"Sanctuary City"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Soundtrack: "Ir Miklat (Sanctuary City)" / Ehud Banai
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGdlP1xuy40

* * * 25 minutes before battle commences * * *

The order to report to battle stations and prepare for engagement blinked on Saul's screen. The Dutchman paced around his room restlessly, without stopping to read it. He knew what it said. He was at the senior officers' meeting, a single voice of sanity. He was ignored, disregarded.

By people who were about to die.

The graveyards were full of people who believed in their immortality. Saul saw some of them die with his own eyes. The USS Galaxy seemed invincible and survived many perils, but it takes one mortal wound to kill you. A moment after you're dead it doesn't matter how many foes you have beaten on the way or how heroic you were. Not to you, anyway.

Not that he was afraid of risk, he thought. In his line of work, both official and private, there was always the possibility of getting stabbed, shot at, vented to space or torn apart by some crazy schizophrenic Angosian. But all of these were calculated risks. Dangers that could be overcame. Not suicide.

Saul rubbed his temples, keeping his pace. Thing perched on his left shoulder, giving his owner a quizzical look. Saul patted its head.

"Survived the Borg only to get killed by some tripods, eh?"

"Mi mi mi." Thing replied, obvious less concerned by the gravity of the situation.

Saul tickled its snout, What could he - and Thing - do? He stated his opinion, but the Captain decided to enter the nebula regardless. Saul recalled the images of the decimated Romulan fleet he saw in the LR sensors' records. The Hydrans ambushed them. They were going to ambush M'Kantu's little task force as well. There was no other reasonable explanation for taking a position within a nebula.

They were going to end up like the majority of the Romulan fleet and Saul could not stop this.

But he didn't have to participate, either.

He knew that he was going to leave eventually. Had he not been able to postpone the REDISTRIBUTION, it would have happened by 2383 or 2384. But the time was never right, and there was always something to do, so he just stayed. On the Galaxy. In intelligence. In the fleet.

The Galaxy's sand clock, however, seemed to be fast approaching the final few grains. And with all his love - yes, love - to the ship and its crew, Saul did not want to be there when the sand runs out.

Saul reached for his backpack. It was always resting in the far corner of his bedroom, fully prepared with rations, a clean set of cloths, a survival kit and a weapon. Saul believed in travelling light. Anything you carried with you unnecessarily just slowed you down.

He grabbed it, then hesitated, then returned it to place.

No, that was stupid. He can't go around the ship with a bag twenty minutes before battle. To say that it would look a little suspicious would be like saying that Ferengi are a little touchy about Latinum.

He'll just have to go just like that. Delta was not far away - he'll make it to there by shuttle. A plan began brewing in his mind, a way to leave the ship without being detected. Usually it couldn't work, but the Galaxy was in a red alert status and getting close to the nebula. He could get into a vacant shuttle pod, wait until they come near the edge of the nebula where some sensors will be incapacitated, use some security codes... yes, that might work.

"Come, Thing."

He tucked Thing into his uniform's pocket. The Barzan oddity was the last of his kind. And so will be Saul, he thought. There were so many people he would want to tuck into his pocket and take with him. Nara, Miramon, Nyoko, Counsellor Brian, the friends from the department... not a single one of them would agree to come. All of them were immersed in the 'sense of duty' instilled in them, replacing the other kind of sense that Saul held firmly to - the common sense.

A good businessman knows when to just walk away. Starfleet officers didn't.

He clenched his fists, organic and synthetic fingers digging into the palms. Damnit. He would never manage to persuade Nara. She will insist on staying here. And she will die because of her stupid gallantry. They all will. Heroes. Dead heroes he will end up drinking for in some filthy pub somewhere along the rim, years from now when he will still be alive and they will be molecules spread across the nebula.

Saul stormed out of his quarters. There was no time to think sad thoughts. He'll have years to mourn later. First, he needed bail out.

Leaving his room behind, he rushed forward, determined to reach his destination in time.

The shuttle bay.

"Bajoran Hutzpe"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Midshipman Aina Mason,
Communications Officer

*** Shuttle Bay 3 ***

"Oh Jesus! Damn'it to hell."

Aina cursed the need for J-clips in any of the systems on the Galaxy, here she was trying to find the loss of the data stream from the recently refurbished shuttle bay that had been the target of the old style fission weapon and the main coaxial data processor on the flight deck in the main shuttle bay.

The system was used in the recovery of fighters, especially with synching with the shields, so that the shields were down for only seconds as the fighters came in to land at the bays.

In spacedock, the whole system had gotten a space-worthy rating, but right now, just before the first battle outside of spacedock, it was glitching so badly, that it was even interfering with the rear dorsal shield control processor. With the link shutdown, the rear dorsal shields had to be lowered manually and that control had been relayed to the bridge.

Tapping the control on her earpiece, to listen to diagnostic reports from the computer, she began crawling back up to one of the secondary routers (again,) cursing the fact that the starfleet engineers who did the work were idiots, the need for the J clips and that the designer of the system had it up one and a half meters above the deck.

It wasn't an easy climb, (no access ladder), just to find a thin piece of titanium wire, that was designed to keep some high power cables and systems away from the delicate data systems, it wasn't even close to a J in shape. No, the J-clip was named, because nearly every time you had to insert one, it usually flew out of your fingers, leaving your frustrated and many engineers and techs would end up venting their frustration with a familiar exclamation.

She finally got back up to her position and had set a diagnostic routine running after resetting the j-clip, she had some time to wait, she looked over the efforts of everybody in the bay - acutely aware of time going by, especially knowing that everyone on the ship was heading into battle.

As she looked around, she noticed a door slide open and Lieutenant Bental entered the deck. She watched as he seemed to move aimlessly through the bay.

Aina's nose ridges deepened as she frowned, Lieutenant Bental usually only ever left the Intelligence Command Centre when he wanted to talk to someone or gather some information. And in the few months that she had known him, he had never really wandered aimlessly, he always knew what he wanted to do - and went straight for it. Here he would return nods of recognition or calmly look at consoles showing the upgripes of a shuttle, while casually moving through the bay, for him, just before the battle, it was out of character.

He wasn't heading to Flight Deck Control, and Aina couldn't envision why he would want to take a shuttle out. He was heading straight over to where she was working, even though he hadn't looked at her. She watched him for a few moments as he approached.

"Lieutenant Bental?" she called out as he walked past.

She never saw him startled, so this was a first for her. He spun around, not immediately connecting the voice and the face to the person.

"Huh? Oh - Aina! Shalom."

"Is everything ok? You look a little lost?" Aina asked.

"Yes, everything is fine.", he replied, perhaps a little too sharply. Saul wasn't expecting to be caught in the act. With the battle starting imminently, he expected that the officers that knew him well would be posted elsewhere. Usually, he would have a response planned and ready even for this unlikely situation, but this time he was unprepared.

When he realized it was Aina, the first thought that came to mind was 'Here is another good person I'll never see again'.

Saul quickly regained his composure, though, assuming his 'senior officer' stance.

"Did OPS assign you here during the battle?" He inquired.

Aina nodded, "Yes sir. There's glitching with the fighter recovery system, I'm here to try and get it all smoothed out. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, no thanks." He smiled sheepishly. "Why, do I look like someone in need?"

"Ummm...yes sir, you do."

That awarded her a hearty laugh. Whereas other Lieutenants might have rebuked her, Saul clapped on her shoulder.

"Aina, do you know what 'Hutzpe' is?" He joked.

She shook her head, "Sounds like something that has lots of habaneros in the recipe?"

"Here's your first homework from intel - look it up."

There was a thoughtful pause, and then - "Tell me Aina - have you ever participated in a space combat, on the Miranda?"

"Yes sir, most of them were in the civilian shelters and half the time, in the escape pods, when I lived there before I joined Starfleet. I had no battles while I served on the Miranda. With Commander Jaxom and Commander Smith, we had the Carthage shot out from under our feet at DS5," Aina shrugged. "And I was a part of the crew that got the old hulks in the Boneyard up and running. I think having a Hydran Cruiser looming over you can be classed as a battle."

Saul rubbed the back of his head. "It probably does. Heh. I suppose half the people who got stuck on the station wished they never signed up for Starfleet service or never agreed to be assigned to the frontlines... didn't you?"

Aina was silent for a few moments, "I never really thought about it. I don't think battles bother me that much, not to say that the Frincorian Razorflys in my stomach are something that I can ignore. In Starfleet, I have a lot more 'control,' than when I was a civilian on the Miranda. I know more and that is sometimes not a bad thing, sometimes not a good thing." She shrugged again, "More control over my own destiny - of my choices."

A beep from her setup, took her attention for a second and she looked over the machine's readout. Returning her attention to the Lieutenant's face she saw that he seemed somewhat distracted before a more calmed composure returned.

She was right. While back on Utrecht III he had seemingly complete freedom, here, despite the command hierarchy and the strict fleet rules, one had more influence and more control. Work hard and smart, and the odds will be in your favor. At least, better.

He wanted to grab both of her shoulders. He wanted to shake her, to scream in her ears that she was going to die. That a moment after you're dead, you don't control a thing, no matter what foolish religions and faiths say. That there is a high probability that it's going to happen to her within the hour. And to him.

Instead, he clapped on her shoulder again. "Good fight, cadet. I'll see you tomorrow at Intel CIC. Don't get wounded or something stupid like that, we have lots of work to do."

Aina nodded, "Yes sir, and Lieutenant?"

"Yea?" "What ever it is - talk to somebody about it!" returned Aina.

"Told you there's no problem."

"You didn't admonish me about calling you 'Sir' or 'Lieutenant,' once. And you to be away from Intel, especially this close to a battle, looking like one of Bo Peep's sheep..." Aina was unsure of continuing. It started sounding so well in her head, but as she started to actually say the words, it seemed inappropriate, she was only still a cadet, not even finished the Academy.

Saul smirked. "Aina, when you're about to fight, you don't waste time on putting cheeky cadets in place or 'talking to someone'. There's plenty of time for that after. Now GET BUSY, I need to be in CIC before we enter the nebula."

And that was it, then. He couldn't get to the shuttle pod. There was someone who knew him, and she would report him. Saul selectively ignored the fact that being reported won't matter if the Galaxy get destroyed with all hands on board. The escape route was blocked, he told himself, he'll just have to take his chances with the ship.

Too bad.

Aina just gave a quick nod of her head in submission and with a murmured 'Yes Sir,' returned to her task of getting the shield control systems up and functioning. Right now, the mystery of why Lieutenant Bental was in the shuttle bay, would have to stay a mystery until after the battle.

"You're In Command, Mr. Krieghoff - So Act Like It!"

(Takes place immediately after "Losing Control')

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Lieutenant Shelley O'Rourke

****
USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Security Main

Victor wasn't a fan of boarding actions, either making them or defending against them. He'd done both, although much more of the latter than the former since the end of the Dominion War, and they were always confused, back and forth struggles spread out over the entirety of a ship, with people that he should be protecting being endangered and killed while he was sixteen decks away fighting something or someone that really, in Victor's mind, ought to have known better than to board the Galaxy in the first place.

Still, the Hydrans seemed intent on engaging in the practice at every opportunity, despite the warning he'd sent them to leave the ship alone a year or so back - really, was having three scientists shipped back to you in a box that was barely large enough for one of them in structurally intact form and the words 'Do Not Bother This Crew Again' burned into the lid so difficult to interpret correctly? In the face of their determined persistence with regards to boarding actions, Victor had established a sort of routine to the procedure. Since his presence, even after the century he'd spent as Chulak, was still as effective as ever at making close-quarters work with the rest of the department difficult to say the least, he'd simply taken it upon himself to deal with a threat that freed up other department members to work with the vastly more able at direct command Department Head, Commander Corgan: he eliminated boarding parties and sappers out on the hull.

The routine preparing for that was simple: he located a pair of grav boots, replicated a copy of the rifle that he'd used back during the Battle of Havras, checked that the reconfigured Life Support Belt that Ella Grey had made for him was fully charged and operational, and then moved out onto the hull to deal with Hydran marines or sappers as he had during the Battle of Havras unless recalled by necessity to assist the rest of the Department in the ship's interior. The only change to that procedure in recent months had been the addition of his redesigned Hazard Team Uniform, which was simply too useful with its internal shields and weapon-storing micro transport buffer not to use.

Which was what he was just finishing donning inside his office - having already given Angelienia her traditional good luck kiss and reminder that she didn't have permission to die before the ship entered the nebula - when the yelling and commotion started outside his office, audible to his ears even through the closed door. Hardly unexpected, given that the ship was about to be in combat and Commander Corgan was giving the department a pep talk - except this was the wrong kind of yelling and commotion. And someone normally didn't bang on his door during the traditional talk.

"Open," he ordered the door as he picked up a Phaser Rifle - the last of his weapon load-out - and banished it to the Hazard Team uniform's storage buffer and moved out to see what was happening.

What he saw when he stepped out was disorganized bedlam.

"MEDIC!"

Swarms of security officers worked themselves out of security central's lockers, offices and rooms to see what was going on, until a ring of black, grey and mustard clad Starfleet soldiers surrounded the centre of attention. All looked concerned, even frightened of what was going on, while those in the back were confused and jockeying for a better position to look.

A security officer bumped Victor on the shoulder while passing by; an action that would normally have sent said offending officer scurrying away like a cockroach in direct sunlight, but in an emergency like this, the officer was too consumed in the moment to care.

"Hypo!" the officer said over the racket, "25 CC's Interproprelene. That'll stabilize him! In the neck! GO!" He tossed the hypospray to the centre of the circle.

Victor heard the plastic snap of the item being caught, and the hiss of its drugs being used. The man in the centre of the circle said with mounting concern, "Come on boss. Snap out of it."

Boss? There was only one person that the department referred to that way - and if he were the one being drugged... "Make a hole!" Victor snapped out as he started forward, unconsciously using the clipped tones he'd adopted in his other life as Chulak. "Move, people!"

The crowd spread apart, either because it was Victor approaching, because of the tone in his voice, because they were well-trained, or some combination of the three, opening an alleyway that led Victor straight to the Dispatch Console - and something that he neither wanted nor was prepared to see....

James Lionel Corgan, their security chief, decorated combat officer and one of the best ship to ship close-quarter fighting commanders in the fleet (that made one of the Galaxy's best trump cards), and possibly the only man capable of coordinating a Hydran boarding into an outright slaughter...

...convulsing violently on the floor.

The drugs were already taking effect, his thrashing body slowed to spasmodic jerks. Medics arrived, unfurling a litter and waving medical tricorders over his body.

"What happened?" Victor snapped out to the ensign that would normally have been on duty at the console.

"I... I don't know." Stammered the astonished Ensign, "He was giving orders one minute, the next he was having a violent seizure. Your guess is as good as mine."

The medic's tricorders blared to life, holographically projecting a small patient history to the side, "It's a seizure, brought on by an overload of his neural pathways." The patient history screen was replaced by a jagged readout, "Sir, neural activity peaked at the time of his attack, then it immediately tapered off. It's like a circuit breaker, too much and he went out like a light. Records indicate he suffered previous trauma from a Hydran neural scrambler weapon a few months ago. This might be a lingering aftereffect. We'll have to take him to sickbay."

Victor looked down at his superior officer, pushed aside the sudden barrage of things that started to occur to him in his head, and knelt down next to James. "Can he hear me?" he snapped out in the same short, clipped voice Chulak had mastered in his youth, and passed on to Victor when the two of them became one.

"N-no s-sir," the medic replied, voice changing as he suddenly realized where he was in relation to Victor. "He's... he's out c-cold, s-sir."

"Damn," Victor breathed. "It won't help then; it won't work." He frowned down at James for a heartbeat longer, and then shook his head and stood up. If he couldn't forbid the Commander to die, then he could at least give him the best chance to live that he could. "Beam him straight to Sickbay, no turbolifts.

"Right sir!" The medic slapped his comm badge, "Transporter room, site to site transport to sickbay, three to beam up! Alpha plus priority! Now!"

Victor stood after the transporter sparkles had faded, and faced the rest of the department, who were, to a man, all standing there, staring at him, as if waiting for something. "What?" he replied, sure that he knew what they were waiting for, "I tried - but it won't work, not if he can't hear the words. That's the way it works. You have to hear the words and acknowledge them or I can't forbid you to die. It..." he frowned again as they continued to look at him. "What?"

Under withering stares of disapproval, Victor had found himself confronted by a security department that, due to the disablement of their commander, was not in the mood for black humour. The fact that Victor was serious made the statement even more sour. Rather in disgust, the security officers started to absentmindedly disperse. Two of the Ensigns muttered 'ghoul' as a parting shot, but due to the scattered nature of the crowd it was hard to ascertain who.

And, in that dispersement, nobody thought of what to do next. The security department was lost.

"What the hell?!?!" Lieutenant Shelley O'Rourke boomed out in the middle, "What the hell's the matter with you people? You're just going to mill like zombies because the boss is down? He gave you a plan! Go to it! Business as usual, nuggets!" She waited, had all the officer's attention, but were frozen by her. Rather in hostile disgust, O'Rourke slammed a fist into a console, "What are you waiting for, the Hydrans to walk up to you and butcher your ass?! GO! BATTLE STATIONS! NOW!"

The disorganized mob slowly straightened itself out, and moved out, although with noticeably less enthusiasm and snap-to-it'veness than before.

O'Rourke approached Krieghoff. Rather than be afraid, she was angry, devil eyes locked onto death, "Way to inspire them, tool!"

"Inspire them?" Victor was used to O'Rourke yelling at him for any number of reasons, but on this occasion he was still distracted trying to figure out what was wrong with the Commander.

"JESUS!" O'Rourke threw her arms up in the air and face-palmed herself, "Why me of all days? The boss is down, and T'lan our only officer with a head on her shoulders spontaneously goes crazy, leaving me once again to lead the department when 'the Ghoul' goes on another one of his death kicks. Christ almighty I hate this job!"

Inspire them? Victor ran the moment back in his mind. He'd moved up, taken charge of the scene, made the determination to transport the Commander to Sickbay and then... and then, he realized, he'd failed. He'd failed to realize that what everyone was waiting for was for him to *keep* taking charge - for him to step up and tell them what to do, to lead them. He'd failed himself, the people that had promoted him, his men... and James Lionel Corgan.

"You're right," he said firmly. "That's what I should have done, Shelley. I should have said something, done something to let them know that everything wasn't going to collapse with the Commander down." He wondered if O'Rourke would notice that he'd, for the first time, used her given name. "But I didn't do that. I could toss out some excuses, but that's what they'd be, excuses, and there isn't any time for that. Thank you for realizing that, and taking charge there."

O'Rourke shrugged, "Hey... someone's got to point out the blatantly obvious. Lets get to work."

As O'Rourke looked at him, Victor took a breath, let it wash away everything that wasn't part of the solution to the problem that the department faced and started again, letting the lessons he'd learned in his lifetime as Chulak - and his own instincts - guide him. "I failed, and I'll have to recover from it - but we can't stand here while I do that, because the Hydrans aren't going to give us a chance to do it over." He ran the standard plan that James had used through his head once, and then again. "Give me your honest opinion - can we use the Commander's plan without him here to run it?"

Shelley blew out an exasperated sigh, "Vic, James is one of those war college types. Their plans always end up being too complex. I understand the basic deployment but there are a few details I don't get, like why we have so many reserves or why we're putting so much emphasis on the power conduits all over the ship. You know, if you want his insights... maybe we should check him out in sickbay and ask?"

"No," Victor shook his head. "I'm supposed to be capable of doing this - he wouldn't have signed off on my being his official second if he didn't have faith that I could do the job. If I go running to him every time something goes wrong, then I'm failing again - and once is enough." For a moment, Victor considered that James might have set this up as a test of his ability to command, but discarded the idea as foolish. James Corgan would never endanger the ship that way.

"Didn't think so." O'Rourke shook her head, "Remember what he briefed us in in his battle doctrine? He stressed high mobility and outflanking maneuvers in ship to ship combat. No counter boarding’s, leave that to the marines. We stay, we draw them in while making sure they don't destroy main systems, and hit them from any side we can. That's probably why he has the tactical reserves at security central. Problem is the transporters. We're overly dependent on those to deploy any rapid response. He only left enough at the vital systems to hold the boarders in place."

"Then let's change things up," Victor said slowly. "Don't group all the tactical reserves in one place. We split them up into three main units, that gives us enough power to be meaningful, and enough mobility to cover what we need covered. We're not going to get as many boarding parties with the conditions in this nebula making small craft travel so difficult, so we won't need to be in as many places at once. We leave West and a detachment here to hold down Security Main, since we don't want him getting near the outer hull and open space. Then we split the rest of our people up with one group under your command, one with Walter, and the third with Ex'ch, and have a single rapid response group that moves to pin the Hydrans down until a bigger group can get there and step on them. It's probably best if I take that one to keep my presence from degrading the performance of the others - we can round up Skore and some of the other Vulcans to go with me, since I don't affect them. We already know where the Hydrans are going to go - they're the same places that we'd have to go in their place - so we can plan for that." He paused as an idea came to him. "Or maybe we give them an opportunity, we let them think that they have a golden opportunity to board us - the shuttle bay maybe - and instead of an empty bay with a few mechanics, they find us waiting?"

"Cargobay 3, it's big enough and it's holding non vital supplies... plus we won't risk a firefight when Vanguard deploys and lands. Make it tasty enough... some false sensor readings? Maybe a dead photon torpedo or two? And put Ensigns Handley and So'ka as head of Squad two and four apiece. They're ready for it."

"That's good," Victor nodded. "The Hydrans have to know that we've undergone a lot of refurbishing - it would make sense to them that we'd move the internal arrangement around in the process. I'll call Engineering and Ops, and get something set up in Cargobay 3." He considered the rest of her suggestions. One of the things he'd had to learn as Chulak was when to listen to his subordinates and other people, and that lesson was just as applicable here as it had been in the communal katra experience. Handley and So'ka had been aboard as long as he had, he'd watched them grow in confidence and ability... yes, they were ready. "Handley and So'ka are ready, you're right - let's give them a chance to prove it. They can have Two and Four."

He smiled, knowing that it would disturb Shelley, but also knowing that she would understand that the smile wasn't meant for her. "We can make this work - and they won't be looking for it. We know a few of them have gotten off the ship after boarding us in the past, and they'll have told others how we fought them. If they're expecting us to fight like we always dom then they'll never think to look for this trap."

Shelley smiled wryly, "Then we have a cunning plan?"

"It's certainly a plan," he conceded. "It doesn't get to be called a 'cunning plan' until we execute it and it works." But it would work, Victor knew that. He had a hunter's instinct, and it was telling him that his prey would take this bait and step into the trap.

"Good. Lets break before this gets mushy. Bring on the hardware! And Vic..."

"Yes?" Apparently she *had* heard him use her given name, since she'd never used his to his face... and certainly not a diminutive.

"James wouldn't send us to do something he wouldn't do. A shame he's the suicidal type. But... that's what makes us do crazy things too. Funny, huh?"

"Hysterical." He looked at her for a moment, debating, and then nodded, "While we're talking about not sending people to do things that we wouldn't do - you don't have permission to die. Understand?"

"Yeah yeah..." O'Rourke brushed off Victor's remark, "...like I ever planned on it. Pass me a power pack, will you?"

Victor called two up from his suit's internal buffer and handed them to her. "Take two, Shelley. I think we're going to need them."

"Hollow Counseling" Pt One

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

(Set one day prior to the Battle of the Kateren Nebula)

***USS Galaxy, Holosuite 4***

Dhanishta sat on the low rise sofa feeling somewhat unsure as Brian eyed her from behind his desk. His question hung in the air, though this time it held no accusation, no hidden threats and no possibility of reprisals. This time she was sure in the knowledge that whatever she said to him, nothing would happen. He wouldn't skulk off to consult with Kimberly or any member of his staff to plot what to do with the deranged engineer. This time he would just listen to what she said aloud. He wouldn't be listening to her inner voice, judging her on what she wouldn't or couldn't allow herself to say.

Even with that knowledge, that security that she had longed for, for so many years, still she felt nervous, unsure and even a little scared. She looked into his eyes, and for the first time in a long time she did not feel shame.

His question had been generic, 'what can I do for you today?' it was out of a text book, completely unassuming, yet somehow it was difficult to answer. What could he do for her? What could anyone do? Even though she knew that question would come, she still didn't have an answer. "I don't know." She finally said in a small voice that slithered through the distance between them.

"I see." He replied in that tone which conveyed nothing of his true feeling towards the answer. His face held a neutral expression that was as readable as the bulk head. "What would you like to talk about?" he ventured, leaning back in the chair steepling his fingers like Captain M'Kantu did. His brief stint in that position a while back had added a commanding quality to his demeanour. A silent presence that required constant watching to read his every movement for they spoke more often than his lips.

Dhanishta frowned slightly, staring at the space between them, as she often did, reading the air as if it held the answers she ought to say. She shrugged and wondered again why it was so difficult to talk, even though she knew this time nothing could happen, nothing would, no one would hold her up for what she might confess here, no one would cast judgment on how she felt or what she had done. Still no answers came to her as she sat motionless on the sofa, wondering if this was the best way to handle things.

Noting the withdrawal Brian chose a more direct route, "How was the recent mission?" he asked leaning forward in his chair expectantly.

Dhanishta momentarily drew upon the recent memory, "It was okay." She replied simply.

"Okay?" Brain repeated indicating he was hoping for more. Everyone on the ship had been through a hard time with the latest assignment, it had brought up many questions of morality and even devoted officers had made difficult decisions that had compromised what they believed to be right, just and true.

Once more Dhanishta pulled the memory to the surface. It was difficult because she didn't want to talk about that at all. She had been lucky, luckier than most, for the colonists she had been sent to evacuate had left willingly for they knew much more than the rest of the sheltered civilisations that had grown into communities in the
cluster. What she wanted to talk about was why Kimberly had firmly ordered her to take these sessions, why she had dragged her into see the counsellor, the accusations she had made on that day that had brought about the end of a friendship.

Her life hadn't changed much she had decided after the heat of anger had cooled. She didn't need Kimberly as a friend, she wasn't a consoling ear anyway; she was a dog on a hunt, one that had a whiff of prey and wasn't about to let up until she had the answers firmly between her teeth. What no one else knew was that Dhanishta was searching for those answers too, yet she was afraid of what she might find. Self discoveries weren't always comforting. They didn't always leave you with that profound fulfilment that they promised, that the universe promised you would find once you knew yourself.

Dhanishta shrugged once more and began to retrace her steps mentally…

*** Two weeks previous…***

Engineering had been a much quieter, subdued place of late. Everyone's minds were preoccupied with the current mission, which was to be expected. What hadn't been expected is how everyone appeared, within the space of a few weeks alone, to have gained the thousand yard stare which was commonly associated with marines and soldiers who had spent more time than they would like to recall (and under the secrets act weren't even allowed to discuss) on one bloody battle field or another. Each and every member of her team were walking around like zombies with their heads down bumping into each other like a car ride on a fair ground, rebounding and trying again without even so much as a 'sorry', 'hello,' 'excuse me' or even eye contact. It made Dhanishta quite nervous with what to expect as she was about to take her turn and leave the ship to aid the evacuation's on Gorod Tonnelya. It wasn't a task she was looking forward to.

Taking her leave from Engineering, having tried to have a discussion with her shift leader to leave instructions on what needed doing - which felt like talking to a bulk head - she made her way down to Transporter room 3. The room itself brought up other memories, ones that she had tried to repress. Bery.

It was a sad state of affairs when you tried to connect, reach out and make friends with another and they just happened to disappear, probably died, whilst you were debating the pros and cons of the act itself. It only added more weight to the argument that there was no point at all in trying to make friends when all that relationship would do was cause you pain when they died, 'cause lets face it, on this ship everyone died.

Dhanishta wondered for a moment if perhaps she was still on Quinton, having finally gone mad and was living in a dream world where the Galaxy and her crew had been saved, by her no less, and she was simply imagining everything that had transpired over the last few years.

Shrugging, she entered the Transporter room and paused when she saw Kala waiting for her on the pad.

"What are you doing here?" Dhani asked confused.

Kala looked around for a second in a mocking fashion, something she had taken to doing regally of late as people kept asking her obvious questions which could only make her pause and question their stupidity, "Waiting for you." she replied after a pause adding a silent 'Duh' with a facial expression, one that made Dhanishta's blood pressure rise.

"You weren't assigned to this mission," Dhani replied eyeing her sister, "Jackson was."

"Yeah," Kala replied, "we switched." She informed her with a shrug of 'so what?'

"Well you and me going together is against Starfleet policy." Dhani reminded her tersely.

"So is us serving on the same ship." Kala replied, "We have the same mortality rate serving here as we do going on an away mission together. So I don't see a problem, unless you have a personal one… am I not good enough to go with you?" she asked stepping off the pad and raising an accusatory eyebrow at her sibling.

Dhanishta sighed and waved her hand dismissing the comment, "Let's just go." She replied stepping up onto the pad. Nodding to the transporter chief, whose name she didn't know, and didn't want to know any more, she signalled for them to be beamed out before Kala could disparage herself even more.

The room before them vanished as they were whisked away in a flourish of blue light and as their molecules were reassembled they began to take stock of the place in which they were in.

Surprisingly it wasn't cold. That was the first thought that entered Dhanis mind as she regained control of her motor functions. Having rematerialized in the centre of a huge ice dome both girls took a moment to stare in wonder at the architecture. What sun light there was filtered through the frosted, marble like ceiling, illuminating the surroundings with an eerie blue tainted glow. Nodding to each other they crossed the frozen ground in silence and entered the public house that was to be the meeting point with the representative from this colony.

The place was relatively empty, a few locals sat in the corner, eyeing up the new comers with suspicion before turning back to nurse their drinks. Only the bar tender had any glimmer of pleasure in his eyes from spying the two, which in turn caused both girls to exchange glances before proceeding.

"Hello," she greeted, "I am Lieutenant Eshe, and this is," Dhanishta paused, she really hadn't thought the introduction through, "er… also Lieutenant Eshe…" she said with a brief smile to cover her embarrassment. "We are here to..."

He swiftly cut her off, "A ken wha' youse here fer," he said in a thick Scottish accent as he flicked the towel he'd been using to wipe the water marks off his glasses over his shoulder, "wuid you lassies care for a dram afore you get started?" he enquired reaching for a bottle of vodka.

"Er," Dhani frowned and grasped for her com badge wondering how her UT could have malfunctioned during transport, "What did you say?" she questioned stepping closer.

"He asked if we wanted a drink." Kala told her sister as she approached the bar, "And yes," she replied to the gentleman, "that would be grand." she said brightly, hopping up onto a bar stool with a large grin.

"Oh-Kay then…" Dhanishta mumbled, frown deepening as she followed, still fiddling with her UT, "I'll have a glass of water please. AND…" she said loudly stopping her sister in mid thought, "she'll have the same." she concluding giving Kala a hard stare.

Kala smiled sweetly at Dhani before pointing to the bottle of vodka, "It's time, dear sister, that you took that Starfleet flag pole from outa your ass and…"

"And what?" Dhani snapped, embarrassed at the accusation, especially when it was made in front of a perfect stranger.

"And enjoy the moment." Kala replied with a smirk and a shrug. Swivelling back to the bartender she smiled once more, "Gimmie a double of the good stuff and when I say good stuff I mean it." she told him.

He chuckled in amusement at the pair and grabbed a glass, "Ye ken as we are evacuating 'n all, I dinna hae' anything but the couthy stuff, everythin' else is packed." he replied placing the glass on the bar and unscrewing the lid off the Vodka.

Kala swiftly covered the shot glass with her hand, "Your Scottish right?" she enquired holding his gaze.

"Aye." He replied frowning.

"Then I want the good stuff, everyone knows that a Scotsman has a private stash, so it's time to crack open a case and enjoy it together."

He lent on the bar, leveling his head with hers and gave her a curious stare, "I dinna share a dram o uisge beatha wi' a pretty lass unless ah've at least jigged, ah… danced, wi' them first." He replied.

"Then let’s dance." Kala responded.

"Ah," he raised a finger, "but lass I dinna jig wi' a lass unless I ken her name."

"So what? You can scream out the right name later on?" she retorted, "names Kala, not that I expect you to remember, seeing as I *won't* be waking up in your arms in the morning, nor sneaking out of your room some time this evening. So crack open a bottle and let's get drinking cause that's the *only* way you might have a chance at enticing me into your bedroom."

***Present time…***

Brian raised an eyebrow and all Dhani could do was shrug, "That's my sister." she replied to his silent shock. What else could she say? Perhaps her sister's actions did reflect upon her. The fact that she couldn't take charge of the situation and rein Kala in certainly did reflect on her command skills, and it wasn't something she wished to think about. Something else she could berate herself about at a later date. Even though Brian seemed shocked, she knew it was just a pre-programmed response. Once more she shrugged and continued her account of events.

TBC…

"Hollow Counselling" Part 2

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

(Set one day prior to the Battle of the Kateren Nebula)

***USS Galaxy, Holosuite 4***

Brian raised an eyebrow and all Dhani could do was shrug, "That's my sister." she replied to his silent shock. What else could she say? Perhaps her sister's actions did reflect upon her. The fact that she couldn't take charge of the situation and rein Kala in certainly did reflect on her command skills, and it wasn't something she wished to think about. Something else she could berate herself about at a later date. Even though Brian seemed shocked, she knew it was just a pre-programmed response. Once more she shrugged and continued her account of events.

"Kala indulged in conversation with the bartender for about half an hour." She informed him, "Most of it was lewd innuendo that served to fluff both their egos. Apart from that it was harmless," she rose a finger to stall him, strange that she would do so when he made no motion to interject, however she felt that she should on some level try to explain; "Kala's…" Dhani stalled, again, trying to think of a fitting phrase that could sum up what she thought, however that wasn't easy either as she was about to tell a huge lie to cover up how inappropriate she thought her sisters behaviour was and also how inadequate she had been at curbing it.

"Kala's actions, however misguided, served to encourage a rapport with the bartended and in turn the locals that were present. While I'm not particularly fond of the way she went about it, I do have to respect the fact that it worked…" ~and if she hadn't have been there things wouldn't have gone so smoothly because I'm such a prude and a stickler for the rules and regulations….~ Dhanishta added silently, shifting in her chair to re-align herself with the aforementioned flag pole.

She pulled a face of discomfort and continued; "About half an hour later…" she began yet abruptly stopped herself. She fell quiet, her face scrunching as a thought sparked inside her head. She snorted a laugh and then stared at Brian, "I don't care." she announced suddenly, her face lightening. In that moment everything just fell into place, the switch in her mind flicked and she pulled herself from the memory as quickly as she would, and had, run from Victor Kireghoff brandishing a butcher's knife.

"I don't care about the mission." Dhani huffed, "It was pretty simple, we talked to the leaders, they were already packed, they weren't happy to leave but they understood. It was a simple operation that doesn't need dissecting or analyzing," she told him sounding exasperated at the thought that she might have to, "I'm not psychology scared from the event!" she stressed, "I did my job, boo-hoo, so what?" she rushed.

Brian blinked several times in quick succession, his mouth gaped as he tried to formulate something, a question perhaps, a comment maybe – but nothing came forth, and Dhanishta continued to fill the silence.

"I don't want to talk about that." she said defiantly standing up and pacing the room.

"Then… what 'do' you want to talk about?" Brain asked slightly bewildered.

"Me." Dhani quickly shot back whirling round on him.

Her irritation was clear but the counsellor had no idea why, or what had sparked her to become agitated, he hadn't done anything – at least not that he was aware of. He watched her curiously. "Very well," he said in a neutral tone, "what about you?"

Dhanis eyes narrowed on him. She felt so trapped, even here. She wanted to explode, she wanted to scream… she caught the look in his eye, the one that questioned how she could be so serene one moment and completely vexed the next. Her mood changed with a drop of a hat, the problem being that no one had a hat to drop, and therefore no one knew when her mood would shift. Her lip curled and a low snarl escaped. She wasn't angry at him, she never had been – but right now he was the only person in the room she could scream at – just as he had been then. And besides that, she had permission from the Captain himself to scream at whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. He said that it might do her good. So what was she waiting for?

"I killed people." Dhani blurted out.

Brian blinked.

Dhanishta stared numbly at the wall.

It was a while before she spoke again, and when she did it was in a hushed tone, "I killed…" she repeated but stopped. It wasn't the right word. For some reason it was a justifiable word, one that could be taken in many ways but this one: Murder… it only had one meaning. Even though she knew no judgment could take place, still she looked up into his eyes as she finally spoke the truth.

"I murdered… a child."

Brian's eyes remained cool and detached during the entire three minute stare off that followed.

Another long silence, just like all the silences that filled his office every time she went for a session. They played this little game over and over, neither one the victor, yet still they played. It was a battle of will and she indulged in it every chance she got. She would arrive, one minuet early and one minuet only; she would never give him the impression that she wanted to be there, never give him the satisfaction that she might need or want his help, not ever.

She would check in at reception, then his doors would open and he would greet her with that smile, that fake 'counsellor' smile, the one that she was sure he'd been trained to give. Perhaps it was an extension of his course, 'and today students we will learn how to smile…' but there were many smiles, disarming ones, charming ones, there were smiles that could make a woman melt, perhaps a man too. And then there was this one, this fake; 'I'm pleased to see you' look that really meant 'f**k it's you again'.

And so she would enter, giving him that same smile back, and then she would sit – and he would offer a beverage. She would always decline, cross her legs, lean back in the chair and that's when the game really took hold. It was the Ferengi game of Tongo, he would confront and she would evade, over and over until the conversation lapsed through sheer frustration, or boredom or just annoyance and then silence would descend. And every time it did she felt smug, felt victorious. But it was an empty victory, for neither one of them ever gained any ground. And then they would wait as the seconds ticked by until the full hour was up, she would then say goodbye, he would schedule another appointment and she would leave.

It was a pattern that seemed hard to break. But she hadn't wanted to. Perhaps he knew that. Perhaps he was just waiting for her to make the first move. She hadn't been allowed to make any of the previous, hadn't been allowed the integrity to actually ask for help herself. She had been forced into a corner and like the animal she was she bit back, evaded capture. Maybe he was just passing time, letting familiarity culminate until she no longer felt threatened. She hated him for his insight. For the fact that he handled her: for the fact that he could see into her, the fact that he listened to her when she didn't want him to. The fact that she was always second guessing herself whenever she was near him: always trying to censor her thoughts. Always trying to be something that she wasn't.

Day after day she had to fake her life; fake how she felt, try to be the person that society wanted her to be and night after night she saw what she really was and it terrified her. It terrified her because she desired it. She lusted for the time that she could let herself go, let herself be what she saw in the night. And yet she hated it. Hated every moment that she denied her true self, hated the struggle in her mind, hated the weariness that the fight caused, hated the fact that every day she became that much more agitated, that much more dissociated with the world in which she lived, that much further apart from those that she loved.

"In my dreams I see it," she began trembling with pent up aggression, "every night it's the same…" she said casting her eyes from his and back to the air between them.

Repression.

It had become second nature to Dhani. Every morning when she awoke the images that her slumber invoked she pushed aside, tried to let them melt away as anyone would a bad dream. Yet these weren't just bad dreams, and she knew that now.

"A few months ago I couldn't stand it," she said with a resigning sigh, "I'd had the nightmares so often, and they were so real… I could feel everything as if it were happening right at that moment." Dhanishta caught his stare; his blank, troubled, 'should I 'know' what she's talking about?' stare. For a moment a smile graced her lips, a soft smile of understanding: he had absolutely no idea, and how could he? She had never opened up to him, not ever...

She nodded to herself and sucked in a deep breath, looking behind her she found her seat and perched.

It was time.

TBC…

"The Iscariot Factor, Part 1"

(Begins Immediately after 'Battle of the Kateren Nebula, Part 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
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

****

[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

When the last of the Hydran fleet jumped to warp with the Zeus and newly-arrived Klingon reinforcements in hot pursuit, the Galaxy's bridge crew settled to a moment's shocked silence before a loud cheer burst forth. On the main viewscreen, the Vanguards could be seen chasing down the remaining enemy fighters the carriers had abandoned. In the nebula, the wounded and possibly dying Starbeast continued to writhe, but settled into a more defensive position nestled between two massive
columns of ochre pre-stellar gasses. Everyone on the bridge bore a smile or grin of some kind except one - but the expression around his mouth flashed the most teeth by far.

"Asssstounding", K'aa rumbled as he pushed away from the Ops station and rose to his feet. "Had I not ssseen it with my own eyesss, I would never have believed thisss would have been posssible. Captain... I am.... beyond impressed." With a scaled claw, he signaled the bridge's junior Ops officer to the post.

"Impressed, Mr. K'aa?" Daren asked quietly, checking the plot for one last time - just to make sure that he had somehow managed to overlook a few Hydran ships.

The Gorn strode to the Tactical station and gave a brief glance over the shoulder of Lieutenant Daniels. "Incredible. A cossstly victory for certain, but a victory nonethelessss." Kaa raised his snout to look around to the bridge crew, pausing to look at each end every one. "You truly have no idea what you have in thisss human! I have heard a sssenior officer boassst that the Galaxy isss the bessst in the fleet, but the lie falls passst his lips quickly. You are, ass reputation suggestss and my research confirmsss, a collection of petty egosss - misssfitsss a sssane captain... or a lessser captain... would reject outright. Sssilence your self-gratifying celebration! There issss only one reassson you are alive today... and you should all know it!"

"I don't have a petty ego," Cutter Kara'nin muttered behind the Gorn at the back of the bridge.

"I don't think anyone doubts the importance of the Captain's role, Mr. K'aa, but I'm sure even he'd agree he has a little help around here. Besides, I'd say that a little cheer is exactly what the crew needs these days, given the circumstances," Counselor Elessidil noted.

The reptilian's head tilted a little as he looked at the Betazoid. "Given the circumstancesss Counssselor... you should thank your godssss you can ssstill draw breath! Sssome humility might sssuit you better than sssmug beliefsss in your own talentsss. Each of you may have capable traitsss, but given your childish urgesss and attitudesss it takesss an able captain to make you work together. If you believe
otherwisssse, you are deluding yourssself."

"Mister K'aa," Iniara began slowly, turning deliberately in her chair to face the Gorn, "as you are new to this ship I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but such an attitude is more than a bit out of line." She studied their new Ops chief carefully; suddenly something didn't quite seem right about him.

Chris had backed slightly off of the tactical arch when K'aa had arrived there. He and his former friend turned icy colleague had yet to renew their frosty acquaintance since the Gorn's arrival on the Galaxy, which had been a surprise to Chris. As he watched-and listened--to K'aa's interaction, something struck him as amiss. Perhaps his Academy classmate had changed since he had left Atlantis, because this did not appear as the typical demeanor Chris had become accustomed to.

Commander Jaxom turned from his console to check on the commotion that was developing on the bridge. What the hell was wrong with K'aa? The Trill's expression showed surprise followed by horror as he remembered the Gorn's rage while being possessed on the Miranda.

"Sssuch an attitude..." the Gorn growled, "isss very much overdue. It'sss time your delusssions and were shown to you." K'aa bent over the tactical station, hovering over the Captain's seat. "True, I have been on the Galaxy only a few, short days, but Daren M'Kantu hasss taught me a great deal about hisss people, and the Federation. My kind hasss been wrong about a great many thingsss concerning the Federation in general,
and humansss in particular." A sound like the rasping of dry leather came from the reptilian as he cleared his throat.

"'O people of the scripture, do not transgress the limits of your religion beyond the truth, and do not follow the opinions of people who have gone astray, and have misled multitudes of people; they are far astray from the right path.'" He looked down at Daren, reflexively baring more fang tan usual. "The Qur'an, Captain. It isss my hope that the wordsss of your Prophet offer you sssome comfort at thisss time... and believe me, though you and your crew have no reassson to - I am deeply ssssorry."

Daren's reply was cut off by powerful, scaled hands being wrapped over his mouth and the back of his head. Like a vice of cold, ungiving steel they squeezed his skull offering a moment's agony, then the Captain's eyes beheld the snarling face of the Gorn Ops chief as his head was twisted.

<<CRACK>>

"Captain!" Arel Smith shouted in surprise.

"Sickbay, emergency transport request for Captain M'Kantu! Security team to the bridge immediately!" Elessidil yelled upon smacking his combadge. He sensed something odd about K'aa but he hadn't quite trusted himself, owing to the medication he was still on. He never imagined a scene like this.

****
[Cargobay 3, USS Galaxy]

"That's the last of them," Victor noted with a certain degree of satisfaction, as four personnel dragged an unconscious Hydran off to be strip-searched and confined for questioning. The plan he and Shelley O'Rourke had cooked up had worked, and worked far better than he'd expected - or deserved, to be honest, considering the botch he'd almost made of things. "Now if...."

=/\="Sickbay, emergency transport request for Captain M'Kantu! Security team to the bridge immediately!"=/\=

Without thinking, Victor slapped at his combadge. "Krieghoff to Transporter Room Three. Beam me and the three closest Security personnel to the Bridge, ASAP."

There was a pause.

=/\= "I can't, sir."=/\= Chief Cannon sounded frustrated. =/\="Someone's locked out transporter access to the Bridge."=/\=

Victor thought frantically; he'd already almost failed one commander today and he wasn't going to do it again. "Then take us as close as you can get, Chief. The access stairway, inside the turbolift, inside the Captain's closet - I don't care. Just get us in there!"

****
[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

K'aa gently lowered M'Kantu's limp form back down onto his chair, a look of reverence on his reptilian face. "Pleassse Commander... grant me a little credit that I have prepared for thisss moment well. Operationsss maintainsss the transssportersss... and the turboliftssss... and the internal fieldsss that disssable phassser ussse. Now... I believe the ssssubject of the moment wasss the afterlife - yoursss in particular."

Jaal pulled his side arm and much to his surprise found it useless. "You green bitch!" Looking at the dead device he reared back and threw the phaser at K'aa's head.

Chris' immediate response was similar to Jaxom's, to pull his phaser. Seeing the ineffectiveness of Jaal's weapon, Chris found himself, for the second time in his life, face to face with a very large Gorn who could take a hell of a lot more abuse than one man could dish out.

In an instant, Chris knew that this situation was not a good one. That Messenger freak was either back, or K'aa had blown a gasket. Either case did not bode well for those on the Bridge. Chris was the closest one, and K'aa had that gleam in his eye--the same one he had had when he was "hunting" him and Janeen through the halls of the Miranda. Chris knew that the only chance they had was to gang up on him. That required him to do something.

Stall. If only for a moment to allow the rest of the bridge crew to go after him, Chris Daniels knew he was about to take a very big one for the team. And as time slowed down around him, he accepted that this may very well be his last act as a living human.

Almost inaudibly as he stood there, he said a prayer in Risan. As he spoke, his hand dove into his pocket and withdrew a small osmium-steel knife, flipping the blade open in the process and starting a low dive the few feet to the Gorn's hulking body. He knew the blade would do little, all he needed to do was get K'aa to pay attention to him and not the others for a moment. K'aa's arms could block anything Chris threw at
him...but get inside from below, which he did, Chris managed to take a desperate lunge for K'aa's eye.... missing by an inch, and swiping a swath through the Gorn's mouth. Praying to God that whatever he had just submitted himself would give the rest of them the time to subdue this monster, Chris felt the reptile's right claw encompass the wrist of his knife hand and an instant, sharp agony as the reptilian twisted and snapped the joint.

The agony Chris felt as K'aa shattered his wrist was beyond explanation. Chris yelled in pain as he felt K'aa take hold, and the intensity of the scream increased as his wrist snapped, leaving his hand dangling sickeningly at a 180 degree angle from where it should have been.

"No little toysss, human", the reptile growled. "Tooth and claw only." With what seemed like a casual flick of his arm K'aa hurled his former friend over his shoulder and onto the diminutive Miran posted at Sciences.

As K'aa's arm transversed Chris' body, his claws caught his uniform around the collarbone and slashed in, tearing the fabric and cutting deep into his flesh. As he was flung, Chris' leg caught Artim across the stomach, but that wasn't enough to stop the full sized human from flying headlong into the Science 2 station. His head and shoulder caught the brunt of the impact, shattering the screen, and then Chris fell in a
slumped sitting position on the floor, a bloody mess already, left more or less immobilized to watch events unfold as he struggled to stay conscious.

Arel and Darkstar were quickly at the Gorn, and Raven took two powerful strides and ran right up the Captain's Chair using it as a springboard to send himself sailing directly into the enemy while Arel caught the falling Captain.

The snarling Gorn roared and caught the Indian in mid air. His razor sharp claws pierced through the Navigation Chief's tunic and flesh and grated painfully against his rib cage. Seeing the toothy maw coming at him, Raven lodged his fingers deep in the creatures ear holes, his muscles straining to hold the gnashing mouth at bay.

Hissing in pain, K'aa spun the massive Indian around and slammed him into the OPS Panel on the wall behind him. Sparks flew through the air with jagged shards of high-density plastic, and lights blinked on and off the panel but Darkstar's grip never wavered. Instead he leveraged his leg muscles against the Gorn and the two crashed into the corner of the Tactical arch. It splintered, then cracked under the weight of the
two combatants, causing them to stagger past the Captain's chair and into the large open area behind the Helm.

Arel pulled her sharpest knife from its hidden leg sheath.

Blood flowed freely from the Navigation Chief's sides, staining the rug beneath him yet he paid it no notice as he twisted and writhed dodging the Gorn's slashing claws, trying to minimize the damage being done. Using his forearm to keep K'aa's mouth at bay, he dug his fingers deep into a wound in the monster's leg sustained from the tactical arch's collapse, trying to pull out a fist full of muscle.

Roaring in rage, the Gorn latched his claws into the Indian's ribcage and flung him through the air towards the bridge's fore area. Darkstar smashed into the view screen, large shards of glass, burnt plastic and circuitry exploding around him. He fell in a crumbled bloody heap on the floor, his skin criss-crossed with jagged, deep and bloody wounds.

K'aa sniffed at the smell of singed skin and burnt electrical components and roared, turning to face the rest of the crew. The Ops Chief's large, globular eyes were wide open now, and flecks of blood-stained foam flew from the corners of his maw.

"COME THEN! EMBRACE THE GODSSSS YOU HAVE NEGLECTED, UNBELIEVERSSS! SSSEE WHAT SSSORT OF AFTERLIFE AWAITSSS YOU!"

"Hollow Counselling" Part Three

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

(Set one day prior to the Battle of the Kateren Nebula)

***USS Galaxy, Holosuite 4***

She nodded to herself and sucked in a deep breath, looking behind her she found her seat and perched.

It was time.

"I've had these dreams or nightmares or…" her hand rose to dismiss her uncertainty over her description but she stopped herself, hand poised in the air. Slowly she withdrew and stuffed her hand under her leg. It was time to tell it how it was, no longer giving room for anyone else to try and define for her what she knew to be true. She had let Terrik do that, and she had let herself believe that his conclusions could be true. It was a false hope. And she would be negligent to allow herself to believe in that delusion any longer.

"It's a memory." she clarified for him and herself. To hear the words out loud, to actually say them: that had to be progress right? "The dreams are memories and I know that because I've done it…" she frowned, he frowned. It was to be expected. To explain one event she had to confess what felt like thousands.

"In my drea… memories, I see this girl; she can't be much more than six or seven. She has these big black doe eyes, and she is staring at me. She has this knowing look in her eyes, she knows what I'm going to do and yet she doesn't run, nor does she scream she just stares at me with acceptance, a resignation, yet still defiant in it… I'm looking at her, I can feel her, see her heart beating, and I have this urge, a need to… to smite her. I don't know why. But I..." Dhani swallowed hard and closed her eyes. "I kill her. With a single thought I kill her, every bone in her body… I shatter it. I don't
move, I don't speak, I don't lift a finger… I just think it and, bang, it's done."

"And then I'm her," her eyes closed tighter, fighting off the unwanted emotion. "And I can feel my, her, bones shattering… the pain is insurmountable and…" Dhani stopped, her head lowered and for a while she was quiet.

She made herself disconnect with the image, the memory. Lifting her head she faced Brian again, "Next to the girl is a boy. His blood is splattered up the wall, his body, face down on the floor and from his temples blood flows freely. It's just centimetres from my feet. She watched me kill him, and then waited for me to take her."

Her eyes shifted from his, not that she was looking directly at him. Her eyes had been pointing in his direction but her focus hadn't been, she couldn't, not completely. Even though there was no judgment from him, none that he would display at any rate, he wasn't programmed for that, still; he was a mirror, no matter what expression he wore she would see the one that she felt within herself. For a person with morality, there was no greater judge than oneself, no greater punishment than ones own conscience.

It was her conscience she had been fighting all this time. Her conscience that weighted her shoulders. The anger she carried round, that spewed forth un-harassed, was born from this conflict. Why should she live when others had died at her hands? Why should she have the right to love and be loved when she had taken loves of
others? How could she wake up every morning, brush aside the memories of those she had murdered, and continue with her daily activities? What right had she to do anything other than suffer torment?

"In the dreams I feel the pain. The pain of dying, the injuries I inflict. I feel it, but then I feel her… me… the murderer. I feel what it is like to kill, to take that life." She closed her eyes again, took pause and drew in a breath, "… it's euphoric." She whispered on the exhale.

There is was: guilt. She didn't need to look at him, or even be able to read his thoughts. The shock at her words offended her own ears. The horror of hearing them made her own skin crawl, her own mind balk, her stomach turn. Outrage filled her veins and there was no one to scream at – because the only person she should scream at was herself. She should be incarcerated. She should be in an asylum; she should be
suffering some sort of punishment for even thinking those thoughts, let alone feeling them, and to say them? Out loud? To any other living being…!!! She was deranged, sick, evil…

"I went to counsellor Terrik one night cause you weren't here…" This, perhaps, would be the time that Brian would find a measure of pleasure, Dhanishta thought at any rate. After all this time for her to confess that she had wanted to see him, that she had needed his guidance, his counsel. Throughout all the games they had played, if only he had this trump card in his hand, if only… maybe things would have been easier between them. Maybe, just maybe if she had found him that night, if he had been there, then it wouldn't have come to this. To this battle they fought, to the battle she and he had to endure before either knew there was one to wage.

"I told him about the dreams, that I believe that I had killed these children, that I believed I killed others, lots of others…" Dhanishtas nose smarted as tears welled in her eyes. "He said that he didn't believe it was me that killed them. He said that perhaps, 'cause I'm Betazoid, telepathic n' telekinetic, that maybe they weren't my memories. I'd told him about the link with Suder, and the empathic echo of Samara, and he said..." her voice wavered slightly and a tear fell. She closed her eyes once more and mourned this loss, this loss of hope, the loss of faith in Terrik's words, in his belief that she was innocent of these murders. For a time his belief had consoled her, let her vision cloud over the truth and allowed her some measure of righteousness: the possibility that she was the victim.

"He said that it wasn't me. That I didn't kill those children or anyone else, that because I had been exposed to another mind, linked unknowingly, that maybe I'd picked up these memories elsewhere and that I just thought they were mine, like I thought Suder's emotions were mine, like when I thought I was burning in the jeffereis tubes as Samara had…" Her hand rose to her mouth covering it, stalling herself from saying the truth, from exposing what she really was. Her throat tightened and her face flushed.

"I know its me." She finally said, "I know it because I've done it." Her chin wobbled, tears rolled one after the other, "When I was in the coma on Trill, I…" her voice wavered and she felt her body trembling from the inside. Closing her eyes she pushed though it grasped the arms of the chairs with her sweaty palms and griped as hard as she could in an attempt to steady herself.

"Before I died, I saw her… I saw my mother. She was with me, in my room at my bedside." Dhani swallowed hard. Her relationship with her mother was not something she ever talked about. Kimberly had seen fit to bring up the fact that Kerenza had ordered the machines that were keeping Dhani alive for nine months to be turned off. She had blurted out that tender morsel, along with many other things, when she had dragged Dhani to see Brian some months past. To most people it was outrageous, how could any mother terminate their own child's life? Dhanishta hadn't allowed herself to think about it at all. Not at any great measure at any rate. It was another one of those topics that she evaded. Evaded discussing with anyone and evaded discussing with herself. If she thought too long about it… if she let herself succumb to the inner monologue it would surly destroy her.

"I remember the coma," Dhani said slowly, her mind switching topics from the fact that she was a cold blooded killer to the memory of what it was like to be buried deep within her own mind. "It was so peaceful." she recalled her face softening at the memory. Her tears subsided and her breathing calmed from the erratic hyperventilating hic-ups that had her body shaking. Even her grip on the chair relaxed allowing colour to flow back into her knuckles.

"I remember the fight I had with Suder. I remember watching it like it was on a view screen. At times I was looking down on it, floating above." She nodded slowly, "yes," she said quietly, "I wanted him dead. I wanted to kill him for what he did to me. He took so much from me. He violated me." Her eyes flickered back to Brian, and if it had been the real him, he would have felt the venom emanate from her.

"Before I met him, before his mind infected mine, before him I was fine. I didn't feel anger, lust, depression, fear or hate," she snarled, "I didn't feel anything, and then I felt everything."

"EVERYTHING!" she shouted spittle flying from her lips. The fire in her eyes was back, hands once more gripping the chair – but this time it was to keep her *in* the chair. Her body shook with rage and then just as quickly it rippled with grief and once more tears flowed freely.

TBC…

"Hollow Counselling" Part Four

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

(Set one day prior to the Battle of the Kateren Nebula)

***USS Galaxy, Holosuite 4***

"Before I met him, before his mind infected mine, before him I was fine. I didn't feel anger, lust, depression, fear or hate," she snarled, "I didn't feel anything, and then I felt everything."

"EVERYTHING!" she shouted spittle flying from her lips. The fire in her eyes was back, hands once more gripping the chair – but this time it was to keep her *in* the chair. Her body shook with rage and then just as quickly it rippled with grief and once more tears flowed freely.

"I felt so much," she warbled, "and it hurt…" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "I didn't understand it, any of it. So much rage…" she let out in a ragged crying educed hic-up moan. "So much pent up pain and turmoil, utter turmoil. And when I died…" her eyes glazed, a half smile lit up her red rimmed eyes, "it was such a relief. Nothing
mattered any more, there was no pain no fear, it was…" she uncurled her fingers and wiped her face, her body relaxed and she let her tired smarting eyes glance around the room.

"It was beautiful." she told him in a clear voice, "I was everywhere and in everything, I was with the stars," the longing in her voice for that time was evident, the lingering smile on her lips, the sorrow in her eyes – it told only one thing, "and then they brought me back." she sniffed, flashed Brian a rueful smile and shrugged.

Leaning back in her chair she stretched gently, "My world turned upside-down in the space of three weeks. Insomnia, unknown mind links, anger, pain sorrow… emotions that I just had no idea how to deal with and couldn't understand and then, death. And if that wasn't enough they brought me back and took me away from the only passion I
had ever allowed myself to have: my work. And *then*," Dhani emphasized leaning forward in her seat, "and *then*," she repeated clenching her jaw, "as I'm meditating, trying to find some balance to counter the insomnia and raging emotions, the ship is attacked. And I'm faced with hundreds dead. We must have filled every damned cargo bay on this ship with dead officers and civilians alike."

Once more the anger arose within her, justified anger this time. It rippled though the undercurrents. "Our own Federation 'brothers'," she exaggerated the word, drawled it out with all the loathing that Kylar Curran had for everything other then himself, "fired upon us, sent this ship and all its crew to die on some cruddy alien planet.
And all of you, every single *damned* one of you died and left me alone. ALONE!" the word rose from the pit of her stomach, driven through her lungs and forced into a screech from the utter pain she felt.

"THIRTY YEARS!" she hollered standing up abruptly causing her chair to fall backwards and clatter on the deck, "Thirty years," she snarled advancing on him, "thirty years," she repeated thumping his desk with her palm, "thirty years," she leaned over the desk eyeballing him. "Thirty years of pain, regret, betrayal…" the rage coursed through her veins, the anger simmered and for a moment she contemplated beating him for it. The feelings were still raw. The trauma: so ripe. She turned from him repressing the fury, her momentum; a breeze across his face.

"When they came…" there was a delayed pause, a pause of realization, delayed realization, "they didn't come for me," she told him slowly, "they didn't even know about me. None of them did." Even with her back to him, the delicious smile of hatred that passed over her lips was traceable through her voice, "I wanted to kill them. I wanted to hurt them like they hurt me. Betrayed me and left me to rot. The
Federation, the thing I believed in for so many years, the ideals that I took to heart and built my life upon – shattered."

"It wasn't a quick death that." she told him pointedly turning back to face him to emphasize that fact.

She scoped up her chair, "Years of hoping, wishing, willing to be rescued… it doesn't end. Even after thirty years. It just turns to bitter resentment. And even then, even then after all that I still gave my life to save theirs…" she held the chair for a moment, once more that rueful smile on her lips, "It wasn't the same that time. For me it was a whirlwind. The fight on the ship lasted three days, I got into an escape pod, everyone that was with me died, but as I emerged she was there… I was there… the decision to breach the warp core, to fly into the rift and restore what was…. I don't know which part of me wanted it… I don't know which part of me even thought it. I just remember that in my darkest hour there was only me, and she hated everything." Her eyes welled once more causing her nose to itch.

With a sigh she resigned into the chair and rubbed her nose with the palm of her hand. "For months I saw them as she did. As I had found them. Lifeless corpses. I was afraid to leave my quarters, afraid that I wouldn't be able to recognize one dead body from the other. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. Everywhere I went there was death."

"I had to make it stop, after punching Turan I knew that I had to find a way to make everything as it was. So I did. I did the only thing I knew… I killed her. Killed that part of myself that hated everyone, that saw nothing but the dead."

"And then I thought that everything would be okay. I thought…" she looked into Brian's eyes pleadingly. And then shook her head, "but it didn't…" her face contoured once more, yet she fought to keep her composure, "the connection with Suder grew stronger and one day I was working on the EPS grid and the whole place blew up around me. And even that was a lie!" she turned away, feeling tired and drained. Replaying all of it in her mind, it was too much; and she could feel herself getting bored.

"The night before we fought… I'd been with Jiiles. I met him the day the ship was attacked, the day that the paradox happened. Even though it was fleeting memory for him, three days that never took place… he remembered me. He was the only person that I could broach the subject with. He'd been with me in the cargo bays as I sat over the dead bodies…" Dhanishta closed her eyes and shook the recollection from her mind, "I was with him…. and then I woke up somewhere else…." And that was all she would ever tell anyone about *that* night…

"When me and Suder fought, I knew I had to kill him, it was the only way that I could live… that I could be myself… I didn't know what had happened, but as we fought it was like something broke down in my mind and I had an alternate option, one that was much better than having his death on my conscience. So I followed the path that had been exposed, I took myself where no one could hurt me anymore. I retreated into my mind, made myself fall into a coma. And for a time I was happy."

Once more serenity washed over her features, for a moment as she let that memory play out under her eyelids her body relaxed. "It was quiet and peaceful. There was no thought, no… nothing… that was all there was. Nothing. I remember people trying to reach me. It hurt. Again my mind was being invaded; like people thought they could just do that without a care to how I felt. So I sent them away. I didn't want to be found. I buried myself deeper and deeper – until I felt that nothing again. Time had no meaning. I had no meaning. But then I saw her. My mother. Just at the point when I had resigned myself to death, accepted it once more. I saw her. The sky ripped before me and I heard her words. She told me that she loved me… she told me all the things that I had longed to hear her say my entire life…. I didn't know until that moment that… that I loved her too. And it was that I fought for. My mind tried to play tricks on me, make me believe that she hated me that she wanted me to die – that they all wanted me to die. My mind showed me what I really was, what death really was: me. But I fought, I was suffocating yet still with every last piece of energy I fought, and when I thought that death was about to take me… I couldn't hear my heart any more, or anything but the static… I reached out and took the only life that was near me. I took it and made it my own – and that was the first time I killed with my mind. At the time it didn't seem to matter, it was small and insignificant, an animal that no one would miss…" she felt her heart rate increase as she confessed the secrets she had held for so long.

"When I came back I felt whole, I felt strong again, even though my body was weak and useless, skinny, emaciated. The welcome wagon didn't cheer for me, and once more I felt ostracized and alone. But I did my job… I worked hard and tried to put it behind me. But the nightmares started. And I saw death over and over. And then I was on a mission with Kimberly and we were captured by pirates, I astral projected to try and find an escape route and a guard came in, Kimberly wouldn't fight him, and I was too weak physically to take him on, so I though 'heart attack' and he dropped dead. Kimberly was so shocked, she looked at me like I was evil, as if I had just done something abhorrent, so I changed her mind, implanted a false memory to cover up what I had done. I made her believe that she had hit him, that she had saved us both."

She spoke faster now, like the age old saying – rip the band-aid off quickly and it won't hurt as much…

"When the Battle of Romulus broke out I was sucked out of the ship, saved by my sister and the crew of the T'Kengra. The fleet left and we had to try and do something. Me and Jonas infiltrated a Hydran ship, I was so scared. Terrified that I was going to get shot, that he might get shot and I would be captured. But as the doors opened to the command centre I just let rip. I fought like I didn't know I could and later I tortured a Hydran… he was a prisoner of war – they had rights, yet I violated that. I took pleasure in it…" she didn't even pause to feel what she was saying. She no longer wanted to feel anything. She would happily give up love, pleasure and happiness to be rid of the guilt, to be rid of the suffering, of the voices inside her head… to be free of emotion as she had… Humans wouldn't scoff so much if they only understood the freedom of logic. To them Vulcan Logic was a thing to try and break, a challenge for them: to try and make a Vulcan laugh. Even though Humans were a diverse and on the whole open minded species, still, logic was the one thing that they couldn't understand. Most, if they owned up to their true feelings, were afraid of it – for them logic was the unknown, how could you imagine what it was like not to have emotion when emotion was the one thing that defined you? When the question you asked yourself is – what would it feel like to not have emotion? Versed like that no human could ever fully understand. But Dhanishta did, she had that control once and right now she would give her right arm to have it back.

"We had to fight our way off the ship… at first I was fine. It was easy to kill them in battle. But as the bodies mounted up I froze. I saw her face, the girls face… she screamed at me to end them. She told me it was all their fault, that killing them was justified – just as killing her had been… what was I waiting for? And I couldn't… and I risked Jonas' life… my life… He got us into an escape pod though I don't remember how. Everything that happened after was a blur, I don't know how I survived, the only thing I remember is finding Baile on Romulus. And then after…. Killing… killing with my mind. I don't remember doing it but I know that I did – I stood in a field surrounded by bodies, non of them had a mark on them and I knew… I knew it was me." She had to pause to breathe. She had been talking double speed for what felt like an age. Her breath came in low and shallow and she felt slightly dizzy.

"That's how I know it was me…" she said after she untangled her tongue. "I did all that, I killed, changed memories…. I killed those children… and …" Dhani blinked suddenly as the realization hit her. Her mouth dried out, the colour drained from her face and she felt it: panic. Her eyes darted round the room, her stomach lurched and a wave of nausea overwhelmed her.

Innocence was lost. Hope was gone. It was over, all of it. She could no longer hide behind the possibility that she had somehow 'picked up' the memories from someone else. She had stated her case before the court, before herself and the verdict was in: guilty as sin.

The grief hit her harder than she thought possible. It was a strange reaction to have to a notion. Loosing a friend, a loved one, a colleague – those were all reasons to grieve. To loose an item of sentimentality, belongings or a home – those were reasons to grieve. But to feel loss, profound loss for realizing that one can't hide behind the belief of another? Was that a just reason?

If the answer were to be no, if the answer was no… for that was the answer her mind gave her, her justly judgmental conscience gave her, why then should she feel as if she had been kicked in the chest? Why then did her heart ach? Why then did she feel a raging torrent of pain through her body? Why then did the tears fall from her eyes and her body jerk so much that the chair vibrated beneath her?

The answer must be no, for not even the holo-Brian was rushing, or even dawdling to comfort her.

She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. She grasped at her collar, tugging it sharply, fumbling with her duty jacket, trying unceremoniously to remove it, that perhaps if she were successful that she might be able to breathe. Her panic stricken eyes stared helplessly at Brian, he in turn stared back. That blank stare, blank horrified stare that spewed forth utter contempt.

How could a hologram show such emotions?

It couldn't.

Just as before, the accusations were all in her mind, he was merely the mirror.

"Computer, end program!" Dhani croaked through exaggerated breaths yanking her jacket off, she fell as the chair disappeared from beneath her and with a painful crack her buttocks met with the deck plates.

The instant pain was enough to jar her from her panic attack, yet it did nothing to stem the torrent of tears that flowed or the pain that coursed though her entire being, no, nothing could stop that, not ever.

There was nothing she would be able to do in her life time to erase or make up for the lives she took. The *only* solace she had now was the fact that it was only Holo-Brian that had any knowledge of what she had done, and he was a program – something that could, and undoubtedly would, – be erased!

"Of the Tarot"

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

***USS Galaxy, Deck 36 Main Engineering***

Fear and hope can be expressed by one card in the tarot deck, for all the cards in the pack have a double face.

Hope and fear, fear and hope. One card. Two faces.

It is hope that keeps us striving, keeps us reaching for the next moment. That next moment to pursue our goals, our dreams.

Hopes and dreams, dreams and hopes.

One card. Two faces.

It's fear that holds us back. Makes us wait with baited breath. Keeps us locked in the darkness, holds our tongues still with fright.

Fear and pain, pain and fear.

Once card. Two faces.

No heroes.

That had been Dhanis orders before the battle broke out, those were always her orders when a battle broke out.

Yesterday she had confessed. Confessed to all the things she believed she had done. Confessed to the darkness within her. Confessed to the evil that she was.

Hope and fear, fear and hope. One card. Two faces.

Fear had held her back. It had kept her from speaking the truth.

Hope had helped her to deny what she knew to be true.

"Listen up people," Dhanishta had ordered, standing in the centre of Main Engineering. She had looked up and into the faces of her officers. It had been a moment of revelation for the young woman, staring into the faces of the people she trusted to keep her alive, as much as they trusted her to do the same, for so long she had thought herself to be a harbinger of death, yet here she was about to declare that life was the only way out of this conflict.

"Some of you have faced the Hydran in battle before," she had said, turning slowly to address everyone, letting her gaze penetrate theirs, locking eyes with crewmen whose names she did not know by heart, "others haven't…"

She had faltered then, as her gaze focused on a new recruit. Dark brown hair pulled back into a tight braid glistened under the light, left her face exposed to show its youth, and for a moment Dhanishta felt a ripple of guilt. This woman, this mere child, had only left the academy last year and was now about to face a second conflict with the Hydran.

Death.

One card. Two faces.

'The card of Death portrays a figure shrouded in black robes, his face hidden beneath a dark helmet. His hands are open, to receive the gifts offered by the tiny human figures who kneel before him. One gives him a golden crown, another a pile of coins. The third, a child, hands him a flower. Behind this dark figure a leaden river flows. On the near side of the river the earth is cracked and barren. On the far shore, the land slowly brightens and turns green beneath a rising sun.'

New life is celebrated, its loss is mourned. The bringer of life is rejoiced, the bringer of death is scorned.

When the card of Death appears in a spread it augurs change. Something in ones life must come to an end.

Dhanishta pushed aside the feelings of guilt, forced herself to move onto the next face, the next set of eyes, the next person whose life she held in her hands.

It was a common mistake to make; to believe that it was the Captain who controlled their destiny. In truth, each controlled their own, yet it was the man in the big chair that made the tough decisions, decided which battles to wage and which ones to withdraw from. But it was his ship that inflicted that pain unto the enemy, and in turn it was the engineers role to make damned sure that the ship could inflict those mortal wounds, it was their duty to make sure that her hull didn't buckle and break, tear itself apart under the strain of war and lose its life blood: its people; her people.

Any fortune teller worth his salt will tell you that the card of Death does not necessarily indicate loss of life in the direct tense. It does not mean that you or someone you know will die. It simply indicates change.

While the Captain indulged the crew with moral boosters, it was, in turn, her responsibility to do likewise for her staff. For without them, without their blood – the ships blood, the Galaxy's heart would not beat.

"your experience matters not, for I know each and everyone of you has been trained to the highest calibre…" once more she paused, yet this time it was of her choice, she wanted the brief silence to punctuate her words, to emphasise what she was about to say because she believed it to be the highest praise:

"… For you would not be here otherwise…"

Change: dictionary definition – '(verb) - transitive and intransitive verb to become different, or make something or somebody different.'

Change isn't easy. To let go of what was and to accept what is to come when one knows nothing of the future.

The pain caused by letting go of the past, of what was, is subject to ones capacity to recognise and accept the necessity of endings.

In this moment she felt proud. Felt proud to be standing shoulder to shoulder with these people, but more than that, she felt proud to be the one that addressed them, that installed hope into them, that fuelled the fires of courage and bravery.

'The river Styx, which means 'hated', was envisaged as a leaden and forbidding river, because it represents a stage we must pass through in order to reach the riches of the underworld. This is the state of sadness and mourning, which are as necessary to life as joy and celebration.'

She turned again, coming full circle, "I don't need to tell you how to do your jobs. I know that each and every one of you will perform your best. There is only one thing I need tell you," her gaze fell on Michael and she allowed herself a moment to smile inwardly, to be thankful for what she had, what the spoils of war had allowed her to have.

'The rising sun suggests a new future, although the souls who kneel before Hades are still unaware of it.'

The Battle for Romulus had been so long ago, it had taken many lives, stolen many loves, yet for her it had produced one. It had let her see what had been standing in front of her all this time: him. And while most mourned their losses from that conflict, she celebrated that one ray of light that had breathed life into her. For if she allowed herself to see nothing but the dust, nothing but the truth of the conflict… she would never allow herself to breathe again.

'The child who offers the flower is an image of the childlike trust in change which can help us deal with the process of mourning. Only the child is unafraid of expressing grief.'

"NO HEROES!" she told them loudly, clearly, determinedly, "for heroes are dead. Heroes have no life. And there is no place on this ship or in my engineering department for them. I expect each and everyone of you to be here for duty next week, and I wont be accepting *any* excuses!"

What keeps us all alive is the belief in tomorrow.

Fact.

Life and death: the balancing act.

Part of the 'Bridge exam' is the ability to recognise that as an officer in the Fleet one is responsible for both these things. One must accept the part we play in endings. One must be able to remove oneself from attachments and justifiably send another to their demise.

To be responsible for another's death, no matter how justified, no matter how many lives one saves in the process, is a burden. One that is given to those that believe they can handle that situation. Until it is pressed upon them. For it is only in that moment that we truly know how it feels to be the hands of the executioner. Yet nothing can prepare you for the torment that carrying the axe will bring.

To be an officer of the Fleet is to be a circus act. To walk the high-wire unafraid.

The pain caused by letting go of the past, of what was, is subject to ones capacity to recognise and accept the necessity of endings: fact.

Yesterday she had let hope die. She had mourned the loss of innocence. She had let go of the pretence and accepted what she was.

But hope still lived, thwarted the face of fear, for even though she had confessed, she had done so only to herself.

It wouldn't surprise you then, to learn that fear also lived. For if one thing was known by all in the cosmos it was that karma ruled. Everyone and everything would get what it deserved. There was no denying the hand of fate.

It was a selfish demand she had made to her staff, denying them the right to immortality in ledged, story and song. She could no longer deny the death toll from her own hands and in turn requested that they not add to it with foolishness.

A selfish act.

Fear and hope can be expressed by one card in the tarot deck, for all the cards in the pack have a double face.

One card.

Two faces.

(Descriptions of the tarot card of Death taken from 'The Mythic Tarot' written by Juilet Sharman-Burk and Liz Greene.)

"The Iscariot Factor, Part 2"

(Begins Immediately after 'Battle of the Kateren Nebula, Part 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
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

****
[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

"COME THEN! EMBRACE THE GODSSSS YOU HAVE NEGLECTED, UNBELIEVERSSS! SSSEE WHAT SSSORT OF AFTERLIFE AWAITSSS YOU!"

Arel stalked towards him.

"Ah, the little girl who likesss to play Klingon, eh?" K'aa's chortle was like the rolling of thunder in distant hills on far-off Earth. "Perfect... their Stovokor will have sssomething to laugh about at leassst. Show me then, what you can do with your little toy."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Arel said and attacked.

K'aa lowered his center of gravity by crouching low anticipating her charge, and gave an inhuman, resonating roar. Whiplike, he thrust out a claw under the arc of Arel's blade and tore fabric, skin and muscle.

She let the bridge fall away, pushed the sudden pain of a clawed thigh away, and focused on K'aa. Focused on any weakness as she fought. She knew he was right, her knife wasn't going to do much damage against his skin and this fight would probably be over very soon, but the years on a primordial Qo'nos had taught her at least one thing.

It was a real bitch to try and fend for yourself with only one eye.

Her knife easily found its target.

Any loud sound K'aa had made before seemed insignificant compared to the screeching bellow of pain be now made. A thick, green-black blood arced from his ruined left eye spurting over the bridge's central light oculus and dimming the starship's command center. As his left claw made to cover the socket, the right seized Arel around her back just over her right shoulder blade. The touch seemed almost gentle at first, almost like a caress, but as the talons sank deeper and drew themselves across her upper back Arel felt five blazing lines of white hellfire that seemed to 'hook' on her thoracic vertebrae just for an instant. Out of the corner of her left eye she could see the Gorn's blood-drenched claw fall to his side as the hulking reptile staggered back and Arel fell forward.

Cutter, who had slid along down the side of the bridge towards the viewscreen during the fight and had ducked into the side alcove, stepped back out into the open after Darkstar had smashed the glass protecting the viewer's more fragile display matrix. He was stepping cautiously, looking down at the glass shards, not out of danger, but as if he wasn't sure they were actually there. After a second, he seemed to decide they were real and that Darkstar had, in fact, really been thrown across the bridge, and moved more confidently to the Ops panel K'aa had moments ago been sitting at, and quickly began pressing keys.

The unexpected battle underway, Brian thought wildly of anything that might help them. If Raven Darkstar couldn't take the Gorn down, there wasn't likely anything any of the rest of them could do -- physically, anyway. He made a dash to the ops panel, arriving just behind Cutter.

"Can you undo any of it?" Elessidil asked urgently.

"He's locked out the controls. There's an encryption lock," Cutter explained, pulling a tricorder from his side pocket and dropping below the panel. "I have to bypass it."

"Keep on it." It was no surprise to the counselor, given how well-planned K'aa's sabotage had been so far. With Kara'nin working on getting through the encryption, Brian moved next to take up the now vacant navigation chair. It was familiar territory for the former starship pilot, though he hoped Darkstar hadn't damaged anything unstuffing himself from the station. Without a functioning viewscreen for visual confirmation, he would have to use sensors alone to make sure the ship remained in position. The last thing they needed now was to run into any unexpected enemy vessels.

"Wait a minute," Jaal thought while trying to access systems controls on another panel. It seems the Gorn forgot to lock out something as innocuous as the bridge's temperature setting. 'He's a reptile,' he thought silently. He found the environmental control routines for the bridge and set the temperature to zero on the Celsius scale. Everyone knew reptiles were cold-blooded, K'aa especially at this moment, grew sluggish when the temperature dropped. The Trill hoped it would stop K'aa long enough for the rest of the bridge crew to gain the upper hand.

He turned around looking for something to beat the Gorn down with as he knew bare hands wouldn't cut it against K'aa's hide.

Jaal was breaking a couple of small fire extinguishers out of their storage locker. They were small, only fifteen centimeters in diameter by sixty centimeters long, but they packed enough gas to put out a console-sized blaze. Now Jaal planned to make it even colder for the crazed reptile. Keeping an eye on the Gorn while he pulled the pin he noticed something strange about K'aa... but there was no time to voice his concerns.

He hollered at Brian, "Catch, shoot the monster with it," as he threw a fire extinguisher at the counselor. He hefted his own and made his way towards the reptile.

The Trill had seen K'aa fight before on Gyndine. K'aa could move and strike with great precision and finesse despite being a big, scaly, green sack of muscle. The Gorn he was watching now exhibited neither of those qualities. Something was wrong.

Elessidil hadn't even made it to the navigation station when he heard Jaal. At first, a fire extinguisher seemed a rather pathetic weapon, but as he caught the device, he scanned Jaxom's mind and immediately understood his plan. Taking aim, the counselor released a steady blast of the canister's contents at K'aa from the other side.

The Gorn screamed loudly as jets of ice-cold fire-retardant foam covered his scaled hide, an alien inhuman sound that rang across the bridge. His single remaining eye glared angrily at the Councilor, and in a heartbeat's time the Ops chief had crouched to spring at the Betazoid but no leap followed. In stead, K'aa managed only an awkward hop as the intense cold of the canister's contents had already slowed his muscle functions. It was, however, enough for the reptilian to gain enough distance to claw at Brian's unprotected head. The blow, however, was slow enough for Elessidil to dodge.

Now Jaxom started spraying the Gorn from the other side letting loose all the extinguisher's contents. "Take that!" It shouldn't be long now before the monster was subdued. The temperature on the bridge was noticeably colder now.

Artim had been too engrossed in his scans of the Starbeast and the by the time he realized what was going on the fight with the Gorn was well underway. Just the way he wanted it. He was counting on the fact that the hulking reptilian wouldn't consider him a threat due to his being one half his height and less than a third of his weight. Size, as he would soon learn, mattered not.

Angling his approach so that he could get the maximum amount of momentum possible, Artim ran towards the tactical console. With what looked like a practiced move (though he'd never even contemplated such a thing), the Miran leaped up just enough so he could push off the tactical console and then vaulted towards K'aa, his arm aimed directly at his throat.

The Science Officer's forearm struck Gorn's throatbag squarely, cutting off the growling hiss K'aa was constantly issuing during the battle and snapping his large scaled head back. A sound like the splitting of dry timber filled the bridge, and the saurian staggered as he struggled for breath.

Raven Darkstar slowly rose to his feet, blood dripping freely from his body from the multiple gashes in his flesh - some with chunks of glass still visible beneath the gore. Feeling what could be his last surge of adrenaline jolting through his system and seeing the leviathan occupied with the destruction of the rest of the crew, he exploded at the Gorn, wrapping his large left arm around what passed for the creature's throat.

Muscles rippled and strained to choke off the reptiles hisses. It writhed and thrashed underneath Raven's grip until it had managed to catch a portion of the Indian's bicep in its maw.

Darkstar screamed as K'aa began to chew through the muscles yet still held fast his grip on the weakening monster. Sinews and tendons snapped, and muscle tore when teeth hit bone and the reptilian continued to gnaw.

The Navigation chief, his voice now hoarse moans, looped his hair braid around K'aa's neck, tightening it in his right hand as he felt his arm fall from what was now a ragged stump and topple onto the floor next to him.

He twisted his body, back to broad back with the Gorn and continued to strangle him with his hair braid, pulling downward for leverage. He could hear a tearing sound from his scalp and fresh hot blood begin to pour over his face. His system in shock over the loss of a limb let him pay no heed to the trauma he had endured. Instead he continued to choke K'aa with his hair until both men fell to their knees weakening noticeably.

Darkstar could hear several members of the crew seizing the moment and attacking the fading Gorn until both beings succumbed to the darkness and fell unconscious.

"Hah!" Cutter shouted from beneath the panel. He sat up as the ship alarms finally began to sound and a number of additional people began to materialize on the formally isolated bridge, "I've bypassed the lockout. Security teams are trans-- Oh."

But the avian's efforts were just one moment too late. K'aa was down, a large green lump lying on the ground, the remaining bridge crew standing around him, breathing heavily. Very well," Cutter harumphed, slightly put off, and casually turned and initiated the emergency medical transport protocols.

Literally as soon as he'd depressed the controls, a wash of light from an incoming transport dropped four personnel onto the ramp by the door to the Captain's Ready Room door, all with weapons raised.

Victor took in the scene in a moment: the Gorn Commander down, injured crew all around the Bridge that bore the marks of Gorn teeth and claws, Darkstar's disembodied arm lying in the middle of the floor, the viewscreen shattered and dripping blood from the remaining fragments... and Captain M'Kantu down, limp on the floor at the foot of his command chair, head askew. "No," he breathed, dropping his phaser rifle which vanished in a wink into the Hazard Team uniform's micro-buffer.

Victor hurdled the remains of the fight to slide past Iniara, brushing her aside as he reached for the captain. "No, no, no, no," he repeated as his fingers checked for a pulse and found a faint, fading one. "Not dead; a broken neck - but not dead," he whispered as he placed his hands on either side of M'Kantu's neck, immobilizing. "Not today." He leaned forward so that Daren could see him, "Can you hear me, sir?" he whispered fiercely. "Do you know who I am? Blink if you do."

(Takes place just prior to the battle.)

"Manning the CIC"

Lieutenant Chris Daniels

Ensign Mique'lan Dar'ce

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

Ensign Dar'ce walked into the CIC of the USS Galaxy for the first time in eight months. His old boss was gone, and the new one was on leave. However, the interim Chief of Tactical was a man that had transferred from the Miranda not so long ago. Hopefully, Mique'lan would be able to get along with this man, since they would no doubt be working together quite often.

Laying his stack of PADDs on the console that had been assigned him, the Xenonian walked over to the shorter man and said, matter-of-factly, "Ensign Mique'lan Dar'ce reporting for duty, sir."

Chris was not in his normal mood. The Captain had just given them their marching orders: press into the Nebula and kick some Hydran ass. Chris didn't particularly agree with the strategy, but it wasn't his place at this point to argue. His focus was on getting the ship ready to fight in 3 hours. Although stepping into the CIC brought back some fond memories of his days on the Miranda. While not--yet--the superior complex that Miranda's CIC was, Chris would have paid anything to be back down here managing the battle to come.

Which was why he was surprised to be meeting a new officer at this moment.

He looked at at Dar'ce for a moment. Normally, he would greet the Ensign in depth. But he didn't have time.

"Lieutenant Chris Daniels. Good to meet you Ensign. You picked a hell of a time to report for duty."

Miqeu'lan laughed to himself, though it was without humor. "I have been given three different assignments in the two days I've been on board. I just received notice of this duty assignment half an hour ago." Before that, he was told he would be reporting to the battle bridge.

Chris nodded. "I don't mean to be curt, but as you can imagine things are about to get a little busy around here. Having read your personnel file, I see you're actually familiar with the Galaxy?"

A little busy, that was an understatement. As Dar'ce understood it, they were taking eight starships up against roughly thirty Hydran ships. Yes, a little busy indeed. "Yes, sir, I was posted here around ten months ago, but was pulled out after the Tal'valen experience."

"Did you see any combat down here in the CIC?"

"No, sir. During combat situations, I was posted on the Battle Bridge, or I was assigned to away missions. Fortunately, I familiarized myself with the layout of the center and the function of all the consoles during non-combat times."
Chris took a deep breath. That wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. "Textbook familiarization isn't what I was hoping for. But it's what we've got, so we'll have to make the best of it." He looked at his PADD and then looked back at Dar'ce as he waved someone over. "As of right now you're assigned to the CIC, under the watch of Lt Velban, the Tactical Action Officer. You have three hours to learn what you can about wherever he posts you. After this little dance is over, we'll focus on getting you trained up as a real tactical officer." Chris stopped himself for a second. "And I promise I'll not be an ass after this is done and actually sit down and get to know you."

"I'm looking forward to it, sir." The young Xenonian, though he had been through eight years of military schooling, and had served during peacetime as a cadet tactical officer on the USS Vigilant, knew he had much to learn of real starship combat. He would learn on the Galaxy during war, and that was the best time to learn.

A Lt walked over and stood next to Daniels. "What's doin Chris?"

Chris handed the other Lt the PADD. "Matt, this is Ensign Dar'ce. He's yours from now on. Wherever you need him."

Lt Velban scanned the PADD and then turned his attention to the Ensign. "We need an extra hand over in Combat Control. You're gonna have to learn pretty fast. You up to it, Ensign?"

Combat Control. No time like the present to learn the ins and outs. "Absolutely, sir. Show me what you need."

Chris nodded. "Well, alright then. If you'll excuse me...I've got to finish up elsewhere."

Velban nodded as Daniels walked off. "Don't worry...he gets more receptive."

A female Ensign walked past. "First time I met him I asked him to sign an acquisitions form...at least he acknowledged you by name." She smirked, walking by with what seemed like a little too much smugness.

Miqu'elan smiled lightly to himself. "Well, I guess I'll take what I can get. Now, sir, about combat control..."

"First is the Fool"

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

***USS Galaxy, Deck 36 Main Engineering***

'The card of the Fool, the first of the Major Arcana, portrays a wild youth, dressed in ragged animal skins of all different colours, dancing in ecstatic abandonment at the edge of a precipice. He wears a wreath of vine leaves in his chestnut hair, and bears little horns, like those of a goat, on his brow. His eyes are raised to the dawn breaking in the distance, where the sun can just be seen above the horizon. Around him lies a formidable barren landscape of brown grey rocks. To his left, hidden in the shadows of the receding night, is the mouth of the cave from which he has emerged. Above it, on a bare branch, perches an eagle.'

We all emerge into this life as the Fool. The cave from which he emerges represents the past, perhaps even that time before birth, a time before consciousness, before thought or understanding. The eagle is the bird of Zeus, king of the gods, who watches over the Fool as he prepares to plunge into the unknown.

The unknown is life.

The Fools animalistic qualities, his goat like horns and multi-coloured skin clothes, suggest that he is akin to young animal, driven by instinct alone, just as we are the moment we are born. It is not awareness that drives a newborn to cry, but necessity. Hunger. Fatigue. Temperature. These things, that as adults we understand, but as infants we are clueless, helpless and unable to attain alone.

In his unawareness he is ecstatic, jubilant of what is to come, excited and eager. This childlike quality knows not of fear or trepidation, for if he did, if we did, we would not be so careless as to dance so erratically at the edge of the precipice.

And so the battle had begun.

The first volley to hit the ship did nothing but ripple the surface. It was that warning sign, one that stated clearly; there was no turning back. The challenge had been extended and met. And those that had fought this enemy knew that its desire for blood, for their blood, was as unrelenting and unyielding as nature herself.

Perhaps it was their nature and nothing more that drove them to wage this conflict. Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps they believed the Federation and all its extensions were a cancerous growth that tormented the galaxy with its ideals and beliefs, spreading throughout the cosmos, infecting it, changing it, bending it to their will; the will of the Federation.

For that had been their cry once. The call to arms was not one of bloodshed, but one of trust, peace, exploration, understanding and unification. There was a day, back when, that victory was not declared over fields of debris, but over tables of conference. It had been once, long ago, that the triumph was one of joining, accepting and trusting the hand of friendship. That had been their success and once, long ago, that had meant everything.

But now the days were long and the hours were dark. The piper had ceased playing his happy melody and turned his hand to the drums of war. A constant beat that accompanied every heart, made it heavy with its cry, dragged down those that cared with its vibrations, and fuelled those who lusted for it with its tempo.

The drums of war had begun. The question remained: had they ever stopped?

"Shields are holding." A voice had called out.

Dhanishta had nodded in response but kept her eyes firmly fixed on her display. From her position at the MSDC she monitored the ships key systems. She had learned from experience that her place during a fight should be here, in the heart of the ship. It was customary for her to be on the Bridge, yet it often transpired that events would conspire to eject her from that location, and make her return to this place, much like a homing pigeon.

"Keep your eyes on that energy surge." Dhanishta ordered in a low growl.

For the Engineering department the first moments of a fight were always the longest, most drawn out seconds in the universe that seemed to take an age and then some to pass. The ritualistic tasks had been performed as the first klaxons blared, the warp power core was maintained at 75% power output, level 3 diagnostics run, level 4 series repeated at every five minute intervals. From her location she had watched as each station prepared for battle. Main propulsion systems brought to full operating conditions, tactical long range sensors brought to full operational status, secondary's switched off. Deflector systems configured for tactical use, all back ups brought hot to standby. Phaser banks energized to full, power conduits enabled, targeting scanners activated. Photon torpedo launchers brought to standby, energized to full launch readiness and primed with standard antimatter charge of 1.5 kg. The list continued and from her location she saw it all. Every department was ready, the ship was poised and waiting.

And they were waiting, much like the crew in the medical bays were waiting; waiting for their first casualties of war, in turn she was waiting for her first casualty, the first weakness in her beloved vessel to show itself.

The ship rocked, much as a boat at sea would, riding upon the waves. Another hit deflected by their shields, her shields: the Galaxy's. For the Galaxy was as living and breathing as any of the bodies within her hull. She was a magnificent beauty that graced the stage of space, and she felt pain.

Another wave: harder than the first, and still the shields held. Dhanishta knew they would, for she knew the difference between fusion cannons and helbores. She knew how they felt when they hit, knew the sensation by heart. Her ship would scream when they hit, and she would bleed.

The essence of the Fool is how we address every situation in our lives. As time goes by and we gather understanding that boundless enthusiasm wanes, yet in our hearts we still feel its pull. It is questions that drive us into the unknown, the everlasting search for answers.

Yet once in that place of uncertainty, that place of mystery, it is instinct that takes over. For when surrounded without comprehension, there is nothing else.

And there is was. The wait was over. The light that blinked beneath her, mirrored on Master situation monitor wall display, was the first bruise. And just as quickly another bolt came and the ship reeled hard, the puncture had been made and the Galaxy began to bleed.

"Shield grid six has failed…"

"We have hull breaches on decks three through six…."

"Emergency force fields holding…"

"Damage control team dispatched…"

And so it was that Engineering came to life in a state of flux. The silence had been so boldly broken, the silence that had been full of palpable anxiety, the silence that had been waiting for this moment to come. The exhales from that wait, that long drawn out wait which fuelled tension and harassed aggravation, spilled into the thrum of activity spurred from the wounds inflicted upon the Galaxy's skin. And it was then that instinct took over every being that dwelt within her metallic cocoon.

Instinct dictionary definition (noun)

1. Strong natural impulse - a powerful impulse that feels natural rather than reasoned.

2. Biological drive - an inborn pattern of behaviour characteristic of a species and shaped by biological necessities such as survival and reproduction.

The survival instinct.

'The card of the Fool, the first of the Major Arcana, portrays a wild youth, dressed in ragged animal skins of all different colours, dancing in ecstatic abandonment at the edge of a precipice. He wears a wreath of vine leaves in his chestnut hair, and bears little horns, like those of a goat, on his brow. His eyes are raised to the dawn breaking in the distance, where the sun can just be seen above the horizon. Around him lies a formidable barren landscape of brown grey rocks. To his left, hidden in the shadows of the receding night, is the mouth of the cave from which he has emerged. Above it, on a bare branch, perches an eagle.'

'The cave from which the Fool emerges is the past, the dark and undifferentiated mass from which the beginning of a true sense of individuality is about to take form.'

'The goat's horns on the Fool's brow suggest, like the animal skins he wears, that he is like a young animal, driven into life by instinct, not yet conscious or possessed of understanding.'

'The eagle is the bird of Zeus, king of the gods, who watches over the Fool as he prepares to plunge into the unknown.'

The unknown is life.

The unknown is death.

The unknown is your next breath.

One card. Two faces.

(Descriptions of the tarot card of the Fool taken from 'The Mythic Tarot' written by Juilet Sharman-Burk and Liz Greene.)

"Duty Calls"

Colonel For'kel Arvelion
Commanding Officer

2nd Lieutenant Cora
Platoon Leader

Corporal Cianán Tierney
Combat Medic

188th Starfleet Marines Detachment
====================================

(Runabout)

Although they usually flew in hoppers, the cheaper utilitarian craft were more specialized for planetary operations, designed to bring men and equipment to a toe-hold planet side, rather than gracefully manoeuvre through the blackness of space with ease. That meant, that when it came to a situation where manoeuvring in space was paramount, For'kel much preferred a runabout or shuttle over the Marines’ trade craft. It guaranteed that his people were more likely to get to there destination alive. Besides, he personally loved the runabouts... particularly the ole Miss from the Miranda, but runabouts as a general rule tended to allow for a great deal of customization and had an inbuilt ruggedness that the Colonel could most definitely appreciate.

Particularly when it came to a mission like this.

He didn't want to have to give such an order, as ever since Marine forces were established back on Terra so long ago, the riskiest operations they conducted were the fabled boarding operations... the seizure of enemy vessels from their crews. Starfleet seemed to shun this policy, even their training doctrines emphasized the far more ‘glorious’ combat for territory and planets. After all, why train in what was tantamount to piracy when you can focus on liberating grateful civilians from their oppressors?

Still, the fleet was outnumbered enough that any little bit would help. And he needed the potential intelligence aboard one of those ships anyway to find out where his missing Marines were. He was convinced there had to be a listing of where Hydran military facilities, if not whole fleets were aboard one of those ships. If he had that, he could compare it to the warp signature they’d picked up at Vered, and then it was a matter of tracing the lines.

A Hydran ship would help there, too.

They knew the drills well enough. Locate a suitable target, gain entry, secure the ship with as many EPW's as possible (the cumbersome body armour that made taking EPWs difficult before was likely missing from the Hydrans now as they needed the dexterity for their operations), and get back to the protective umbrella of the fleet as quickly as possible, making things generally difficult for the Hydrans along the way. It was straightforward enough to be sure.

He circled himself as he finished his pre-battle prayers, all the while keeping eyes out for a potential target. He felt bad for the poor Bajoran Marine pilot who was flying them. At first he thought to go for a destroyer, but a salvo from one of the Federation ships practically annihilated the damned thing, fortunately while they were out of range. Then there was the Cruiser, but the damned Vigilant made an attack run on her... and its shields made boarding impossible anyway.

Finally, just when the fear of going back empty handed had gotten into some of the adrenaline high 188th, the view of one of the escort carriers caught his eye. She was damaged, but certainly salvageable and even combat worthy... and most importantly her shields were down.

Even better, she was preparing to launch what reserve fighters she had, and recall the ones she's already deployed judging by the comm intercepts. It meant her bay doors would be open, and she was falling back... out of the immediate line of fire. "Lay in a course, Chief, I hope you can handle taking her down on a carrier."

"Got it, sir... you might want to sit down for this one."

For'kel nodded, but actually ‘understanding the suggestion took a moment longer as his eyes were set specifically on their target. "All right, we land. We'll initiate communications suppression..." he nodded to the Staff Sergeant from their Data Warfare unit. "Runabout two will initiate personnel suppression, using sonic generators and irritant gas. We disembark, stun whoever's waiting for us in the immediate vicinity, get the runabouts hidden away, and begin transporting the Hydran crew to central locations. Platoons three and five will secure that area or those areas, while platoon four heads to the ship's Engineering section. Platoon two will seize the control centre, the armoury, and any other critical areas, and we’ll join them once the fighter bay is mopped up. Questions?"

Cianán had his orders. They were fairly simple to explain, but complex to implement when you really thought about it...Divide and conquer. The Angosian had done it before and he was up to do it again. His body began to shift into autonomic systems, preparing for the battle.

"All right, inform Lieutenants Ward and Cora of their tasks." For'kel licked his lips as the image of the fighter bay doors came into view. The runabout shuddered under a hail of flak coming off the ship, but the damaged carrier couldn't muster enough firepower to repel the tough little boats. Two outgoing fighters were destroyed by the Runabouts’ comparatively heavy phasers, their loss leaving eight fully functional fighters ready to launch... and no place for them to go. Like clockwork, comm-jamming went up, teams of Marines materialized via transporter on the upper levels and behind the fighters, while For'kel and the others exited their runabouts, firing on the move.

For once in their battles, it was the humans who were in environmental gear invading a space peopled with regularly clothed Hydrans. Sounds of alert clattered from the Hydrans’ bare beaks as the humans landed. Those who dashed for control panels to sound alarms were quickly taken down by red-orange phaser fire.

= = = = = =

Cora listened to the Command frequency as her orders were relayed. Taking in the members of her Platoon who were seated around her. All eyes were on her and one could hear a pin drop. “We have orders to take the control centre, armoury and other critical areas. We’ll have additional personnel helping with that task as soon as they finish with their objectives.” On paper that seemed rather simple but she knew things were far more complicated. She could ponder the importance of their objective but what really mattered at this point is action. “Does anyone have any questions?” Cora had a feeling she already knew the answer but made that inquiry anyway out of habit.

This would be her second mission as a Marine. Later she’d have time to contemplate just how that adjustment was turning out. For now however she knew what needed to be done and would carry out her orders. As Cora glanced around the runabout she let her gaze rest on every member of her Platoon. All they had to rely on in the field was each other.

“Let’s lock and load people,” Lt Dobryin didn’t need to say anything more than that. Her Platoon had their orders and were fully aware of their objectives. It wasn’t long before Cora’s Platoon moved out on signal firing as they went. They were all business with fire in their eyes and goal to accomplish. With a brief hand signal she let her troops know it was time to ¼Go.

= = = = = =

Cianán's mind was a dichotomy of both clear and firing synapses simultaneously. Using a flick of his finger, heavy phaser fire erupted. It was better than target practice. While being a medic, he didn’t need those skills. There wouldn't be any saving of Hydran carcasses until the battle had been won. Even then it was unlikely. Cianán's job was clear, make them unable to communicate.

With the ship’s schematic fresh in his mind he found his pre-targeted access panel and leapt into the darkness. The damn insects needed a bit more room to crawl about which made it extremely easy for the lithe marine to find his objective.

Reaching into a pocket in the protective gear, a good precaution, Cianán pulled out a bug of his own. Well, it wasn’t exactly his own. Engineering came up with a particularly heinous virus. It ironically looked like an arachnid with legs protruding from a spherical abdomen. In the centre of the body was an equally ominous looking black light.

The Angosian smiled. Brian always said it was good for him to experience his emotions. Cianán wasn't sure if this was exactly what the Counsellor had intended.

Cianán set the spider against an internal access panel. The black light lit up and blinked twice. It remained lit for thirty seconds and then returned to blinking. The critter was in. The Hydrans were alone.

Birthing himself out of the tube Cianán gave a thumbs up to the Colonel showing mission accomplished. The carnage in what was now the marine receiving room was littered with smoking rubble. Cianán noticed much of the smoke wafted from the corpses of insects strewn about. A Klingon would have been proud of the glorious battle. It would have also made an excellent setting to shoot a commercial for RAID bug killer.

Arvelion had been looking towards Cianan, waiting on the go ahead. Once he got the signal he knew they were ready to proceed. "Hide the runabouts, clear the bodies." Most had been stunned, but there were inevitably a few guards or troopers in body armour that needed a heavier 'take down'.

The Marines continued their clockwork operation, moving the Runabouts as far to the rear as the flight deck as they could. Squads one and two cleared the bodies, squad three isolated the EPWs, and squads four and five took up ambush positions out of sight. They had about twenty seconds until the first Hydran fighters would come in, in need of rearmament.

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

"We’ve lost networking with the fleet," the small Hydran at the Conn called out, surprise in her croaking voice. She ran her three clawed hands across her console, click-clacking the buttons as fast as she could. Then, she turned to face her commander, her bound tentacles swinging behind her head in a wide arc. "We're being jammed."

Her commander growled, her saliva bubbling in her maw. "Humans," she spat,
"Taking advantage of a battle that is not theirs. Cribber beetles, the entire species! Sound the alarm!"

"Yes, Gral’Meshketh Hokra," the Conn operator clicked and immediately a high pitched, gurgling squeal rang out across the ship. Hokra growled once more, and then burst from her chair. She straightened her plate armor across her breast, a single scale from the starbeast her mother had killed before her birth. That kill meant that when her mother left her leathery shell twenty years ago, she ascended to become a goddess. That level of power, that level of majesty - Hokra wanted it for herself. This was her chance. She would not let a pack of mongrel humans take it from her.

She walked to the side of her command chamber and ripped the pulse rife from the shoulder of male guard. Surprised at first, he quickly backed away, knowing his place. Taking the gun, Hokra returned to her central chair and rotated it to face the lone exit.

=====

"Here they come." For'kel alerted his troops from behind one of the parked star-fighters via regular old secure radio, it was still the best method for communications in the galaxy when you didn't need the massive range Subspace Radio could afford you. "Everyone get ready, I want them alive."

He knew somewhere on the Galaxy, Doctor Burton would probably be swearing at him when he got back for 'not taking it easy' or some such trumped up medical charge, but hell there was a war on... and for once they were being allowed to do what they were meant to do.

Sure enough, with admirable precision, the surviving members of the ship’s airwing, five fighters total (which is how he knew they were 'all' the survivors, Hydrans always fought in trios) landed on the deck. The lead craft’s cockpit slid back, and a Hydran female, their version of a CAG in all likelihood, jumped out of her craft. "We are in immediate need of additional weap..."

"Lock down the bay doors, everyone Go." Came For’kel’s order. The Hydran
CAG was about to have a 'very' bad day.

It was insanity, confusion, and more excitement than Cianan had experienced in a long time. Sure, the recent battle had been interesting but this was true marine fighting. Cianan moved to an access panel, pulling out another bug. He set the device on the computer interface and it came to life. The bay doors closed almost instantaneously. For now they were secure. More so, they controlled this section of the ship.

Cianan noticed more bugs joined the fray from the ship's airwing, not many but enough to cause a problem. The Angosian took one down with phaser fire. It was a big like the borg he noticed. Not that they adapted, but the damned exoskeleton was difficult to penetrate. He should have brought a big boot rather than fire power. It was especially difficult to keep them alive, but it was the order.

His phaser fire was joined by others and slowly the Hydrans, while surprisingly adept, were taken down. The medic checked the insectoids and discovered they were alive, some barely but they'd make it.

=====

He could see it. He had never seen one before. Oh, he had seen images and paintings and carvings and sculptures. He had read descriptions, and listened to tales, and heard songs and poetry. He knew it was large, impossibly large, and unimaginably beautiful. That it had skin the colour of the purest mucous, clear and shiny, with subtle undertones of delicious green. That it had a mass of tentacles, many, many more than he had on the back of his head, each one long and slender, able to bend and twist and curl like jelly with naught a sign of bone or rigid structure. It moved like water through the air, rippling and amorphous.

It was beautiful.

The imagery and the descriptions he had heard paled in comparison. It was a thing that could never truly be described. And, here it was, before his three unworthy eyes. The starbeast. His god.

The sight of it drove him mad.

"Thulkuh, companion tooler. Are you okay? Come, we must bleed off the electrics of the shields,” his colleague said, one of two. They moved around in teams of three. "Thulkuh?"

But, Thulkuh gave no response. He would not remove any of his eyes from the porthole they had passed. He was frozen in place.

"Thulkuh," his companion said once more, "We are duty bound. Come."

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and it pulled on him slightly. The slightest nudge, requesting in action what had been requested in words. Thulkuh resisted. "No."

His companion spoke his name once more, no longer pleading. He was confused. The third of their party tottered over to see what the hold up was. "No," Thulkuh repeated, "We aim to kill it. It is a god. We are heretics. We must beg forgiveness. We must offer up ourselves, we must let it judge us.

If it deems us worthy, then it will remove us from our skins. It will free us, and take us into its glorious maw."

His companions looked at each other with concern clicking in their beaks. “He has been swayed," one said. "He dreams waking," the second confirmed.

"The Great One has driven him insane."

"No!! I see clearly!!" Thulkuh screamed, "I must stop the heretics!" Then, he ran off down the walk tube, with his work mates running behind, desperately trying to catch him and stop him from doing any harm.

Sergeant Lasek, a Denobulan rifleman was leading a mixed unit, two squads... riflemen from 3rd Platoon and engineers from 1st Platoon on their way to the ship's Environmental and Life Support control centre. Once in, they would be able to essentially control where the Hydrans went, replacing methane in key areas with much more comfortable oxygen... and allowing their Marine brethren to set up 'kill zones' for frantic Hydran crewmembers running for 'breathable' areas.

Leah was one of the riflemen detached to protect the engineers as they worked. Another squad of engineers had been attached to fourth platoon for the assault on Engineering. Their assault would begin in precisely fifteen seconds, and be one of the riskiest operations to undertake. They would be responsible for simultaneously guaranteeing the Hydrans didn't try to sabotage their own ship 'and' securing the bay. There was a bunch of things at any level of the plan that could go wrong, and contingencies upon contingencies to deal with them... enough that she almost missed the three Hydrans coming at them brazenly from her flank.

Almost.

"Incoming tangos!" The teenage Terran shouted in a surprisingly mature and calm manner for a Marine in her first real fire-fight. She took a knee and fired a quick burst of shots, enough to make the Hydrans scatter, save for the one 'really' fanatical one that she hit twice before he finally collapsed, stunned.

"Get back here!" Lasek pulled her by the arm from her very vulnerable, wide open position in the middle of the corridor to the relative cover of a bulkhead. "Trying to get yourself killed Owen?! Take point; get these engineers to the damned objective! Tevon!" He called over the Kriosian male Corporal. "You and I will cover them. Stay close! Go!"

========

As the squealing klaxon gurgled throughout the halls, Drokhs was galloping into action. Behind her was her unit - eleven brave males and females, willing to follow her every command. She followed only the commands of her mistress, her commander, Gral’Meshketh Hokra. They were being invaded. They were being invaded by human scum. She would stop them.

"Hold!" she ordered as she rounded the corner. The walk tube split forked here, forming a tee. Where they came from and where the tube led directly ahead was the two main engine control centres. One for each primary engine. They, and the mechanics who managed them, were her responsibility. She would not let the humans take them.

"Take positions," she commanded, and directed her troops with each of her three hands. They set up a small fortification facing down the length of the tube that formed the stem of the tee. "We are invaded by heathens. They seek to rob us of our kill. They seek to deny us our ascension. They seek to watch us whither and blow away like dust in the breezes of time. They will fail. How?"

"BY US!" Her troops shouted.

"We will complete our hunt. We will ascend. It is they who will crumble and blow away. They will all die. How?"

"BY US!" the battalion echoed.

"How?!" Drokhs shouted once more.

"BY US!"

"By us," she confirmed. "Masters of the beast. In service of the queen. For the sovriegnty." Then, she took up position alongside her troops and aimed her gun down the tube.

For'kel raised his hand, a silent order for his advancing unit to stop. Rallying like that was great for morale, but unfortunately too many species, from the Cardassians to the Klingons, and these Hydrans... had a tendency of doing it in the middle of combat. To the Stagnorian, all it did was give away their position, distract them, and maybe provide some information on numbers.

He wasn't about to order his Marines into an ambush.

Instead he readied two grenades. The same bright light and loud noise 'flash-bang' device he'd used in the Cluster, and a far more menacing photon grenade. He threw both of them down the hall, ranging the enemy by the sounds of their voices. There was a second or two of just listening to him and his Marines breathing through their rebreathers before the flash bang went off. As the effected Hydrans stumbled about from the after effects of being both blind and deaf, the photon grenade went off. Guards weren’t a high prize for EPWs, they fought too hard and knew too little anyway.

"Cianan, take a squad to the opposite end of the corridor. See if you can't outflank them!"

The marine nodded to the Colonel. He waved for the squad to follow. So as to take the most advantage of the surprise they hurried into place. It was easier than target practice on the holodeck. The Hydran targets were much larger and didn't move as fast.

The marines were a good shot and quickly discovered the vulnerabilities in the Hydran anatomy. Firing directly onto the exoskeleton was useless; firing at the tender flesh protected was the objective. A continuous roll of "hisses" emanated from the corridor. The contact from the phaser fire and the enraged Hydran curses sounded oddly similar.

A few Hydrans were not as affected by the surprise grenades as others and managed to recover more quickly. They were picked off before getting close to the marines. It really was a devastatingly glorious battle.

There wasn't enough time for the Hydrans to even realize they'd been attacked from the side. As soon as Cianan’s squad started opening up on the unaware aliens, For'kel and several other Marines did the same. The fairly narrow confines of the corridors and the straight-line courses of phaser fire meant the remaining Hydran guards were pretty much dead ducks... or whatever the Human word was. The last one went down after being struck by no less then three stun blasts.

===========

As Cora's Platoon moved towards their target they met resistance. "We're in position," she finally reported. This next part would be more difficult since they were after critical areas. She anticipated and increase in resistance. Until the other objectives could be achieved Second Platoon was on their own.

"Acknowledged." For'kel replied quietly over the Marine comm line. "All groups report in."

The voiced rolled in with practiced efficiency. "Engineering secure. Armoury Secure. Security Centre Secure. Life support and environmental controls secure. Flight deck secure. Cargo bays secure."

That was the entire Colonel needed to hear. "Good work. Evacuate methane from all areas not designated for prisoner reception. Initiate security over-rides. Everyone take your positions."

"Venting." Came one response.

"Over-rides in place." Another one beamed.

There was a clearly audible hiss as the methane clouds dissipated, being drained out and replaced with breathable atmosphere. The Marines readied their weapons in the corridors, knowing the remaining Hydran crew members would soon be running out of 'air' as it were.

It happened more quickly then he'd intended too. The bridge doors opened as one panic stricken Hydran made a dash to somewhere breathable. He got shot down in a hail of fire, stunned. They had some limited time before the Hydrans had to be moved to a methane environment or die.

Deliberately yet carefully Cora moved towards the doors leading to the command centre. Her Platoon made their presence known in the command center and elsewhere with unmistakable purpose.

For'kel and Cianan followed in short order. There was a split second of intense fire-fight in which two Marines were dropped, one wounded mortally and the other badly injured. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, and the battle was finally over.

"Access their emergency and, primary transporter systems; I want any living Hydrans secured in the cargo bays before they expire. Corpses are of no value to us." For'kel walked over to his downed Marines, Cianan already there. "Get them back to the Galaxy ASAP. Then let's begin manual inspections of the ship. I want squads sent out to confirm we have no potential saboteurs aboard." Giving Cianan a slap on the shoulder, he then tapped his combadge. "Arvelion to Galaxy, target designated as Alpha three is now under new management. Requesting change in call sign."

"The Cell"

Lt. JG. Ophelia Zamora

Civilian Defense Attorney Faylin McAlister

Location: San Fransisco-East Side Jailing Facility : Conference Room

========================
It was just like the Galaxy, only bigger. The shield still shimmered the same hazy colors, the food from the replicators still sucked, and the bench where she reclined at night was still frigid. Now, sitting opposite of her 'attorney', Zamora's eyes stayed chilled.

"You know.....it wasn't very nice to kick me."

"It wasn't very nice to................." Ophelia stopped, knowing that the room contained monitoring equipment. "Pretend to be someone you are not." The look in her eyes changed, making Faylin obvious to what she was hinting at.

"It's my job." McAlister stated sharply. "Now...." She took a moment, shuffling through the various padds she brought with her.

"What?" Zamora spat.

"Give me a minute please......I've put in a request for discovery from Starfleet. This may take a few days, or a few weeks. Depending on the severity of the case...." Fay's eyebrows arched before she continued. "Discovery is..."

"I know what discovery is...." Ophelia stated flatly. "I also have been read my rights, told what charges have been brought against me, requested you instead of a Starfleet attorney...yada yada yada....I also know that the next step is an Article thirty two investigation because my 'case' is serious. After that, I'll be court martialed and if I am convicted of an offense....post trial."

"Change of venue...." Faylin started.

"Put in a petition for it. Depending on the judge and the circumstances, we could be moved. Prosecuting attorney?"

"Michaels...Jillian..."

Ophelia's mouth twisted. "Never heard of her....."

"She's experienced." Faylin responded. "I'm going to put a request in for Boston...I have friends there that can help you."

Zamora's eyes half rolled. "Oh? Civilian or 'other'?"

"Civilian defense firm. Don't worry about any fees...they owe me."

"I'm sure..."

"You okay? I know you've been through a lot lately." Faylin's eyes flashed a hint of pity.

"Fine....are we done here?"

"For now. Everything is underway....but...as you know...we can't determine the time frame. Starfleet.....is Starfleet. Especially so in legal matters such as this. If there is red tape, they will take their own sweet time in it."

Ophelia let a heavy sigh float up into the air. "Okay....."

TBC:

"Guess Who's Coming to Dinner"

Civilian Faylin McAlister
Second Lieutenant Steven Jonas

Location: San Fransisco

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

There were times when the past retched up and smacked Faylin. This was one of those times. Hidden behind a large floppy hat, she sat outside at a corner bistro. The sweet tea sat in a tall glass by her right hand as her left hand skimmed information about Ophelia's case on a PADD. She had been receiving bits and pieces throughout most of the slow afternoon from the lead Starfleet investigator. So far, it appeared that Fay had done her job to the letter. Unless some random miracle occurred, she would continue to be free while an innocent woman took her place in prison. Life...at times....was just ever so sweet.

His eyes darted around the room, observing the few patrons that were enjoying the afternoon sun. An elderly couple sipping tea off near the garden; a woman reading a PADD in a corner and a couple of lovestruck teenagers sharing a smoothie. Sighing softly, he turned back to watch the waitress preparing his order.

Taking the drink she held out to him, he headed for an empty table near the back of the building. A spot where he could watch anyone entering or exiting. It was something he had begun doing more regularly these days, after the debacle that was the Diplomatic mission he had been on. Shivering at the memories that surfaced, he moved to take a seat at the table.

As he sat, his back to the other patrons for the briefest of moments, the hairs on the back of his head tingled, and he knew he was being watched. Without looking he knew who was looking at him. A hunch, he knew, but he was sure it was the lone woman.

Letting his long hair fall over his face, he turned and sat in the seat, allowing his eyes to glance out towards her. And his heart skipped a beat.

It was her. The woman who had ripped his heart out; the woman who had left the Galaxy without so much as a goodbye.

Sighing, McAlister turned back the information on her padd. Stranger...she thought. Removing her flopping hat, she let her identity be known to those around her. Not that they would know her....she was a civilian now. A normal, every day defense attorney. Picking up her small phone, she contacted her firm in Boston.

"I need to speak to Andy....."

A slight pause then she spoke again. "An....yeah...good. Change of venue petition is getting filed in the morning, and I should know soon enough if we are headed your way. The judge? Pushover from what I've heard. Yeah.....well....we will see what happens. You know our motto.....anyone can be bought for the right price....Yep...later...."

Flipping the device shut, she turned her head slightly, staring the man down. He seemed.....'Oh my god....' Fay muttered.

Standing, she walked over to where he was sitting and pulled up a chair without permission. "So.....long time no see...."

Steven couldn't help but watch as she walked over. He sipped his hot chocolate, savoring the flavor as it slip down his throat. He took another sip, as he tried to school his expression, before finally placing the cup on the table. "I see you haven't changed much, Fay." It was more of a statement rather than a question.

"For me...change is a relative term Steven...." Her eyebrows arched slightly as she took a long draw on her iced tea. "I really hate your hair....it's not you...."

Steven chuckled. "You don't like my hair?"

"Hate." She stated frankly. "Did you just crawl out from underneath a fighter or something? You have a very.....unkept...geesh..." She leaned forward, touching the tresses slightly.

As she lent in, he could smell the soft scent of her perfume. The familiar scent sent his senses reeling. It was the scent of the perfume he had given her so long ago. It was intoxicating. Shaking his head to try and combat the smell, he spoke. "I've been busy."

"Is that..." He started to say, but stopped. He didn't want to go there, he couldn't go there. Not again. Not after last time. "So, how is my lovely wife doing these days?"

Her throat closed up, causing her to choke on the tea that she had attempted to swallow. "W....wife?" Fay managed to rasp out before turning beet red. "We are not married......"

"I had wondered, " Steven said, grinning at her new complexion, "considering you told me that you had faked us getting back together, but I didn't care to check up on it. It wasn't high on my priority list. That color suits you by the way."

"Bite me Jonas...." She spat through another fit of coughing. Clearing her throat one last time, she smirked at his amused expression. "At least...I think we are...."

"I seem to recall that you used to like it when I did that." Steven said with a grin.

Fay rolled her eyes, attempting not to grin back at his little comment. "I'll check on the official status of our marriage in a bit. Right now...I have a prelim hearing to attend to. A lawyer's work is never done." She stood, straightened out her pinstripe suit, and glanced at Jonas. "Nice seeing you again...even if you look like a sheepdog...."

"Lawyer eh? I thought you preferred another line of work." Steven said quietly.

"Steven.....Not now....I'll see you around." She stated quietly.

"Fay, would you be interested in dinner with me?" The words left his mouth before he realized what he had said. He shouldn't have said them, he knew it, but found himself curious to see what she had been up to in the months since he had seen her last. "Just to catch up, I mean. Not like a date or anything." He added hastily.

"Yeah...fine. Tonight at 7 at the Four Seasons...it's...around the corner...I gotta go..." She turned and half waved as her phone beeped.

"Bye" he called out, not knowing if she heard it or not. Draining the last of his drink, he placed the cup on the table and smiled. That had gone better than he had expected.

Standing up, he headed out the door. He had work to do.

"The Iscariot Factor, Part 3"

(Begins Immediately after 'Battle of the Kateren Nebula, Part 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
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

****

[Daren M'Kantu, Darkness]

Daren was dying.

He knew it, just as he knew death. He'd faced death many times, walked alongside it, danced with it more than a few times, and he'd made his peace with it years ago.

But that didn't mean that he wanted to die.

He'd found out he had a daughter he'd never known, a daughter that was all alone in the universe except for him. She needed him.

He'd rediscovered June, and the love that the two of them had for each other. She needed him.

He'd found a good ship, and a good - if odd, as even K'aa had seen - crew that manned her. They needed him.

There were too many things left to do, too many sights left to see, too much he wasn't prepared to give up, to just let himself sink into the darkness and fade away.

So Daren fought the darkness, struggled against it, raged against the dying of his light with every fibre of his being, refusing to fall another inch into the darkness around him unless he were dragged down into it. An then, dimly, in the distance, Daren heard a voice in the darkness, calling him. A fierce voice, a dreadful voice - but a voice he knew all the same.

Izra'il; the Angel of Death. The angel that separated man's soul from his body at the moment of death, and now had come for him.

Daren strained mightily against the darkness, because few men are given the privilege of speaking to Izra'il at the moment of their death. He strained and he fought and he reached... and a tiny sliver of light rewarded him, a sliver that grew and grew and grew until the whole world was taken up by the bottomless green, green eyes of the Angel of Death.

And then Angel spoke in his terrible, terrible voice, the syllables reaching deep inside Daren and echoing there, filling him and sustaining him and fixing him in place as firmly as if he'd been nailed into place with spikes of pure neutronium. "You," the Angel spoke in the Voice of Doom, "do not have permission to die. Do you hear me? Do you understand?"

Daren stared at him, his whole world the Angel's green eyes, the green of life and death, and struggled to understand what he was hearing. He didn't have... permission... to die? Allah hadn't sent Izra'il to collect him? The Angel of Death wasn't here... for him? He didn't have to... leave.

He blinked.

"Good," the Angel replied, the word adding to the others, pinning Daren in place, keeping him from sliding into the darkness any further. "Remember that: you don't have permission to die."

****
[Bridge, USS Galaxy]

The bridge was a complete wreck.

At least half a dozen officers were sprawled across the floor, all having suffered a variety of wounds at the hands of K'aa. Fragments of shattered consoles and the main viewscreen littered the blood-stained carpet. Broken chairs and discarded weapons were strewn about, and in the middle of it all what remained of the sweeping Tactical arch jutted awkwardly towards the sky.

Within a matter of seconds medical teams transported in, immediately tending to the injured. A second wave of Security officers followed, their attentions solely focused on the now unconscious Gorn. As the medical teams showed up Artim looked to one as he pulled himself up from the hard landing he took after jumping at the Gorn.

"All right, someone hand me a medkit. In case anyone's forgotten I am a doctor," Artim said with some level of authority in his voice. One of the nurses complied and Artim set to triaging what remained of the bridge.

In the middle of it all, Iniara scooted across the floor and got awkwardly to her feet, instinctively moving away from Krieghoff, away from the overwhelming weight of his presence. She'd never felt it this strongly before, never felt it enveloping her so thickly, surrounding her until it was all she could feel, all she could hear or taste or see. It was all green. The green was death, choking, thick, overpowering... Or was it... No, that wasn't it... not death... green was the color of... life.

That felt so familiar. Where had she heard that before?

But before Iniara had time to ponder that particular thought, a noise caught her attention. Someone was calling for her. Wheeling about, she automatically focused on a young human with a gold collar, his armored suit clearly marking him as part of a Security detail. He, along with five others in similar body armor, had formed a circle around K'aa's limp body, each one of them training at least one weapon on him.

"Sir? Sir, your orders. What should we do with him?"

Iniara blinked several times, trying to focus, to bring herself back to the present and away from the green. Years of Starfleet training were screaming in her mind, telling her that she needed to take control, to assume command now that the Captain was gone. No, not gone, she amended mentally. She could still feel M'Kantu's presence in her mind, like a pillar of light surrounded on all sides by green, a smooth stone obelisk in the middle of a vast, bottomless sea. But the stone was cracked and crumbling, the light fading...

"Take him...to the brig," Iniara responded after a moment. "Site-to-site him. Triple the number of guards. Lower temperature of the cell to...ten degrees Celsius," she added, settling on a temperature that would keep the Gorn sluggish and docile but wasn't likely to cause any permanent damage.

The sound of the transporter barely registered to her as she turned her attentions once more to Krieghoff, M'Kantu, and the swarm of doctors doing their best to stabilize the captain. Pain suddenly stabbed at her temples and her eyes began to water as she tried to focus on the pair. "S...stay with him, Lieu...tenant," she forced out, voice barely above a whisper. The green was pushing at her, overwhelming her, almost as if it had hands of its own and was trying to pull her skull apart to see what was inside. "He... he needs you now."

"Understood..." Victor replied, his voice trailing off as her words struck a chord within him, as if he'd heard another voice besides the XO's, a voice that had... He shook the feeling off. "Understood, Ma'am," he repeated more crisply, hands still locked around the Captain's neck, stabilizing it, and his eyes still locked on Daren's.

Relief was almost instantaneous as they transported away. Her vision clearing, mind returning to the present, Iniara looked around again, surveying the damage to ship and crew.

Jaal still held the fire extinguisher in his hands ready to whack the Gorn in case he twitched. His fight or flight reflex subsided once Krieghoff was gone. He probably would have run if it weren't for being jacked up on adrenaline from the fight. The Trill now looked around the ruined bridge as his breath slowed. Once settled he began helping people up that needed it while fighting off his instincts to take command. He had to remind himself he was 'not' the first officer here like he had been on the Miranda.

When the medical and security had arrived, Brian's first thought was to get out of their way and help where he could, the most obvious place at that moment being helm. That was before Krieghoff arrived. The counselor had had enough experience with Victor since their Academy days to know not to be in close quarters with him, but there was nothing he could do about it this time. Even though Brian had been spared any significant physical harm, the wave of nausea and raw, jagged panic that heralded the security officer's close presence threatened to overwhelm him, only compounding the shock of what had just happened and the carnage it left behind. Backing against a wall for support, Elessidil closed his eyes and focused hard on steadying himself, hoping it would be over soon.

Whether he'd briefly passed out or was just so focused that he'd temporarily shut everything else out of his consciousness Brian wasn't sure, but when the relief started to come after Victor's departure, he found himself sitting on the floor, scrunched up against the wall. Breathing deeply, he got back to his feet and went to take the helm until someone else could relieve him.

"Ow," Arel muttered from the floor, or at least tried to. Pain was radiating all through her body and she was having a little trouble moving out of the way of shuffling feet.

"Try not to move, Commander," a voice, likely that of a medic, said from somewhere above her. "You've sustained some pretty serious injuries."

"At least I got myself a Gorn eyeball," She replied with a laugh that sounded more like a wince. "Gonna frame that one."

"Of course, sir," she heard the medic say. Then, after a short pause, he added, "Could we get a storage container for...ah...what's left of that eyeball over there?"

Through the bustle and hustle of activity in the ensuing moments once access to the bridge was restored, and given the extremely critical condition of the Captain, it took a moment for the medics to make it to the back of the bridge where Daniels lay. His body was slumped under the shattered remains of the Science station that he had been flung into.

A medic bent down and looked over the mess in front of him. The tactical uniform was now stained all over with another shade of dark red, the result of most of his upper body impacting the plastic display screen. Shards of the panel stuck into him more places than the medic could count. Three deep slashes started just above the area of his heart and ended up around his clavicle. His face was a mess of blood, but the most gruesome injury was the shattered wrist hanging loosely from his right arm. The radius and ulna sections were propped against his thigh, and then the hand was bent back at a 120 degree angle to the rest of the arm--in the direction wrists weren't supposed to bend. The Lieutenant was out cold, and the medic decided to leave this one to the medics. He gave him a stabilizing hypospray and tagged him as a "serious" triage patient due to the blood loss. Whatever had happened up here, it had messed up this particular Lieutenant pretty good. The medic turned to another working nearby.

"Dear God, what the hell happened here?"

"One hell of a fight," the medic who'd been tending to Commander Smith replied. "But..." The medic paused and looked around the bridge. In all the mess, amidst all the injured officers, there wasn't any evidence of a Hydran presence. Sure, any Hydrans who'd made it to the Bridge were most likely already in the brig or the morgue by now but that didn't explain the complete lack of Hydran leavings. No weapons, no blood, no severed limbs...and what was with these marks on Smith's back? They looked like they'd been made by claws...

"Strange," he muttered to himself, before turning his attentions back to the Commander. He shrugged, figuring he'd have time to worry about it later. Right now, the patient was his primary concern.

"Just don't ask...just don't ask." Artim replied somewhat sharply to the medic as he headed over to check on Arel. His own shoulder was probably dislocated but compared to the others he wasn't that bad off.

For a split second Iniara had the urge to take a seat at Ops, to resume that old familiar post, to take control of the ship from there. But with M'Kantu out of commission, command of the ship fell to her. And that meant she needed to take an entirely different seat.

Up until this point she'd taken the CO's chair only as part of her regular duties, as the Commanding Officer on Beta Shift. It had always been temporary, like she was simply keeping the seat warm for Captain M'Kantu. She'd always known that if things really hit the fan he'd be there to take over, to take command of his ship, instinctively keeping Galaxy out of harm's way.

But now, at least for the immediate future, that safety net was gone. So even though she'd done it hundreds of times before, this time sliding into that center seat felt completely different...and not just because the fight had knocked it a bit off kilter. She exhaled deeply, perching herself on the edge of the chair, refusing to lean back into the ergonomic softness of it. She was not about to get comfortable in a chair that still belonged to someone else.

"Status report," she called out, watching with pride, satisfaction, and no small amount of relief as those two words seemed to cause the chaos around her to return to some semblance of order. Medical teams continued to take away the injured crewmen, while junior officers appeared to take their places.

Jaxom went to the ops station, a console he was practically intimate with on all his past assignments, and called up the Galaxy's status. "Engineering reports repair crews are already at work on battle damage." He turned and faced Commander Tarin, "I rerouted the non-operational consoles to the auxiliaries. All other systems are currently online."

"Helm is...functioning," Brian managed, still shaking off the last of the dizziness. "We're holding position. Can we get an engineering team in here to fix this thing?" he asked, demonstrating the condition of the shaky navigation console, the unsteadiness of which wasn't helping him feel any better. "A viewscreen would be nice too..." His condition only made the annoyance he felt all the worse before he reminded himself that people were already working on getting the bridge back together. "....when you can," he added apologetically.

"Good point." Iniara frowned at the shattered remains of the viewscreen, and then sighed. The bridge was in no shape to have anything more than a repair crew working on it. "Commander Jaxom, transfer all command functions to the Battle Bridge. We'll take over from there. And... can you set the temperature back to a more normal level?" she added with a bit of a chuckle.

A small, understated smile graced Jaal's face. It seemed the Galaxy's first officer, like himself, went with humor when stressed. "Of course." He turned and tapped the appropriate commands into the operations console. The bridge started warming up immediately. "All command and control functions have been rerouted to the battle bridge," he informed with an air if finality in his voice.

Iniara stood and glanced around the bridge once more. A junior Operations officer, one of the new Ensigns whose name she couldn't quite recall, was already moving to take over the station from Jaxom. She took a few steps towards the turbolift then stopped, looking back at Elessidil, who was still at the Navigation console. Already her mind was replaying the fight, trying to make sense of things. Perhaps he could help with that... "Counselor, would you accompany us?"

"Of course," Brian replied, not unhappy for the change of venue.

"Mr. Kara'nin, for the time being you're in charge here," the XO added as she moved toward the turbolift, careful to avoid the blood-soaked sections of carpet. "The repair teams should arrive soon; once that happens I need you and every available set of eyes poring over the data from the battle. We've got to know more about these Starbeasts."

Cutter cocked a curious brow at the commander, and then glanced briefly at Arel Smith, the most senior officer remaining on the bridge. He found it odd that he had been placed in charge, partly because Smith was still around (although, she had yet to pry herself from the floor, so perhaps she was excluded for obvious health reasons), and because he had never commanded before. "All right," he agreed, ultimately, and looked around at the shambled remains of the bridge for the first time. It was not a very glorious first command, he decided, and folded his arms across his chest contemptuously as he watched the medical teams work.

The turbolift swished open before the trio, disgorging yet another small medical team. Before she entered, Iniara paused and faced the bridge once more. She couldn't help but notice the confused looks on the faces of the newly arrived crewmen, no doubt wondering just what had happened to wreck the bridge this badly, and just how many different people had left their blood on the floor. "And gentlemen...this all happened during the battle," she said, careful to keep her voice level and her references vague. Let them think the Hydrans had done this, she thought; until they knew more about what had just happened, she had no desire to fuel any rumors or inform the ship that their captain had been injured, perhaps fatally, by one of their very own.

OOC: Had to explain why Leo was not being tagged to run the ship since he technically IS a Captain (by clerical error). Also, this was my Dave Friedland homage post. TOS simmers will remember Dave. He was meticulous in his research for posts. I was clearing up my old mail and I found an old post of his and I Was inspired.

"TRAUMA"

Featuring Lieutenant Raven Darkstar, Chief of the Navigation Department.

Also including Captain Leo Streely, Emergency Medical Hologram Mark 1, and an NPC Nurse

Time: Just after the emergency beam out after the "ISCARIOT" series.

Location: Sickbay

"OH MY GOD!!!" Nurse Alexandria cried out seeing the Indian navigation chief materialize on the floor of sickbay, arterial spray from his severed arm stump spurting through the air and landing across the walls, instrument panels, her tunic and face.

She fought to keep the bile down her throat seeing chunks of glass hanging out of his body.

If it weren't for his right arm moving weakly as he floated in and out of consciousness, Raven Darkstar would have appeared dead to the casual observer.

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE A FIRST YEAR MED CADET OR HE WILL BLEED TO DEATH." the Emergency Medical Hologram said flatly. "ATTACH A STATIS TOURNIQUET IMMEDIATELY."

Dr. Grinch, as he was nicknamed for his charming bedside manner, cocked his head to the left and accessed the GALAXY personal medical files. As he walked to the plasma cooler, he searched for Darkstar's blood type and notified the Chief's emergency contact aboard the ship.

Seconds later he returned with 4 pints of Type O plasma and a hypo spray clenched in his teeth as Nurse Alexandria was fumbling with her rubber gloves, hands shaking as chaos continued to swirl through sickbay like a cyclone.

"NURSE, INFECTION FROM YOUR HANDS IS THE LAST THING YOU NEED TO WORRY ABOUT AT THIS MOMENT." he said, spitting the hypo spray at her.

"SEDATING HIM WOULD BE WHAT YOU CALL HUMANE CONCIDERING THE AGONY HE MUST BE IN. IF YOU CAN NOT HANDLE YOUR DUTIES HERE, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO STEP ASIDE."

"N..No problem." Nurse Alexandria said. She depressed the cylinder against the Indian's convulsing neck as the doors to the sickbay swooshed open and Leo Streely exploded on the scene.

"OK!! OK, OK!!! Where's Darkstar!!?!?!" he bellowed, then stopped and stared at the medical staff working feverishly on Captain M'Kantu.

"GET HIM OUT OF HERE." Dr. Grinch ordered.

"Maybe you didn't get there, stud. I'm a Captain. El Heffe!!! I don't take orders from some two bit jacked up Wii......" Leo started then paled as he lay eyes on the bloody heap of gore that was Lt. Darkstar.

The Indian moaned and stared with glassy eyes at the little man.

"OH ......SHIT....." Leo gasped. "OH SHIT....OH SHIT...OH SHIT..."

"CAPTAIN, I SUGGEST YOU RETREAT INTO THE WAITING ROOM WHILE WE TRY TO KEEP YOUR COLLEAGUE FROM DYING. SAY A PRAYER IF YOU THINK IT WILL HELP." Grinch said, then asked "LET'S GET HIM OFF THE FLOOR AND ONTO A TABLE. AND WHERE IS THIS MAN'S ARM? PLEASE TELL ME THAT SOMEONE BEAMED THE ARM OVER."

***** 6 Hours later *****

"Yes, I understand that I am now the highest ranking officer on the ship but I'm officially on Family Medical Leave of Absence. Effective Immediately, OK? Call the red headed Bajoran, Leo out!!!" Streely said tapping his communicator shut as he saw Dr. Grinch enter the lobby.

"Gimmie a full report..." Leo said popping up out of the chair he was waiting in.

"Lieutenant Darkstar is quite lucky to be alive. His scalp was partially torn from his skull. That and the 117 minor cuts and abrasions were easy to heal. The puncture wounds to his flanks cracked 2 ribs and punctured a lung. Tougher to heal, but still no problem." the Emergency Hologram stated.

"He had 4 lacerations ranging between 8 and 14 inches on his back. I removed the glass and closed those wounds as well. The problem was his arm."

"Oh shit...." Leo said. "Tell me you saved the arm."

"It's really to early to say. Fortunately the temperature was set very low. Muscle tends to have a faster metabolism than other kinds of tissue, so a severed arm or leg will deteriorate more quickly than your finger would. The cold climate held deterioration at bay."

"I needed to restore blood flow by reconnecting the arteries. For the procedure to work, the severed arteries must be large enough to manipulate. The Lieutenant's large frame helped him there."

"I also need to reattach the veins, or blood won't be able to flow out of the severed part. Without a conduit for outflow, the body part will swell, which can cause tissue damage. I couldn't seal the veins right away so I had to use leeches."

"WHAT?!?!?!" Lep gasped.

"A single leech can suck up 10 cubic centimeters of blood; a chemical in its saliva, hirudin, keeps blood from clotting and allows continued drainage. As I had to graft synthetic veins to keep the arm size natural, I needed to keep the blood build up from ruining the arm." Grinch said.

"His arms would be different sizes? I don't understand." Streely said.

When reattaching a limb, surgeons often remove some tissue to shorten the appendage. When the veins and arteries are stretched, tension on the stitches can jeopardize the procedure; shortening the severed part allows a bit of slack. In situations where significant shortening is undesirable, vein grafts can provide some leeway."

Leo sat down heavily in the chair.

"I think I'm going to be sick." he said.

The Emergency Holo simply pushed a waste basket towards Leo with his toe and continued.

"His humorous was completely shattered and somewhat irreparable. I had to replace it with a synthetic titanium bone. Needless to say It won't break again. The nerves, tendons and muscle were placed last. He lost much of his muscle mass in the arm and will require a second procedure once he is stronger to give his arm a more normal appearance. With adequate therapy, I would project he would have 80% of his arms use back in 4 to 6 months."

"Can I see him now?!?!" Leo asked.

"Not quite. There was one other complication. He suffered quite a concussion. I had to relieve the cranial bleeding. As a result, Lieutenant Darkstar is in a deep recuperative state.

"What..what the hell does that mean?!?!" Leo asked.

"It means he is in a coma."

OOC: JP follows from post "Damage Control – Part 2" I apologize for this extreme backpost.

"Advice"

Ensign Alexandra Lee (APC -- Aaron)
Engineering Officer

Michael McDowell
Civilian Engineering Specialist

*** Deck Fourteen, Jefferies tube ... ***

Michael stopped crawling through the Jefferies tube when he reached another access panel. Behind this panel was a communication hub. This was the fifth one that he would scan with his Engineering Tricorder and, most probably, diagnose as a total loss. He opened the access panel and it was just as he’d expected. He didn’t even need to scan the interior. The blackened circuits said enough. "Why am I not surprised..."

He made another note on the PADD that he carried with him, stating that comm. hub 14-21009 also had to be completely renewed. After that he closed the access panel again and started to crawl further down the Jefferies tube. It was near a corner that he heard someone else. Michael stopped and wondered who it could be while he tried to determine if the person was coming towards him or was going away from him. As far as he knew he would be working alone in this section of the Jefferies tube.

Alex crawled through the tubes, she had been busy making sure all damaged Gel Packs on the deck were replaced. Most EPS Junctions and relays were either gone, badly damaged, or needed a complete replacement. Something she would have to get to later and she wanted to keep busy. She had to, in order to keep her memories and roaming thoughts at bay. She soon turned the corner and nearly bumped into another engineer. She let out a small startled scream and then closed her eyes in relief at noticing it was the civilian engineer whom she had met a few weeks ago. "Hello, sir," she said with a grin. "Sorry, you startled me."

Just like Ensign Lee, Michael too was startled but not by the sudden appearance of the young woman. The short, ultra high pitched, scream made his ears ring. "I don't doubt that for a second."

"Sorry for the scream," she said, embarrassed with a grin. "It’s just been a long day. So what brings you to this section of the ship?"

"Just about everything you can think of. My guess so far is that 80% of the section has turned into junk yard material." Michael sat down and used the side of the Jefferies tube to support his back. "My assignment right now is to make a detailed assessment of the situation here. Internal sensors in this section are gone, so we only can do a rough estimation in Main Engineering."

Alex leaned against the side of the jeffries tube, facing Michael. "I've been checking over EPS Relays on this deck. I've managed to be able to repair three. The rest need a complete replacement, so far. Whoever designed these jeffries tubes for the Galaxy Class, needs to be shot and then thrown into a plasma injector," she commented, rubbing her sore knees.

"Glad I'm not one of them." Michael said. "I bet you've been crawling around here for hours or else you wouldn't have said that."

Forcing a grin, Alex nodded. "Something like that." Taking a break was allowing her body to begin to feel the full effects of the day—both physically and mentally. She brushed aside a strand lock of hair and closed her eyes for a moment, looking down at the crawl space, forcing the horrible images of people burnt alive from her mind. She opened her eyes and looked back up at Michael. "How long have you been at this?"

"About an hour. Every now and then I stopped to give my knees some rest." He inspected the list on his PADD and made a rough calculation. "According to this I still have some two hours to go." A frown crossed his face. The thought of being here for another few hours made him wish he could speed up time. "Why did you come out here repairing the EPS Relays? I heard you were here just after this section got hit. So why go back while it's still fresh in your mind? Or did some senior officer gave you an order to carry out this task?"

"Because the ship and the captain need every available engineer to assist. I don't mind. It keeps me busy, so I hardly notice the aches in my body," she smiled. It wasn't the physical aches Alex was scared of--it was the mental aches.

Her response was a bit peculiar. It seemed like she was contradicting herself. After all, if she didn't notice her sore knees, then why opt to have the designer of the Jefferies tubes be shot? But Michael kept his mouth about it. "It keeps you busy... You don't need some time off after what happened?"

She kept looking at the down at the plating. "Time off is the last thing I need. Besides, engineering needs my help." She closed her eyes as she fought the image of the burnt' crewman's face to the back of her mind.

"Is everything alright, Alexandra?"

After a moment, she looked up at Michael. She didn't want to admit to him that what she had experienced while on Damage Control detail had shaken her and how she had nearly lost control of herself. "Yeah," she sighed. "Bad experiences and memories. That’s all."

"I’m...sorry to hear that." Michael debated if he should try and let her talk about it. He assumed she was referring to what she experienced on these Decks right after if got hit by the nuclear bomb. "I can imagine it was difficult to get out here and do your job. It always is in such situations. No matter how many times you do it, you never get used to it." He remembered the times in which he found himself working in the similar conditions like Lee had been in. It had been stressful times to say the least.

Alex was quiet for a moment as she thought over what Michael had said. "The thing is, its not just what happened on the ship. Today's actions brought back alot of memories from when I volunteered to help in search and rescue efforts after the Breen Attack on San Francisco."

That caught Michael’s attention. It must’ve been horrible there at the time. So young and already carrying deep scars of the consequences of war. His concern grew by the minute. He laid his left hand on her lower leg with the intention to try and comfort her some. He had no idea if it would help any, but he had to do something. "Hey... it’s okay to feel like you do."

"I thought I was over what happened at San Francisco....but apparently I was wrong or else it wouldn't be affecting me as its doing now." She wondered briefly why it was so easy for her to talk to Michael before realizing it was most likely because he was an experienced engineer and he would understand...or at least she hoped he would.

At times like these Michael wished he had more of a Counselor in him. Give him any piece of hard- or software and he would tell you every detail there is to know about it, but confront him with a real person that is experiencing emotional problems…and he was lost. Or at least he felt lost. "Alexandra...I don’t want to sound pushy but have you talked to a Counselor yet?"

Alex shrugged. "I have thought about it...but what would a counselor know about our jobs? They don't rush into unstable parts of a ship and attempt to make it stable. Anyways, I should get going," Alex replied before once again crawling down another tunnel.

OOC: Takes place after "Advice". I am sorry for this extreme backpost.

"Aftershock"

Ensign Alexandra Lee

Captain Karyn Dallas

The warm water ran over the nude feminine body that stood under it. The humidity from the shower caused the nearby mirror to fog slightly as Alex braced herself against the bulkhead with both fully extended arms under the shower nozzle with her head hung low. "The burnt officer that had used his last breath of life to reach her on Deck Fourteen was still fresh in her mind. It was as if she could still feel the dead man's weight against her. Closing her eyes, the image became clear as she pounded her fist against the titanium bulkhead and tears began to stream down her cheeks, mixing with the water from the shower. Her body was racked by sobbing at all of the dead crew they had encountered during the damage control work. She thought that she had gotten over the death and destruction of the Breen Attack on Earth when she had volunteered to help. She had only been a student at New Paris University at the time and yet the sights and sounds she experienced recently had brought those memories back. Starfleet never trained cadets on how to deal with such destruction on a massive scale. "Am I even cut out to be an engineer in Starfleet?" she said softly to herself. She needed to talk to someone but those she did know were on duty. 'What the hell.. guess I'll see a counselor...they usually know what to do because I'll be damned if I do,' the thought. "Computer, terminate shower sequence." The water immediately stopped as Alex stepped out of the shower stall and wrapped a towel around her before heading to the closet and grabbing a uniform.

After dressing and freshening up, Alex made her way to the Counselor Office.

Captain Karyn Dallas smiled politely and gestured for the engineer to make herself comfortable in one of the various chairs she had strewn across the large sitting area beside her desk. Brian had generously allowed her to keep her office since it had been specially modified to accommodate her grav-chair. Still, she'd had to reduce the number of clients she saw since taking on the job of Chief Counselor of the Fleet, and so she felt the uncharacteristic twinge of butterflies as she regarded the young woman before her. "Hello, I'm Karyn. May I get you something to eat or drink before we chat?"

"No ma'am," Alex replied as she sat down in a rather comfortable and perhaps over-stuffed chair. She felt nervous as she hadn't expected to meet with such a high ranking counselor and what if this went into her report? What if Starfleet Medical saw her report and decided she would be unfit as an engineer? Yet, she hated seeing the images of the recent carnage aboard as well as back in San Francisco. Why were those memories returning?

Karyn nodded. "How may I help you..." Karyn hesitated. "Should I call you Alexandra?"

Alex was unsure of what to say. The woman held the rank of captain, yet she had offered. "Yes ma'am...Alexandra is fine. Alex took a deep breath. "Well, ma'am...I.. I'm having trouble sleeping or relaxing. I've been keeping myself busy with work...but...well...when I was leading a Damage Control Team on Deck Fourteen after the explosion, a badly burnt crewman rushed at me, screaming for me to help him...he died in my arms. There was nothing I could do...and now I'm having flashbacks to when I volunteered to help in rescue efforts after the Breen attacked San Francisco during the Dominion War...and I...I thought I was over that."

Karyn was sympathetic. "That must have been very difficult. It's not uncommon for aspects of a current experience to remind people of a past trauma. It sounds like the experiences were similar enough that all of it was brought back for you. Did you experience similar symptoms after the San Francisco rescue?"

"No, they were worse. I was only a civilian student at New Paris University when the attack occurred. I immediately volunteered in rescue efforts because I wanted to help people. I didn't have any sort of training regarding such situations. At the Academy, they teach you that people can die and put you through such scenarios in simulations, but they aren't the same. I mean...I'm an engineer on board a starship!" she was becoming upset now as she fought back tears. "I'm supposed to go into dangerous situations and get the job done. After that crewman died in my arms, I nearly lost my ability to lead the team."

"The key there is 'nearly'," Karyn pointed out. "You pulled yourself together and got the job done, and then when it was over, you had a completely normal, a completely human, reaction. I would be more worried if you weren't affected by it. No one expects you to be superwoman...except perhaps you."

"Except that I'm an engineer. It’s my job to go into dangerous and unstable parts of the ship. What if next time, I'm unable to pull myself together? What if someone dies because I hesitate or panic?"

Karyn considered that for a moment, steepled her hands, and leaned forward slightly. "I'm not going to lie to you and say that will never happen. However, I can guarantee that'll you'll never make it out of your quarters if you work yourself up with all of these racing 'what ifs.' I'm curious, do you fear the worst regarding other things?"

"Other things? Like what? I don't fear the worst in everything, if thats what you mean."

Karyn suppressed a smile. "Why don't you?"

"Because most other things I can control. All during my life, I have been taught that you can control most things in your life such as your career, your love life...or lack of, your friends, and such. Even in the Academy, they teach you to control yourself and think rationally during emergency situations, they teach discipline...yet they don't teach you how to handle situations, such as what just happened. What if Starfleet Medical gets wind of me nearly losing it during an emergency situation and they either reassign me to some backwater shipyard or boot me out of Starfleet?"

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself, Alexandra. No one else expects you to be in control of your emotions all the time, and it sounds like you're learning that you can't control as much as you thought. That's not a flaw, that's called being human. It's a revelation all people, especially those in Starfleet, have to face eventually. The idea you were ever in control is a myth. That doesn't mean, however, that your training didn't serve you today, or won't serve you later."

"I suppose you're right," Alex replied with a shrug. "I...I guess I'm still trying to get into being in a leadership role that all officers are. Well, I suppose I should go, ma'am. Thank you for listening to my problems." With a grin, Alex stood and exited the counseling office.

"Find Me"

Civilian Faylin McAlister

Location: San Fransisco - Four Seasons Hotel

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

There were few things that McAlister carried with her. For obvious reasons, she left the past in the past and moved on. Steven Jonas had disrupted her yet again...the little.......... Just when she believed she was over him, he showed up and caused her to question all the decisions she had ever made in her time with him. Currently, the woman sat on the edge of her bed with a padd in hand. It contained the first of many letters she had written him. It was, of course a copy. He had the originals that she had penned in ink on antique paper. Fay's head lowered, and she started to relive the past in streaming color.

""I know of you. My mind has vast ideas and longing of who you are, what composes you, your traits and qualities, yet I do not know who you are. I do know, that you are out in that world somewhere right now. Perhaps you are working at a job that you enjoy, but are not passionate about. Your days, they have mirrored each other for as
long as you can remember. The mundane setting of life is scheduled, routine, and comforting in a morose way.

I know that you are a man that cherishes a woman. You have had opportunities to love, thought you had that love only to discover that it did not love you back the way it should have. It found favor with another, leaving you shattered and broken. I do know that as much as you hurt, you picked yourself up and healed with time. The small scar of the past still stretches across your soul. Yes, it has faded with time but there are places and things that remind you of the hurt, making you involuntarily feel the pain of the past. I know you.

You desire to be with a woman that will love you fiercely, speak her opinion to you gently and respect you for the man God created you to be. You have yet to find me. When you do, you will know. You may not know instantly for that scar pain will flare when you think of what could be. I will take delight in walking up behind you, placing small soft kisses on your neck that tell you that I desire you for your body and mind. I accept you willingly, flaws and all and love you for the man that you were, the man that you are, and the man that you are to become.

I watch you intently, with a small lustful gaze at the end of a difficult day. I am content to lay in your arms, stroking your arm as it rests across me. I feel protected with you when I lay my head on your chest and feel you breath in the subtle feminine scent of my hair.

You know me. You know of the woman that will comfort you in time of trouble, laugh with you at an inside joke, and love you with eyes that are deeper than the most clear sea. You are already in love with the idea of me, which drives you mad on nights where the wind howls just as your heart howls for companionship you know is somewhere searching for you as well.

I am around you. I am the air you breath, the pillow you rest your head upon at night, the stars in a clear dark sky to which you look up at, I am....all around you. Look for me....feel me whisper your name in the cool wind of winter for I am there....haunting you, pushing you to find me so we may be as one soul, one spirit, one body, and one
mind.

I am waiting for you...................find me."

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

"After Iscariot Factor"

Commander Jaal Jaxom
Commander Brian Elessidil
Lt. Commander Tarin Iniara

****

The turbolift had barely started to move before the XO turned to Commander Jaxom and said, "Please tell me that was as unexpected for you as it was for the rest of us."

"Oh it was!" Jaxom stated emphatically.

"You served with K'aa in the past...has there ever been a hint that..." Her voice faded as she thought about it for a moment. That...what? she thought. That he would go berserk and attack his commanding officer? That he would singlehandedly chew and claw his way through most of the bridge crew without a second thought? "Has there ever been a hint, even the slightest, that he could be capable of something like this?"

"No..." Jaal started, "Not on his own, but there was the one time while on Miranda...
we were doing some research near the Romulan border with a Vulcan science vessel, the T'Pau. We ended up finding and old Fleet ship called the Indefagitable. There was a strange presence on the ship that possessed several of the crew... K'aa included. That was the only time he'd ever gone off the deep end that I know of."

"On some level you could argue its instinctual behaviour for a Gorn," Brian observed, "but this wasn't just someone acting on instinct. This was pre-meditated and thorough. I didn't sense anything chaotic or uncontrolled from his thoughts: K'aa knew exactly what he was doing, yet the way he talked about the captain just made his actions
all the more incomprehensible." He paused for a second and thought. "But that's the part that bothers me. Do you remember some of what he said? He sounded like a religious zealot. I don't know a great deal about the Gorn, but I'm not familiar with them being driven by zealotry, and certainly not on the bridge of a starship."

"He didn't sound at all like the K'aa I know," Jaal added. "He didn't fight like the K'aa I know either. Our last assignment on the Miranda was to put a dent in pirate activity in the Gyndine system on the border with Orion territory. We'd gone undercover. K'aa was on my infiltration team." The Trill shook his head, "I've seen K'aa fight first hand. The K'aa on the bridge didn't move or act anything like the K'aa I know. The one I know uses his weight, strength, and tactical knowledge much better than 'that' Gorn," he jerked his thumb in the direction of the ruined main bridge, "...who seemed to use only brute force to cause as much damage as he could."

Iniara nodded slowly, scratching her chin in thought. "So...there's several possibilities. If that K'aa didn't behave like the K'aa we know... It could be another Gorn masquerading as the real K'aa. Or yet another Hydran clone." She resisted the urge to groan as her thoughts drifted back to the O'Shea incident. "Or maybe some other form of mind control, programming, whatever. But which explanation seems most likely?"

"'ANOTher' Hydran clone?" Jaxom asked somewhat surprised, "Is this a big problem for you guys?"

Iniara nodded once. "Somewhat. This ship has encountered the Hydrans on many occasions, so it stands to reason that they see us as a thorn in their side and will try anything to stop us. It seems that they are somewhat fond of abducting our officers and replacing them with Hydran clones. The most obvious example of this happened about two years ago, when at some point, our Chief Engineer at the time was replaced by a Hydran-controlled clone." She paused, then added, "And there is speculation that Hydran agents, possibly more clones, were in place on Deep Space Five before the attack there. But as that investigation is ongoing...and probably will be for some time..."

The XO shrugged before continuing. "But I suppose the more pertinent question right now is... is this the latest attempt by the Hydrans to infiltrate our ranks? Or are there other forces at work here?"

"Hard to say," Brian answered. "We might want to give Kimberly a head's up on what we're thinking. She'll probably have someone look in on K'aa as well, he was injured after all. If he's some kind of clone, there might be a way to tell. Mind control might be detectable too, depending on the method. I think I'd better arrange to see him in the brig as well, see if there's anything I can notice." The thought of meeting face-to-face with the rampaging Gorn, even with a protective force field between them, didn't really appeal to the counselor. He hoped they were going to keep the temperature nice and cool in the brig.

"I'd like to go too, Brian, if that's all right," Jaal offered. Admittedly, he was curious as well about the Gorn whether it was K'aa or not.

"I don't see any problem with that," the counselor replied as the lift door swished open. "It's not a counseling session, so confidentiality won't apply."

"Sounds like a plan, then," Iniara concluded as she made her way across the much smaller Battle Bridge, nodding to the junior officers who were just taking their places and activating the consoles. "Once we're clear of the nebula and Doctor Burton is available, go and see what you can find out."

"Good," Jaal cracked his knuckles loudly. Looking to Brian he said, "Just let me know when you're ready."

Brian smirked. "Easy there, fella. We're going to try to determine his state of mind, not work him over, okay?"

Jaal's eyes narrowed slightly. "I know it's not proper but it wouldn't hurt anything." The Trill was sick and tired of losing captains. First it was Captain Summers over Romulus. Then it was Elaithin going on a sabbatical after Jordan sacrificed herself... K'aa had played a pivotal role in that adventure too. Now M'Kantu. He'd barely been
aboard three months and his new commanding officer was gone unless the doctors in sickbay can pull off miracles.

"Do whatever you feel you have to. Just let me know what, if anything, you discover." Iniara looked at the two men, for a moment feeling almost uncertain at the thought of ordering around a couple full Commanders...even though she was, at least for the time being, in command of the ship. She looked away, surveying the Battle Bridge before settling into the center seat. At least here she felt a little more like she belonged.

"Helm, take us out of the nebula, best possible speed." The pilot, a young Vulcan male, nodded. A moment later the view on the screen shifted as the ship began to accelerate.

OOC: Sorry about the overly late back post here....but I needed to at least have this out to paint the EMRT storyline a bit. -Omar......... OOC.

"EMRT Interview, Part I"
With
Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP (PC)
Petty Officer 2nd Class, USS Galaxy
Cariss "Casper" Parr, RN (NPC, by Mek)
Ensign, USS Galaxy

[Takes place prior to the battle with the Hydrans and the Starbeast]

Medical Conference/Lounge

Pouring through the various records of the personnel that Dr. Burton had given him, Max considered seriously this last batch he was left with. It was easier screening people just by looking for certain items in their jackets: Personality traits, ability to work both as an individual and as part of a team, knowledge of field medicine, confirmed kills (of patients), and finally just gut instinct.

He rubbed his eyes and looked at the chronometer on one of the flat desktop displays. 0857 hours. His first appointment should be walking in any moment. He quickly pulled her jacket PADD out of the stack and brought up the bare basics that he needed to see:

Name: Cariss "Casper" Parr
Rank: Ensign
Race: Trill (unjoined)
Gender: Female
Educational Record:
2374-2378 Gheryzan High School, Gheryzan, Trill - Student (4 years)
2378-2379 Gheryzan Hospital, Gheryzan, Trill, Medical Intern (1 year)
2379-2383 Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, Earth, Cadet (4 years)
Service Record:
2383-2384 USS Galaxy - Nurse

The fact that she was a medical intern caught Max's eye. Med School dropout, like he was? Or possibly a Trill prep program he wasn't aware of. It was somewhat difficult to remember and keep track of what each world did as far as medical education was concerned.

Nonetheless, while young, Max knew that to get experience, she was going to have to get some, and what better place than on the EMRT...if she was able to get through his interview.

Cariss knocked softly on the archway. "Hi, I'm here for an interview?"

She smiled hesitantly. "My name is Cariss Parr."

"Good morning, Ensign Parr," Max greeted. "If you'll just have a seat, we'll get started, m-kay?"

"Okay," She said, taking her seat across from him. It felt strange to be in the conference room during her off hours; she was unused to being in this room not in uniform. She had an urge to pull back her thick brown hair into its customary clip.
"Awesome. Now I noticed here in your record that you were a Medical Intern at Gheryzan Hospital on Trill. Can you expand on that a bit for me?"

"Oh," Cariss replied. "Sure. I was just out of high school and not really sure what I wanted to do with my life, you know? Gheryzan revolves around its hospital, and my mom used to work there, so it didn't seem so much a stretch that I might eventually work there too.

I was pretty much a, what's the human term, candy striper? A volunteer."

"I see," Max said, making a notation on a separate PADD. He was actually hoping that she was in some kind of Pre-Med program, but no matter. She still had Academy training and was a Registered Nurse. He'll just have to find something in the interview to really put a tag on the yes or no box for her.

"Well, moving right along, the EMRT doesn't operate under the pretence of rank, only as a team with a leader. Does it bother you that you may have to take direction from an NCO or even a Crewman?" This was a key question for Max, because he needed to know that his team will be comprised of medical professionals, not brass toters.

"No. I care about my patients. As long as the leader has their health in mind ..."

"Absolutely," smiled Max. "Now here's the lowdown on what's going to happen with these teams. We will be inserted into hazardous situations with Marine or Security support as a possibility, but more often than not we will be on our own. I'm a stickler for triage protocols. If they're dead or just about dead, leave 'em dead. We need to concentrate on the larger picture.

"There are some medical professionals that believe that there shouldn't be a need for 'antiquated' triage protocols, however with the size of medical staff we have on board the Galaxy, I think it would be reasonable to say that there is indeed such a need. Would you agree?" Max watched her intently for her answer, because this would make or break the interview for her.

"I ... couldn't say for certain that I could just leave someone like that, Sir," Cariss replied honestly. She knew the importance of triage and yet it had always seemed so cold blooded to leave behind a person still in pain. Maybe she would feel differently with field experience. It was more than likely before this war was over.

Max nodded and made another note on the separate PADD. He appreciated her honesty and figured that it would only be helped by her getting experience. "Good," he said finally. "Welcome aboard the EMRT. Once all the interviews are over, I'll assign you to a team, and within one week's time the teams will perform in individual drills, then in one large simulated drill. They will be grisly, they will test your fortitude, they will simulate arduous situations.

"But what I'm looking for is your ability to keep your head and do what needs to be done. The small details can be worked out later. Still interested?"

"I .. yes, Sir, I am," She replied. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"Uh, yeah, another thing," Max said, obviously uneasy. "I've never liked being called sir by anyone, unless it was a Cadet or a Crewman who screwed up and had to establish that line of respect. Please call me Max, okay?"

"Oh, sure. Max."

"Excellent. We'll be in touch soon," Max concluded, standing and proffering his hand.

Cariss shook his hand, smiled, and then left.

Max looked at the chronometer, and saw that he still had a good ten minutes before the next appointment walked in. He would have to resist the urge to yell out 'NEXT!'

"Medivac"

(Occurs immediately after 'The Iscariot Factor, Part 3")

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton

****
[Sickbay, USS Galaxy]

In a less advanced time doctors would have held a mirror before the mouth of someone to see if they were dead. If the mirror misted over, they were still breathing, and therefore alive. If it remained clear, there was no breath and therefore no life. In the frigid air of the bridge, amidst the chaos that had been wrought here, Kimberly knelt before her Captain, and for a fleeting moment recalled this archaic piece of medical history and fervently hoped it was not true in this case. Tricorder in hand she had worked to determine if there was any hope for her Captain, and as she did so, for a split second her eyes met those of Lieutenant Krieghoff.

It was hard to say what caused the shiver that coursed up her spine, his gaze, the feeling she got whenever she saw him, his own natural aura, the chill, or the more terrifying thought of loosing the fight to save M'Kantu, but whatever it was that started the unholy shivers stopped as she heard Krieghoff mutter seven soft words to M'Kantu.

'You do not have permission to die.'

Softly said, but the tone left no doubt that to disobey him was not something you wanted to do. Fervently praying to her Goddess as she worked she hoped that his belief in his... superstition, tradition, whatever, would work again.

With the temperature set so low everyone's breath formed a misty cloud before them as they exhaled, short sharp gasps in the cold air. Everyone that is save the Captain. No mist formed before his mouth, no reassuring cloud of warm moist air expelled from his lungs to reassure her that he lived. Only her tricorder gave her a scant reassurance that hope might exist, a small sliver of hope that she desperately clung to as she slapped her combadge so hard her chilled fingers flared in pain.

"Computer, beam Captain M'Kantu and Lieutenant Krieghoff to sickbay, immobilize in transport and hold in transporter stasis until further orders." Letting the two dematerialize she grabbed her kit and left the bridge at a run, leaving the remaining injured to be treated by others. Her mind awhirl with the scans she had taken. Whatever had damaged his neck had effectively killed him, the only thing keeping him alive right now was the residual oxygen in his system and the residual energy in his synaptic pathways.

Once that was all gone, so he too would go. Everything he was, all that made him unique. Transporter stasis would buy her enough time to get sickbay set up, full life support would give him more time. But after that...

Literally running off the turbolift she ran full pelt down corridors to sickbay, colliding with several people along the way. All the way her thoughts were in turmoil. This was the Captain, how could this happen on his own bridge.

They needed him damnit! There's a 'War' on!

As she ran through the doorway she began firing off a rapid string of orders... clear a biobed, set up full life support, gather equipment, drugs, personnel. She left no time for questions, no time for worry, that was for her. And she had enough of that for sure. Once they had full life support up they could bring in the Captain, then, when he was stabilized they could see if there was any brain damage.

Taking a deep breath she paused a second as everyone worked around her and stepped into her office. She could probably keep him alive, and Goddess willing prevent any damage to his brain cells, but after? The nerve cluster at the base of his skull was damaged, to repair that would require surgery with a finesse no one aboard was capable of. Setting a web program running on her terminal she directed it to collate any and all materials relating to neural regeneration and several associated subjects hoping and praying there was something there she could use either to heal him or as inspiration.

Stepping back out onto the ward she took a breath to calm herself, then a second when the first didn't work. Looking around she raised her voice, "Any telepathic sensitives, Lieutenant Krieghoff is beaming in shortly. Consider yourselves warned." Walking over to the biobed that was prepared she watched it lower itself to the floor and looked around.

"The Lieutenant is with the Captain, who has been seriously injured." Feeling the knot in her own stomach writhe again at the words she continued, ignoring everyone's murmured comments, "when they arrive, full life support on the Captain, quickly, but make no mistakes here. Severe rotational neck trauma down to the fourth cervical vertebrae." Downloading her tricorders readings she explained quickly what needed to be done.

"Ready." She said after her briefing. It wasn't a question, it was a warning. Tapping her commbadge she raised her voice. Keeping it as level and steady as she could she ordered the beam in to resume. The sound of the transporter filled sickbay, and for a moment it seemed unnaturally loud and it took her a second to realise why. Other than the transporter, there were no other sounds, the staff and patients had fallen silent, word had spread that the captain was injured, and everyone watched or worked silently.

Victor knew that they'd been held in the transporter buffer from the slight disorientation that always accompanied the process, the brief flicker that told you that the normally instantaneous transport procedure had been interrupted and that time - a few seconds, a few minutes, a few decades - had passed. He was still straddling the
Captain, and still had his hands around M'Kantu's neck, holding it still, preventing it from moving and causing any more damage - but he'd known that would be the case. The risk of further injury was too great if they'd tried to separate them in the buffer (assuming that someone was willing to even try).

He didn't look up after transit, didn't move as the smells of Sickbay - antiseptic, sickness, and the faintest hint of someone's perfume - filled his nostrils, washing away the smell of blood and pain that had filled the bridge. His attention was elsewhere, on the man in his hands - and on the life under them that he'd forbidden to depart.

Already kneeling beside him by the time he had materialized Kimberly nodded to Arrietty to take over from Krieghoff. As she supported the Captains head Kimberly gently touched Victors shoulder, "Lieutenant, you can let go now, gently please." She asked, ready to activate the restraining field as soon as he was clear.

Victor nodded, and, waiting to feel the pull of the restraint field in place before he moved, slowly released the Captain's neck and stood up, making room for the biobed to rise and the medical staff to move in. "He's not going to die today, Doctor."

Concern and worry plainly evident on her face Kimberly looked at Victor for a second as the restraint field flared into life and the bed rose to its normal level. In that second though her expression conveyed everything, from frustration to fear, then she turned to her patient without a word, praying he was right.

Moving further back out of the way, Victor watched as the medical team swarmed in, surrounding the Captain. M'Kantu wouldn't die - not until Victor gave him permission to do so - but there wasn't anything that Victor could do about damage from the injury. That was up to Dr. Burton and her staff... and the Divine.

For several moments Kimberly and her team worked feverishly, first connecting the captain first to every life support mechanism needed to sustain his life. Somehow, and right now she didn't care how, there was still neural activity, and she was damned if she was going to loose the miniscule window of opportunity that had been handed to her. Whether it was Victor and his order, her fervent prayers to her Goddess, or that someone had tried to freeze the bridge, lowering the temperature enough to slow his demise that needed moment she didn't care.

Stepping back from the biobed she paused a moment and looked at the readouts. Blinking and wiping her eyes she cleared away a tear that was blurring her vision and breathed a shaky sigh of relief as she saw the monitors slowly register heart and lung function, blood pressure, and, most importantly of all, a brain wave.

"I want Dr. MacIntire to run a full neurological workup as soon as he can get here," Kimberly ordered, "I want his brain and CNS scanned mapped and the results on my desk asap. Get Dr. Kio up here as well and ask her to perform a mind meld, we need to know if his consciousness is damaged and she's just volunteered to help." Looking to Arrietty who was taking notes she threw a thumb in the direction of her office, "Have a repeater monitor set up in my office so I can monitor his vitals real time while I work and have Safina assemble her critical care team to monitor him twenty four seven."

"Anything else Sir?" The El-Aurian head nurse asked.

"Yeah. Coffee, and lots of it. The book says the best the captain can probably hope for now is a lifetime on full life support until they slowly figure out how to regenerate or repair his spinal column and nerves over the next decade or two." Turning to her office she shook her head as she walked past her team and Victor, "Simply put, Frell
that! Before I get ordered to transfer him to a starbase or planetside medical facility I'm gonna do everything I can first." Pausing in her doorway she looked back over her shoulder to where the Captain lay, "He's not leaving here unless it's on his own two feet!"

Victor watched her go, fixed her eyes on the still form of the Captain, and nodded, the echo of the forbiddance he'd issued M'Kantu still echoing in his mind. The Captain wasn't going anywhere, least of all any further into the darkness of death.

That was certain.

"What about the wash-closet?"

Cadet Paige Sullivan
Operations

w/ Ensign Filip Parks (npc)
Operations

--

Finally the Intruder Alert ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its place and a sense of relief quickly followed.

That was the thing about being in the Core -- you were all but locked in if the ship was boarded. The moment that the alarm sounded the whole core went into lock down mode, a failsafe that had been developed after decades of theft and sabotage.

It was a good idea, at least in theory; Paige could definitely appreciate the reasoning behind it. But the practice left a little to be desired. For instance, there weren't exactly wash-closets in the Clean Room (the closest was the third the size of an escape pod and located in the computer access room, conveniently -- and tauntingly-- outside the sterilizing airlock between), and it never failed that the moment you can't use one is the moment you need one most.

As a consequence, Paige had been crossing her legs for the past twenty minutes. Honestly, she wasn't sure what the plan would be if the enemy's boarding party had effectively taken over the ship. She supposed the thirteen of them stationed here would get pretty well acquainted with one another, though she liked to think that there was some other Greater Plan that the Brass understood and she just wasn't privy too.

Of course, she wasn't about to ask. Not yet. Maybe when she officially graduated and got that shiny brass pip on her collar.

"We're beginning to get reports of the damage we sustained," her Lieutenant said, surveying his small division of the Operations staff. During her 'introductory briefing' he had stated that he was the *Assistant* Assistant Chief of Operations, something implying that he was quite important when really he was little more than middle management.

They were the hardware specialists (as opposed to communications, software management, software programming, data management, or general I.T. support), and were in charge of the relays, the circuitry, and the abilities of the computer to run this or that. They were relatively small, but they were always busy, and always interfacing with members of the other divisions and with engineering (which was, of course, responsible for power distribution and generally making the ship go).

"But Commander Jaxom has reported extensive damage to the bridge. While that's second in priority to making sure there's no damage to the main processors--" there were several around the ship, spaced in the most key areas including Main Engineering, Tactical Analysis, and the Armory -- "it's a very close second. So a couple of us will need--"

"Me!" Paige exclaimed, hand shooting up, waving it eagerly.

"Need to--"

"Please? Lieutenant, I volunteer."

He sighed, blue hand rubbing the pressure point on his blue brow (though that deep indigo hue was beginning to come up again in his cheeks).

"Fine. Ensign Parks, will you take the cadet and meet with the software management and engineering teams on the bridge?"

Ensign Filip Parks looked at the petite girl with an expression that clearly stated he would almost rather do anything else, but Paige grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out of the room fast as she could. She groaned inwardly when she saw that the access room's 'closet was occupied, and she hurried the Ensign out into the central halls.

"First, we have to warp to the next head," she said. "I've gotta go halla--" Paige stopped suddenly, physically and verbally, after they rounded a corner. Her bladder was all but forgotten. "Shadow of Olympus," she breathed. "It looks like Foss rampaged through here."

The lights were flickering or out altogether; conduits had exploded and burns from phaser blasts sullied the usually gleaming surface of the walls and blood darkened the dark grey carpeting. There were biological pieces littering the area, which was grizzly enough, but then her eyes fell on a complete body buried under debris, crushed and bloodied. Parks crouched down, checking vitals, but shook his head; it looked like emergency transporters had already grabbed the wounded for medical bay. All they would run into were the dead.

Paige steadied herself on the wall, feeling nauseous. The smell alone was enough to do her in -- a combination of burnt circuitry, dead gel packs, and fried flesh permeated the air around her, mixing with the added punch of ozone from the phaser blasts. Bright, glowing spots pricked at her vision as she felt her face pale, and a bitter taste lingered in the back of her throat as sweat broke out around her hairline. Her hand felt weird and she pulled it back, groaning as she saw the blood on her palm. She cursed, and tried to wipe it away.

"You can't think about it," Parks said, pushing a handkerchief in her hand; she wondered where he got it, but then remembered that most Ops officers carried rags around with them for the goo of bioneural gel. She dimly went through the motions of wiping her hand as she felt him take her by the shoulder, guiding her through the darkening tunnel. "You can't think about it, concentrate on breathing, just walk with me." He wrapped an arm around her waist and half pulled, half carried her down the hall with him. "What is a Foss?"

"Huh?" she asked, fighting the fainting spell as best she could. It was the smell; she couldn't escape from the smell.

"Foss. You said it looks like Foss rampaged through here. What's a Foss?"

"The Martian, uhm..." She frowned, trying to think of the word as she was ushered onto the turbolift and she dropped her head down, getting blood to rush into it as the ensign held her up. She pushed sweaty hair off her forehead. "Boogeyman? Maybe? Foss -- Garlan Foss I think -- he was a miner who went crazy about a hundred years ago and turned into a serial killer. He killed something like 200 women and kids over four years before he just disappeared. No one could catch him and no one knows what happened to him. He's sort of... he's seen as a lesser henchman of the devil."

"I've never heard of that," he said.

She shrugged a little, leaning against the turbolift wall, hands still on her knees and head still angled down. She was humiliated and felt like a child for her reaction to all of this; she would have thought she was built of sterner stuff, that she wasn't the type of girl to go all wobbly at the sight of something... unfortunate. But then again, why wouldn't this be her reaction? Sure, she was a Starfleet cadet, but she'd only seen a body once before in her life, when she was twelve, and it was under completely different circumstances. They stumbled upon the remains of a fallen hiker around Arsia Mons, but her stepfather, Steve, was there with them, and the hiker had died from his own carelessness not as a result of a vicious attack.

"Every people has their own legends, I guess. I never really paid attention to the stories though. One of my high school friends was really into the Foss lubo, but I always tuned him out when he talked about it. I don't... I don't really like violence and death and that."

"I could tell," he remarked.

"Sorry."

"No, it's -- it's a good thing, cadet; I've been in the Fleet 8 years, it's like it's so common I don't even notice it anymore. I'd rather you get sick about it, it reminds me that this type of thing shouldn't be normal."

She lifted her head and looked at him. She hadn't thought about Filip Parks as being that much older; in fact, she hadn't really thought about Filip Parks at all. He came off as a pretty quiet guy who reliably did his work and who had enough ambition to be in the Fleet, but not enough to move upward at an astronomical pace. He came off as happy and content being exactly where he was and doing exactly what he was doing.

"I'm sorry," she said.

It was his turn to shrug. "We all knew what we were getting into, right?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head, "not really."

As though on cue, the turbolift stopped and the doors pulled open to reveal the carnage on the bridge. Paige felt her mouth fall open, but she wasn't in enough control to close it again as she stepped forward as though some invisible force was drawing her out of the sanctuary of the small, contained space.

It felt as though she had waited her entire life to see the *actual* bridge of an *actual* Galaxy-class ship. It was the type of place where legends were born, where stories were created that would fascinate school children (or at very least, aspiring cadets) for generations. She thought that seeing it, for real, would be some deeply spiritual experience, one that would remove all doubt that this is where she wanted to be, nay where she should and needed to be, and it would cement in her heart that one day, some day, she would work her way up to command because that was her True Purpose.

This wasn't the way to see it. She looked down at her feet and saw a big pool of blood seeping into the carpet. It was too much. Paige felt the bile creep up in her throat and she croaked out 'wash-closet' before she bolted.

She barely made it.

OOC - a backpost, and my apologies to all involved for being such a bum. You deserve a better CAG!

"La Chanson de Bataille, Part 1"

Jarajen "Quattro" Quaaliu, Vanguard One
Ella "Songbird" Grey, Vanguard Four
Taev "Stubbs", Sabre Two
Elrin "Vixen" Kit'ari, Sabre Six
Nathan "Cowboy" Everett, Sabre One
Graan "Granite" glasch Gavrak, Sabre Eight

**********************************
=^= APPROACH =^=
**********************************
Vanguard One/Vanguard Four

"Change of plans?" Ella asked Quattro as Taev fell back and the CAG moved by her side.

"CAG's prerogative", Quattro rasped over the comm channel. "Someone else may babysit Stubbs. This day, the Songbird flies point - I will cover your back. Remember, the Hydran-maj flies in sets of three, nine to a flight wing."

"Got it," She replied with a quick smile and then turned her full attention back to the Hydrans. She could feel her heartbeat increasing it's pace and forced herself to breathe normally. She had trained for this, she was no longer an engineer. She was ready.

In his cockpit, Jarajen wished he felt a tenth of the bravado he had feigned in the shuttlebay; for the first time in combat he felt cold, and an icy sweat trickled down his spine beneath his G-suit.

Worst, the stump on his lower left hand throbbed with a relentless, agonizing rhythm. When his starfighter's HUD came alive with the red glow of enemy fightercraft he was disappointed that wave of relief he anticipated did not happen. The Hydran-maj were deployed, but there was no thrill for the Nassari as he flicked open the common frequency..

"Vanguards and Sabres, this is Quattro. Finish approach along the Galaxy's left side and engage at will targets on carrier two. Repeat: engage at will."

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

Sabre Two/Sabre Six

"So... Foxy... I was thinking... after I become an Ace again I was wondering what you'll be up to after the dogfight." Taev made some minor adjustments to his fighters trim, finally fiddling with the 'comm speaker in front of his helmet. "Back in the Shuttlebay I could tell by the look in your eyes and the wag of your tail that you have the legs of a dancer. Troll for Oo-mox in Ten-Forward afterwards?"

Elrin had made all the necessary adjustments to his fighter before they had taken off and was already in the process of lining up his first target when the Ferengi interrupted his concentration.

"What makes you say that? Yeah I dance but only because I kept getting embarrassed at parties when people expected me to do the foxtrot and I couldn't."

"That's alright... I'm sure we can find other ways to amuse ourselves.

So - what's your stock portfolio like anyways?"`

"Huh?" Elrin's voice had a genuine sound of surprise in it. "Don't invest. Oh, and while we're chatting which of these lovely Hydran folks would you like to go visit first".

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

Sabre One/Sabre Eight

Cowboy glanced over at the fighter on his wing, watching as the low-sitting pilot shifted in his cockpit for what must have been the hundredth time.

"You alright over there, Granite?" he asked.

Graan responded with a low growl "I am not pleased with the layout of this new cockpit," he grumbled, clearly frustrated.

"What's the matter, too narrow for ya?" Cowboy joked, grinning across the void at the Tellarite.

His wingman stared back at him. "Hrn...do not start with me, Cowboy, I'm agitated enough as it is. I was sampling a very fine I'danian spice pudding before this blasted Starbeast showed up."

"Ah'm sorry fer yer troubles," Nathan answered with a roll of his eyes. "And that's *Lieutenant* Cowboy to you, mister."

Granite answered Cowboy with a dismissive grunt, and Nathan grinned again as he turned to focus on the task ahead. "Ah lahk him."

TBC

"Kashira Kashira"

Featuring the random NPC cavalcade

(Cookies to anyone who gets the title reference. Oh yeah, and language warning!)

****

Petty Officer Third Class Marcus Benson was just about done for the day. Donning a fresh Hawaiian-inspired shirt and a pair of loose grey trousers, the young medic shut the door to his locker, then turned and began to make his way to the exit of the small locker room adjacent to Sickbay.

He didn't get very far.

"Oof!" The wind rushed out of his lungs as what felt like a humanoid shoulder was driven straight into his chest. He staggered back, barely catching himself against the row of lockers nearest the door.

"Fuck! Oh, shit...shit, man I'm sorry." Marcus shook his head to clear it and looked up at the other man, just in time for the second round of compelling dialogue. "Shit! Fuck!"

"Hey man...what's wrong with you?" Marcus asked, eyeing the man. A PO3 just like him, about the same height, but built like a brick wall. No wonder it had felt like that when they collided.

"Sorry man." The nameplate on his chest said "DEANGELO", but Marcus didn't recognize the name or the face it belonged to. Wait...what was that smear on the guy's commbadge? Was that...

"...injured officers on the bridge," DeAngelo was saying, his eyes wide with what might have been fear. "Fuckin' gruesome, man."

Marcus cursed himself for having zoned out during the guy's story. Did he just say--

"Did you just say 'bridge'?"

"Yeah man, that's where I just came from. The place is a total mess. Commander Tarin was saying it happened during the battle. Man, there was blood everywhere." DeAngelo paused and looked down at himself, poking his chest experimentally. A bit of red came away on the fingertip. He looked back up at Marcus. "Yep, everywhere."

"Wow, man..." Marcus exhaled slowly, looking DeAngelo over once more. The non-com uniforms were almost entirely black, so it was hard to tell when they were stained or wet, but if he looked close enough...there was a definite wet patch on the guy's left side. Whose blood could that have been?

"Wow...man..." he repeated. "Looks like you need a fresh uniform. Wow...man, I gotta go." And with that, Marcus Benson strode out of the locker room. He had to find out what had happened.

****

"Did you hear?"

"Huh?"

"Did. You. Hear?"

"Hear what?"

"Something happened on the bridge."

"'Something'. That's rather vague, Marcus."

"During the battle. Something happened. Like, a fight or something."

"What?"

"Yeah. I ran into another medic in the locker room; he was covered in
blood, said he'd just come from the bridge."

"Covered in blood? Whose blood?"

"No idea."

"Couldn't you find out?"

"I guess I could, but..."

"You could get the guy's uniform and DNA test the blood on it...find
out who it belonged to..."

"Or I could just walk into Sickbay and see who's in there."

"Oh yeah." A pause. "So why don't you?"

Another pause. "Hmm. I wonder if I should."

****

The normal sound of Sickbay's doors swishing open was more than overshadowed by the noise they had been keeping in. Marcus poked his head in just a bit, trying not to be too conspicuous. After all, he didn't want to get in the way, but he really didn't want to get suckered into helping out now that he was off-duty. Besides, he was just a lab technician, what help would he be in a trauma situation?

"Holy..." he mouthed, the sound dying in his throat. His eyes widened to an impossible size as he stared at the scene before him. Nearly every biobed in the place was occupied; from the looks of it, crewmembers from all over the ship were being tended to. A middle-aged Andorian male in enlisted blacks was sprawled out on the bed immediately to his left, clearly unconscious, possibly on sedatives. Beyond him, a youngish Bajoran was moaning in pain, her bloodstained gold jumpsuit marking her as some sort of Engineering tech. No wait, her collar was white...that meant she was a fighter tech. Beyond her lay a handful of other crewmembers...some were clearly officers, others were either in enlisted blacks or utility jumpsuits. Here was a tall Vulcan with what looked like Lieutenant's pips, there was a stout Tellarite in a gold jumpsuit that bore no decoration save his Starfleet commbadge and a wide swath of
greenish-black blood. The Vulcan's...? And in the middle of the room...

Marcus' throat tightened as he caught a glimpse of the man on the main biobed. Was that...?

"Move!!" The word cut through his thoughts, not soon enough though as once again he felt himself being shoved out of the way. Stumbling to the side he caught a quick glimpse of two more crewman, a Klingon half supporting, half dragging a Caitian. Lavender blood the consistency of yogurt decorated the front of the Klingon's shirt, but he didn't seem to notice or care. "He's lost a lot of blood," the Klingon bellowed at a fast approaching nurse. "Can you help him?"

"Get him on that bed," the nurse replied, gesturing with a hand even as she whipped out a medical tricorder and started scanning the injured Caitian. "No major internal injuries...just a lot of blood loss," she announced. "Dario, get over here now!"

The nurse looked up. Marcus froze as he realized what was happening...she was looking straight at him.

"Hey! You!" she yelled, closing the gap between them in a series of unusually quick strides. She looked pissed off; Marcus couldn't decide if it was because she really was, or if the deep shadows on her nose ridges just made it look that way. "What are you doing in here?"

It was then that Marcus remembered he was no longer in uniform. She probably thought he was some dumb civilian who'd wandered through the wrong door, not an off-duty lab tech who just got curious. "Uhh....erm..." he stuttered, still dumbfounded by the situation.

"This is no place for you," the Bajoran nurse was telling him. "If you're not dying, get out! Out!" she repeated, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him back towards the door. Marcus stumbled yet again before he realized that she was right, he really had no business being here, and he should just get out now before he caused any problems.

"Sorrysorrysorry," he tried to say as he backed out of Sickbay and into the hall. Just before the doors closed he managed a little hop, looking over the woman's shoulder back at the center biobed. He could have sworn that man, with his dark skin and white-peppered hair, looked awfully familiar. Almost like...

"Oh, shit."

****

"You're fucking crazy, Marco." Ludmila Temenkova was alternating her actions between pacing furiously and glaring at him. "Fucking. Crazy."

"I know what I saw, Mila. I know what I saw. It was the captain. I know it."

"No, it wasn't. And you know why? Because we would know about it. The ex-oh or someone would make an announcement. They wouldn't keep us in the dark, even if people like you and I are nothing more than grunts."

"But what if they haven't had the time? It's been what, thirty minutes since we went off red alert? What if they haven't had time to tell us?"

"How long does it take to do that, hmm? Ten seconds? Fifteen?" Ludmila stopped her pacing, crossed her spindly arms across her chest, and glared at Marcus. "I still say you're crazy."

"No, you're crazy. You don't--" Any more words that may have spilled out of Marcus' mouth were abruptly cut off by the distinctive whistle that preceded any shipwide announcement.

"Attention all hands, this is the First Officer speaking," a low, slightly raspy female voice began. Marcus had always wondered what the XO's voice would sound like. "At approximately fifteen nineteen hours today, Captain M'Kantu was injured during an...incursion on the Main Bridge. Until such time as he is able to return to his duties, I have assumed temporary command of the USS Galaxy. Our orders are to maintain a defensive posture outside the Kateren nebula for at least the next forty eight hours." There was a pause before the voice continued. Now the words seemed heavier, more difficult to say. "I ask that you keep the captain in your thoughts and prayers. That is
all; Tarin out."

It took a few seconds for either of them to react.

Marcus looked at Mila.

Mila looked at Marcus.

"I told you so!" he shouted at her.

"Shit! Shit shit shit!" she shouted right back.

****

The news, as news was wont to do, travelled at a rate of somewhere around Warp 7 or 8. The picture was by necessity incomplete, which meant only one thing: those passing along the news would simply have to fill in the details themselves.

"I heard it was the Hydrans."

"Of course it was the Hydrans, you fool. Who did you think we were fighting?"

"It wasn't just the captain that was injured. I heard that someone got their arm ripped off up there."

"By a Hydran?"

"Of course, didn't we just establish that fact?"

"I heard it was Arel Smith, the Klingon wannabe."

"That what?"

"Got her arm ripped off."

"I heard she used it to beat the Hydran senseless before she passed out from blood loss. Don't let her catch you calling her a wannabe, man."

"Good point."

"My roommate says he saw some of the injured and that they were...clawed. And...um, chewed on."

"Fates, that's repulsive."

"Indeed."

"But...Hydrans don't have claws. Do they?"

"Yes, yes they do."

"Now how do you know that?"

"I...just do. Don't you?"

"Brello, have you ever seen a Hydran in your life?"

".....No."

"My point exactly."

"Someone told me it was, um, one of us."

"One of...what? Someone at this table??"

"No. Like, one of our own crew that went berserk or was a Hydran spy or something."

"Bullshit. Bull fucking shit, Will."

"Agreed. The premise is...illogical."

"Can it, Soval. I know what I heard, I trust who I heard it from, and he knows what he saw."

"Man...but man, what if it's true?"

Marcus stopped, looking at the other half dozen crewman gathered around their small table in the corner of the mess hall. Their faces were a mixture of confusion, fear, anger...and every single one of them was pale, like all the blood had suddenly drained to their feet. Even Brello, whose Bolian skin was normally a deep shade of indigo, had turned a vibrant turquoise.

Across the table, Mila Temenkova was still glaring at him. Why the hell was she always glaring at him? Crazy bitch.

"I don't know, guys. I just don't know." He sighed deeply and slumped forward. "Shit."

OOC: Backpost (sorry). Is set right before the Galaxy headed out to Delta
IV.

"It Wasn't Me"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Commanding Officer

Michael McDowell
Civilian Engineering Specialist

*** McDowell/Eshe's quarters, 0940 hours ***

Twister kept circling around Michael's legs while meowing all the time. The cat felt hungry and tried to point that out to his master in the only way he knew. Without result until now. Michael just stood there, staring through the window out into space, holding a cup of lukewarm tea in his hand.

Space could be so tranquil. In the direction where he was looking now there were only twinkling stars against the black background. It was easy to drift away and let you mind wander, which was exactly what Michael did. However, judging by his face the thoughts weren't happy ones.

Another protest by Twister finally caught Michael's attention. He looked down at his little carnivorous pal. "Yeah, you're right. Come, let’s get you something to eat."

At the replicator Michael chose one of the thirty predefined food selections that he'd programmed into the system. It took no more than a second before a small metallic plate with the selected food materialized. "Here you go." He said as a placed it on the floor. His cat eagerly started eating.

Silence returned again and once more Michael let his mind analyse the last five or more years of his life. It all had turned out totally different then what he'd expected. Of course, he valued what happened between him and Dhani more than anything. But as far as he could see that was the only good thing what life had given him after the last half decade, despite the fact that Dhani sometimes scared the hell out of him with her strange and by times even hostile behaviour. Such is life one could say. True, but he didn't have to like it.

His efforts to get his name cleared and get back into Starfleet had stranded. That or either the Judicial system of Starfleet was immeasurably slow. They had all the evidence he and Dhani had gathered. As far as Michael knew it proved beyond any doubt that he was not guilty of the destruction of the freighter more than seven years ago. So what the hell was the problem!? What else could he do? He was tired of waiting and talking to JAG officers. Seven years was more than enough. He had to draw the line somewhere, and this was it.

His finger hovered above the communications panel. He hesitated to open a channel to the man he never expected to address in this matter. A short sequence of sounds followed when he finally did press the button.

"McDowell to M'Kantu..."

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

"Come in, Mr. McDowell."

The request for a meeting wasn't unusual, even from a civilian contractor, although bypassing the XO and coming straight to him was. Daren had considered bringing Commander Tarin into the meeting, or simply handing it off to her; with the ship on its way to a combat mission his time was short enough as it was. But something in McDowell's voice had stopped him.

The man had sounded... desperate, lost even, verging on a sense of helpless frustration. So Daren had agreed, and was now waiting to see what a Civilian
Engineering Specialist needed to see him about.

"Captain, thank you for seeing me on such short notice." Michael said as he entered the room. He stopped at about one step distance from the Captain's table. It had been a while since he was last here, so it was no surprise to him when he noticed that M'Kantu had a few things changed.

"That's all right, Mr. McDowell. If it helps, you're saving me from looking at the latest statistical analysis on how altering the menu aboard the ship's replicators will affect crew morale positively. Very exciting stuff, that."

The Captain's answer surprised Michael. Did he just hear an impromptu joke, old English style? Michael smiled briefly. "The burden of being Captain, sir?"

"One of them," M'Kantu nodded. "Now, what can I do for you? It sounded... important... when you contacted me."

Michael nodded and turned all serious again. "Yes sir, it is. At least, it is to me." He wondered how he should tell his story and where he would start. What he did know was that he had to tell everything. "In 2377 I was transferred from the USS Galaxy to the USS Windsor. Part of the journey I had to travel on a transport freighter. Unfortunately that ship was attacked and destroyed. I and two other persons, one of them being the Captain, were the only ones that managed to escape."

He paused and shifted his weight to his right leg. Until now the Captain had not offered him a seat. As a civilian it would probably not be strange to ask if he could sit down, but inside Michael still felt like a Starfleet Officer and so he kept standing.

"A full investigation was done. Witnesses were heard, which of course included me. I had expected all of that. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Except the final verdict at the closure of the investigation..."

Daren waved him to a chair. "Have a seat, Mr. McDowell, there's no reason to stand. One of the privileges of being a civilian, I'm told. Now, the verdict?"

Michael sat down on the chair before him. "Thank you, sir. As for the verdict..." He paused a few seconds. No matter how many years had passed it he still felt uncomfortable when talking about it. "It was found that I at least was partially guilty of the destruction of the freighter and the deaths of its crewmembers. I tried to convince the board of investigation that I had nothing to do with it, but that fell on deaf ears. Especially after the freighter Captain 'magically' came up with an isolinear data rod which contained so-called prove of my guilt. About a week later I was demoted to Lieutenant, junior grade, and suspended from active duty for six months."

"Not, I expect, the end of your story."

"No sir, it wasn't. A lot has happened between then and now." Saying that was an understatement. Michael was already trying to figure out how he would explain how they got the prove they needed. "About three years back, when the USS Galaxy was at the Gryphon Asteroid Belt, a few people contacted me saying that they had information that could prove my innocence. I couldn't ignored that so that was also the time when I resigned from Starfleet. In the two years that followed I did everything I could to get my name cleared."

"With at least some success, I see, since you're a civilian contractor now," M'Kantu noted. "But not a total success, I take it?"

"It depends on how you look at it. For me it's anything but a success. The fact that I'm a civilian engineer here on the Galaxy is only because the former CEO, 'Commander O'Shea, called in a lot of favours and was able to get me a post." That said, Michael wondered how O´Shea got M´Kantu´s approval. Maybe he just got lucky that M´Kantu never heard about what McDowell had gotten himself into years back. "Up until this day I still have to live with the fact people are convinced that I’m the man that caused the destruction of a civilian transport freighter and that killed about a dozen people. What makes that even more unbearable is that I have prove saying otherwise."

"Said proof being?"

"That the Captain of the freighter was working for the Orion Syndicate. They were out for the two experimental cloaking devices that the freighter was carrying. The cloaking devices were built by Section 31 with the intention to have them installed on two of their ships." Michael told all this without wavering simply because there was hard evidence for it. If that wasn't the case then he wouldn't be so sure about himself. "The Orion Syndicate was able to get their hands on one of the cloaking devices because the Captain let them know the exact location where the freighter had dropped out of warp. She knew that it was necessary to drop out of warp because of maintenance work on the deflector and also that it was me that was working there. It was a golden opportunity for them."

Michael took a few breaths before he continued. "Ships of the Syndicate must've been following us all along or else they couldn't have been there so soon. It was a hit and run attack. It was over before you could count to five. You have to know, Captain, that this all happened near Starbase 86. As you probably know, it lies close to space that is controlled by the Orion Syndicate. No one gave it a second thought. Everyone thought it was 'just another one of those attacks', only it wasn't. This attack was planned in advance and the freighter Captain falsified data to make it look like I was to blame for the destruction of the freighter and the deaths of nearly all crewmembers. Before the board of the investigation she simply told that she had not authorized to let the ship drop out of warp. That it had been my decision. She never would´ve done that close so to Orion space. Everyone believed her after the isolinear rod, that she'd handed over, somehow – in some way I still don't understand - passed the standard tests."

"That isn't exactly solid evidence, Mr. McDowell," Daren had to point out. "Do you have something - anything - more compelling?"

That response didn't really surprise Michael. Words only carry weight for so much. His own being no more important than the next man or woman. Beyond the spoken word one had to have more concrete stuff. He silently praised the woman with whom he shared quarters with. She had made sure they still had a copy off all evidence they'd gathered. Nothing had been lost.

"Yes sir, I have. It's in my personal files." Michael leaned a bit forward and reached for the console on the Captain's table. "May I...?"

Story will be continued...rest assured.

“After the Combat, Rumors”

Ensign Miqu’elan Dar’ce
Tactical Officer

======================================================
Location: Galaxy CIC

Combat control had proved to be quite a valuable lesson in starship tactics. Miqu'elan had spent the entire battle staring at repeater screens, mapping out firing patterns, and helping the officers in charge relay valuable information to other departments and other ships. It was invigorating, being in the middle of a battle. The star beast threw in combat variables that the young Xenonian had not expected, let alone been prepared for. His comfort zone had just spread considerably.

Towards the end of the battle, there were some very confusing readings from the bridge. Communications had been cut, and the ship seemed to list uncontrollably for a few minutes. After communications had been restored, the bridge informed the CIC that operations had been shifted to the Battle Bridge, and the tactical officer was down. They had requested an experienced junior officer to take his position for the time being, and since things were calm down in the CIC, they told Miqu'elan to go. He had taken the third shift on the Vigilant years ago on his cadet cruise, so he had enough experience to do the job.

Once he arrived at the small auxiliary control room, he noticed several crew members talking in hushed tones. The captain was nowhere to be seen, and Commander Tarin had just come out of the office adjoining the small bridge. Except for the commander, there were no senior officers present, making Dar'ce wonder what exactly had gone on up on the bridge. He was tempted to open his mental blocks and read the mind of the one person he knew had been up there, but ethical considerations aside, the Command staff would tell him if he needed to know.

Right now, all he needed to know was that the battle was over, the Hydrans were retreating, and they were headed out of the nebula. His job was to continue monitoring tactical sensors. While the Xenonian was not eavesdropping, he did pick up random words here and there, like "the Captain's neck," and "Gorn." He wasn't sure how much of the talk was pure speculation and how much was based on fact, but what he could gather was that a fight had broken out on the bridge, possibly involving a Hydran boarding party, but most definitely involving almost all of the bridge crew.

There were several injured, including the captain. This first battle back aboard had put some things into perspective for the young officer, namely, even the captain was not immune to war. He would be touched by it in the same way that everyone else aboard was, and that was altogether frightening and comforting. In some ways, you wanted your captain to be able to be touched by the same infirmities you were, but at the same time, it was nice to know that he was a bit invincible.

In any case, Miqu'elan held his post until Commander Tarin had declared red alert over with, and had downgraded the ship to yellow alert status. Ensign Dar'ce secured his console, handing it over to his relief officer, and left the bridge. He wanted more information that eavesdropping could give him.

He went straight to Ten Forward.

"Interludes and Secrets…"

Lt. Commander Adrian An'quinsos
Assistant Chief Counselor

And

Maxim An'quinsos
Civilian

*USS Galaxy, Time: Before, During, and After the Battle*

"Are you sure you'll be okay while I'm gone?"

"I'll be fine dad… no need to worry about me." He looked back with a soft smile, large sketch pad laid out before him. "I'll be perfectly fine."

Maxim glance back at his father left, a warm smile forming on his face. Four years may go by as four days to their race, but to this young El-Aurian, four years was exactly just that, four years. There were distinct contrasts as to how his mom handled his father's absence and how he handled it. Understandably there was a little bit of worry, but that was overlaid by a resilient faith that she would see her husband again; it would pass and there Adrian would be, back in her arms again. Alternatively Maxim had taken it harder; he had become steadily withdrawn, shying away from other kids and choosing to spend his time alone on the beach or in his room drawing. Zerhi would come in while Gracian was asleep to find him engaged in drawing things he'd seen while on Betazed, Risa, Vulcan, or even the Galaxy-A. Other occasions there were picture of his father, many of them appearing to be deep with thought or in conference with someone; though slightly uneasy, she had played witness to incidents like this back on the Galaxy-A.

This led to a private tutor, specifically an El-Aurian artist who understood the situation and the way in which to focus Maxim's talents. They've always understood that the boy's sense of awareness was considerable, becoming evident around the ages of three and four when the boy began drawing places and people he'd never seen. Then things began to grow slightly darker in tone; a wall in his room depicted Adrian and Corgan standing before the Guardian of Forever along with scenes before and after the timelines corrected itself. After another scene depicting a dogfight and the pictures of his father aboard the Stormwarden, Zerhi knew the signs when she saw them. Understanding this, the tutor began putting Maxim's already strong artistic skills to work, helping him to considerably hone his abilities. Though there was still a ways to go, Maxim's ability to sketch and paint had been enhanced significantly; he could create vivid renderings drawing images from his own memory or by description.

Taking up his pencil once more, the boy continued to sketch; his eyes slowly became transfixed on the nebula as the seconds passed. His hands moved slowly over the paper; the overall shape in place, he began to pattern in arcs, loops, spirals, filaments, and the likes, neither going fast or slow, but letting it all flow onto the paper as his former tutor instructed. As lines and curves interconnected, the tracing grew lighter and lighter, yet it was apparent that those lines still existed, one just had to follow the patterns on the paper to see that they did. The fragments that coalesced and discombobulated were fuzzy, yet distinct, usually in graceful whorls and wisps, some more violent in appearance than others, but otherwise represented what they were…

Then the ship shook and the scene within the paper changed…

The lighter pencil was discarded, replaced by a new, darker one that allowed for more exact lines. As the display of pyrotechnics began, the lines began to grow more exacting, as the shape of saucers, nacelles, hulls, began to unfold upon the large pad set before Maxim. Eyes looked up momentarily, as if glimpsing the something discreet, and then looked downward continuing the drawing without interruption. Soon the nebula he had sketched earlier now appeared to look like something out of a surrealistic nightmare with a massive dogfight combined with the presence of an enormous creature strong enough to destroy ships without effort. If ships weren't firing, they were entering attack pattern formation, or trying to avoid being hit whether by weapon's fire or the tentacles from the creature that loomed before all of them. Scene after scene unfolded, each different from the other until Maxim paused a moment, eyes looking outward, as though gazing at something unseen and lowered his head. On the paper before him was drawn one ship hurling another into a group of ships; a brilliant fire seemed ignite around it as it plunged to a seeming demise all at the price of destroying those ships. Not that Maxim realized it, but he was shaking as finished penciling in the last bit of that…

"Sorry it took me so long to get back; I had to check on a few things in Counseling … Maxim are you okay?"

The boy felt a jolt of surprise as the door hissed open and then went still as he heard his father's voice. He looked up, and then back down on the padd and found a saurian head carefully penciled, nothing more or less. Maxim looked down at it and felt a shudder rise through his body; there was something bad about that face, something ominous that didn't feel right. In fact, the more he looked at the face, the more he felt the urge to find someplace to hide.

"I'm… I'm okay dad, just finishing up some draw-"

"Yes, I see."

Maxim met his father's eyes a moment, face issuing some king of assured smile as the man bent down to examine what had been sketched. "Beautifully drawn my boy- I do believe you captured the essence of the battle. And what's this?" He nodded toward the head of the Gorn. "Something else you saw?"

The boy looked back at his father a moment and nodded in affirmation. "I drew what came to me at the moment and that was one of the images. Very… scary dad."

Adrian put a shoulder around him as he took a seat beside the boy and looked at him. Zerhi had told him everything concerning Maxim; the drawings allowed the boy to convey what he was seeing and judging by the unfinished picture, it was clear, that he interrupted this process. The older El-Aurian could remember back when they were in the Ursidian System on the old Galaxy (OOC: Galaxy Episode: Freedom,) when what might have been a small concussion had him seeing alternate ends for the world he was on. A similar thing seemed to occur on Lanjep (OOC: Galaxy Episode: Keep your Friends Close,) when he attempted it voluntarily and drew from it mixed results. In any case, no one ever found out, therefore it was no fuss, no foul. However, this was a little different, and a little more sensitive for other reasons.

"Maxim, besides me, how many other people on the ship are aware of this?"

The El-Aurian youth thought about it for a moment and then looked back at his father. "No one… I haven't said anything to anyone about it. Why dad?"

"Good," He replied and continued. "Because some things just shouldn't be known, this being one of those things, you know what I mean?"

"I think so." The boy replied, thought a moment, and went further. "You're not going to have me stop drawing, are you dad?"

"No, of course not!" He declared, hugging his son. "Just… whenever you're around the others kids, draw your inspirations from elsewhere. Otherwise, you might worry the teacher." And most especially, he mused, you'll worry me.

"Yes sir."

He leaned against him silently, a smile slowly coming to the boy's face. Just as long as he was in his father's arms everything would be okay…

"The Sounds of Silence"

By Lt. Commander K'aa
And Commander James Lionel Corgan

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

-Paul Simon

Location: Brig

James missed alot of big events while he was passed out and gibbering from a multitude of unexplainable maladies. He missed the fight... until he ran out of sickbay and ripped a Hydran a new one, but other than that he was annoyed to have missed the action. Proud of his security detail for mopping up the token Hydran forces that did enter the ship, he was nonetheless vexed.

The one occupant in his brig was the reason why.

How could a traitor like K'aa slip through Starfleet's many checks and balances? And how did he get so close to the captain without alerting the bridge staff, and how did he manage to beat them all down before numbers overwhelmed him? These were all answers James wanted to know.

And he was standing in front of the Gorn that would give them to him.

Inside a Starfleet brig, the Gorn looked cramped and uncomfortable, yet still powerful and ready to pounce. Compared to a light whippet like James Corgan, K'aa could easily overtake the security chief and snap his neck with one of his meaty clawed hands, but Jame4s was confident that their security measures could more than handle the beast. Forcefields strong enough to keep Borg Drones at bay, perfectly smooth walls and surfaces making panels and wires inaccessible, and the cell was made to accommodate people more of James' size. To a lizard, it was small, and they were susceptible to lactic acid buildup and easily cramped muscles.

James was still in his sickbay gown, not that he cared. He still displayed his belt and phaser proudly, and the slung Federation Assault Rifle on his back would knock even a Gorn ass first into the floor. He was not worried.

Pissed, more like it. Attacking the captain, in his mind, wrote a blank cheque.

"Well... aren't you a big boy." James looked appraisingly at the Gorn Commander, "You have to be... what? Three hundred pounds? Got to say... you put up a good fight against the bridge crew. I know Raven Darkstar... could armwrestle Klingons if he wanted, and you threw him into a panel. Impressive... a shame you were shown up by a little kid. Must itch your scales, eh?"

On the cell floor the reptilian appeared motionless, a huddled mass of scales and green ichor, tinted with a white frost of fire-retardent gel. Slowly, one eyelid popped open and the nictitating membrane casually pulled back to reveal a golden vertically irised orb. The only other motion K'aa made was a gradual retraction of his upper lip
from his fangs.

James paced methodically from one end of the cell entrance to another, reading a PADD as he went along. "Good record. You have an educational pedigree that would make most people jealous. Cultural exchanges, multiple educational organizations joined and succeeded, PHD's up the ass... my god... I think you represent the absolute best your species has to offer, Mr. K'aa. Better still, looks like you have a hell of a
promising career. Grankite Order of Tactics, multiple actions, and you even have some fucked up black ops bullshit in your record that even I can't get into! My my... a promising career."

He set aside the PADD, walked up to the forcefield and glared face to face to the Gorn, "All that going for you, and you're going to piss it away on an assassination of the only decent captain in the fleet? I suppose you have an explanation, don't you my boy?"

"Of courssse, Jamesss", the saurian hissed malevolently. "I ssseldom perform actionsss without a reassson. In that, you and I are quite alike... until recently that isss. Tell me - are you ssstill in the habit of beating underage human femalesss or isss thisss something you've managed to overcome?"

~"How did he know that?"~ James held back any note of surprise. He thought nobody knew about that. Holding back, however, reminded him of the mental game he was playing with Kaa. If Kaa was as smart as the reports made him out to be, he would already underestimate James and think he could think circles around the security officer.

~"Beautiful, I have an angle to work with."~ James thought, ~"I worked with the brain trusts like Crusher, Von Ernst and Hawksley. They were smart, but with it came an arrogance in the belief that their intelligence can think through anything. They just never learn the fact that pure brain power doesn't often translate to caginess. Just don't underestimate the lizard... he may have some caginess to spare."~

James' eyebrow twitched, but otherwise he showed no outward notice of Mr. Kaa's snipe. "Mr. Kaa, try to stay focused please. Brevity and wit will not get you out of here. Telling me the truth without any bullshit will at least factor into your hearing, so lets hear it. Why did you kill Captain M'Kantu?"

The Gorn was silent for a moment, and all Corigan could hear was the slow, raspy beat of the reptilian's breathing. "That wasss... difficult, ", K'aa finally hissed. "Like you said Jamess... the most decent captain in the fleet. I know you won't believe me but the killing of Daren M'Kantu was a regretable thing - neccesssary, yesss... but regretable. With all the pompousss, conceited, egotisssstical, sself absssorbed officersss I have met in Ssstarfleet - and you may certainly count yourssself amongst them - I had found Captain M'Kantu to be capable, humble... and piousss."

James hummed a sincere 'Thank you' to Kaa's accusation of his ego, and nodded his head when he heard the Gorn's appraisal of Starfleet in general. "Here here. Tell me something I don't know."

Again the saurian was silent, but this time he turned his massive head to look at the ceiling of the cell. "You never truly appreciated what you had as a leader Jamesss, and I'm truly, truly sssorry he had to die."

"Not sorry enough to not do it, I'm afraid." James wasn't going to feel sympathy for the beast. He was jotting notes on his PADD. Elitist, disenfranchised, and by accusing Starfleet officers of excessive arrogance Kaa told more about his conceits. James was getting a good picture of the Gorn. It would be no secret that the Gorn would have faced prejudice both on his planet (as their equivalent of a geek) and abroad for just being huge and fierce. I could easily see some why's, but they were mostly theory.
He needed more. "I can see why you think the way you do, but you didn't answer my question. Why did you kill Captain M'Kantu? No bullshit."

"I'll leave the bovine excrement to you Jamesss... judging from what'sss coming from your mouth that'sss seemsss to be more your area of expertissse", K'aa sneered, exposing more of his forefangs. "And asss for your quessstion, I've already anssswered it. Sssadly, you ssseem focusssed on hearing only what you want to. I would have expected more from Galaxy'sss Chief of Ssecurity, but then again... you've been completely obliviousss of my activitiesss in the past few weeksss. Why should now be any different?"

James nodded, and wrote down more notes. Abbreviated, he started to see the Gorn's motivation. ~"Respects the captain, thinks he's the only guy that could lead, kill him and effectively leave the ship headless. With too many people struggling to command we would be paralyzed. Maybe? Lets see..."~

James crossed his arms, and looked more determined than ever to crack Kaa's evasive defense. Still, he had to be bemused by Kaa's evasiveness. Trying to shift the interrogation to a glorified interview with James L. Corgan was a nice little touch. "I understand you have a major lizard hardon for our Captain. Kinda odd to kill the man you admire... don't you think? Here, fill in the blanks for me, and stay focused. This is about you, after all." Flicking a few notes on his PADD, he then activated the lie detector sensors. So far, it seemed to read that the Gorn was telling the truth. "You said you had a reason for killing M'Kantu. Care to tell me, on record?"

"M'Kantu had to die", the reptilian growled softly "and ssso he did. It was asss necesssary Jamesss, asss it wasss unpleassant. The act would have been far, far more palatable if... sssay, *you* were in command; but we both know you're not a tenth the man the Captain wass. The reassson Daren M'Kantu had to be... asssassssinated... wasss the same reassson he wasss awarded command of the Galaxy." K'aa shifted
his bulk so he could focus one more on his human interrigator. "The conssequencesss of that killing... and the ressst of my misssion... will unfold sssoon enough Jamesss. Be patient."

James leaned over to the cell. "Then why don't you let me in on the surprise?"

"Then it wouldn't be terrribly surprising, would it?" This brought a snort from the large reptile. "Really, Jamesss... try to be lesss obtussse."

James crossed his arms, "You know, we could just dope you up with truth serum and be on with it. It is considered humane by the Khitomer treaty and in the case of suspected espionage and mutiny I am allowed to use it. We even have a special recipe for Gorns. We'll know everything eventually, even your secret fetishes. So why don't we skip that step and get right to it? Let's start with your handlers."

"Let'sss not", K'aa growled, "and sssay we did when asssked about it. I won't tell it you won't."

James sighed, "Alright then... say... are you hungry?"

K'aa gave Corgan a curious, suspicious look but his body betrayed him; a deep, gurgling growl came from the reptilian' gut.

James touched his communicator pin, "Lieutenant O'Rourke, bring the man his meal."

O'Rourke brought in a hovering plate, and on it was a large piece of raw meat. It's smell was pungent, and it looked as if the meat was from the leg of a rather large mammal. "I know a Gorn's dietary requirements, and I thought instead of some bland replicator crap that I would give you the real thing. Some livestock going to one of the colonies was killed in the fight and I thought you of all people would put the most use out of them. Don't worry it's not tainted. See? I'll have some."

James tugged at a piece of muscle, and pushed the still bloody morsel into his mouth. He had tried unreplicated meat before, even raw in his Starfleet survival training when he had to hunt and kill a Terran rabbit in the Colorado Rockies. It was an unpleasant feeling, the raw meat in his mouth, the coppery tang of blood touching his tongue, the ropy muscles and tough tendons were an unpleasant sensation. Humans, especially fleeters and spacegoers, were used to replicated food, which was base proteins and minerals resequenced into different things. Even if he had a steak or a burger, it wasn't real meat, cruelly killed in a butcher's shop. In this century, real meat was rare and killing it was almost unheard of, bringing waves of revulsion to any actual Terran.

James swallowed the meat with barely a change in his face.

"Needs HP Sauce. All yours champ!" He said to Mr. Kaa, then to O'Rourke, "Ready to lower the forcefield."

O'Rourke looked uncertain, as if James could blame her. He hated her as her hand hovered over the switch, anticipating Kaa as a coiled serpent. Two security guards walked to flank the chief, phaser rifles aimed at the Gorn. James waved them off, and they returned to sentry duty at the doors.

"If you're thinking of escape, I would not advise it." Corgan explained, "Not only are you injured, cold and very cramped at this moment, I am also the best shot on this ship, and that's not my... ego talking. I really could draw this phaser faster than you can leap up to me and snap my neck, and trust me when I say I have it at a high enough setting to charbroil your ass." He waited, and allowed a smile to form on his face, "Bon appetite?"

The Gorn stared at the joint of meat, but shook his head slowly despite a thin line of drool falling from the right side of his maw. "I'll passs Jamesss, but perhapss you should indulge. You'll need all the sssusstainance and comfort you can get in the next few daysss. I appreciate the gesssture though... more than I would expect from the
ship'ss 'sssilver bullet', though I believe given the current injury to your right eye perhapsss Arel Sssmith would be able to contesst the title." Awkwardly, K'aa propped himself up on his elbows, and looked away from the food before him. "Ssseriousssly James... I am curiousss - and all bovine excrement asssside - sstriking the adolescent doesssn't fit your profile. Dessspite the pathetic misssery your life
isss descneding into, there isss a ssstreak of relative decency in you. What could she have sssaid or done that could have inssspired ssssuch rage?"

James spoke without missing a beat, "Try to stay focused, Mr. Kaa. This is about you. And I can assure you that your life is about to descend into a pathetic misery of it's own. Are you sure you're not hungry? You look hungry."

"Not for food", K'aa hissed quietly. "I had a nice, light snack on the bridge to tide me over. Living prey isss much sweeter than game killed daysss ago, Jamesss... and Darkssstar's elbow joint wasss sweet indeed. You should be proud of your friend Raven, Jamesss... he *is* your friend, isssn't he? Ssstrange how *he* faced me in battle, while you... jusst what *were* you up to when you should have been doing your job?"

"Oh that?" James cracked his shoulder, "Why don't you ask your Hydran friends? I'm sure they can fill you in if you ever see the ass end of hell."

His PADD beeped as he input new data. He flicked a switch on his glasses, the lenses tinted a dark brown. "You're caught, recorded, archived and sent to Starfleet Command, in an act of mutiny and murder on your commanding officer. Even though we follow a justice system that says you are innocent until proven guilty... lets just say the odds are against you at this point. Your statement, and I do stress a very detailed statement, would help determine your innocence or guilt. So if you have any proof of duress... I'd like to hear it now."

"It wassn't mutiny Jamesss", the Gorn answered in almost a songlike voice. "But I am far, far from innocent. I have been reduced to the role of asssasssin - a bassse executioner of a man who dessserved better. Yet... when your people are dussst under the Triad boot, my name will be sssung to the heavensss. Be patient, Jamesss.... the day isss sssooner than you think."

~"So you are Triad then... or at least a sympathizer. Thank you Mr. Kaa."~

"Alright then..." James hummed a few notes, "Then I guess I'm inclined to tell you your options." He slid the meat away, and walked face to face to the cell, near nose to nose with the Gorn, "The way I see it, there are three routes you can go, depending on what you tell us. The first is easy. We're not a civilian court and we still hold life imprisonment and even the death penalty on more severe military crimes. Both are unpleasant, but they're paradise compared to what can be done with you."

The reptilian poked the joint of meat away from him and huddled in a vain attempt to preserve what little warmpt he had left. "Ah... paradissse... I'm listening, Jamesss..."

"Focus, Mr. Kaa!" James snapped at him, "I'm going to tell you the third, and by far the most unpleasant. The way I see it, and I totally see this as the most likely option, is that you are of unsound mind and judgement. You admire your captain, but you kill him in a move to sort of decapitation move to paralyze the command structure of this ship. You have a disdain for higher ups... understandable, and feel disenfranchised by them. From the look of your background, this is a pattern that's been popping up most
of your life. You... the Gorn equivalent of the pencil necked geek.. having to rail against a universe gone irrational and mad. That has to really bug you."

"SO!" James flipped the PADD aside, "What can I say? You're not elaborating, so I have to work on observation, and the way I see it... you're an unhinged mind. Other interrogators will think so, and I think your lawyer, out of a misguided conception that they're being humane, will plead insanity. Get you in one of our cushy mental rehabilitation centres. That's what I'd do, but for different reasons. You see... I think killing you with kindness is the cruelest fate of them all."

James described with great gusto, "At least life in prison, uncomfortable as it is, will allow you to keep your mind. Cramped cell like this, unpalatable mush... you won't see a piece of meat for decades my friend, just base protein. But at least you'll keep your mind. You can retreat in your head, and being as smart as you are, will probably find a way to keep that brain of yours occupied. Maybe come up with the next great political ideology, write your manifesto, that kind of fun stuff."

"Not so in a mental institution. They will see you as unbalanced, and do what they can to fix you. Councelors every day trying to ask you about what in your childhood fucked you up the way it did... having your head constantly rearranged with drug treatments. Boy, you won't know up from down when they get through with you. And they will have years to do it. They'll take as long as they can, until they are satisfied that you're a well lobotomized member of society that can't do a violent act without
huddling into a fetal position and crying yourself to a stupor. They can do that... I've seen the shit they did to Klingon war veterans... yeah... the Klingons we captured when Kirk was in his diapers. Not pretty. They had long lives and we had all the time in the world."

"In short... we will take all the time in the universe to find out every working synapse, every memory, every motivation in your head. You won't be able to think freely because you'll be told what to think, and too drugged up to make a coherent thought. You won't get to retreat in your mind because they will know where to look for you. You'll be reduced to the equivalent of a hatchling, helpless, incapable of free thought. The day when you scream every time a councelor asks you 'How are you feeling today?' I will know justice is done."

James smiled, "Food for thought. Anything you tell me here will open up your options though, so when you're ready I'll be waiting to listen. Still hungry?"

K'aa didn't answer, but reached up to his snout with his right claw. Gingerly he picked a piece of tendon from his teeth, a reminder of Raven Darkstar, and casually flicked the morscel at Corgan. The flesh fizzled as it hit the security field. "He who eatsss hisss fill while hisss neighbor goessss without isss not a believer, Jamess. I
believe... and I've had my fill. I am content, Jamesss... very much ssso, and thisss amusssement isss now at an end."

James watched the meat fleck crackle down the force field. "You're full of filibuster today, aren't you?" Deactivating his PADD, James sighed, "I agree. Perhaps tomorrow we can continue our verbal fencing? Maybe I can bring a friend? No matter. We have a long transit ahead of us, and we have all the time in the universe. Oh, and Mr. Kaa?"

"Yessss?"

"The only reason I was 'obtuse' was as a mercy... to you. If you were smart, you would have leveled with me, told me everything you knew. Now we have to do it the long way. But the good thing is... we have all the time in the universe." James looked distastefully at the haunch of meat, "Enjoy your meal, Mr. Kaa. It is a shame we could not converse as comrades."

The Gorn nodded slowly, then slowly closed his remaining eye and settled back to the floor. "The Qu'ran saysss that no one is assured of living one day more, Jamessss", K'aa hisssed as cold, exhaustion and sleep took him.

"Tomorrow may not come. Pleasssant dreamsss... comrade."

James shut out the light on Kaa's cell. "Fighting as much as I have, you have no idea how much I know this. Goodnight."

"What Were They Thinking?" [Backpost]

(Takes Place before 'Battle of the Kateren Nebula'"

Lt. Commander Tarin Iniara
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

****

Deck 8
XO's Office

Iniara sighed to herself as she paced behind her desk, the sound somewhere between angry and frustrated. Angry at herself for putting this off because of some stupid illogical fear... and frustrated at her seeming inability to overcome said fear.

She crossed her arms, glaring down at the surface of her desk. Next to the computer console sat a pair of small black boxes measuring no more than six or seven centimeters on each side. At first glance they appeared nearly identical; they were the same size and reflected the light in similar ways, but if one looked a little closer the subtle differences became more apparent. The first had perfectly smooth sides,
the dull brushed finish of the box's metallic exterior reflecting the soft lighting of the small office. The second box seemed to be carved from a single block of wood and was stained a deep, glossy red that to the casual observer appeared black. If she looked closely enough, Iniara could almost make out the delicate, nearly imperceptible scrollwork carved into the top of the box.

"Interesting," she murmured for what seemed like the millionth time since she'd came into possession of the tiny wooden box. It hadn't been that long ago, yet the events of the Vered Cluster evacuation seemed so far away now. Running a finger along the box's tiny brass clasp Iniara wondered when she'd actually work up the courage to open the box and see what was inside.

"Not today," she muttered out loud, automatically palming the box and dropping it into her pocket. She still didn't know why she was carrying it around everywhere she went...it wasn't very practical, taking up precious pocket space and occasionally poking her in the leg, but somehow it felt wrong leaving the small object behind.

No, not today; not until I take care of this one, she amended mentally. Picking up the second box she dropped it into her other pocket before striding out of her office. Time to conquer that fear.

****

Deck 39
Victor Krieghoff's Office

Victor leaned back from his desk and looked up at the prayer mosaic opposite it on the wall, allowing himself to smile for a moment as the mosaic made him think of Angelienia - as she'd made it clear it was supposed to when she'd hung it there. at the time, he hadn't been sure that it was really necessary, considering the number of times that he thought of her in a given day, but, to his surprise, after only a few days, the prayer mosaic had proved that the number wasn't as large as it could have been after all.

Angelienia had smirked her gentle 'I knew that that already, dear' smirk at him when he'd told her.

Thinking about Angelienia was a nice enough change from what he'd been doing: going over the security logs and scans from the day that a shuttle load of terrorists managed to get an archaic nuclear weapon aboard the Galaxy and detonate it. Someone had to check that response times had been met by the Security teams that responded, make sure that all the procedures and paperwork were followed and filled out, and, finally, go over everything and figure out how it had been allowed to happen in the first place, and, since the Commander was tied up with a million other things, Victor had started on it.

It was boring and tedious work, but he'd done that before and it hadn't killed him. Besides, it had allowed him to discover that every single one of the Security responders had, miraculously, done exactly what they were supposed to - an event that he'd considered momentous enough that he'd filed a recommendation to the Commander suggesting that they all be awarded commendations in their permanent records for it. It had also taught him how to smuggle a live nuclear weapon on a detonation cycle aboard a Galaxy-Class starship - at least one way - which was something that he'd considered important enough that he'd written up a short monograph on it along with some suggestions on countering it and had posted it to the Security Warnings bulletin board that Starfleet maintained for such things.

With any luck, *someone* would read the thing, and even if it was just one person, that was one ship on which no one else would wind up spending days reviewing logs and reports for the same reason.

He sighed, finished his coffee, and stood up to get some more – which was when he noticed that his office door was flashing that someone was standing outside, but hadn't signalled requesting entry. Probably, he decided, one of the department with another set of reports to look at working their way up to buzzing for admittance; an ensign most likely, since they tended to catch jobs like that.

Victor refilled his coffee at the replicator, looked at the prayer mosaic again, smiled, and decided to make things easy for the poor ensign.

****

Deck 39
Outside Victor Krieghoff's Office

Outside the door to Krieghoff's office, Iniara hesitated for just a moment, her finger hovering above the door chime. She still couldn't figure out why on some days Krieghoff's presence was almost tolerable, but on other days (today naturally being one of them), the mere idea of being near him was almost enough to make her lose her lunch. And now here she was, standing outside his door, marvelling at how strong his
presence seemed, even through the walls and everything.

Her hand wavered, and for a moment she considered leaving and heading to Sickbay and voluntarily submitting to a barrage of tests to try and determine if, as she suspected, the problem was all in her mind. Well of course it was, but... This would only take a moment, and it was something she needed to do. And she could always go to Sickbay later. So, straightening her posture she raised her hand again...

...and almost yelped as the door suddenly swished open before her.

"What can I..." Victor blinked and straightened. What was the XO doing in Security Main? "Excuse me, Ma'am. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually yes," she replied with a small smile, hoping that he hadn't noticed how long she'd been standing at his door, or how unnerved she seemed. Then again...when she considered it, she would have been worried if he hadn't noticed. A deaf and blind targ would have sensed the emotions radiating from her. "That is, if I'm not interrupting?"

"No, Ma'am - I was just getting a coffee refill and filing some reports." He gestured with the mug, resisting the impulse to look down and see if the 'This Means You Maggot!' side was facing her; it was easier to pretend that there was nothing wrong and checking would draw attention to it.

"I see..." She stepped forward, somehow managing to keep her composure as the door slid shut behind her, leaving her all alone in the tiny room with...him. Why was that bothering her so badly all of a sudden? It hadn't been more than a couple weeks since the last time she'd been stuck in a confined area with him, and his effect on her hadn't seemed nearly as bad then. Swallowing hard, she pushed those thoughts back
down as she forced herself to move closer and look him straight in the eye. Best to get this out of the way quickly, then.

"This day has been a long time coming. Some may say it's been too long, others may say it's not been long enough. But regardless, please accept this small token of gratitude for your continued superlative service to this ship and her crew," here she withdrew the metal box from her pocket, holding it in the palm of her hand as she offered it to Victor, "and allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your promotion, Lieutenant Krieghoff."

Victor stared at the box in her hand for a full thirty seconds before he carefully set his mug down - noticing in the process that yes, he had been holding the mug 'maggot side out' - and took the box from her. He was being... promoted? Still looking at the unopened box, he repeated the thought aloud, "Promoted, Ma'am?" Who on earth had thought that this was a good idea? Him, a full lieutenant?

"Yes, promoted," she repeated with a nod. "You're one of the most dedicated officers on this ship. Though, if you wish to refuse the promotion, you're perfectly within your rights to do so."

Refuse it? He considered that. Should he refuse it? As a full lieutenant, he'd have to assume more command responsibility, have to lead people... people that couldn't be counted on to stand next to him without freaking out. He'd commanded before - for a century - but that had been as Chulak, when his 'aura' hadn't affected those around him. Could he do that here? Should he even try?

"No," he said, slowly. "No, I don't think that I will refuse it, Ma'am. I'm not certain about how the rest of the Department will take it, but... no." He was, however, almost certain how Angelienia would take it - and that thought alone made accepting the promotion worthwhile.

He opened the box and stared at the pins inside it for a moment before slowly taking them out and weighing them in his hand. "They're heavier than I thought they would be," he observed quietly. "But then, they should be, shouldn't they?"

Iniara watched him for a moment as he examined the tiny gold pips. "They are. But I know that you'll be able to handle that weight; otherwise I wouldn't have recommended you to receive them."

That was surprising. "You recommended me, Ma'am?" Commander Corgan, Victor could understand recommending him, but the XO? "Do you mind my asking why?"

"Not at all. As I said before you're a fine officer. You may frighten the wits out of half the ship, myself included, but that doesn't take away from or overshadow your consistent level of dedication to this crew and to your job; your performance during the New B'Hala evacuation being but the latest example of that dedication." Iniara's thoughts drifted back to those harrowing few days, when the prevailing mood of the colony could have gone either way. Victor's unconventional solution to the problem hadn't been able to save everyone, but it had certainly lessened the amount of blood that had been shed. "And it feels like on some level there's a part of you that wants the additional responsibility, that perhaps even wants to command someday...I'd be a fool to ignore that."

"I expect that there are plenty of people that would queue up to tell you that you were a fool for *not* ignoring it," Victor observed as he ran a finger over the pips. "I'm not even sure that I wouldn't have disagreed with them for most of my career..."

"...but you don't feel that way now," Iniara finished.

"No," he agreed. "Not now." He slowly reached up and unpinned his old pips and replaced them with the new ones. "I assume that Commander Corgan already knows?"

She nodded. "In fact, you should probably speak to him after I'm gone. I believe he has some news for you as well." She'd wanted to tell Victor that he was officially being promoted to the Assistant Chief spot, but had ultimately decided that such news was better delivered by the Security Chief himself.

For an instant, Victor wondered if it was another transfer, if he were going to be moved to another ship again, as he had so many times in the past; but only for a moment. That was then, and this was now - and the XO was the sort that would simply tell him that he was being transferred, rather than pass that off to James Corgan. "All right, Ma'am," he nodded. "Is... there anything else?"

"No, just that. I'd say 'keep up the good work', but that's pretty much a given with you." Relief washed over Iniara as she realized that, her duty done, she would soon be very far away from Krieghoff's overwhelming aura. She turned to leave, then paused, one hand on the door's control pad, and looked back at Victor. "Actually, there is one more thing."

There always was. "Yes, Ma'am?"

Iniara's lips twitched into a bemused smirk. "Nice mug."

Victor looked down, nodded, and picked it up so that she could see the entire message stenciled on the side: 'SFMC,' 'Gunny Goldstein's Use Only,' and 'This Means YOU, Maggot!' "A gift," he offered quietly, "One that I didn't understand the meaning of at the time."

She chuckled and shook her head, wondering just what sort of strange gift another person's coffee mug was. Probably some sort of rivalry thing between Security and the Marines. "Probably a longer story than I have time for right now. You may have to explain it to me when next we meet. Until then, Lieutenant."

"Ma'am," Victor nodded. After she left, he looked down at the mug for a long moment before setting it down on his desk, wondering if, even now, he really understood why Gunny Goldstein had given it to him.

"Red Carpet"

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

*

Tradition.

The tradition, the reputation, and the spirit of a Starship such as the Galaxy is composed of the brave souls who had the privilege to call themselves 'crew'. A ship is just a lifeless hulk without those who run it, who fly it, who makes it a legend with their daily labor and occasional heroic deeds.

For those who become part of the ship, the ship becomes a part of them. Even after they transfer or leave, they always look back fondly on their time aboard, conjuring memories of times past, and having comfort that somewhere out there, the old lady stills warps about among the stars.

One of the most distinctive memories was often how one first boarded the ship. They say first impressions last forever, be it the Transporter pad, the main shuttle bay, or even sickbay after being beamed aboard in an emergency.

Thousands of crewmembers boarded the old lady over the years. But despite the plentifully competition, Sir Loras Rose's entrance must have been one of the strangest.

* * *

"Lower the tractor beam 2.4 degrees. Attach clasp six."

=/\="Clasp six fastened."=/\=

"Attach clasp four on opposite direction and clear."

=/\= "Attached, moving out." =/\=

The Galaxy's operations crew were handling the tedious chose of picking up escape pods since the battle was over. The pods were brought aboard one by one, manually, as a security precaution. The Hydrans were infamous for leaving 'gifts' at the battlefield, and after the smuggling of the nuclear bomb aboard during the Vered cluster evacuation, the orders were stricter than ever.

Presently, another capsule was brought aboard. From his safe control booth, the Operations Ensign carefully followed the improved protocol, directing two suited crewmembers as they carefully pulled the capsule using the bay robots. The tractor beams could bring the pod only this close, and once within the bay the procedure was done manually.

The white escape pod was in contrast to the endless darkness beyond it. It rotated about, making it difficult to the suited crewmembers to bring it in. Eventually, the rotation was stopped and the forcefield separating the cargo bay from space was restored.

No one, not even the single passenger within the escape pod, realized how significant that moment was.

"Send in the hounds." Ordered the operator.

* * *

Actually, Sir Loras Rose's day began in a much more ordinary fashion. Instead of being sealed in an escaped pod, he woke up in his soft bed on the Amaranthine. His quarters were perhaps the most decorated on the ship, even though for him they seemed spartan. The wall-to-wall carpet was replicated and not hand-made, the walls were decorated with the essential family crests and a two by two 2D photo of the snowy tops of Mountain View, and the OPS chief gracefully refused his request to replace the artificial illumination with a chandelier. Something about big things falling on unprotected XO's during combat.

As if he's stay in his room during a fight.

He slept naked, and did his morning routine naked. First, he washed off the cobwebs of sleep. Then, instead of having breakfast, he drew his Kai from the sheath hung on the wall, and attached it to the gauntlet.

For the better part of an hour, the traditional blades sliced the air, forming unique shapes. Loras' morning session was rarely interrupted or missed altogether, and on those occasions he spent the day feeling empty and unsettled. Even today, with the battle imminent, he refused to skip it.

Finally, he set the blade aside, and wore the symbols of duty. It would appal his parents to find out that with the exception of the gauntlet, the wand and the Kai, the other symbols were worn either beneath the Starfleet uniform or not at all. Noble or not, Loras was not going to walk around the bridge with a tiara on his head; He tried not to stand out more than absolutely necessary.

A glance at the chronometer; The morning fast was over, it was to grab something to eat before he joins Captain Airik on the bridge. Also, there were news that needed to be spread.

He flashed a smile to Midori's 3D photo which he hung by the door, and promised her to send a subspace letter when the battle was over.

* * *

Still in the morning before the battle, several of the Amaranthine's officers were huddled around a table. They were unusually quiet, even though in a short while they will make sarcastic and amusing verbal exchanges on the bridge. There was no conversation, only the clanging of utensils and the sound of many types of food being consumed by digestion systems from a dozen different planets.

"Good morning." a deep voice interrupted the solemn meal.

There were a few quiet responses and greetings and Sir Loras put the tray on the table, making himself a spot between the Orion counsellor Anjel and cadet O'Connel from sciences.

Sir Loras grabbed the pint of Zed Shalal, and emptied half of it. "To the Jacmel." He stated

Eight pair of eyes (and one triplet) stared at him. All of them knew that they were due to rendezvous with the Jacmel before the battle.

"What.. happened?" someone asked.

"Do any of you know officers on the Jacmel?" Loras asked gravely.

There was a chorus of responses. The officers leaned over the table, concerned look on their faces. Even though Starfleet was a big place, many of them knew people on the Jacmel - from the academy, from previous posts, some times even from before. Sir Loras finished the pint before rephrasing his question.

"Anyone familiar with the security chief, Lieutenant Commander Reine?"

"I served with her on--" Anjel started timidly, then caught something in the man's body language. "Even before the battle, Loras?", She sighed.

"No, but you have to hear this." Loras grinned, bending forward and resting his elbows on the table in a very un-noble and un-XO-ish way. "So my good man Laudon contacts me yesterday, and he tells me of an unusual tale. I shall share this tale with you, my good men, a tale that is all truth. It involves our lady Reine of the Jacmel, two Deltan twins, an engineering Tricorder with some very unusual upgrades, and the Jacmel's computer core..."

Anjel gave the Orion parallel of rolling her eyes, but listened anyway. "Sir Gossip"'s tales were always amusing, and the counsellor thought that a comic relief is exactly what the crew needed before engaging the Hydran fleet.

* * *

Four magnetic hooks fixed the escape pod in place. The Operations crewmen scanned it for anything suspicious, but their readings claimed that it was just an ordinary escape pod with one occupant. Four security officers with stood in front of the bay's hatch, phasers propelled and ready to be discharged.

"Open the hatch." commanded the operator, tensely.

With a hiss, the hatch slid down, revealing a bearded Starfleet commander held in a security harness. He was upside down, feet dangling high while the head was quickly gaining a shade of scarlet as blood rushing to it.

Sir Loras Rose scrutinized the phaser barrels aimed at him.

"My good men!" He stated, "Would you be so kind to untie me?"

[To Be Continued...]

"La Chanson de Bataille, Part 2"

Jarajen "Quattro" Quaaliu, Vanguard One
Ella "Songbird" Grey, Vanguard Four
Darius "Carnage" Slaughter, Vanguard Five
Eric "Screech" Robinson, Vanguard Six (NPC)
Taev "Stubbs", Sabre Two
Elrin "Vixen" Kit'ari, Sabre Six
Nathan "Cowboy" Everett, Sabre One
Graan "Granite" glasch Gavrak, Sabre Eight

**********************************
=^= DOGFIGHT =^=
**********************************

Ella lost count after three kills. Frankly, she just didn't have the time to keep score and keep herself from getting blown to bits. Maybe that just came with time.

Quattro, for his part, was immensely pleased with his pilots and Songbird in particular. When Ella became an ace, he promised himself that any future mention of "Crazy Ella" would be met with severe discipline - especially if it came from Grey herself. The statistics were better than the Nassari could have hoped for - for each Vanuard loss, nine Hydrans had perished and as the pilots firmed up with Lieutenant Daniel's tactical plan, the gap between them widened. Close up the Hydrans still had superior firepower, but all other advantage now lay with the new Rogue Six, and the edge was sending Hydran pilots most effectively to the grave.

"New wing approaching, bearing zero-seven-twenty. Sabre Two... they are yours, Stubbs."
=============================================
Sabre Two/Sabre Six

"On it boss. C'mon Foxy... shake a tail!"

Sabre Two was, as Taev believed it, custom made for the Ferengi. Smaller, more compact, and slicker than a Sluggo-cola hostile takeover, Taev was able to use his almost suicidal maneuvering to its best effect for the very first time. More than once, despite common conceptions to the contrary, he thought he could see the eyestalks of
the pilots he was up against, and in his imagination pictured their expression as a young Ferengi's first introduction to the power of compound interest... simply awestruck.

=====================================================
Vanguard Five/Vanguard Six

Darius was having the time of his life. "Never do ye feel so alive as to when yer a hair's breadth from death matey!" he cackled over the com to his wingman, Vanguard six. By din't of her relatively greater experience with the Albatross, "Natural" was somewhere in the Sabers. Darius didn't mind, he loved it all irregardless of assignment. Unless he was babysitting. "Dyin' is the day worth living for!"

"Living's a day worth living for," came the half-panicky reply. Screech's voice had never properly settled into a range after puberty, resulting in his voice cracking or squeaking at some of the most inopportune times. The pair dodged and weaved, utilizing the Albatross' superb maneuverability to great effect. Screech was none too thrilled to be paired with the crotchety old man, even if he did have centuries of experience and a few more to look forward too.
=====================================================
Sabre One/Sabre Eight

"Haha, did you see that?!" Cowboy exclaimed as he spun his fighter into a wicked roll, barreling through two expanding balls of flame and debris that had once been a pair of Hydran starfighters.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Graan asked as he followed in his wingman's wake.

"Aw, c'mon, you gotta admit that was good," Nathan protested, glancing back over his shoulder at the trailing Tellarite.

"With all due respect, sir, have you always been an insufferable showoff?"

Cowboy shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk. "Yer just upset 'cause you got yerself into some trouble and Ah had to save yer bacon."

"Was that a pig joke?"

"No idea what yer talkin' 'bout. Hang on, we got more bad guys comin' in, point three-five. Try to keep up this time, huh?"

"I want a new wingman."

TBC

"The Spread"

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

***USS Galaxy, Deck 36 Main Engineering***

Eight of Swords.

One card. Two faces.

'Position one, called the Significator, describes the situation, inner and outer, in which the individual finds him or herself at the present moment.'

For Dhanishta that situation was conflict. It raged all around her as well as within. The battle was fully underway and she had no grasp of what would follow. Instinct rained, fuelled her nimble fingers to dance erratically over her console, reacting to every tear and bleed that was made manifest by the destructive force of another.

'The card of the Eight of Swords portrays Orestes in a fearful posture, his hands up to fend off his doom. A ring of eight swords surrounds him, points embedded in the ground. To his left stands Apollo, looking stern and angry. To his right crouch the three Furies, robed in black, with white, ugly faces, snake-hair, and leathery bat-wings. In the distance, menacing clouds hang over mountain peaks.'

And so it is we meet the suit of Swords from the Minor Arcana. Fitting perhaps it is to see such a weapon, for war is not waged without such things. Yet this weapon is not of metal, not made of man, yet has the same capacity to inflict pain and injuries; wounds deeper than that of any metallic or energy based substitute.

As the Major Arcana describes our stages through this life, so the cards of the suits depicture its situations. The suit of Swords corresponds to the element of Air, that in turn, the power of the mind.

'The sword with its double cutting edge is a fitting image for the ambivalent power of the mind, which can penetrate the darkest and most incomprehensible object or situation with its keenness, yet which can also cut and wound and sever with its inflexible edge.'

The power of the mind.

Conscience.

The Eight of Swords shows us a situation in which we are paralysed by fear to act. There is a choice before us and a decision to make, one that will have consequences, undesirable consequences. And this we know, for we also know how we ended up in this situation. It's exasperating to realise the steps we knowingly took, the avoidance we indulged that led us to this place. And we must now acknowledge the part in which we played.

Would the Federation ever be 'man enough' to step forward and acknowledge the part in which they played to entice the Hydran to conflict? Could they be so bold? Every officer, enlisted alike, knew of the political instability growing within the Federation's heart. Most knew, or had an inkling, for it was obvious to those on the front lines, for there had been 'Front Lines' for too long to ignore.

Why was it, that war was waged upon them? Why was it that this generation, its preceding and those coming to maturity knew only of death and destruction? The Federations ideals were pure, were they not?

Klingons, Romulans, Borg, Dominion and now Hydran Triad: each of them had to have thought not, for if they did they would not be so timely in sending more fodder for the Federation cannon.

Where were the negotiators of peace? Where were the tables of conference? Where was the seeking of understanding and the unification of ideas, thought and promise to protect one another?

Had the Federation turned its back upon those words that formed its foundations? Or had the Hawks split the ground, torn it asunder and fixed the remaining fragments into a mosaic of their own image?

Or was it the more sinister: that the new lives and civilisations they sought out despised the Federations foundations? Was it their rejection that split the earth, rocked the stability and caused the Birds to fly in opposite directions?

What part had we to play and what part had they?

For Dhanishta these were musings for another time and place. For a time that the world she knew, the ship she loved, to not be in the process of descending down around her, atop her.

Another bolt from a Hellbore rattled the shields; she could feel it in her bones just as she could feel the ships momentum in the pit of her stomach. It jerked and swerved, climbed high and then fell, either driven by force of the waves of energy directed at her, or navigated by a pissed wayward fart of an officer, that really needed to take
into consideration the maintenance crew that would inevitably be cleaning vomit off the carpet, walls, floors and ceilings for the next few weeks.

Her hands slipped from their positions of control as her body succumbed to gravity and the failing of the inertial dampeners. A curse escaped her lips as she fumbled to reach out and grasp the 'pool table' for support.

What part did she have to play in the war? Her first thought was none. She did not wage this conflict, how could she? She was just an officer, one of hundreds and thousands; she had no part in the guilt.

Yet she was one of hundreds and thousands that perpetuated the cycle. She followed her orders, repaired the ship, kept energy flowing throughout its matrix to aid this battle and one's previous. Her hands were stained with Hydran blood. From this conflict and the last and all those before. She had taken delight in plunging a knife into the heart of a Hydran, she had heard his moans as he died at her hands and she had felt pleasure with every lasting second, with every soft murmur that escaped his beak as his lungs filled with his own blood and he suffocated as she sat atop him, pinning him to the floor.

Yes, she played a part in this war. Her hands stained and her conscience guilt ridden.

And these actions she had taken drove the battle that raged within her as this one raged without.

For so long she had ignored the dreams, the fears that tormented her in the night. For so long she had let fear dictate her actions. She had let herself be ruled by the potential that she might hurt others if she spoke the truth of who and what she was.

Yet Fate would remind her, for that was its design.

"EPS grid is failing, one more hit and we're a floating target."

"We have a build up in the power transfer conduits, trying to bypass affected systems…."

Dhanishta saw the same things that her staff did, and what's more she saw the solution, and the outcome that would follow. "We're gonna have to shut it down manually," she said aloud.

"I'm on it." A voice called out as a hand reached out to snap up a tool kit before departing.

Dhanishta felt a pull within, something tugging on the invisible heart strings. She knew that voice. For a moment her eyes lifted from her console, searched through the haze that filled Main Engineering and locked eyes with Kala.

And then she felt the immobilisation that fear and panic educed. Inside her a voice screamed, 'NOOOOOOOO!' over and over it repeated, drowning out any other.

And so it was she came to realise the part she played in this situation. It all unravelled so fast before her, and she was paralysed to act. She had wanted this position of authority; she had studied for it and worked hard for it. All the tribulations she had
endured since stepping foot on this ship, all the times she had avoided seeking help, avoided accepting what she saw in the darkness, all these things and more had driven her sister, the one person she loved more than life, to join her.

And now….

She could not hesitate in the situation, she could not send another instead, she could not do anything other than what was her job.

As an officer in the Fleet one must accept the part we play in endings. One must be able to remove oneself from attachments and justifiably send another to their demise.

To be responsible for another's death, no matter how justified, no matter how many lives one saves in the process, is a burden. One that is given to those that believe they can handle that situation. Until it is pressed upon them. For it is only in that moment that we truly know how it feels to be the hands of the executioner.

Dhanishta nodded and returned her eyes to her console, poised hands trembling…

(Descriptions of the tarot card Eight of Swords and the positions and meanings of the ten cards of the Celtic Cross Spread taken from: 'The Mythic Tarot' written by Juilet Sharman-Burk and Liz Greene.)

"Reputation"

Cmdr. Arel Smith
Lt. JG Robert Mathieson

****

USS Galaxy
Sickbay

Arel knew she was in trouble when she started giggling.

It wasn't that she never giggled .... well, she rarely giggled but she did laugh, just never very openly where someone could see her because Klingons weren't a very chuckle-some kind of people and who could blame them, laughing on the field of battle wasn't very fearsome after all and ...

She frowned for a minute, trying to remember her original point and then looked back at the doctor and started giggling again.

~Another one wot's gone barmy... jus' fekkin wonderful!~ Mathieson thought as he looked at the young woman's back. Five lines of crimson scored the flesh from right shoulder to left buttock, and the patient couldn't stop laughting. ~Painkiller reaction?~

"An' wot's t' bleedin' laugh at?"

"Your head," She laughed. "It's like a big shiny bulls eye waiting for a bat'leth."

~Bat'leth?? Another fekkin' human wot' likes t' play Klingon! Jus' me luck.~ The old man's bushy eyebrows knotted when he looked at the bio-bed's readout and saw the patients name and rank.

~Sweet Mother O' Christ! It's 'er!! Shiiiit!!!~

Arel tried to calm herself down by exhaling and waving her hand in front of her face to dry the tears escaping down her cheeks. This of course only lead to hiccup-laughs and a fascination with her hand which felt nearly boneless as it flapped in front of her face.

"Look what I can do," She cackled, flinging her hand about. "That'll show 'em!"

~Be calm old boy... be calm... no sudden moves... mebbe this'll all pass over like a bad, fekkin' dream... yeah....~ The physician had broken out in a cold sweat, and hovered a medical scanner over Arel's back with trembling hands.

During the battle of Romulus, Robert Mathieson had served on ch'Rihan itself in the entrenched ruins of a planet under Triad siege. One of his patients - Bajoran if he could remember - was a flyboy for Miranda's Rogue Squadron who had been shot down by the Hydrans. The young man had lost an arm, and in his delirium had ranted a tale that had chilled the doctor and accompanying marines to the bone. It was a tale of almost superhuman rage and inhuman suffering, of loss and pain that wrenched the heart and scarred the soul, and in his delirium James Mitchell had uttered a name... one the old doctor swore he'd never forget.

Arel Smith.

And here she was in the flesh - one-hundred and thirty-five pounds of bat'leth bearing, man-breaking evil.

Mathieson had always known the Galaxy had something a bit off to it, a presence that stalked the corridors when saner people sought their gods. Rumors of someone in Security being the cause echoed about, but the old man had never, ever believed that in a fleet as large as the Federations that he would actually meet her face-to-face.

~Oh shit!!~

Arel had finally calmed down, although she was smiling brightly - something usually reserved for only her son. For some reason, she saw the doctor pale at her expression.

"It's okay, Doctor," She said reassuringly, still smiling. "We got him, you don't have to be worried. This doesn't even hurt now and it will make a wicked looking scar, don't you think?"

"Got 'im? Oh... at's... er... good Commander. Glat t' 'ere it", Mathieson said quietly. ~Poor fekkin' bastard oo'ever it is.~

Arel's expression suddenly darkened. "He called me a wannabee though. I really hate that. I mean, it's not like I had a choice about where I grew up. Pthak bastard. I swear the next person who calls me a wannabee, I'm going to ..." Arel looked around and saw that her options were somewhat limited. "I'll just have to rip off my arm and
beat them with it! Yeah!"

~Jus' like 'e said!~

A tide of deja vu washed over the Englishman, and the haunted words of Colonel Mitchell echoed in his ear. "That time of month, man... if you lopped her arm off that's just make her angry. She'd beat you with it... if you were lucky. Otherwise... she'd find a place for it. Really, Doc... you don't wanna know."

Mathieson looked up at Arel's chart readings and swore silently to himself. Temperature up. Estrogen up. It's either the meds... or Sickbay was in for some very, very serious trouble. With a well practiced motion, the old man toed away a cart loaded with hand scanners, hyposprays and other equipment that could be used as a
weapon or stuck up an orifice.

"An' I believe yer, Commander. Ye've got no idea 'ow much I believe yer. So... raised with Klingons, eh?" It explained a lot. Every Klingon the old man had ever met walked around like they had something unpleasant shoved up their collective asses... now he had a crystal-clear idea as to why. "Mus' ve been rough."

"Yeah," Arel replied. "The food tastes horrible."

~I'll bet~, the doctor mused as he read the scanner's output. All muscle damage, and slight nicking of the vertebral cartilage. Nothing the autoplaser couldn't fix, but certainly not fast enough. "Stay still... ye'll be right as rain in less'n five... if ye make no fuss."

"Me? Fuss? Hey," She said as she tried to look over her shoulder at the wounds K'aa had inflicted. "Is my tattoo still there? I can't feel much."

"Tatoo?" Mathieson took a look at Arel's lower back, seeing a slightly faded blotch underneath the blood. Cleaning the wound he saw the rune. The doctor was a Klingon opera buff, but only knew a few words of the written language. This word he knew. "Courage", shone clearly on Arel's backside once her blood was removed.

~Fekkin 'ell. 'Warning' would have been more appropriate!~

"Nice. Fits yer... really. So'll th' scar." ~'Ave some courage yerself, old man~, he chided silently. ~Sooner she's gone, th' sooner yer balls can fall back from yer throat an yer gut can unknot itself. "Jus a shot of antiobiotic, few mins under th' protoplaser, and yer outa 'ere."

~Thank Christ!~

"That's nice," Arel said with a sigh. "You're nice. I think you're the first doctor I haven't wanted to slice open and stomp up and down on their entrails."

"Oh... at's... nice", Mathieson said nervously as he attached the protoplaser to the bio'bed's frame. "But... er... I'm jus' the... ah... dermatologist. Fer proper fixin' th' next time ye get banged up, ask fer Doctor Slen by name. Jack Slen. S-L-E-N. Ye'll get along famous-like." He 'threw the switch', and focused the machine's output
to a narrow beam and made to re-generate Arel's shredded back, resisting the 'flight' instinct to head-fake her with a scanner and run from sickbay as fast as he could.

"Suh-lenn," Arel said with a large yawn. "Okay. Whatever."

When it was over and Arel was gone, the old man leaned against Sickbak's port bulkhead, and used a cloth to wipe the beads of perspiration from his bald pate. "Jaysus, I'm to fekkin' old fer this shit."

Kelly Shields, a nurse fresh from the SF medical, joined him. The young woman was pale, and looked as if she was bordering on vomiting.

She looked at Mathieson with haunted, haggard eyes, hoping to find reassurance from the more experienced practitioner. "I've... never experienced anything like that. It's... unnatural. You OK Doc?"

Mathieson grunted and nodded. "Yeh... lucky t' survive, at's fer sure."

"I mean... Krieghoff was... here... and... and..."

The Englishman was startled at the mention of the name. "Krieghoff? O'o's that?"

"The guy with the Captain... the creepy one who's like... death."

Robert Mathieson wiped his brow, and looked at the young nurse. "Lass.. 'been in th' fleet longer 'n ye've been alive, an' let me tell ye... an' ye'd better learn this quicklike... there's worse thing n' this starship than fekkin' death!"

6033