't need the inconvenience of having to glare at desperate male officers every time they looked at his daughter.

“Hey!” James greeted Nuhir jubilantly, giving his daughter a bracing hug, “I'm so glad to see you Nuhir!”

She received and answered the hug. “Thank you father. I was assigned to the Tokyo as their new Transwarp specialist and I had to see you.”

“You... The Tokyo?” James stuttered, “That's T'lan's ship. You requested it?”

“Actually, it was Auntie T'lan's idea.” Nuhir clarified.

James nodded, “High praise indeed, coming from a Vulcan. Congratulations.”

“Thank you father.” Her smile was warm.

The story of Nuhir Tekri was an interesting one that capped off at their final rendezvous near the end of empire. Since James had taken sperm retardation therapy so as to not get anyone pregnant, Atole implanted herself with a bit of absconded DNA in a vain attempt to win him back. It never worked that way, and Atole and James went on with their lives. She married a fellow Tal'Shiar agent (from what James recalled a fairly old gentleman but one with an incredible understanding) and together they raised Nuhir as their own. James was off fighting wars for The Federation, and was starting a family with Rebecca Von Ernst, thereby abolishing any chances of bringing Nuhir back.

Over the years James wanted to regain custody of the child. He might not have impregnated Atole, but it was in spirit his own daughter, and was convinced that Atole Tekri would speak ill of him to her own child. Nuhir had a good family, so he let the issue rest and went on saving the universe.

It wasn't until she was reaching the age of maturity by Romulan standards (which was the same as humans) that trouble began. Her adopted father died, and since Romulus was until a few year ago part of the war, Atole suffered from debilitating injuries while on duty for the Tal'Shiar. This was a bad time to lose all of her references, for influence was only good when her references were either strong or alive, to which her parents were neither. The age of maturity meant the age where Romulan young adults were old enough for the draft. Without influence worth a damn, Nuhir was destined for the conscript light infantry battalions, as disposable of troops as the Romulans had.

Atole begged James to give Nuhir a recommendation to Starfleet Academy during a time he was close to being promoted to Admiral. For his daughter, James didn't hesitate. He got Nuhir into Starfleet Academy. Dual citizenship wasn't a problem. Nuhir more than qualified in her schooling and test scores. What didn't qualify was James Corgan himself. At the time the board was deciding his promotion, the issue of Nuhir brought about old and once dead concerns about James' intimate involvement with Tal'Shiar spies and suspicions of espionage. Cleared of those charges, there was then the obvious nepotism issues of giving Nuhir a fast track to the academy.

James lost his promotion, but he gained the respect of his long lost daughter.

Now Nuhir looked very smart in her Starfleet black and mustard yellow engineer's uniform and shiny ensign's pip, and whenever she came to see her biological father she always carried a disarming smile and a youthful optimism to counterbalance James' war weary grousing.

Nuhir said, “Captain T'lan and I were going to see you after your debriefing. We saw that you were talking to Rebecca on the commnet, so we waited. T'lan is at the officer's bar right now waiting for us. Father... you looked visibly upset. Is everything alright?”

James held up a strong front for his daughter's sake. “Of course. I get to spend my time at the Officer's club with two charming young ladies. What more could a bastard like me want?”

Nuhir creased her eyes, not buying his act, “You know what I mean father. Something is wrong, isn't it?”

He had to acknowledge his daughter's insight. What side of the family she got it from was still a mystery. “Not well I'm afraid. I have to be the bearer of bad news again. But listen. This is hardly a venue to choose to discuss these issues. We'll meet Miss T'lan at the Officer's club and discuss it over Saurian Brandy. My treat, ok?”

“Alright father.” Nuhir pressed further, “Is it that bad? The war?”

James didn't know what to say to lighten the burden. “Nuhir, in the coming days I'll need all the help I can get, including yours. I'm afraid it's more than the war. It is family business.”

*****

The local bar had an influx of rustic refugees and militarized Starfleet officers sharing tables and swapping stories of the spacelanes. The quintuple at the centre table could judge the general mood of the crowd, and it was that of fright and pessimism. By now most have heard of The Battle of the Heavenly Gates, and the fear of Starfleet leaving The Federation so naked was supplemented by rumours of what was going on outside their space. Talks of buildups, guestimations of the big push, where they were going when the Triad breaks through and makes The Federation their playground. The mood was not optimistic.

It was all news the four already knew and didn't need to hear, so they kept to their own business.

James Lionel Corgan and Nuhir Tekri were joined by James' former tactical officer and, as of The Battle of the Heavenly Gates, first in command, Commander Brelik th'Malik, a true blue (in all senses) Andorian from the homeworld. Like most of his ilk, Brelik was too young for commander's pips, but availability gave him what a normal Starfleet would have held back had he a decade more training. Young as he was, James was more confident in Brelik's abilities than Brelik himself. He had a keen tactical mind and lots of bravery. The fact that he was a potential quadmate when James was engaged to Mika had something to do with it. People with personal chemistry worked well together.

With Brelik on the opposite side of the table was Captain T'lan of the USS Tokyo. She had been James right hand woman since their days in security at the USS Galaxy in the pre-war period. If the chemistry between Brelik and James was excellent, then theirs was inseparable. James always insisted that when he was on assignment he always took T'lan with him. She was the voice of reason while James was the passion and drive. No better compliment of abilities and personalities since Spock and Kirk in the glory days. She allowed a grin as the Saurian brandy passed her lips. Unusual for a Vulcan, T'lan had no choice but to put up with limited emotional range, long ago abandoning her abilities to refortify her psychic defenses. Years of practice made her survive emotions that would cripple her kin... but they also made her a pariah. Most likely why she too spent her life mostly away from planets and people.

When the gathered and sipped their Saurian brandy with a moody pallor, James explained the situation to everyone around. By the time he was done with his story, none at the table were concerned about the war.

“So... how many laws is that broken?” Nuhir Tekri broached.

Brelik had the answer. “Prime Directive, Temporal Prime Directive, non Starfleet operation of a temporal device... just three. All three could get her executed, underage laws or not.”

“But who would make a clearly illegal device like this?” Nuhir Tekri asked.

James filled in, “Hawksley Intergalactic Enterprises. They have the tech, facilities and the government contracts to do whatever they want. Blank cheque any operation since they're so vital to the war effort. Without them Starfleet wouldn't have some of its best weapons developments since the start of the war. They're rich as fuck, meaning they can bankroll trillions of credits and still pay off whomsoever looks. And if you want... the company has a motivation too.”

T'lan picked up on James signals, embarrassed, as if he was giving another skeleton a brush to clear dust. She had the pleading look. “Go on James. Tell them.”

He sighed heavily, “Alright. It's also CEO'ed by a former Starfleet officer, Lysander Van Der Puls Hawksley, and it just so happens we hate each other.”

Brelik and Nuhir gave each other confused looks. “I never heard of the man.” Brelik said. “You've never mentioned him.”

T'lan came in with the timely save, “Lysander and James have history together that dates back to the USS Galaxy. They were rivals once.”

“Rivals my ass.” James Corgan bitterly rumbled, “That rat bastard was one of the reasons Rebecca divorced me. Bad enough I couldn't see her out in deep space, the little piece of shit quit Starfleet and made himself rich as fuck. Drove my sister out of the entertainment industry when Hawksley Intergalactic bought Corgan Media. If that wasn't enough to show a entrepreneurial tea bagging of my life, the fucking asshole had to move in on Rebecca.”

“Though in retrospect, your claims are unfounded James.” T'lan corrected.

“Unfounded my ass! When my marriage was at it's worse, Lysander comes out of the blue and offers her a job in his R&D division at three times the regular pay and a private penthouse tower in Alpha Centauri. One year later he even offered her half the damn company. What jerkoff doesn't offer half a multisystem business empire to a woman without wanting to get in her pants? Really? Who? I laughed in his face and told him Rebecca would see through his feeble schoolboy attempts to turn a married woman into another conquest.”

“And what happened James?” Brelik asked engrossed by the story.

“Well...” James rolled his eyes and sighed, “Just when you think you know a woman... of course she takes the shares. Never did find out if Lysander and Rebecca were serious, but how could they not after he threw all that to her and she accepted? Lysander told her what I thought of his offer, told her I thought it was stupid to take it, and naturally assumed that by proxy I considered her a total idiot. Well I did, and I told her. How could she not see it? The slimy little cocksucker had been wanting to fuck her since her academy days! Sheesh... she could be so blind, but tell her the straight obvious and she finally has enough with me. That was the end of our marriage, thanks to my big fucking mouth and Lysander's fucking power plays.”

He took an embittered shot of brandy and poured another. He omitted the other details, how Rebecca suspected James and T'lan of having an affair and how the counsellor chalked up his constant wanderlust with a fear of commitment seeding from the loss of his first fiance Mika. It was easier to blame others, and when he looked at the symptoms that were his fault, James saw an ugly dark mirror he didn't want to face.

A universe at war and he was afraid of acknowledging how much of a bastard he was.

“She could put up with years of me not being there but once I questioned her maturity and intelligence the marriage was over.” He finished his second shot with one swallow. “Tell you the truth, it was my fault. Should have been there for her and Allison. Should have been there for a lot of people.” He looked over at Nuhir, “Easier to run than stand. Look what happened though. Left Allison in the hands of a the universe's smartest retard and he sends her off into time. God, when I'm through with Lysander he'll bark like a bitch on command and I'll have Allison grounded until the universe collapses in on itself. But for that, I need help and a plan. No more running away or toughing it out alone. I need to go to Alpha Centauri and get her back to her own time. Can you all help me?”

T'lan conservatively sipped her brandy, a practice Vulcan refined and fit the royal dinner tables. “Are you sure this is not about Lysander?”

James answered, “Just recapping history, my dear T'lan, so you all know what's going on. No, this isn't about Lysander, though I will take liberties to beat the shit out of him for stranding my daughter in time. The real objective is Allison. We have to find a way to get her back. Nuhir...”

She swallowed her discomfort of her father's story that had parallels to her own upbringing, “Father?”

“You have a unique position. You are an engineer with a major in temporal mechanics. Whether Lysander or Rebecca are lying or not about their efforts to bring Allison back, you're the closest one to figure it out, because I sure can't and though T'lan and Brekir are very smart it is out of their skillsets too. But at the same time I can't lie to you. The war's going bad for us. When I got you into Starfleet, I thought the war would go well, but that was then. Now we could lose it all. Since The Romulans bowed out of the fight, you'd be safe if you went back to Romulus. The Hydrans couldn't touch you there.”

Nuhir gasped as a bubble of emotion betrayed her, “Father...”

“You also have every right to condemn me.” James continued, “Allison's story is not far removed from your own. I also ran away from your mother when things got tough, and I can't apologize for it. The only thing I can do is beg for your help and hope you can forgive me enough to say yes.”

Nuhir rose from her table, lips pursed, eyes wide open, harboring a lost and confused mystery. “I do not call you father lightly. You have not raised me, not seen how both my race's prejudices left me without a people. You may not have been there before, but you were there when I was to be conscripted into the rifle battalions. You may not think it, but I owe a debt to you. If you tell me to leave, I may never get to repay it. You need me father. I will join you.”

“That's my girl!” James patted Nuhir on the shoulder, “Brekir, we'll need transport. I'm sure you can somehow make an excuse to divert one of the ships in Blue Fleet to go to the Alpha Centauri Sector. Now I know you don't have a personal stake in this, so you can back out too, but if anyone can marshal a ship, it's you. I know things haven't been the same since Mika, but we've somehow still stayed friends. Are you with me?”

To that, Brekir replied, “We're quadmates, my good friend. That makes us family. Of course I'll do it. If you will allow me to contact some people I know in the Andorian government, I can arrange an excuse to travel. The problem is... what ship do we use? All are in bad shape.”

“Just get me one with a phase cloak. The Kindjal's good enough to go. What about the Tokyo?”

T'lan answered, “It will be drydocked for weeks. It is unsuitable for space travel.”

“Good. Your schedule is free. Will you come with me?”

If there was a Vulcan emotion for acute nervousness, it would have been in the twitching face of T'lan. “Sir... I should be with my ship. My crew will need me to surpervise the repairs...”

“Your first officer is more than capable.” James dismissed the notion, “But out of all the people I know, you're the one that makes sense out of the senseless. I need you to keep me on track, steer me in the right direction. Without you I'll lose the right words, scream at the wrong times and hold back when I should be going forward. You always know what to do at the right times. Please... I need you.”

She answered with Vulcan aplomb, “Yes Commodo... James. I will accompany you.”

“Ok. We're set!” Corgan clapped his hands together. When plans went together well, James was at his best. All smiles, decisive, ready to conquer a galaxy. “Go back to your regular duties, but covertly prepare the Kindjal for departure in a week. That should give us a week to leave under legitimate terms and come up with contingencies. Still, make sure the Kindjal is ready to fly any time. We'll depart from the station to the Alpha Centauri sector in a week and from there we will contact Hawksley Intergalactic, get a hold of that insipid little worm, and be back with little Allison in tow.”

He poured shots of Saurian brandy to the co-conspirators, and raised a toast, “Once again, I can't thank you all enough. Because of my neglect and my mistakes... my little girl is lost. Here's to a proper venture to get her back. Here here!”

“Here here!” All four officers raised their glasses and downed their drinks. The bottle drained to the last glass, the four officers departed for the night, slightly drunk, everyone confident of their venture and unworried about the war outside.

Nuhir and Brekir departed back to their ships, herself to the Tokyo and Brekir to the Kindjal to start implementing their plans. T'lan and Corgan left the bar together and walked across the Starbase's promenade. It was small talk at first, the war, their mission, the kind of hell the Admiralty would raise by the time it was done. It went on as they went to more deserted parts of the Starbase, to the arboretum, under the canopy of a dozen world's plantlife. They missed the emptiness of this artificial nature, didn't take notice as people were starting to walk away, as if caught by a moment's message, held into place as crowds began to gather and see what was going on.

It was just T'lan and James alone with the plants.

James was more comfortable in the hallways and star fields. It was what he grew up in, knew all about. It was probably, he thought, he stayed there instead of with his family on Earth. But he found that one of T'lan's odd quirks was botany. She gained a 'derived satisfaction' from seeing the plants grow, 'positively gave notice' to the scents of pollen and perfume. James didn't notice much but the damp earth and some flowers, but to the heightened senses of a Vulcan it was a bouquet up to her nose. It was after she mastered the balance between her shattered Vulcan control and her emotions that she allowed drabs of enjoyment in her life.

He had always loved Rebecca, and before that Mika, but when it came to T'lan his heart was confused. He couldn't love her, didn't dare to love her, but there was an electric current of sexual tension between them. He was aware of this since The Galaxy, and he never wanted to address it. T'lan, however, wasn't so shy. As a full Vulcan, she dissected the emotion as lust, acknowledged but not followed through. Given a few shocks to her mental health and a growing friendship and trust over the years, and it was easy to understand how they could at one point mistake friendship for something more. Seven years ago, while they were alone and trapped on a marooned shuttle, it almost came to be, but even though the temptation came, James was always faithful to Rebecca, a fact that infuriated T'lan and nearly ended their comradery. While James could deny all he wanted, T'lan did not. She was the first to advocate a divorce.

After the divorce, James still held back. T'lan was unattainable, his wounds still fresh. T'lan was relegated to 'would be nice' category and didn't leave. He was getting older, weighed down by the responsibilities of his ship and the family he protected. He had no time or energy to think of a tryst with a woman that would not age while he became an old man. Not also when he still felt guilt for the love he let die...

Tonight was different, the arboretum and the alcohol helped bring out what he denied himself and T'lan waited for. James wanted to put the ghosts, the shame, all his reasons for failure, for not forging ahead, behind him so that for now he could find some comfort and intimacy with someone he cared about.

The guilt would have to wait tomorrow. He kissed T'lan tonight, and by the time they transported to the Captain's quarters on the Kindjal, they could hardly wait to get started.

Outside their cocoon of intimacy, the universe moved on. War still burned. Leaders plotted. The Federation Counsel saw the portents that pulled the rest of the Starbase to any vidscreen displaying the news. Triad massing on one border, another Federation charter member considering seccession, and when the Federation was at its darkest, there was one final threat.

The Borg were on the other border, engaging starships openly for the first time since their war of attrition bogged down a year ago, punching through defense grids, assimilating scattered and defenseless colonies.

To this The Federation was at its most scared, and to that they pushed a decision, as advocated by the Hawks and their greatest champion Admiral Brhode,

Protocol 34 was being voted.

James and T'lan were a universe of one, the other outside too distant and hostile to come back yet. They were safe for as long as they made the night last.

Alternity Part 4
“Protocol 34”

Sex brought out feelings of guilt in Commodore James Lionel Corgan, overshadowed the frenzied rustling and heightened lust from an hour before. It was forbidden pleasures he partaken, the double entente of a subordinate officer and a good friend he had known for years, both perfectly good reasons for the usually society flouting officer to keep a straight laced act.

How many times, he wondered, did they have to hold back from each other all those years. Since they first meet James acknowledged a certain admiration for his lifelong friend. She was smart, she was cool, and she was very, very beautiful, all traits he felt he lacked as part of a lifetime inferiority when comparing himself to his lovers. What stopped him with T'lan all those years was the thought of her as nothing more than a light crush, the emotion under control, a dreamy what if to entertain the mind.

That was before she had emotion. Damaged psyches and psychic sutures later and T'lan was a functional being, if not in the Vulcan sense. When she became the Vulcan version of a head case, she was considered damaged goods by her own kind, and was thereby rejected. Humans couldn't appreciate the difficulty of a Vulcan being exiled from her own kind for having emotions. She have to deal with not just a social stigma, but a growing affection for Corgan as well.

A relationship wouldn't work until years later. First James was married, and though T'lan made her intentions clear as they were to land in a Jewish colony and later still when Mika was clear that it was ok (Andorians, being the multi gendered species they were, had quad arrangements, making polygamy very possible), James still couldn't find the balls to follow through. Hell, even his first relationship was a Vulcan! A cold, dead fuck, but one of convenience with a friend that went sour. Maybe that was what James was afraid of with T'lan, and refused to be baited into something more.

He didn't want to know how T'lan felt about that. They were still partners, on the Galaxy, the Calgary, the Kindjal, and every mission in between. He had to feel her pain, all those years of waiting, to be reminded of his bullheaded stubbornness not to give into temptation when there was clearly something there. Must have hurt T'lan, especially when her precarious mental health demanded some control over strong emotion, lest it cook her unaccustomed synapse. That was what the sutures were for, but they didn't bring hearts together.

He didn't know how much it hurt her, to have James give mixed signals all those years. Close they were after Mika's death, even once they spent a night together, tears and moans after the funeral. After that James did what he always did when it got too close, he ran. T'lan to her psychic surgery, James to plod on, move to another ship, and then marry with safe, baggage free Rebecca Von Ernst. When it didn't work out that way, he ran back to Starfleet life, using the war as a convenient way to run from his problems. T'lan and James confronted their emotional mis-ease by returning to pre-Mika relationship rules; look but don't touch, friends but not lovers. Pure professional.

Then it was a free for all after the divorce. James just wanted to be with someone, to feel safe and loved again, and T'lan wanted James to not ignore her ever again. Since then, James and T'lan were a casual couple, war keeping them away from a commitment but giving each encounter a sweetness the both longed for. None cared what others though, and those outside that did couldn't change a thing. Rebecca had her own life. The Vulcans didn't even consider T'lan one of their own anymore; her family certainly didn't. Starfleet Command would court martial the two if they didn't need officers so badly. It left the two to steal moments together without interference.

Yet still James felt guilt. He was supposed to love one person, not a menagerie of women or a legion of tramps. He still loved Mika the most, fondly remembering them when they could get close. Rebecca was a substitute, unfairly added. He couldn't bear to do that to T'lan and so her ghost still lingered, and he felt guilty whenever he touched, kissed, fondled and brought T'lan to the peak of pleasure, acts James felt were meant for someone else.

But how fair was it to T'lan? Not very if he ran away because of some old guilt.

He resolved to make his relationship with T'lan work. She breathes shallowly in her sleep, still as young and vibrant as when they first meet. Bowl cut black hair, ruffled from the tracks his fingers made when he stroked his hand through the course, straight strands. Ruddy skin, tanned from the relentless sun of her homeworld that glowed tangerine when the fluorescent lights shone. A body shrouded and shapely under silken sheets. Face serene in rest, the same kind of peace he saw in Mika that ached his heart, James kissed T'lan on the forehead and left her to sleep.

A priority one message from Admiral Brhode appeared on his LCARS screen. Reaching his desk, James angled the monitor away from the sleeping T'lan and hastily pulled on a shirt before responding.

~ “Hate talking to that shrivelled old fossil.”~ James bitterly thought about the Admiral. 'Blood and Guts' Brhode had a hateful appearance, toughened shoe leather skin, eyes that hated you before they meet you and assessed your soul, laughably old yet one of the best military minds in Starfleet. He wasn't afraid to throw bodies at the enemy, a great trait in the early stages of the war but suicidal under Starfleet's dwindling numbers. The way he insisted on all out battles even years before Starfleet found out they would lose a war of attrition made James wonder if their keenest strategic mind was also a tad out of touch with the times.

“Commodore Corgan.” Barked the Admiral, barely hid contempt in his voice, “How soon can the Kindjal depart?”

James replied, keeping himself patient and polite, “We'll be fighting trim in a week sir, but she's the best of Blue Fleet. A lot of my ships will need the same amount of time, others... dry docked for months. Considering how bad the war's going, I doubt Blue Fleet will be back to full strength, and if you're suggesting I do another raid I'll have to say no.”

Brhode nodded his head, “You always gave up too soon, Corgan. That defeatist mentality... you better get rid of it.”

James looked appalled, “Defeatist? Realistic more like it! Didn't you learn anything from The Battle of the Heavenly Gates? Or any of our skirmishes? We're being outmaneuvered in every front, the enemy outnumbers and outproduces us and we're losing sympathy as well as allies abroad. We're losing the war, Admiral! Won't do us much good if we keep fighting it exhausted and in ships with hull plates flying off at low warp. Blue Fleet needs a break. Give us some time.”

“Is that a formal request?”

“Sure is, Admiral. My men need a break and we need to get resupplied and repaired. And I too have some personal business that's built up. Admiral, we gave tremendous service to you. Let us see our families and get our shit in order one last time before you throw us in. Please... we need this.”

Admiral Brhode didn't consider James' request for a second. “Request denied. Haven't you been watching the news?”

James rolled his eyes, “Saw it for myself, boss! The Hydrans thumped us!”

“Not that you insubordinate shit!” Admiral Brhode snapped, his fists thumping his desk, “This morning! What the hell have you been doing all night, fucking that mental case you call a first officer?! I can't believe you didn't know the Borg were bursting through our borders!”

“No....” James breathed. Of all the species he fought, James held a special animosity, and healthy fear, for Borg.

“Yes it is. Seven cubes just went through beta quadrant pickets and are heading for the Coreworlds. We have task forces intercepting the cubes now, but between that and the Hydrans, we're stretched too thin. We're projecting they will hit the Coreworlds in a matter of weeks, Commodore. The latest projections are that if we keep up our fleet engagements Starfleet will be depleted in two years, leaving the Coreworlds defenseless... that is if the Triad and the Borg don't go straight for Earth. If that's the case, the Federation will be headless in a few months.”

Brhode allowed the grim reality to sink into James. Borg on the left, Triad on the right, James could see the Coreworlds in flames. Betazed, Vulcan, Bolivar, Andor, Earth. For the first time since The Dominion War they would be battlegrounds, but unlike The Dominion War Starfleet didn't have the massive resources it used to. Defeat was certain.

“Then we'll have no choice.” James said, “We'll have to fight a guerilla war. Tell the civilians to get out if they can, god knows they're already trying. Maybe if we tie them up in the Coreworlds we'll be able to inflict enough losses for them to give up. That would be good for the Triad, but Borg.... I'm not sure. I only know how to kill them, not stop them.”

“We know all about how fucked we are, Commodore. I don't need a sad sack like you waving a placard saying the end is nigh! But don't worry... we'll win the war for you Commodore. You can get back to plunking a guitar and crying emo under a pile of credits and naked slave girls while we real soldiers prepare for the next one. Have you heard of Protocol 34?”

James set aside any offensive rebuttal and wracked his mind, but could not recall. “We have a fucktonne of Protocols, Admiral. Refresh my memory?”

“Can't say I blame you. Only a few in Starfleet Command and our highest leaders in The Federation know about Protocol 34. It is a contingency plan drafted when we were at war with the Klingons. If they ever threatened the Coreworlds, we had a cosmic bitchslap waiting for them. We almost had to use in The Dominion War, and now with no reserves the Federation Council had a vote and agreed to implement it. That's why I want your fleet. Don't worry if it's in tatters. We'll have the war ended in three months anyways.”

James was confused. “Hold on, Admiral? Did you just get senile all the sudden? What the hell are you talking about, winning the war in three months? That can't be done, and for the last time WHAT IS PROTOCOL 34?!”

Brhode had a smile waiting for him, but James could see in the serious cast in his eyes that the decision weighed heavily on the old warhorse. “James, the secret is out. We easily have the means to wipe out entire civilizations but our morality prevented us from using them. As of last night... all bans on weapons of mass destruction have been rescinded. Protocol 34 authorizes their use. We're not talking about pussy firecrackers like photon torpedoes. I mean the real destroyers. Solar system killers, planet destroyers. If the Hydrans and the Borg hit the Coreworlds... we're letting loose with all those.”

“What?!” James breathed, horrified. For a man that was used to killing, weapons of mass destruction were the step above that he couldn't comprehend. Not its effect, visualizing planets and systems going up in flames was easy, but to consider their use made him sick. His mind raced. What weapons could Starfleet have? What where their effects and why hadn't he heard about them? “What weapons of mass destruction? Starfleet always said they didn't have any. So all those treaties were bullshit?”

Admiral Brhode stabbed a finger at the screen, displaying profiles of the Protocol 34 weapons. “For years the Federation and Starfleet denied that we had weapons of mass destruction. Well, for the most part it's true. Now that we lacked. We never held a weapon of mass destruction in our arsenal... officially. It was thanks to the rules of war and foresight on our enemy that they didn't use them as well, and therefore we didn't have to use them.” Brhode waved a finger, “However, we have three centuries of science and technology on our side, and thousands of encounters with alien species possessing weapons of mass destruction. Through those encounters we have the means.”

The screen displayed weapons and their effects, with a bright red 'eyes only' warning, “We have our standard fare. Quantum and Photon torpedoes. Tri-cobalt explosives, phaser cannons, but we held back. The first phase of Protocol 34 is the authorization to use these devices to their full effect, weapons we already have in our arsenal but have been too afraid to use to full effect. Ignite gas giants, nebulas, rattle techtonic plates, even pierce crusts and detonate atmospheres on planets and make them ecologically unviable. If the war escalates, all ships are authorized to deny the enemy ground and even make raids into their territory. Your raid with Blue Fleet on the Hydran homeworld test, now we take the gloves off.”

“Sir...” James stammered, “This is nuts.”

“And if that isn't enough...” Admiral Brhode switched the screen showing more devastating weapons, “Those scorched earth tactics will buy us time to produce and implement phase two, weapons we have no stockpiles of but can be produced quickly. We have multiple devices for this. The first is influenced by the replicating minefields we used in The Dominion War, but ramped up. They'll be inserted into enemy territory, replicate while stripping resources bare, and fight the enemy. If that doesn't work, we can create a stockpile of Genesis torpedoes and Trilithium missiles, all warp capable and targeted at our enemy's back yard, all capable of wiping out entire stars and planets. If their fleets get uppity, we whip out the isolytic subspace weapons.”

James couldn't believe what he was hearing. Mass destruction of the universe, and Brhode was ticking off the means as if taking inventory in a warehouse. He had killed all his life, but on that scale? He couldn't believe anyone had the stomach to try. He listened with dry mouth and tight lips, barely containing his outrage.

“Phase three will be the long term and hard to get items. They will involve research and resources, but they have the most devastating effects. Spaceborne subspace viruses, nanotechnology used to cannibalize living tissue, Betazoid psychic mindbombs, Vulcan mental weapons... until they started flaking out on us.”

“But the best of all, the one they'll think twice before fucking with us...” Brhode held a grim smile, and chuckled, “We're also working on ways to use Omega particles to deny entire sectors of space. Detonate those in a fleet and they'll be doing sublight for years before they reach us. We can make enough in due time to surround our territory, make a warp borne invasion impossible.”

“Sir... why are you telling me all about this?”

“Why? Because Captains like yourself and many like you are going to push the buttons! Phase one is an all out ship attack on their territories. Hit and run, leave nothing but ashes behind. The reason I told you specifically... because when you're not whining about doing the right thing you can be a cold blooded bastard! That raid on the Hydrans months ago... genius!”

“Was a mistake!” James countered, “I killed civilian lives! I nearly destroyed the planet and I didn't need WMD's to do it!”

“Well imagine what could have been done if you were were allowed to impliment Protocol 34. Nobody would be left alive. Civilians, military, nothing. You're the best at hit and runs, and I think you need to redeem yourself after The Battle of the Heavenly Gates, the coward you are, running while Starfleet personnel died. James, we have no choice. I need you on board for this.”

“We can't do this sir! What about the prime directive?”

“Doesn't apply. As of the implementation of Protocol 34, The Prime Directive has been rescinded. The Federation council has voted by a factor of 51 to 49 in favour of this plan. As a Starfleet officer you are obligated to follow through. Do I make myself clear, Commodore?”

“That's it!” James shot out of his seat and started with a blistering rhetoric, “There is always a choice! We'll not only kill billions if we go through with Protocol 34, but we'll give our enemies the perfect excuse to do the same to us! We'll look like hypocrites to everyone! It goes against Federation tenants and it flies in the face of everything our culture taught us! I can't do it!”

“AND IF YOU DON'T WE WON'T HAVE A CULTURE LEFT!”

It never occurred to James that Admiral Brhode could be genuinely afraid, but their hateful vitriol was set aside for an understanding born out of desperation. For the years James served Starfleet, he saw Brhode as the stereotypical hawk, hungry for war and not giving a damn about the sanctity of life. It clashed with James galaxy weary views of war, but it only showed where they focused their big pictures. James was always by heart a fighting man that cared for his people and didn't want to instigate conflict. Brhode was a hero of the people, the Hirogen Skinner. His badass reputation a blood and guts commander was not a trick, and he did not relish war at all, but as a commander he had to make choices James could see he was incapable of doing. James dealt with individuals, platoons and ships. Brhode dealt with billions.

And in all honesty, James saw where Brhode was coming from, but to allow billions to die to save the Federation? James' conscience was haunted by individual kills. A billion that never wanted war was too much.

“There isn't a better way, Sir?”

Brhode replied, “Not that we can project, son. It's asking a lot of hard choices. If you can't make them, I can reassign you and still make you do Protocol 34, or I can send you to a penal colony. Your choice, and though we can't afford to lose trained officers we can lose you if you don't have the balls to push the shiny red button. Sleep on it with your mistress. Call back when you wake up and give me your answer. Brhode out.”

James shut off the screen in disgust. ~”How can they consider it? Star systems destroyed, closing us off and destroying the ability to warp travel, snuffing out entire stars and committing genocide to entire species? I know we were losing the war... but how desperate are we if that even becomes an option?”~

Then an appalling thought came to him. “Allison.” He breathed, ~”The world she left was ok, but if she comes back there may be nothing to come back too. Oh dear god... what if she comes back now?”~ But then his gears were working in overdrive, ~”If she went in the past, she could warn of the future. Oh Jesus... if I do that then I'm dealing with worse forces. Bombs kill billions now, but if I warn her or beg her to change the future I am erasing an entire timeline. Am I? Fuck I hate temporal mechanics!”~

Looking outside his porthole, he used the starfields outside the starbase to collect his thoughts. Thousands of stars. By tomorrow torpedoes could be going to warp and extinguishing who knows how many. One of the stars, for all he knew, would be Earth, Andoria, Bolivar, Vulcan. The cornerstones of The Federation. Further into the Beta Quadrant would be the Hydrans. How many of the enemy would die?

It was there that he felt too small and afraid to change events. So much was unravelling, and all he wanted was to see his daughter safe and settle his life down.

The question he presented to himself was, “What now?”

~”Small as I am...”~ James gathered his phaser and vibro sword, ~”I can't let them do this. If they want Protocol 34 so badly, I'll give it to them!”~

Patching into his comm. Badge, James shook T'lan, voluminous eyes fluttered awake. “Commodore Corgan to Commander th'Malik and Ensign Tekri, prepare the ship for departure in one hour. Over and out.”

T'lan sleepily moaned, “What is going on, James?”

“T'lan...” James pulled on a shirt and buckled his weapons to his belt, “We're in trouble. We'll have to go with our plan a little early. Get up. We're getting the ship ready. I'll tell you all about it as we travel.”

Alternity, Part 5
“This Pesky War”

The USS Kindjal, NCC 80012, Excelsior B series battle cruiser, was preparing to go underway.

Starbase personnel was just as surprised as the Kindjal's crew as the general order to launch was made by Commodore James Lionel Corgan. The ship, manned by the elite Andorian space travellers of Blue Fleet, were a kind of people accustomed to mustering early and unexpectedly. Years of war brought an unheard of readiness. Those on shore leave parties flew in by shuttle and transport pad and prepared for battlestations. The engineers stoked the transwarp drive with carefully regulated anti-matter. Communications officer Vesta was dodging attempts from Sector command to explain what exactly was going on.

James had to hand it to his second, Brelik th'Malik. Technically an ex-husband, he was still learning about the many talents the Andorian commander had, including organization and rallying skills James still couldn't explain. He came onto the bridge with T'lan behind him, full uniform and festooned with their favorite tools of war. Th'Malik saluted, James returned, then shook the commander's hand.

“Good work getting the ship ready.” James said to his commander, “But Starfleet's still wondering why we're ready to leave. Surprised they haven't tractor beamed us in place and put us all in shackles. Do we have a convenient excuse to leave yet?”

Th'Malik smiled, “Yes we do sir. You see... I had a talk with my cousin.”

James' forehead creased. T'lan's eyebrow raised. None had a clue what th'Malik meant, so James asked, “Your cousin. Is he someone special?”

Th'Malik nodded his head, “Oh yes, Sir. A she, actually. A Shen, just like Mikaiu. We both knew her, and you might have heard of her. She is the Queen of Andoria.”

James' jaw dropped, “You fucking know royalty?”

“Related to royalty. There's a difference.” Th'Malik corrected, “She heard that the Federation voted to use WMD's and she wanted to be sure those weapons would be safe in your hands, and it so happens that she was more than eager to demand a personal inspection of Blue Fleet and a debriefing from you to allay her fears. However, she did consider the shape our fleet was in and requested only one vessel.”

T'lan said, “The USS Kindjal.”

“And she only needed one man.”

“Corgan.”

“Oh yes, the very same. She is a practical woman, our Queen. She was also eager to talk to the only human fleet commander to have served in Blue Fleet. She held an admiration for you James. Must have been the stories.”

“To which you have exaggerated?” Corgan asked.

“Embellished, sir. There is a difference.” Th'Malik nodded and let the story flow, “She heard of our plight, and since we are a dying species that considers family to be above all else she was willing to give us the excuse to leave. It so happens that Andoria's route intersects with Earth and Alpha Centauri, so she excused us if her only terran commander had... personal business to attend to for a few days?”

James smile grew large. “How kind of her. Now who's going to tell Starfleet Command?”

“Oh, the Queen herself!”

James pursed his lips and whistled, “Nice... I don't suppose that's why we haven't been cussed out for the past hour? The Queen has been talking to Admiral Brhode and Janeway?”

“I suppose that is the case, sir.” Th'Malik looked at his military issue wrist chrono, “And I suppose also that the meeting has ended....”

Twin 'boopboop' from the communication's console called to their attention. Lieutenant Vesta called out to the Captian of an incoming communcation, priority one, from Admiral Janeway and Brhode.

“...right about now.”

The communcation's pleading beeps were ignored. James ventured to ask, “And it just so happened that we have the ship ready to jump, more so now that we're not inside the Starbase itself.”

“Oh, yes sir. Dry docks were being used for more crippled ships. And to expand the base's defense radius we decided to take an orbit pattern further away. After all, their weapons and tractor beams hit as well that far out.”

T'lan had a concern, “Admiral Brhode will want to order us to stand down.”

“Oh... about that.” Th'Malik added with an impish smile, “Appearantly since there is a member of the Andorian royal family on board, mainly... me, and that there have been threats on us by separatists to take our lives. Therefore she demanded, for my safety of course, that the ship be allowed go on silent runnings and travel discreetly, even through the Coreworlds. You can never bee too careful, after all. Admiral Brhode should have been told this directly.”

James frowned. “They got the orders. How come I didn't?”

Th'Malik presented a manilla envelope, “Here you go, sir. I would have notified you earlier but T'lan and I agreed that you needed your rest.”

“What?” James went from perplexed to outright lost, “You both did?”

“Oh yes, Sir. You are good leader, but a poor event planner. But do not worry... our night together was not for deception. I really... derived satisfaction from our... activities.”

“Muh?”

“In other words sir...” Th'Malik barged in, “It was not part of the plan. Oh, and I know. Most of us do, Admirals included. Not like they could think less of you, so you really should just go with it.”

“Muh.” James nodded, resigned and defeated.

T'lan added, “Sir... I suppose we cannot keep the Admirals waiting. They will want to know of our revised plans.”

“Yes they will.” James stroked his chin, “And th'Malik... you are a crafty son of a bitch. I should have married you years ago when I had the chance.”

“Why... thank you sir!” th'Malik saluted, smiling harder than Corgan or the barely there smirk of T'lan. “Permission to stick it to the Admiralty and be undeway?”

“Belay that. Let's not be too rude to our benefactors. On screen.”

Admirals Janeway and Brhode, split on their own ends of the screen, looked old, stern, and extremely livid. Janeway kept a placid, ice queen aura around her, preferring to strike down people with lightning bolt stares and a rumble of thunder. Brhode, not one to hold back emotions or mince words, was a beet red human cauldron, braincells wracking his young days as a marine to remember his drill sergeant's greatest lines, all that would blister the registry numbers off the Kindjal.

“What in the hell do you think you are doing, Corgan?!?” Brhode growled and snapped like an angry dog.

“Oh, us?” James said, “Just going on an inspection tour. We got the memo from the Queen herself. It's her fleet, her flagship. She wants to see it.”

“Wants to see it?” Janeway joined the tongue lashing party, “She demanded its safe return to Andoria!”

Brhode continued, “We know you have something to do with this James! You went over our heads to a head of state, and you know what she did? She asked the Grand Admiral himself to send your ship back to her bloody blue planet! You always weaselled your way to get what you wanted. No, this time this will not fly! You are officially...”

“What? Fired?” James laughed, “Go ahead and prove I'm trying to desert. It's all legit, sir, ma'am. I'm just following orders at this point. Any or all questions or concerns are going back to my bosses. Remember? My fleet is owned by Andoria itself. It's just on loan to you, and now it's going back home by request of it's people.”

Brhode quivered, “Why you little piece of...”

“Sir, don't worry. I am not deserting the war. Far from it! I'll be helping it!”

Janeway growled sceptically, “And how do you suppose you'll do that?”

“Oh, easy ma'am. I'll show the Kindjal to the Queen and make sure everything's all ok. I'll convince her dying race to stay in the fight even if it drives them to extinction and that I'll take good care of her ships and all the galaxy destroying arsenals we're planning on jamming up her bussard scoops. Oh, and while I'm at it... I'm going to end this pesky little war once and for all. See you later! Corgan out.”

“Hey!” Brhode barked, “Don't you hang up on...”

The viewscreen blanked out. The communication pad lit blood red to life.

Corgan clapped his hands together. “Alright. Now with that preamble out of the way, engage phase cloak and set course for Alpha Centauri, transwarp speed nine point eight please. And Commanders...”

“Yes?” T'lan and th'Malik both responded, wounded to see they both stepped on each other's toes.

“Commander, Captain, whomever... turn off that console and don't answer their hails. We're in wartime conditions in the middle of an endangered sector close to the front. We have to respect a communications blackout in transit. Geez, don't they know wartime ship protocol 85?”

“Yes sir...” T'lan saluted, her emotions close to human, “I shall do so. But sir... what do you mean we will stop the war? Is that possible?”

James swallowed a lump in his throat, “Uh oh...” James stuttered, “You know... I'm not sure if I should.”

T'lan noted with concern, “Sir, if Lysander Hawksley has a temporal displacement device and it has worked with your daughter, it may be able to stop the war, or it may irreversibly damage time, not to mention it's legality.”

“All taken care of, Captain T'lan. I just got word from Admiral Brhode. We can use any weapon of mass destruction we want now. Protocol 34. Wonderful piece of genocide.”

“Oh...” T'lan said, “But will we use it to end the war if we can? Or will we save your daughter?”

James replied, “I haven't figured it all out. We'll work it out, but first we need to talk to Hawksley about his temporal displacement device before we figure out what to do with it. It could solve all our problems, and poor Alli's in the middle. Don't worry, we'll figure it out. But first lets see for ourselves what we are dealing with.”

“Then perhaps we should talk in private... sir.”

James hummed, “Hm? Ok. In my ready room, number one.”

T'lan and James entered the ready room, a cookie cutter affair typical of the mass produced Starfleet shipyards; a desk, a chair, and two meeting chairs in front, with LCARS screen for convenient communication and cubby holes for personal effects. Every Captain, therefore, was inclined to decorate the sterile environment to his choosing. James decorations of choice were a combination of his hobbies and his trophies. A dress uniform was framed, and it displayed his medals and ribbons, telling the story of a military life. Beside it was a large phaser rifle and a trophy beside it, the thirty year old Type 3 phaser salvaged from a Federation scrapyard who's serial matched the sniper phaser he used in The Dominion War (complete with long optics kit) and his award for Starfleet Academy's marksmanship team, both on the quick draw and the range. The rest of the walls were dominated by music. An old poster with comically large lips and a lolling tongue, another with a ghoulish undead creature dressed in a tattered 17th century British soldier's uniform trudging through armageddon, and a framed cherry red guitar. Above the model of the USS Galaxy was pictures of his wife Rebecca and his daughter Allison, but mingled with that was a short, joyful Andorian in a loud orange robe. His life's story on a wall.

T'lan was straight to the point, “Sir, you do not have clear objectives.

“Oh?” James felt his pride wounded, “What's so unclear? We go in, I kiss Lysander's ass and lick his balls, warn my daughter to stay clear from this time, and maybe if she has the time she can warn of impending doom. Did I miss something?”

T'lan wasn't hurt by his accusation. She kept a cool head but her emotions flickered, “Sir, you noted more than once of the nature of time manipulation and your distaste for mass destruction as called for by Protocol 34. If we irrevocably change the past, we could do more damage than Protocol 34. What if in changing the past we make it worse?”

James sat at his desk, crossing his fingers. “T'lan, it's not perfect. I know that by averting galactic Armageddon we ourselves invite temporal destruction. If we deny one timeline from happening, it's gone and trillions are on my conscience. Damn if know how to go any way about it though. Give me some credit. I know what I'm doing.”

T'lan raised her voice, “Sir, I did not imply that you didn't, I meant to say...”

“It's ok, T'lan. You're used to working with linear plans and I play by ear. Don't worry. I'll make sure I don't screw up too badly.”

“But Sir, we have to put in account that this temporal displacement device, if it does exist, is the ultimate Protocol 34 weapon. If we use it, we are guilty of the very act you are against.”

James nodded his head and sighed wearily. How he hated when T'lan made sense! The flashed annoyance at T'lan passed, “Sorry, you're right. This isn't easy, and you are right about us. We'll be no better than Starfleet Command if we use and abuse that time machine. I know, but tell me T'lan... how's your logical deduction these days?”

“Sir...” She sat at the other end of the desk and crossed her arms, “Your attempt to rouse me to anger will not work. You know full well even with my disability I am capable of logic.”

James chuckled, patting T'lan's hand, “My dear, I never doubted it. But think about this. The current state of war between ourselves and our enemies has swung in their favor. Starfleet's military power and resources are exhausted. The Federation is getting increasingly desperate. People are fleeing from the UFP. They see signs of the end coming.”

“An loosely predicted conclusion. The chance of a total collapse of The Federation before yesterday was fifty point two nine percent, with an estimated time of five years. With the Borg renewing their offensive, now it is thirty six point five and two years until the collapse of civilization, without any changes and under normal protocol. Protocol 34... gives us back to fifty percent... but we would collapse anyways, but in the span of decades once interstellar travel is made untenable. The end is coming unless new data or changes are inserted.”

“Right! Now, you know this. Starfleet has to know this and they will have a more complete picture. Can you understand why they are so desperate now? Why they would implement Protocol 34?”

“Logically, they would let their fear rule their judgements. They would rather protect their culture by all means than look at long term galactic survival. But since our culture cannot last without trade and exploration...”

“Protocol 34 shoots ourselves in the foot if they go through with it. Ergo, I submit this statement. The Federation and Starfleet Command are panicking. They're seeing our entire civilization go to pot and they are scared shitless. They'll do what is necessary to keep the barbarians out of the gates, even if they risk destroying the walls.”

“A crude analogy, but fitting.”

“Yes it is. And tell me, do you think their decision for victory is a logical one, even at the expense of so many lives in irreversible damage to our Federation?”

T'lan thought over the variables. She came to the conclusion quickly, “We would never recover.”

“That's right, yet they voted to do it anyways. Therefore, I conclude that our leadership is not in sound judgement. I also submit that they have violated The Federation Charter by rescinding it and implementing Protocol 34. Therefore they should not be in control of this temporal displacement device. They will use it to fuck up time so badly, and with no prime directive in the way they'll do anything and may never stop. Therefore, someone has to step in with sound judgement.”

T'lan rolled her seat back, her brows creased worriedly, “Sir... if they are not capable, then what makes you think we are?”

“My dear, I didn't say that either.” James gravely admitted, “But we are more sound then they are. We have a clear objective. One, we warn Allison of the future and tell her to stay in the past. Two, we make sure the temporal displacement device cannot be used by Starfleet. With those in mind we have a strict rule of engagement. Use it once to warn Allison, then make sure it's never used again unless it's to bring her home. We can't trust Starfleet Command to use it, but a small group like us can swear by blood to keep this secret.”

He allowed a pause to let the information sink in, “We can do this and end the war like we promised... but it will depend on Allison. All we have to do is tell her one statement, one warning, and she can go from there. After that... we'll somehow have to convince Lysander to keep it safe, and I think I know how.”

“Sir...” T'lan reminded, “Your plan hinges on a teenage girl who can't even vote, and a man that hates you. Are you sure this can happen?”

James grinned, “T'lan, I don't know about that shitbag Lysander, but my daughter has her mother's brains and my stubbornness. If anything, I pity the past for getting in her way....”

T'lan rose from her seat, “In that case Sir, I am with you. You can trust me not to abuse the temporal device.”

“Good. Couldn't do it without. Say... don't suppose you're free tonight, are you?”

T'lan looked back at her captain as she was leaving the ready room. “I am occupied. You see, I had plans to spend time with you.”

He chuckled at her joke and dismissed her. “Love her humour.”

Alternity, Part 6
“Mad Hawksley”

*****
Alpha Centauri, Alpha Quadrant, The USS Kindjal
*****

A week in transit from the outer fringe of the Coreworlds to deep within it. Next door to Mother Terra herself was the bright utopia of a lesser known, but equally valuable founding member of the United Federation of Planets.

Alpha Centauri.

At least it was beautiful at one point. It was now one of the most clogged spaceways in the galaxy, lending to a near breakdown on the part of Lieutenant Vesta, the Kindjal's besieged navigator. Alpha Centauri had the dubious honour of being the most industrialized planet in the Federation (and most of it was private venture). It also housed the Centauri Complex, a shipyard that rivalled Utopia Planetia. The planet itself was a grid of pipework and towers, a haze of smog settling in the atmosphere that lingered once the Federation relaxed its environmental laws to increase war production.

It was a sight James found distasteful, but unavoidable. Not because the planet was indicative of its capitalist nature, but because of the man that called it home and domain.

Lysander Van Der Puls Hawksley, CEO of Hawksley Intergalactic, one of the Federation's largest multi-system corporations. He was a former Starfleet officer that served on the USS Galaxy. James tried to be nice to the man, but being a bullshit intolerance man he could not get along with the insufferably arrogant half Alpha Centaurian. At the time, Lysander was heavily hitting on Rebecca, his advances unwanted and overaggressive. When Lysander left for his next assignment, James didn't care enough to keep track of the man and was glad to see him out of his life, his only regret that he didn't punch Lysander on his way out.

In a way, James was jealous of the opportunities Lysander took for granted. Rich Terran and Centaurian parents while James was raised by an aggressive, abusive father and a pacifistic, cowering mother. Lysander was born rich and stayed rich, while James being raised by career Starfleet officers had to make due with the gypsy lifestyle of a space boomer and had to make his own modest fortune through some music and wise investing afterwards. Lysander never saw war, missing both The Dominion War and skipping out on the long Triad Conflict to tend his capitalist empire, while James fought the last and worst year of The Dominion War and hit every major event in the war with the Hydrans. Lysander was, like James ex-wife Rebecca, fast tracked and groomed to be the next generation of Admiralty, or at least one of the best tactical minds in Starfleet, the kind that led fleets to overwhelming victory. James was blacklisted at every turn due to bad career choices, and was only given a fleet because Starfleet's officer corp was so badly gutted by the war.

Lysander had the charmed life. Girlfriends, wealth, comfort beyond most means. James had death, fighting and heartbreak.

It was no doubt that they would clash over Rebecca. While James was away at war, he secretly thought Lysander was seducing her, giving her almost half his company after the divorce, giving her a job during the twilight of their marriage. James never saw the man face to face in years, and didn't want to.

And now he had to beg the very man he hated, and whom hated him in turn, for the guaranteed safety of his daughter and to allow her to send a message from the future.

He would think that his rival sending his own daughter into the past would be enough to lay waste to his body and his empire, but not only was that highly illegal it was, to James' reasoning, that Lysander had his daughter as a bargaining chip. He would have to do something he never wanted to do with Lysander again. He would have to ask nicely, in which James did.

=/\=“Naff off, smeghead!”=/\= Was Lysander's only response to a meeting request.

Somehow, nobody in the know was surprised by the response when James tried to hail Hawksley Industries' head office.

“Hail that prickjob again.” Corgan snarled at the snowy viewscreen.

T'lan took over at tactical. She hailed Hawksley Industries again. “No response sir. We have been blocked out by a communications firewall.”

“Then lets use some of that processing power and fancy Starfleet technogidgets and beat down that firewall. I want to talk to that little shit now and I don't care if he's in the middle of a blowjob with his secretary. Do it.”

“Aye sir!” T'lan's fingers flew over the keyboard, her attempts stymied by negative bleeps, “Nothing, sir. As to be expected from a company that made most of our software.”

“Fuck sakes...” James rose out of the Captain's chair, “Alright T'lan, Ensign Tekri, with me to the transporter room. Commander Brekir... the ship is yours until we get back. If any other Starfleet vessels try to interfere with us... delay them.”

“Aye sir.” Saluted the Andorian second in command, “Thank you sir. I will do my best.”

Leading Nuhir and T'lan to the turbolift, he said to Commander Brekir, “I know you will. I'll let you know if we're in trouble, but don't endanger the ship or the crew to save us. Now if you'll excuse me... I have an asshole to beat into submission.”

The away team transited on the turbolift, apprehension in their hearts as they waited for the inevitable showdown. James took a moment to survey his team. T'lan was placid, one of her rare moments of Vulcan control, and seemed rather indifferent to the danger that could be ahead. Nuhir however worried James. She was excited. As an engineer that specialized in temporal mechanics, he could see why. To see and work with a real time machine was part of her stock and trade, but James couldn't help but make similarities to Allison and Nuhir. Both were left by him to be raised by their mothers, and both had reason to hate him. Even when James gave Nuhir so much opportunity in Starfleet at the expense of his credibility, he had to wonder why she wanted temporal mechanics. It was an odd wartime profession in Starfleet, and it didn't promise any real results. It was impractical until Protocol 34.

“Nuhir...” James asked, “Why?”

She looked perplexed. “Why what, father?”

“Why are you so interested in time? I have no doubt you want to see Hawksley's device, but why time to begin with?”

She paused long to gather her thoughts, but her reasoning was sound. “Father, we humans are explorers, are we not? My Romulan cultural heritage tells me I must conquer or acquire, but my human heritage tells me I must explore and learn. Our galaxy is shrinking. So much of it is already mapped or out of reach, and so I wanted to pick the next place to travel... the timestream. Didn't you want to explore the past?”

James shrugged, “Not really. The past is a bad place for me. It's dangerous. Don't go there. But I like your idea... if it ever happens. But tell me... did you ever want to change the past like Allison?”

Nuhir looked down at the floor. “Sir...” She said mournfully, “I was tempted. Mother told good stories about you. She never once hated you for leaving, but regretted she could not have you back. I didn't believe what she said about you, being so nice and noble, always trying to do the right thing when you were never there. I had a father who adopted and raised me and that was enough. I could have gone without knowing you... until you saved me from the conscripts, and I found out that all the good things mother had to say about you were true. Father... what Allison had to learn from you I already found out just by meeting you. I don't need to go to the past like she did.”

James patted his daughter on the head, “Good to hear, Nuhir. I hope someday you'll get to explore like your old man, but for now it's onto business. You and T'lan will be transporting to a different part of the complex. We'll drop you off at the area with the highest concentration of cronoton particles. If I can't convince Lysander to send the message, I want you two to send this by force.” He withdrew an extra communicator pin from his pocket, giving it to Nuhir, “This has to be sent to Allison. Make sure it happens.”

“Aye, sir!”

“T'lan, you're her escort and backup plan. Make sure you protect my daughter, both of them if need be.”

T'lan said, “You can trust me to the task, sir.”

“Good...” James flipped down his officer's cap, and checked his weapons. Both his phaser and vibro saber were fully charged and ready, “Now let's rock this town.”

*****
Hawksley Industries, CEO's office
*****

Hawksley Industries held one of the only places of natural beauty left on the planet. Sitting above the arboretum, in an artificial rain forest around a bubble duranium latticework and forcefields was the CEO's office for the Federation's largest company. A technological nerve centre floating with holoscreens displaying the investments and reports of a burgeoning capitalist empire, they wisked transparent enough to see a flock of rainforest martens flitter from tree to tree. The patter of artificial rain could be heard on the leaves and the metal and energy barriers.

He walked tiles of clear, thick glass that showed the green canopy below and the electromagnetic thrusters that kept the office oval afloat. Donning a simple black suit and maroon longcoat, he took time out of monitoring his stocks to think on an old nemesis.

Lysander was expecting Commodore Corgan to call him, but he didn't expect it so soon. Typical of the hothead's fashion, James communication's screen tried to crowd out the rest, but with one terse, crude statement Lysander turned him back.

And that would be the end of that, for at least a day.

Lysander knew exactly why Corgan was here, though he felt Allison's biological father had no rights to dictate terms to a daughter he hadn't raised himself. What bothered him was how soon he responded, especially when The Federation was at war and was losing on all fronts. Was it so important to him that he would leave the front line for the first time in years to get her? Lysander concluded that he obviously underestimated Corgan's paternal instinct. But who would have told him? He thought James was to be kept in the dark. Then again, he also thought Allison would be home by now. Did Rebecca panic? That was his best theory. She got scared, then being drafted amplified it tenfold.

He would have to give him something to allay his fears. He was too close to a state secret, and if James found out the sketchier parts...

Then Lysander's infinitely superior brain came to a conclusion. James was not a problem. Any state secrets he found out would stay at Hawksley Industries.

He would have to trigger his plan early, one that James was invaluable for winning the war. It was too soon, and he had yet to expend the last temporal anchor, but it was an opportune time. There were problems. The closest Starfleet ships were at Earth or Andoria, so trying for an arrest would be impossible now. He just needed one more day.

A day James would not give him.

Commodore Corgan appeared in a microsecond , a nimbus smoke all that was left of the transporter's work. His eyes were a piercing hurricane of anger, his hand not far from his black phaser, his muscles tense and ready to pounce. He was staring down Lysander, a fine dressed peacock, face clean and a paunch from comfortable living, but eyes keen and smart.

Lysander told his guest, “I thought I told you to smeg off, broken head.”

*****
Hawksley Industries Temporalwerks
*****

T'lan and Nuhir transported to the nearest cronoton surge, a complex on planet that was drawing an unusual amount of power, yet was only the size of a small office building. It could have been an out of the way storage facility or telemarketer's pen for all anyone would have know, but to the Vulcan and the Half Romulan it was a nondescript area with a very descript project hiding behind it.

At the entrance of the building were two guards, and one massive reinforced door. Both guards were corporate security, but the arms were Starfleet standard issue phaser rifles. They wore from beret to boots pure black, and their sunglasses obscured personal judgment from their eyes.

T'lan and Nuhir approached the guards. T'lan took the lead and presented her credentials. “Captain T'lan Dau, Starfleet Battlegroup Krieg, USS Tokyo. We are here to inspect a potential candidate for Protocol 34.”

One security guard, a lanky individual, rested his rifle to flip through a PADD, “Sorry, don't know what you're talking about.

The other added, “Even if you wanted to see this storage shed, you'll have to go through CEO Hawksley for permission. We're not Starfleet soldiers. We can tell you to get lost.”

T'lan tried another bluff. “You have something in here and you're spilling enough cronotons to power a Starbase! Let me in. I have Alpha Plus clearance, nugget! If you do not stand back for the sake of galactic security I will have to put your people on report and go in without you.”

The guard was not impressed. “Ma'am, you need above top secret clearance. Admirals and company execs only, and only a few at that. Turn your pretty little butt around and take your mini-me clone with you.”

Nuhir twitched an eyebrow and shot a hostile glare at the guard. “Did you just call me a Vulcan, rent-a-cop? Have some respect! I am the project inspector for the temporal device, and you'll give me any clearance I want. This is straight from the top.”

The guard looked at the other, and his partner rolled his eyes. “Ladies, even if there was a project, and I can clearly tell you're delusion in thinking so, you're not allowed in this building. So march your little jackbooted feet out of here before we file a civil rights suit. Though me personally, I'd rather cook you here.” His hand flipped the safety on his rifle, “You dig, cutie?”

Nuhir, vexed and ready to hit the guard, was backed down by T'lan. She walked up to the guard. “Gentlemen, we will not keep you, so if I may ask that you..”

T'lan's arm shot up, shoving the rifle's barrel pointing to the sky. Twisting the guard's body with her superior Vulcan strength, she clamped a hand on the ridge between his neck and shoulders, then squeezed. The Vulcan nerve pinch cut blood flow to the brain and rendered him unconcious in seconds.

Nuhir's move to incapacitate the guard was more vicious and less scientific. Applying her Half Romulan foot to the space between the guard's legs, he buckled over and groaned like a downed ox. Gripping his head and his hand, she pushed the palm into a print reader, and forced his eyes open for the retinal scan. When the machines were done and the massive doors clunked open, Nuhir slammed his head into the console, knocking him out.

“Want to see a time machine... cutie?” Nuhir quipped.

“He was talking about you, Ensign.”

“I know. Let him dream on. Ensign Tekri to Kindjal, jam all communications to our building and try to disrupt security.”

=/\=”On it.”=/\=

“Good. Tekri out.”

*****
Hawksley CEO office
*****

To respond properly to Lysander's insult, James smiled, putting to plan the reason why he sent Nuhir and T'lan away. James stomped to Lysander, and with little effort he picked up the weasely man by the collars of his longcoat and slammed him onto his desk, scattering a mob of retreating LCARS holoscreens. “You fucking asshole! You couldn't stop at my sister's company or my wife! Now you had to fuck with my daughter too?! I SHOULD KILL YOU NOW!”

“You want to try murder, I suggest you go ahead! It's what you're good at!” Lysander taunted the Commodore, unafraid or unclear of the danger he was in, “But if you do, you'll never see her again! And if try to bring her back, I wouldn't recommend it! She's safe in the past, not here when an empire falls apart!”

James gave pause, his balled fist loosening. “Be that as it may, you've fucked with me for the last time. Tell me why I shouldn't beat the shit out of now?

Lysander popped a finger for each reason, “Hmmm... let's see mate... one, I am still physically stronger than you and can throw you off if I wanted. Two, I have your daughter in another time and I'm the only one that can get her out. Three, because you haven't heard why I agreed to her asinine plane to see you in the past and four... because if you don't your little stunt here will be reported by me and I'll take the last thing you have... your career. Hummmm, what will it be, mate?”

James pulled Lysander off the table and stood him up. “Fine, but fuck you for putting me through this.”

Showing abject shock, Lysander spoke his words like an offended host, “I put you through this? You're a twat to think this is all my fault Corgan. I left Starfleet for a reason. I couldn't get power there, and you took the only thing I would stay there for. You took Rebecca, and instead of loving her and staying with her you fucked off to another part of the galaxy. Do you have any idea how long she waited for you and what it took for her to finally divorce your deadbeat arse? I know, because I was the only friend she had at that point. Once you hurt her, you were open game, mate. Everything I did to you... taking your sister's media conglomerate, encouraging Rebecca to divorce you, sending your daughter back in time to see how much of a right cock you are... that was your doing. I just gave you what you deserved.”

James crossed his arms and tersely growled, “You're not making a good case for why I shouldn't beat you half to death.”

“Well as long as you stop blaming everyone else for your troubles, then we're all golden. The damage is done. I did enough to you, you sorry excuse for a gentleman.”

James did not move. “Not until you let me get word out to my daughter.

Lysander nodded, seeming to concede that contentious point, “Don't worry, she's safe. I put her in an alternate timeline.”

“Wait... you WHAT?!?!” James snapped.

“Hold on! It was the safest way! But I had to give her one close, so I put her far enough in the past where she would be in the same one as this, but steered her course towards a similar but alternate future by using her diary to aim her towards certain events. She's safe, so I won't let you bring her back.”

“So... it's pointless to tell her about the future?”

“Oh... far from it!” Lysander explained, “You see, it was hard to find a close enough timeline, and lets face it you wouldn't have changed much. If there's war in that line too... who knows. Time travel is in its infancy and is still not perfect, and she can come back at any time if it gets too hot, stay long enough for her to see what a douche you are. So... are you taking her back?”

James said, “Don't plan on it. She's not safe here. I just need to give her a message. Say, have you heard of Protocol 34?”

*****

The security detail at the temporal device thumped, bashed, and prodded their equipment to work. Like a stubborn mule, the screens refused to show anything but static, the consoles locking up and unresponsive to commands.

“Dammit.” Complained a security guard, “What the hell is going on? That time machine messing with our equipment again?”

A geeky looking man hunched over the consoles, prying apart panels to see inside, “Nothing burned out. Call tech support. Maybe they can help us.”

“Ppfffhhhh! Tried. Comm systems are jammed too. It's like the whole grid for this building's going on the blink. I'll go outside and get some help. And god help us if this is a security....”

He stared down two armed Starfleet females. One of officers demanded, her phaser waving at the security guards.

“...threat?”

*****
Hawksley's eyes lit up, “Oh, that old charm! Don't tell me they're trying it.”

“They're trying it.” James said, and then backpedaled, “Wait... you mean you heard of it?”

“Well of course!” Lysander sat in his chair, spinning it once and dismissing a wave of holoscreens. “When Admiral Hoth trained Rebecca and I, we were taught the proper application of weapons of mass destruction.” James eyebrows knitted together, a facial cue Lysander instantly picked up, “Oh, come on now my good man! You being out of the loop is nothing special. An officer like you wasn't meant to get past Captain, and was less than likely to have to use Protocol 34. The privilege belonged to the best, the elite, the leaders of the future, which by the way was Rebecca and I. But don't feel bad about it. Some have it, some don't. Some can handle it, some can't. What happened when you heard about it? Did you flip out, spout some bollocks about how the galaxy was going to end and go charging off to see me?”

James raised his lips to respond, “I... fuck... I did.”

“All drive and no brains some days, are you my boy?” Lysander chided, “It's ok. There's places for guys like you. Those places just aren't in big picture places like I have. Point is, I heard of Protocol 34. That's why I haven't given it to Starfleet yet. Probably never will. These aren't easy to make and you can't just send anyone through a time rift or go to any old place. If I gave it to Starfleet... I wouldn't get the time or queue to get Allison back when things do blow over. Still, I'm glad you're not the one commandeering it.”

“Oh?” James piqued.

Lysander replied, “You were a cad, but you were a man of your word... most of the time. You also deal with people fairly, rather unfair to you though. You always tried that strict code of honour of yours, and to be honest because of it any dealings with you were as if you had your hands tied behind you back. That made my job of taking those things dear to you easy. Still, I could always count on you being fair. You're small picture, but you know better than to use the time machine as a weapon. So now that you know... what do you have in mind with Allison?”

The office bubble shot out of the greenhouse through a retracted roof. It hovered in the polluted Centaurian sky, drifting like a dirigible over the industrial landscape. James watched the craft move. It was going to an industrial tower area, where one of the doors seemed to be opened. “I'm going to give her a message. Warn her about the future, tell her to stay in the past, and let her know... I'm sorry.”

“Oh! Good for you, ducky! Never too late to learn. Tea?”

“No thanks. Coffee. Black. Extra strong.”

“Always the unrefined utilitarian.”

James asked a risky question. “Lysander, you always tried to get back at me for Rebecca. All you did for her and Allison... did you really love them, or was it just to get back at me?”

Sipping his tea, Lysander gave a thoughtful smirk, “Aren't you thinking highly of yourself now. I only hated you. I didn't spend my waking hours thinking nothing but you. In my own way... I do love her, more than you'll ever know. As for your daughter... I trained her, taught her, made her the first Crononaut. She is my daughter in everything but blood. That happens when you're with your children for long periods of time, and I doubt you can understand why you are not, in spirit, her father anymore.”

Making a sour face, Lysander dropped two cubes of sugar into his tea. “I was hoping when she got back from time, she would see that for sure. You were a git then and a git now. Sooner she learns, sooner we're a family.”

*****

“Ma'am...” Nuhir Tekri sealed off a door with her phaser pistol, “I know we need to keep them away from us but... was nerve pinching the entire security staff necessary?”

T'lan said in response, “It was the logical conclusion to a complex and volatile situation. We will have more time while not inflicting any fatalities.”

“I understand ma'am.” Nuhir ran to the consoles and looked out at the overlooking station, “It's just that... oh....”

What she saw was a megalithic platform, the span of hundreds of meters in diameter, it's circumference ringed with tapering stone steps. Part work of art and technological marvel, the time machine was actually a very large platform, inside the circle having concentric rings that rotated and slithered, the scales of their light turquoise blue glowing the white marble of the floor to the colour of aquamarine. Jutting from the circle were thick cables, some marked power and the others of unknown purpose, transitioning from coiled snakes to straightened, neatly arranged pipes when they meet the walls. The walls themselves were darkened, aged grey panels under a latticework of electronics, ventilation shafts and pipework that extended to the roof; it was hard to see a smooth piece of wall. The floors were white marble and clean. From the roof, like large horns or gigantic dynamos, were conelike devices ending in spherical points that arched with static blue electricity.

One of the walls had some organization, and it centred around a coffinlike box in the centre, the pipework centering on this one unit. A carved face was on the box, but so smoothed out by the chiseled rock that it was muted and indistinguishable from anyone's face.

Holoscreens flitted around the area. Some clustered around the 'coffin', and others were accompanying white suited scientists. One main screen displayed disembodiedly beside the circle and was towering over the scientists. The display showed a diagram that looked like the branches of a veined tree, the higher the branches, the finer the little twigs. Two circles zeroed on a small branch, one on a thicker end, the other at the tip. The bigger branch was called 'destination', the smaller 'location'. A third one appeared over a related but split apart branch, called 'present'.

T'lan sniffed at the temporal displacement device. “Impractical decorations. Not the work of a logical mind.”

Nuhir shot back at the Vulcan, “Auntie T'lan, this is a work of beauty. Can you believe the time and resources needed for this? It is such an alien look, as if from an H.R. Gieger painting. It really does express what the unknown looks like to the uninformed, a sobering reminder of what dangers they deal with. This is a psychological weapon as well.”

“A 'psychological weapon' we plan on using. Do not forget that. Remember your role. You have to translate. Only you can make sense of this equipment.”

Nuhir flipped a phase spanner out of her toolbelt. It twirled in her hand, and with it she made a mock salute to T'lan. “Just tell me what geek to interrogate!”

“Any one. Just get it running. James' won't be able to reason with Lysander for use of the portal. We have to do it ourselves.”

*****

“So... you going to tell me how it works?”

Lysander finished his tea. Snapping his fingers, the cup disappeared. “Are you sure it won't go over your head?”

James shook his head, “Give me some credit. Sure, I'm not a genius like you or Rebecca, but I'm sick of how you two always made me feel thick because of it. So fucking arrogant in your own collective brainfarting...”

“If you were smarter, you would be easier to deal with. Geniuses are easy to manipulate.” Lysander pressed a button from his console. The office bubble shifted, groaned, and stared to decend towards a building. “Fair enough. You're a smart enough bloke to understand the basic concepts. How much you know about time?”

“Enough not to fuck with it. Everyone took the same courses on time travel and why not to do it.”

Lysander laughed, “Good one. Well, I know enough. I know that time isn't as linear as everyone says it is, and I know from experience that it's more robust than anyone gives it credit for. Don't expect a butterfly's fart to start an earthquake in Beijing. At the same time, don't take out anything important. It's not that the timeline will die... it's just that the timeline gets more convoluted, to the point where even we can't navigate it. Too many alternate lines, the further you go. You have to be careful and keep a narrow focus.”

The bubble docked at the side of the tower. There, an umbilical cord attached, the forcefield deactivating as atmosphere was equalized. Lysander beckoned James to follow, and he did.

“There's been time travel before. Captain Kirk did it three times, did you know that? Each time they tried to replicate it and it failed. Orbit the sun until you get dizzy and end up in 1492? You could do that, but any miscalculation and you lose your ship in the star you orbit, and Starfleet at the time, and even now, can't calculate it with the best computers and they don't want to risk a capital ship with powerful enough engines to do it. If Kirk and Spock knew the real odds... they would be shitting their pants... but I digress. You could try the Edge of Forever gates... but they've been destroyed years ago. But one method that had a chance to work was found in an obscure archive from the USS Voyager's journey... some random data from a species call the Krenem...”

“Voyager? Admiral Janeway's old ship?”

“You got it, chum! Voyager was to us like Marco Polo was to Europe. Never has there been such a spike of discoveries since we were let loose on the Voyager archives! It talked of temporal displacement devices, but the power demands were huge! That's why we have so much power in this area... it's for the temporal displacement device, all of it! But it had principals that gave us the right way. Like how messing with the future's pretty futile... even they didn't know how yet. But the past... easy! So many possibilities, it was a matter of zooming into one of them.”

*****

“Alright! Spill it! How do you get it fired up!!!!” Nuhir brandished her phase spanner like a club, zeroing on the nearest, oldest and geekiest scientist.

With T'lan looming over her shoulder, the two officers were an imposing sight. The scientist crumbled. “It's already fired up! We have to keep it operational for our first Crononaut to come back safely.”

“Can we send something to her?” Nuhir asked directly.

“Oh... maybe...” The scientist said, “It's not precise though. We can't send her a subspace message, the interference is too much. You can send a solid object, but even our DNA lock isn't that precise. You have to factor in the person's alternate timeline signature.”

“Explain.” T'lan demanded testily.

“Alternate timeline signatures.” Nuhir said, “It's a way to make sure you have the right timeline and distinguish yourself from you in an alternate timeline. If not they could end up scanning the wrong timeline with another Allison, or lose her altogether.”

“And the DNA lock?”

“It's already being used.” He pointed shakedly at the coffin like device at the wall.

“Bring it down.” T'lan gestures to the coffin, “I'll temporal shift it to myself if I have to.”

*****

“We use a DNA lock to keep track of what alternate to go to.”

James scratched his head as they walked the corridors of the tower, “Say what?”

“A DNA lock. Locking onto timelines is easy. Precise events in space and time are hard. My device is not just temporal, it can do anywhere in the galaxy if it wanted! Of course that makes it hell if you want to end up in the right place or time. It's not a precise science, so we need to literally sniff for a bio signature to lock the exact time and place you want to go. For that a person that was there at the right time has to be there and we have to have their DNA. So if I wanted to go see Abraham Lincoln at Ford's Theatre before the assassination, I couldn't just temporal shift there. I have to have a DNA lock on a person that was there, preferably someone next to him, like the assassin. Good luck getting an intact DNA sample.”

“Can't just dig the grave and extract? Can't make a clone?”

“Even clone DNA changes minutely James, and DNA degrades even after years. So our limit is we can only go as far as a good DNA sample can last, from the original source. Also, I mentioned it has to be someone close to the event, so I couldn't use Allison's DNA for anything but tracking her current position during her time travel. Made sure it was her, or else I could be tracking her alternate self... or your nutsack for all I know.”

“Then why not Rebecca?”

“Because James, she wasn't on the Galaxy at the time. Besides, I didn't need that much complication.”

One of the holoscreens that dogged Lysander, showing the status of his stocks, began to flicker, then outright shatter to electronic pieces. Lysander gave it intense notice. “What the hell is going on?”

“Fuck if I know, Lysander. So, who did you get for a DNA lock? Is that why I am here? You could have used my DNA from the archives.”

“Ssshhhhh....” Lysander waved him off, “I think there is an intruder.

~”Oh shit.... this was the building?”~ James swallowed his throat. “That might be my friends. Sorry about that?”

“Friends? What friends?”

“In case you said no, but if there's no problem we can stop them before they cause too much havok. Hurry!”

*****

The coffin slid onto a retracting robotic arm, cables cutting and jetting out bluish frozen exhaust. Like the careful cupped hand of a buddist monk, it lowered the coffin to ground level and fixed itself back to the wall. The coffin was in front of the scientists and the two Starfleet officers, and in its resurrection it hissed cold, cryogenic gasses as the lid opened.

The scientists were unfazed, but the sight made both T'lan and Nuhir ill. Nuhir looked with fascination, but T'lan was rendered to tears, her fist in a crushing, cracking grip on her phaser pistol.

“No....” T'lan rumbled like thunder. Her phaser pistol was quick to aim at the scientist's head, “What did you do to her?!?!”

*****

“You better let me lead, mate. You don't know your way around here.” Lysander ran ahead, James following. For an older man, he still had his speed and endurance, part of the Alpha Centaurian part of his heritage. James had to admire his stamina, but wondered what happened so soon.

T'lan and Nuhir were supposed to send the message in case he couldn't. A civilian facility, they could have as Starfleet Officers just strode in without security blinking twice. What happened? Why did they have to scramble the area?

He found out as they entered the temporal displacement device. T'lan, quaking with an indomitable Vulcan rage, was brandishing her phaser pistol and aiming it at scientists near the device. Nuhir was over a boxlike contraption, and she looked more green than usual. All the scientists were scared and very tense.

“You call this not too much havoc?!” Lysander yelled at James.

“Shut up! Just shut up for a second!” James shoved Lysander to the side, the join T'lan and Nuhir, “T'lan! What is the meaning of this?! They're just goddamn civilians! I secured Lysander's help... so lets put away the hardware and start apologizing our asses off and get this done before Starfleet SHITS A BRICK!”

“SIR!” T'lan waved the phaser at two retreating scientists, who stood still at the sight of a deadly weapon. T'lan's tears were streaming down her face, staining her skin. Vulcans rarely cried, a waste of water and an outburst of emotion, but T'lan was a Vulcan in biology only. She was capable of emotions, a balancing act that could kill. James knew something was wrong with her. “T'lan... what's wrong? Why are you so upset? Come on, number one! Snap the fuck out of it! We can't lose our heads now!”

“Sir...” She quivered, “You don't understand. They used something called a DNA lock to help Allison time travel... and... just look inside the box!”

James looked, and saw a sight that brought the bile up to his throat. What he saw would have horrified a veteran used to carnage, but what brought it's impact was how personal the being was inside.

It was that instant he did not want to bargain with Lysander or play games. He wanted Lysander dead.

“Mika...” James uttered to the cold, frozen box, as the gasses dissipated and showed the long dead form of his former fiancé.

TBC...

Alternity, Part 7
“The Temporal Showdown”

*****
Hawksley Industries Temporalwerks
*****

The last time anyone saw the late Mikaiu sh'Son'ra, daughter of the great Quadratritikele King and Commodore Corgan's former fiancé was at her funeral years ago.

She had died in an accident so long ago while serving as a civilian schoolteacher onboard the USS Galaxy, and before that a diplomatic attaché and then Ambassador for the Federation Diplomatic Corp. He remembered her as uncanny intelligent, cunning, and disarmingly polite and adorable, putting everyone in her presence at ease, and pushing them at the right times. She was part of James life during his most stable and joyful time, after he reconciled his past nightmares incurred from The Borg and The Dominion but before the turbulant war with The Hydran got to its worst.

Like T'lan, James too was moved to tears to see her in the coffin. He was mixed with longing for his dead lover, and a sweeping sense of outrage at the treatment of her remains.

Her funeral choice, rather than follow her alienated people's custom of full cremation with a sample of blood sent to the Imperial Hall on Andoria, was the traditional burial in space. James last saw her torpedo case coffin loaded into the USS Galaxy's torpedo tubes and shot out into space under a 21 phaser salute. He thought her remains were safe in billions of parsecs of open spacial frontier.

Now her body was interred in a new coffin, one of nightmarish wires violating her skin. Her body was shrouded in a medical gown, but even he could see the bulge of cables and monitoring equipment fused to flesh and emanating from her like tree roots. Her skin, partially desiccated as if malnourished, lost its dark turquoise glow and remained a pale, ruddy aqua. Her eyes sunken and lifeless and her hair was withered and dry. Beside the wilted antennae were bolt holes, and James watched in horror as cables snaked and clamped onto these access ports. Below her feet was a thick glass jar connected to cables, inside was a boiling red substance. Blood.

The body had a medical tag, Mika.

The jar, a tag labelled Allison.

Mika's body jerked to life, arched it's back impossibly high, let out a howling, soul in damnation scream. The body settle back in its coffin as the temporal displacement device began its slow cycle.

Lysander snapped his fingers and said with wonderment, “Ohhh, watch this. Mika, opera please.”

The Mika body sprang to life and lifted herself up. In a clear, beautiful voice she sang an operatic piece, her voice echoing in the cavernous room.

“Mika, Bollywood.”

Her voice changed pitch, tempo, even accent as she emulated an East Indian pop song perfectly.

Lysander clapped his hands together. Mika ceased to sing and laid herself back in the coffin. “Neat, eh? She's not only our breakthrough in temporal sciences, but also regenerative techniques.”

Lysander could have seen the handful of medical and temporal miracles he pioneered in Mika's preserved corpse, but James saw the flood of turbulent memories of the woman he loved the most. Nobody else compared to sweet, gentle Mika, and it was her ghost that made any love of his pale in comparison. He could remember their life together, how happy it was, how they were both exiles from their own established orders. James a disgraced security officer, Mika a failed diplomatic corp Ambassador that was also rejected by her people, finding safety and peace away from the people that tried to drag them further down.

The day he lost her, failed to save her, was the worst of his life, setting the stage for the turbulant life that followed. It was her memory that kept him through hellish marriage and war, of what parts of his life were worth living for. Making the memory of Mika proud let him live.

The sight of this the emaciated body of his former fiancé in bondage with the machine violated the fond memories of her, a direct insult to her spirit.

He had felt anger before. Outrage made personal was first and foreign to him.

Not any longer.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HER?!?!” James' phaser flicked out lighting quick and aimed itself at Lysander.

“Relax, it's not her and she's not alive.” Lysander brushed the phaser away from his head, the look of a Machiavellian mastermind surveying a nemesis. He laughed, casually dismissing James and all his feelings. “Her brain and personality were long dead, so we just used the brainstem for autonomic functions, acting like the temporal displacement device's bioneural circuitry... but on acid. The rest is nanite repaired and preserved, perfect for the DNA lock on Allison's destination.”

“She was launched into space years ago!”

“We found the body after looking through the USS Galaxy's archives. We thought we wouldn't get you to co-operate for a DNA lock for Allison's little field trip, so we found someone else close to you. She's the perfect candidate. She hardly left your side at the time.. so Rebecca tells me you told her and she was jealous of that. She was of the right time thread and we had an intact DNA source that, due to being hermetically sealed and in space, was a perfectly preserved specimen. What do you think? Stroke of genius or what?”

“I OUGHT TO KILL YOU!”

“We'll hold on there, skip! Your sentimentality and your fixation on the dead makes you hardly impartial. Practical solution to the nightmare of temporal travels AND it would show how cracked you are when you see it. You ought to thank me and thank her for a safe trip for your daughter. Oh...” Lysander feigned concern, and said sarcastically, “Your if your daughter's going to be sick, I suggest it's not all over our temporal anchor, and I think your Vulcan's having a nervous breakdown.”

Poignant with his observations, Lysander watched amused as Corgan's away team was paralyzed with indecision and dread. Nuhir looked away from the once corpse, failing to hold back a wave of nausea and spilling the contents of her stomach on the floor. James and T'lan could only watch the macabre spectacle, T'lan wrought to an unnatural grief, and James balefully hating Lysander's preening leer as he enjoyed their horror.

T'lan's phaser set itself to kill by a flick of her thumb. “You bastard... I loved her. We all did. Sir... Mr. Hawksley is mad! We have to take her out!”

“NO!” Nuhir yelled out, her fingers snaking over a console, “If Mr. Hawksley is correct, Mika is integrated into the system! It won't function without her!”

“Well... not exactly.” Lysander corrected, “She's needed for Allison's transit, or any during Mika's travels if anyone cares to try. Still, have what I need right here. Security...”

Security guards phased out of subspaced, hands grasped the away team's phasers before they could fire. Nuhir, James and T'lan struggled but couldn't break free from multiple arms.

Lysander used the opportunity to dance and gloat. “James old boy, had you outfoxed from the get go. Starfleet knew of my project. It's phase four, in case the others smeg up. Our cosmic reset button, but it had a lady's who's historical relevance ended is about the same as a gnat. What my backers in Starfleet need for the right DNA lock was a man who's been to all the big fights, seen it all. Just so happens there was not only that man in you, but you were Starfleet's sweet little liability. And as for what I wanted to do to you...” Lysander flicked James' nose, “...for looking down at me when I was clearly your better, for abandoning your wife and daughter to fight a war with your hardbodied Vulcan trollop, turning another girlfriend into a ghoul and putting the deathblow to your marriage... I'd say we're even. What do you think, mate?”

James felt as if all parts of his life were falling apart. Starfleet conspired against him, his troubles, enough done to his own, were compounded by the vengeful former shipmate. At that point, James was sick of Lysander, his sneer, his flaunting of his domination. James decided, and quick, that he would no longer give Lysander more chances.

“WE'RE NEVER EVEN 'TILL YOU'RE DEAD!”

James struggled to throw off his captors, his reward a fist to the solar plexus. One guard held him back while the other two fisted his upper and lower body. His officer's cap swatted off and rolled into the temporal displacement device, winked out of existence in the aquamarine light. He tasted blood in his mouth

Nuhir was the only person that noticed. ~”The temporal displacement device is active. Wait for it.”~ Her mind was working already, the console close enough to kick, but the guards held her firm. Her focus was on the guard pinning her arms back. She slowly leaned back, her backside a subtle grind. She felt his heat rise, the control was hers, but not too fast. She would have to wait.

Balefully, Lysander hit James hard. He felt his ribs crack as excruciating pain shot up his chest and into his lungs. Lysander's superior strength could shatter James' human body; the hit was a light warning.

“Wrong!” Lysander cackled, “You're outmatched, James old boy! Try to do the sensible thing for once. I'll give you the way out. Let your friends go, your Mika's resigned to the ages, Rebecca can move on and Allison can stay safe in the alternate timeline. You just climb in the coffin, you take Mika's place as the DNA lock.” He swept his hand over T'lan and Nuhir, “I'll even forgive those two for breaking into a top secret Starfleet project. Take it... the deal's going fast...”

How he wanted to break free and kill Lysander! But he looked over to his daughter, his lover, his outrage quelled by a staying hand of loyalty and protection. He also had Mika, slumbering peacefully in undeath at the coffin. Poor Mika... sweet Mika...

~”Get a grip James!”~ His subconscious screamed at him, his mind's eye seeing the flight of an angel in black, his scythe a survey of the battlefield, ~”She's dead! He's using her to mindfuck you! And so will you if you take his deal! You can't trust that fucking snake. He won't stop until everything in your life is shackled to his whims! T'lan wouldn't want his hold on her. Nuhir wouldn't want it. Rebecca sure as fuck SHOULDN'T want it and Allison deserves better than to have her fate determined by that FUCKING ASSHOLE! Are you going to let him have dominion over everything you hold dear... or are you going to grow a pair of balls and kick his?”~

James whispered cryptically, his mind trying to digest the conflicting goals and feeling until one stood out.

Allison had to warn the future. He had to give her the message, and if he was indebted to Lysander that message would never come. So his path was clear. He had to fight.

Lysander cupped his hand to his ear, “I'm listening. Say yes, Meeks gets to rest in peace...”

James pursed his lips, whispered to Lysander's ear.

Lysander didn't hear. “What was that?” He said as he leaned over, ear to nose of the Commodore.

James rasped, “I said... no...”

“Oh?” Lysander retreated, wounded, “You don't realize what a bind I have you in?”

James snickered, the blood running down his lips, staining his teeth and giving him an animal like vestige, “Fuck it.”

James arm broke loose from the guards, wrestled the small comm badge out of his pocket, the guards fighting to keep him under control, “Protocol 34, end of the universe, savoir of the galaxy and a big fuck you to your petty little rivalry, and it's all going to my little girl! FUCK YOU!”

Breaking free from the guards, he whipped the badge at the portal. In a flash, the badge disappeared.

Mika spoke disembodied through the room's audio systems, “Temporal transport complete. Rerouting timeline. Temporal shields online.”

“The most powerful weapon's a teenage girl with knowledge and foresight.”

“WHAT?!” Lysander ran for the portal, “What did you do? Do you know what you've done!?”

James defiantly howled, “You can fuck me over all you want, but it won't matter if little Allison prevents this from happening. I know a temporal law myself, and if I remember right... the best way to kill a timeline is to make sure a decision isn't allowed to take place. Do what you want to me. I trust my little girl will do the right thing.”

Lysander's cockiness was replaced with unbridled spite. “Oh no James. You did the worst offense. Send knowledge back to change time. Who knows what you'll start now, and Starfleet doesn't like those unpredictable variables. If anyone was going to change time, it was them! Best you did for yourself... was ended your life. Cheers James... nice knowing you.”

As Lysander walked away, the guards held James while another charged a phaser rifle, levelling the pistol to James forehead for an execution style shot. T'lan struggled but failed to shake off her captors, tying a dozen to counter the Vulcan's superior strength.

Nuhir looked to be watching helplessly. Busy as always, and knowing a trick her mother told her, she let the closeness of her body to her guard work against him. He shifted uncomfortably as they pressed. Nuhir's hand slid over his thigh, closer to what her mother called 'the danger zone'. He squirmed, Nuhir pressed harder, and when her hand reached his crotch, she turned from prey to predator.

Her hands squeezed, feeling flesh and organ crush. Bellowing in pain, the guard crumpled, Nuhir shoulder throwing him off and into another guard.

As the guards focused on Nuhir's distraction, T'lan and James took advantage by elbowing and headbutting their guards. James kicked the phaser out of the hand of his executioner, and planted another foot at the guard's chest, sending him in a rolling pile with his captors. When T'lan was free, she waded into a melee of a half dozen black suited security men, her hits practiced, strategically planned jabs and tosses, breaks and blows.

James wrestled himself free, lunging at his dropped phaser pistol. He rolled, gripped the cold tritanium steel in his hand, and fired at his guards. Three dropped in one second, he turned, and rapid fired two bursts at guards flanking Lysander. His phaser energy gathered in a high pitched whine.

Lysander held a nasty, indignant look of disgust? “What? I don't have a phaser. Hardly cricket to shoot me dead. How would you explain that to the authorities, or Rebecca?”

James held back the shot. Thinking over his decision, James spun the pistol in his hand and holstered it in one fast motion. “Fists?” James cracked his knuckles.

Lysander smiled. “Swords. Computer, beam my vibro saber to me.”

For the first time in their match, James was concerned for his life, and for good reason. Lysander's sword materialized in his hand, shining dully in the light. “I was the fencing champion of my class. What the hell were you?”

James drew his vibro saber. Normally a one handed weapon, James pressed a switch. The sword crackled with energy, and the hilt extended for two hand use. “Twenty years Kendo. Years of actual battle experience. Want to try me?”

Lysander launched himself at James, his blade a crackling, quicksilver trust. James swept his sword upwards, deflecting the blow. In crossing swords, Lysander brought his physical strength down to bear, James' arms felt like they were holding back a mountain, and both his sword and his body started to buckle.

~”Uh oh... can't block like my style teaches me.”~ James tried to divert the push, which Lysander countered by pushing harder, making James step back, ~”Not only is he stronger than me, I can't out finesse him in a sword fight because that's his style. Looks like I'm in trouble!”~

T'lan was holding her own against the half dozen guards arrayed at her. She twisted the wrist of one armed guard, and dragged his body in a half circle motion around her to keep the others away. Another twist of his wrist and T'lan has his phaser, disgarding the guard and dropping to one knee as she wildly fired. Two more were brought down this way, but the others dispersed with transporter beams.

Unaware of what was behind her, T'lan missed one of the guards reappearing over her, drawing a crackling katana. Her keen Vulcan hearing detected his drift and the swish of unsheathed metal, but she ramped her muscled and forced herself not to panic.

She then heard a pulse phaser fire, its impact swatting the attacking swordsman. His body crashed into the wall.

T'lan looked over, saw Nuhir saluting while holding a still smoking disruptor rifle, three guards at her feet and very satisfied with herself. The feeling didn't last long. She saw the reinforcements come out and dived for cover. T'lan did the same.

Meanwhile, James fight with Lysander was going disastrously. Pleading underestimation of Lysander's untried battle skills, he thought taking the initiative and raining overhead blows would disarm the cocky Alpha Centaurian. It was not without its faults. Lysander had to retreat up some steps to gain a better vantage point, but from there his counterattack was furious. His thrusts, jabs and slashes were faster than James and he didn't have an aching, burning chest and a broken rib to contend with. He was moving so fast James couldn't find a time to attack, just block and counter.

“You know mate!” Lysander crashed his sword into James' saber, the impact rattling James' numb arm, “Always wanted to do this!” His sword thrust, James swept it out of the way, “After you took Rebecca and left her to languish on Earth, I knew deep inside you were a bastard!” He batted James sword and swiped at his head, James ducked the blow but was meet with a kick to the chest that sent him stumbling back, “And I was right! I heard about all those Hydrans you killed in your raids. Civilians, I heard. Pretty... naughty of you!” Charging at James, Lysander's sword cut along James left bicep, energies cauterizing the wound and stunning the arm. He lunged for the side, his blade scored too close to the broken rib, “Can't blame you for staying away. I'd be ashamed too. I'd never look Rebecca in the eye and told her I killed families!”

James only had one hand to hold the sword, and when it meet Lysander's slash, his arm buckled. The blades lowered themselves, Lysander found his opening. Pushing their blades away from their bodies, Lysander backhanded James across the jaw. James fell to the floor, his eyes seeing a thousand stars.

“That's the difference between us.” Lysander dragged the sword blade over the floor, preening over his victory, “You only react. I think, I do. That's why I'll always beat...”

Bellowing his warcry, James tucked his body, and under the protest of his wracked body, he held his saber in both hands, and charged recklessly at Lysander, the point of the blade aimed wickedly at his nemesis. Lysander saw the blow, but not the speed and ferocity in which James launched himself. Their blades scraped together, but it wasn't enough to deflect. Tritanium and energy field sunk into Lysander's shoulder, red blood dribbled and steamed as the wound burned. Lysander, overwhelmed by the intense pain, dropped his blade and tried to pull himself out of the sword, and to that James twisted the weapon, releasing it and leaving a grisly, smoking wound.

James sheathed his sword, kicking Lysander's weapon away. “Difference between us, I know a plan doesn't work past the first stage. I can adapt. You can't. Give it up.”

Lysander grimaced, holding his ruined shoulder, “Not a chance. I own the machine. You're still beholden to me. What are you going to do to change that?”

James said grimly, “Watch me.”

The once vanquished holoscreens reactivated back to life, flocks of information flying in the midst of a chaotic phaser fight and frightened, hiding scientists. James communicator badge, the one he didn't throw away, chirruped to life. =/\=”Commander Brekir to Commodore Corgan. Come in! The second we dropped the jamming field we found a phaser fight on our scanners! What's going on?”=/\=

James looked all knowingly at Lysander, tapping his badge, “Commander Brekir, this is Commodore Corgan. Away team under attack by Hawksley private sercurity. Prepare a security team and secure the Hawksley Temporalwerks, co-ordinates at my location. Standby to deploy. I think I hear Lysander calling off his guards. DON'T I, LYSANDER?!”

Lysander called, “Guards! Stop! This man's crazy enough to do it!”

“Good boy. Commander, stand down order to send security detail to the surface.”

=/\=”Aye sir! Sir... something's on our scanners. It's a Starfleet ship... it's the USS Dieppe! Sir, we're supposed to be at Andoria. What should I tell them?”=/\=

James smiled, saying to Lysander, “That's 'Becca's ship!” He then spoke to his badge, “Roger that. Delay them. Five minutes. Corgan out.”

“Ohh hoh hoh...” Lysander giggled, “You're in for it now. Do you remember that she's my girl now? She's going to give you a nasty little talk, I assure you of that!”

James patted Lysander on the head, “Not really. Last I checked, you broke the law more than once by digging up the legally dead and interred, violating the Federation charter and Prime Directive and inviting universal armageddon at the wishes of Starfleet. Doesn't matter if all those are rescinded... we're the kinds that follow those rules on principal, not because we have to. Me? The worst I did lie to some Admirals and went out of my way to see if our baby daughter, the very thing Rebecca loves more than any of us combined. What will mean more to her, hmm?”

Tussling Lysander's hair, James left with parted venom, “Let’s just see what happens, ok?”

Lysander sighed wearily, “Smeg. She's gonna kill me.”

Alternity, Epilogue

*****
USS Kindjal, Captain's Ready Room, hours later
*****

The holographic avatar of Admiral John Brhode had a hard time believing James outlandish story. Corgan could tell, the Admiral's face resembled a volcano ready to explode. It was almost worth charging into the teeth of danger and feeling his chest stab whenever he breathed.

The story James told the Admiral was told, twice for clarity in case Brhode missed the details, thought over for artful omissions. James had to admit, he wove a good yarn, but didn't believe for a second Brhode would buy it.

Not that Brhode could do much about it.

“So to get it straight.” Admiral Brhrode chewed over the finer points, “You were on your way to Andoria and I reminded you of your good friend Lysander Van Der Puls Hawksley so you had to stop at Alpha Centauri on the way.”

“Mmmm hmmm.” James nodded.

“Then for nostalgia's sake you visited Lysander.”

“Yeah.”

“Even though Federation documents on your divorce clearly state you said, and quote, 'That house wrecking son of a bitch will wear my foot up his ass the next time we meet.' unquote.”

James shrugged, “Water under the bridge, sir.”

“Right....” Brhode grumbled in disbelief, “So, upon visiting Alpha Centauri, Lysander offered you a tour of his facility, and showed you a... temporal displacement device? Are you serious?”

“As a drone, sir.”

“And then you investigated the device in a secret facility, using Lysander's permission when you were clearly not cleared to even see this top secret Starfleet project?”

“That's right, sir. We figured that since I was briefed about Protocol 34 that I would like to see one weapon for myself... to judge it's practical application. But really, he was a loon.”

“So you mentioned in your report.”

“Yes sir.”

“Where you claimed he dug up your ex-fiancé and irreversibly integrated her into the temporal displacement device's bio-neural circuitry just to get back at you.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then, while still in mourning, he challenged you to a sword duel. There, somehow, a trained fencer, despite being sober but of questionable judgement, tripped and fell on his sword, despite the local police reports ruling out the possibility of an accident.”

“Correct. I have multiple witnesses, including impartial ones. It was an accident... sort of.”

“And you were so be sodden with grief over the resurrection of your ex-fiancé and of the questionable mental state of Lysander Van Der Puls Hawksley that you ran out for help, only to be hit in the chest by a passing hover car... indoors?”

“It was a big indoor area.”

Brhode made one last point, the vein on his forehead was bulging like a giant cross, “And when the QUEEN OF ANDORIA heard of your injuries she cancelled the ship inspection to go see one of her ranger regiments in the Borg front?”

“Yeah....” James sigh with regret, “I told her I could handle it, but she was so adamant I get bed rest. I couldn't say no to her. Such a sweet gal, reminds me of someone I used to love.”

“Uh huh... whatever. And I suppose you want me to swallow this tripe?”

James looked confused, “What tripe, sir?”

“You know, the part on how after Captain T'lan and Ensign Nuhir Tekri, the latter being a Starfleet Engineer specializing in temporal mechanics, both assessed the equipment and found it didn't work a fiddler's damn?”

“Oh yes sir. He was clearly wasting Federation tax credits, sir.”

“Even though he sent us reports that not only it did work that he also sent his first crononaut...”

“Falsified to lead you along. Sir, if I may cut to the quick, you can see by my report as endorsed by three flag officers and one expert in the field of temporal mechanics, you can clearly see that Hawksley Galactic drove you all into a blind alley, siphoning billions of tax credits to a project that was not only illegal but... a dud to begin with. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, sir.”

“Only that project ISN'T ILLEGAL thanks to Protocol 34!”

“Oh....” James stroked his chin, “Forgot about that. I'm sure the public understands. Doubt it though. Ignoring Federation law fucks the shit out of investor confidence. That might be why their stock dropped when they heard about Hawksley breaching our burial laws. Did you know he dug up my ex-fiancé? Sick... necrophilic... fuck! Wasting all that money on a lemon of a time machine didn't help either.”

Admiral Brhode couldn't contain his outrage any longer, “You smarmy little cock! If you think you can get away with this...”

“Get away with what, sir?” James donned an innocent look, “Stomping out a greedy anachronistic capitalist for the glory of our socialist utopia? Shit sir, play it right and I'm a hero of the Federation. And if Starfleet blacklists me, all I have to do is tell the public about Protocol 34 and the time machine's role in it, and the whole Admiralty will be shitting gold pressed latinum bricks. Then I'll talk to Hawksley Industries' new CEO and see if she wants to shut down all war time production. I know... we're under martial law and whatnot, but if she does quit and you take those production facilities by force... we'll just have to play the public opinion card again.”

Brhode then turned cold, “You listen here... if you try that there will be a reckoning, boy. You're already in violation of god knows how many Starfleet laws! You can turn on us, and we can turn on you too.”

“That you can.” James said self assuredly, “That you can. We're at a detente, n'est pas? Me, I'm more than willing to get myself crucified. You? Not so much. Want to make a deal?”

“Name your terms.” Brhode begrudged, as if he was inviting Hydran eggs up his ass.

“Well, the way I see it, the temporal displacement device is totally no good, but I might have exaggerated its uselessness. Sir, in theory that DNA lock technology he's worked out is pretty sound. I heard I would make a good one so I left a pint or five of blood back there. All we need is to make it stable and find a way to weed out the alternate realities... so my expert tells me.”

“And expert who happens to be your own daughter and the daughter of a Tal'Shiar spy...”

“Don't hold it against her! She's loyal and her science is sound. In fact... the CEO of Hawksley Industries wanted to scrap the whole program, but I convinced her otherwise. She doesn't want to ship it back to you guys... too impractical and Starfleet doesn't have the technicians. However, they do. All Hawksley wants is more involvement with Starfleet, and for that they want a liaison.”

Brhode deadpanned James, “I suppose you have someone in mind.”

“Now that you mention it...”

“Fine! Whatever! Let her be the liaison! If it's a lemon like you claim she'll be wasting her time and it will get one of your bastard progeny out of my face! Just get on the goddamn Kindjal and fly to the front so I don't have to see your fucking face again!”

James saluted the Admiral, and gave the biggest smile of his career. “Really? Thank you sir! More than glad to, sir! Oh, could you do me a favour? It seems the new CEO of Hawksley Galactic is well... also the Captain of the USS Dieppe and Captain Von Ernst can't run a company essential to our war efforts and a ship at the same time...”

“YES! JUST GO!”

“YES SIR!” James joyfully boomed, “And sir...”

Brhode tiredly groaned, “What is it, Commodore?”

James replied happily, “Don't worry about a thing, sir. We'll make sure we don't have to use Protocol 34. Have a little faith in us. We won't let you down. Corgan out.”

James breached a collective sigh of relief. He honestly believed his career was over. The flimsy story, the tapdance on the Federation legal system, the charlatanry that contradicted his hard charing but straight laced ways, it was almost as if he was being as loose with the rules as Starfleet and the Federation themselves in modern times. Yet somehow, he never felt more justified.

Protocol 34's implementation was delayed, for a time. When the Federation Council decided on using weapons of mass destruction their intentions were therefore public, and it galvanized an enraged public sick of war and appalled by the consideration of so much death. An anathema of Federation ideals, riots and protests were on all the coreworlds. The public opinion war was won. If James stepped in and revealed everything to the public, it would kill the Federation.

Despite the hell he went through for his government, he didn't wish to see the Federation fall. Change, that was different.

He saw his beautiful ex-wife take control of Hawksley Galactic, the genius redhead now thrust in an unfamiliar role where her book math would be tested. Lysander gave her a controlling interest in the company, but it was the little extra she had to buy from panicking Ferengi stockholders to give her majority control (James' idea) that gave her the company.

Lysander was discredited, naturally. He was still rich, arrogant, and self serving, but he would be rich, arrogant and self serving on his planetary retreat, self medicating on Romulan Ale and holoporns. Better that than face the wraith of the new redheaded CEO with a temporally displaced daughter.

Mika would be ok. He was assured by Andorian spiritualists that her soul was just fine in the Andorian's version of Valhalla. Still, from what the Blue Fleet heard of her story, they were ready to give 'Mikaiu the Machine Blessed' sainthood. Those zany Andorians... still James wouldn't leave until he was given assurance that Mika's remains would be interred with the temporal displacement device and treated with the utmost respect.

That favour would haunt him. Ex-wife Rebecca didn't want the reminder of the love Mika and James had that she hadn't. It was agreed they would stay split and not antagonize each other again until Allison returned.

And Allison, she was watched carefully for signs of her return. James still didn't know if she got the message or if it would ever work. Alternate timelines were a tricky business, Nuhir assured him, and the only way they could know is if they don't. The best they could do is keep Allison out of the nightmare that was their world. With Nuhir leading the project, who could argue?

And their world? Still on the brink of war, the Federation on the losing side, Starfleet getting it's proverbial balls kicked on two fronts, the Borg and the Triad. Doom and gloom was still in the air. They could lose it all in a year if they weren't careful. Hence why James was sent with the Blue Fleet back to the front. Like The Battle of the Heavenly Gates, there could be another turning point, but in Starfleet's favour. James was already plotting the guerrilla war to keep the Triad off balance. Maybe it would be enough?

He had no doubt he could win. Commander Brekir was at his side, the best XO in his arsenal, but he was getting his own ship soon. James needed a new XO, and it seemed Captain T'lan was free, her ship now a total loss. There was only one president for a Captain to be an XO for a Commodore or Admiral, and that too belonged to a Human/Vulcan partnership, the most famous in the fleet. James doubted Kirk and Spock had to deal with a marriage license... though some speculated.

Still, it was a nice setup. Before the incident, James had nothing left to fight for. Now, he had to fight for everything. His new love T'lan, a conspiracy to fool Starfleet about the real operational status of the time machine, a war that could render all their efforts into a hill of beans...

..and on top of that, put faith in his daughter to stop it all.

Of all the twists and plans, he had the most faith in Allison. A smart girl, how he missed her.

Exiting the Captain's office, Corgan watched over his crew. Sighting himself for the front, he tucked his officer's cap and hiked up his belt.

“God's in his heaven. All's right with the world.”

Lieutenant Vesta, at the helm, twitched her antennae, “Sir?”

James didn't realize he was being listened to. “Robert Blake, I think. Nevermind. Just random brainfarting, Lieutenant. Set course for Battlegroup Krieg, maximum war.”

He never felt so hopeful going to war.

~”I wonder what T'lan is doing tonight?”~

*****
USS Galaxy, present day
*****

Travelling through the displacement in time, a small metal object rended itself through the ages, seeking something a non sentient hunk of metal couldn't register, much less understand. It was on an important journey, and it was locked and sealed until one person could open it in the past. It pierced the veils of time, went through it's travel in an eyeblink, and transitioned into it's final destination.

Winking to existence, the communicator badge found itself in midair, in a corridor of the USS Galaxy. It was nondescript in it's time, but in the past it was an out of place, odd piece of jewellery, similar to the communications badges used by the officers, but instead of a hollowed oval over the insignia of the first famous ship, the USS Enterprise, it held the faint wire and gold outline of that same symbol under two solid brass backdrops separated from each other yet joined to the symbol frame. A visionary artist on Earth would recognize it as one of his creations for he had drawn the concept art for the new communicator badge months ago, its pictures at Starfleet for recommendation, but for now it was an odd, ahead of it's time piece.

Naturally being in the air, the communicator badge had to come down, and down it did.

Right on top of an Andorian's head.

“Ow...” Complained the Andorian male, mistaking the badge for a stone or small object thrown by a neighbor, only when he looked around nobody was in sight. He heard the clatter as the offending object hit the floor, he looked down to see what it was.

“A peculiar object.” The Ensign kneeled down to pick it up. It looked like a communicator badge, but different. Not standard issue. A knockoff? It was possible. Everyone from tourist traps to spies wanted to duplicate the Starfleet Communications Badge, but some never got it right. In the case of this one, it was way off.

He flipped over the badge, engraved was the name “CDE Corgan, James L.”

“Man...” groaned the Andorian officer as he uncomfortably shifted his duffel bag, “I get on this ship five minutes ago and strange stuff like this happens. Why didn't my aunt send me to a safe ship in the Blue Fleet?”

He gave the badge another suspicious look, “What the devil is a CDE? Some new rank? Figures they would mess it up in a knockoff.”

Absentmindedly, he pocketed the communicator badge and walked to find his quarters. He took notice as two females passed by him, one much larger and hardbodied, cold and sterile, and the other a short sprite of a woman who floated in her steps, a paragon of calm and virtue.

He only took notice because the second woman was an Andorian.

~“Won't be that bad, I guess.”~ Ensign Brekir th'Malik reassured himself, renewing his quest for the lost quarters, ~”At least there are people like me.”~

"Remember my child, without innocence, the cross is only iron, hope is only an illusion, and ocean souls nothing but a name. The child, bless thee, and keep thee forever."

"Best Laid Plans"

(Takes Place Four Hours After 'Turning The Tables')'

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt Commander Raven Darkstar
Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin

****
USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Bridge

The outer fringes of the nebula looked ahead of them like a wall of coruscating colour that stretched as far as Daren's eye could see - an indication of the nebula's size given the astronomical feature's distance from the Task Force. The explorer and scholar within him longed to stop and study the phenomenon, to map the interior and see what lay within its expanse... but the soldier that he had to be now took precedence over that longing.

Hard work and some rapid transference of parts and loaned personnel from ship-to-ship had modified the Task Force's power systems, shields, and sensors within the three hours he'd allotted for the task. While that process had been underway, Daren had decided on a tactical plan, held a briefing with his commanders, and finalized it. They would, as he had decided previously, move into the nebula and engage the Hydrans. What the Task Force would not do, however, is to try and completely eliminate the opposing fleet - they simply didn't have the sheer power necessary to defeat a fleet with three times their numbers, let alone the tonnage discrepancy.

Instead, he had decided on the best compromise available: the Task Force would engage the Hydrans with the intent of disabling or destroying as many of the Hydran carriers and other command-and-control ships as it could, and then - hopefully - withdraw once that goal was accomplished. If they could remove enough of the Hydran's upper command echelon, then, given what was known about the Hydran command structure, the assault on Delta IV would be postponed until new orders, new command staff, and reinforcements arrived. That should, based on a fast conversation with Starfleet Command, buy enough time for a major fleet element to arrive and defend the system.

It hadn't made the Deltans happy when he'd screened their leaders, but they'd understood the reasoning - and the sacrifice that was likely going to be made by the Task Force - and had acquiesced after Daren had told them to orient all their available sensor arrays to scan for a second approaching Hydran fleet and call him back if one was detected.

And there were always the Klingons.

The eight cruisers Commander Smith's house had sent were only hours away at most, perhaps less. Daren had communicated his intent to their commander - a grizzled, scarred warrior somewhat unfortunately named Bowhzer. Daren, after years of dealing with alien names didn't bat an eye at the cognomen, but it told him that the General bearing it had to be a consummate warrior to have survived this long while bearing it.

General Bowhzer had accepted the information that the fight would start without him with, politely speaking, distaste, but hadn't kicked up much of a fight over it. For a Klingon, anyway.

Daren had, in turn promised to keep transmitting locations and courses back as long as possible so that the Task Force's location and status would be known until the nebula drowned out the transmissions. There were a series of data relay probes set to drop out at predetermined intervals to try and ensure that promise was kept.

Between the hard work of Galaxy's Sciences department, and a lucky find by a historical librarian on Delta, that would be possible. The Deltan had uncovered a set of mission tapes dating back a century that were from a privately-financed exploration into the nebula. The corporation's funding had collapsed before a significant fraction of the exploration and mapping were done, but the information contained in the tapes had given them a clear course free of planetary obstructions, and the technical information that Lieutenant Kara'nin had needed to rig an additional partial filter for the Task Force's sensor and communications systems, so that they could warp into the nebula for a short distance safely and then start the hunt for the Hydrans.

Daren looked around the Bridge, spared a moment for a prayer to Allah and another moment to thank Him that this had happened before his daughter arrived aboard. That done, he took a breath and nodded towards the screen, "Take us in, Mr. Darkstar."

Galaxy and the Task Force darted forward in a single line, like a mother bird and her young out for an outing, and were swallowed up by the nebula as if they'd never been there at all.

****

"Anything, Mr. Kara'nin?" Daren looked from the screen to his Acting Science Officer.

"Yes. There is a small gravitational distortion off the port dorsum. It appears to be radiating a series of polarized subspace ripples. Curious. Those must be warp ships, natural phenomena don't give off polarized subspace radiation, but that distortion is too large to correspond to a fleet of the size we were expecting," Cutter Kara'nin said from the back of the bridge. He stepped to his right and forced the crewman manning the station next to him out of the way. "Move," he ordered the crewman before quickly typing in commands to the computer. "It could be a gravitational eddy caused by an asymmetry in the core dwarf star, or a small planetoid."

"A resupply base of some sort?" Daren asked. That would make some sort of sense out of the Hydran's actions. Perhaps they'd built it up slowly in advance of the invasion.

"No," Cutter said quickly, as he had the computer run through a series of models. A harsh buzz rang out as each failed to explain more than 75% of the detected movement. "No. It's moving, rapidly changing accelerations. It's not a natural phenomenon."

"A mobile shipyard, then?" Starfleet had several, and Daren knew for a fact that both the Klingons and Romulans did. It wouldn't be out of the question for the Hydrans to as well.

Cutter shrugged. "All I can determine at this distance is approximate size and movement. We're too far away to get an image, there is too much optical emission interference from the nebula."

"Whatever it is, we've got to at least get in there and take a look," Daren decided. "Pass your readings and our conclusions such as they are on to the rest of the Task Force, and then update the feed to the relay beacons, Mr. Kara'nin." Daren turned to the main viewer. "Plot me a course, Mr. Darkstar; I want to drop in unannounced on our friends as close as you can get us without running into anything. Relay it to the rest once you're done."

"Plotting course, aye," the massive Indian echoed. "Course plotted, sir." Hands that seemed to big for the console moved deftly, "Transferring course, sir." A two second pause passed, the console beeped, and he added, "Course transferred, sir. Task Force will execute on your mark."

"Mark."

Darkstar touched a control and the Task Force blinked into warp again.

****

"What in- Helm, evasive manoeuvres!!" Daren spat as the Task Force dropped out of its micro-warp jump - and into the middle of a nightmare.

The Hydran fleet - at least forty ships, not thirty as they'd thought - was engaged in a full-out battle. That wasn't the problem, since Daren had expected something to go wrong. Ten Hydran ships too many was well within the realm of what he'd considered possible. The fact that there was a fight already going on when the Task Force arrived wasn't even outside the realm of possibility that he'd allowed himself. No the problem was in *what* the Hydrans were fighting.

*What* - not *who.*

He'd only seen one once before, and that had been too many. It was huge beyond rational thought - at least 5 kilometers long and with a mass that he didn't care to think about - which made it at least the twin of the only specimen that he'd seen before. Possibly larger, since the instruments weren't entirely accurate in the nebula; that possibility was something that he simply chose not to think about.

It was enormous.

It was moving under its own power.

It was engaging the Hydran ships that darted and spun about it, like a swarm of birds.

Its name choked him, bringing up memories of friends and comrades lost over Romulus, stealing his breath as he watched it on the main screen.

Finally, after an eternity that was, in truth, only a split-second, a chorus of voices rang out over the Task Force's communications links and Galaxy's Bridge, saving him from having to speak it himself, as the carefully-plotted formation dissolved like a flower ripped asunder in the blast of a hurricane, petals spinning in all directions.

"Starbeast!!!!!!"

“Preparing to Enter the Fight”

Ensign Mique'lan Dar'ce

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

Xenonians were more and more common in the Federation these days, but they were still a minority among Starfleet, where the majority of members were still Human. Vulcans, Andorians, or even Tellarites had yet break into Starfleet as a large minority yet. It was natural, of course, because these other species had large planetary defence forces of their own to man, and Starfleet actually was the humans' planetary defence force. Xenonians were no different, of course, since the High Guard had plenty of ships and crew left over after parts were absorbed into Starfleet.

Mique'lan's father and uncle were ranking officers in the High Guard, and had wanted their sons to follow. His oldest brother had actually joined the High Guard, but had been transferred to a Starfleet ship when the Alliance had joined the Federation. He was an engineer, and a skilled one, but that was not what his father had wanted. Mique'lan was what his father had wanted, except Mique'lan had opted to join Starfleet after finishing the Xenonian Military Academy.

After trying to appeal to the younger man's patriotism and failing, he had tried to appeal to his desire to be among his own kind. That had not worked either. Mique'lan was content to live among strangers; he had grown up on Trivon, where Xenonians and Man'de'har had a joint colony. The Xenonian Alliance was home to the Xenonians, the Man'de'har, the Indiri, the Yanderin, and the Lidrons. Mique'lan had known many individuals from each species since he was a child, and felt little different from spending time with Vulcans, Betazoids, or Caldonians.

Mique'lan's father next forced him into resigning by having him forcibly transferred off of the Galaxy and into a desk job. His cousin was given the same treatment, and when they resigned they were cut off from not only the family fortune, but from family ties as well. Mique'lan had spoken to his mother three times in the past four months, but that was it.

Mique'lan was now at Deep Space 4, a space station out near the fighting with the Hydrans. The Galaxy was en route, apparently with some engine damage from some attack. The official story was rather vague, but rumour had it someone had exploded a nuclear device on the ship. He would have to wait until the ship arrived to get the real story.

He sat in his temporary quarters and read through some unclassified tactical documents about the Hydrans, hoping to get an insight into whom he would be fighting. Their ships were well armed and armoured, and their fighters were surprisingly strong. The species themselves were matriarchal, the women doing the majority of the fighting. They had three legs and three arms, and three eyes.

'Hmmm...,' thought Mique'lan. 'Doesn't matter. Cut off the head, she'll probably still die.'

It was interesting to note that the Hydrans had actually one been allied to the Federation, until the Federation had tried to broker a lasting peace treaty with the Klingons, whom the Hydrans considered blood enemies. After so long a period of time without any sort of protection or diplomatic relations from the Federation, the Hydrans were becoming more and more aggressive. Since they had full support from their Breen and T'kith'kin allies, it was bad for the Federation.

Mique'lan had been on a ground mission when the Borg had attacked Barzan, but fighting Barzan security forces would be nothing like fighting the Hydrans. Luckily, Starfleet had developed holosuite training scenarios for this very purpose. He made a mental note to book some tactical exercises in the coming days. He had a feeling it would make a real difference.

off: slight backpost

"Pour le Merite"

Lt. Jarajen "Quatro" Quaaliu
Lt. Ella Grey

****

Sickbay
USS Galaxy

"God," Ella Grey whispered.

"Ah", Quattro said in a dry, raspy voice, opening eyes caked with a yellow-white crust. "The Pilot Grey. This one is pleased to see you. What does the Pilot think of her new starfighter?"

She didn't answer for a moment. The man before her was ... God, she couldn't even think of a good analogy. His skin had gone from a warm golden glow to a patchy shade of pus, the whites of his eyes were a bruised purple. There were red sores around his mouth and on his four hands. What little hair he'd had was gone.

"I love it," Ella replied in a strained voice, strained at least to her ears. It was her first fighter and while the receipt of it had managed to break the funk she had been in for the last month, at least for awhile anyway, Ella found it hard to be annoyingly cheerful in front of a man who looked like a reanimated corpse.

"Excellent" the CAG managed with effort. The drugs Doctor Mathieson had administered clouded his senses and fogged his reason, and maintaining concentration was more a matter of will than many of the duels fought in his youth. Ella was a sharp, dark contrast against the white, sterile haze of sickbay, and Quattro was glad for her presence. "This one believes your progress into the starfighters is long overdue. So, it handles to the Pilot's liking, eh? How does the...hrfff... Pilot think the Vanguards will perform with the Lieutenant Daniel's fighter tactics?

"I think we'll perform very well," Ella answered.

"And how does the Pilot... Grey think *she* will perform?"

Ella managed a smirk. "Very well, Sir."

Jarajen nodded and closed his eyes, easing the gritty sensation against his lenses. "The Hydran-maj have almost five human century's worth of experience in space-combat using fighters, Grey. Until the last decade, they have been supreme in their field of warfare. The new Rogue is based on their innovations, but it is the training behind the throttle that will make the difference in the coming week. Do you feel Corran-ji has given the Pilot the training she needs?"

She felt herself bristle at that. "I learned more about combat from you than Corran Rex, Sir."

The Nassari gave a curt laugh, followed by an extended fit of coughing. When he recovered, he was still managing a smile on his pale features. "Perhaps not directly...hrfff... Corran-ji had the misfortune of being this one's wingman... when this one was first cast into the Corps. This one... was a poor student in those days, but perhaps has become a better teacher for it. Well... if the Pilot has learned something from this one, a confession must be made that this one has learned from the Pilot as well."

Her irritation at Corran was quickly pushed out of her mind. She pointed at herself and raised an eyebrow.

"Determination", the CAG said weakly. "The Pilot Grey has shown more than many much more experienced, and this one is pleased he will be the one to give her the chance of proving herself in battle. It is...kafff... inspiring, especially given this one's circumstances. This one expects... great things from the Pilot. Great things."

Ella felt herself blush. No one, not even her opera-obsessed parents, had ever said anything like that to her.

Quattro opened his eyes and reached over to the PADD next to his bedside table, offering it to Ella while trying to master the shaking in his hands. "Until this one is released from Sickbay, this one is assigning you as Vanguard Four with the Pilot Taev. While the Ferengi is the more seasoned flier, the Pilot Grey is more balanced and cautious."

Ella felt her mouth open and close like a fish before she shook herself out of it. She couldn't help the sudden excitement she felt but ... "You know that Corran named a shuttlecraft after me right? The Crazy Ella? I'm just saying, I don't know if I'm all that,"

That's right, Ella, she thought with a snort. Tell him you're not all that balanced.

"Cautious," she finished.

That drew a snort from the Nassari. "Hmph. Corran-ji is not one who should speak of questionable sanity. Even in his earlier days there was something reckless about him. The Pilot Grey's time as a SAR pilot will make her protective of her wingman, something this one has always stressed as primary and something we have as an advantage over the Hydran-maj. Look after the Ferengi... make certain that *when*
the Pilot Taev does something ludicrously asinine that someone is there to pull his lobes out of the fire."

"I can do that," Ella said.

"This one has no doubts", Jarajen muttered through cracked lips, and closed his eyes once more.

She hesitated but then decided to reach out her hand. She took his dry hand and held it gently in her own. "Thank you, Sir."

One of the Nassari's eyes opened, looking at Ella then and then their hands. "The Pilot... has no reason to thank this one", he whispered dryly. "The Pilot Grey's destiny ies in her own hands... not this one's." Jarajen then closed Ella's hand into a fist, enclosed within three of his. "All that remains is convincing herself of this."

Easier said than done, she thought. "You know, if you get bored, there's a nurse on the night shift that has the best stories. And there's a doctor on days that can juggle."

Quattro didn't seem to be listening. Slowly, his grip on Ella's fist relaxed and his hands fell peacefully to his sides as sleep claimed him once more.

"Sweet dreams," Ella said.

"Battle of the Kateren Nebula, Part 1 of 3"

(Follows immediately after 'Best Laid Plans')

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt (JG) Artim Shivar
Captain Airik - USS Amaranthine (NPC)
Commander Na'sav Lorem (NPC)
Captain Rebecca von Ernst (APC) [Chris D.]
Captain Thelor th'Idrani - USS Tornado (NPC by Mike M)
Captain Bruno Ascencion - USS Jacmel (NPC by Omar)

****

[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

"Mr. Darkstar, bring us around to Point Seven Three for a run on the Hydran Command Carrier - and mind the tentacles. Tactical, fire as we come to bear and someone get Lieutenant Shivar up here." Daren M'Kantu had issued many orders in his career in Starfleet, both in and out of combat, but he doubted that he would ever get used to reminding his Helm to avoid the attacks of a biological organism that dwarfed his ship - especially one with tentacles as large as most starships. Tentacles, no matter what their size, were... wrong. Tentacles the size of an Akira-class starship were... more wrong.

****

[Bridge, USS Zeus]

"Wow," said Fear.

"I think we're gonna need a bigger boat." replied Panic.

Rebecca von Ernst however merely rubbed her temples frowning studying the spider mathematical script running across her repeater screens. "This is no good." she announced to nobody in particular. "Standard Macro-dimensional polynomials aren't going to translate well against an organic being."

"I think she makes these big words up just to make us look dumb." Whispered Fear...

"I still think we're gonna need a bigger boat." said Panic.

"Hush you two." Rebecca said. "It's not like fighting against a Starship with known technological limitations and parameters... biology varies moment to moment and that's not even figuring in the psychological impact of creature motivation on the tactical environment sub set of variables."

She wiped at an equation with frustration, and Fear asked if she wanted to have a counselor evaluate the Starbeast before they went into combat? "It'd help yes." Rebecca grumped, and doodled with a 11th dimensional binomial matrix, more out of boredom than anything else. "I could probably apply a repeating van Berger parabola and kill the stupid thing by expanding on the empty set. but...."

"But?" Fear prompted.

"But M'Kantu asked me not to expend needless friendly casualties... and I figure losing half our fleet in a diversion would be considered extreme," she sighed. "Some people are so picky. Tell you what; call M'Kantu and tell him we'll leave the star beast to him, and we're gonna go take out some Dreadnoughts instead - those are easy."

"Sure thing..." Fear replied rolling her eyes "Transmitting now."

"Does this mean we're not going back for a bigger boat?" said Panic.

****

[Bridge, USS Amaranthine]

"Fascinating," the human cadet biologist at the Amaranthine's Science console said, interpreting initial scans of the Starbeast.

"Any way we can use it to our advantage other than as a shield?" Captain Airik asked as the Nova ship shook, darting from fire and tentacles. The ship was much smaller than the others in the Task Force, but its manoeuvrability and fire power were up to par.

"Can it fart quantum torpedoes?" The Trill tactical officer's hands flew across the console causing the Amaranthine to narrowly miss another volley.

"I am not confident we could stimulate flatulence," The Vulcan Chief Science Officer commented.

In another place and time the conversation might have been funny, but the Ba'ku Commanding Officer wasn't laughing. "Send another volley out to the command carrier." The tactical officer complied, making impact with one.

****
[Bridge - USS Tornado]

Thelor's antennae shot straight up when he saw with his own eyes what the unusual blip on his tactical screen was. He'd seen some of the reports from Romulus but to see one of these things first hand was amazing.

"Now this is a new one." muttered Elani Zu, Thelor's first officer. "Change our plans any sir?"

The Andorian's antennae relaxed a bit as he replied. "Actually, I like having something big and squidlike to hide behind. Ms. Cairnes, adjust our attack pattern accordingly so that we end up with the non-tentacled end of the Starbeast between us and the Hydran big guns."

"Sure you don't want me to use the tentacles as cover?" Kim Cairns asked sarcastically.

"Yes Miss Cairns and personally, I was more worried about its maw. You really want to be the Starbeast's lunch?" Thelor replied in all seriousness.

"Aye sir. Attack pattern laid in." Cairns was back to business in an instant.

"Engage".

****
[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

As Galaxy dropped back behind the bulk of the starbeast, Daren took a moment to look at the multicolored mosaic that was the battle plot and wonder how in Allah's name things had gotten to this point so soon in the battle. Usually a chaotic jumble like this only occurred late in a fleet engagement, but, thanks to one single fact, the Battle of The Kateren Nebula had more or less started off that way.

The starbeast.

The Task Force had been expecting to drop in and engage a Hydran fleet roughly three times its size, hoping their shield modifications and the element of surprise would allow them to do enough damage that the invasion of Delta IV would be called of - or at least stalled. Instead, they'd literally dropped themselves into the middle of a fight between the Hydran fleet and a starbeast at least the size of the one that the
Hydrans had brought with them to the Battle of Romulus.

"Tactical," he interrupted his line of thought. "Do something to those two frigates bearing in on the Amaranthine at Point Five Nine. Commander Jaxom, signal Zeus - no make that all ships - to concentrate fire on the Hydrans and let them take the brunt of the fight with the starbeast.

There aren't enough of us to fight them both."

Commander Jaxom sat in the back of the bridge with the comm headset on relaying things back and forth among the small Starfleet flotilla. It was a job he'd never done before but he quickly got used to it. Even though he wasn't in the center of the bridge he still felt the adrenaline rush flowing from the excitement of the fight. He found he
had to steady himself after seeing the starbeast on the screen. The last time he'd seen that 'thing' it had swatted the Miranda halfway back to the Sol system and killed Captain Summers in the process. The Trill concentrated on his work while wishing they had a bigger boat.

Artim had been surprised when he'd been summoned to the bridge at the start of the battle. He'd prepared himself to head to sickbay as usually in one of these fights every available medically trained person was needed for casualties. However, no one should have been blown up yet. When he arrived on the bridge he was about to ask why he'd been summoned - and then he saw tentacles flash across the viewscreen and he knew why they'd asked for him.

"I'm here captain." Artim said as he nudged an ensign aside as he settled in at the bridge science station which was normally used for other purposes in battle situations. "I assume you called me to figure out a way to deal with our extremely large friend out there?"

****
[Bridge, USS Amaranthine]

"Captain, I think our volley got some attention." Tactical officer Lieutenant Llana Brin said.

Airik sighed, "About time. I was beginning to think they were ignoring us. Evasive maneuvers." Airik commanded as a volley was returned to them. It was a millisecond too late. Sparks erupted from the bridge.

"Aft shields down to 45 percent."

"Compensate, bring us around. Lock phasers and forward torpedoes on the lead frigate. Fire!"

They were outnumbered and not in a good position. Another barrage of fire ignited an engineering panel. The Amaranthine was taking a beating.

"Captain, the Galaxy echoed our volley."

The fore frigate erupted in an explosion, sending debris into its sister ship next to it. The flanking ship took direct impact and exploded.

"Nice to have a bigger sibling," Airik said sighing.

****
[Bridge, USS Vigilant]

Watching the Amaranthine skip past the star beast and take the lead in smashing two of the enemy, Na'sav noticed the Hydran formation change. Overly eager to account for the ships missing in their formation, they'd shifted... and one of the escort carriers was now left undefended, with a clear attack vector wide open. It was too juicy an invitation to pass up.

"Ensign, lay in course for the Escort carrier, I want to get close and avoid their volleys as much as possible. Lieutenant, set all weapons to maximum yield, fire on that Carrier at will on my mark. Someone get me Captain Von Ernst and ask her if she cares for a dance... might as well ask the Captain Airik to join, the more the merrier."

****
[Bridge, USS Zeus]

"Vigilant is hailing." said Fear.

"He's asking you if you want to go out on a date." said Panic.

"W...w...what?" Rebecca twirled in her oversized chair to stare at her two assistants.

"Oh my bad." corrected Panic, "Something about taking out a carrier... the man should be more specific"

"When we get back to dock...." Rebecca warned her mischievous crew. Fear and Panic may be the best in the business of interpreting and following Rebecca's unusual orders... but that didn't mean they didn't tease her at every opportunity.

"Fighters incoming," warned Fear.

"Two squadrons on flanking vectors," said Panic "details on your screens now."

The flight of small craft appeared in Rebecca's equations as a brilliant streak of multi-vector variable equations that danced down the parabola curve of possibility solutions... boring stuff actually. Fighters were chump change to Rebecca... she didn't even need to figure in warp power curves since their minimal shielding allowed even the smallest of Capital ship weapons to vaporize them... like using a howitzer on a
flock of puppy dogs.

"Okay here's your firing pattern...." Rebecca was scribbling madly on her PADD, "Three four... take the square root... carry the 6... and tell Medical we're gonna take some hits on deck 6 aft of midline; that ought to make M'Kantu happy."

"Medical's on the way." said Fear.

"And I'll tell Captain Na'sav that you'd love to dance and he better wear something sexy," said Panic.

OOC - slight backpost

"Painful Extraction"

CPO3 Victory, Nurse
CPO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell,
Lt. Jarajen "Quattro" Quaaliu, CAG

Deck 11, USS Galaxy
================

Nurse Victory had been away from sickbay when it happened, on her mid shift break, continuing her exploration of the massive Galaxy class starship. She was on deck 11, near holodeck three. The world seemed to come apart and disintegrate around her has a massive explosion ripped through nearby sections. She had managed to escape harm by throwing herself into a small storage compartment, and then ability to operate
in zero atmosphere saved her from the following decompression of the corridor.

It was a good minute or two before the emergency force fields came online to seal the section off from space and life support was restored. But the entire section was a terrible mess.

Pulling herself out of the storage compartment she tapped her comm. badge, "Nurse Victory to Sickbay, what happened?" she asked as she swept her crimson eyes across the devastated corridor. No one responded. "Sickbay, do you hear me?" again nothing.

Just for a moment flashbacks of her time on the station and the destruction of the USS Victory flashed before her eyes and a sense of panic threatened to overcome the short redheaded woman.

"Get a hold of yourself, this is no time to freak out" she muttered to herself and shook her head to fought it off.

Internal communications must have been out. Whatever was going on was bad. She didn't know if they were under attack or being boarded or not, but what she did know is that there would be hurt people in the area and as a Starfleet Medical Nurse it was her duty to find them and help them as best she could.

She started on down the wrecked corridor, switching her optical mode between infrared and several other useful settings to help her spot anyone trapped in the damaged section.

Approaching the holodeck she spotted a warm biological signature on the other side of the bulkhead. Scrambling over some debris she came to the door, it was smashed and unable to open on its own power.

"Hey in there! Can you hear me?" she tried to yell loud enough to be head on the other side of the door. "Can you move? I'm going to try to get to you, but the door's stuck. If you can hear me, try to tell me what injuries you have, I am a nurse"

She balled up her right hand and slammed it into the door, bending it just enough to let her wedge her fingers between them and start to pull at the left panel. "Hey can you hear me in there?"

"Maybe a prybar could work better," offered a voice behind her.

Victory glanced back, startled by the sudden new voice. "Max!" she squeaked. "When did you get here? Some one's trapped on the other side, in the holodeck!"

The figure clad in an environmental suit carried two tricorders, had a satchel slung across his back over his shoulder, and a broad smile could be seen through the face plating. Then he got down to business, quickly using one of the tricorders in his possession to scan the space beyond the heavy doors.

"Well," Max finally answered, "there doesn't appear to be any vacuum in there, but the RAD count is rising. Think you can use your super powers to open 'er up?"

"That's what I'm trying to do" she replied and turned her attention back to the door, pulling at the metal as much as she could. The door bent, a shriek filling the ruined corridor as the metal gave way and failed. The door panel popped and flew away from the hatchway as she ripped it loose and flung it back to clatter against the bulkhead behind them.

"Nice," Max said admiringly. The other tricorder came up in his other hand, and he began scanning. "He's over there, unconscious," he pointed over to their right.

Victory pulled herself through the hatchway, switching her optics to infrared, her eyes glowing in the dim light as she looked for the trapped crew member. He was crumpled on the deck, not moving. "Looks like he got knocked against the wall pretty hard" she said as she got to him and visually inspected him. "He might have severe neck injuries...we should get a C-spine collar"

"I'm not even worried about c-spine right now, let's just get him out before the radiation gets bad enough to kill him...and me."

She nodded, remembering that nether of them had the radiation shielding she did. "Okay, I still don't want to put to much stress on his spine or neck, come help me"

Max moved over to the patient, realizing as he got close that the man had four arms. "Hey, Vic," he called over his shoulder. "I think this is that fighter pilot, the CAG. Quattro, or Qualoo or something."

"Quaaliu", the crewman whispered hoarsely as his eyes opened slightly. "This one...hrr... is Nassari." The CAG managed to lift his head a few inches, but the effort seemed painful. "What... has hit us?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Max replied while trying not to be startled. "But it left a nice batch of radiation over three decks at least from what I can tell." He scanned the Nassari and continued.

"You feel me touching your legs? Squeeze my hands..."

"Yes... this one feels the leg". Jarajen grimaced while squeezing the Max's hand. "This one can move his limbs, but the world seems blurrier than before... and purple. Why has the world become purple?"

Now that they had been inside the darkened holodeck for decent amount of time, Max's eyes had adjusted to the low lighting and noticed for the first time that Quaaliu was bleeding purplish/violet blood from every orifice in his head: the eyes, nose, ears and even from his mouth. A quick scan with his medical tricorder showed a significant concussion of the posterior side of his head. They needed to get him to Sickbay fast.

"Don't worry about that right now," the Medic was saying now.

"You've got good motor and sensory function here, but I think you may have a concussion. We're gonna move you out of here and get you up to Sickbay. If we help you, can you walk?"

Quattro nodded, and then fought back a brief wave of nausea. "This one... thinks so."

"Okay, let's see what happens. Ready, Vic?"

Victory nodded, gently positioning her arms to help lift Quattro, "Ready" she replied.

With a grunt from Max, the pair lifted the Nassari from the deck and began making their way over to the exit.

With a bit of careful moving they managed to get the injured pilot through the hatchway without incident and began down the burned out corridor. "Was the terbolift network still working in this section, or are we going to have to move him out through the Jeffery's tubes?" she asked Max as they worked their way along. "There's too much radiation for the ships transporters to work, that's for sure"

"Jeffery's tubes will have to do the trick for now," Max was saying. "I wouldn't even chance a turbolift or a transporter with all this damage and radiation." A cough escaped his throat, along with a speck of blood. "Ah, shit, man..."

Victory could not help but see specks of blood that dotted the visor of his environmental suit's helmet as he coughed. "Max, the radiation's getting to you!" she said, worry filling her voice.

"Don't worry about me. Let's get Quattro outta here before something else goes wrong." They manoeuvred the fighter pilot into the tube access way, with Max keeping a hand around him as he climbed through to sidle on next to him and help move him along.

The nurse nodded and carried on, still supporting her share of the pilot as they moved down. She was worried, Max's environmental suit's ability to block out the radiation was failing and he was starting to suffer from the effects of radiation sickness, the levels she could detect in the section were well into the fatal range and they needed
to get out fast if he was to survive, let alone Quattro. The pilot's race she was unfamiliar with and had no idea what his tolerance to radiation was.

"Can your tricorder detect where the end of the radiation field is?" she asked after a few long minutes of silent progress. "It's too dense for my optics to see through"

Max used the second tricorder to do a quick sweep. "It's not on this deck, I can tell you that," he said finally, his voice a bit hoarse. He knew he was getting sicker by the minute, but couldn't do anything about it at the moment.

The pilot raised his head and moved his mouth as if to say something, then went terribly rigid. "This one..." be began, but could not finish his sentence. In stead the Nassari bent over and vomited a thick, congealed stream of his lavender blood, stomach acids and orange bile. Fighting against the sudden tide of nausea, the
Nassari gritted his teeth to staunch the flow only to have some of the fluid back up unto his esophagus and into his lungs. He broke down into a shuddering fit of vomiting and coughing, taking with it what lettle strength in his legs he had

"What... is... happening... to... this... one?

"Damnit!" shouted Max. The Nassari was aspirating and there wasn't much time at all before he wouldn't have to worry about breathing anymore. "We need to change plans," he said. "Turbolifts are our only way off these decks."

Victory nodded, understanding how dire the situation was becoming. "This way" she said as she switched her optics into a non visual spectrum and spotted the nearest turbolift shaft. "Just a couple meters then there is a lift outside the access hatch"

They moved fast now, Victory supporting a majority of the pilot's weight now as they rushed along the Jeffery's tube. Within a short period of time her foot was slamming into the metal of the access hatches cover plate, kicking it out of the way. "Just a little
further, than this thing better work" she said more to herself than anyone else as the pair of them hauled Quattro out of the hatch and into the vacant and dimly lit corridor.

It took just a moment for Max's eyes to adjust to a corridor filled with people headed away from the more damaged sections, helping, carrying or dragging someone with them. In the direction they were coming from, a large hole revealed exposed space. The vacuum was kept out by a forcefield that flickered every once in a while.

"What's going on," Max asked a passing crewman. Something felt a bit ominous to him.

"They're gonna vent the radiated decks to get the nuclear particles out," the limping crewman replied quickly, trying to get to wherever he was going.

Max's eyes went wide upon hearing that, while his body had already began moving in the same direction that everyone else was going.

Victory was shocked to hear what was about to happen. It was understandable and a reasonable thing to do, but to be someone in the section that was going to be vented...was a sudden and very scary thing.

"Max, you worry about getting out, I will carry Quattro" she said, scooping the injured pilot up with both her arms. She knew Max was in no shape to move fast and help carry another person.

"Go on" she said before he could protest. "Lead the way and clear me a path so we can get through this" she was already moving, fast.

Max blinked. Indeed, before he could mount any protest, Victory was already hauling ass down the corridor with Quattro in full carry. He smirked quickly at his friend's diminishing profile before he himself began making his way down the corridor. He caught up with them at the turbolift, but not before he coughed up some more blood.

Victory and Max waited at the turbolift, along with a good many other people ready to escape before the deck was vented out into space.

"I really hope this thing isn't crowded," he huffed.

"Me too" she replied, and as she did the doors slid open, people began to push in, filling the small lift car within moments.

Immediately, Max realized that crowded was an understatement. He did everything he could to squeeze himself in, with minimal success. And then there were Quattro and Victory to consider. It wasn't working.

"There's not enough space for all three of us" Victory said as she and Max tried to push into the crowded car. "You go, take Quattro and get him to sickbay, I'll follow in the next one" she offered the wounded pilot to the medic.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Max exclaimed. "I'm not leaving you down here!"

"Hey you two need medical attention now and I will be just fine no matter what, ok? Get in there and you guys get out before the others kick us all out and move on" she mustered the most reassuring and commanding voice she could manage and forced Max to take Quattro out of her arms. "Go on"

"Victory..." Max whispered as the turbolift doors cut her off from his view. As the turbolift began to move (was that a groan he heard?), he became acutely aware that he was supporting the weight of a four armed man that was barely conscious. Max waited for the next inhale to tell him that Nassari was still alive. The breath was
ragged, but still felt like it had good depth.

They rode in silence until they arrived on the saucer side of the ship. Max immediately exited the turbolift and made his way into Sickbay with his patient.

Victory waited, along with a dozen other people for the next lift to arrive, and it did after a short while, just after the emergency decompression warnings began to sound.

"Danger, evacuate section, automatic decompression in forty five seconds" the computer's cool emotionless voice had been cycling down from five minutes and now everyone left was jamming into the last lift car before the place was vented.

Victory had refused several offers by others to take their place, the short medic forced several crewman to cram into the crowded car in a manner that would probably give them some bruises once they piled out on a safe deck.

"Hey get in, there's less than thirty seconds left!" someone yelled.

"I'll be fine, you guys get out of here" Victory replied as the computer announced fifteen seconds and counting.

"You'll be killed!" more than a few uncomfortably crammed crew yelped

"There isn't room. Get going!" she responded and slapped the door close button. The lift doors slid shut and the car sped away, leaving Victory alone on the now deserted deck.

"Danger, ten seconds until automatic decompression" the computer reminded.

"Yeah, I know" she sighed and took her glasses off, folding them up and stuffing them into one of her uniform pockets. "This is going to suck" she mumbled, almost laughing at the bad pun as she started down the corridor, inwards bound at a quick pace, looking for something to hold onto.

"Danger. five seconds to emergency decompression"

"I know" Victory replied and pulled an access hatch open. She forced herself into the small compartment and shoved her arms in between several structural supports, wrapping her arms about the strong beams and held on.

"Three...two...one...."

TBC

OOC – this is a very, very late post – a completion to one started at the beginning of the previous mission, one that I have 'ended' so I can send it out before it becomes far too late - sorry but life happens.

"The Finger of Suspicion Points Two Ways…" Part 3 of 3

Captain Darren M'Kantu
Chief Engineer Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe

***USS Galaxy, Bridge, Captains Ready Room***

Dhani raised an eyebrow at his comment but dealt with the question first, "Yes, I think so," she answered trying to recall if the messages had been personalized or not, "I'll have to check." she said pausing pensively. Taking a breath she lent forward slightly, "Right about what Sir?" she asked curiously.

"That, Lieutenant," he replied, the same smile back again, "if you were going to be insubordinate, you'd do it to my face."

Dhanishta bowed her head slightly, though she was not embarrassed this time. She concealed a small smile of her own. It was nice to know that she was right about him too; he was mature enough to not jump down her throat for her candidness and wise enough to discern that her intentions were not to offend. "Well," she said looking back up with a small smirk, "if I said it behind your back, I wouldn't be able to
see the smugness on your face when you plunged the knife!" she quipped teasingly with a twinkle in her eye.

"I'd never knife my subordinates in the back," Daren assured her. "If I were that sort of individual, I'd have people that worked for me to do it for me."

"I'm quite adept with a blade," Dhani replied, that same twinkle in her eyes, "so if you ever need to?" she finished with a gentle shrug.

"I appreciate the offer," he agreed with a nod, "but I think I'll have to respectfully decline. Aside from all the slippery moral issues that I just can't seem to get past, there's always the fact that the sort of people who indulge in such behaviour are the exact same people that inevitably end up having it done to them."

"Humm, true," Dhani mused, "but there are ways round that," she added, "blood oaths for one, and I think it's in the code now to always give your victim a ten second head start," she giggled deviously, "well, at least I always have done!"

Daren reflected that the only person that had ever offered to give him a head start was June, and he'd spent the whole ten seconds watching her smile grow wider with each second as she realized that he wasn't going to move a single step. Hardly, of course, the sort of thing that one discussed with anyone else, though. "Perhaps, but sooner or
later there's always someone that gets around them. Allah will always have his due to balance things in the end."

~Not if you don't get caught!~ was Dhanishtas initial thought. However she nodded gently, "If that's how you believe the outcome, then it will be so." that almost sounded philosophical, she teased herself. She took in a breath and looked back at M'Kantu, there was a glow within him, something she did not recall when she had spoken to
him before. Back then it seemed that he had lost something, something that held him centered, grounded… no it wasn't that Dhani realized as she stared into his warm dark eyes. He lost his spark. That something within which kept hope alive; the inner flame. He had been empty, a shell, going through the motions with all the duty and
devotion that a text book Starfleet officer should possess, yet there had been no spring in his step, no laughter lines around the corners of his lips.

Dhanishta smiled softly at him, feeling the warmth that he radiated. With a gentle sigh she pursed her lips, "So Sir," she said pulling the topic back round to the planner, "what would you like me to do about that?" she asked indicating the offensive item that cluttered his desk.

"We do our duty, Lieutenant," he sighed. "We report what we know to Temporal Investigations, observe the subject, and try not to endanger the future." He paused, and considered his options. "I'll speak to the XO and Commander Corgan about it, but it goes no further than the four of us and those members of your staff that performed the analysis. Lieutenant Bental would be the other logical choice, but the mention of someone with his family name in connection with the Hydrans makes that impossible. Higher command would have everyone up on charges or locked up in isolation if I did, and we wouldn't be doing Galaxy any good there."

Dhanishta nodded solemnly, hoping that her staff had enough sense to keep classified things to themselves. "I can imagine that you have had your fill of temporal investigations." she commented with understanding. Dhani had never been questioned on the events that transpired on Quinton. In part she was glad, for at that time she was a transport wreck that just kept exploding. On the other hand she
still held a twinge of resentment towards M'Kantu for the time travel that unraveled whatever sanity she had ever had.

"Yes," he agreed, "I have. I'd had my fill of them the first time it happened, when I was Captain of the Valdemar. This last time, here on Galaxy, was... worse. Much worse."

"Believe me I know." Dhani replied having been the only survivor, "Gotta say, I think you had it easy." she told him trying to keep her tone light and un-accusatory, "You went down with the ship." She clarified. The grilling by temporal investigations and the case of accountability was most likely worse than living alone for 30 years getting bitter and all bent out of shape, but at least he hadn't had the argument with himself over how to burry approximately 1400 people.

"No," he said quietly, "that wasn't the part I was referring to. It wasn't that Galaxy was destroyed - it was failing everyone, all of you, in having it happen at all. That was... well...." He shook his head. "Let's just say that it was bad, shall we?"

Dhanishta choked on his sincerity, the emotion that he carried with him, the guilt that he tried to live with. It was insurmountable. Her eyes cast downwards, her own feeling about that day, those years of hell, suddenly so fresh, so raw. "I hated you for that." The words tumbled from her mouth before she had time to even catch up with
the thought. It was like watching a transport crash in slow motion. You could see what was going wrong, the error in judgment, in planning and timing and as you watched on, totally disassociated from the act itself, you could calculate the minor alterations to the course that would save everyone from the pain of the explosion.

"For failing all of you?" he asked quietly. "I understand. I've hated myself for it."

Dhanishta shook her head, "No, not for failing us," she replied, "but for abandoning us afterwards." she told him in a wavering voice caught on her own emotion. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheeks, hoping the pain that caused would distract her eyes from welling and her nose from itching. "I know that you had no choice but to go, and I know that…" she paused briefly and shifted in her chair, this was not the sort of conversation she should be having with her Captain, even if it was four years over due.

"You didn't order us to open fire. You didn't fail us Captain, Starfleet did. They condemned us, condemned this crew to an undignified death on an alien planet. Not you. And then they took you from us. In a time when we needed you, needed your leadership and guidance. We needed you, I needed you, to stand up and clarify what
happened and why. To admit the failure of the system, to admit a mistake had been made and to help us all understand what we died for."

A single tear rolled down her porcelain cheek, "by the time I had plucked up enough courage and made some sense out of what happened, you weren't here to scream at." Dhanishta stopped herself and turned away from him, bowing her head slightly so she could wipe away her tears in some semblance of privacy.

He studied her for a moment. "I'm here now, Lieutenant," he finally said quietly, "If you feel the need to scream."

Dhanishta let out a small ironic chuckle, "I think I've made enough of an arse of myself in-front of Captains to last a life time." She snorted, tilting her head to one side she looked back at M'Kantu, "I think Captain Stuart may still have a copy of the abridged 'conversation'." she clarified adding air quotes to the word conversation, implying that she used the term loosely. After all there really wasn't much conversing; Dhanishta pretty much just screamed hysterically at the poor woman and the bridge crew that had been on duty. Dhani groaned as she recalled her actions of that day. Captain Eliza Stuart was a good woman, Dhani could only assume, and she didn't deserve to be tossed into that situation. Dhanishta closed her eyes as if that might erase the memories, or at least subdue them from resurfacing now. Shaking her head she let out a slow breath through her lips and quickly dabbed her eyes and nose with a curled index finger.

"I think I should go now." she stated clearing her throat and preparing to stand up. In future she would consider contacting the Captain through the computer rather than sit one on one with him. On a ship that was full of bad memories she was surprised that this hadn't happened sooner, or maybe she should have been impressed with herself for holding it all in for as long as this. It appeared, for now at least, that the jury was out on that one.

"I'll be notifying the Temporal Investigation authorities immediately," M'Kantu nodded as she stood. "I have no doubt that they'll be in touch with you shortly thereafter."

~Oh joy~ Dhani mocked rolling her eyes, "Not a problem." she responded with a slight nod before dusting her pants down, a pretence for gathering her decorum before continuing to the door.

"Oh, Lieutenant?" he added as she reached the door. "Whether you do it with a counsellor, or a friend, or someone that's closer than just a friend... find some time to scream. Metaphorically if you will, but literally if that's what is needed to help you; we have a stressful enough occupation without holding things in."

Dhanishta smiled gently tilting her head she looked over her shoulder at M'Kantu, "Quinton was classified Sir," she replied softly, "no one remembers it like I do and no one needs reminding of it either." Her smiled faded briefly and then returned, fuller than before, "But Sir, I think that you would make a fine addition to the counselling team. Elessidil would welcome 'you' with open arms!"

He shook his head. "I doubt that, Lieutenant - and I think I'm a bit too old to be making a career change like that in any case." He indicated the desk. "Why, in a few years, I might even have this job figured out."

Dhanishta smiled warmly at that. "Just a 'few' years?" she queried playfully as she stood leaning against the door frame.

"It had better be only a few years, Lieutenant," he replied. "I'd like to think I reached the point where I was good at my job before I retired, after all."

That smile lingered on her face a moment more, "You're not the retiring kind Captain," she told him, "and as for job performance…" she paused for a moment and studied his expression, "you're only as good as the people you lead, and I'd like to think that as much as we all have our problems, when it comes down to what pulls us together and keeps us striving to attain our collective goals is that we are unanimous in our faith and trust in you."

She took a breath and leaned forward slightly, "Any Captain that claims to be good at his job or claims to know their job inside and out is deluded and arrogant and shouldn't be in that position in the first place. A good Captain knows that there is always more to learn, he knows that there is always more to discover and a good Captain shares that philosophy with his crew and doesn't hide behind the pretext that he is the be all and end all just because he carries the weight of four pips on his collar."

"Too many do think that way, Lieutenant - which is why those of us that don't tend to stay at the individual ship command level unless dragged kicking and screaming above it," he replied.

"Don't worry Sir, when they drag you off I'll make sure that the entire senior staff are here to hold you back. And if we can't stop them, then we'll find a way to get you demoted just like the Ledged of Kirk!"

"Please," he shook his head. "No 'Legends' - his is big enough for a dozen men and I'm perfectly happy not having one. They're awkward to carry around, impossible to live up to, and drag at you like a collapsed star."

"So you 'want' to be a stylus pushing Admiral?" she asked with a smirk.

"No. I have the only job I've ever wanted, Lieutenant. With any luck, Starfleet will never require me to leave it for something that I'm not really qualified for."

Dhanishta stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm, "If anything, you're over qualified." she said with a smile.

"I doubt that, Lieutenant. Which, of course, some would point to as a reason why I should have one of those stylus pushing jobs. I just don't happen to agree with them, that's all."

Dhanishta gave him a knowing smile, one that said 'we'll see'. With a curt nod she stood to attention briefly before stepping back and turning for the door. ~One day,~ she thought to herself, ~one day you will be an Admiral, and a damned good one at that!~

(OOC: Just trying something different...)

"Breathe Easy"

Featuring Lieutenant Raven Darkstar, Navigation Chief

With excerpts of "Best Laid Plans"

Location: Bridge, USS GALAXY

Daren looked around the Bridge, spared a moment for a prayer to Allah and another moment to thank Him that this had happened before his daughter arrived aboard. That done, he took a breath and nodded towards the screen, "Take us in, Mr. Darkstar."

With a slight nod, the hulking Navigation Chief moved his hands over the brightly lit flight control panel, jabbing down on the gold and green keys, paying attention to the engineering read outs scrolling across the top of his control board.

He then compared what he was seeing on the view screen before him with what was being projected in the tiny navigational display.

Satisfied with what he was seeing, Darkstar then disconnected the autopilot.

As they were accustomed to when Raven was at the CONN, members of the bridge crew reflexively held their breath until the ship began to move.

Most pilots left the navigation itself to the computer control systems. The Chief however preferred to fly manually allowing him to control the helm and navigational functions and actually steer the ship under keypad control.

Essentially, Darkstar flew on pretty much on gut instinct.

He made no secret that he had little to no patience with finesse piloting, graceful manoeuvring, and the like. As a former Security officer who later served as one of Admiral Bhrode's senior staff, Darkstar had zero tolerance with anything as mundane and common place as watching stars fly by.

He was a man of action who only took the CONN when his face was silhouetted by the red alert lights, letting the rest of his department log flight time during day to day flight operations.

He couldn't plot complex coarse adjustments and had no idea what any of the five standard input modes were for space craft flight were.

This made most everyone antsy - although few if anyone would have the nerve to bring up the subject. Especially since once he found himself in the heat of battle, the Chief's instinctual piloting abilities and reactions were better then most of those who had sat in the pilot's seat for years.

After taking a moment to get a feel for the ship beneath his hands, Darkstar suddenly moved the USS GALAXY with the grace and power of a predator staking through the forest, leading the Task Force into the nebula.

"You all may breathe again." Raven called out without moving his eyes from the screen where the star field was slowly replaced by the rainbow gasses of the nebula.

****

"Anything, Mr. Kara'nin?" Daren looked from the screen to his Acting Science Officer.

"Darkstar tuned out their conversation.

He was too focused on his own misery. His hulking frame was much too large for the CONN. For him to pilot the ship, he had to practically fold himself into the chair and then battle the cramping, back aches and shortness of breath that followed.

He had once even cursed the engineers who designed the ship once until Leo had broken out into hysterical laughter and remarked on the bitter irony of being able to put a man on the moon but not making him comfortable while he was there.

Now with battle imminent and adrenaline swelling his muscles, his body began to feel racked with pain.

Barely able to tolerate his discomfort, the Chief began to nonchalantly massage his calf muscles, trying to get the pins and needles sensation to subside when he noticed the Vulcan OPS officer looking at him from her console to his left.

"Do you require medical assistance?" she asked.

"What I require is a chair big enough for someone other then the Crusher boy and something to batter into submission to vent my irritation." he replied.

She arched an eyebrow and returned her attention to her consol as the Captain apparently finished discussing the data they had just processed.

"Whatever it is, we've got to at least get in there and take a look," Daren decided. "Pass your readings and our conclusions such as they are on to the rest of the Task Force, and then update the feed to the relay beacons, Mr. Kara'nin." Daren turned to the main viewer. "Plot me a course, Mr. Darkstar; I want to drop in unannounced on our friends as close as you can get us without running into anything. Relay it to the rest once you're done."

"Plotting course, aye," the massive Indian echoed.

Again he studied the readings at his fingertips and stared at the view screen.

Unexplainably, using nothing but raw instinct, he knew where he had to put the ship.

"Course plotted, sir." Hands that seemed to big for the console moved deftly, "Transferring course, sir." A two second pause passed, the console beeped, and he added, "Course transferred, sir. Task Force will execute on your mark."

"Mark."

Darkstar touched a control and the Task Force blinked into warp again.

****

"What in- Helm, evasive maneuvers!!" Daren spat as the Task Force dropped out of its micro-warp jump - and into the middle of a nightmare.

The Hydran fleet - at least forty ships, not thirty as they'd thought - was engaged in a full-out battle. That wasn't the problem, since Daren had expected something to go wrong. Ten Hydran ships too many was well within the realm of what he'd considered possible. The fact that there was a fight already going on when the Task Force arrived wasn't even outside the realm of possibility that he'd allowed himself. No the problem was in *what* the Hydrans were fighting.

*What* - not *who.*

He'd only seen one once before, and that had been too many. It was huge beyond rational thought - at least 5 kilometers long and with a mass that he didn't care to think about - which made it at least the twin of the only specimen that he'd seen before. Possibly larger, since the instruments weren't entirely accurate in the nebula; that possibility was something that he simply chose not to think about.

It was enormous.

It was moving under its own power.

It was engaging the Hydran ships that darted and spun about it, like a swarm of birds.

Its name choked him, bringing up memories of friends and comrades lost over Romulus, stealing his breath as he watched it on the main screen.

Finally, after an eternity that was, in truth, only a split-second, a chorus of voices rang out over the Task Force's communications links and Galaxy's Bridge, saving him from having to speak it himself, as the carefully-plotted formation dissolved like a flower ripped asunder in the blast of a hurricane, petals spinning in all directions.

"Starbeast!!!!!!"

(OOC:- Apologies all, this too is a backpost, set while en-route to the nebula)

“Medical Organisation”

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – CMO
Lieutenant (J.G.) Katara Elarin – ACMO
PO2 Ben Maxwell – NCOIC EMR Team
PO3 Victory – Nurse

USS Galaxy – Sickbay

Administrators apparently had a saying across known space, you could tell how organised someone was by looking at their desk and surveying the work piled there. If someone new stepped into the job could they look at the desk and see at a glance what was being worked on, what was outstanding, and so on and so on. Anyone looking at Kimberly’s desk would have been hard pressed to put her in any one specific category, that is until they looked at the floor and saw the amassed piles of paperwork and PADDs that were carefully piled around the desk.

It was in her mind the most kinetically stable form of filing. They had no further to fall since they were already on the floor.

Leaving a single PADD on the desk Kimberly picked up another and wandered out onto the ward and looked around, grateful that at present things were reasonably quiet, only routine physicals and a few minor injuries being tended to. Letting everyone get on with what they were doing she did her afternoon walkthrough of the medical complex, looking in labs and side wards, checking up on the comings, goings and progress of her staff and patients.

After spending an hour traversing her department Kimberly entered a small conference room. She’d gotten around to meeting her new staff members a little while back, even if was in one case a simple, ‘Hi, I’m your new boss’ as a patient was beamed in between them, but it was time for a little informal review, sit down, chat over lunch and generally find out how they were settling in and what their thoughts were.

Ordering up a coffee she sat to await the arrival of the few she had invited to today’s meeting. Reading up on the reviews submitted by other staff she waited patiently, refreshing her memory regarding these four.

“Hey, Doc,” Max greeted as he entered the conference room. His steaming cup of Raktajino was in his right hand, a few PADDs in his left. “I’m still working on that list of personnel. A lot of young people with potential here.”

“Hello Benjamin,” Kimberly greeted him with a smile, having forgotten the last time they spoke to ask him what he preferred to be called. “No rush, take your time and evaluate everyone, fingers crossed we’ll not be in a rush to utilise your talents for a while.”

“Um, it’s actually Benedict,” replied Max, a bit embarrassed to have to correct her. “And please, call me Max. As for the reviews, I’m giving it the utmost scrutiny.”

“I’m sorry Max, I’ll try and remember. And thanks. Let me know when you’ve got your shortlist, we’ll go over your choices.”

The doors to the conference room hissed open again, admitting one more to the compartment. The short, thin, redheaded form of the Galaxy’s newest nurse slipped in before the doors slid shut. Her unnatural glowing red eyes swept across the room, taking in everyone there, Doctor Burton and Max she knew, but the third she did not, nor did she recognize his species, though something about him looked familiar.

Shifting her optical sensors through the visual spectrum she confirmed it. He was a plant, or at least a very near relative to one. Her eyes lit up (literally) as she discovered this fact. She would have to find some time to find out what he was and who he was when she had a chance.

She glanced at the others, noting that they had noticed her arrival. “Petty Officer Victory reporting, Ma’am!” she announced and pushed her glasses back up her nose from where they had slipped with her index finger.

Max smiled as his...interest walked through the door, but wiped it off his face just as quickly. Instead, he decided a little misdirection was in order. “Hey, Vic, glad you could join us. Was beginning to think you might have gotten lost,” he added with a wink.

“Oh no, I didn’t get lost... well not for terribly long” Victory replied, her voice cheerful as she spoke to Max. “Though this ship is a lot bigger than the ones I have been on before, so I miscalculated my travel time and arrived late” she shrugged as she quickly found herself a place to sit in the empty chair next to her new friend.

“Well, then better late then never,” Max smiled. He couldn’t fight the smile that had been trying to creep onto his face since she walked in. The man realized that he missed her sorely since the mess with the evacuations began. Make up time was definitely in order, the Medic thought.

Victory smiled back as she saw his smile. “Well, I’m glad you think so” she replied. “But I haven’t seen you around for a while. You must have been busy?” she asked.

“What? Romping through radiation filled corridors doesn’t count,” Max pouted. Then the fatigue he was feeling settled in for a moment and he sighed. “Very,” he sighed. “Between settling in, dealing with some people’s extremely personal issues, and the casualties from the evac I didn’t get a moment’s rest.”

Recalling that the two of them had spent most of their time on DS5 together assisting the wounded Kimberly let them chat briefly, glad they were starting their time together onboard with such an easy familiarity. “Okay people,” said after a moment, “thanks for coming. As you’re all relatively new aboard I thought we’d get together and see how everyone’s settling in and if you have any questions?” Deciding to start things casually she sat back and relaxed, mainly wanting to get to know her new staff a little better.

The door hissed open yet again, at great risk of generating the mechanical equivalent of repetitive strain injury, and Katara stepped in, a steaming mug of sweet Deka tea in one hand and a PADD in the other. “Sorry I’m late everyone.” She said, quickly taking a seat next to Kimberly. “Have I missed anything?” She quickly glanced around the assembled faces and gave Max a quick wink.

“Nothing yet,” Max replied. He hadn’t seen the Cardassian doctor since the Miranda, and had heard that she was previously on Atlantis. “How’s Roger doing? Get himself into any trouble yet?”

“Define trouble?” She said back. “He’s coping well enough, although I think trouble follows that man. Either that or he actively goes hunting for it...I can’t quite work it out.”

Clearing her throat gently, calling the small gathering to order Kimberly looked around at some of the most recent additions to her staff. Some had been with them for a short while now, while Katara was relatively new. Though fortunately she already knew some people ho had transferred from the Miranda. “Okay, well thanks for coming everyone,” she started as she put her coffee down. “I realised a while back we’ve not had a chance to sit down and talk since you all came aboard so I thought I’d fix that. I know I’ve only discussed briefly with each of you what your duties are aboard so that’s one thing we’ll cover while we’re here, as well as take the time to air any questions or comments you might have. Also, I have a note from the Captain as to our next assignment, so we can go over that as well.”

Wishing that there had been more time to help everyone integrate into the team and how things worked aboard she shoved the thoughts aside. Their next assignment could take them into the firing line, again, and she needed to know these people better before lives were at risk. “So, let’s start with questions? Anyone have anything they’d like to ask? Get off their chest?” She offered.

“What’s the actual strength of the Medical department right now,” asked Max.

Katara turned to Kimberly. “May I? It’ll help me make sure I’ve got everything straight in my head.”

“By all means,” Kimberly offered.

“Thank you. In answer to your question Max we currently have twelve doctors on staff at the moment as well as Commander Malgin and his surgical unit and Lieutenant Slen and the pathology team. Your EMR and paramedic teams and the nursing staff, as well as the EMH systems and medical staff within the SFFC and SFMC, mean we’re looking quite strong.” She paused, turning to Kimberly. “I think?”

“That’s fairly accurate.” Kimberly admitted. “For one reason and another we are actually over staffed. We’ve accumulated medical personnel from DS5, the Carthage and new staff who were due to transfer here. Our standard compliment is supposed to be six staff physicians, a surgeon, about a dozen nurses, a trauma team of four and support - research staff. All told about thirty five to forty people. Currently though we have nearly double that, some of them will be transferring off soon but I’m putting together a new duty roster that will include more people than normal. Considering we’re in a shooting war I’ve arranged to keep aboard the extra trauma staff who are aboard, as well as some of the extra Doctors and researchers. Our total compliment should soon be around fifty people.”

“The research staff are all going to be Fleet staff, no civilians, and everyone will be an Nurse or an MD at the minimum. So if we need them they can all chip in and help.” Based on recent events and past experience having all the research staff fully qualified MD’s would nearly double their active duty staff should the situation call for it.

“I see,” Max said absentmindedly, making notes on one of his PADDs. “I just wanted to see if there was any overhead here. I may want to expand my candidate list to have a healthy cross section of providers, especially from the Marine and Starfighter Corps.”

“The team you’re assembling is one of the reasons I’m increasing the size of the department. Your team will be in lieu of one of the regular trauma teams we currently have assembled, so if you’re not on assignment then you’ll be on regular duty aboard.” Picking up a PADD Kimberly slid it across to him, “I’ve also set aside some equipment and a room for you, if there’s anything else you need let me know.”

“You might also want to look at any personnel who’ve been through the Hazard training program.” Katara added. “In light of recent events having medics who are trained in NRBC work might prove to be a life saving advantage.”

Neurons flares in Max’s brain for a split second as he considered that option. “I’m glad you mentioned that, Doc. Expect a call from me a little later, I think we need to talk about something.” Then Max leaned back slightly in his chair, indicating that he wanted to hear from everyone else.

“On the note of your team Max, I’m organising an increase in training simulations. I’ve co-opted Holodeck three for various scenarios in the coming weeks, so if there’s anything you would like to include drop me a memo.” Looking to Katara as she picked up her cooling coffee Kimberly nodded in her direction, “Likewise Doctor Elarin, if you know of anything you’ve done or trained for outside of the normal training parameters write it up. The better prepared we are the happier I’ll be.”

Max nodded and made a couple of notes on a PADD, then tapped the send command. “I think you’ll find those training scenarios very interesting.”

Briefly scanning the files she set them aside in her ‘to-do’ pile for later, the zero-G scenario though looked to be one she’d have to run fairly soon. “Thanks Max, I’ll go over them in more detail later. Though considering the current climate they look fairly appropriate. For now we’ll be focussing on ship board action, which brings us to our current mission.”

Picking up another PADD she scanned it quickly. “I’ll be sending a briefing memo to all medical staff later today, but I wanted to speak to you two first,” indicating Max and Katara, “as there’s more for you two to do. I don’t have all the details as yet, but the Galaxy and other ships are en-route to intercept a Hydran task force. I don’t have numbers but from what I’ve been told it’s not going to be an easy fight.” Sounding a little weary at the thought of more combat she continued none the less. “So, Max, I need you to have your team at least assembled by end of Gamma shift day after tomorrow. If prior contact with the Hydrans is any indication we may have boarding action, hellbore damage or any of the problems we’ve faced recently. Katara, if we’re called to assist other ships with medical emergencies I’m going to need you to lead any away teams while I look after things here. Max and his team will back you up for now. Questions?”

“I’m good for now,” replied Max. “I’ll speed up those interviews.”

“Excellent.” Looking around at the faces around the table she didn’t see anyone bursting with restraint to speak. Wishing their first formal meeting didn’t have to end on such a dark note she sighed mentally, “Okay, let’s wrap this for now, thanks everyone.” Watching them nod, smile and leave she sat in the now quiet room after they had gone and wondered how soon it would be before they were up to their elbows in casualties.

~ Too soon I imagine. ~

<end>

OOC - another backpost; be patient - I should be "caught up" tomorrow. -Dave

"The Nassari Patient, Part I"

Lt. Jarajen "Quattro" Quaaliu, CAG
Lt. JG Robert Mathieson, MD

Sickbay
======

"This one thinks you should reconsider", the Nassari said weakly through gritted teeth. Days since the radiation incident on Deck 11 and Galaxy's CAG had quickly become the bane of each and every Medical staff. Shift by shift, Quattro had made it his personal mission to find out when he would be released, and the lack of answers were as grating on the staff as it was for the pilot. Most preferred to give him a wide berth, but when particularly bad news had to be given Medical usually called in a "Specialist".

"This one thinks ye shoudl shut yer fekkin' gob and let 'em do their fekkin jobs - savvy?" The Specialist's scowl matched Quattro's, and had the added weight of being backed by the fleet's most stubborn MD. Robert Mathieson had little or no patience for the likes of the CAG, preferring his visitors to SIckbay to be both cooperative and silent, not necessarily in that order.

"This one has duties, doctor - something..."

"I understand all too fekkin' well", Mathieson growled, completing the Nassari's sentence for him. "But let me tell ye sumthin - an' this stays between me an you, right?"

"Very well..."

"I don' give a rat's ass. Really - I don't." The old man shrugged, and began to take inventory of the medical supplies needed in the next few days. "See, wasn't so long ago I had a feller in th' Bay jus like you. Mister "Big Picture" himself - Kylar Fekkin' Curran. Heh – if there was anybody made fer me special Gorn laxative, t'was that
pretentious, grandiose, smarmy prick." The physician had the image of the arrogant Kelvan in his mind and resisted the urge to ball his hand into a fist and hit something, something the diplomat seemed to inspire in most of the crew. "Had 'im messin 'round a full a ward o' troops who'd gone against Jem Hadar an' he threw a fekkin' hissy'd make a seven year-old blush. Cost th' fekkin nob almost a litre o' blood and damn well messed up an amputation in' th next bed, but I dealt with him - an' I'll deal with you if ye cross me."

The last sentence was accented with a stubby, hairy finger pointed squarely between Quattro's eyes, which glared darkly back at the old human. "This one knows you are mistaken doctor. All this one wishes to know is when he will be released."

"Can't tell ye wot I don't know", Mathieson mumbled. "Yer one o' two Nassari in th' bleedin' fleet, an' th' other one 'parrently doesn't give a rat's ass about *you*. Quite th' reputation ye've got fer yerself, lad. 'Been tryin' t' get more data from yer homeworld, but that's slower'n a Klingon t' a salad bar. They're a Warp 5 culture, so I'm askin' a question nicelike - why they want ye t'die?"

Jarajen frowned and looked away from the unpleasant human. "They do not wish this", he said weakly. "They... do not wish to be dishonoured, or seem less than they are. Can the doctor tell me, what was humanity like a century ago?"

"Wot's that got t'do with anythin?"

"Amuse this one."

"Well, fer one - an' get this straight th' first time – despite appearances an' wotever ye may 'ave heard, I wasn't there." Mathieson had been taking cracks about his age ever since he got on board, and wouldn't take more without a fight. When the Nassari gave a slight nod, he continued. "Cold war with th' Klingons, th' usual crap with th' Romulans. That sort o' shit. Why're ye askin?"

"My people had just become proficient with the steam engine, and flight with reed aircraft covered in silken canopies", Quattro said with his eyes closed, Imagining they days of his father's father and dreaming what it would have been like in more honorable times. "Chemical propelled projectiles were just being used for artillery,
but the blade was still the preferred weaponry for those of noble blood. Does the doctor find this familiar?"

"The doctor finds it fekkin' impossible!" Mathieson had stopped his duties and stared wide-eyed at the Nassari. "No fekkin' way ye went fro steam t' warp in two generations! Yer delirious!"

Quattro shook his head, and the effort brought a wave of nausea he had to fight down. "No... this one speaks the... truth. Warp drive came from the Klingon-maj, who sought new worlds to conquer. New peoples to enslave. They sent a transport to bring some to their homeworld - that transport never returned."

"Why?"

The Nassari barked a laugh, then a fit of coughing that Mathieson observed carefully. "Because... of war with... you. Our world... hfff... was at the fringe of their Empire. Few resources immediately available to plunder, and it was a single transport. Who would miss such a thing in those days?"

"So ye scavenged it? Warp tech inna generation 're two?" The old man raised his eye to the ceiling, not believing what he had just heard. "Sweet Jaysus!"

"Indeed", Quattro whispered, not knowing or caring who 'Jaysus' was or why inspired a particular taste. "This one's people made for warp drive like hounds upon meat, careless of all other things. Art. Music. Commerce. Philosophy. Medicine. This one's physicians are little more than witch-doctors compared to what the Federations has - they do not wish you to know of their ignorance."

"Well - d'ye know what th' Federation's got fer ye?"

"No. Tell this one."

"Sweet bugger all", Mathieson answered in frustration. "We know next t' nothin 'bout yer physiology, basically makin' tests up as we go along. Fer a space-farin' race, ye've got squat fer resistance t' radiation, an' an autoimmune system squirellier n' anythin' I've ever seen. 'Top it all off, yer biochemistry's almost toxic t' most bipeds in th' Alpha Quadrant. Wot's in that tea yer drinkin'?"

"Gentle ingredients for aiding digestion - elacca root and fai'shen leaves in water", Quattro managed. "Why?"

Mathieson grunted and looked at the Nassari's empty cup. "'Cos it's got a fair kick o' arsenic when fully steeped - and yer bloodwork seems t' use it like a tonic, bit of a pick-me-up. 'Ave another, and keep yer mouth shut."

"This one has had enough of the doctor's insolence." With a great deal of effort, Quattro raised himself to a sitting position in the bed. The strain was apparent on the Nassari's face, but he overcame the rush of dizziness and nausea with sheer will. After a minute of steeling himself up for the task, Quattro stood up from the bed. The loud symphony of alarms that rang through sickbay caught the pilot off-guard, and he sat back down to the bed only to be pushed onto his back by a single prod of Mathieson's finger to his chest. The Doctor cut the alarms by tapping controls on Jarajen's biobed.

"'At's right. Yer not dealin' with warm-an-cuddly Doctor Burton now - we've learned a bit from th' last department head that figgured 'e was too fekkin' important t' look after hisself." The old man picked up the lower of the Nassari's left hands and flattened the skin against the pilot's index finger. Through the pasty, thin skin a small bump the size of a pin head rose. "Moniterin' sensor surgically implanted", he said with a malicious grin. "Tells me where ye are at all times, an' sets off alarm when ye leave th' bed. Ye run outa sickbay an' I'll beam yer ass back so fast it'll take minutes fer th' main engines t' catch up with ye at full warp - then it's Gorn laxative fer yer! Like I said - I've met yer kind before, Lieutenant."

Quattro's chest heaved in exhaustion and defeat as he looked up at the controls Mathieson had been adjusting. He knew enough of such things to know DNA probably granted access, and tinkering with the panel with his inferior skills would get him nowhere. As he caught his breath, he glared up at the arrogant human who hovered over him with a cold, piercing expression bordering on hatred.

"I... assure you... that the doctor... has NEVER... met this one's kind... before."

T B fekkin' C

OOC - another &^%@ing backpost. Sorry dudes. -Dave

Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, Operations Manager
Midshipman Aina Mason, Communications Officer

USS Galaxy

=====

The Galaxy was going back into a war situation - it seemed that the ship was as fated as her 'home, the Miranda' to continue to go from hot spot to hot spot. Now the Galaxy was off again to encounter more Hydrans, another Hydran Fleet entering Federation Space.

As she was moving through the corridors, from the computer core systems on level fourteen and making her analysis and checks on the port core operations, she remembered Command Jaxom, and him lying on the biobed. That was a while ago, and now, he was up and fine, but in going to the Vered Cluster to try and evacuate some colonists from their homes, he'd been injured, badly. Not from an enemy, but people that he had sworn to protect.

The last couple of weeks, Aina was still trying to work everything out - Federation Council pushing out people from their homes, so the Hydrans could have an easy path into the Federation itself. The people attacking the Galaxy and people dying, who only were doing the orders they were doing.

Orders herself, she didn't agree with - but what could she actually do, she still hadn't even finished her training.

But everything in the last mission just seemed backward, it was all wrong. Lately, the only thing that seemed to make any sense was Jaal telling her not to give up hope. A hope for better things.

As she was recording her notes about the core into the padd she was holding, her concentration lessened as she looked around at the crew that she passed in the corridors. Many were looking over their shoulder, or down the corridor, that Aina was moving down. Small groups were quietly talking for a few seconds and then dispersing.

Watching the people around her, wondering what joke she was missing, she looked up the corridor and could only see the curving wall as it headed around the ship. She knew that a few more metres and there would be a turbo-lift station, that would take her to the top level of computer cores.

Coming out of the alcove that hid the turbo-lift, a lieutenant in a command uniform moved quickly away, his face as white as a sheet. Turning into the alcove, she saw a tall, very tall scaly back wearing a Starfleet Uniform. A reptillian head bending down to enter into the lift, as the hulking form turned, Aina recognised it as a Gorn. Even
more, she thought the patterning on the head of the Gorn was more than random colours, it seemed familiar.

There wasn't that many Gorns in Starfleet, and with the feelings of familiarity, Aina was sure that she knew the Gorn. Moving at a fast pace to catch the turbo-lift and with a level of familiarity that could have said to be inappropriate for a cadet to a senior officer, she called out, "Grazzt...Grazzt...uh...Commander K'aa."

The reptilian looked up from the PADD he was reading, and squinted at the young Bajoran. "Midshipman", he hissed. "How may I be of assissstance?"

Looking down at Aina, she could feel the Gorn's stare, unsure whether he recognised her or not, Aina introduced herself. "Umm...Commander -it's me Aina Mason, we worked on Gyndine together. Uh...I was Moncha Kyna."

"I remember", K'aa said nodding. "Work againssst the Syndicate. Good work too. I'm surprisssed to sseee you here Mason - I wasss certain the Director of Fleet Intelligence would have sssecured you asss an operative by now."

Aina's shoulders lifted as she gave a slight shrug and with a small smile. Internally she was pleased with K'aa suggesting she might be good enough to be an operative.

While she was born on Bajor, had lived the first few years of her life on Earth, Aina had grown up on the USS Miranda and for her it was home. K'aa was here and she had seen some orders for a couple of other crew from the Miranda reassigned to here. To have three of some of the senior staff move to the Galaxy had her very worried that something was wrong with her 'hometown.'

With the hum of the turbo-lift heading up, Aina asked, "I've heard that Lieutenant Daniels and Lieutenant Elarin have transferred to the Galaxy. And now, you are here too, there isn't anything wrong with the Miranda is there?"

"The Miranda?" K'aa shook his large head. "No - if there'sss anything wrong, it'll be with the Galaxy. The influx of more...hrrrmmm... experienced persssonel here meansss that the hammer will fall sssoner than later. The presss isss on the be assss prepared asss posssible. They have you asssigned to worthy tassssks, yess? Anything noteable lately?"

"I've got my normal comm duties on the bridge at times, mostly I'm doing grunt maintenance work on the cores, I'm also..." Aina was about to mention about her working with Valentina in Intelligence, but thought that at the moment, it would probably be better to keep quiet about it. "We had some people from the Vered Cluster get a shuttle on the ship with an old fission weapon. The explosion was contained, but the radiation leaked into the port core, it took days to clear out all of the bit rot from the registers. That help moved the adrenaline a little faster."

"Where are you assigned to Commander?" Ainia asked.

"Operationsss", the reptilian hissed, stopping and giving the Bajoran a piercing stare. "We're currently outfitting the ship for her next misssion, and I'm meeting with the varioussss department headsss to sssee how Opsss can bessst sserve their needsss. I'm hunting for Lieutenant Bental now, in fact."

"Ahh," Aina nodded her head, "I might be able to help you with that. I have to see him in a couple of hours, about the implementation of a new protocol library in the data warfare..." She stopped herself again and hoping that K'aa hadn't noticed the slip, she continued.

"Ummm...if he stays with his normal routine, he is in his office going over reports or the like, ah...his computer access usually increases about this time of day and usually from his office terminal. I can take you there, if you like?"

"I will follow your lead, Mssss Massson." Giving the young Bajoran a slight bow K'aa gestured ahead of them with a claw. "I will take whatever guidance that'sss offered."

Calling out to the turbolift to take them to the deck with the Intelligence Command Centre, Aina nodded, "Should be there in a few moments."

The doors to the level slid open and the huge double doors to the SFI Centre were in front with their two guards in Intelligence Black guarding the way. Aina pointed to the doorways, "Lieutenant Bental is not one for surprises," she commented. "But he should be in his office, is there anything else that you need Commander."

"My thankssss. Massson. I appreciate the guidance." K'aa offered the young a slight bow before entering 'Intelligence Country'. Just as he entered, however, the Gorn stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. "One thing further, Mssss Massson - if Communicationsss can ssspare sssome of your valuable time, I'd appreciate it if you could stop by Opsss for a... project sssomeone of your particular talentsss may find interesssting."

"Ummm, Commander - Communications is still a sub-branch of Operations on the Galaxy. It's not like the Miranda, where they had a separate department. The Galaxy is not due for a Comms refit for another few months."

"Really? The Gorn's expression became all the more toothier with the information. "Then... by all meansss - the new project supercedesss your former dutiesss. I believe they will be more sssuited to your ssskills... and infinitely more reqarding asss well."

"If it was anything like Gynedine, Commander - it should be interesting, very much," Aina called out as K'aa turned and headed into Intelligence Country.

K'aa watched the Bajoran meet with Bentall's yeoman and smiled.

~Child - you have absssolutely no idea how interesssting it will be!~

OOC: WARNING! NUDITY AND SEXUAL REFERENCES.

"Experimentation"

Gral'Mev Gro'kle (Omar)
Lieutenant Branwen London
Corporal Samantha Beckett (Aaron)

Lieutenant London and Corporal Beckett had been dried off by walking through the sonic dryer as they now stood nude, save for their breathing masks in a large room with different instruments and machines of different types. Four guards stood behind the two females, as the doctor soon emerged from an office.

Gral'Mev Gro'kle, A Hydran Physician, and expert medical interrogator lumbered into the Interrogation Salle and appraised his new subjects with mixed expression of disgust and impending pleasure (if one could recognize disgust on a Hydran's face). 'Oh, yes I have plans for you two,' he thought. 'Big plans.

Samantha remained silent until one of the guards behind her nudge her with the butt of his rifle. "Answer female!"

"Corporal Samantha Beckett. Starfleet Marine Corps. 2399045710," she announced, doing her best to keep her fear from showing.

"You leave her alone." Branwen said protectively. "She's done nothing wrong." She stepped between the Hydran Doc and the corporal.

Samantha swallowed and nudged Branwen aside. "Its ok...I'm not afraid of him."

It was not okay, however. Bad enough he was interrupted, but to be stared down by this human filth... "Secure this one to the examination table," said Gro'kle, indicating Branwen. Immediately, vice like grips attached themselves to her arms.

"What of the other one," asked another guard.

"I do not care," the Doctor replied dismissively, then had another idea. "How silly of me. To not have a control for the tests. And of course, it would be much more beneficial to conduct two entirely different series of experiments, do you not agree?"

"Go to hell," Samantha spat.

"Now, that is simply not a positive attitude to have, human," Gro'kle said mockingly. "While I would like to warn you of what we are about to do next, I actually take great pleasure in saying that you will not derive any." With a gesture, several assistants entered the chamber, blorping and warbling amongst themselves, attaching various straps, cables and other unpleasant looking devices to the two
prisoners.

Samantha struggled uselessly against the guards as they held her while strange devices and straps with some kind of malleable metal running through them were placed all over her naked body by the assistants. Upon the devices being attached were a small pinching sensation that caused pain in the areas.

Samantha screamed as her muscles pulled against the restraining guards. "What are you doing?! Leave Lieutenant London alone!" she screamed.

Branwen was praying to her god, she was not going to show them fear. Even when she felt the electrodes being attached to her breasts, she tried to struggle as much as possible. "Look doctor, it is me you want, you don't need the corporal." She tried to tell him. "Let her go and I will co-operate. You can do anything to me if you let her go."

Gro'kle made a sound that was similar to a baritone fart. "And how would that benefit me? No, she will remain, and I will have no more of this discussion." With that, lumbered and warbled over to a wide control panel that stood in the middle of the room. A few parameters were entered, energy settings confirmed, and finally the activation control was touched. What followed would have been horrifying to the
average humanoid, but was music to his auditory system. Pain for others was his pleasure.

Branwen gritted her teeth. The man was truly personal a psychopath like most of his race. The only thing they could hope for now was a swift rescue, like last time. She tried not to think about it, being so vulnerable, being invaded by these creatures. God only knew what they would do this time. She began to pray softly under her breath.

Samantha resisted the urge to scream out as it literally felt as if her body was on fire. "Wh--What are you doing?"

"Hmm? Oh, just a few routine scans," the Doctor replied dismissively. He was preoccupied with the immediate results the telemetry was telling him. "Interesting..."

"Stop hurting her." Bran hissed. She could see the other woman was scared. Strangely enough thinking about the other helped her to focus and resist better. "You bastard!"

"Hmm? I am growing rather tired of you. Perhaps I should demonstrate the effect of low voltage alternating current on the human body?" Gro'kle tapped a control on his wide panel, and a capacitor under London's exam table began to charge. There was no doubt what was going to happen next.

She swallowed hard. "There will be no need." Bran said, playing for time.

"Please, do keep your strength. You'll need it." Turning to one of his assistants, the Doctor issued an instruction silently, then turned his attention-his full attention now-to the prisoners before him.

"Now, you with the rather vocal outlook in life. Tell me about the operation in the Vered Cluster"

"Leave Lieutenant London alone. I don't know about any operation in the Vered Cluster. We were simply there to visit the colonists," Beckett replied as the pain from the straps and devices subsided as she laid nude before the doctor on a separate table from Branwen..

"Come now," the Hydran chided. "Surely you don't think to insult our intelligence, hmm?" He tapped another control, which operated the
discharge capacitor for Beckett's table. The results were not pleasant.

Beckett could not hold back the scream as electricity flowed through her body, her limbs involuntarily straining against the restraints which held her firmly to the table.

After he felt they were sufficiently motivated, Gro'kle discontinued the treatment he'd prescribed and shambled over to the prisoners, blorping as he went along. "I will thoroughly enjoy experimenting on you after the warden and his interrogators are done with you. This
I promise."

"You leave her alone you miserable bastard." Bran hissed. "She is not a highranking soldier and she can tell you nothing."

As the electricity died away Samantha took deep rapid breaths. "It..Its alright..." she breathed.

"An Interrogator will be with you shortly to ascertain if there is any information worth getting from you. Then you will be returned to me. I had promised them that I wouldn't damage you too much before hand." With that, Gro'kle left the chamber with both prisoners and their guards.

Corporal Beckett and Lieutenant London were escorted off the tables and into an adjacent chamber which was dimly lit. A moment later, a male and female Hydran entered the room, sealing the door.

Beckett did her best to not show her fear after the powerful shock she had been given by the Hydran Doctor.

Bran swallowed her own fear and pain and came and sat next to the corporal. "It's okay, Sam. We are alone now. I will try to keep the attention on me as much as possible."

"No, it is alright. Do not try to protect me. I can take it. I should protect you...you're the one who is married." Samantha then heard the approaching footsteps of the two interrogators.

The heavy door opened to reveal two Hydran Officers, one of which was Gi'Meshketh Grenthas, an expert interrogator often overshadowed by his senior officer. He resorted to any method he could dream up, much to the disconcert of his subjects. His three eyes bore directly into Samantha and Branwen as he came to a lumbering stop about seven feet away. The heavy doors closed and a moment passed before he finally spoke.

"Do you ladies require sustenance?" he asked. "I'm sure you must be hungry, or at least parched from thirst." He turned to the female guard present in the cell. "Could you appropriate something appropriate for our guests?" Samantha simply remained quiet as Branwen was the senior officer, yet she would do her best to protect her as the lieutenant had a husband and she did not.

Branwen also remained silent, she was not fooled by the kindness for one moment. It was just a different tack to get at them.

"I'm told Terra is such a lovely place," he started up again, without prompting. "A pity I would have to wear a Methane-Rebreather to visit. Perhaps some day you could give me a tour? I would very much like to visit your Cayman Brac Island. Very interesting caves there, I'm told..."

"Sure, I'd give you a tour of the bottom of the Ocean, you fucking Hydran," Beckett sneered.

"Now that wasn't very nice, now was it," Grenthas said with what might have passed for a Hydran pout. "Here I am trying to make polite conversation and you simply just had to say something rude like that. Very well, then." The interrogator removed a device from a case he had brought in with him.

"Let us begin with some information I would like from you." While still polite, there was an almost imperceptible tone of business and perhaps menace in his voice.

Branwen simply replied by stating her name rank and serial number, nothing more and nothing less.

"If you insist," he sighed. He tapped a button and Branwen began convulsing violently. This continued for about a minute before he depressed the button again and the seizures stopped.

"I must apologize," Grenthas said in a sincere tone. "Apparently, the good doctor had failed to mention to you that while he had examined you, sub-dermal implants were inserted...to encourage you to cooperate."

"Leave her alone!" Beckett screamed. "We will never cooperate!"

"That may very well be, however, I believe it would behove you to cooperate. It would be so much easier on you in the long run."

"Go to hell you monster." Bran cursed at him in Welsh. "We would rather die than tell you anything."

"Hell, an interesting philosophical concept," he replied. "Perhaps I can show you how one's hell can become another's. Observe." Grenthas made a gesture and the second man left the chamber, only to return momentarily with a rather large box that appeared to be approximately one cubic meter in dimension. Something inside the box skittered around.

"You see, we took the liberty of obtaining information regarding your psychological profile, specifically your fears...the worst ones." He took the box, then placed it midway between him and the prisoners. With a touch on a small control strip on the side of the box, two flaps sprung open, revealing a dark interior to the two women...until something moved.

"I would like you to meet one of our residents here. He is of course not native, but from Cardassia. It is a spider they call the harras." A large jointed stalk emerged from the dark depths of the box.

Samantha's eyes widened with fear as she saw the large spider slowly crawl out of the box. Her breathing became rapid as she tried her best to control her shaking. She soon felt the guards grab her by the arms.

Branwen was thinking quickly, spider's did not scare her in the least, but she was not sure if they knew that. And maybe they would think they had made a mistake. If those animals were in here, probably Samantha was afraid of them, and that was not a good thing. So before the corporal could do anything it was Branwen was started to scream.

"Keep them away from me." She squeaked. "Please, anything but that, please."

"Grenthas! Resorting to the critters already. And I thought the doctor would have them softened up for you already." The words came from another male Hydran who was entering the chamber with two thick metal collars. The decorations on his uniform indicated that he clearly outranked the others in this room.

"What an unexpected surprise, my lord," the interrogator greeted the newcomer. He was hoping that the Warden wouldn't come down so soon to visit the new arrivals.

"As for the critters, I assure you it was simply an opportunity to extract some information. What, if I may ask, brings you to our most humble of prisoner's cells?"

"I've come to check on the Capellan's woman. Her husband has been quite fun so far.", Grek'lr's eyestalks were already focused on Bran.

"You leave him alone, you hear!" Bran shouted. "Filthy pigs!"

Grek'lr chuckled a bit. "Now now, do you really think you're in a position to demand anything? I only need information from one of you. If you both cooperate, niether will suffer. Oh, and Grenthas, before you proceed with your critters I'd ask that you introduce our female guests to our lovely neckwear. And please, don't let me see them naked again. I want them clothed in issued garb at all times. Don't want to disgust my men with their ugly bodies now would we?"

"Of course, my lord," Grenthas quickly said. One of his eyestalks glanced at a guard in the room and another gesture was made. The guard left and returned shortly with two jumpsuits sized for Branwen and Samantha. As the guard approached the pair, there was a sudden loud crunch and squish. Apparently, in the mild confusion from the Warden coming in, Grenthas has forgotten all about his pet.

"Now look what you've done. Do you know how long it took me to acquire that spider?"

Samantha was instantly relieved upon seeing the spider crushed, but something told her that the sick bastard had more. She dressed into the white jumpsuit. "If you want ugly, you should go and look in a mirror!"

Branden let out a nervous laugh. At least the danger was over for now, and they had gained time. Very slowly she put on her own jumpsuit.

One of Grenthas' eyestalks focused on Branwen. "Fairly soon you will not be so quick with your tongue." He removed the device from his belt again and tapped a button. He actually smiled this time as Samantha fell to the ground and writhed in pain.

Samantha screamed loudly as her body convulsed in pain.

"I do so enjoy seeing that," he said happily. He tapped another command and the writing stopped.

Samantha took in several deep breaths as pain slowly subsided from her body.

"Don't do that!" Branwen screamed. "You sick bastard, leave her the hell alone!"

"As you humans are fond of saying, 'whatever'." Grenthas gestured with his right hand and the guards moved to apply the collars to the prisoners.

Samantha was unable to offer any resistance as the guard forcefully placed the collar around her neck.

Branwen didn't struggle, knowing it was no use, they were in the minority here, and she wanted them to underestimate her. She would bide her time, and only try something when she thought she had a chance of succeeding. For now she could only pray they would take Samantha and her back to the cells soon for some much needed rest.

Seeing that the two prisoners garbed, Grenthat felt it was time to press on in his interrogation.

"Now, I will ask again. What is the Federation's military strength in these sectors of space?" He was determined to get some kind of answer from them, to break them somehow.

"Go to hell." Branwen simply said.

"I did so hope that you would become aware of the hopelessness of your situation," Grenthas mused. He gestured to one of the guards who now stood behind the control stand. Controls were activated, and an instant later, both Branwen and Samantha fell to the ground, paralyzed.

The marine Lieutenant found it difficult to breathe at least there was not so much pain this time, and they were playing for time.

But Grenthas wasn't done yet. Next, he produced another device which was wand like and about one meter long. He fingered the activation switch and the distal end began to hum with bluish green light arcing off of it every so often.

"The collars which you both have around your neck has several uses," he began, "One of which is to inhibit your brain from sending signals to your body." He got within range with his 'magic wand' and gestured towards them with it. "However, this device which I hold here can override that inhibition and send whichever sensation to your brain that I wish, be it pleasure-" without further preamble he shoved the wand into Branwen's groin.

Pleasant heat shot up between her thighs, and if she had been able to Branwen would have groaned with the ecstasy. For once the Lieutenant was glad she was immobilised. The shame of it, feeling pleasure because of what these animals did to her.

Removing the wand after observing her for a moment, he continued. "Or it can be painful. Very, very painful." And with that, Grenthas shoved the wand's end into Samantha's groin, and watched her body buck and writhe, unable to control itself. He was sure he caught a scent of faeces.

Samantha was unable to scream as her body jerked and convulsed on the floor.

"Well Grenthas, I'll leave you to your work. And make sure the Capellan's woman is treated appropriately. We wouldn't want to upset her husband now would we." Grek'lr ended by giving a twitch of his right eyestalk which was the rough Hydran equivalent of a wink. With that he turned and left.

The Interrogator simply remained quiet until his superior left the chamber, then turned to deal with his prisoners.

"Now that I hope to have your undivided attention," Grenthas growled as he removed the wand, "I will repeat my question: What is the Federation's total strength at this time?"

Branwen calmly repeated her name rank and serial number.

"You Terrans are truly a glutton for punishment. I am told that chest pain for a human is truly an unpleasant experience." With that, he applied the wand to Samantha's chest, just left of the sternum.

"Leave her alone, you coward! I have told you before that she is just a lonely soldier, she doesn't know any thing." The Lieutenant shouted.

With a powerful fist Grenthas smashed into her face, sending her sailing across the chamber into a wall. "I grow weary of your unwillingness to cooperate, which does not bode well for you, human!" He towered over her now while she remained on the floor.

Pain erupted through her face, Branwen was sure he had smashed her nose. She was still sluggish and could not really respond well. Dazed she stayed in the corner.

With one of his feet, he stomped Branwen in her stomach, what passed for a smile crossed his face as fresh blood spurted out of her mouth. "Take her to Gro'kle," he commanded to the guards. "I do not wish her dead...yet."

"And as for you, Samantha Beckett, perhaps you and I can come to an agreement, hmm? I will ensure that you are treated very well, that you will no longer be subjected to this barbarism."

"I won't tell you anything," she replied, trying to recover from the massive shock just given to her.

"Drowning, is another interesting sensation that I'm told is quite displeasing for humans," the Interrogator said as if Beckett had said nothing. He applied the wand to her throat, and revelled in the reaction he saw.

Samantha struggled to draw in air into her throat as she panicked on the floor.

"I will break you," Grenthas hissed.

Blackness cluded Samantha's vision just as Grenthas removed the wand. Samantha coughed heavily as air once again filled her lungs.

TBC...

OOC: WARNING! NUDITY.

"Second Interrogation of Man'darr"

Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia

Qasar'Mev Qolthra (Mieke)

Man'darr had been shackled with his hands together in front of him in his cell, stripped nude, and had been deprived of sleep by electric shocks at every moment that he was about to fall into sleep. He simply laid awake on the small, metal slab used for a bed. His mind was on Branwen, hoping she was alright...and yet he knew she wasn't...and there wasn't anything he could do, especially with the collar still attached around his neck.

Soon, he heard the collar whine as it injected something into his neck. Once again, he felt his muscles lose their strength and at that moment, the cell door slid open and two large Hydran guards stepped in, placed the Breathing mask on him and grabbed him by the arms, escorting him down the corridor, followed by two more guards behind with disruptor rifles. "Qolthra wishes to see you again, Capellan filth!" the guard commented. After a moment, they came to a familiar dimly lit room with various machines and tables. Inside was the female Hydran interrogator.

She smiled at him as the guards placed him on a chair and strapped him down. "I trust you slept well and are ready for another little chat?" They had kept him awake for nearly 48 hours now, but he should have lost track of time by now. It had been a while since he had been allowed to see daylight.

"I have nothing to say to you," he replied as the guards strapped him tightly to the steel chair. The collar left him weak and he found it hard to focus or think clearly due to the lack of sleep.

"No? My questions are so easy." She said softly. "Just tell me what I want to know and the pain will stop. You will be put to work here and have a reasonable good life. I don't like having to hurt you." She lied.

"I do not care how easy your questions are...I will never answer them." The guards then backed away after finishing tightening the straps.

"Never say never." She attached electrodes to his temples. "Don't you wonder about your lovely little mate, pet?"

"I said leave Lieutenant London alone! And I am not your pet!" he yelled as he strained against the thick, tough straps holding him to the chair.

Qolthra touched a control that send a mild current through the electrodes on his temples. "Bad pet.” She chided gently. "Must not yell at mistress." The hydran petted him on the head.

The jolt had caused Man'darr's body to tense and convulse as he bit down from the pain.

"You are not my mistress," he said, taking in deep breaths as he continued in vain to struggle against the straps.

"The sooner you see me as such the easier it will be for you." Another mild jolt. "This is not good for your poor little brain you know." A stroke on the cheek this time.

Man'darr again resisted the urge to scream as his body was racked with another charge.

"You will never be my mistress." He wondered what was this hydran's goal with him. During his last visit she had wanted him to beg and this time she wanted to be his mistress.

Man'darr was nobody's slave and he would not beg.

"We will see how long you last." Qolthra had been informed that there was heightened demand for humanoid personal slaves, it did not make her task in the easier. Breaking somebody just for information wasn't very difficult, it didn't matter how much the subject suffered or if it survived. But to deliver well-behaved slaves was a whole different ball game, and a challenge she looked forward to. "If you want food and other privileges, you will have to start calling me mistress, pet."

"I am not your pet!" Man'darr repeated. He felt weaker than before with the constant strength-reducing injections from his collar and as well as being deprived of sleep. he only hoped Branwen was alright.

"Maybe I should stimulate you differently." She looked at his crotch. "How important is the possibility to reproduce for you?"

Man'darr remained silent as the female hydran looked his groin area over.

"Apparently not." She started to attach some electrodes there. "Now I am going to ask once more nicely. Call me mistress."

"Never," he said as he did the best he could to brace himself against the pain he knew was coming.

She brushed the control button lightly the first time and watched his reaction. This was extremely painful.

Man'darr let out a scream as his genitals ignited with pain and his body stiffened with the electricity flowing through him.

"Shall we try again, pet?"

Taking in several deep breaths, Man'darr spoke, looking up at the Hydran female. "Never..."

"Hmmm a stronger current and there might be permanent damage, pet." Her hand hovered over the button.

"You obviously do not know much about Capellans," his breath still rapid and deep as he spoke.

"I am beginning to learn that you are stupid." She said, disappointed and pressed the button.

Screams again erupted from Man'darr as the current flowed through his entire body.

"Just tell me when you are ready, pet." The interrogator said hand on the button.

"I am not your pet!" Man'darr said through clenched teeth, sucking in large breaths.

"Tsskkkk." She said. "So stupid." She pushed the button again.

The screams were louder this time. Man'darr slumped forward, with the restraining straps keeping him from falling to the floor. His genitals and entire body pulsed with pain and felt as if they were on fire.

"Again?" She asked pulling him up by his hair.

Taking in large amounts of air through his breather, Man'darr fought through the pain to speak. "Never...."

"Silly little pet." She said affectionately. "It will take you so long to learn, I guess you don't have much of a brain, you are so slow." She motioned the guards forward and whispered something in their ears.

Man'darr continued to take in deep breaths as the female hydran spoke with the guards. He was not sure how much longer he could hold out, yet he had to. He could not give in.

He was released from the chair and dragged from the room roughly. Because of the collar he would have no strength to resist.

The guards drug Man'darr down a corridor with the female hydran following. Man'darr tried to resist, yet his muscles would not contract to their full potential, leaving him feeling weak.

He was brought to what looked like a guard meeting room. Some of them snickered at him. Mandarr was bound spreadeagled to a cross standing against one of the walls. "You know the rules boys." She called out. "Use him as a dustbin, practice material, but keep him alive. I will be by every few hours to check on him and to keep him weak." She activated the collar again. "If you change your mind pet, call out for your mistress."

Man'darr was unable to struggle as the guards bound him tightly in the room filled with male and female Hydran guards. He struggled to keep his head up.

A male guard came over and pinched Mandarr's nose closed. The man proceeded to pore some disgusting liquid down the captives throat barely giving him the opportunity to swallow or breathe.

The liquid was repulsive and had a burning sensation as it flowed down his throat and into his stomach. The guards laughed as they replaced the breathing mask on Man'darr, who coughed heavily at the disgusting liquid while trying his best to breathe.

"Don't fight it, scum, you will be throwing up soon and we might let you live if you make us laugh." Booming laughter from several sites.

Man'darr fought yet was too weak as the liquid came back up a minute later, running down his body and onto the floor below.

More laughter. "They are such pigs." One shouted and kicked the capellan in the stomach. "Can't even keep himself clean." Another blow.

Man'darr grimaced against the pain as he was kicked hard in the stomach twice by the guard.

"I hope she doesn't break him so she will give him to the guards." He heard some say as more liquid was forced down his throat. "This one could be a lot of fun."

Man'darr again unsuccessfully kept the foul burning liquid down and it erupted again from his mouth.

They teased him for almost half an hour longer and then finally left the exhausted man alone for a while.

Man'darr was only held up by the restraints that held him securely to the wall. His body was covered in the foul liquid as he breathed heavily. His body ached from the electric shocks. His mind went to Branwen, hoping she was alright. Her beautiful face filled his mind and hoped she was not suffering the same fate as he was.

"You hungry?" And elderly hydran came towards him, clearly not a guard. "You should give in you know. This will get you nowhere."

"I've had enough to eat," Man'darr said weakly. "and I will not give in."

The man fed him some food anyway. "Don't be stupid. They all do in the end. Do you want to die?"

"I do not fear death, hydran. I am Capellan."

"Then you should hope you die soon. It's the stubborn ones who don't give in that suffer the most in the end. So I guess you have nothing to live for?" The old cook named Prithos asked him.

"I have a mate...but that is none of your business." Man'darr felt as if he had regained some of his strength.

"Then maybe you should live for her. Qolthra is a nasty bitch, my friend. She will try her damdest to break you."

"I will not be anyone's slave and I am not your friend," Man'darr replied angrily.

Prithos shook his head. "Suit yourself then, foolish man." He started to sweep the floor.

Man'darr remained silent as he thought of Branwen. He did indeed love her very much and thought about how much pain his death would cause her, though he did not fear death, Branwen would be devastated. This time he would have to swallow his pride.

As Prithos was leaving, Man'darr spoke up. "Tell Qolthra....I submit."

Prithos stopped and looked at him for a while. "Good." He said softly. "Rest a while first, I will get her when I finish my work. Would you like more food?"

"I am fine," Man'darr replied. "Now...leave."

The cook shook his head and left.

Ten minutes later Qolthra came back in. "Sooooooo pet, I hear you want to tell me something?"

Man'darr hated the next words which would come out of his mouth...but it was in the best interest of Branwen. "I...submit....mistress..."

"Ah how sweet." She patted his head. "Such a dear boy." She chuckled. 'I was beginning to fear you would not make a nice pet. The boys must have been very hard on my poor little pet."

Man'darr remained silent, hating being called pet or boy by this female Hydran filth.

"Submission means just that, my pet." She said still gentle. "I see I have a lot of housebreaking to do still, you are not really broken yet are you now?" She chuckled. "Good, there would be no fun otherwise."

Soon two guards came in and took Man'darr down from the wall and held him by his arms roughly as they awaited Qolthra's next command. Man'darr wondered what this female Hydran had in store for him next.

"He stinks." She said, "take him to the washrooms hose him down and then return him to the interrogation room." The chief ordered.

"Yes my lady," the hydran said with a slight bow and then the two drug Man'darr down the corridor to another room. Reshackling Man'darr's wrists, they tossed the capellan into a staw and grabbed a large hose. A moment later, Man'darr was hit with a powerful stream of cold water, which cleaned the foul liquid off his body. After five minutes, the guards picked Man'darr up and drug him into the interrogation chamber.

"You look much better, less ugly." She said approvingly. "Did you eat while in the cafeteria?" She gave the guards a sign to put him in the chair again.

"Yes," Man'darr said he was placed back into the steel chair again and strapped him into it tightly.

"Good." She patted his head. "Such a good pet. Now…. We have to do this information thing, dear boy. Just tell me what I need to know and after that you can sleep for a while."

Man'darr would not give away any information to this female hydran. "I won't give you any information.

"Ssssss." She put a finger to his lips and shook her head. "We were making so much progress, don't spoil it now, pet. We will get the information anyway, don't make it difficult for yourself." It was a game as they could get it out of him easily with drugs. This was so much more fun.

"You can keep me as your slave, but I will not give you any information."

"Yes, you will. We have ways to make you talk, my dear. And it is very uncomfortable, it might even damage your little brain a bit. Your brains are so delicate." She smiled down at him. "Maybe that's a good thing, it usually makes the pets more docile."

"Silly pet." She touched the collar again to take away the little bit of strength he had left. Then she turned to one of the guards. "Get me surgical interrogation kit one now."

Man'darr went limp as he fought to keep his head up upon feeling what strength he had, slip away.

"Sssshhhh." She said gently a little later. "No need to fight, pet." Suddenly his head was clamped down, slightly tilted to one side, and he could feel first scissors and then a razor taking away some of the hair behind his right ear.

"What are you doing?" he asked, doing his best to struggle against the restraints

"Preparing to invade your brain, pet. To get the information we want." She excplained simply.

They usually started to freak at this point, to beg, or whine or offer the information for free. "I am sorry but it is going to hurt."

Man'darr continued to try to struggle.

"Useless, because you have no strength left, my dear." A bright light was switched on while Qolthra moved away to wash her hands. This had to be done professionally even though the pets were little more then animals. "Qost, prepare blade 3." She said to the guard. "And manipulator size 2, I think."

Man'darr continued his best to struggle against the restraints as the female Hydran made her way back.

"Last chance, pet." She said taking the blade from the guard.

"I cannot and will not give you any information," Man'darr repeated.

"Yes you will." Qolthra was a little disappointed to have to hurt this one. He was like a puppy she had become attached to. Something wet and cold touched the area behind his ear. And then followed pain. "Just cutting open the skin, pet. Nothing to worry about, once I am through you won't feel much anymore, there are no nerves in your brain, pet. Drill 1,5!" She ordered.

Man'darr tried his best from screaming as the hydran cut into him.

"Don't hold back on my account, little one, I know this hurts, but it is for your own good. Very soon those nasty negative thoughts of yours will be a thing of the past." With one hand she patted his head just before attaching the drill to the spot on his skull. "Just a little longer pet. Just a little more pain and then we are done with hurting you." She happily drilled into his skull. "There we are, my pet, a nice pink brain all laid open. There there." Another pat on the head.

Man'darr soon saw his vision black out as he passed out from the amount of pain.

When he came through he was still in the chair but the restraints were gone. The chair was reclined so he was laying down in the background there were some sounds of people cleaning up.

Man'darr stirred as he slowly sat up, wondering how long he had been out.

"With us again?" Qolthra was next to him in an instant sitting down on a stool next to his chair. She had a small control box in her hands and smiled at him gently.

Man'darr felt stronger since waking despite having a headache. In a quick move, Man'darr lunged for the female Hydran.

He was still slow due to the lack of sleep and the operation, so she had plenty of time to hit the button full force. And then smile as she saw the pain in his head become almost unbearable.

Man'darr dropped to the floor as his head pulsed with pain.

"Silly pet. Get back in the chair while I explain the new rules." She ordered him.

Unsure what the female hydran had done to him, he got back into the chair.

"Good pet." She showed him the control box with 3 dials. I have placed a small control box inside your brain, which makes it very easy for me to control you. With one dial I can bring you pain when you misbehave, as I just did. The highest level will bring permanent brain damage or death. He would not want that, little one. This dial, I hope not to use too often. She turned to the other two. These I like much better. They can bring pleasure as well as pain. With this middle one I can bring your mind under my control, or better, teach you not to think, invaluable for a little house pet like you. The more I turn this dial-up do more pain you will receive when you try to think, and the better you will feel when you behave. The third dial only reinforces it, it will make you feel good and happy when you do what mistress tells you, and there will be pain if you don't. I will be playing with these levels a bit. And the fun part, pet, even when you are behaving and happy, part of your brain will remember that you were once a free man who hated me." She smiled at him affectionately.

Man'darr knew there was nothing he could do at the moment...yet he also knew the female hydran would eventually slip up and when she did, he would take advantage of it and make her pay.

"Shall we get started?" She asked him. She turned dial 2 up slightly and 3 halfway up.and then waited a few seconds to let his brain adjust. Taking away his mind could come later, for now he still had to give her as much information about the Federation as possible. "Tell me about your ship, pet."

Man'darr fought the implant. "I...will...not..."

The pain in his head intensified, and she turned the obedience dial even more. "lets make it easier to start with, what is the name of your commanding officer?"

Man'darr fought the pain as he struggled not to tell the female hydran any information. The pain made it almost unbearable to resist.

"You can do it, little one." The dial went up just a little bit. "You know you want to, to please your mistress."

"I'll..never..tell...you..." he struggled to think against the implant which was causing him much pain.

She frowned hoping he would give in soon, otherwise there would be permanent brain damage. She turned up the notch even more. "It is not a difficult question, pet, even you can manage it."

Man'darr struggled against the implant as the female hydran turned it up higher. "Captain...M'Kantu..." he heard the words unwillingly escape from his lips.

"Ah good!" She petted his head upping the dial that would give him pleasure for obeying. "Such a clever pet. I knew you could do it." She loaded him with praise.

Man'darr's body soon filled with pleasure. His body had relaxed in the metal chair. He wanted to resist, but was unable.

"Good." Qolthra smiled. "Good boy. Now, tell me more about the marines. How many typically on a ship." She kept the dials high. "Telling her the truth would make him so happy and proud.

Man'darr knew he couldn't resist completely. "It...depends..."

"Tell me all, the more the better." An encouraging smile, she loved breaking them like this. Making them hate themselves for giving in while they really had no chance in the first place.

"It...depends on the mission and ship size.."

"We got time, pet. Why don't you please mistress and just tell me as much as you can remember." She stroked his head.

"It all depends...on the ship size...and mission," he repeated.

"Start with small missions." These pets were not very intelligent; you had to give them very specific orders. Even with their intelligence still fully operational.

"It..still depends..on the size of the vessel," Man'darr again repeated. If he couldn't resist outright, he could hopefully be vague about details.

"Start with your ship." She said narrowing it down even more for the poor boy.

"There...are alot," Man'darr replied simply.

"Tsssskkkk." She shook her head. "I know you can do much better."

"My ship...is big. There...are alot of Marines," he replied trying to stay vague on the subject.

"You can do better." She said. "Convince me that you have a brain worth saving." Qolthra warned him.

"There...is...usually a...battalion-worth...." Man'darr felt himself say without having full control over his thoughts.

"Very good. Now that's better, see, you can do it." She smiled at him as she made notes. A whole battery of questions followed.

A few hours later, Man'darr was physically and mentally exhausted from fighting the effects of the implant.

"You have done well, my pet." She smiled at him. Finally she reached for the button of his intelligence diminishing it by about a quarter. "The guards will take you back to your cell now, and you can rest a bit." She patted him on the head like a good dog.

“Losing Control”
By Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

Location: Security Central

Security readiness became a routine during war, a well rehearsed play on the way to meeting one deadly threat with another. When the crew was at yellow alert, all security guards armed themselves with phasers and were then designated to their battle stations.

It was done so many times that James could do it blindfolded. Point to the map, distribute men, then wait for the mayhem to get past the Galaxy's shields.

Repelling boardings has become somewhat of a specialty for James Lionel Corgan, witness to so many during The Dominion War, peacetime, and now the Hydrans. With him was years of experience fighting phaser and fist in the Galaxy's halls, courts and passageways. The Galaxy was his block, his home turf, and nobody knew it better.

James was always confident whenever there were boarding’s, because the Galaxy was one of the best.

In this mode, James was a marshal unlike any other. With the skills of a comptroller and the colorful language of the old salts of the past (and a library of a dozen species worth of cursing), he would make sure any step on the Galaxy's decks would be one coated in Hydran blood.

He would not admit this to anyone, not T'lan his Vulcan subordinate, or his love Mika, but to feel this useful in a role so reviled got his heart pumping. Peacetime was a drag. That was when he was useless, a bureaucrat that kept track of phaser rifles and marched in perfect tune to the Federation galactic anthem. No, here he could use his real talents, fighting a real foe, making his duty to the Federation very real.

Oh, James Corgan was ready to kick some ass. The guilt and mourning were for later, and any average Federation citizen wouldn't understand the desire to fight for the UFP so eagerly, so in his language... to fuck with the rest. He was just waiting for the Hydran jackpseudopod to drop, and would earn the rights for others to be milksops.

In short, bring it!

He was going through a rather eloquent tirade of battlestation distribution when his vision started to blur and a headache started to form.

~“Just battlefield jitters, old boy.”~ James reasoned in his head, ~“Suck it up. Showtime's soon.”~

And though the headache and the dizziness persisted, James continued about directing the security department. If there was any indication, nobody showed notice, least of all James Corgan. Slight discomforts had no place in war, and he had been through worse. Acknowledge, compartmentalize, move on was how he treated common maladies. Done and done.

Then he felt a spike of pain jostle his temple, invasive like a dentist's old fashion drill. His stomach started going queasy and it felt as if the ship was going to lurch with no gravitational compensator.

~“Ok... maybe an antacid and a headache pill...”~ James thought. ~“I know when my body's taken too much. Just a little pick me up and I can forget all about it when I dive back into work.”~

The replicator provided him with the medicine he wanted; it was well within his ration credits and none of it was impairing his abilities. Pills applied, bandaid solution found, James was back to issuing orders.

He wished Lieutenant T'lan was here. As his unofficial second, she was the big reason why James stayed so orderly. If his mind wandered, T'lan kept it on track. If there was some obscure technoarchana or statistical wisdom to be found, she was there to provide it. If James loud, spirited motivations didn't work, the wraith of a dead cold Vulcan woman would kick start any green Ensign back in gear.

Not today. T'lan was on a shuttle to Vulcan, her mind so fractured and messed up that she had to be recalled to her home world to put the pieces back together.

At least there was Mika to go home to, sweet understanding Mika, the rock to his turbulant ocean, the pillar that kept his Parthenon together.

Not today either. James promised to go to Vulcan with T'lan, but the psychic surgery came during a big push in the war, so James could not go. Mika was going in his stead as a big favour. A very big favour, both to keep her out of the fighting and to provide the moral support T'lan needed in her time of trouble. He was thankful, yet wary, about the two being close friends these days.

And yet he still felt guilty for not being there for her. T'lan could quote Surak until he rose from the grave and said it himself, but the 'needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few' crap didn't help the one, T'lan in this case, when she needed James to support her for a change.

“I hope they're alright...”

Another jab of pain stabbed into his head. “JESUS!” James hissed, clutching his forehead, “What the fuck was that?!”

It was then his physical senses were turned upside down and inside out. Stomach, brain, equilibrium and heart conspired together to rebel against Corgan's wishes. So thrown out of sync, James had to fall into, then hold himself up with, the security centre's dispatch console.

The clatter of his back cracking plastic and rattling the screen brought the attention of a few concerned security officers. There were the usual plithy concerns, “Are you alright?” and whatnots from security officers he just got to know. One of his most experienced, an ex-Dominion War vet named Lt. Walter Marsh, was the first to prop him up.

James refused his help, “Don't mind me. I'm under the weather. I'm fine... I'm just....”

As if he dared fate by lying, his body spasmed, and he felt himself lose control, strings cut by a sadistic puppetmaster. The spasms were painful, rippling up and down his body from the heart, the limbs, then to the head. At the same time, his head pulsed like a detonating supernova, the overwhelming pain a blinding force that whited out all of his vision.

From there, he was no longer in control, a helpless spectator inside his own body, watching his degrading collapse.

His ears, his mind were the only separate entities, and they were witness to a slow fall. The spasms intensified, his head played an organ tune of violence in his skull, the drop the floor barely registered because his body kept moving.

The inside was blind and helpless, and felt everything that was going on, primal impulses to regain control countermanded by a malady that, he dare admit it, scared and humiliated him, leaving him vulnerable and ashamed.

Because everyone else saw James Corgan's body shudder, his neck twitch until his chin was near his shoulder, and his throat gurgle out and piteously hopeless sound. “Hk... hk... hk... hk...”

And then he slumped over the console and oozed to the floor, his body spasmed uncontrollably. He lost control of all of him, his mouth choking and gurgling, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his limbs thrashing as if fighting a phantom enemy, his bodily functions losing all control.

And he felt, and was aware of it all.

His crewmates, raised and bred to see James as the invincible yet tragic soldier, respected and feared, Death's living avatar in the universe leading a legion of the damned against those who dared raised a doomed fist at the Federation, was now in a seizure on the floor, bowels lose, an reeking, twitching mess.

The last splitting headache, the herald of the end of his mental universe, was almost a welcome sight, sooner to let the pain engulf him than bear the embarrassment of being so vulnerable to his charges. He welcomed his conscience turning black...

*****
Meanwhile, on planet Vulcan
*****

The Runabout 'Saskatchewan' landed at Vulcan's main spaceport, disgorging its two passengers before lifting off into the ruddy yellow/orange sky.

Alone under the loomings of minaret lined towers and buildings, T'lan breathed a sigh of relief to be finally out of the shuttlecraft and back home. She felt the kiss of its desert breezes, the tang of the dust scented air, the comfort of its dry heat permeating her face. There, her apprehensions ceased to be, and she allowed a speck of joy to fill her heart.

She was home, and she missed it.

“Oh...” T'lan turned ill, the contents of her stomach felt as if it was frothing and bubbling. Emotions were not healthy for Vulcans, and that was why she was going to Vulcan's renown Neurological Institute. Her career as a Starfleet officer brought her up against many alien threats, whom more than once violated her mind. The last attack broke down her psychic defences, including the dams that all Vulcans possessed to keep their emotions in check. T'lan was relying on methods Vulcans frowned upon... dealing with emotions. It was a stopgap measure, but it would not be enough.

Sooner or later, if T'lan didn't get fixed, she knew she was risking insanity or even death. Vulcans not only had more powerful emotions (hence why they had to develop psychic breakers to begin with), but have devolved the physical adaptations to handle emotions like most other emotional species, to the point where emotions had the potential to kill them.

Emotions also had an addictive quality to Vulcans. If a Vulcan derived satisfaction from a companion's presence, it meant they were happy to see the person, but the emotion wasn't as strong as a real emotional being happy to see a friend. That was what the psychic barriers were for. If she felt it that strong, as she had as of late... not only would they hurt her but she would not want to quit.

The blood on her fist, the rage and it's liberating lack of perceived consequences, living in the moment. Killing. Enraged for the Hydrans endangered the only loyal friend in her life...

She shook off the emotion, as she was taught by a new friend. Acknowledge, breathe, calm down.

~”My body is relaxed, my mind is in control...”~

T'lan looked over to her companion, and saw that it was her friend that was having the hard time adapting. Mikaiu, or Mika for short, was from Andoria. The Andorians were polar opposites to the Vulcans. Emotional to the point where humans found them irrational. Passionate lovers of everything rather than being prudes over all. The most profound difference was that Mika's planet was an ice world, cold, damp and frozen most of the time.

Mika was the fish out of water here. She put a brave face to it, but T'lan saw her sweating profusely. Mika bolstered her spirits with a weak smile.

“And I thought New Orleans was warm.” Mika complained weakly, toting her luggage.

“Then perhaps we should find our hotel.” T'lan suggested.

Mika didn't argue, soldiering on as the walked to the transit port.

T'lan got to thinking the same argument that went over her head since the news of her affliction. She was back on her home planet, but now what? Going to the Neurological Institute was hard enough, it was as if admitting to her people that she could not keep emotional control. Vulcans that didn't were abhorring to Vulcan culture, an uncomfortable reminder of their violent past and proof that Surak could be wrong about the theorem that all emotion can be controlled no matter the circumstances.

To come to Vulcan, she would risk being a pariah for treatment.

Somehow, Mika registered T'lan's intensity. She looked at her and gave a winning smile, unbridled optimism in her eyes.

T'lan had noticed Mika's abilities to see the bright side or soldier on when all was miserable, but how did she maintain the level of emotional control she exercised daily when her species was so volatile?

“Shall we?” Mika beckoned.

T'lan answered with a nod to the head. They would find their hotel room, find treatment for T'lan, and all would be well... T'lan hoped.

"I Want To Kill Them All"

(Takes place simultaneously with 'Battle of the Kateren Nebula, Parts
1-3')

Shiarrael i'Rhehiv'je Terrh'vnau

****
Runabout Klystron
Deep Space

"Personal Log Entry." <soft beep>

"There's a battle."

"We can't go to him, because there's a battle, so we have to wait here, in our flying white brick, between systems, while he fights it."

"It's someplace I've never heard of - a nebula of some kind - near the home system of the Deltans. Them I've heard of; they have the bald women that are supposed to be so sexually proficient that any man that sleeps with one is either driven mad or unable to perform with anyone else ever again." <snort> "I think not. They just made that up to ensure that they'd never lack for partners."

"I could understand his protecting Vulcan, or Earth, or Andor – but Delta? The home of intergalactic bald whores? Let the Hydrans have them, and let *them" go mad sleeping with the planet of hairless women."

"I hate being afraid, and I hate him for making me be afraid *for* him."

"I... he's all that I have left; my only remaining blood relative... and the Hydrans are trying to take *him* from me too."

"She says that the Hydrans outnumber the ships in the fleet he commands, but that I shouldn't worry, that he's very, very good at this when he's called on to be. I can understand that; the man my mother loved all those years would command a fleet, as he did when he came to defend Romulus... and mother... and me."

"I wonder if he knows that mother died in the battle? That she joined the fleet defending our homeworld, and commanded a ship in the fleet that he led? That she fought beside him that one time as she'd longed to do all the years since she'd had to leave?"

"Does he know that the Hydrans killed her? That the murdered her disabled ship with their fusion beams and their hellbores as it spun defenceless in space over our world while the Second Battle of Romulus raged? Is he killing them for her?"

"I hope so. I want to kill them all for taking her away from me. For taking everything away from me. I want him to kill them all...."

"But I don't want him to die while doing it."

"If he dies... where will I go?"

"I'll be alone."

"Lost."

"I'll.... I won't be alone. I won't be weak. I won't be lost. I will be my mother's child. His child. When I'm older, I will kill the Hydrans for what they did to my mother and my life and my world. But for now... for now he will have to kill them for me. Kill them like he did over Romulus, and at Havras, and at Deep Space 5."

"I wonder if she knows? I wonder if mother knows that he's fighting them now? That I'm almost there, almost on his ship? Is she watching me? Can she tell that I'm scared?"

"I'm going to go forward and see what's happening in a minute. She's there, tapping into some kind of feed from the battle. We shouldn't be seeing it, but she called someone - an Admiral. Murdock, I think the name was... she just called him and asked and he made it happen for her. Isn't he the one in charge of Starfleet during the war? Yes, yes, he is. And that's the name of the man who commanded the ship she met my father on...."

"I thought I understood why she sent me here, why mother made me go into stasis and come all this way, but I was wrong. She sent me here because my father is more important than I thought. He's only a ship's captain... but they turn to him to command fleets. His friend and old commander is in charge of Starfleet. His wife... she creates the programs that make the Federation starships run."

"My father is... important. More important than his rank indicates. She sent me because she knew that he could protect me, that he had the friends and influence to keep me safe from his enemies and hers..."

"But I'll be dependent on him, forced to obey him for the rest of my life - or his. I'll never be able to dissent, never be able to do anything he doesn't want me to or he'll rescind that protection, and..."

"Even if he kills all the Hydrans, I'm going to hate him."

"What? What did she say?"

<scraping noises, door swishes open>

"A... starbeast...?"

<clattering noise, transmission ends>

"Waiting to Exhale"

Lt. JG Zachary Burdick

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora

Various Brig NPC's

Location: Galaxy's brig

----------------------------------------------------
"What smells like smoke?" The stereotypical drunk called out from behind the shimmery force field.

No one answered vocally. A guard gave a rather curt smirk in his direction, however other than that it was just another quiet ordinary afternoon in the brig. Boredom reigned supreme and it was enjoying it's rule.

"You okay? Burdick cautiously asked Zamora. He had kept vigil by her side, more than he should as of late.

"Does a Vulcan show emotion?" Ophelia smarted back with a sarcastic fake grin.

The man sighed, running his hand through his thick black hair. "Sorry I asked."

Ophelia shook her head back and forth, lowering it staring at the ground below her. "I will be." The woman whispered.

His eyes narrowed against her gaze. Raising his head slightly, he almost appeared to be sniffing the air around him. Ophelia for once was at a loss for words as she watched him intently. The red alert signals blared against the emergency lighting in the brig forcing it's occupants to be somewhat on edge. There was nothing like being a rat trapped in a cage as the environment around that cage crumbled.

"Something's not well...." Burdick spoke quietly. "Something..........."

The smoke smell increased and brought with it a tight hissing sound. Ophelia's head raised slightly from it's drooped position.

"That doesn't sound good..."

Burdick stood, his eyes cautiously examining the brig. His senses were correct as he witnessed a small billow of smoke puff out behind a panel on the far wall. Flinging his thumb towards the panel, he spoke to one of the security officers. "What's behind there?"

"Conduits Sir." The woman paused as her fingers few across the console. "Nothing is amiss."

An arched eyebrow of suspicion was Burdick's only reply as he walked over, bent down and with his hand felt the overly warm panel. "I don't believe you my lady........"

The explosion was small enough to rock the brig. The dull thud of the panel hitting Burdick in the chest forced him on his butt as a much larger plume of smoke erupted followed by a flash of bright blueish white light.

Charging up, Ophelia found herself instantly out of her cell. The force fields went down with the woman finding herself tasting the bitter retch of freedom. Bolting over to an injured diplomat, she froze. For before her was not Zachary Burdick, but a being in another form the likes of which she had ever seen before. It writhed on the floor, in almost a spastic fashion. She stayed by it's side as the guards rushed both of them. The phasers were aimed at her head, and the thing's body.

"What....who are you?" Zamora sputtered as her head tilted to the side.

The being's spasms slowed to a several small gestures. It took a minute in time before the obsidian eyes rolled to the side and up, starring at Zamora with what looked like a disturbed smile etching across it's widened mouth. Ophelia's gaze narrowed. Those eyes...different in color yet familiar.

"F....Fayyyy..." The being managed to sputter out between haggard breaths.

In a flash, the recognition of who it was hit her. "Faylin?" Anger seethed within her as she stood. Her head tilted down as her eyes grew dangerously dark. Glancing at the guards and realizing that she was technically charged with murder, what came next was uncharacteristic...yet to Ophelia, necessary.

Drawing back her foot, Zamora rammed it into the side of her newest enemy. "Crazy bitch." She muttered as she felt yanked backwards.

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

"The Nassari Patient, Part II"

Lt. Jarajen "Quattro" Quaaliu, CAG
Lt. JG Robert Mathieson, MD

Sickbay, USS Galaxy
================

Seven times Quattro tested the confines of the Sickbay alarm system over the next twelve hours, and on the eighth he chose to rest much to the appreciation of the Medical staff. The Nassari ordered a pot of the toxic tea of his homeworld, drank it, then seemed to fall peacefully asleep arms crossed.

The peace gave Sickbay the opportunity to prepare for the battle in the nebula; equipment checked and re-checked, medicines and perishables inventoried and set aside. The sleeping pilot seemed an island of calm at the centre of a small hurricane of activity until just prior to battle stations. When the triage and emergency teams
went to their on-deck stations and most of the remaining staff was making last-minute draws from stores on lower decks, dark, lavender bordered eyes cracked open ever so slightly.

From his office, the first sound Mathieson heard was a muffled thump, as if someone had stubbed a toe against a bed. There was no cursing or movement afterwards, and the silence was odd enough for him to check on the ward. Looking into the bay, all he could see was Quattro's covered figure resting comfortably, although somewhat bulkier than normal. Quick glances from side to side revealed nothing,

"Wotten? Ye there lass?"

The figure on the bed moaned, but otherwise Sickbay was quiet save for the dull hum of Galaxy's warp engines. As Mathieson approached Quattro's sleeping form, his pulse quickened when he saw signs that didn't fit the Nassari's appearance. Shorter. Bulkier. Removing the covers, light blond hair fell from Nurse Patricia Wotten's temple, revealing an angry, red welt.

"Christ in heaven! What the fu…"

A thin arm wrapped around the old man's mouth, stifling the outburst. A familiar dry, cracked voice rasped quietly in the Englishman's ear.

"The doctor Mathieson should be familiar with his own Gorn laxative, yes?"

The hiss in his neck quickly preceded painful cramping and an intense, burning fire in Mathieson's lower bowel. Quattro let the doctor go, and the old man fell shakily to his knees clutching his buttocks. "Alarms… 'ow?"

Quattro wasn't listening, but walked determined out of the sick bay. It was easy for Mathison to see the purplish ,bloody stump at the end of the Nassary's bottom-right wrist. A to the bed where Nurse Wotton lay unconscious confirmed it – laying next to the young woman's feet was a laz scalpel and a sickly pale yellow hand.

"Wait… lad… don't… aarrrrrr!"

Gorn constipation is a nasty business, and Gorn laxative nastier still. Quattro was long gone out of sickbay when Mathieson finally fell to the floor to lose his last three meals and what little remained of his dignity.

"He who sheds his blood with me this day shall be my Brother Eternal...."

Jarajen "Quattro" Quaaliu
Ella "Songbird" Grey
Nathan "Cowboy" Everett
Darius "Carnage" Slaughter
Taev "Stubbs"
Vanguards
****
Main Shuttlebay, USS Galaxy
======================

Slightly above the deep rumble of the Galaxy's main engines, the mutterings of the Vanguard pilots echoed in the large bay. The CAG was no where to be seen in the past few days, and rumours of his extended stay in Sickbay were running rampant. The rumblings grew louder still when Quattro arrived. No longer golden in colour,
Jarajen's skin was a pasty yellow-white, and his eyes darkened with lavender bloodshot. Helmet over his lower right hand, the Nassari's voice was still firm when it boomed in the large chamber.

"That is enough!" he commanded. "Fall in, and listen to this one – he will be brief."

For Ella the sight of Quattro wasn't so much of a shock - although he looked even paler than when she had seen him in Sickbay, but she saw how it helped to underline the sound of his voice ringing through the shuttlebay.

Daruis was one of the few people who knew the full extent of the CAG's physical condition. For one, he'd lived and seen enough to understand when one was pushing oneself. Secondly, he'd been paying Sickbay regular and discreet visits for just such updates. That the Federation had as less on Quaaliu's biology as they did on the Vulcans back in the pre-Federation days only boded worse for Darius' estimation of Jarajen's status. However, the El Aurian also knew that he couldn't make Quattro do anything he wasn't already committed to doing in the first place. This CAG was a stubborn one.

Nathan had nearly dropped his helmet at the sight of Quattro. He'd heard that the Nassari had been stuck in sickbay, but he hadn't realized just how bad off Jarajen really was. "Holy..."

Ella elbowed him in the side, which brought a frown from taev the Ferengi. "Well, if nobody's going to come out and say it - I will. You look like a mouldy sack of Targ puke, chief. You going to be a tradable commodity for the upcoming exchange?

Quattro only offered the grin of a wolf, a flash of fang as the hunt approached. "This one has never been over-fond of flowery rhetoric that inspires one to perform great deeds – they are not needed here. Your training will speak for me, and it will speak loudly to the Hydran-maj. They will hear this one's words through your actions, and
they will know fear – this one assures you."

He cleared his throat, and with his two upper arms motioned for the pilots to come closer to him. "Instead, this one will speak quickly of the Kej - all of you have been polite enough not to object to this one's manner of speech. It is the way of this one's people not to speak with the unfamiliar in the first-tense. The Vanguards have accepted this unquestioningly, but an explanation is due. The Nassari speak intimately only with those who have bled with us, those who have stood with us shoulder-to-shoulder against the Maj. This one has followed the Kej in addressing you until this day. And after we meet the Hydran-maj this one… no… I will be honored to call you comrades, equals… and friends."

Cowboy grinned. "Aw, shucks, Boss, how do you expect us to fly if we're all teary-eyed?"

"If ye be wet in tha' eyes, Cowboy, then I be a Pirate Lord, o' tha' Carribean," Darius said with a chuckle. "I b'lieve I speak for all, Jarajen, when I say t'would be an honor ta fly under ye."

"Then we fly, my friends", Quattro said, nodding to each of his pilots "and hope the Hydran-maj have merciful gods... they will surely need them this day."

"Battle of the Kateren Nebula, Part 2 of 3"

(Follows immediately after 'Best Laid Plans')

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt (JG) Artim Shivar
Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa
Captain Airik - USS Amaranthine (NPC)
Commander Na'sav Lorem - USS Vigilant (NPC)
Captain Rebecca von Ernst - USS Zeus (APC by Chris D.]
Captain Thelor th'Idrani - USS Tornado (NPC by Mike M)
Captain Bruno Ascencion - USS Jacmel (NPC by Omar)
Prince Thufi - RHS Slarrardo (NPC by Chris D.)

****

[Bridge- USS Vigilant]

Na'sav watched as bright Quantum torpedoes and bolts of phaser fire coming from the Vigilant struck one of the smaller Hydran Carriers. The Vigilant's course brought her straight down the length of the Escort Carrier (still large by starship standards), her cannons, torpedo tubes, and all her ventral phaser banks blazing. Her dorsal systems, although facing away from the Carrier's hull, were far from dormant as they
zapped inbound Hydran fighters or peppered an adjacent Hydran destroyer's shields.

The Communications officer raised an eyebrow as he read the response from the Zeus. Wow, this was going to make great shipboard gossip!

"Uhhh, sir?"

The Ensign turned around. "Captain Von Ernst says she'd love to dance, on the condition you wear something... 'sexy'?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Na'sav waved his hand dismissively, ignoring the Comm officer like a husband ignoring his wife when the nagging about taking out the trash started in the bottom of the 9th with 2 outs and bases loaded with the home team down. "Veer 45 degrees dorsal, keep that cruiser busy so that our friends can make their runs on the carrier."

Ensign Malic'e raised an eyebrow at the response, and took some creative leave in composing his somewhat suggestive response. After all, in a Galaxy full of hot Humans, beautiful Betazoids, and voluptuous Vulcans, Ktarians like himself got very little play.

****
[Bridge, USS Jacmel]

"Get me a firing solution on the command carrier," Ascencion ordered. The Nebula-Class ship had been taking a pounding the since the moment it arrived. Ascencion wanted the Jacmel to do her part by minimizing the total collateral damage to the rest of the task force. Unfortunately, the heavy cruiser was doing too good of a job.

"TMA Firing solution is set," replied Reine, her hands working the tactical board before her like a concert pianist. She was damned good at her job, and paid special attention to the minor details to a fault.

"Weapons spread ready, sir."

"Shoot," the Captain said. Since they engaged the Hydran fleet, the Jacmel has been trying to draw fire, using its large size with its surprising maneuverability to draw as much attention and fire as possible. It worked. Now it was time for them to give back to the community. As the volley of quantum torpedoes and phaser fire erupted from the weapons pod mounted above and to the rear of the saucer section, Ascencion watched as they made impact with the shields of the command cruiser. The light show was rather pretty and gave rise to an idea of a poem he would like to write when he got the chance.

However, that thought was cut short when an answer to his volley was made, striking the Jacmel full on and effectively taking down their fore-ventral shields. Panels blew open, sparks flew, and the helm officer was thrown back to where Captain Ascencion and his command staff sat. Her neck was twisted at an insanely grotesque angle and she twitched only once.

In the midst of now dimmed bridge lights, a cacophony of damage reports from the ventral decks, and Ascencion helping a medical team move the helm officer's body, Reine (who had miraculously maintained her ground and had a functional panel) reported a new firing solution on the command carrier.

Ascencion now made business personal with not only what he said next... but how. "Commander Reine... shoot."

****

[Bridge - USS Galaxy]

"Glad you could join us, Lieutenant Shivar," Darren observed as the Bridge shuddered from a near miss. "You presume correctly." He paused, frowned at the screen and snapped out, "Tactical, give Zeus, Vigilant, and Amaranthine covering fire for their run on the command carrier."

As Galaxy heeled over, a spray of hellbore blasts fired from a pair of Hydran cruisers sliced through the space she'd been in a moment before, carrying on without striking anything until they slammed into the side of the massive starbeast, crawling along its side for a short distance before discharging and bringing a tentacular swipe in response.

The titanic tentacle dispersed several Hydran craft, smashed through a frigate as if it were a toy, and swung back around in an arc that caused it to glance off Galaxy's shields, sending the sip spinning out of her projected path and into the midst of a Hydran ship unit before Darkstar got her back under control.

Consoles sparking from the impact, Daren latched onto his chair to retain his footing. "Helm, roll her to keep the damaged shield away from Hydran fusion beam fire," he ordered as incoming fire from the Hydran ships started to impact the remaining shields. There wasn't anything he could do about the hellbores, though - they'd find the weak spot on the shields no matter what. "Tactical, pick someone and knock them out of the fight - soon would be best." Without looking back, he added, "Find that solution soon, Lieutenant Shivar."

Ever since the fight at Romulus, Artim had been pouring over the available data in order to come up with an effective countermeasure for fighting a Starbeast. Killing one would require a lot of ordinance being shot down its gullet but that wouldn't be easy right now. However, it would be possible to effectively blind it, perhaps even stun it. Artim pulled up what he had already as well as worked furiously on the readings from this one. After a minute, he had his solution.

"Captain I got something." Artim shouted to make sure he got the captain's attention.

Yes, Mr. Shivar?" Daren asked without looking away from the battle plot.

"Six torpedoes, 78% yield, spread in a circular pattern set to detonate about 10 meters from the mouth. Won't kill it but it should overload its sensory organs. She'd be effectively blind."

****
[Bridge, USS Jacmel]

"Keep our ventral side out of sight of their weapons locks, Helm." Ascencion had picked himself up off of the floor as the ship bobbed and weaved through a barrage of heavy firepower. There were hull breaches on several of the lower decks, they have lost ventral phasers, and someone said something about a serious plasma leak. The Captain's day wasn't getting much better.

"XO, get below and see if you can lend a hand, we've got it up here."

"Aye, sir," came the crisp reply. Folsom knew that Ascencion just wanted him out of his hair. He didn't quite mesh with the senior staff, especially after that dinner over a day ago. He quickly stood up and vacated the bridge.

"Reine," Ascencion was saying now, "plot me a firing solution based on the following maneuver." Turning to the CoB, who was now manning the Helm, he said, "drop us about 7,000 meters perigee and give us an up bubble of fifteen degrees, take a slow starboard turn towards the command carrier, one tenth impulse."

He then opened a channel to Engineering.

=/\=Commander Daley, here.=/\=

=/\=Daley, vent something nasty looking from the nacelles.=/\=

A pause.

=/\=Aye, sir,=/\= came the cheery response.

"Reine-" Ascencion began.

"Way ahead of you, sir," the Tac officer replied. "Solutions are set and evolving."

****
[Bridge, RHS Slarrardo]

Prince Thufi clung tightly to his plush command couch as the Slarrardo shook around him.

"Torpedo impacts athwartships." honked the Status Officer, "They've got us bracketed my Lord."

"Veer off," blorted the Hydran Prince (1,533rd in line for the throne). "They're not going to be tracking a Light Cruiser with so many Carriers about... we're merely in their way."

The sleek blue hull of Slarrardo turned its needle nose into a downward spiral, easily evading the second volley of torpedoes that the Federation was lobbing into the general melee.

She was an unimportant target, but even the most unlikely enemy can sting.

"Galaxy is rolling to protect her damaged shields my Prince... and so is Jacmel... she's protecting her ventral side."

Thufi clicked his beak in surprised satisfaction.

Had the Federation learned nothing about fighting Hydrans? Did they not realize to succeed they needed to know their enemy?

"Hellbores!" Thufi Blorked loudly, slamming three fists down on his glowing console, "Full volley! Starboard tubes at Galaxy then alter vectors to bring portside tubes against Jacmel."

He paused a dramatic moment... "FIRE!"

"Hellbores away!!"

Slarrardo spat purple balls of lightning from all weapons ports, which streaked across the nebula unerringly against their targets.

The Hellbores exploited a fatal flaw in the Federation manoeuvres to protect wounded shields....

Galaxy was struck by two bolts directly on her strongest shield front - a blow that with any other weapon would have been easily deflected.

But that's not how Hellbores worked.

The energy blasts crackled and buzzed their way across the Galaxy's shield faces testing and probing for weaknesses with incredible speed.

It was only when the charges reached the weak number 6 shield on the complete other side of the vessel that the energy exploded into a purple hell piercing the weak shield and peppering the exposed hull in multiple places.

Jacmel likewise felt a deadly blast against her weak ventral side despite her manoeuvring.

"A hit My Lord." honked the weapons officer in delight. "Multiple hits!"

Price Thufi merely nodded in sadistic pleasure. The Humans ought to be more careful when playing with fire - or Hellbores as the case may be.

****
(Bridge, USS Vigilant)

There was an inaudible gasp from the entire bridge crew as the little Defiant's compliment watched the hellbores strike the fleet's flagship and one of her companion vessels. To add insult to injury, the fire came from the same cruiser they were just now coming to bear on.

Well, payback was a bitch.

"Target their power systems." Na'sav ordered, the Vigilant shaking as errant fire from an escort attempting to engage one of the other ships struck them instead, reducing the Vigilant's shields to half their original effectiveness. "Fire at will."

It was fortuitous timing for the Vigilant, if not for the Galaxy. The hellbores took time to recharge, and the Defiant-class was known for high sub-light speeds. A total of four quantum torpedoes, a full cannon salvo, and a pair of type X phaser beams struck the Slarrardo. The little ship then veered to a new target, a Hydran destroyer on the flank of the Super-Carrier, using it to hide from the carrier's weaponry while exchanging weapons fire.

"What about the wayward hyperspanner?"

Cadet Paige Sullivan
Operations Officer

Midshipman Aina Mason
Communications Officer

--

USS Galaxy

--

The Intergalactic Slugs' first album ("Say Way Say Nay", 2383) pulsated through her headphones as Paige sorted the bad isolinear chips in the lower conduit running through junction J-17 Alpha on Deck 15. It never failed, or so said the Lieutenant who assigned her to this section; you go into space dock, he said, and inevitably things end up FUBAR'd worse than before. This statement of course prompted a twenty minute, well rehearsed rant from him about the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, something that brought up loyalties Paige never knew she had for her step-father.

But, and she was proud of herself, she managed to keep her mouth shut.

She figured she'd already fallen out with her roommate, made a fool of herself in front of Victor Kreighoff, and had a not so stellar encounter with Dr. Burton (well, maybe her check-up wasn't that bad, but that was more to the credit of the good doctor than it was to Paige). She really didn't need to insert her foot into her mouth with her 'instructing officer'.

Paige started to sing along. She wasn't the best singer in the world, especially in Bolian (which this particular song was done in), but she was under the impression she was alone.

Her luck was holding -- that was not the case.

--

Aina closed the panel to the secondary isolinear storage assembly for the deflector sub-systems for the saucer section. As she twisted around in the cramped space, she winced as she hit her head of the roof for the umpteenth time as she checked the sub-processors and the storage assemblies for the deflectors on level fifteen. Her hand retaliated against the roof in frustration; a boring workload and a mild headache from continually banging her head had her a little touchy.

The durasteel moulding in the roof reminded her of the futility of retaliation and shaking her hand from the pain in her fingers, she glared up at the white roof, which was not phased by her assault.

Taking a deep breath and shaking her hand, to try and get full feeling back in it, she picked up her diagnostics' kit and crawled along. In the distance, she heard the sound of someone singing, well she thought it was singing. She came to the hatch that would lead to the junction, in which finally she could stand up and stretch.

She tapped on the controls for the hatchway and while it silently opened over the short ladder to the floor of the junction, she turned around, and gently kicked it open.

Paige was sitting cross-legged just below the opening hatch in her own little world, completely unaware of Aina climbing down. It wasn't until a foot came in contact with shoulder, was either aware of the other.

Feeling a soft obstruction under her foot, Aina quickly climbed back up into the hatch and twisted around.

The pressure was enough to surprise anyone and it violently pulled Paige out of her music-intoxicated reverie with a quick shot of adrenaline. She jumped to her feet, her heart pounding from the start, and she pulled the earbuds from their place with quick yanks; the refrain of 'Kal bes Molgar' (track 6, translated 'Proud of [our] Tentacles') could vaguely be heard spilling into the section.

"Frakin' Erza, man!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed, breathing heavily.

Aina winced. "Sorry, I'm really sorry. I didn't know you were there." Finally turned around, she saw Paige standing up and staring at her, "Sorry about that."

"You scared the frakin' crap out of me! You should make yourself known, shullah, before you go sneaking around the tubes and all," Paige said, pressing the off button of her personal player. The dull pulsing of the Intergalactic Slugs ceased. "What're you doing, anyway? The instructor assigned *me* here -- I mean, this isn't exactly the thing *real* staff do, this is cadet level work."

Aina gave a snort in agreement, "I know that one, I've got stuck uploading diagnostic data, 'cause the level threes can't find a break in the system data bus. Hey, I thought I knew all the cadets on the Galaxy - did you come on at DS4?" Aina asked, as she twisted around and grabbing the bar just across the hatchway and slid her body from the hatchway, she dropped to the ground. "Oh, sorry...um - I'm Aina Mason."

"Ehrm, um... Paige Sullivan. Cadet. Fourth class. Or something like that." She brushed flyaway hair back. "And yeah, I've been aboard all of four and a half days. Kinda last minute stuff, I wasn't really expecting to ever get a Cruise position." She braced her hands on her hips, offering a slight smile as she looked at the Bajoran girl who couldn't be much older than she was. "How'd you become an acting Ensign?" she asked, noting the bar on Aina's collar.

"Ah - I ahh... was on the Miranda and was part of an operation... that, ah... broke an Orion crime gang in the Gynedine System. I... ah, helped crack their system with Commander Jaxom, he's the Strategic Operations Officer for the Galaxy, now. It all gets official after graduation this year, and I'll get the extra half pip then." Aina shrugged, "I was mostly lucky."

Paige wondered if the slow and pause-ridden explanation was a display of authentic modesty, a speech impediment, or something else. She decided that it was a little bit cruel to jump to conclusions of ego and anyway she wouldn't be able to say for sure one way or the other without getting to know the other girl better. Common courtesy, she supposed; she couldn't complain about judgments from others if she leaped to them as well.

But then again... helping to crack the system of an Orion crime gang with one of the top officers on the ship -- while on the Miranda, no less? Paige suppressed a slight gagging sensation, though if she was completely honest about it, she was ridiculously jealous.

Reaching into the hatchway, Aina pulled out her diagnostic kit, "Hey, if you don't mind me asking, you from Mars?"

Paige raised an eyebrow, then blushed. "Yeah... why?" She looked at the other girl incredulously.

"My main duties are communications, I try to guess where people come from, by the way they speak," explained Aina.

"My accent's pretty thick, huh?" It wasn't so much an accent, really, as it was a speech pattern: there was a different rhythm and inflection than earth-born Standard speakers. Course, she supposed that in a way that's all an accent was. "I didn't ever think about it 'til I got to the academy, you don't hear yourself, right? I sound completely different in my head." She brushed back hair, holding it over her haphazard part for a moment. "Communications, huh? I never got a head for that, I'm much better working with the computer hardware itself. Isolinear chips and... um, bioneural gel relays. B-NGRs, particularly. I know it's sharky but they totally get me going." She watched Aina lift her materials. "So you've been out here a while, then? On two posting? You're all bomi veteran and stuff before you even graduate."

Aina quickly shook her head, "Veteran - no way, jose. I'm still a noob. I mean, I've lived on ships since I was a kid - but there's a big difference." Aina shrugged. "Like the last mission -- everything was just so dodgy. The Federation Council wanted to kick all the colonists out of the Vered Cluster so the Hydrans would have an easy path to invade Federation Space." She shrugged to underline her lack of understanding of the whole idea.

"That, uh, doesn't make a lot of sense," she said, frowning. "I mean, I wasn't there. I read about it in the briefing before I came on the ship. It sounded halla erz to me, but what do I know? I'm just a cadet. But people back home're all up in arms about it. Haven't heard anything about the Hydrans and stuff though. Psycho."

"They did that all on the Q.T. But we had to be the one to try to get everybody out. Of course, some of the colonists didn't like that idea. They got narky, and we got an old fission bomb up one of the shuttle bays. No, I'm no vet, 'cause I still don't get what is going on, totally," Aina affirmed. "Sometimes, going back to Glasgow for a while -- just sounds ace."

"Glasgow?" Paige asked, frowning. "You sound more London English if you sound like anything."

Though to Paige's ear, even that was pretty faint; she definitely would place Aina as a Fleet brat, one who grew up around all kinds of different people from all kinds of different backgrounds, and a ship like the Miranda? Again, being honest about it, Paige couldn't say she wasn't halla jealous. But then again, to Paige most Earthers sounded sort of alike these days, unless of course they were part of the minority that was really into their ancient heritage. After all, Earth did enjoy a globally harmonious society these days.

"I lived a lot with my grandparents. Mum's live in London and that is where I stayed a lot. Dad's live in Glasgow," explained Aina.

"Huh. But seriously shullah, at least you've been around. You may not know all the down and dirty, but who does? And you've been in battles and stuff, you at least know a little bit of what to expect. If nothing else because you grew up on *Miranda*. Heva, I'd never been on a starship before I got on the Storm Chaser to get to DS4. I don't know what's going on. The lieutenant hands me something, says do it, and I don't ask question. We're going off to Foss's hideout and I don't know what to expect. I bet you've even worked on the bridge, haven't you?"

Aina gave an unsure half-smile and nodded, "Yeah." She looked at Paige, "After awhile, it's exactly like the holo-sims. But worst, no fast forward to let time go by. It can get to be a real yawn." Pointing to the personal entertainment system, that was on Paige, "So what you listening to?"

"The Intergalactic Slugs?" Paige questioned, looking for some recognition. "They're an experimental Trill band, started about three years ago -- maybe four at this point; they like to play around with languages and rhythms and all that, sort of incorporate a little bit of everything. A friend at the Academy says they're certifiable Geek Rock, but I figure, we're in Starfleet, we're all geeks anyway. 'Specially in the gold, right?"

Aina gave a slight smile and nodded, "Yeah."

She looked down at the player and handed it toward Aina, who was looking with curiosity. "I didn't like them at first," Paige preambled, "but they've got me pretty good now. That's their first album. Their most recent, 'Nargles ate my Tricorder'? Is their best I think, so much of it is operations and engineering inside jokes. My favorite song is called 'The Wayward Hyperspanner'. You might recognize some of it, but they don't get a lot of play over the 'net. Pretty much have to happen upon them by accident -- a music festival or something, and they don't play at many of them either; the whole band have big important science or engineering jobs across the 'verse."

"Never caught them," commented Aina as she looked over the player, "'The Wayward Hyperspanner,' eh? Anything about left hand thread, self-sealing stem bolts?" She looked at Paige. "I more listen to the Vam-glam - Bloodpulse, out from Manchester, pretty new - saw them when I was back on on break a couple of years ago." She looked at Paige's music player. "That's pretty cool. Looks like a Zahune i-System, but it ain't got the logo on the back. You got a twenty or forty m-quad storage in it?"

"Shulla, you pullin' darby?" Paige said. "You know how much music I got on this thing?" She grinned ear to ear. "Try sixty. And this is just my I don't care if I drop it down the hatch of doom with the giant propeller at the bottom player. I used the Zahune model for years, but I found it wazzes around certain calibration instruments. So this is the Quantis, but slightly, um... modified. Better sound balance and all that. I could probably rig you one like it, if you wanted; you'd want a different kind of sound balance if you're into the Bloodpulse thing, but I can code it to alter for the genre... And they're alright, I caught them at the Edinburgh festival last year, I like their older stuff better, though I can't say Vam-glam is really my type of music. I'm more into the Martian counter-scene and historical earth rock. And the Slugs of course." She grinned again, fiercely tucking hair behind her ear. "And anything with the soulful singer-songwriter with guitar, lute, piano, whatev -- it's my guilty pleasure. Course, I'll listen to anything at least once. You never know what you're gonna find that way."

She realized she was monologuing again, but she couldn't help it; Paige just hoped this Aina girl didn't think she was coming off as a total snob or anything.

Aina was slowly going through the rush of words, "You are really into your music," said with a smile.

"I grew up on Mars," Paige said, "in the boring part. You ever been to Arsia Gardens?"

Arsia Gardens was a sleepy, family-focused neighborhood town in the middle of Mars' southern most continent, about 90 kilometres north of the Arsia Mons Public Park at the base of the long-dead volcano. It was the type of place where there was nothing to do but go to the local holosuites to see the newest Hollywood production or hang out at the only supply station and sip slurpees. Sometimes they would catch the bus to the park and make fun of the tourists (some 300 million people came through it every year, going through the guided cave tours and enjoying the beautiful scenery that terraforming had give the area) and go through the kiddie rides, but that was only good every once in a while. Usually, they ended up at someone's house listening to music and talking about what they would do when they got out (or secretly exploring other aspects of adolescence behind locked doors or in the back of borrowed hovercraft).

Aina shook her head, "Honestly... never been to Mars."

"You've never been to Mars?" Paige asked. Aina shook her head. Seriously. What was wrong with these people? Paige sighed. "Well. Music is about all we have. There are great festivals all around the area, or at least that are easily accessible through the planetary transit system. Some of us don't get the excitement of starship living, or even city living."

"Can you play anything?" Aina asked.

Paige sighed. "I've been trying to learn the guitar for about five years? But I suck. Small hands or something. And I don't have the patience to really get better. Besides, I'm so not creative, and even if I did learn to play I'd never be able to write my own music so what's the point?"

Aina gave a shrug, "Yeah I know that one, totally. Can't play for crap, but I can sorta get a computer to make something sound like music. That's the closest I'll ever get to Saint Ringo."

Paige raised her eyebrow at that. Sure, she knew the Beatles -- she had taken a history of twentieth century earth elective at the Academy and the music of the 1960s was the only thing she'd paid attention to -- but as great as they were, elevating the drummer to Sainthood was a little extreme.

"Hey, what are you doing at the end of shift, want to hang out?" asked Aina. "My roommate, is like the most annoying thing around. All I hear about is the current boy toy she hangs around with and what is coming out of Paris or New Amsterdam or the new silks from Andoria. It's getting really repetitive and so *boring*! I was beginning to think that I was alone in being interested in the ship's systems."

Honestly, although she appreciated enthusiasm as much as the next person, getting together post-shift and discussing ship's systems seemed like one of the least appetizing things Paige had ever heard (though she did have to admit it ranked a little higher than discussing the latest fashion). Still, did she really want to alienate a potential friend?

She was about to recommend something else -- a holomovie perhaps, or maybe a recreation of one of the Martian festivals or a Slugs performance. But before Paige could reply, the klaxon and the ship's lights went to red.

Red Alert. Battle stations.

She looked at Aina wide-eyed for a moment, though she managed to gather her wits.

"I guess socializing's gonna have to wait, huh?" Paige asked, offering a grin. "I'm in the computer core." As a communications specialist, the other girl was probably on the bridge or close to it. "See you on the other side of it?"

Aina nodded. "Yeah sure - catch ya," she said as she grabbed her case and headed out. As she moved through the doorway, her comm. badge beeped. There was an emergency on the flight deck with one of the systems, a part of the fighter recovery system had a glitch and she was it.
Paige watched her disappear, then snapped to it and threw her materials together. "Zular," she cursed as a hyperspanner scuttled across the deck. She ship shuddered then, and she decided that she would just leave it there.

"What about crap creek?"

Cadet Paige Sullivan

--

When she was not quite eight years old, Paige spent a week with her father while her mother and new-stepfather celebrated their wedding. It was to be her first real time with her father since the divorce; her mother said it was to give her an adjustment period, though Paige always thought it was some sort of punishment for one or both of them. Her father let it be, tired of fighting his ex-wife. They still saw one another; he would stop by and see her every other week or so and they'd spend a day or two together between his runs to Vulcan, but that was the extent.

The week before had been hell, what with the chaos of the impending wedding and the harsh reality that Steve, as Paige insisted on calling him though no one else did, was a permanent part of her life now. After the ceremony, Paige wanted nothing more than to spend her reprieve on the Thermopolis where things at least resembled the way they had been. She wanted to stay on the ship, wanted to walk barefoot around its metal decks, wanted to feel the bite of ribbing and the space-chill rise up through the soles of her feet.

The last thing she wanted was to spend her week of freedom from Mars on another planet. But that was exactly what her father intended. He had planned an elaborate vacation to the huge amusement park on Luna, and because she didn't want to hurt his feelings she silently went along with the vacation plans, faking her way through it with a plastered smile and forced giggles. The park was crowded and the roller coasters terrified her as they made use of the low gravity and black sky to inspire thrills. It was too much for her, but her father loved it and she wanted nothing more than to have 'fun' with her Ahbs.

To this day, she hasn't told him how much she hated it.

To this day, he still held it as the best time he'd ever had with his little girl.

At this particular moment though, she would gladly be back on the top of Titanium Typhoon, terrified she was going to fall off into the void of space. At least on the rollercoaster, if she opened her eyes she could see what was going on. Here, buried deep in the bowel of the ship, she had no frakkin' idea.

She couldn't help a startled shout (shriek?) as the ship shook violently again, throwing her into the interior wall, which she grabbed as though it would protect her. She dropped her tool case in the process and it popped open, scattering calibration tools along the metallic deck of the upper Operations walkway. A wave of humiliation wafted over her, and her face began to burn as she dropped to her hands and knees and struggled to pull everything back together while the ship jostled underneath her in wave after wave. Her micro-caliper almost went over the exterior edge of the walk -- she barely caught it before the artificial gravity did. If it hit a Lieutenant in the head, that would be a sure-fire do-not-pass-go back to the Academy.

Though, she was beginning to wonder if that would be such a bad thing. It'd been what? Five days since she'd been onboard? Already something was trying to kill them. She knew the Fleet had gotten more violent, she knew they were on the edge of war, but was this going to be par for the course?

Those Admirals really needed to do a better job with their preparation. The simulations made this fun. But nothing about this was fun.

The barrage continued and Paige threaded her fingers through the diamonds in the grate, closing her eyes a moment, willing the ship to stay stationary, willing whatever it was to stop shooting at them. The Red Alert sirens were bearing into her skull and she wondered how that could really be helping anyone concentrate, all it was doing was putting her more on edge and giving her a headache from Foss' Cave.

The deck bucked again, trembling, though it was a little less extreme. She'd heard someone explain once, maybe it was during her Introduction to Starfleet summer seminar course, that it was like thunder during a storm: the harder it was, the closer; when it shook the house, it was right on top of you. She didn't really understand at the time. There weren't many storms on Mars.

"Zular!" she cursed, surprised at the tightness in her voice, though it wasn't teary. No, she didn't want to cry, there were no tears here. She just wanted to get away; the tightness was nothing but fear. She wondered how everyone else could be so okay about it all, how they could go on like this was common place, even normal. Would she ever get to that point?

Did she want to? Did she want to be in a place where this was O.K.?

Paige glanced to the computer's central processor gleaming to her right, standing proudly in the middle of the room as though nothing was happening, its gold shirted handmaidens scattered around it like bees tending to their queen. All in all, it wasn't that different from the warp core, at least not in general size, though it was wider around and instead of swirling energy it was gleaming metallic, a powerful steadfast case protecting the brain of the ship, one bolstered by force field upon force field. While programming and software maintenance was performed in the computer access room, most of the key hardware issues had to be dealt with directly -- here. In the Clean Room. The Core.

"Sullivan! You have to secure your shit before you take it!" her lieutenant shouted from the level below hers. His blue Bolian face was taking a deeper, almost purple hue, and it stood out against the white-grey of the room around them. He steadied himself with a heavy hand on the thick handrail that was the only preventative from falling off to the floor two levels below. He rode the trembles like a professional Ion surfer. "Get your ass back up, Cadet, and get to your junction. If that relay blows we're going to be in deep shit!"

"Heva, he's frakking Foss incarnate," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that cadet?!" he shouted, cupping a hand to his ear.

"I just lost my balance!" she shouted. "I've never done this before!"

"Stop making that so fraking obvious and get to work already! Lives are at stake, you can cry on your own time."

She pulled herself to her feet, trying to ignore the man and concentrate on the task at hand. He hadn't been exaggerating: if she didn't do this, they would be in deep shit -- literally, quite literally. But at the same time, no one was going to actually die if the central relay allowing to computer to manage waste disposal blew. Sure, it might get smelly after a few hours, particularly in the head of Main Engineering (which was the second most utilized place on the ship, next to 10-Forward -- correlation or coincidence? Given some of the stuff that was served, Paige was going for the former), but really, what was a few uncomfortable engineers? Maybe Apple would discover that no, her shit didn't smell like roses either.

Another trembling.

"Oh Lexie, just stop it," she said to the ship as she secured her case and managed shakily to her feet, gripping the railing so tight her hand turned white. "You're tougher than this. So just grit your... um." She winced, holding her breath as she shuffled along the area without a interior wall until she was past it and able to drop in front of her target hatch. "Just grit you isolinear chips and get through it. I'm sure you've seen worse than this. I mean, you've been around for how long?"

Paige pulled out the drawer and looked at its contents; it took a moment or two to find the damaged relay. One more energy burst, it would probably go. She shifted into a different mode then, turning off her brain -- nothing but the work now, she could do this; she knew how to do this. She played a 'Logicians' song in the back of her mind as she temporarily shut of the energy through this section, then slipped the surge protectors on just in case; the last thing Paige wanted was to be electrocuted. She finished, then reversed, and closed up.

All in all, the whole procedure took maybe 78 seconds. Yes, she'd timed herself once. They all did and anyone who said differently was lying.

78 seconds to replace to relay. 9 minutes to get to it. Frankly, she thought they should have left the engineers in shit creek.

She stood and made her way to the ladder to go down the level toward Lieutenant Micro-Manage to get her next assignment. As the ship trembled again, and she held onto the ladder for dear life, Paige couldn't help but worry that fixing a waste processing relay would be the last thing she'd do. It was such a pathetic last act it would be a perfectly poetic ending.

"The Battle of the Kateren Nebula, Part 3 of 4"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt Commander Tarin Iniara
Lt (JG) Artim Shivar
Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa
Commander Brian Elessidil
Commander Jaal Jaxom
Lieutenant Raven Darkstar
Commander Arel Smith
Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin
Lieutenant Chris Daniels
Captain Airik - USS Amaranthine (NPC by Alex P.)
Commander Na'sav Lorem - USS Vigilant (NPC)
Captain Rebecca von Ernst - USS Zeus (APC by Chris D.]
Captain Thelor th'Idrani - USS Tornado (NPC by Mike M)
Captain Bruno Ascencion - USS Jacmel (NPC by Omar)
Prince Thufi - RHS Slarrardo (NPC by Chris D.)

****
[Bridge, USS Jacmel]

They never had a chance to even complete their manoeuvre before the ship first shuddered from the shield impact, then bucked - and hard - from under them as that particular shield fell and the forward ventral hull got a view of space that was just fine behind Transparent Aluminium.

Bruno felt sick for the briefest of moments as he and pretty much everyone else on the ship were lifted off of their feet (or backs, chairs, etc.) due to the inertial dampeners going offline for a moment. The ship lost attitude and vector control as it veered off course.

"Helm's not responding," the CoB was saying.

=/\= We've got multiple casual... =/\=

=/\= Hull breaches on decks... =/\=

"Sir, weapons are offline," Reine was saying. She furiously worked her control board to try to get anything, but so far no joy.

=/\= Daley to Bridge. Captain, we're bleeding everything from piss to plasma down here! =/\=

=/\= The XO should be on his way down there to give you a hand, =/\= Ascencion replied.

A long uncomfortable pause.

=/\= Sir...the XO's dead. =/\=

=/\= Understood, get my systems back online. =/\=

Ascencion turned to the Science Officer. "Sorax, you're the new XO." Sorax, who had been on the bridge monitoring the bio readings (what readings he could get) from the Starbeast merely nodded and joined the Tac Officer behind the Captain. "Shield Status, Weps?"

Reine shook her head. "What shields we have left are at thirty percent at best, sir." She knew as well as the rest that if enough power wasn't restored to defensive systems with that much action going on around them, there wouldn't be anymore dinners with the Captain. Nor would they be able to break in a new XO.

****
[Bridge, USS Amaranthine]

Joining the intricate dance with the Vigilant and Zeus, the Amaranthine was taking a beating that it was not intended to take. Sure, it was a new ship and had the most modern weaponry and defense, but it was a science vessel.

"Impressive," Airik watched as Na'sav's Vigilant let a lethal volley on a Hydran vessel leaving the Super-Carrier less shielded.

"Get us in closer," The Ba'ku ordered.

"Captain, we can't take another volley like that last one." Lieutenant Brin reported. "Engineering's a mess."

"Tell the Hydrans we don't like being their target." Airik said with a sigh.

"Lock onto the destroyer flanking the Carrier and fire at will." The tactical officer let off everything she could, making impact.

Unfortunately the little ship was not ignored. "Captain, the hull has been compromised on decks five and six."

"Evacuate the decks and reroute any remaining life support to weapons." Airik ordered. "Bring the WaveRider online."

"Sir?" Lieutenant Brin was confused.

"Other than our own ship, it's the biggest torpedo we've got." Airik said. The WaveRider was the equivalent of a Captain's yacht. It was specially designed for the Nova class and meant to sustain harsh conditions. "I guess we won't get a chance to use this one."

"Inform the Vigilant and Zeus of the plan. If they can help clear a path, we'll ram the WaveRider up that Carrier's..." Airik broke off before finishing.

****
[Bridge, USS Tornado]

"Captain, lead cruiser is bringing its Hellbores to bear on the Galaxy. And it appears our friend has lost interest in us," the surprisingly soft voice of the Tornado's Elaasian XO rang out on the Steamrunner's rather cramped bridge.

"A half kilometre long tentacle would cause most ships to lose interest in a pursuit. Do we have a shot on that cruiser", Thelor responded as the ship shuttered from the slightly off target torpedo shot from the frigate that had been chasing them.

"I think so father... I mean sir. And we should be able to get back behind our cover before their hellbores lock on." Thelor hadn't gotten used to his older son being at tactical and apparently neither had he. It was battle, so it didn't matter.

"Excellent. Come about, 030 mark 25 and send the cruiser a full spread of quantum torpedoes with the Galaxy's compliments. Then come back in behind the Starbeast. We can out manoeuvre them if we have to."

A couple of seconds later the Tornado streaked out from behind the midsection of the starbeast and sent a half dozen torpedoes lancing out at the cruiser. As fast as she appeared the little Steamrunner was back where the Starbeast was between them and the bulk of the Hydran fleet.

****
[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

"Hold that thought, Mr. Shivar," Daren replied as the Hellbores raked the ship, setting K'aa's claws noisily into action at Ops as he dispatched repair crews to various decks. "Right now the creature is doing more damage to the Hydrans than we are, and I'm unwilling to interfere with that at this time." He frowned at the plots. "Helm, bring us around between the cruisers on our port nadir and position us to shield Jacmel. Tactical, ignore that light cruiser..." he looked at the identifier tag "...the Slarrardo... and split fire between the heavies as we pass."

Under Darkstar's guidance, Galaxy heeled over, glided out of the way of another barrage of incoming fire, and passed between the two cruisers, phaser fire slicing into them like flaming lances as a spread of torpedoes punched into them in rapid succession, One of the two ships went dark as its engineering section blew out in an explosion that sent it spinning end over end towards the starbeast, and finally to slam into its side and spin back off into space - only be snared by the creature's tentacles and torn asunder like a child's toy. The second cruiser shuddered and veered off, leaking plasma but still underway.

****
(Bridge, USS Vigilant)

"Captain, the Amaranthine is requesting coverage." A frustrated communication's officer called out from his station.

'We could all use a little coverage.' Na'sav thought angrily, the plethora of opponents making it hard to go one on one as he preferred, and as his ship was designed to do. Difficult, but not impossible as a Hydran frigate made the mistake of veering into the Defiant's cross-hairs. The enemy Captain must have been gambling that his ship's speed would get them across before the Vigilant could fire weapons, and she or he was correct, the ship's guns couldn't train in time. But the Commander smelled a hoax, and an opportunity that would be presenting itself because of it. "Slow to three-quarters impulse, climb us 10,000 kilometres along the Z-axis."

The crew followed their orders deftly. Most of them were still relatively green and knew little else other than that they'd already survived two actions, and the Veterans trusted each other enough not to question orders. Sure enough, the little frigate had made a bee-run straight for the heavier guns of a Hydran Destroyer. It was the same trick they'd used on him at Romulus, but this time he wasn't having any of it.

"Yaw five degrees to port, pitch positive one degree, and fire everything you've got on that Destroyer's engines! Once our run is over clear us of the starbeast, let the Amaranthine know we're on our way!"

The close weapons exchange didn't do either of the two adversaries any good. On the one hand, the Destroyer's defences and systems were more in less intact as it had been tasked with escort duty of the carrier, and thus avoided being a major target itself by sticking close to the core of the task force, while the Vigilant had been engaged all battle long. On the other hand, the nebula's effects were more detrimental on the unprepared Hydrans then they were on the hastily adapted Federation ships, and the Vigilant's greater speed and small size made her a very difficult target close-in.

Hellbore and cannon lanced one way, phaser blasts and quantum torpedoes the other. Both ships sustained hits... but the Defiant was made for damage while the destroyer was made for efficiency. In a drag-out grudge match, the Vigilant even in it's weakened state had the advantage, and she managed to slam the destroyer with half a dozen quantum torpedoes, a full phaser-cannon volley, and five straight beam blasts concentrated on the destroyer's engineering section, while only taking four or five direct hits herself, miraculously avoiding the hellbores.

They were lucky the Hydrans seemed to be splitting their forces between warding off the Federation attack, and disabling the massive starbeast, or the 'little ship that could' would've been horribly boned, prison boned even. With the distraction of the creature though, she was able to escape the trap in one piece.

"Shields down to ten percent Captain." The Lieutenant manning tactical station one, or 'Tac-1' as he'd come to call it, reported. "Another exchange like that and we'll be down to armour."

They were really running low on options. The collectors were sucking up and stripping the ion-saturated nebula of what power it could to augment the ship's already powerful main and auxiliary power generation systems. The Vigilant's primary weapons systems, her phaser cannons, had battery systems of their own, making their power needs independent of the ship's actual production. The ship itself powered shields, defensive systems, the several type X phaser arrays aboard, and the torpedo launchers. The advantage of a Defiant-class ship was always in dog-fighting, and thus its primary weapons systems were the cannons and torpedo launchers. He could sacrifice some of the more defensive phaser arrays, and channel their energy to shield generation. It was either that, or channel engine power, and they needed their speed.

"Divert half the power to the phaser arrays, to our shields. Helm do your best to dodge... if we're running interference for the Amaranthine, we're going to need to be able to take some hits. Tactical, fire on anything that gets too close to our friend. Send my regards to Captain Airik, let's hope this works."

****
[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

"Tactical," Daren spoke up without looking away from the plot - too much was happening, and if he did look away something would get past him. "Give the starbeast a nudge for me. Someplace sensitive, that will give us a reaction. Mr. Shivar, give Tactical a target - use the phaser cannon as our output basis." He paused, and then added words he'd never expected (or wanted for that matter) to hear, much less say, "I want to see some tentacle action out there, ASAP."

"On it sir." Artim shouted without turning around as his fingers started dancing over his console looking for a firm place to sting the Starbeast. Genitals were the first place to look to, but the Miran couldn't seem to find anything that would pass for those. Next on the list was a cluster of nerve endings, or what amounted for them on this critter. After a moment of looking about, Artim had a solution and patched it through to tactical. "Narrow beam, right to the base of the tentacles. That should get it riled up good."

K'aa sat straight from his crouched position at Ops, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the M'Kantu. All stations seemed calm despite the chaos the Galaxy faced, and the captain seemed to hold that control by his example as well as his skill. ~Impressive~, he mused as he re-routed auxiliary power to the Galaxy's weakened shields, seeking to reduce the effectiveness of the Hellbore strikes. ~Very formidable, indeed.~

****
[Bridge USS Amaranthine]

The sleek Nova class ship made its way through the pack, receiving an occasional hit from a Hydran vessel.

"Captain, the Galaxy has riled the Beast." Llana Brin, the Trill Tactical Officer reported.

"On screen." The view of the battle shifted in front of them as the Starbeast looked as though it was being tickled, its tentacles flailing in space.

"Good cover." The impact was phenomenal.

"Shields down to 20 percent." The Trill reported.

"Just a little further," Airik held onto the sides of his chair, the calm Ba'ku was experiencing a little too much tension and moved his head from side to side to work some of it out. "Lieutenant Sawyer, disengage the WaveRider."

The Human/Bajoran's finger had a hint of a tremble as he engaged the ship. "WaveRider online and prepared for flight."

Airik wasn't sure if it was the right move, but it was all he had. He looked around at the bridge crew. A Betazoid, Trill, Human, Orion, Vulcan, and Bajoran were disheveled, but worked well. Unsure what to say - launch, fire, let it go, he merely nodded.

The last words he heard were ominous. "Shields failing."

"Aim for the nearest Hydran ship, engage impulse engines and abandon ship!"

****
[USS ZEUS]

"Casualty reports from all decks." said Fear as she picked herself off the deck."

"Multiple Hull breaches....rotating shield to keep them even on all sides." said Panic.

Rebecca sighed and traced a nth-dimensional probability cone on the nearest cruiser. "What did I tell you about bothering me with casualty reports?" she said. "I'm not a Doctor. Just let me know when we run out of dudes, but not before."

****
(Bridge- USS Vigilant)

Na'sav's eyes widened with horror when he saw the escape pods begin launching from the hatch doors of the USS Amaranthine... shock followed as the little ship's engines hit max and she streaked for the nearest Hydran vessel at full speed. "What in the universe is he doing?!"

It was beyond his ability to comprehend on an operational level. Having commanded a Raider class vessel during the Dominion War, he knew you had to be prepared to give your life in this line of work. However, a kamikaze run was not something he ever contemplated... he was no stranger to having his back against the wall in a proverbial (and sometimes literal) do or die situation, but the Amaranthine's offensive systems were powered up, and her hull could take at least 'some' punishment before a suicide run would even enter his mind personally. "Lay in course for the Amaranthine, we need to..."

The Vigilant was hit hard, having evaded the powerful tendrils of the Starbeast a second time, she had inadvertently wandered into the cross-hairs of one of the nimble Hydran frigates. Her helmsman simply couldn't evade volleys of fleet fire, space debris, the Starbeast 'and' the Frigate's guns simultaneously. Instinctively Na'sav clutched the consoles on either side of his chair to keep himself planted in his seat.

"Shields down to twenty percent!" The Tellarite at Tac-2 shouted with a snarl.

"Hydran frigate off our port-aft!" The Human at Tac-1 added.

And finally the 'Science' officer chimed in, the Betazoid's slender fingers clicking away at her station. "A flight of Hydran fighters are bearing down on the Amaranthine's escape pods!"

Inwardly, Na'sav swore. He couldn't chase down the Amaranthine, evade the frigate on his rear, 'and' protect the escape pods. That being said, he probably wouldn't be able to shake the Frigate and protect all the escape pods anyway. He was definitely wishing he had Von Ernst's ability to play odds right now, but barring that he went with his gut instinct. "Cover fire aft. Make that frigate understand it's in their best interests to let us go. Then channel our last defensive phaser power to the transporters, we need to clear those pods of our people ASAP. See if there's anyone in the fleet who'll cover us!"

The little ship fired off the few charged phaser beam emitters it had, pulling itself into a rapid fire-fight with the frigate. After her beams were spent, the power was transferred, and Vigilant came dead in the water. She turned, her phaser cannons and a quartet of torpedoes chasing away the frigate, and affording them the time to begin beaming up the Amaranthine evacuees through their own shields. She stopped all offensive operations for the time being, concentrating instead on punishing anyone who made a move on the escape pods then outright assaulting their adversary.

****
[Bridge USS Galaxy]

Jaal listened intently while passing on news and orders to the other ships' strategic operations officers. He had been trying to get the others to coordinate their attacks based on M'Kantu's strategy but between the starbeast's tentacles and the extra ten Hydran ships, it was nigh impossible.

Then some disturbing news came over the comm. "Captain, Amaranthine is releasing escape pods, they're launching WaveRider... Vigilant is moving to pick them up."

Daren checked the plot, saw Amaranthine's course and nodded. "Operations, divert all available transporters to pulling in survivors - and see if you can yank anyone still on Amaranthine off before it hits. Tactical, provide covering fire as available for Vigilant. Also, divert Vanguards to protect the escape pods - those are the only targets out here that disenfranchised Hydran fighters can safely attack."

The clacking sounds of K'aa's claws over his controls increased in volume and frequency as he sent instructions to all of the Galaxy's transporter rooms. Another series of commands were entered in the chaos, these above and beyond the M'Kantu's orders. "Radiation from the Amaranthine'sss warp core are creating interference to their aft. We will do our bess for them, Captain."

"Captain," Jaal started from his console at the back of the bridge, "One of the other ships is noting increasing communication activity coming from one of the smaller Hydran ships. They're suspecting the big carrier isn't the lead ship but this smaller one is. I'm sending information to tactical now."

****
[Bridge, USS Jacmel]

Bruno Ascencion, Captain of the dying starship USS Jacmel, sat in a chair that was the geographical and command center of a shattered bridge. Ascencion glanced over at the plaque that hung by his ready room. Jacmel, a city on the southern coast of Haiti, was rife with history changing events. Too many to number, he was sure. But the Jacmel would be remembered for one thing in this era: Self sacrifice.

He keyed up the 1MC and addressed what was left of his crew. "This is the Captain. Today, we sail into the pages of history, to preserve our sister ships, to save Delta IV...to repel incursion into sovereign space. I intend to cause severe harm to the Starbeast by ramming this ship and sending everything we have down it's throat on the way. You all have performed admirably, and I would put each and every single one of you in for a medal if we were to survive this." He paused, and then continued. "Anyone who does not wish to be a part of this may utilize the escape pods within the next five minutes. There is no shame or dishonor in seeking to prolong life. This is the Captain, that is all."

Then he waited. After five minutes, there were no reports of escape pods being deployed. Nodding mostly to himself, he addressed the CoB, who had the helm. "CoB, take us in, our vector at an eighteen degree curve, slowly. Weps, prepare a full salvo to pave the way. I want that fat bastard to feel us coming." When all stations reported ready, Bruno Ascencion took a deep breath, and then gave the order.

"Execute."

****
[Bridge USS Galaxy]

Jaxom disagreed with the Jacmel's comm officer but there was nothing he could do at the moment. "Captain, more news, Jacmel is ramming the starbeast." The Trill didn't need to mention their flotilla was down two ships already. Things weren't going quite as well as Jaal hoped. Part of him wished to be back in the center of the bridge while another part steadied himself and pushed on with the job he was given.

Eyes fixed on the battle plot, Daren had to blink at that. "Jacmel is going to...?" He looked at the vectors and nodded, "Acknowledged." Bruno Ascension was a good man, and even good men sometimes made bad decisions. Galaxy was out of position to intervene, having moved to engage a trio of Hydran ships threatening the Nebula-Class ship, but Zeus wasn't. He'd have to trust that Rebecca would do the right thing. "We're out of position, Zeus will have to cover that. Tactical, give me a firing solution on the command-and-control ship that Mr. Jaxom just passed you, but do not fire yet - set up a run with..." he checked the ships in the Task Force again on the plot, trying not to wince as he saw how few there were and how many Hydrans were still active "...Vigilant as soon as rescue operations conclude."

"The Battle of the Kateren Nebula, Part 3 of 4"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt Commander Tarin Iniara
Lt (JG) Artim Shivar
Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa
Commander Brian Elessidil
Commander Jaal Jaxom
Lieutenant Raven Darkstar
Commander Arel Smith
Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin
Lieutenant Chris Daniels
Captain Airik - USS Amaranthine (NPC by Alex P.)
Commander Na'sav Lorem - USS Vigilant (NPC)
Captain Rebecca von Ernst - USS Zeus (APC by Chris D.]
Captain Thelor th'Idrani - USS Tornado (NPC by Mike M)
Captain Bruno Ascencion - USS Jacmel (NPC by Omar)
Prince Thufi - RHS Slarrardo (NPC by Chris D.)

****
[Bridge, USS Jacmel]

They never had a chance to even complete their maneuver before the ship first shuddered from the shield impact, then bucked - and hard - from under them as that particular shield fell and the forward ventral hull got a view of space that was just fine behind Transparent Aluminum.

Bruno felt sick for the briefest of moments as he and pretty much everyone else on the ship were lifted off of their feet (or backs, chairs, etc.) due to the inertial dampeners going offline for a moment. The ship lost attitude and vector control as it veered off course.

"Helm's not responding," the CoB was saying.

=/\= We've got multiple casual... =/\=

=/\= Hull breaches on decks... =/\=

"Sir, weapons are offline," Reine was saying. She furiously worked her control board to try to get anything, but so far no joy.

=/\= Daley to Bridge. Captain, we're bleeding everything from piss to plasma down here! =/\=

=/\= The XO should be on his way down there to give you a hand, =/\= Ascencion replied.

A long uncomfortable pause.

=/\= Sir...the XO's dead. =/\=

=/\= Understood, get my systems back online. =/\=

Ascencion turned to the Science Officer. "Sorax, you're the new XO." Sorax, who had been on the bridge monitoring the bio readings (what readings he could get) from the Starbeast merely nodded and joined the Tac Officer behind the Captain. "Shield Status, Weps?"

Reine shook her head. "What shields we have left are at thirty percent at best, sir." She knew as well as the rest that if enough power wasn't restored to defensive systems with that much action going on around them, there wouldn't be anymore dinners with the Captain. Nor would they be able to break in a new XO.

****
[Bridge, USS Amaranthine]

Joining the intricate dance with the Vigilant and Zeus, the Amaranthine was taking a beating that it was not intended to take. Sure, it was a new ship and had the most modern weaponry and defence, but it was a science vessel.

"Impressive," Airik watched as Na'sav's Vigilant let a lethal volley on a Hydran vessel leaving the Super-Carrier less shielded.

"Get us in closer," The Ba'ku ordered.

"Captain, we can't take another volley like that last one." Lieutenant Brin reported. "Engineering's a mess."

"Tell the Hydrans we don't like being their target." Airik said with a sigh.

"Lock onto the destroyer flanking the Carrier and fire at will." The tactical officer let off everything she could, making impact.

Unfortunately the little ship was not ignored. "Captain, the hull has been compromised on decks five and six."

"Evacuate the decks and reroute any remaining life support to weapons." Airik ordered. "Bring the WaveRider online."

"Sir?" Lieutenant Brin was confused.

"Other than our own ship, it's the biggest torpedo we've got." Airik said. The WaveRider was the equivalent of a Captain's yacht. It was specially designed for the Nova class and meant to sustain harsh conditions. "I guess we won't get a chance to use this one."

"Inform the Vigilant and Zeus of the plan. If they can help clear a path, we'll ram the WaveRider up that Carrier's..." Airik broke off before finishing.

****
[Bridge, USS Tornado]

"Captain, lead cruiser is bringing its Hellbores to bear on the Galaxy. And it appears our friend has lost interest in us," the surprisingly soft voice of the Tornado's Elaasian XO rang out on the Steamrunner's rather cramped bridge.

"A half kilometre long tentacle would cause most ships to lose interest in a pursuit. Do we have a shot on that cruiser", Thelor responded as the ship shuttered from the slightly off target torpedo shot from the frigate that had been chasing them.

"I think so father... I mean sir. And we should be able to get back behind our cover before their hellbores lock on." Thelor hadn't gotten used to his older son being at tactical and apparently neither had he. It was battle, so it didn't matter.

"Excellent. Come about, 030 mark 25 and send the cruiser a full spread of quantum torpedoes with the Galaxy's compliments. Then come back in behind the Starbeast. We can out manoeuvre them if we have to."

A couple of seconds later the Tornado streaked out from behind the midsection of the starbeast and sent a half dozen torpedoes lancing out at the cruiser. As fast as she appeared the little Steamrunner was back where the Starbeast was between them and the bulk of the Hydran fleet.

****
[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

"Hold that thought, Mr. Shivar," Daren replied as the Hellbores raked the ship, setting K'aa's claws noisily into action at Ops as he dispatched repair crews to various decks. "Right now the creature is doing more damage to the Hydrans than we are, and I'm unwilling to interfere with that at this time." He frowned at the plots. "Helm, bring us around between the cruisers on our port nadir and position us to shield Jacmel. Tactical, ignore that light cruiser..." he looked at the identifier tag "...the Slarrardo... and split fire between the heavies as we pass."

Under Darkstar's guidance, Galaxy heeled over, glided out of the way of another barrage of incoming fire, and passed between the two cruisers, phaser fire slicing into them like flaming lances as a spread of torpedoes punched into them in rapid succession, One of the two ships went dark as its engineering section blew out in an explosion that sent it spinning end over end towards the starbeast, and finally to slam into its side and spin back off into space - only be snared by the creature's tentacles and torn asunder like a child's toy. The second cruiser shuddered and veered off, leaking plasma but still underway.

****
(Bridge, USS Vigilant)

"Captain, the Amaranthine is requesting coverage." A frustrated communication's officer called out from his station.

'We could all use a little coverage.' Na'sav thought angrily, the plethora of opponents making it hard to go one on one as he preferred, and as his ship was designed to do. Difficult, but not impossible as a Hydran frigate made the mistake of veering into the Defiant's cross-hairs. The enemy Captain must have been gambling that his ship's speed would get them across before the Vigilant could fire weapons, and she or he was correct, the ship's guns couldn't train in time. But the Commander smelled a hoax, and an opportunity that would be presenting itself because of it. "Slow to three-quarters impulse, climb us 10,000 kilometers along the Z-axis."

The crew followed their orders deftly. Most of them were still relatively green and knew little else other than that they'd already survived two actions, and the Veterans trusted each other enough not to question orders. Sure enough, the little frigate had made a bee-run straight for the heavier guns of a Hydran Destroyer. It was the same trick they'd used on him at Romulus, but this time he wasn't having any of it.

"Yaw five degrees to port, pitch positive one degree, and fire everything you've got on that Destroyer's engines! Once our run is over clear us of the starbeast, let the Amaranthine know we're on our way!"

The close weapons exchange didn't do either of the two adversaries any good. On the one hand, the Destroyer's defenses and systems were more in less intact as it had been tasked with escort duty of the carrier, and thus avoided being a major target itself by sticking close to the core of the task force, while the Vigilant had been engaged all battle long. On the other hand, the nebula's effects were more detrimental on the unprepared Hydrans then they were on the hastily adapted Federation ships, and the Vigilant's greater speed and small size made her a very difficult target close-in.

Hellbore and cannon lanced one way, phaser blasts and quantum torpedoes the other. Both ships sustained hits... but the Defiant was made for damage while the destroyer was made for efficiency. In a drag-out grudge match, the Vigilant even in it's weakened state had the advantage, and she managed to slam the destroyer with half a dozen quantum torpedoes, a full phaser-cannon volley, and five straight beam blasts concentrated on the destroyer's engineering section, while only taking four or five direct hits herself, miraculously avoiding the hellbores.

They were lucky the Hydrans seemed to be splitting their forces between warding off the Federation attack, and disabling the massive starbeast, or the 'little ship that could' would've been horribly boned, prison boned even. With the distraction of the creature though, she was able to escape the trap in one piece.

"Shields down to ten percent Captain." The Lieutenant manning tactical station one, or 'Tac-1' as he'd come to call it, reported. "Another exchange like that and we'll be down to armour."

They were really running low on options. The collectors were sucking up and stripping the ion-saturated nebula of what power it could to augment the ship's already powerful main and auxiliary power generation systems. The Vigilant's primary weapons systems, her phaser cannons, had battery systems of their own, making their power needs independent of the ship's actual production. The ship itself powered shields, defensive systems, the several type X phaser arrays aboard, and the torpedo launchers. The advantage of a Defiant-class ship was always in dog-fighting, and thus its primary weapons systems were the cannons and torpedo launchers. He could sacrifice some of the more defensive phaser arrays, and channel their energy to shield generation. It was either that, or channel engine power, and they needed their speed.

"Divert half the power to the phaser arrays, to our shields. Helm do your best to dodge... if we're running interference for the Amaranthine, we're going to need to be able to take some hits. Tactical, fire on anything that gets too close to our friend. Send my regards to Captain Airik, let's hope this works."

****
[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

"Tactical," Daren spoke up without looking away from the plot - too much was happening, and if he did look away something would get past him. "Give the starbeast a nudge for me. Someplace sensitive, that will give us a reaction. Mr. Shivar, give Tactical a target - use the phaser cannon as our output basis." He paused, and then added words he'd never expected (or wanted for that matter) to hear, much less say, "I want to see some tentacle action out there, ASAP."

"On it sir." Artim shouted without turning around as his fingers started dancing over his console looking for a firm place to sting the Starbeast. Genitals were the first place to look to, but the Miran couldn't seem to find anything that would pass for those. Next on the list was a cluster of nerve endings, or what amounted for them on this critter. After a moment of looking about, Artim had a solution and patched it through to tactical. "Narrow beam, right to the base of the tentacles. That should get it riled up good."

K'aa sat straight from his crouched position at Ops, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the M'Kantu. All stations seemed calm despite the chaos the Galaxy faced, and the captain seemed to hold that control by his example as well as his skill. ~Impressive~, he mused as he re-routed auxiliary power to the Galaxy's weakened shields, seeking to reduce the effectiveness of the Hellbore strikes. ~Very formidable, indeed.~

****
[Bridge USS Amaranthine]

The sleek Nova class ship made its way through the pack, receiving an occasional hit from a Hydran vessel.

"Captain, the Galaxy has riled the Beast." Llana Brin, the Trill Tactical Officer reported.

"On screen." The view of the battle shifted in front of them as the Starbeast looked as though it was being tickled, its tentacles flailing in space.

"Good cover." The impact was phenomenal.

"Shields down to 20 percent." The Trill reported.

"Just a little further," Airik held onto the sides of his chair, the calm Ba'ku was experiencing a little too much tension and moved his head from side to side to work some of it out. "Lieutenant Sawyer, disengage the WaveRider."

The Human/Bajoran's finger had a hint of a tremble as he engaged the ship. "WaveRider online and prepared for flight."

Airik wasn't sure if it was the right move, but it was all he had. He looked around at the bridge crew. A Betazoid, Trill, Human, Orion, Vulcan, and Bajoran were disheveled, but worked well. Unsure what to say - launch, fire, let it go, he merely nodded.

The last words he heard were ominous. "Shields failing."

"Aim for the nearest Hydran ship, engage impulse engines and abandon ship!"

****
[USS ZEUS]

"Casualty reports from all decks." said Fear as she picked herself off the deck."

"Multiple Hull breaches....rotating shield to keep them even on all sides." said Panic.

Rebecca sighed and traced a nth-dimensional probability cone on the nearest cruiser. "What did I tell you about bothering me with casualty reports?" she said. "I'm not a Doctor. Just let me know when we run out of dudes, but not before."

****
(Bridge- USS Vigilant)

Na'sav's eyes widened with horror when he saw the escape pods begin launching from the hatch doors of the USS Amaranthine... shock followed as the little ship's engines hit max and she streaked for the nearest Hydran vessel at full speed. "What in the universe is he doing?!"

It was beyond his ability to comprehend on an operational level. Having commanded a Raider class vessel during the Dominion War, he knew you had to be prepared to give your life in this line of work. However, a kamikaze run was not something he ever contemplated... he was no stranger to having his back against the wall in a proverbial (and sometimes literal) do or die situation, but the Amaranthine's offensive systems were powered up, and her hull could take at least 'some' punishment before a suicide run would even enter his mind personally. "Lay in course for the Amaranthine, we need to..."

The Vigilant was hit hard, having evaded the powerful tendrils of the Starbeast a second time, she had inadvertently wandered into the cross-hairs of one of the nimble Hydran frigates. Her helmsman simply couldn't evade volleys of fleet fire, space debris, the Starbeast 'and' the Frigate's guns simultaneously. Instinctively Na'sav clutched the consoles on either side of his chair to keep himself planted in his seat.

"Shields down to twenty percent!" The Tellarite at Tac-2 shouted with a snarl.

"Hydran frigate off our port-aft!" The Human at Tac-1 added.

And finally the 'Science' officer chimed in, the Betazoid's slender fingers clicking away at her station. "A flight of Hydran fighters are bearing down on the Amaranthine's escape pods!"

Inwardly, Na'sav swore. He couldn't chase down the Amaranthine, evade the frigate on his rear, 'and' protect the escape pods. That being said, he probably wouldn't be able to shake the Frigate and protect all the escape pods anyway. He was definitely wishing he had Von Ernst's ability to play odds right now, but barring that he went with his gut instinct. "Cover fire aft. Make that frigate understand it's in their best interests to let us go. Then channel our last defensive phaser power to the transporters, we need to clear those pods of our people ASAP. See if there's anyone in the fleet who'll cover us!"

The little ship fired off the few charged phaser beam emitters it had, pulling itself into a rapid fire-fight with the frigate. After her beams were spent, the power was transferred, and Vigilant came dead in the water. She turned, her phaser cannons and a quartet of torpedoes chasing away the frigate, and affording them the time to begin beaming up the Amaranthine evacuees through their own shields. She stopped all offensive operations for the time being, concentrating instead on punishing anyone who made a move on the escape pods then outright assaulting their adversary.

****
[Bridge USS Galaxy]

Jaal listened intently while passing on news and orders to the other ships' strategic operations officers. He had been trying to get the others to coordinate their attacks based on M'Kantu's strategy but between the starbeast's tentacles and the extra ten Hydran ships, it was nigh impossible.

Then some disturbing news came over the comm. "Captain, Amaranthine is releasing escape pods, they're launching WaveRider... Vigilant is moving to pick them up."

Daren checked the plot, saw Amaranthine's course and nodded. "Operations, divert all available transporters to pulling in survivors - and see if you can yank anyone still on Amaranthine off before it hits. Tactical, provide covering fire as available for Vigilant. Also, divert Vanguards to protect the escape pods - those are the only targets out here that disenfranchised Hydran fighters can safely attack."

The clacking sounds of K'aa's claws over his controls increased in volume and frequency as he sent instructions to all of the Galaxy's transporter rooms. Another series of commands were entered in the chaos, these above and beyond the M'Kantu's orders. "Radiation from the Amaranthine'sss warp core are creating interference to their aft. We will do our bess for them, Captain."

"Captain," Jaal started from his console at the back of the bridge, "One of the other ships is noting increasing communication activity coming from one of the smaller Hydran ships. They're suspecting the big carrier isn't the lead ship but this smaller one is. I'm sending information to tactical now."

****
[Bridge, USS Jacmel]

Bruno Ascencion, Captain of the dying starship USS Jacmel, sat in a chair that was the geographical and command centre of a shattered bridge. Ascencion glanced over at the plaque that hung by his ready room. Jacmel, a city on the southern coast of Haiti, was rife with history changing events. Too many to number, he was sure. But the Jacmel would be remembered for one thing in this era: Self sacrifice.

He keyed up the 1MC and addressed what was left of his crew. "This is the Captain. Today, we sail into the pages of history, to preserve our sister ships, to save Delta IV...to repel incursion into sovereign space. I intend to cause severe harm to the Starbeast by ramming this ship and sending everything we have down it's throat on the way. You all have performed admirably, and I would put each and every single one of you in for a medal if we were to survive this." He paused, and then continued. "Anyone who does not wish to be a part of this may utilize the escape pods within the next five minutes. There is no shame or dishonour in seeking to prolong life. This is the Captain, that is all."

Then he waited. After five minutes, there were no reports of escape pods being deployed. Nodding mostly to himself, he addressed the CoB, who had the helm. "CoB, take us in, our vector at an eighteen degree curve, slowly. Weps, prepare a full salvo to pave the way. I want that fat bastard to feel us coming." When all stations reported ready, Bruno Ascencion took a deep breath, and then gave the order.

"Execute."

****
[Bridge USS Galaxy]

Jaxom disagreed with the Jacmel's comm officer but there was nothing he could do at the moment. "Captain, more news, Jacmel is ramming the starbeast." The Trill didn't need to mention their flotilla was down two ships already. Things weren't going quite as well as Jaal hoped. Part of him wished to be back in the centre of the bridge while another part steadied himself and pushed on with the job he was given.

Eyes fixed on the battle plot, Daren had to blink at that. "Jacmel is going to...?" He looked at the vectors and nodded, "Acknowledged." Bruno Ascension was a good man, and even good men sometimes made bad decisions. Galaxy was out of position to intervene, having moved to engage a trio of Hydran ships threatening the Nebula-Class ship, but Zeus wasn't. He'd have to trust that Rebecca would do the right thing. "We're out of position, Zeus will have to cover that. Tactical, give me a firing solution on the command-and-control ship that Mr. Jaxom just passed you, but do not fire yet - set up a run with..." he checked the ships in the Task Force again on the plot, trying not to wince as he saw how few there were and how many Hydrans were still active "...Vigilant as soon as rescue operations conclude."

5998