USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 60803.09 - 60803.15

"The Debriefing"

Lt.Commander Tarin Iniara
Acting Commanding Officer

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence

Usually, Saul Bental would wait until his men gathered some substantial data from the battlefield before debriefing the Captain. However, with the carnage on the bridge and half of the department heads incapacitated, the only way to get a hold of the person in command of the ship was to find a duty-related excuse.

Luckily, Saul was quite good at sweet-talking and persuading. After having crossed the bureaucracy wall of the Deltan imports bureau that week (A certain 'Paul Van Amstel' arranged a shipment of irreplaceable emergency equipment and medical supplies to Delta; the Deltan clerks were presently wondering how come the merchant guessed the planet was about to be under attack...) the Captain and the XO's Yeomen were easy.

He located Iniara just as she was exiting a turbolift onto Deck 8, cordially reminded her of the scheduled meeting, and lured her to a side room where he could activate the scramblers and give her the debriefing.

"Now." He prompted when he was done arranging the equipment, "Is the part where you fill me up on what happened on the bridge."

Iniara exhaled deeply, her posture relaxing as she leaned heavily against a wall. It wasn't that she was irritated at being cornered by the Intel chief and ushered into a random unoccupied room; rather, every bit of her body language suggested that the events of the past couple hours were catching up to her all at once.

She looked at Saul, contemplated how she should explain it, then decided that the most practical route would be to be as brief and direct as possible. They simply didn't have the time for anything else.

"It was Lieutenant Commander K'aa, the new Ops Chief," she began, looking out the room's only porthole as the memories came back to her. "Shortly after the Hydrans retreated from the nebula, he got up from his station and started criticizing us. Saying that we had no business celebrating our victory, that we were a bunch of, I don't know, failures and misfits."

"Misfits, sure." Saul replied automatically, "We're not failures though, record shows otherwise. That's what he said?"

"I can't remember exactly how he phrased it, but he seemed to think that we were a collection of childish, petty egos and failures who were incapable of working as a cohesive unit without Captain M'Kantu to hold us all together. And then he started quoting something, some sort of religious passage, before reaching over the tactical arch," here she began to pantomime the actions, bending forward and stretching her arms out towards some invisible person before her, "grabbing the captain, and snapping his neck."

She paused and dropped her hands to her sides, looking at Saul once more. "And that's when all hell broke loose."

"Captain M'Kantu is dead?" Saul inquired in a frosty tone.

Iniara shook her head. "No. Close to it, but he's still with us."

Saul's relief was clear. "How is he doing?"

"The last I'd heard, he's in incredibly critical condition...stabilized, but still near death. If the slightest thing goes wrong, it could be enough to send him into the next life," Iniara replied quietly. She wondered if she should mention that Krieghoff hadn't given the captain permission to die, but couldn't remember what Saul thought about that particular bit of the Lieutenant's strange mystique, if he even thought about it at all. "If Kimberly can save him, though, he's going to be in for a very long recovery. Months maybe, maybe even years."

"Go on please."

"Right. Once K'aa had...done what he did, we tried to call for Security, or an emergency medical transport, or anything. Nothing worked. As he bragged to us, K'aa had locked out all access to the bridge, whether by transporter, lift, Jeffries' tube, anything. He had also deactivated all weapons in the vicinity as well as all communications. Not knowing what he was going to do next, the rest of the bridge crew attempted to subdue him by any means necessary. Daniels, Smith, Darkstar and Shivar kept K'aa busy while Commander Jaxom and Lieutenant Kara'nin tried to bypass the lockouts. Commander Elessidil took the conn, and I stayed with the captain, trying to protect him as best I could."

"Commander Jaxom realized that the environmental controls hadn't been locked down, so he set them to rapidly cool the bridge, figuring that it would affect K'aa faster than it would the rest of us. He and the counselor also grabbed some of the fire suppression canisters and used those to further chill him. It worked...but not before he'd knocked out Lieutenant Daniels and seriously injured Commander Smith.
Darkstar jumped on him then, eventually using his braid to strangle K'aa. At that point the Gorn went down..." She paused, shuddering slightly as she remembered the scene, looking up just in time to see the two blood-soaked giants go down, Darkstar's freshly severed arm lying no more than a meter from her. "Kara'nin bypassed the lockout shortly after...Security and Medical arrived a split second later."

"K'aa is still alive?"

"He is. At the moment he is of course in the brig, under heavy guard."

Saul tried to recall who was supposed to filter K'aa. Usually he unleashed Vortas or Raynor on incoming officers, instead of giving the operational security clearance duty to one of the cadets. K'aa was from the Miranda, and came highly recommended so he wasn't top priority.

"Who is interrogating him? Corgan?"

"Right now, yes. I've also asked Dr. Burton to give him a once over once the captain is stabilized; he may have suffered some injuries during the fight. Commander Jaxom also wanted to see him, since they served together for some time aboard Miranda. He didn't have time to give me many details, but said that the way K'aa fought on the bridge was vastly different from what he had seen of K'aa in the past. In addition, Counselor Elessidil thinks he sensed something a bit...off about K'aa, and was planning to head down there with Jaxom to see if he could pick up anything. The theory we'd discussed briefly is that he may have been ah, 'influenced' in some way by the Hydrans."

Saul nodded. He'll have to obtain the interrogation protocols, of course. He resolved to let the others finish playing with K'aa before he will pay the Gorn a visit himself.

"I'll have to check if there were extensive periods of time where the Hydrans had access to him. O'Shea--"

Iniara's commbadge chirped, disrupting Saul. She tapped it, and a familiar voice from operations came through.

"Ma'am, we have rescued an officer from the USS Amaranthine, their first officer, and he asks if you require any assistance. Man's name is Lt. Commander Loras Rose, genetic profile seems to match the databases."

"What did he just say?" Saul interjected.

"A Lieutenant Commander Loras Rose is aboard,” she repeated. "Do you know him or something?"

"Holy crap, we just won the officer jackpot." Saul grinned. Iniara didn't expect to see him so cheerful after the grim news she just gave. "Say 'yes'."

"Oh...kay." Iniara looked at Saul, one eyebrow slowly creeping upward. Then, in a louder voice, she continued, "Thank you, Mr. Elliott. Please have him come to my office as soon as he is able."

Closing the channel, she repeated her earlier question, "Do you know this Lieutenant Commander Rose?"

"Sir Loras was one of my class' instructors on the academy. And 8-Ball's, and Artim's. He... I mean, he is..."

Saul's hands moved as he tried to give shape to his thoughts. This was quite a surprise, overshadowed only by the startling events Iniara just recounted.

"Let's put it that way." He said eventually. "How many people do you know on this ship?"

Iniara thought about it for a moment. "Of the officers, I can identify probably eighty percent on sight. Non-coms...the figure is no more than twenty-five percent. Why?"

"If you give Loras two months here, he'll know ALL of them. On a first name basis, and to the point where he could start small talk with anyone about their hobbies, or family, or career aspirations... it's impressive to watch. Don't quote me, but most of what I know about running a team comes from Sir Loras."

"That's...interesting. Is he El-Aurian or something?" The name sounded more Terran than anything, but she had known a few El-Aurians who'd changed their names to 'blend in' with human society.

"No. He is Betazoid. Just with a very good memory and too much interest in other people. Why?"

"Just sounds like a typically El-Aurian trait, picking up that much information about other people. Guess I was wrong." She shrugged. "Anyway, tell me more about this man...he's an ex-oh, at some point before that he was an Academy instructor, and if he sticks around enough he'll get to know everyone...but what are his areas of expertise?"

Saul tried to recall. When he was a cadet he tried to learn anything he could about his instructors. They were the ones giving grades, and the ones that eventually decided if he stays or gets kicked.

"He's a jack of all trades." Saul began counting with his fingers, "Operations, Intelligence for sure, I think he was also in security or tactical at one point. The first officer position is recent. I wasn't aware he was promoted though it figures."

"Sounds like a good person to have aboard, then," Iniara commented. "Well, unless you need anything else from me, I should try and get back to my office before he beats me there," she added with a grin.

"All right." Saul prepared to leave, then made up his mind and tapped on Iniara's shoulder.

"Listen - anything you need to get done, any problem you run into - you know where to find me."

"Right down the hall of course," she replied, the grin widening. Then, slowly, the grin gave way to a relieved smile-- a real smile, not the fake ones she normally used whenever the situation warranted. In the back of her mind, she wondered how it had come to be that one of the sneakiest people she knew on this ship was one of the few she trusted almost unconditionally. "Thanks. Don't know what I'd do without you sometimes."

"New Orders"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara
Acting CO, USS Galaxy

with
Rear Admiral Odetta Pearle
Second Officer, 10th Fleet

****

Deck 1, Ready Room

"Agreed, Admiral. Captain M'Kantu's life is our top priority here. However, Doctor Burton has been his physician for over two years, and if anyone knows his medical details top to bottom it's her. The captain's situation is very serious, I agree, but I'm reluctant to move him to another facility when some of the best medical minds in the Quadrant are already here and tending to him as best they can."

Having said her piece, the acting CO of the USS Galaxy relaxed slightly, easing her weight against the back of the chair in which she sat. It was still taking some getting used to, spending all this time in what she still considered M'Kantu's chair in M'Kantu's ready room adjacent to M'Kantu's bridge, but she was getting there.

On the small screen, the Terran admiral with whom she was conversing fell silent. While she couldn't read Rear Admiral Pearle's emotions over the light years that separated them, Iniara was still able to deduce from her body language that the admiral was somewhat conflicted over the situation. That was good, she thought. No doubt the life of Captain M'Kantu was of utmost concern to Command, but the fact that her request to return to the nebula hadn't been denied outright meant that someone somewhere thought that it wasn't that bad of an idea. Iniara wondered if her message to Admiral Shel had anything to do with it.

After a long moment, Pearle frowned, uttered a low 'hm' and leaned forward, tapping some buttons that were just below the camera's field of vision. Iniara watched silently as the admiral's eyes scanned rapidly back and forth. Likely she was either rereading the proposal authored by Lieutenants Shivar and T'Pei, or she'd just received a message that would sway her decision either way.

Several more seconds passed before Pearle spoke. "Well. If you feel that your captain's condition is well enough that traveling into an unstable area of space such as the Kateren Nebula won't put his life at undue risk..." Her voice trailed off as she too leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers as she watched Iniara, clearly waiting for a reaction.

"I do, Admiral," Iniara repeated, keeping a practiced calm to her mannerisms. Really, why was Command making such a huge deal out of this? Daren M'Kantu was a superb captain, the glue that held together the somewhat eccentric crew of the USS Galaxy, but he was only one man. One man who was seriously injured, near death, whose chances of surviving and regaining full use of his body wouldn't change much if the ship was inside a nebula or traveling at maximum warp to the best medical facility in the universe. Iniara wasn't a cruel woman, but when it came to weighing the life of one man against the potential to gain valuable insight and intelligence on one of the deadliest creatures to threaten the Federation in recent memory...well, the lives of many would always outweigh the life of one. Even if that one was Daren M'Kantu.

Plus, it had been four days since K'aa's attack. Burton had told her the first twenty-four hours were the most crucial, and if the captain was still alive after over four times that number had passed, Iniara figured that the hardest part was over and that the captain was eventually going to recover. At least she hoped that was the case.

She watched the admiral watching her, mind racing. Was Pearle going to deny her request? Was she going to order Galaxy to remain at the edge of the nebula, its crew doing nothing more than interrogating a handful of Hydran POWs, investigating the broken bits of some discarded light cruisers, and watching as the USS Jacmel and USS Vigilant put themselves back together? This could be the most important discovery Galaxy had made in recent years; in a matter of days they could learn more about the Starbeasts than they could in years of fighting the huge creatures. Iniara wasn't a scientist by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew they had to undertake this project, to get that intel.

Had to. No matter the cost.

On her screen, the admiral began to speak again. "A Vice Admiral Marial Shel at Starfleet Science has apparently taken great interest in this project. It seems that her opinion carries quite a bit of weight..."

But if the admiral said no, was she prepared to disobey orders to get that intel? Was she prepared to sabotage her own career, which actually hadn't been going that bad lately, if it meant they could gain a tactical advantage on the Hydrans? Did the lives of many always outweigh the life of one, when it was her own future at stake?

"...Therefore, you are hereby ordered to return to the Kateren Nebula to gather whatever data you can on these Starbeasts," Pearle stated.

The word 'return' snapped Iniara out of her thoughts. Had she just said--

"You have three days to complete the mission, 'Commander Tarin," the admiral continued, now leaning forward so that she was no more than a foot from the camera on her side of the transmission. "During this time, you will send progress reports every two hours to the USS Vigilant, which will remain outside the nebula until you return. They are too damaged to assist you should you need it, but at least we will know of your fate should something...unfortunate happen."

Iniara did her best not to grimace at that. Yes, the mission was going to be a bit riskier than, say, sitting around waiting to be ordered to some other far-off sector, but they'd been in this nebula before and knew how to deal with its strange quirks. "Contact Vigilant every two hours; yes ma'am."

"Furthermore, should you encounter problems of any sort, or if the Hydrans return, you are to exit the nebula immediately. If Captain M'Kantu's condition worsens significantly, you are to exit the nebula and go immediately to Delta IV. I understand your desire to keep this matter 'in house', so to speak, but there are perfectly capable doctors in locations other than your Sickbay."

"Understood, ma'am," Iniara repeated, nodding her head automatically. Was there an undercurrent of sarcasm in the admiral's words? Oh, whatever; let Pearle think she was a suicidal bitch...as long as it got her what she wanted... She resisted the urge to break out into a smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Thank me with a mountain of useful intel in three days, 'Commander. Pearle out."

Iniara sighed, relieved to see the woman's face replaced by the Starfleet Command logo. Odetta Pearle wasn't particularly fierce or overbearing, but Iniara was still getting used to the idea of speaking with admirals without getting flustered or sounding like a completely uneducated twit. "Time to get going," she said to the room.

Iniara deactivated the console's viewscreen, then tapped the control that put her through to the bridge. "Tarin to Commander Elessidil." She paused, waiting for the acknowledgment from her 'unofficial' XO, and wondered if he felt as strange in the center seat as she did. After all, they were both keeping that seat warm for someone else's inevitable return. "Take us back into the nebula, best possible speed. We have new orders."

OOC-4 hours after "The Beasts Within part 2"

"Staring Contest"

Lt. JG T'Pei
Ens. Dionne Lannow (NPC)

[Science Lab 3]

T'Pei stood with her head cocked and her eyebrow raised, like a Vulcan statue. Her gaze might have been focused on the roughly one meter spherical probe on the work table in front of her, or it might have been fixed on one of the displays behind it, showing, from left to right, information on the conditions of the nebula, the most detailed scans they had to date on the three dead Starbeasts, and the schematics of the modified probe.

Whatever it was, T'Pei had been engrossed for fully three minutes now. That, plus the four preceding near-silent hours of work which had culminated in this weirdness, and Ensign Dionne Lannow was starting to get nervous that her superior officer had mentally 'fallen and couldn't get up'. She had heard about Vulcans going off the deep end--heck, she'd heard rumors that it had happened on Galaxy not too long ago. Surely a staring contest with an inanimate object wasn't normal Vulcan behavior?

Two more minutes. Dionne's foot itched, but she'd be damned if she moved before T'Pei did. She'd heard Vulcans were strong. What if the woman snapped and came at her and did one of those crazy neck thingys her academy roommate had told her about? She wished she wasn't standing so close to the woman. Or that she had a phaser.

After five minutes and forty-two seconds, three things happened: T'Pei said "You are finished here, Ensign," abruptly turned around and reached towards Dionne, and Dionne shrieked and stumbled back into the console behind her.

"Are you quite all right, Ensign Lannow?" The Ops officer asked as she picked up the PADD she had been reaching for.

Dionne's brain hadn't quite exited survival mode. In lieu of lunging for the door, she skirted around the console, placing at least one barrier between her and the Vulcan woman. "Charley horse, ma'am...Lieutenant. Since I was eight. I'll have the doctor take a look at it, ah...Ma'am."

"That seems prudent. Thank you for your assistance."
Pretty sure that meant she was dismissed, Dionne gathered the remnants of her dignity and made an ungainly exit. 'And my section head is Gorn,' she thought. 'I should have been an engineer.'

Considering all of this well within the range of normal human irrationality, T'Pei returned to the console non-plussed, and tapped her comm badge.
"T'Pei to Shivar. The probe modifications are complete."

"What about the prisoners"
(Takes place very soon after 'Medivac')

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Cadet Paige Sullivan

---
USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Security Main
---

"What happened, sir?"

"Was it bad?"

"Did the Hydrans all die?"

"Is the Captain all right?"

"He didn't die, did he?"

Well, that last question was one that Victor was allowed to answer past the XO's gag order. "No," he said quietly, his voice penetrating through the noise that filled up Security Main, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere in particular. "The Captain didn't die – and he's not going to die."

"But we heard..."

"I don't care what you heard," Victor repeated, his voice never wavering in its even tone. "Yes, he was injured, but the Captain is not dead and he's not going to *be* dead; not anytime soon, anyway."

Walking, however, was in Dr. Burton's hands, not Victor's.

A wave of relief passed through the room, and Victor caught a few snippets of whispers over the sound of alarms and common chatter as Security teams checked in.

"..told you, didn't I?..."

"...he put the whammy on the CO..."

"...damned ghoul's good for something..."

"All right, people," Victor said, cutting through the chatter again. "You can gossip about me, the ship, and anything else that won't get you busted on morals charges on your own time - we've got work to do now." He turned and pointed to a nearby Ensign. "Find out where all of our people are, what shape they're in, and get back to me ASAP."

Turning back to the crowd of personnel in the room, he continued, "Everybody listen up. We've just been in a battle, and, like always, there aren't enough of us to go around. Damage Control Teams, you know what to do - get out there and do it. Those of you on POW duty, get ready for more work; they're going to start sweeping the wreckage we left for survivors soon, and that means more POWs for us to manage."

"Where are we going to put them, sir? The Brig's full to bursting already, and the cells there aren't designed to generate that kind of soup for long without burning out."

"I'll take care of that," Victor nodded. "You just make sure we hold on to the ones we have, and get ready for more." He looked around. "As for the rest of you...."

Ten minutes later, Victor found time to send out the request for a build team to Engineering and Operations, flagging it as 'Urgent' and giving the specs on what was going to be needed quickly.

---

This wasn't the type of thing that cadets were usually involved in. The cadet cruise was a glorified internship; the fourth years were customarily responsible for little things that would, with time, maybe (eventually) turn into slightly bigger, almost medium sized things that would presumably grow steadily into larger things upon graduation and official assignment. Cadets calibrated toilet relays and inventoried isolinear chips. They didn't build prisons in cargo bays.

Okay, so she wasn't building the prisons so much as she was creating computer systems that would facilitate and maintain that construction. But still. It was a big step up AND she was working with ranking officers -- the Chief Engineer and Victor Krieghoff, who would be overseeing the construction from a security and safety angle. Victor Krieghoff who was, she supposed, a key reason why she was actually there -- she was the only one in the room who hadn't shuddered at the mention of his name.

"So... um. We're doing what exactly?" she asked, making a face as she looked at specs on a padd.

Of course she'd heard him. But as she looked at this and at the details for the needs of the Hydran prisoners, she felt a lump settle into her throat along with the feeling that she had to have hallucinated for a moment.

"Building a cell to hold POW's, cadet," Dhanishta stated crisply having caught the question as she entered Security Main. "Lieutenant Krieghoff," she nodded respectfully towards him as she approached, "we have bulk cargo bays throughout this deck, more on decks 38, 13 and 4. I'd suggest that we use the ones on this deck and deck 13 due to their proximity to the brig and security offices." She paused momentarily for his response.

Paige looked over at the engineer and her frown deepened. If she remembered her 'Who's Who on the USS Galaxy' briefing padd correctly, this was Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe, and if she remembered scuttlebutt correctly... Well. That reply was proving it correct. What, did Eshe think Paige was deaf? She'd heard what the Lieutenant said, and even if she hadn't, she had the information in front of her -- examples of how this had been done in similar situations and all of that. It was more a rhetorical question or an inquiry of reason than it was of actual purpose.

And what the hell was this woman doing -- walking around with burns all over her hands? Oh. Right. She's a tough Starfleet officer and don't let anyone forget it. Paige barely contained an eye roll as she looked back toward Krieghoff.

"Correct," Victor nodded. "We've got a half-dozen Hydran marine prisoners from a boarding party that I need to get out of their armor so we can question them - preferably before their atmosphere runs out in them - and more on the way from the last report that *our* Marines sent us. We've got to come up with someplace besides the Brig to hold them, since it wasn't designed for the kind of volume we're likely to get." He nodded to Dhani, "If you can set it up there, using one of the cargobays on this deck would be best, although I don't know that we need to empty out more than one bay to start with, but perhaps with an option on the second?"

"Agreed," Dhani nodded wincing slightly as the momentum of a passing officer caused her burned hands to flare in pain. She gritted her teeth and took in a sharp breath to counter. "I don't have enough people to spare right now to set up two, any idea how many more ships are out there that still have Hydran," she avoided saying 'scum' and went straight to; "soldiers?"

Victor shook his head. "No idea. Based on what my girlfriend..." wasn't it amazing how easily he could say that now? "...told me when she was back in to let her fighter be serviced, there are pieces of Hydran vessels big enough to still sustain atmosphere all over the battle site. It could be just the ones we've got, or we could wind up with fifty or more in less than an hour." He glanced down at Dhani's hands and raised an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything; he certainly wasn't in a position to tell anyone to seek medical attention when there was work to be done.

Dhanishta nodded once more, though the look on her face, that of repressed pain and fatigue along with the flash of anger behind her dark green eyes, conveyed more than she would have liked. Why the hell should they be busting their balls to house the remnants of the Hydran fleet? They should leave their carcasses to rot within the debris. That's what the Hydran would do to them: that's what they *had* done to her!! The fire beneath her rage grew that much more, it flickered within her soul, tempting her to end their lives herself. It wasn't that hard. Not any more.

Swallowing hard she turned her attention to the cadet that was watching both her and Krieghoff intently, she tried to fold her arms across her chest, an instinctual act when she began to summaries another person with just her eyes, however the instant stab of pain that flowed from the attempt stopped her dead, her full vertical scan of the cadet didn't however. Clearing her throat she leaned in towards Krieghoff, "We need to talk... in private."

Paige sighed, looking down at the large kit at her feet. In a matter of minutes they'd return and send her back to the Clean Room.

Victor looked at Dhani for a moment, nodded, "All right," and turned back to Paige as the cadet was looking down at the kit at her feet. "We'll be right back." He stopped, considered the problem from Chulak's point of view, and the lessons that he'd learned on Talvalen a lifetime ago. "Don't try and do everything all at once; just start with one thing - I'd suggest the life support requirements - and get those working. We can always wrap the prisoners in a fabriplas bubble and pipe it in to start with, but without the right atmosphere all the cells in the world won't help us."

Paige cracked a smile toward the security lieutenant and nodded.

"Yeah, sure thing," she said, lifting her kit and moving over to one of the panels in the center of the room.

He nodded, turned back to Dhani and motioned her to follow him far enough away that their conversation would be private. "Yes?"

-- TBC --

"What about the prisoners"
(Takes place very soon after 'Medivac')

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Cadet Paige Sullivan

---
USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Security Main
---

"Yes?"

Dhanishta tried not to look over Victor's shoulder as she spoke, "A cadet?" she questioned somewhat bluntly. A voice within cried out: 'elitist bitch!' chastising herself, 'hell yeah!' Dhanishta replied to it firmly. "You have to be kidding me?" she continued not stalled by her inner dialogue, "Is that really all the Ops Chief can spare us?" she questioned agitated, "Get him on the com, I'll sort this out..." she was saying as she motioned towards the nearest communications screen.

"Operations' is stretched thin right now," Victor observed. Considering the shape that the Operations Chief had been in the last time Victor saw him - and the location he was being beamed to - that was going to be true for a little while yet. "So yes, she's what they can spare." He shrugged. "I assume that providing holding cells for Hydran prisoners ranks somewhat low on their list right now. I can't say that I don't understand their point of view, but it's my job to ensure that the Hydrans get those holding cells, so we have to work with what we have."

'We're all stretched thin!' Dhanishta bit down on her anger, retreating from calling up the Ops Chief and giving him an earful, "Fine," she responded testily. For a moment she was quiet as she thought about what she had to work with, "You have a med pack in here?" she asked somberly, distracted by her mind as it began to contemplate what they would need, who she would have to call, how many Hydran scum would be inhabiting the place which she called home.

"Yes," Victor triggered the recall signal for the one stored in the uniform's pattern buffer, opened it, looked at her hands, and paused before handing it to her. "Would you like some assistance until the initial pain-killers take hold?"

"Please." Dhanishta nodded, sighing with relief that she wouldn't have to manipulate anything with her burned extremities.

He looked down at the kit. "And do you have any allergies to medication that might prevent you from using drugs optimized for a Human? If I have to suddenly start giving you mouth to mouth to keep you breathing I somehow think that everyone is going to get the wrong impression about what we're really doing over here."

A chuckle of amusement escaped her as she shook her head. "Just gimmie whatever you've got in there," she requested, "I'm sure it will be fine."

With a nod, he selected a cartridge, dialed a dosage, and let the hiss of the hypospray wash her pain away.

As the pain suppressers coursed through her system Dhani felt her body relax, the tension in her muscles caused by their continuous contractions with every wave of pain finally ceased and she let out a long held breath of relief.

"Level with me Krieghoff," she let out on the next exhale, "what happened on the Bridge?" she asked, "I've got all sorts of reports coming in from my engineers, and I've just come from sick bay." Her eyes locked with his as he passed a dermal regenerator over her right hand, back and forth in a steady motion. She didn't realize it then, but something was missing from this picture. This picture where she stood calmly, allowing Victor-Von-Death-Man to not only stand at her side, yet also hold her hand as he tended to her injuries.

"Beyond the obvious - there was a fight - I don't know," Victor admitted honestly. "Everything was over by the time we beamed in. I only had a moment to look around before..." he paused to switch hands with the regenerator so he could reach the rest of her hand more easily and to give himself time to phrase the rest of his answer properly "...I started to attend to the Captain."

Dhanishta flinched slightly and gave him a hard stare as she cursed the pain through her hand. Letting her sternness fade, for it was obvious he didn't intend to hurt her, she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"And?" she prodded a few seconds later.

"The Captain isn't going to die," Victor told her as he met her eyes. "He's injured, but he won't die; I can guarantee that, but the rest is up to him and the doctors. I don't think anyone else is going to die from what I saw, but a lot of people got hurt, some of them badly." He looked back down. "Good enough for this hand?"

"Hum," Dhanishta murmured as she slowly flexed her fingers, curling them and then extending them, testing the new skin, "Yes, thank you." She replied glad that the pain had gone and the damage seemed to be fully repaired.

"All right then," he noted, and began to repeat the procedure with her other hand. "As for what started things off up there, and how everyone got into the condition they were in, I don't know. I haven't seen the security tapes yet, and I haven't taken any statements - all I know is what I saw when we beamed in: that there was a hell of fight, and that most of the Bridge crew was involved in it and subsequently got themselves injured."

"I see." Dhani said with a pensive frown, "I assume this all took place after the battle appeared to be won. We lost contact with the bridge after they declared victory." She looked back up into his eyes, still unaware of what was missing. "I can't say I agree with saving the Hydran, however that's what makes us different isn't it? Compassion." Once more their gaze locked and she wondered for a moment if he ever realized that it was her who broke into his quarters years back and questioned him in such a bizarre manner. She blinked and smiled softly. That guilt stricken, dribbling Dhani had long past. He had told her to accept what she was, what she really was deep down under the uniform, within her heart. And for the first time she felt like she was perhaps ready to take that journey. Would *they* be ready when she did?

"A Hydran cage," Dhani mused more to herself than anyone else, "Cadet?" she called over Victors shoulder, "Over here," she instructed.

Paige pulled her attention back. She'd had it divided -- in one part on what she was doing and on the other part, listening in on the hush conversation between the two more senior officers. It was one thing she had going for her -- Paige had always had perfect hearing. And it didn't hurt that Victor's voice traveled.

"I, uhm," she lifted a padd and moved toward them, realizing that she was more wary of the engineer than she was of the so-called Devil of the Galaxy. Victor had her back. Dhanishta Eshe would probably rather throw her out an airlock, or at very least send her back to the Academy and out of her way. "So looking at what's been done before in situations like this? I think this one here is the best option." She handed the padd forward. "At least, from an operations angle? I mean, I don't know about structural stuff and all, but, uhm... You know, the bioneural systems aren't exactly designed for methane environments? So I'm going to have to tweak them if they're going to sustain that environment AND keep an active security field able to contain a significant number of, uhm, these prisoners. With only minor tweaking -- and I circled the areas I think would work best -- I can make sure that the B-NGRs run at peak. With the other design options, there's just no way to get them to Min-Stand O2/N2 operations, and if we're going to have as many as Lieutenant Krieghoff is suggesting, having it otherwise is going to be a major drain of ship's systems."

"Humm," Dhanishta nodded slowly as she reviewed the data, her fingers tapping absently at her side as she read.

Victor thought about that for a moment, and then said, "Bars."

The completely abstract comment drew Dhani from her thoughts. Slightly agitated at the breach in her concentration she gave him a long hard stare. Her eyebrows descended into a 'v' shape as her frown deepened, "You what?" she questioned with a bemused head shake.

"No, not the kind where you serve drinks," he replied, shaking his head. "Bars on the cells. If we eliminate the need for some or all of the security fields and just put bars on the cells so the POWs can't get out, will that make the power requirements and other issues easier?" He nodded towards Dhani. "Assuming, of course, that we've got the supplies to do that?"

Paige blew hair from her face and then brushed it away as she looked at the Trillish engineer and the humanish security lieutenant.

Dhanishta shook her head, still frowning at him. The imagery his notion supplied her with made her balk some. It was somewhat primitive and totally impractical. He was thinking, or Dhani assumed he was thinking practically. Like prison cells of old, however they had to contain an atmosphere within the cell, and prevent them from escaping.

"We don't need to do that," Paige said. "Once the engineers make the physical modifications to the cargo bay, it'll take me all of... Erz, twenty, maybe thirty minutes to modify the B-NGRs. Heva, that's what I do, my specialty. And using standard electric fields instead of bars'll help to contain the methane atmosphere. Either way there's gonna be a drain on systems, but there'll be less of a power drain using fields and creating insulation pockets for the 'packs than there would be a drain on life support systems by using bars. Using fields and containing the atmosphere that way would also be more, uhm. Humane? For the prisoners. If that's a factor, I mean. It'll let us have a better concentration of their 'air'."

~Heva?~ Dhani questioned mentally, ~okay then!~ It was obvious that she was somewhat out of touch with the youth of today. It had been ten years since she graduated the Academy, though it still felt like yesterday.

"Then we use the fields," Victor nodded. "But if I can get it, I want something physical in place to provide a measure of security and control in case we suffer a failure to the power systems in combat or due to system overload."

Dhani nodded then and thought for a moment. "I'd rather not have the systems linked into the ship," she began, "most of the systems are in a state of flux and adding this will hinder that, and in addition if we are attacked again, or anything else crops up and we have a system wide power failure then we are screwed. We would be inviting the Hydran to take over from within." She looked to them both and chewed her cheek for a moment.

Paige looked between the *true* adults in the room. Hydrans taking over from within? Yeah. That sounded bad. It dawned on her, once again, that this was the Real World. This wasn't a simulation. There were bad guys and she was working on keeping them contained. She was saving the ship - she was being a Big Damn Hero here, in her own geeky sort of way. There was a terrifying thought if she'd ever had one... Paige cleared her throat softly, shifting as she listened, tried to soak in the experience and the self-confidence the two much more senior officers exuded.

"If we used a back up power generator to control the forcefield and the environmental modules from one, or several, of the shuttles currently in the docking bay...." Dhani made a few annotations on the padd that Paige had previously handed her, "then we could create and sustain the holding cells without having to add any further strain on the ships systems." She looked between them one more, "What do you think?" she asked letting her gaze fall upon the cadet.

-- TBC --

"What about the prisoners"
(Takes place very soon after 'Medivac')

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Cadet Paige Sullivan

---
USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Security Main
---

"What do you think?"

Paige frowned, studying the padd, chewing on her bottom lip as she did so, her flyaway hair falling into her face. Her pulse was sort of racing, anxiety hung in her throat. What did she think?

Well -- what *did* she think...

"Hm." She cleared her throat. "I mean, it could work -- it would work. But -- there is the question about how efficient you want it. It's all about the nature of the B-NGPs and the B-NGPRs, how they work with one another and generate their power. If you calibrate them in the right way then they can build off themselves with cellular reaction... and if you really do that right, you can boost that efficiency. But if you get them too far from a primary energy source, or if that source is inconsistent in strength, then they are more likely to fail and that'd be bad. I could set it up so that failure's not a problem, but if we pull from shuttlecraft power cores then we'd have to have a system that boosts the power. We could rig it so that backup generators boost the power... but in the end, it would end up taking *more* power. Does, uhm. Does that make any sense?"

Erz frakkin' za. She was rambling. And given the look on the engineer's face, Paige wasn't even sure if her rapid-fire recitation of her thoughts was in Standard.

Dhanishta's frown lingered as she tried to make sense of the cadet's fast, accent laced speech. She'd noticed the young girl's habit of saying 'er' quite often, she was far from sure of her own convictions, or at least that's what she was putting out there. Dhani regarded her coldly for a moment, trying to ascertain whether the cadet was incompetent and dribbling, or if she was hiding any skill underneath her insecurities.

Paige raised an eyebrow, looking between them. Engineers got the basics about gelpack relays -- they knew the specs and stamina, but nothing more than that really. And Paige wasn't exactly a teacher -- she was trying to remember the descriptions Professor Hanover used in his 101 course (Operations for the non-Ops major).

"I mean I don't really know the engineering side of all of it, so if we did the shuttle craft and generators thing I couldn't really do a whole heck of a lot. But I think if I... I'm reasonably positive that I can rig it so that the B-NGPRs sequence correctly to really create their own juice so that the use of ship's systems isn't that bad and wouldn't really be detrimental. I was working with Professor Hanover this last summer on this type of thing and we had great results." She bit her lip, looking up at them with round hazel eyes. "But you're the Chief here; it's... your call? But working from an Operations side of things, just doing standard ships systems would be more efficient for the B-NGPRs and in the time part of stuff. It'd be faster."

Dhanishta considered this for a moment. She was right about that. Trying to take components from other locations and then fit them together like a miss-matched jigsaw puzzle would be quite time consuming. Even though she desired the holding cells to be independent of ships systems, could she really run the risk of letting the prisoners die while she sought that goal?

"Alright," she said slowly, still thinking, "Get started on recalibrating the gelpacks to accommodate for the atmospheric conditions. We can use the template from the current Brig confinement to create a holding field within the cargo bay, we'll need to recalibrate it so that it contains the environment..." she trailed for a moment, still in thought. "We'll need backup power modules and back up shields, just in case, you can get those from the armory." Dhani said looking at the cadet.

"Is there anything else you want to add from a security front?" Dhani asked turning to Krieghoff, "Personally I'd like to incorporate the ability to flood them out of the cargo bay if they start causing us any trouble, after all its standard POW behavior, the necessity to escape and cause as much damage to your enemy in the process. And it's not like we really need to give them that opportunity, they've already had run of Engineering once." she said pointedly.

"I'm okay with that," he nodded. "I don't have any desire to have these people moving anywhere but to interrogation and back." He considered the situation for a few seconds. "The plans we're looking at already have an overhead walkway for security forces in them, so that's fine. Exercise space isn't required, since this is just a temporary facility, but if they're aboard for too long, we'll have to address that. Medical attention... realistically, they need their own space for medical attention here, but that's a low priority compared to getting things set up. Leave a space for it, and they'll just have to site-to-site to a guarded operating theatre in Sickbay for right now if medical attention is needed." He looked at the plans. "Don't forget the sanitary facilities - I have no idea what Hydran waste products look like running across the deck, and I have no desire to find out."

Dhani raised an eyebrow at that comment, it was a relief to her face muscles to be making a different expression – she'd held the frown till breaking point and then some. She thought about his assessment, and while she didn't want their excrement running all over the deck she couldn't push past the humors thought that cropped into her mind -- animals in a zoo -- they were just like them, she thought, they cared not for anyone but themselves, fought with animalistic instinct. Right now she wasn't sure if they were worse then the Dominion or just poor imitations. However she didn't want to be cleaning up after them anymore than she already was, so she conceded with a slow nod.

Still sensitive from her bridge experience, the mental image and the olfactory possibilities of Victor's description made Paige's stomach seize.

"One more thing," Victor caught both women's eyes briefly. "The Hydrans aren't the most popular people in the universe with the crew right now, so we can't rule out the possibility that someone may try and get a little payback in on the prisoners. They're not likely to physically come down here and work them over, but tampering with the life support controls is a tempting, impersonal way to get that done without needing to. So, once everything is set up, lock out access to the life support and other critical functions for the cells. No one accesses those controls without one of the three of us standing there to see what they do. All right?"

Dhanishta's gaze flickered between Krieghoff and Paige. She's just a cadet, she thought, a *fourth* year bloody cadet! And you really want her in that position of responsibility? Her eyes flickered coldly at the thought, her security clearance is bupkiss, nada, nothing, zilch and you want her to have control over the prisoners you so desperately want to keep out of harms way? The inside voice of reason was screaming at Victor, almost pleading with him. But then she caught something in his eyes. His depth had long since begun to weave into him, he'd become something so much more than he was. She'd realized that at Branwen's wedding. ~Branwen!~ the name screamed inside her on a totally different level. A level that had no place in the current situation, one that she couldn't deal with now but knew she should – should have dealt with it when it happened, should have stayed, should have gone looking regardless of the consequences. She stilled that voice and let herself take in the moment. For some reason, unknown to Dhani, Victor Krieghoff trusted this young woman, one that had taken an oath to the Fleet – yet hadn't fulfilled it through graduation, for it was only then that her dedication could be proved. But if there was one thing Dhanishta knew, it was that Victor was seldom wrong. He saw through people, he'd seen through her.

"Very well," she replied in an even tone gazing into Victor's eyes. She turned her face to the cadet and softly smiled - let's see what you can do.

"Cold Betrayal"

Cold.

So cold.

The spirit seeks to rise and rage against the powindah, but the flesh is weak, chilled into idleness. I huddle to preserve what warmth is left in me, but I can feel it ebb from me and accursed sleep now bleeds into my senses. My body and mind are prisoner of the cold, but my spirit, and my dreams, remain true and free.

James was in earlier. Ah, poor James. His personnel file was such a delightful, entertaining read that he seemed so familiar, almost akin to friendship if he wasn't so pitiful. His most recent episode with the adolescent female has disturbed him greatly – even in the cold I could taste his anxiety when I mentioned it.

Then, predictably, it was Jaal. Sentimentality personified, he still remembers the Th'Khiss K'aa of the Miranda. Echoes of work against the Syndicate , the Borg, and Romulus still echo in the Trill's soul, and he seems unable to accept the absolute truth laid before him.

That Th'Khiss K'aa perished… what seems a long, long time ago.

Time is relative, and Jaal's visit seemed longer than the actual tem minutes, probably because of his friend Elessidil. The Counselor's presence was a surprise, a bit of competency I had not expected from the Galaxy's crew. Still, it wasn't unexpected, and I had trained for the possibility of questioning with a psych-adept. I pray it was
enough.

I pray it was all enough.

When snapping Captain M'Kantu's neck, I felt almost as if I had failed even though my mission was a success far beyond my wildest dreams.

Sector Tactical Command.

Strategic Operations at SF Command.

Starship Operations on a ship-of-the-line.

Fortune offered both surge and ebb, but overall I managed to wallow in the soft underbelly of Federation strategic planning unnoticed. Then Daren M'Kantu proved a Federation captain's true worth, and in a second brought defeat to a righteous, deserving victory. Killing him was necessary I keep telling myself, but regrettable.

Yes… most regrettable.

I had never experienced human piety before. Religious-based profanity aplenty, but never piety. Witnessing such an individual in the midst of Federation obsession with soulless technology was surprising. No… shocking. I was unprepared for the revelation, and betraying such a man was… distasteful. Shameful. M'Kantu deserved better, but perhaps in his afterlife he will understand what had to be done. One man's
faith cannot stand in the path of provedence, no matter his virtue.

Hard… to think. Fogginess…. grasps my senses. Sleep will claim me soon, and I wonder if dreams will ease my conscience or enflame it. I pray the former, but I believe that I will dream of Daren M'Kantu's eyes and the expression of betrayal on his face.

And cold, cold hellfire.

"Good idea what's coming next"

Nathan "Cowboy" Everett
Ella "Songbird" Grey

****

USS Galaxy

She found him in the CAG's office - what she guessed was his office now, at least for the moment. Ella set the box of odds and ends (and multiple Sluggo flyers) on the desk. "I cleaned out Stubbs' locker. No one wanted to ... anyway, I'm not really sure where it should go."

Nathan glanced quickly up at Ella, looking almost embarrassed that he'd been caught sitting at the CAG's desk. The job wasn't officially his, but until it was, or until Starfighter Command found someone better, he was entitled to it, but Nathan still felt sort of like he was betraying Quattro by assuming the Nassari's office so soon after his death.

"Right," he said distractedly. "Thanks." He grabbed the box and lifted it off the desk, setting it down on the floor, out of the way.

"Actually, Ah'm glad yer here, Ella," Nathan continued after looking back up at her. "Ah wanted to talk to you. Have a seat."

She took her seat without comment, having a pretty good idea about what was coming next.

"So...how're you holdin' up?"

Yup, she thought. She was also reminded of her conversation with Victor and, because it was true, Ella added that she was better. "And you?"

He shrugged. "Ah'm alright. It's hard watchin' yer flightmates die, but we're in the wrong profession if we can't let ourselves get past it." Nathan sat back, quietly tapping his fingertips on the surface of the desk. "It was different with Rogue Group. They're more'n double the size of Vanguard, it was hard to be friends with that many pilots.
But here..." He shook his head. "Y'all're more personal, closer'n a lot of the Rogues were. That's understandable, given the small size of our flight group, but it's not what Ah'm used to."

Nathan looked up at Ella, his eyebrows knotting together in concern. "Am Ah reactin' to this the wrong way? How're the others handlin' it?"

"It's hard to tell," She said with her own shrug. "I don't really know everyone that well yet either." Maybe hadn't wanted to, she thought before shrugging that off as well. "It's hard to lose your leader though, right?"

"Yeah," Nathan agreed. "Quattro was really the only one who knew what the hell was goin' on. Sure, Ah was his XO, but Ah've never exactly been the model officer, if you know what Ah mean."

He looked at her again. "Which brings me to mah next point. Ah want you to be mah XO, fer however long that may be."

"Why?" Ella asked, curious but not really surprised. Most of her advancement in her career had been because the person ahead of her had left suddenly.

"Well, fer one thing, yer the senior most pilot left on the roster," Nathan explained. "And while you may still be relatively new to the Vanguards, you've been on the Galaxy a helluva long time. People know you and trust you.

"Also...Quattro saw somethin' in you, Songbird," he added. "That much was evident. Ah'm not sure what it was, but Ah trust his judgment."

"I guess we'll never know what," Ella began mildly but cut herself short. "I'll be the XO, if you want me. I just want the team to be okay for the next time we go out there."

"Ah think they'll be fine," Nathan answered with a short nod. He looked at Ella for a long moment, cocking his head to the side. "Are you gonna be? You seem kinda… distant."

Ella gave a wry smile. "Just working through some stuff. I'll be all right."

Nathan returned Ella's smile with one of his own. "Anything Ah can help with?" he asked, leaning forward again.

For some reason this did surprise her, even though she knew his reputation. Then her smile turned impish. "I don't know. Did you have something in mind?"

He shrugged innocently, or at least as innocently as he was capable. "Maybe. Not sure it'd be very appropriate, what with me bein' yer boss and all, but somethin' tells me yer not the kinda person that worries too much about the rules."

"Not in general," Ella replied as she leaned forward slightly. "I'm ... pretty flexible."

Nathan quirked an eyebrow, giving Ella a roguish grin. "Mebbe we oughta continue this meetin' elsewhere, darlin'..."

She sobered for a minute at the thought of Quattro's office but then gave an easy smile. "I'd like that."

"Contacting Contacts"

Commander Jaal Jaxom
Strategic Operations
USS Galaxy

==Jaxom's Cabin==

He sat at his desk patiently rubbing his chin. It was a long shot that the subspace communications network could connect him real time with his sister, Janeen, on Starbase Atlantis given the distance between the two at the moment.

It was a long shot he bet on. He hoped it would help by giving it the highest priority he could given his job title on the Galaxy.

After several minutes he was pleasantly surprised by a beep from his console. Seconds later, after entering the proper security codes, his sister's youthful face appeared on the screen.

"Jaal!" she called enthusiastically over the ether. "Good to hear from you! What's up?"

"I need some information," he told her, "about a mutual friend."

"Sure, whatcha need?" Janeen was more than happy to help out her brother especially since finding out he didn't get blown into space dust along with his former ship.

Jaal quickly explained the situation to his sister. Her reaction was one of shock and dismay. She had known K'aa as well while serving on the Miranda during her cadet cruise and thereafter.

After conveying all the information she had on K'aa their conversation, naturally, digressed to other things…

"You're kidding right?" Jaal asked.

"No really," Janeen went on, "She went right there in the arboretum behind a tree. Then guards Joli hired to keep an eye on her showed up. I was SO embarrassed! I could have DIED."

"I can't believe the arboretum on Atlantis doesn't have porta-potties in reasonable places," Jaal shook his head at the poor design. Who'd have thought one of the most advanced civilizations around didn't need to use the toilet now and then?

"Well, there was one nearby but it was camouflaged to match it's surroundings," Janeen explained, "I guess whoever built the thing didn't want it to stick out."

"I guess that makes sense," Jaal agreed.

Janeen glanced at something offscreen. "I've got to run now. Duty-shift time. You take care of yourself. I'll talk to you!"

"Bye Janie," Jaal smiled at the image of his sister until the screen went blank.

Once the connection was closed Jaal mentally went over the information Janeen gave him on K'aa and his short time on Atlantis.

K'aa surrounded himself with other graduates of the Wolf Tactical School, isolating the people he worked with on the Miranda, even Chris Daniels who was his good friend while on the Miranda. He was gone for quite a while from the time he left the Miranda until arriving on Atlantis. In Janeen's estimation he was friendlier than what she observed on Miranda but not quite as efficient or driven. One other thing of note was that K'aa seemed to get along rather well with the station's senior officers, which wasn't necessarily the case on the Miranda.

Rubbing his chin once more as he thought, Jaal reclined in his chair. Something was definitely fishy… or should he say 'lizardy' with the Gorn in the brig… 'if' it was a Gorn at all. If it wasn't a Gorn it was an awful good copy of one.

What had Tarin said about Hydran clones plaguing the Galaxy? It was something they'd dealt with before. What if the K'aa in the brig was another one? It seemed to be a reasonable explanation.

Jaal sat back up in the chair cracking his knuckles loudly. He typed out a quick report and sent it to Tarin, Elessidil and filed a copy away for himself. That was when he thought of someone else he could call for what he was looking for. That call would have to wait for the time being.

"Holding It In" Part One

Set directly after "What about the prisoners" Pt 3

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Cadet Paige Sullivan

---
USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Security Main
---

"Cadet, you're with me, let's go," Dhani's sharp voice filled with determination returned, cutting through the soft smile that had passed over her lips as she looked upon the cadet and renewed it with a hardened expression.

She was already out the door before the words had finished falling into the subdued hush of the security office, her hand tapping her com. badge as she rounded the frame and out into the corridor.

"Eshe to Lieutenant Jiiles," she was saying, waiting only a heart beat for his harassed acknowledgment of her call, "I need a small team to meet me in the cargo bay on deck 39. I need that bay stripped, and when I say stripped I mean gutted, you got that?"

His reply was rushed, as she expected, she could almost hear his thoughts over the com line, he was torn with repairs and bodies; friends and colleagues, duty and thought, all a whirlwind as she imposed yet another task. Having explained briefly to Jiiles what she wanted and when, like yesterday, she closed the channel, her stride never faltering throughout.

"Cadet?" Dhani barked, not even glancing behind her, fully expecting the woman to keep up with her pace.

"I'm here," Paige said from just half a step behind the other woman; there was maybe half a foot difference in their height and it was all in the legs; the chief engineer strode more than she walked, and it was all Paige could do to keep up. She wondered how much of it was real and how much was just show, just a demonstration for the snot-nosed kid as to how they did it in the *real* Fleet, a demonstration as to just how important every move was. "He sounded really upset."

She hadn't meant to say that out loud, and clamped a hand over her mouth as soon as it spilled out. Dhani Eshe didn't seem like the type who cared, or especially like the type who appreciated that quality in others.

Dhanishta's left eyebrow rose at the comment. She wondered momentarily if she should respond. Jiiles 'was' upset, they all were. The young woman at her side had no concept of war. Not yet anyway. The full realisation would probably hit her harder than she thought possible when it came, and that was the motivation that drove
Dhanishta. She couldn't think of the loss right now. She couldn't allow herself to be blinded by pain and fear, fear of loosing a sister, fear of losing her Captain, fear of how many of her brave officers laid dead on the deck plates. Fear could rule her, hate and pain had once, and she tried desperately to find some inner equilibrium. For she had that once, and mourned its loss greater than any other. For if she couldn't feel the heart strings pull, she wouldn't be in constant battle.

"This way," Dhanishta said turning sharply at the next intersection.

It was best to leave the comment unattended. She couldn't let herself get into a debate with the cadet, she didn't need to explain her action to the young woman; in time she would come to understand the necessity of haste. In time she would realise the struggle inside as one fought to prioritise the endless lists that war created, that destruction created in its wake. One day when she barked her orders over the com to another she may recall this moment, and she may do things differently. Dhanishta didn't have that past to draw upon, for when she was a cadet on the Coyote, surrounded by the blazing rage the Dominion wrought upon them, she had no concept of emotions. Perhaps her commanding officers had been blunt, rude, harsh and arrogant, perhaps they had treated her as lesser for she had not fought with them long enough to be classed as 'one of them.' Perhaps if she'd had emotion back then, maybe she would understand the cadet's comments and feelings of hostility she was exuding towards her. But all that didn't matter. What did matter was getting this holding cell up and running so she could get back to her officers, get back to repairing the ship, get back to avoiding the loss.

Paige mutely followed, trying to avert her eyes and ignore the chaos that they passed: the remnants of the battle, physical and mental, that lingered around the ship's corridors. There seemed to be two reactions to the battle; there were those who were slowly breaking down and those who were slowly building up walls. She tried to be the latter, tried to be the automaton like the engineer half a step ahead of her -- unseeing, dedicated only to the mission at hand, ignoring any emotion or fear as irrelevant.

But Paige had never been good at that sort of thing. Most in her field were; they were also buried deep in the cold, unfeeling and sterile environment of computers and engines, relays and conduits, codes and processes. But it was difficult for her to shut off that part of her brain, especially as they wove through the carnage. This part of the ship had been badly hit by the boarding parties and it was painfully clear.

The cadet bit back a 'yeep' when she saw the fallen shape of one of the Hydran dead. Its form was covered in an intimidating metallic battle suit and it lay there like an enlarged child's toy that had been tossed aside and stepped on a few dozen times. Paige shied away from it, trying not to appear so (all the while trying not to trip, fall, or lag behind).

She was glad when they finally came upon the cargo bay; the doors opened to reveal a team of engineers already at work stripping away all the elements that made it what it was so that together they could turn it into something completely different. There was an extended metaphor in there somewhere, but Paige couldn't put her finger on exactly what it would be. She paused in the doorway, in momentary awe of the activity.

Jiiles entered the bay behind them, side stepping the cadet with little more than a backwards glance.

His cheeks were flushed a deep indigo, "Chief," he called out padd in hands extended towards Eshe, "I brought the after reports with me, thought you might want to take a look," he began, "damage control teams have been dispatched to all areas, causality reports…"

And that's where Dhanishta cut him off with a simple raise of her hand.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," she said keeping her gaze centred on the space between him and the padd as she took it from him.

For a moment, the chief engineer appeared lost in thought, but then, as if someone pressed the 'play' button, she swiftly turned from him and regarded the bay.

"Right folks," she began, drawing their attention, "we only have a short time to turn this bay into a holding cell. Cadet..." Dhani paused and looked back to the woman still standing in the open doorway, expectantly she raised her eyebrows.

Paige stared at the chief engineer for a moment, not understanding, until it clicked and with a flush of her cheeks Paige fully entered the bay and all but moved to Eshe's side.

Dhani nodded. "Cadet Sullivan here is our Operations rep and will be overseeing this project from that perspective," she said, her gaze still on Paige, the overtone directed at her just as much as everyone else.

Dhanishta needed to be sure that the cadet understood her role in this too. She was all Operations could spare, and therefore she was the bottom line, the buck stopped with her. No one was going to be looking over her shoulder checking to see if she did things right, this was real, this was now and there could be no mistakes, there wasn't time for that. She had an awesome responsibility thrust upon her and Dhani did not envy that position one bit. She could only imagine the chaos that fact brought the young woman.

"We need emitters here and here," she continued, walking into the centre of the room and pointing to the spaces just below the overhead walk ways. "Sullivan has the details of the recalibrations that need to be made…"

Her orders continued in a monologue with brief glances into the faces of those surrounding her, details spilled forth in abundance from the shields to the atmospheric settings, to the recalibration of the gel-packs and more, her voice droned on, sharp and direct, leaving no room for doubt or discussion.

-- TBC --

"Holding It In" Part Two

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Cadet Paige Sullivan

---
USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Cargo Bay
---

Paige more or less tuned out the chief engineer's commanding monologue; they'd already been over this information, and the cadet had digested it and noted things down. She had all the salient details scribbled on the padd she held in her hands. Meanwhile, she was focused on studying the space she was working with; the size of it was so much more substantial when looking at it off the page. She had never been in the Galaxy's cargo bays, or any cargo bays before -- at least, not any on a Starfleet ship anywhere near this size. She knew that the deck 39 cargo bay was one of the smaller on the ship, but at the same time it was half the size of her father's entire vessel. So there was a certain amount of awe to it all.

She wondered if she would ever get used to living and working on this ship. She wondered if the awe would ever go away, the realization that this was the USS Galaxy.

It probably would, Paige figured, but not until she was just about to leave.

"Right," she said, reflexively at a statement that the chief made.

It suddenly felt like she was on the holodeck in one of Professor Hanover's training programs, and the young cadet decided she would go with it. If she operated under the idea that each and every one of these people were holograms -- holograms who would be deactivated at the end, who weren't programmed to judge her, who wouldn't be standing there wondering why in the name of Noachian epoch they were obeying the commands of a *cadet* -- she would be fine.

"I'll be calibrating the gel-packs myself," Paige said, clearing her throat and looking at the small group of engineers that Eshe had directed her way. "But here are the specs for what we're going to need energy-wise and for what will be the best way to do it without them going wazzie and getting fried." She transferred her information to the pads that each of them held. "It should all go pretty smoothly, we're not doing anything wholly innovative; we're just... making some creative adjustments. 'Re there any questions?"

There was silence a moment as the engineers looked at their padds. One, a lieutenant junior grade, then looked up at her. "This makes sense, but -- have you ever done this before?"

"Sure. Plenty of times. In class... theoretically," Paige said. "It'll work." They all exchanged looks. "You guys also had to start somewhere, some time, right? So trust me, ok? It's my ass on the line too. So -- kentz?"

They looked at one another and Paige closed her eyes half a second.

"You understand?"

Her engineers mumbled, but moved off toward their work stations, talking back and forth to one another. Paige's cheeks were so warm she was worried they might burst into flames. She glanced at Eshe in habit though she knew full well there wouldn't be any help, support, or so much as a 'thumbs-up' there.

Much to her surprise, for Dhani felt that as she placed her hand on the cadet's shoulder, the engineer smiled softly at her, gripped her shoulder gently and said the three words that she doubted the cadet ever expected: "You'll do fine."

Her eye contact severed as her comm. badge chirped.

-^- "Sick bay to Lieutenant Eshe," -^-

Stepping back from the cadet Dhani acknowledge the hail, sharply tapping her badge, "Eshe here, go ahead."

-^- "We need you here right away, It's your..." -^-

Dhani cut the female voice off straight away, her body stiffened with tension, anxiety laced her voice, "I'm on my way," she replied firmly. She looked round the bay for a moment, watching her engineers work, trying to work out who best to...

Then she turned swiftly back to the cadet, to Paige, "Cadet, you're in charge," she said loud enough for all in the bay to hear.

Paige frowned slightly at the abandonment and looked around for the person the chief was talking abou--

"Um -- what?" she asked, though thankfully not loud enough for everyone to hear -- though she was sure more than a few people read her lips and read her expression; surprise just became the preeminent emotion in that particular cargo bay.

Edging towards the door her, body itching to break out into a run, Dhani paused a moment, one that she hoped she wouldn't regret later, to impart one piece of advice to the young cadet. Closing the gap between them, and that to the door, she held the woman's gaze.

"Failure by saving face through pride is not an option," she said quietly, "everyone here is well trained and dependable, if you need help, all you need do is ask." She nodded once, questioning Paige's comprehension by it.

Slightly open-mouthed and certainly wide-eyed, Paige nodded mutely.

"I'll be in sick bay if you need me," Dhani replied backing up to the door, and then she was gone.

Paige turned around and looked into the room at the officers and crewmen working, many shaking their heads and whispering to one another as they did so. About her, about what the hell she thought she was doing and who the hell she thought she was.

The cadet cleared her throat self-consciously, wishing more than anything that she could simply crawl into a corner and disappear. But instead, she settled in front of the hygienically-sealed container that held the gel-packs, and she set to work, hands trembling but her mind repeating its mantra on a constant loop.

There is no one else. Failure is not an option. You'll do fine.

Failure is not an option...

"Phantom Tactics"

With

Phantom Shitter

1744 Hours........................

Crawling through the ventilation shafts was far easier than attempting to break encryption sequences and risk being seen out in the open. A Jeffries Tube here, and access shaft there, the ship suddenly becomes that much more of a vast playground with near infinite possibilities. He had to be careful, however. Someone may catch onto his trail too early and he won't be able to send his message in full.

No, cannot allow that to happen, The Phantom thought with firm resolve. Long after he was sure that the room would remain vacant and its occupant firmly in place at their duty station, the Phantom Shitter carefully opened the access panel and slipped out into the dark room. There was enough ambient light to actually make out the various objects that adorned the walls and tables. Lots of one kind of object, indeed.

Not being able to resist the urge to touch, he hefted one of the items off of the wall, feeling the weight balance in his hands, appreciating the craftsmanship. It was indeed an original handcrafted Bat'leth, with some kind of inscription that he couldn't understand. It didn't matter. He had just the appropriate touch to this particular object.

The bladed adornment/weapon was suddenly dropped to the ground, as were a familiar pair of trousers. Even with constipation hindering his effort somewhat (and nearly passing out twice after stimulating a vagal response with his downward straining and pressure), the Phantom was able to relieve himself and offer a proper enhancement to the Klingon's little toy.

Perhaps the Phantom harbored a deathwish, or was simply too stupid for his own good. Maybe he felt even more emboldened by committing this act. Whatever the reason, he decided to strike his next target far earlier than he had anticipated. The blood was rushing through his ears now, but he mustn't get careless. He carefully cleaned himself up, and left the Klingon wanna-be's quarters through the same way he came in...but not before he sent a second message. He had doubled back, scooped a chunk from his mess, and wrote on her wall under and in between all of her decorative (and not so decorative) weapons.

While he made his way to the home of his next target, he snickered to himself almost hysterically how Arel Smith would react to his statement, both figurative and literal. He figured that it wasn't a good idea to purposely misspell 'I wuz heer' on her wall, but he no longer cared. He felt a rush and emboldening that made him want to do bigger and better things. Things that can make a big splash..............or even better..............

[TBC]

"Purple Alert"

Prince L'sar Meth (Mike)
Grel'methketh Grek'lr (Chad)

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

"We're fifteen minutes out my prince, we should be on their proximity sensors. Shall we raise the Overseer?"

The scratchy voice over the intercom was that of Prince L'sar's shuttle pilot and it barely startled the prince. He had gone to great lengths not to inform Grel'lr of this particular visit. Perhaps an unannounced visit could catch Grek'lr making a mistake and he'd finally be able to remove him or get the prisoner exchange he'd been pushing for. Grek'lr was an annoyance, a black mark on his command. His sources had indicated he continued to torture prisoners against his orders but as yet he had insufficient information to remove him. Hopefully this visit would do the trick.

"Yes pilot, raise the overseer. Make it clear I want to speak to him personally. With luck we'll catch him with blood on his hands," Prince L'sar responded.

In moments, a long, green face appeared on the prince's screen. It bowed before speaking, "Dear, sweet, Prince L'sar! It is, as always, my greatest pleasure to speak with you. What can I, your humble servant, do for you?"

L'sar's expression was neutral as the Overseer's face appeared on the terminal in front of him. The look in his eyestalks was still somewhat menacing though.

"In the name of the Queen I wish to conduct a review of the your facility. I've heard reports that are most intriguing which require my immediate attention.

Surprise ran across the Hydran's face, and his eyes, despite his best efforts, darted to his side, acknowledging the existence of something the prince clearly was not meant to know about. But, the warden's composure was regained quickly. "Why yes, of course, dear prince. I would love nothing more than for you to visit, if only so I may bask in your royal graces. May I ask as to how long before you arrive?"

L'sar did his best not to smirk when Grek'lr looked away in surprise. Perhaps he finally had his first victory over Grek'lr. His voice was still neutral in tone as he replied.

"My shuttle is on final approach now. I expect to arrive in a few minutes."

Grek'lr's face contorted to show that he was pleased. "Oh, excellent. Why, you'll arrive in time to see the end of the prisoner's daily exercise period. I hear some of the Federation males were trying to organize some sort of ball game. It should be quite sporting!"

"Fascinating. I assume you're not using their recreation as a source of entertainment for your guards again. The last episode didn't go all that well for them I heard. Something about a sound defeat in a Terran sport I heard. Most embarassing." L'sar was on the verge of a chuckle though he sounded quite serious.

Grek'lr feigned a smile. He would never normally let his prisoners 'play.' "No. Of course," he said, then, changing topics back, "How long will you be staying?"

"Until I feel confident that my orders have been obeyed. If they have then this should be a brief visit. If not...well...I hope that's not the case for your sake."

Another smile. "Then, I shall not go to the trouble of preparing the guest chambers."

"I sincerely hope that is the case Grek'lr. I don't want any more complications. I will be on the landing pad in 5 minutes. Do have the courtesy of meeting me in person this time. Terminating Communication."

L'sar had a bit of a sneer on his face when he closed down the channel. In fact, he was so confident that he'd find something that he could dismiss the Warlord for that he'd already drafted the suspension order. He prayed to the Great Beast he wouldn't need it but, knowing Grek'lr, he would.

Grek'lr frowned as the conversation ended and the comm stream closed down. He was not prepared for a supervisory visit. He growled to himself and reached over to his console to sound the prison-specific violet alert - an alert that traveled out to all the senior guards and staff in the prison notifying them of the impending visit of a royal purple-blood.

"Well ... shit"

Lt. Victor Krieghoff
Cmdr Arel Smith

****
USS Galaxy

Arel looked down at the bat'leth with an expression of disbelief.

They had released her earlier than she'd expected on the condition she check back in and be put on light duty. Naturally, Arel had wanted to be in on the interrogation of K'aa but had been overruled by Jaxom and Corgan and told to go rest.

She hated the words 'rest' and 'light duty," in Security they meant paperwork. Arel had been grumbling to herself about this when the stench upon entering had alerted her to the fact that there was something not quite right about her quarters.

Arel had had a lot of shit - although never quite so literally - pulled on her in the past (the tribbles transported into her quarters by Kira Murphy, blind date set-ups with Jaal, etc.) but she had never had anything so... wrong done to her before.

Arel called for Security but then couldn't respond to the answering officer's reply. She was simply at a loss for words and she could count on one hand how many times *that* had happened in her life.

Victor reached the Commander's quarters in record time, after being diverted on his way off-shift by a worried ensign at the main desk in Security. Having Commander Smith call for assistance was one thing, but calling to report a crime was another - and failing to answer the officer after making that request? Well that was unheard of, unless there was a problem.

She turned as Krieghoff entered. "I'm going to kill this person."

"That's different," Victor observed, relieved that the Commander was, in fact, injured. "Usually I get 'I'm going to kill you' or "Die you son of a bitch' or sometimes, just 'Die!'" He wrinkled his nose at the earthy odour of faeces pervading the room.

Arel wasn't amused. "I'm serious, Krieghoff. Look at what this ... well, look!"

Victor looked, smelled, and frowned. "I understand the sentiment, Commander - yours, not the individual who did this." He stared at the evidence for a moment. Was the person who'd done this suicidal? Surely they knew that if the Commander found them first she would, in fact, quite likely kill them? He supposed that meant that he should find them first. "All right, Commander, in as much detail as possible tell me everything that you did and touched when you came back to your quarters today." He keyed on his tricorder.

"I haven't touched anything. I entered the room and saw this. I'm going cut out this pthak's sphincter and shove it down his throat!"

Well, that quote was going to make the report interesting. "In that case, please remain standing where you are while I document the scene, Commander." Victor took the tricorder scans required, and flagged them as sealed until he could see to the analysis personally. Once that was done, he continued as he began to check the room, "There are questions that I'm supposed to ask, Commander. Do you have any enemies? Has anyone made a threat recently? That sort of thing." He glanced up. "Has any of that happened?"

Arel frowned. "Real enemies? Not really. People don't like me but I don't think any ... sane person would have done this." She glared down at the bat'leth. "This is my grandfathers."

"A family enemy, perhaps?" He considered the message. "Not much of a speller, in any case."

She shook her head. "Same thing, Krieghoff. An enemy of a Klingon knows better."

"Hatred and jealousy make people do things they'd never consider when not under their influence, Commander," Victor observed. "But... ah."

"What?" Arel asked, abandoning her homicidal thoughts for a moment.

"Access panel." His tricorder hummed, confirming what he already knew based on the ever-so-slight accumulation of dust that was disturbed in the seam of the panel. "The perpetrator did a good job, but they couldn't affect the accumulation of dust in the seams on this side of the panel when they resealed it from the other side." Victor pointed. "I'll check the transporter logs to be sure, but my money is on this for the mode of entrance."

"I want to be kept updated on your progress," She said.

"In that case, Commander," Victor nodded, "in brief, here is what I am going to do: I will take a reference DNA sample from you, and one from myself so that when analysis is done of the room, we can be excluded, leaving only the perpetrator's DNA from any samples found. I will take samples of the fecal matter left and have them analyzed to determine what foodstuffs were integral to its production, and from the digestive enzyme traces left, determine the species and likely the sex of the individual who left it here. If any DNA traces are found in the fecal matter, or when I do a forensics scan of the room, I'm going to match them against ship's personnel to determine the culprit's identity."

"In the meantime, I'm going to have a forensics remote scan the accessway on the other side of this panel for DNA traces, and determine from internal system logs how many people were moving in the accessways in this area. The culprit likely wasn't wearing his combadge, but in case they were, I'll check the movement logs in the Main Computer and see if anyone was in the accessways or your rooms at the correct time. I will also access the climate control logs for your quarters to make sure that there was only one culprit, although given the nature of the offense I don't expect there to be more than one."

"Finally," he concluded, "once I determine the identity of the culprit, I will apprehend them, confine them in the brig, and refer them to Counseling for evaluation. I will also leave instructions that you are not to be allowed access to the culprit, either in transit or while held in the Brig, without authorization from Commander Corgan, the XO, or the Captain." He paused, thinking. "I believe that about covers it, Commander. In the short form, anyway."

Arel snorted. "Yeah that about covers it." The access didn't really bother her. This ko'tal was going to get the beating of his life – at the very least - whether she had permission or not.

"As soon as I have something to report, I'll be in touch, Commander. In the meantime..." he transferred a form and an electronic evidence receipt to her quarter's LCARS unit "...you'll need to fill the form I just left for you out since I'm going to be removing personal property as evidence. That," he clarified, "would be the defaced bat'leth in question. I've left you a property receipt for it as well. As soon as the evidence tech arrives with the transport unit for it, I'll need you to wait in the corridor for him to finish - and try not to terrorize the technician; he's here to help catch this... person."

I'll terrorize whoever I want, she thought. Out loud she said that she'd wait outside until someone got rid of the smell.

The door buzzed, signaling the arrival of the evidence tech as victor assured her, "I will find them, Commander. Anyone willing to do something like this is going to make mistakes - and mistakes get you caught."

"I'm looking forward to it," Arel replied.

"The Emboldening Of The Phantom"

With

The Phantom Shitter

Not Long After Shitting On Arel's Family Heirloom..........

He had not had this much fun in a very long time, so much so that he was giggling uncontrollably at one point. He nailed that angry Medic who was guarding Sickbay like a dog, he even got that flyboy they called Cowboy, a nice fluffy surprise in the middle of his bed. He considered getting the XO, but she would best be left for later.

Then the Phantom had an epiphany.

He darted into a Jeffries Tube, and made his way into the enlisted quarters section not to long afterward. He had to stop for a moment and brush off some glitter from his clothing, then he listened. There was dead silence, which meant the occupant or occupants were either sleeping or not present at that time. He chanced a slow quick push against the access panel and found that it gave rather easily. As usual he ensured that his mode of entry was not rapidly distinguishable. As he suspected, the occupants of this 'Diva Dive' were not present.

Looking around, he took in the objects that made up the quarters' adornments. And then his eyes locked on to it. It appeared to be glowing almost, and he really began to reconsider leaving a present on it. However the sudden weight in his gut and the bubbling sensation that seemed to increase in intensity removed all traces of abandoning his quest. Moments later, a wet noxious mess seeped into every corner, every hand made crevasse, dripped off of the strings. And the Phantom was long gone.

Another object subjected to an attack by the Phantom Shitter. And it was a shame. Allison Jimsdottir's guitar was rather valuable and of very good quality. But then the same could be said regarding Max's autographed baseball bat, or Cowboy's premium Stetson hat.

The Shitter didn't care. He was making a statement he knew that even through the cloud in his head and thoughts. And soon his big statement would be made.

And everyone would bear witness.

[TBC]

"Conversations Between Counselors, Part 1"

Branwen London (Mieke)
Lieutenant Mark (Cliff)
Karyn Dallas (Lori)

==Counseling Offices==

Karyn sat at her desk eyeing Mark curiously. "I don't understand why you left like you did."

Mark shook his head in an almost angry fashion. "If she wants help, if she 'really' wants help, she had to do what she's told. NOT what she thinks is best. Three-fourths of her problem, I think, is that she's a counselor herself and believes she knows what's best for herself. Guess what? I don't think she does."

The lieutenant took a moment to recompose himself. "By the way, what happened after I left?"

Karyn sighed deeply. "I went something like this…."

=+=+<Flashback>+=+=

The door swished shut leaving Karyn and Branwen alone together.

Branwen banged the door, for a moment forgetting Karyn was still inside. "Bastard!" She whispered wiping away the tears.

The only advantage, if there was an advantage now, was at least they were alone. Karyn had hoped talking to Branwen woman to woman would help, but first, she wanted to reassure her the best way she could. "I believe you want help, Branwen."

"Yes I want help, I have never denied that I want help, I have asked for help, and the last hour or so I have been as open about my past as I have ever been. And he repays me by distrusting me to be able to do my job!" She almost shouted. "Men!" Bran calmed down a little. "Sorry ma'am."

"I hate to burst your bubble, Branwen, but his sentiment isn't just a product of male stubborness. You've been confined to quarters and your personal life is in turmoil right now. Anyone else would be placed on restricted duty or on leave in a heartbeat. And I'm sorry in advance for the unfairness of this, but counselors are held to an even higher standard. As long as you're working formally to address personal crises that have spilled over like this, you're not in shape to counsel others," Karyn added.

"The problems are talking about right now I have had my whole life. I have passed every review without mentioning them. I haven't had any complaints about my counseling. And I take a very seriously. If I encounter problems in my clients that I think I should not handle, I send them on to other people. We all deal with stuff about our past, and I think I do a good job. This mission down there is about totally different issues, the marines need somebody they can trust for them to blow of steam. It's a totally different issue, and I have no problem performing my duty in that regard. I find it very strange, that the first time I actively seek help for the problems I encountered in my youth this is the way both you and Mark react. I would say that the ones who are being unprofessional are you two, right now you are totally not motivating me. Now, if you would please leave, ma'am. I don't think I am in the mode to continue this conversation." To her own amazement she was totally calm.

Karyn arched an eyebrow. "So that's how it's going to be, Counselor? The minute I offer an opinion you don't like or disagree with, you decide not to cooperate with the help you say you want?"

Dallas shook her head. "Bran, I'm sorry you don't like the truth, but the truth is, the help you say you're 'actively' seeking on your own is actually help you knew you had no choice but to ask for because of what's happening right this moment. This exploration of your past is not something you decided to do on your own simply because you felt you wanted to, you were drowning. You've been confined to quarters, and not by any one of us, but by someone who didn't need to be a counselor to know this isn't a good situation. That's why we're concerned now, and that is why a thousand past reviews have no bearing on your fitness for duty at *this* time. An officer who breaks his leg cannot be certified fit for duty simply because he has had a long history without a broken leg."

She continued. "Psychological health is no different. I'll be honest with you, Bran. It concerns me greatly that you appear to think as long as no one has complained yet of how you counsel others, there is no problem...as if someone should have to feel uncomfortable or slighted, and *then* have to face the awkwardness of reporting that,
before you may even consider conceding there might be a problem. And even then," Karyn added calmly, "even then, I fear you'll resist being placed on leave simply because *you* think you're doing a good job."

Dallas sighed. "I know you're scared, Branwen. I know you don't want to see your career blown because of what I'm sure you consider to be a colossal misunderstanding between two otherwise loving adults. I know you wished desperately that you'd said you tripped or, the one I wanted people to believe, because not so long ago my life actually depended on it, that you bumped into a door. But you know what? I'm glad you didn't because now we can help. We can help, while you serve as a marine, while you most hopefully temporarily, take a break from counseling."

Karyn paused, trying to gauge London's reaction. "I think I sense a wave of motivation coming on, yes?"

"Damn it ma'am. I am confined to quarters because I lied to the Colonel saying I walked into the wall." She growled. "And don't patronize me like I am a child! I am not. And no, I would never jeopardize my patients. I resent you implying that I do. I know I can do my job because the counseling needed down on that planet is of a different level. Something I can provide despite my personal problems. I know what I am doing ma'am. And I know when I need to stop and ask for help. Saying that I am not motivated or that I am a threat to my patients actually only help to piss me off greatly, ma'am."

"That doesn't bother me, Bran," Karyn replied evenly. "Pissed off people want to prove other people wrong, even if that means doing everything they don't want to do, simply because it'll give them things they do want. They don't ask people who can help them to leave because, in your words, they aren't in the mode to continue the conversation. Here's what else I know: Lying to one of your superiors doesn't reassure me that you're fit for duty. In fact, it tells me, once again, that you'll do or say anything to get your way, even if it jeopardizes those you're trying to help and your colleagues. You know what else? I'm not shocked that you disagree with me. I'm not surprised you're convinced you can do your job or that you think you know what you're doing. It doesn't make you right. I would expect that from any other impaired professional, and that is exactly why they don't get to call the shots as long as they're impaired. Now, it's up to the colonel to decide whether you can be involved in this mission in a marine capacity, but I'm sorry, you're not going down as a counselor and it's going to be that way until you're told differently. And before you question my authority to do so, I'll remind you that Mark is prepared to go to the commander who happens to trust my judgment." Karyn didn't enjoy playing those cards, but she knew she had no choice.

"Well I guess you win. You must be really proud of yourself blackmailed me." Bran looked disgusted. Bloody navy. She was supposed to be able to trust these people and they repaid her this way. At the beginning of the afternoon she had been motivated to work with them and come to terms with her past. But now.... these people were not to be trusted. She would go through the motions and get back on duty as soon as possible. Then she would take some leave and find some civilian to work with whom she could trust to help her.

Karyn shrugged. "I'm not the one who chose to lie to a superior officer. I'm not the one who decided not to tell Elessidil what was going on simply because it could mean he took you off-duty until you worked things out. You made some choices to get yourself here, and I'm not talking about telling the truth about your husband. I'm talking about what you did after that, the lying. But if you want to continue to feel persecuted rather than work with us to get what you say you want, that is also your choice."

"I don't trust you." Bran said bluntly. "So how can I work with you then? You betrayed my trust, you and Mark. And I might have told the commander. It's only been a few hours and I have had a lot on my mind. You have now made sure that it will look like you made me do it anyhow."

Karyn shrugged once more. "Are you saying you're ready to tell him now? Mark and I would be most happy to go with you to cheer you on. Or is the fact you said you 'might' have told him another indication you're still thinking it over?"

"No, I would have told him. Of course I would have told him. Jeez! What kind of person do you think I am. But I would have done it my way, alone, on my terms once I had had a time to think about it." She said irritated. "He has always been reasonable to me."

"And he could still be," Karyn replied. "But you have to realize, the longer you wait to tell him on your terms, the worse things look for you. If he has to find out from someone else and then come looking for you, it'll look like you were trying to keep it from him. You cannot afford to look like a liar again, Branwen, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, that if I had not asked if Elessidil knew anything, that's exactly what it would have looked like."

"Whatever." The woman was obviously busier with her own image. "I promise to talk to him today, is that okay?" Bran asked her superior.

"That's fine with me, but you'll need to clear it with Mark too, since he was headed Elessidil's way. I will be speaking to Elessidil at some point so I hope *I* can trust *you* as well."

"I am NOT a child." Bran hardly kept her composure. "Are we done, ma'am?"

=+=+</Flashback>+=+=

"…and that's when I left."

"Hmmmm," Mark nodded taking in all Karyn told him of the event. "That's interesting and it's just how I imagined things would play out. The woman is deeply disturbed and needs help… dare I say, possibly more help than I can give her." He shook his head, "But it's hard for her to admit. She just so damn stubborn."

TBC…

"Conversations Between Counselors, Part 2"

Branwen London
Lieutenant Mark
Karyn Dallas

==Counseling Offices==

"Hmmmm," Mark nodded taking in all Karyn told him of the event. "That's interesting and it's just how I imagined things would play out. The woman is deeply disturbed and needs help." He shook his head, "But it's hard for her to admit. She just so damn stubborn."

Karyn silently agreed.

"I thought we were starting to make progress," Mark continued, "Then you showed up. Now, I'm not at all saying that you showing up stopped any progress from happening but I must admit, it did seem to give the session, as informal as it was, a flat tire so to speak..."

=+=+<Flashback>+=+=

Karyn bit her lip before ringing the chime outside of Branwen's quarters. Technically, Branwen's mental health wasn't any of her concern anymore. It was Brian's. Technically.

But obeying technicalities wasn't exactly her strong suit, and she knew Brian understood her devotion to the crew didn't just go away because she had earned an extra pip. It was why she had fought to be based on the Galaxy in the first place. Hell, what was the point of having weight if one couldn't throw it around?

"Bran, it's Karyn..."

=-Inside London's Cabin-=

"Oh shit." Branwen groaned coming to her feet. "It's the boss. Don't breathe a word about my problems to her, Mark. I have problems enough as it is."

'You ain't shittin' sister,' Mark thought to himself.

Plastering a smile on her face Branwen opened the door. "Ma'am, this is a surprise. What can I do for you?" Karyn knew instantly she'd rolled in on something. Her professional instincts kicked in and she definitely sensed tension. "Hi, Bran. I just wanted to check on you. I'd heard you'd had some...difficulties. I can come back if this is a bad time."

Bran was very bad at lying. "I uhm, I am grounded and Mark is trying to shrink me." She blushed. "The colonel is pretty angry at me."

"I'm so sorry for interrupting," Karyn replied, clearly embarrassed. "I can come back later. Please tell Mark I look forward to meeting him."

"You have not met Mark yet? In that case you should come in, I'm sure we can take a short break, he's been grilling me pretty badly, ma'am." Branwen indicated.

Karyn couldn't exactly dispute what the man was doing or was capable of since she had never met him. However, she supposed she owed it to Bran to at least give her the benefit of the doubt. "I don't want to interrupt a session. I'm sure he's just doing his job."

"Mark, what do you think?" Branwen turned to the lieutenant, leaving the decision with him.

"Oh, I gave up thinking a long time ago," Mark replied grinning mischievously, "It clouds the mind... uh, and by the way, I consider the term 'shrinking' somewhat derogatory to my profession."

"Tough." Branwen said. "It's my profession as well, and I don't mind. I never knew you were so sensitive."

"But is she going to be allowed in or not?" The marine asked her therapist.

Mark turned to face Branwen again, "Why not? The more the merrier they say, although, this 'is' your cabin. It's entirely up to you whether you let her in or not."

"I just don't want you telling me again that I am running away from therapy." She challenged him.

"I call'em like I see'em," Mark held up his hands surrender fashion while shrugging.

"Maybe you would like to discuss my case with Captain Dallas. I could go to the kitchen area." Branwen said a little hesitant. "I do want help! The more the better."

"Whatever you feel is best," Mark folded his arms across his chest. Thought of panning London off on Dallas flitted through his head. It was an idea that had merit, especially with his busy social life. On the other hand, could he really abandon someone that genuinely needed help? 'No,' he firmly told himself. "Don't just stand there, invite her in!"

"Yes Sir." Branwen said grinning. "Ma'am, please come in. I will get some coffee and tea while you can meet Lieutenant Mark."

Karyn hesitated and then maneuvered her grav-chair into the cabin. She offered her hand. "Captain Karyn Dallas," she said. "Pleased to meet you. I apologize for barging in like this. If you like, you can finish your meeting and if you're inclined, I can consult later."

"Lieutenant Mark," the other counselor introduced himself. "And no, I don't mind at all, the more the merrier they say," he offered Dallas an engaging grin.

Karyn returned the grin. "She's not cooperating, is she? And you either need to get help or you're going to strangle her, right?"

Mark blinked a couple of times in fascination. "You, my dear, have hit the nail squarely on the head." He leaned into her and lowered his tone so no one else could hear, "I just can't figure out how she manages to function in normal society with all her deep seeded issues. It's a testament to her strength of character or some sort of insanity syndrome that doesn't have a name yet."

"I think for now, out of sheer politeness, we'll go with the former," Karyn replied dryly. She leaned in closer and asked, "I'm not sure how you'd like me to be of help, but I understand there was an incident involving her husband? What can you tell me?"

"He swatted her," Mark said plainly pointing his thumb in the kitchen's direction. "She alleges it was an 'accident' and it was even 'her fault'." He shook his head. "I know Mister Maivia from the Miranda. He has documented anger management issues. Neither is fooling anyone."

Karyn considered Mark's words. "I need you to clarify exactly what he did to her. What do you mean by 'swatted'? What happened exactly? I mean, as far as you and others can piece together?"

"They were apparently arguing about something," Mark explained succinctly, "Branwen called Man'darr a coward, a very grievous insult in Capellan culture. He shoved her. She landed in the wall with a broken wrist and a knot on her head."

"That's hardly what I'd call a swat, Lieutenant," Karyn replied, "Although I suppose from his point of view, that's all it was. Has she told you if this was the first time he's gotten violent?"

Mark nodded, "Yes... at least physically. From all other accounts he treats her like gold." Mark thought a moment, "It might be better for you to hear the story straight from her."

"You could be right. Then again, I don't want her to think we're gang up on her, and also, what's to stop her from trying to snow me just as hard, with or without you present?"

Dallas sighed. "You're sure this was an informal chat? You aren't under orders to treat her?" The last thing Karyn wanted was to get in the way of the departmental chain. A person in her position had to be careful when picking strategy to deal with matters within the Fleet.

"I suspect she 'wants' it to be informal and I've had no official orders to treat her," Mark answered shaking his head, "But by all other accounts this may as well be a regular session. I have no orders from anyone to treat her at the moment. I'm here today because she requested to see me."

"I suppose that's a good start," Karyn allowed. Privately, she wondered if Branwen was focused enough to continue working. The last thing she wanted was to punish Branwen for being hurt by her husband, but it was unrealistic in her mind that events in one's personal life, especially violent events that resulted in confinement to quarters and the brig, couldn't carry over into her work as a counsellor.

She would need to tread lightly, especially in light of her new position as Brian's supervisor, but it was not a tight-rope stroll she relished.

Branwen came back from the kitchen which tea and cookies after she had been called back. "Here we are!" She said cheerfully.

Dallas exchanged a look with Mark before smiling at London. "This is thoughtful of you, Branwen. I was just telling Mark that I didn't want to interfere in the informal chat you have going, but that I was concerned and wanted to help if I could."

"It wasn't an informal chat, ma'am." She said. "Mark was counselling me. I was telling him about my youth and all that." Bran took a deep breath. "Don't like doing that." She handed them both their tea and presented the cookies. "But I realize I have to."

"We all just want the best for you, Bran," Karyn acknowledged. "Is Commander Elessidil aware of your situation? I wondered if he had talked to you about working since your confinement. I don't want to interfere with any agreements you made to him."

Bran looked stricken. "Ma'am don't! I need to work on the colonel to get back to work. I need to get back to work, I am needed in this mission. And I have always kept my private life separate. Don't take it away from me. I CAN do my job." Some cookies dropped to the floor.

Karyn bit her lip. So Brian did not know of recent developments at all...she had not expected that answer. She had assumed Brian was aware of recent developments and had talked to Bran at some point, even if he hadn't yet ordered her to seek counseling.

Dallas now wondered what Brian knew and what sort of hornet's nest she walked into. "I think it's wonderful that you're asking for help, Bran," Karyn replied gently. "But you also know sooner or later Elessidil is going to find out you were confined to quarters and your husband was in trouble for hurting you. I was just trying to find out if you and the Commander had talked."

"No ma'am. I am a marine first and the colonel is my boss." She said defensively. "My boys need me during the mission and I am going to be there for them, period. Please ma'am don't screw that up for me. I have done everything by the book, I have asked for help and I am talking to Mark. I have never opened up so much before. Don't punish me for being honest." Bran looked at Mark for some help.

Mark nodded in agreement with Branwen. "But that doesn't change things. Sooner or later he's going to ask about it," he added agreeing with Karyn this time.

"But Mark will you support me that I can work?" Bran asked him intently.

The counselor's eyes narrowed as he seemingly scrutinized the sincerity of the woman before him. It was a difficult decision at best. He clenched his teeth together as he thought about his next words as they'd have a deep impact on Miss London's career. "Don't punish 'me' for being honest now," he started slowly. "It's my professional opinion you could keep working as a marine but you should take a break from the counselor side of things for the time being."

Branwen exhaled. "I'm sorry, but I don't agree. And I am very disappointed in you, Lieutenant. I told you my whole story, and I told you that I am perfectly capable of keeping my private and my work life separate. There is no problem when it comes to work, and during the difficult mission coming up, I'm certainly not going to desert my marines. They know me and they trust me, and they are going to need somebody they trust to talk to about their frustrations. She had any idea how difficult it is going to be for them to have to remove those colonists? There are many out there who don't believe in this mission, but who will do it anyway. I am one of the few to whom they
can vent, because they trust me. And I'm going to be there for them, neither of you desk shrinks is going to stop me." She seemed perfectly calm, but as assertive to naval officers as they had ever seen her.

"You don't have to agree," Mark stated calmly, "and I don't care of you're disappointed or not. I don't do my job to appease you... but" he held one finger up pointing to the ceiling, "you," he pointed at Branwen now, "...have to listen and do what you're told if you expect to keep your career in Starfleet... and what did I tell you about calling me a shrink?"

She did not respond to the bit calling him a shrink. "True, I very much want to make a career, I wanted to make Captain this year, well, I can forget about that. But anyways my boys and girls come before my career. And they cannot do without me right now. So screw my career. I am willing to work with you both. Am willing to do anything to get to the bottom of this and to sort out my past once and for all, but I
will not give up my work. I know that I can keep it separate, and I know that they need me." Her eyes said it was final.

"I wanted to keep Commander Elessidil out of this but if you don't listen to me and take my advice you'll leave me no choice," Mark remained effortlessly calm. "That is, I'm assuming you want to leave the commander out of this."

"He's not my boss, the Colonel is. I have done everything by the book, how can I prove to you that I can work! People, this has been with me for many years, why punish me now that I am finally showing the guts to work it out myself?"

Mark wanted to shake her until her head rolled right off of her shoulders now. "No one is trying to punish you Branwen," outwardly, of course, Mark was as calm as ever. "Of ALL the people on the ship YOU should realize that. Wake up. The Colonel IS your superior in Marine matters, but I don't he is concerning counseling matters... not on this ship at least. I'll make sure to clear that up with Mister Elessidil 'and' Mister Arvelion."

"If somebody tells the Commander it will be me, I'm not a coward. I'm just asking for a chance. Don't screw my career even further, Mark. And don't make the marines pay for my mistakes."

Mark simply stood and started at her for a moment before answering. "I can see now that you neither want my help nor to get counseled by me anymore. You just aren't serious about getting your problems solved. Good luck Miss London."

Then he turned and walked out the door.

"Mark wait please!" Bran rushed after him. "Mark, how can I convince you!" Tears pricked her eyes now.

=+=+</Flashback>+=+=

"I thought that was rather cruel on your part Mister," Karyn told Mark, "I'm not sure that was the best course of action."

"It was and I can tell you why," Mark defended himself.

Karyn folded her arms across her chest as if to say, 'I'm waiting.'

"The woman was severly tortured as a child because of her father's religious beliefs," Mark went on hoping he wasn't breaching counselor/patient confidentiality, "He was very, extremely fundamental. If you'd heard it first hand you'd want to choke her father right then and there."

Karyn's head tilted curiously, "I have a feeling we're both going to end up treating her. Perhaps you'd better tell me what she said."

Mark nodded solemnly. "Fine… I will…"

TBC…

"Conversations Between Counselors, Part 3"

Branwen London
Lieutenant Mark
Karyn Dallas

==Counseling Offices==

"The woman was severly tortured as a child because of her father's religious beliefs," Mark went on hoping he wasn't breaching counselor/patient confidentiality, "He was very, extremely fundamental. If you'd heard it first hand you'd want to choke her
father right then and there."

Karyn's head tilted curiously, "I have a feeling we're both going to end up treating her. Perhaps you'd better tell me what she said."

Mark nodded solemnly. "Fine… I will…"

=+=+<Flashback>+=+=

"Where do you want to start?" Branwen asked. "And are you sure you don't want anything to drink." She was still behaving like a professional, putting the couch and chair opposite each other in a good counseling setup. On the table she placed a box of tissues and two glasses with some water.

Mark was looking around the room with his chin held in one hand. There was an expression of obvious disapproval clear on his features. "No," he shook his head from side to side, "This will never do. Not at all." He put his hands out, palms up, indicating the chair and couch, "This is no good AT ALL."

"Sorry? That's how I always put my chairs in my consultation. I thought you did the same." She looked up from the heavy work.

Mark looked at Branwen with one eyebrow arched high on his forehead. "You're not the one that's supposed to be acting professional here. That's 'my' job." He stuck his thumb in his chest for emphasis. He took a quick look around the room again. "But, if this is what makes you most comfortable... I guess I can live with it."

"Oops. This says something about me doesn't it. I'm sorry, I didn't even realize what I was doing." Branwen blushed and looked around a little crestfallen.

Mark unceremoniously flopped onto the couch placing his hands behind his head. He propped up his feet and took on a very relaxed posture. He looked up at Branwen and said, "What are you waitin' for? Have a seat," he pointed to the chair.

She was about to point out that she had been occupying the couch, but shrugged her shoulders and took a seat in the comfortable chair. "Again, where do we start?" The idea of having to talk about her youth did not exactly thrill her. It was something she had avoided most of her life, even while going through counseling courses at the marine academy. It was something Branwen was extremely good at.

Mark rubbed his chin and replaced his hand behind his head. "This is about you. Not me. Start where you're most comfortable and we'll go from there." He turned his head to face her, "But I'd prefer you start at the beginning... if you don't mind. I like to keep events in chronological order." He smiled. "Thanks."

"You mean when I still lived with my parents?" That's what she was afraid of. "All right. I guess you know this, it's probably in my file. I grew up in some kind of commune. My great-grandfather established it. He was a wealthy businessman, and he had some extreme ideas. Back to nature, aliens are evil, and modern appliances come from the devil. He bought a large piece of land, and had that fenced. We are talking about several kilometers. Doing it the old-fashioned way must have taken them years. He found a few more families of like-minded, and they removed themselves from public life. There was enough money to make this start. They also came up with a completely new religion, based on the strict Protestant faith." She swallowed. "It meant that if somebody went against the doctrine of the commune he
was asked to leave. But if that person was a child, it was re-educated for its own good." She looked at the ground blinking back the memories.

"It?" Mark interrupted to ask, "That's a harsh way to look at a child. Don'tcha think?"

"Yeah. My sister, Shanna was one of the first. No, I'm telling it wrong. My uncle was, my mother's brother. He ran away when he was a teenager and he joined Starfleet. And ever since he kept and eye out for his sister's children. Somebody inside the commune must have helped him get his information. He helped rescue my sister when she was 14. There are 12 children in our family, I was very small when she left. He basically raised her and helped her gain access to the academy. My uncle was killed in action shortly after Shanna graduated." She looked at the ground again. "By that time my parents were sure that I was possessed by the devil as well. I had always shown great interest in the outside world, and that was dangerous. So from the age of four I was re-educated by my father, our priest, and the doctor."

Mark nodded as he painted the picture of Branwen's early life in his mind. "Tell me more about this... 're' education."

She swallowed. "Do I have to?"

Mark offered a withering stare at first then he said plainly, "Yes. You do."

"Promise you don't tell anybody else, especially my friends, Dar, Dhani or Victor would go down there and kill them all if they knew the complete truth. I've never told anybody everything."

"Counselor/patient confidentiality, remember?" Mark was careful not to appear to pass judgment on anything Branwen told him whether it disgusted him or not.

"All right," she said softly. "At first it wasn't too bad. Dad would take out the whip and whip me. It hurt, but that healed. Then I would have to spend days in the church listening to the priest, reciting chapters of our Bible, and promise and two renounce the devil and do well. Yet when I was six-year-old, I still had not repented. I remember my father taking me aside in the evening… he was so gentle and sad. He told me that the devil still lived in me, it was not my fault, but he had to try and save me before I was lost like my sister. Then it got a little painful. My great-grandfather had written down in the law that pain was the best way to drive out the devil." She was silent for a little while again.

"They started breaking my bones one by one. And then I was locked in the cellar with the rats, and without food for a few days. If he broke my arm it was not so bad because I didn't have to move around so much. Only when I fell asleep the pain could get bad. The doctor would sometimes check on me to make sure that there was no danger. And then a few days later he would take care of the injuries, without pain medication of course.” That's why I don't trust doctors. She was telling it all very level, keeping feeling completely out of her voice.

“I hated the dark in the cellar. There were no light of course they would not give me a candle, in the winter I could have one blanket, so I would not freeze to death. I've really tried to be good, Mark. I prayed several hours a day, I learnt the Bible. But still the outside world seemed such a wonderful place. I get dreaming of my sister, and what she was doing between the stars." It became harder to emotionless. "There are certain bits I don't clearly remember. Only pain, terrible pain, and the priest staring into my eyes. The doctor at his side making sure that I survived it all."

Mark's brow knit deeply. "And it never occurred to you that what they were doing was wrong?"

"I have doubts, but to this day I am still confused. It's not easy to see your whole family as wrong. You don't understand, I wanted to change. I wanted to be normal like most of my family. It was not fun to be punished like that. And I believed in our Bible. Most of what was said in there was good and gentle, and I didn't understand why I couldn't be like the rest. Sometimes I still blame myself. Sometimes I don't. My sister and I don't really talk about it much, but I know that she still struggles with the same problems. We have both overcome a lot. It's just... sometimes it is difficult."

Mark listened to Branwen's sincere description of events. She'd been tortured for God's sake! And in the name of religion no less! While the counselor quickly found her parents and their beliefs revolting, no outward sign of the outrage he felt could be seen.

He sat up on the couch putting his feet on the floor. He looked deeply into Branwen's eyes. "Now... I want you to tell me what you've learned since you joined Starfleet." He 'had' to get her to see the difference between what could be and what should be.

"I have learnt a great deal since entering the corps. Aliens are not evil, they are exactly like you and me, and they are good people. Recently I have come to respect other religions like my own, and respect those who follow other beliefs. I've even become less rigid in my own beliefs. I have stopped flagellating myself for mistakes." She said proudly. "And I love working with machines. So yes, I have come a very long way."

Mark nodded slowly at each bit of progress she made. "What do you expect you'll learn next?" he asked.

"I have no idea." Branwen looked at the ground. "I feel exhausted right now, Mark. And defeated, I have fought my whole life to better myself, and to break away from the past. Right now it all seems to have been for nothing. My marriage and my career are everything to me, and both seem to be in peril."

"Branwen," Mark spoke in a serious but soothing tone while sitting up on the couch and meeting her eyes with his, "You've come 'so' far. You also have a long way to go but the important thing is you're making progress. So long as you don't go back things will get better. You see that don't you?"

She nodded silently and stared at the couch for a long time. "I just don't know what to do next." Branwen finally admitted. "I can't help still loving my parents."

"You won't be able to help it. They're your parents after all, but..." Mark kept up the soothing tone, which he felt took the edge off some of he harsh things he had to say. "They did bad things to you. You might not have known it then but they did. They tortured you and that's wrong. You see that now, don't you?"

"Yes... no... may be. You see, they didn't see it as torture. I know how difficult it was for my father what he did. They really thought they were saving my soul. If they were bad people it would be easy. But they are not. There was also a lot of happiness and love. And that is that nobody wants to believe, it is what makes it so difficult." She burst out.

"Branwen," Mark spoke a little sterner now, "No matter what you think of your parents, and believe me, I know what you thought of them, they still tortured you and torture is wrong no matter what reason it's performed."

"I would never torture anybody myself. I know right from wrong." Desperately she tried to change the subject. "My sister taught me well. It was difficult at first having to learn about modern appliances. I had never seen a computer until I was 14."

Mark would not be swayed from his target. If she was going to be helped, she needed to admit her parents were wrong. "Appliances are the least of your problems. Let's get back to the subject at hand, shall we? ... I know you know right from wrong... and while your parents thought they were helping you they went about it the wrong way. You can see that can't you?"

"Yes." She said cautiously. "I can see they were wrong, but they are not evil."

"I never mentioned evilness," Mark responded, "But you must realize sometimes good people do bad things in the name of others."

"You called them torturers. That is an evil word." She wiped a stray tear away. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep this straight in my head? The fact that they did those things to me and that I still love them. I can't even talk to them about it because I am being shunned. Because I left I am no longer part of the community. There is only my sister and my younger brother."

Mark pulled one of his cigars from his uniform jacket pocket, "I smoke, okay? Some people consider it a nasty habit. Now, if you were to get me to quit smoking by following me around with a baseball bat and whacking me in the head every single time I thought about smoking, that would be torture as well. You're a good person with good intentions but you're going about getting me to quit smoking in a bad way. Your parents did the same thing to you."

"But does that make them bad people if they thought it was the best way. If they thought they were really helping? It would be soooo much easier if I could see them as evil and rotten. And if I could be glad not to have anything to do with them ever again."

"What makes them bad is they 'hurt' you needlessly," Mark pointed out, "There was no need to torture you or anyone else in your father's religious community for any reason whatsoever. Period."

"They thought I was possessed by the devil, and that's not a good thing." Branwen stifled a giggle. "My father would have a heart attack if he knew one of my friends is a wiccan."

"He'll just have to get over that now, won't he?" Mark said in a nearly teasing tone.

"I don't think I will have the opportunity to tell him. Or that I married an alien." It was said between a laugh and a sob. "I know they burn my letters."

Mark idly wondered how one burned an electronic transmission but then he remembered her father's totally irrational fear of technology and realized Branwen had to send paper letters the old fashioned way. "Have you ever thought," he began in a most thoughtful tone, "that it might be best to cut your losses and keep moving forward without your parents? I can't see where they've ever actually done you any good."

"They raised me.' She sniffed. "And they taught me my morals. Most of them good. And it isn't like I have any contact with them whatever, so there is nothing to cut. I haven't talked to them in ten years."

Mark nodded gently, "They taught you good morals... and that's it. So what's the problem with letting them go? Has your older sister let them go? Have you ever considered asking her for some advice?"

Branwen thought for a while. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Neither of us was really very comfortable talking about it. So we rarely did. I think she also still has her demons to face where it comes to the past. But like me she is also come a long way. Longer, she is older, and she is now a captain in the Navy." She was very proud of her sister.

"Navy?" Mark asked. Then he slapped his own forehead, "Oh! You mean Starfleet! Naval ships travel on water you know... Starfleet ships travel in space. You 'do' know where you are don't you?" His face wore an expectant grin.

"You know what I mean." She gave him a dirty look, then smiled. "I do think I am getting better around 'them'" she stated. "At least something is working out."

"When you finally come to terms with Marines and Starfleet as the same organization," Mark admonished her, "THEN I'll stop harassing you about it."

"Well, don't get me wrong. I do see it as one organization, just two different branches. I went to a different academy as well, didn't I, the marine academy. So there are differences, Mark." She teased him, glad for the lighter subject and getting away from her past.

"Oh," Mark replied sounding rather defeated. "Does this mean we're changing the subject now?"

"If you let me." She couldn't help but smile.

Mark had to try real hard to keep from rolling his eyes and managed to succeed. "I'd prefer to deal with one problem at a time... unless of course, you can tell me honestly that you're over your parents and the torture they put you through."

Branwen looked at the ground for a long time. "Mark, I think I can find the strength to deal with those senior officers. I'm not a coward, so I will just have to find it in me somewhere. About my past and my parents." She hesitated. "I don't know, I don't know if I will ever be able to put it behind me… or how to put it behind me. I can't
stop loving them, and I can't stop hating them for what they did. And I have never been able to find a balance yet. If you can help me, I think I would welcome that help."

"This may sound a bit conceited on my part but I rarely fail," Mark told her confidently. 'So long as you do your part,' he added silently.

"It sounds very conceited. So how are you going to help me, Mark?" she gave him a curious look.

For a split second he thought of hitting her in the head with a baseball bat to jumpstart her senses but a split second after decided Man'darr might have beat him to it. "I'm not going to lie to you Branwen. You're not one of the easier cases I've come across. It's going to be difficult and it's not going to happen over night... but most of all you have to 'want' to be helped. I could be the best counselor in the universe but..." he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, "if you don't 'want' to be helped there's nothing anyone can do."

"Are you implying that I don't want to be helped?" She raised an eyebrow while giving him a dirty look.

Mark's expression didn't change as he peered back at her, "I'm implying you shouldn't be thinking this will be a walk in the arboretum. You have some serious, deep seeded issues to resolve and they won't 'get' resolved unless you're going to commit yourself."

"Okay. I am willing to do that, Mark. Just give me something to work with. Please, I can't do this alone."

=+=+</Flashback>+=+=

"And, as you remember, that's when I walked out," Mark finished his story feeling sad and spent.

"That's… extraordinary," was all Karyn could say at the moment.

"Not to mention I've just betrayed counselor/patient confidentiality 'and' Branwen's trust in me by telling you all that," Mark mentioned seriously, "If she finds out she may never talk to anyone again. We're going to have to find a way to deal with that."

Karyn nodded in agreement, "We'll worry about that when she gets back… besides, she did mention you should discuss her case with me and 'the more help the better'" I remember her saying."

Mark's expression turned very solemn again, "'If' she gets back," he commented somewhat cynically.

"She'll be back," Karyn sounded sure, "If I know this crew, she'll definitely be back." She watched Mark's features. They didn't brighten one bit despite her positive attitude concerning Branwen's return. "What's wrong Mark?"

Mark's eyes shifted around Karyn's office for a moment before refocusing on her, "I… somehow, perhaps, feel a bit responsible for her capture."

Karyn looked surprised, "How so?"

"I think…" Mark spoke slowly, considerately, "That if she'd been totally focused on her job and not on the things we'd talked about before she left the ship, she might have foreseen what was going on and maybe prevent herself and the others from being captured."

'We shouldn't have let her go,' he thought to himself.

Determined to be positive, Karyn answered, "You'll just have to ask her when she gets back."

It didn't help Mark feel any better about the circumstances, but he allowed a small smile to grace his lips if anything, to make Dallas feel like she helped.

"Next of Kin - Part 1"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer
June M'Kantu
Shiarrael i'Rhehiv'je Terrh'vnau

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ CMO's Office - Sickbay ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Computer, put me through to June M'Kantu." She said confidently.

Frowning she read the next name on the Captains list of next of kin as the call was processed. ~ And just who the hell is Shiarrael i'Rhehiv'je Terrh'vnau? ~ She wondered as she stumbled over the pronunciation of the second name, ~ That almost sounds... Romulan? ~.

As the connection was made Kimberly frowned as another thought occurred to her, "Computer," she said slowly, "once you have a connection perform a security handshake," she ordered, "and encrypt comms if possible and confirm transmission security status." They were after all in a hostile area of space, announcing over an unsecured line that the Captain was injured and incapacitated was probably not the brightest of ideas.

The screen made a pair of skips, indicating that the message was passing out through the relays that had been seeded along the path the Task Force had taken in to the nebula, connected to the main relay at Delta IV - and then virtually instantaneously connected to a receiver, indicating that wherever June M'Kantu was, it was far closer than Earth. The screen cleared, revealing a set of features that were decidedly *not* those of the older woman whose image sat in the Captain's file. Instead, Kimberly was greeted by a young woman of no more than twenty, dressed in comfortable clothing of a slightly militaristic cut, whose dark skin was a somewhat shocking contrast to the distinctly Romulan cast to her features. "Yes?" she abruptly opened the conversation with, the word sounding slightly exotic when spoken in Federation Standard with a Romulan accent. "What is it that you want?"

"Hello." Kimberly greeted the young woman, curious but putting her questions to the back of her mind for now, "Could I speak to June M'Kantu please?" Checking the comm security status she let out a soft sigh of relief, one less thing to worry about.

The girl considered that for a second, and then said, "She is in the back, pretending to be asleep; I am pretending that I don't know that she's awake in the hopes that she will become tired and actually fall asleep. Should I go and get her?" Behind the girl, the darkened cockpit of a Federation runabout became clear as she shifted, prepatory to rising. "I will only do this if the need is great. She has had little sleep the last two days."

"Please. My apologies but I'm afraid it is rather urgent." Kimberly said sincerely.

The girl studied her for a moment, nodded once, and wordlessly rose and moved out of range of the pickup, back towards the rear of the runabout.

Watching as the young woman stepped away from the screen she wondered if this was Shiarrael i'Rhehiv'je Terrh'vnau who had also been listed as next of kin. That she was with Mrs M'Kantu, or was it Ms M'Kantu. ~ Frell, what do I call her? ~ Kimberly wondered, ~ Gos-se, she's listed as M'Kantu so that's what I call her. ~ She decided as she waited.

It took only a few seconds more than a minute before lights flooded on in the forward cabin of the runabout and a pyjama-and-robe-clad June M'Kantu was settling into the seat in front of the pickup. Visible in the background, the puzzling girl stood, as if hovering. "Yes?" June said crisply, sounding as if she'd not been asleep at all. "What is it?"

"Mrs M'Kantu, I'm sorry to bother you. I'm Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer of the USS Galaxy." Keeping her voice steady and calm as she introduced herself Kimberly took a slow breath and metaphorically gritted her teeth before she continued. This was the part of her job she hated the most, telling a friend or a loved one that someone was ill, or dying. It was never easy, and it had never gotten easier. Plus, she realised suddenly, she had no idea if Starfleet had been in touch with her, she had filed her report and left sickbay in Katara's hands while she worked on what to do. Suddenly she regretted her impulsive call, wishing she had checked a few things first. "Has anyone from Starfleet contacted you regarding recent events?" She queried, figuring that sounding her level of knowledge out first was probably safest.

June snorted once. "Not likely. They always run slow on things like that." She leaned forward, almost filling the screen. "So what is it that you're calling to tell me that you're having second thoughts about, Doctor?" Leaning back, she stared into the pickup. "I was an officer in the fleet before you were out of diapers, so I know the drill. You get senior officers if they're dead and doctors if they're injured. I know he isn't dead, because you're not Victor Murdock, and he wouldn't let anyone else make that call, which means he's injured." Behind her, the girl leaned forward intently following the exchange.

Shaking her head gently Kimberly disagreed, "Not second thoughts Ma'am, just wondering if you had been contacted yet, I'm afraid I've been a little preoccupied so I didn't check before I called." Looking beyond June to the girl in the background Kimberly raised an eyebrow. "Would you prefer to speak privately or...?" She asked, leaving the question hanging.

Without looking, June shook her head. "No. Shiarrael has as much right to hear this as I do." Behind her, the girl started, and then drew herself up and moved fully into the pickup's range so that she was standing behind June.

Nodding Kimberly continued. "You are correct, the Captain is alive though he has been seriously injured and you are listed as his next of kin. He's in a stable condition at present," she assured her quickly, wanting to start with something reassuring, "but currently unconscious, so I need to discuss his treatment with you."

"Injured how?" June asked in a crisp, professional tone. "What kind of treatment?"

"The Captain has suffered an injury to his spine, more specifically to his cervical vertebrae." Holding her own hand to the base of her neck she indicated roughly where she was talking about, more for the benefit of the young girl just in case she needed it explained. "There's been considerable damage to his nervous system... Because of the severity of his injury he's on full life support." Pausing for a moment she wished for a second she was in the same room as the two other women, this was not the sort of thing to do over subspace really. Looking at June M'Kantu directly Kimberly continued in a more confident tone, "His condition is serious, but he is alive, and though he is still unconscious we're confident there's been almost no neurological damage. We managed to get him to sickbay and onto life support very quickly."

June's face remained expressionless; as if news like this was something that she'd know would come someday, and had been long prepared for. The girl behind her, however, flinched at the words, as if they were a physical blow, and he eyes took on a desperate, haunted look. "You said," June asked, her voice still clinical and sharp, "that there was little or no neurological damage - what does that mean for the possibility of treatment and recovery?"

"Treatment, as you may be aware for this type of injury is under normal circumstances next to impossible to repair with traditional surgical techniques. So, I've been studying alternative methods of treatment for spinal damage. There has been one successful spinal repair done some years ago, however the technique is listed as hazardous and not currently recommended for use on sentient life, the main reason is the low success rate in simulations." Keeping her voice confident and trying to sound positive was getting harder as she started to explain, but that was the bad news all done...

"One successful procedure," June repeated as she continued to look at Kimberly, "just one." She considered that for a second as, behind her, the girl's expression continued to slowly worsen, he face growing pale with each sentence. "Is that one successful procedure out of one attempt," June asked, "or one successful procedure out of a great many failures, Dr. Burton?"

<tbc...>

"Next of Kin - Part 2"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer
June M'Kantu
Shiarrael i'Rhehiv'je Terrh'vnau

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ CMO's Office - Sickbay ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"One successful procedure," June repeated as she continued to look at Kimberly, "just one." She considered that for a second as, behind her, the girl's expression continued to slowly worsen, he face growing pale with each sentence. "Is that one successful procedure out of one attempt," June asked, "or one successful procedure out of a great many failures, Dr. Burton?"

"The successful procedure was carried out approximately sixteen years ago on the Enterprise, and there have been considerable advances made in several fields since then. My initial research had suggested we can dramatically increase the odds of success by applying certain new techniques and upgrading the technology involved. The procedure though essentially involves using a medical replicator to literally replicate an undamaged copy of the damaged section of his spine, and then performing a transplant. The difficulty to date has been successfully and correctly attaching all the nerves, but again newer technology should make that much easier and safer than before." It certainly sounded much easier putting it that way that it
was going to be, and there'd have to be a lot of simulations run to determine the correct procedure and the odds of success, right now all she had was the theory, but before she got anyone's hopes too high she needed permission. She also had the feeling that they'd need a specialist to come in and actually perform the operation.

"Setting aside potential treatments, the technical issues for same, and the consequences of failure," June said slowly. "I'd like you to explain to me what - exactly - my husband's condition is that something like this is actually under consideration?"

With a soft sigh Kimberly sat back in her chair as she felt her brow crease in concern, "Basically, at present he's totally paralyzed from the neck down." She explained simply, "and completely dependant on full systemic life support. The procedure I'm researching and looking to adapt is possibly his only chance of ever regaining any neurological function that could enable him to do anything."

For a moment June's eyes softened and her pain was clearly visible, but then they hardened again, and she nodded, returning to her clinical demeanour. The effect of the words on the girl behind her was like a physical blow, however, and she grasped the back of June's chair with one hand for support. "All right, Doctor. You say that this procedure hasn't been replicated since the original success, which was... sixteen years ago? Why so long?" She reached up and laid a hand on top of the one Shiarrael was gripping the back of the chair with wordlessly. "Were there special circumstances that haven't been possible to reproduce?"

Nodding slowly Kimberly found herself wishing she hadn't asked that. "Yes, the patient at that time was a Klingon. His physiology allowed him to survive the procedure where any other patient wouldn't have survived..." Taking another slow breath she debated the best way to explain what she needed. "That was sixteen years ago though. And yes, the procedure hasn't been approved since because it seems no one has been spending a great deal of time trying to advance it. The theory is sound, and yes it needs some time to make it workable, however, the alternative is the Captain spending his life in a medical facility somewhere on full support. I'm not proposing to go right ahead with this, as I said, there's work that needs to be done first. I have a working idea on how to make this practical and I'll be contacting experts for advice and trying to get a specialist out to actually help perform the operation."

June processed that. "So, in essence, either we go forward with this, pray for a miracle, or Daren spends the rest of his life hooked up to machines that keep him alive." She shook her head. "That's not a life, that's a sentence to Hell for someone like him. What kind of a chance does he have with the procedure?"

"There are no guarantees," Kimberly admitted honestly, "but considering the severity of his injury I believe that this procedure, if we can make it feasible, may be his only chance of living any sort of normal life. I'll need to contact Starfleet Medical and explain what I'm planning, and they will want to know if you are prepared to at least consider this if I can show a good chance it could work."

"As opposed to having him just lie there like a corpse for the rest of his life? Don't be absurd, of course we're going forward with this. On one condition."

Simply raising an eyebrow Kimberly paused to allow June to explain.

"That Shiarrael and I tell him." Behind her, the young girls head snapped around to stare at the back of June's head. "If you do it," June continued, "then he'll make excuses and try to be noble - but he won't do that with us. With us, he'll listen, and argue, and then he'll agree, because he's not going to want to face the thought of the two of us standing by the side of his bed for the rest of his life, forever out of reach."

"Considering you know the Captain far better than I, I don't have a problem with that. I can be there to explain anything if you like, however, the Galaxy is in the midst of a... of something right now, and I don't know how long it's going to take to finish what we're doing." Considering their current situation for a moment Kimberly wasn't sure just how June could get here, here being a war zone. "Where are you right now?"

June looked at the instrument panel below the level of the pickup, raised an eyebrow, and turned slightly to look at Shiarrael.

The girl stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then looked down over June's shoulder at the panel. "We are..." her voice wavered, and she stopped, frowned, and took a breath to try again. "We are," she began again, her voice sharp and clear this time, "holding station seven hours outside of the Delta system." She reached around June with her free hand and tapped something. "I will reset the controls to Federation Standard configuration."

"No need, Shiarrael," June told her, turning back to the screen as the girl withdrew her hand in momentary confusion. "I'm aware that you're conducting operations inside the nebula, Doctor. This runabout isn't configured to allow safe operation there, so we will have to wait for the Galaxy to withdraw to normal space to board her. Is the situation such that we can safely enter the system, or should we wait for you to emerge?"

Slightly embarrassed that she didn't actually know the answer to that Kimberly felt her face flush slightly before she answered, she'd been so preoccupied with the wounded, and more importantly the Captain that she didn't know the current tactical situation in the Delta system. ~ Some senior officer I am! ~ She berated herself.

"I'd have to check with the XO I'm afraid on that," she admitted, "for now I'd suggest taking shelter in the systems Oort cloud and I'll speak to the Commander and ask her to contact you, she can answer that better than I... My apologies." Feeling herself deflate slightly, glad that the Captains wife ready to consider her ideas she smiled slightly, though the smile went no further than her mouth, "Ma'am, Miss Terrh'vnau," stumbling over the name slightly, "I promise you, I intend to do everything I possibly can to help the Captain," she assured them both.

"Of course you will," Doctor," June said with a nod. "You wouldn't be on his ship if he didn't think that you would do that for anyone under your care. Unless the XO tells us something different, assume that we will be awaiting your signal to rendezvous with the Galaxy as soon as you exit the nebula."

"Understood... and, thank you. I'll have the Commander contact you as soon as possible, and I'll do the same as soon as I have anything to tell you," she promised sincerely.

"We'll be waiting for your message," June nodded. "M'Kantu out."

<end...>

"Breeding Branwen"

With

Gral'Mev Gro'kle
Prison Physician

1st Lt. Branwen London
POW

With the soundtrack of: [Nine Inch Nails - Closer]

Branwen was not looking forward to being brought back to the doctor. The last couple of days she had tried to get rid of the baby several times but had found that if she even thought about her abdomen pain shot up in her head that made it impossible to even think. And all her friends and her husband had been kept away from her. Dar would go insane if he knew. Bran feared that as much as she feared the doctor to be honest.

"Ah, Lieutenant London," Gro'kle proclaimed happily. "How do you do today? I trust you're feeling quite motherly?"

"Screw yourself." Bran barked back at him.

"Truly, I cannot for the life of the Queen understand how you can expect to be an example for your offspring with such verbiage." Gro'kle lumbered closer and scanned Branwen with a device that was the Hydran equivalent of a Tricorder. "Hmm, it would seem that your estrogen levels are somewhat higher than normal. We will observe you to ensure the health and safety of both yourself and your fetuses."

She started another tirade and then stopped. "Fetuses? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh yes, Lieutenant London," he replied. "Hydrans are normally born in threes, and early scans show that all three fetuses are doing quite well."

"Three…" That took some time to sink in. "Three….. but why…. Why do you want to do this? You have females yourself! Why do this to me?"

Gro'kle took a moment to consider the question. "I suppose I could offer some explanation as to why we chose you for this experiment," he stated finally. "We Hydrans do not reproduce as you do. Our method is...inefficient." He paused to look at some notes on the display over Branwen's 'bed'.

"You have some...rare genetic qualities we noted during your last stay with us, and after significant research, I have determined that your DNA was malleable to the extent that you would be able to carry to full gestation Hydran offspring. If it is indeed successful, I can then adapt the technology into our people and enable us to reproduce in a more...beneficial manner."

She swallowed. "Is it… is it going to kill me? The babies? Are you going to kill me after the birth." Bran tried not to sound scared.

"I do not believe they will kill you, and I have not decided what your final disposition will be yet." As an afterthought, he decided to inform his test subject of a couple of other things. "You may notice somewhat of a change in your skin pigmentation, more towards a green or teal even. Also, within a few days you will begin to need to breathe a methane-oxygen mix, as neither you nor the fetuses will much tolerate the absence of it."

"I'll kill myself before that happens." Branwen was to horrified to say anything else. On top of using her womb they were turning her into a monster.

"As if we would allow that to happen. I believe you've already experienced what kind of response you get every time you even think of committing suicide or harming yourself."

Branwen stayed silent. She had indeed, and it had been far from pleasant.

"I will begin to slowly mix a minute percentage of methane into the air in your holding cell. Within approximately five to six days, you should be fully acclimated to the mixture, and not suffer any ill effects of breathing just oxygen or suffering from methane deprivation." The Doctor adjusted the environmental controls and two percent methane was slowly mixing in with the regular air. He then approached Branwen and administered an injection via hypospray.

"That should ease the transition a bit," he said.

"What do you mean exactly. I will be unable to breathe oxygen after a while? You will make me into a complete freak?" She would just have to train her mind and bump into things by accident. If she could convince her mind it was an accident, it might be possible. Seconds later Branwen groaned with another enormous headache.

"See? It is truly quite useless trying to resist," Gro'kle chided. "Perhaps some rest would ease your mind." Then remembering her question as an after thought, added: "You will no longer be able to breathe air in the same concentration you always have..."

"Can it be reversed?" She asked. "No, I don't want to rest. Besides my cell is filthy." Under other circumstances the fact that they were now worried about her well-being would have been funny.

"Your cell will be made...acceptable to your standards," the doctor announced. "As for not resting...that is not an option."

"And what if I don't? Forcing me is bad for the babies, pain gives me stress." Now that she knew that he could not hurt her right now, Branwen was getting bolder with the doctor.

"As I said, it is not an option," Gro'kle repeated, and tapped a control on his remote. The somatic signals and impulses increased in Branwen's body, thanks to they marvelous piece of technology she was wearing around her neck.

"Don't do that!" She said through gritted teeth. Branwen was fighting to stay angry and stressed, but a huge yawn escaped her. "I am not tired, and I don't want to rest."

"Much better," the Hydran doctor blorped. He checked the readings and found that on the cellular level she was slowly accepting the increased Methane concentration in the air. It wasn't enough for Gro'kle to remove his breather, but it was indeed a step in the right direction. "I think that when you are calm for long enough we will allow you to...stretch your legs."

"I don't want to see the others." She said after another yawn. "Besides the courtyard is filthy and depressing."

"There are many things that can be depressing about this place," her captor said absentmindedly. "Nonetheless, enjoy your rest."

"You really think I can relax in a hospital room, or a filthy prison cell? I guess men are the same whatever race they are from." Branwen bitched at him.

"Lieutenant London," Gro'kle cautioned. "There are far worse places here that you could be in right now. Your taunts are quite meaningless to me, however your lack of respect will not be long tolerated." With that, Gro'kle checked one more thing on his readout, then left the chamber, to be replaced by a guard. The newcomer simply looked with all three eyes at Branwen.

Bran gave him a crosseyed look and then stuck out her tongue at him. Maybe she could goad him into hurting her and the baby by accident. Or just allowing her to feel some pain or stress. Anything to annoy the hell out of the bloody doctor.

The guard was completely unflappable, and maintained a silent vigil. He knew the consequences of any harm coming to the human female. Gral'Mev Gro'kle was one very twisted individual and this was common knowledge throughout the prison.

[TBC]

"Shit Happens..."

Samantha Widdlestein,
Morale Officer and Lead Investigator

Phantom Shitter,
Public Enemy #2

and guest appearance by:

Lt. Ella Grey

****
USS Galaxy
****

Normally, Samantha Widdlestein didn't concern herself with things that happened on the ship - which, okay was a bold faced lie - but enough was enough. She was all for pranks but this Phantom Shitter was a serious health code violater, not to mention that she had stepped in some of the shit that someone had tracked across the corridor and her vintage imitation UGGs - manufactured on Mars - hadn't been cheap.

Detective Widdlestein was now on the case.

"Aha!" She said as she turned away from the sight and plugged her nose. "He ate at Ten Forward last night! Their special was Catfish Filet."

"That's great," One of the guys from Environmental Services said. "Uh, can we clean it up now? It's kinda in the way.

"I wonder if he's lactose intolerant," Sam mused as she daintily sidestepped the evidence and headed for Ten Forward.

*****

The Phantom had just finished its duty shift, and had some steam to blow off. Stress was not something this particular shitter handled very well, which is probably why it turned to shitting. Or so the Phantom would like to think sometimes as the only reason. But it knew better. The Phantom knew exactly why it did the things it did. A statement had to be made. And damn it, the Phantom would not stop making a statement until satisfaction was obtained. Not really feeling up to committing to anything today, the Phantom decided to hit one of the Mess Halls and see what was good to eat for the day.

****

"Where were you yesterday evening?" Sam demanded as she shined the flashlight in the man's face.

"Er, I was here. Serving drinks," the waiter said.

"Harumph. A likely story!" She declared and then put down her flashlight. "When are you guys serving spaghetti again? That was a killer sauce."

****

The fare for the night did not agree with the Shitter at all, and a restroom was needed - fast! Not fearing being seen, the Phantom immediately made a beeline for the closest place it could think of: The flight deck. Passing unnoticed by a couple of pilots, it made its way to a section where one of the Starfighters was being repaired. Ducking under a wing, the Phantom quickly dropped its trousers and relieved itself.

Feeling much better both physically and emotionally, the Phantom exited again unseen and went about its own business for time being.

Five minutes later a robotic shriek followed by a string of curses, hopping sounds, and a mechanical voice saying 'ew' repeatedly.

****

Samantha tapped her lips as she considered the problem. She would have tapped her foot but she was in the middle of getting her second coat of purple paradise nail polish. The pedicure lady got cranky when she tried to move.

"If I were the Phantom, where would I go next? He seems to like the unexpected and the most inconvenient. Sickbay would be too difficult, the holodeck too easy. Hmmm ..." Samantha stopped and examined her nails. "Hey do you think we have time for a manicure?"

****

There was such a thing as too much of a good thing (or in this case, even a bad thing). The Phantom pretty much called it quits for this particular day. He had plenty of opportunity and targets down the road, and needed to pace himself. A message sent must be carefully prepared. He enjoyed a fine evening of music in Ten-Forward with
everyone else, while a commotion was raised in the Starfighter hangar bay somewhere below.

****

Samantha yawned as she called for the lights and snuggled into her bed. Detective work was certainly exhausting.

“Temporal Dementia and Other Perplexing Mysteries.”

By Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

Location: Sickbay, after the big battle.

James couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Nobody could accuse James Lionel Corgan of not being one tough motherfucker. He had fought wounded before. Why, his first action on the USS Galaxy as a young ensign, he was gangbeaten by religious fanatics and nearly pulped to death with a hammer. He had since then taken phaser wounds, space exposure, broken bones, mended psyches, concussions, organ reconstruction (his eye), blade wounds and the open handed slaps of a few girlfriends, yet he was never in Sickbay for more than a few days.

Not today, according to his latest checkup.

“Awwww... come on!” James begged his doctor, “Can't you cut me a break? Half duty? Quarter duty? Anything but this!”

His doctor, one Doctor T'Val, a Vulcan of the old school that looked down on the emotionals as a form of life next to the amoeba (maybe lower since amoeba's didn't have emotions, and were ergo superior) Everyone remembered the stereotype that all Vulcan women were of superior hotness to any other lifeform, and ones with authority were thereby closet minxes when they could let their guard down. Not Dr. T'Val. She was a crusty old battleaxe that, despite some effort to stave off father time, was showing crow's feet in her eyes, wrinkles in her face and salt and pepper in her hair. Maybe at one time she was beautiful, and then again at one time she was just as old, crusty, and crabby (by Vulcan standards) as she was today. Who was James to care? All he saw was a bitch.

A bitch that happened to be his new doctor.

And this went through the preamble of examining him with the machinery he hated so much, that made him fidget and feel uncomfortable every time it snaked and slithered around, and she examined with detached contempt for the wriggling emotional life form under her preconceived microscope.

James was getting good at reading Vulcan facial expressions. Due to lack of emotion, Vulcans were more subtle in their expressions, the smallest movements an open book with volumes to spare. So when James went in to have his head scanned, T'Val raised an eyebrow, the Vulcan sign for 'interesting'. Then she raised two. Very interesting. Eyes opened wider and she frantically scribbled onto a PADD, which might as well sounded a red alert right there and then.

All this preamble to tell James what he already knew. He has a seizure in the security office, and nearly had one getting out of sickbay to shoot up some nearby Hydrans. He didn't need a doctor to tell him that his head needed fixing!

But what he didn't want to hear was her prescription for his current mental crisis.

“That is right, Commander Corgan.” T'Val struck a checkmark on the PADD, and presented it to him in full view, so there was no doubt. “As of now I have recommended that you be relieved of duty! You have been prescribed medical leave, and to not take it will be a violation of orders.”

James said blankly, “Awwww fuck.”

James could easily see it coming. The nightmares were getting worse, his discomfort around the diagnostics table was more pronounced and he was having seizures while on duty, but damned if he wanted to hear from a doctor that he had to be pulled off duty. He didn't want to be sidelined like a third warp nacelle! They were at war, and needed every able bodied soldier they could get! James didn't want to go on a forced vacation over some malady! Surely if he dismissed his major disability enough the doctor would have mercy and let him go back to playing whack-a-hydran?

Such was not the case.

He was unceremoniously handed a bottle of prescription pills, white label and unmarked.

“What the hell are these?” James asked.

Dr. T'Val was too eager to give him an answer (in Vulcan terms, she was quick to answer but dry in her explanation). “This should stablize your neuralchemical levels, and a few of these...” She handed another bottle of Starfleet pharmaceuticals, “Are to suppress neural activity spikes. And the third bottle...” And a third was plonked straight to his hand, “Is to regulate your Chronoton levels.”

James sulked as he looked at the pills, but somewhere in his brain the third prescription didn't sound right. “Ok... ummm... WHAT THE FUCK?!? Chronotons?!?!”

Dr. T'Val was unmoved by Corgan's outburst, “Your latest scans show an increased level of Chronoton radiation coming from your person. It may be that you have been exposed to a source of Chronotons. These pills should help.”

At that, James gulped down a lump of fear. Chronotons were appearant in time travelling, and as of late he had been talking to a temporally displaced daughter. It was still their secret, and if Dr. T'Val ever let it out to the captain... “Ummmmm... how the hell did that happen?”

Dr. T'Val was quick to answer. “Chronotons can be randomly picked up, though there are parallels to being exposed to those who think they are time travellers. It's well documented, but they may have more Chronoton exposure than you, so sometimes they may feel the effects of temporal dementia.”

“Ok....” James ventured to ask, “Temporal dementia?”

“The belief of travelling through time or being in a different time period, which can often be attributed to an overexposure to Chronotons.”

“Uh huh... wait... don't tell me you also don't believe in time travel?”

Dr. T'Val answered with all honesty, “The Vulcan Science Directorate never proved positive that time travel existed, only that people were exposed to a variety of degrees of Chronotons. It can cause mass delusions of time travel, even in one group. Or one person. Do you know someone that's under Temporal Dementia?”

James smacked his forehead, ~”Fuck sakes, my doctor's more insane than I am.”~ Then he lied boldfaced (or was it truthfully told?), “No, I do not.”

“That is good. I recommend you take the drugs. It is possible, with your neural damage as of late, that the Chronotons are interfering with your autonomic functions. I also suggest you take some time off. Our facilities are just as good as any clinic in the star system, but we gave you multiple neuralscans and still could not find the problem. On your PADD will be a list of neural institutes that are better equipped to deal with the problem.”

James quickly checked over the list. On it was a few dozen facilities, the top ones were in the coreworlds. Earth had three alone, there was a psionics study facitlity on Betazed, the renown Vulcan Institute of Neural Studies. “Hey... I have a friend going there for another problem. I'd see her there. But Doctor, that would mean I have to take time off. I have a mutiny investigation to attend to, my Captain is injured and we're low on personnel, not to mention we're in the middle of a war...”

Dr. T'Val was having none of his excuses. As far as Vulcans went, she gave a cold serious stare, their equivalent of opening up hell's gates and letting all wraith rain down on their intended victims. “Sir, in your present condition you are not capable of commanding a platoon of first year cadets! You had a seizure in the middle of battle, and as a doctor I am authorized to pull you off duty until this problem is remedied! Now take the medical leave or take leave from Starfleet altogether! ”

James neckhairs pricked up, and he inched away slowly from the wraithful Vulcan doctor.

She added to illustrate her point, “Do... I... make... myself... clear?”

James gulped, “Crystal, babe.”

“Good... now get out of sickbay so we can treat some intensive care patients. I do not want to turn your treatment and assessment into an undue waste of time and resources. Sarek be praised!”

James groused out of sickbay. “Yeah, fuck Sarek.... Geez... T'lan spoils me. I forgot how bitchy Vulcan women really are.”

It was a blow to his pride to be feeling as fit as he was but still unable to resume his normal duties. James Lionel Corgan prided on being physically fit and able, which was why he spent so many hours doing marine physical training, studying the skills and tactics his vocation demanded, doing the extra curricular activities that were, for the most part, benefiting his body more. It was why he was able to go on for long periods of time fighting, why he could go through a kendo match and take the welts, why he survived every pretzel like twist Mika's Andorian flexibility training demanded when they went to the gym together. And now, he had an unpredictably misfiring brain that made him drop down and thrash like a carp on land.

Nothing was worse to him than being made so vulnerable, in front of the people he tried to stay strong for.

Try as he could, there was no way he could perform his duties well until the problem was at least identified and treated. Until then he was not right, a broken toy soldier who would fail them when their hours were at their darkest.

He thought of Mr. Kaa's words, the traitor that still languished in his brig. He was right about one observation. The USS Galaxy had too many strong, independent personalities, and without M'Kantu's ability to reign them in they were headless. James knew he wasn't the man to bring unity to the crew, and even if he could what would happen if he had another attack? Before, his pride would have made him soldier on and try anyways.

He did not even have that. With a wounded pride, James had to acknowledge that Dr. T'Val's order was for the best. He had to stand down until he got better.

Glumly, he entered the turbolift, activated the co-ordinates to his deck and listened to the whoosh of electromagnetic motors fly the elevator capsule to his deck. He felt alone and afraid, but there was nobody there for him to support him. Mika, whom James turned to for practical leading advice (since she was the best people person James ever known) was gone. T'lan, the security second that kept his mind on track and backed him up on every endeavor, was also gone, both women in his life gone to Vulcan to find a cure for T'lan's eroded emotional defenses. Even if James was capable of leading, those two he depended on when he could not find the answer.

~”Without them... what the hell am I?”~ James asked himself, already knowing the answer, ~”Shit all, that's what. Face it, I need them.”~

And what was he to do with them? Would he have them forever?

It was that thought that turned James' mind to a very dark, forboding alley. He started to think of Allison, his daughter, and what her existence meant for his life and the life of those he cared about. As a daughter of Rebecca Von Ernst, it meant that sometime in the next few years (he wasn't exactly sure when) he would father a child with Rebecca, and if Allison was any indication, it was not going to be a smooth childhood for her.

But what he found himself most concerned about was his relationship with Mika. He already loved her, that much he was certain. He gave Mika an engagement ring, and they would soon have to finalize a date for their marriage. But now what was the point, if Allison was any indication? Allison's existence meant that there was no future for Mika and James. Was there? James knew he loved Mika greatly and couldn't imagine having them separate. What could cause them to leave each other? Was there something pathologically wrong in the relationship? Was it Allison's introduction throwing everything in his life out of whack due to what she represented the reason Mika and himself does not work out? And wouldn't it mean that whatever was done was preordained due to the nature of the breakup, or could Allison's introduction to the past have really been the only cause for Mika and James to not be together?

So there, he learned an important lesson about Temporal Mechanics. Don't fuck with it.

“Gah!” James threw up his arms and despaired, ~”This is way too fucking much! I can't even think straight.... I just have way too much crap going on in my life to deal with! How the hell am I supposed to untangle this unholy mess and get things back on track... oh fuck it! One at a time...”~

As he went into his quarters, he was already starting to go off track. He wanted to press further about Captain M'Kantu's assassination, but when he came to that avenue, he veered into a blind alley where he started to wonder what Mr. Kaa's words meant. It was no secret, Captain M'Kantu was, by the Federation's Military Industrial Complex could provide, a man of sound moral judgement and unflagging leadership material. In an era where the explorer was long forgotten and the hawks and doves sortied in the skies, M'Kantu cut through the bullshit and only saw one choice to make... what was right.

And what has been right as of late? The Federation seemed to gear for war. In retrospect, after the Dominion War and after that short time of piece it seemed that The Federation was waiting for a war, with bolder, stronger warships, gungho Captains, and questionable diplomacy that didn't help to stave war but only hold the line and bolster the defenses. Sure, The Federation didn't have to look far to pick a fight, but it seemed James' job was less protecting the peace and more of protecting a fucked up status quo, with an increasingly distant government that seemed to represent him and others like him less and less, while the opposition was just as unapproachable and vile.

The recent battle, handing the Jewish Colony to a foreign power just to put them in the line of fire, then fight anyways...

How James wished for M'Kantu's moral certainty in a time like this!

“Computer... Carlos Santana. Don't care what.” James mumbled to the upbeat chirrup of the computer, and let the music drift in. It wasn't much to numb his confusion, but it helped better than any drug.

He took off his clothes, laid in bed, and stared at the ceiling. His stomach rumbled in protest, and he ignored it's call for food. His eyes burned but he barely blinked. His mouth smacked and parched but he did not drink.

James just sat in the silence of his own thoughts and came to one conclusion.

He could not solve the problems of the universe. He could not fix his government, his own timeline, his organization, even his own ship. He couldn't even fix his own life. Even his own body was threatening to betray him when he was needed the most. What chance did he have of doing any of that? And in that moment, he felt at his most helpless.

~“One thing for sure... I can't trust anyone else to do it for me.”~

Rolling over, James idly flipped through his personal PADD. He found a sent video message, dated hours earlier and sent to him via the Federation Subspace Network from Vulcan.~”Vulcan!”~ James perked up and activated the message, ~”Mika and T'lan! Oh how I miss you both!”~

He saw Mika's beaming face in front of a backdrop of an austere Vulcan hotel room. She was sweating, but James never saw her more beautiful, being starved of her affectionate company for weeks. =/\=”Hi hi!=/\= she squeaked to the holocamera, following up with a meek wave and a nervous head bow, her antennae twitched and drooped down, =/\=Hello James! I am on Vulcan by now. T'lan and I have arrived safely, as you can surmise. We had a safe journey but we heard the USS Galaxy was in some trouble. Are you well? We haven't heard from you in transit and with the communications blackout of most classified material we hear virtually nothing. Well, I hope you are well, dear James. I know you are well, as am I, though Vulcan is as hot as a plasma duct! I am afraid my species is not adapted to their climate, but I endure for dear T'lan, and for you on your behalf.”=/\=

Mika sat on the desk and leaned forwards, her face whimsical, =/\=”Love, I know it must be hard for you to stand by at the ship while T'lan endures her hardships, but I know you have to stay on the Galaxy. You are needed there. I do hope, however, that you can attend to her treatment. She does not say it, but T'lan misses you and worries about you. Please respond to us soon. We have not heard from you through the entire trip. Let us know that you are all right.”=/\=

~“I'm alright?”~ James snorted at the very idea, ~“Meeks... if only you knew.... but god do I miss you and T'lan. Wish I was there rather than here.”~

Her video message continued, =/\=“T'lan is going to the Neurological Institute now. The first tests will be tomorrow and right now she is updating her physical. She is physically fit, but I can tell that her emotions are hurting her. It pains me to watch... how something we take for granted is not only 'verboten' for Vulcans but can actually kill them... poor T'lan. I just want to do anything to make it all better, but I cannot and it pains me.”=/\=

~“Aye... I hear that.”~ James found himself nodding.

=/\=“My love, I hope to hear from you soon, hopefully before we find T'lan a cure! Do not forget about us. I know you immerse yourself in duty but at a time like this you have to stop and attend to the people you love. I know, you love me... but T'lan is your friend and she is facing harsh criticism for having emotional taint to begin with. Right now she needs friends more than ever. When you get the chance, come to us... or just call. Please. But worry not in the meantime... I am there for her and I confess... ever since you referred her to me for my meditations I have grown fond of her company. I consider her a friend as well, and I would do anything for her.”=/\=

She carried a note of sorrow in her sigh, but immediately turned sunny, =/\=“Well, I hope to hear from you soon, love. All the best to you. Do not forget to call, and tell me how the rest of the crew is doing, ok? Lots of love. See you later.”=/\=

He allowed the hologram to die a digital death, sat back and exhaled. Even with all that was going on with him, Mika's generous heart and gentle manner had put an ease to him. What was it about her that he loved? He couldn't really define it, but James knew that with her, he was not a beast and a killer tied down with so many guilts and paradoxes, but a man with a normal life and someone that actually, though it defied reason, loved him. She kept him grounded, and he thanked god for those grounded moments. It was with her that he wasn't so confused. If he had a problem, she had a clear cut solution.

Like M'Kantu, she had moral certainty.

Yet how could he look at her the same when he knew of a future where she would not be there to steer him? Left to drift, James could see himself making some dumb choices or not doing right at the right times. He would be wandering, drifting, aimless... held down by nobody and blaming his misfortunes on a misfiring life.

~“Well... that's one piece anyways....”~ James thought, though it didn't get him closer to any solutions. He laid back and let Carlos Santana take him somewhere else.

"Bad Phantom"

With

The Phantom Shitter,
Public Enemy

XO's Quarters...

The Phantom was pulling no punches with this one, feeling the bold spirit within him cheering. He imagined what these quarters would look like after he was finished with it. The excitement he felt inside was difficult to quell, but he had to make sure that no mistakes were made here. He couldn't be discovered yet. No, not just yet. Not until his big statement was ready.

For now, this target would learn to appreciate what could happen when a joke goes bad. Oh, yes, the Phantom knew of the exploits of this particular target. The only thing that would make this particular delivery sweeter is if there were any real personal effects to deface. Unfortunately (or fortunately for the hapless soon to be victim), all of that went up in smoke when the Carthage was destroyed. Yes, that was indeed big news around the ship. How could someone get their first Command and lose it before they could even cut the mooring beams?

It didn't matter, as the Phantom Shitter felt no remorse or shame in what he was doing. Nor did he feel any sympathy towards the Trill who inhabited this room. Which made it all the better. But his present was to be a bit different this time. He was going all out this time, bucket and heavy brush ready.

When his laxative induced product was ready, he cheerfully began tossing samples on the walls, the well carpeted floor, the chairs, the viewports, the bed (lots of it went on the bed), wherever he could put it, it went.

By the time the stench truly began to settle in, the Phantom was already gone, no trace of his arrival or departure save for the massive amounts of feces plastered haphazardly throughout the quite....except for one place. Just over the replicator, in plain slang English was written:

F U JAXOM

And in the replicator, was a starship-shaped piece of feces.

[TBC]

"Ooze, a tale of bonding, hatred, and possible digestion

J. Andrus Suder (apc)
Samantha Widdlestein (npc)

*****

Somewhere inside one of the Starbeasts ...

*****

"This is going to make a great section in my report," Samantha said cheerfully as she tried to pull her hand free of the ... whatever coating the side of the Starbeast's walls. "I mean, what more can you ask for? Excitement, adventure ... "

"Digestion?" Andy grumbled as he attempted to free his leg from the oozing wall and failed. This, he reflected angrily, was what you got from respecting your lover's space and helping children with their science fair projects - purple sludge about half an inch away from enveloping your balls.

"We don't know that's what's happening," Samantha admonished. She grabbed her captured wrist with her free hand and pulled. It wouldn't budge. She frowned. "You don't really think it's trying to eat us, do you?

Andy was conflicted. He wanted to comfort the girl - for Samantha was still a child, even if she had the personality of a bulldozer - but he also wanted to scare the crap out of the brat for dragging him here in the first place.

His good angel won out. Barely. "Probably not. But I don't really want to take that chance, do you?"

"Not really," She agreed and redoubled her efforts to free herself.

*****

Half an hour later, Andy had changed his mind. He hoped the ooze ate her.

Andrus didn't say this, of course. What he said was that when they were free from this mess, he was going to spank Samantha for straying from the main group and getting them possibly digested.

And all for - what he had since learned - an extra credit science report that could have easily been written on board the bloody Galaxy.

"I thought you liked men," Samantha replied innocently.

*****

"Jax?"

"No."

"Jasper?"

"No."

"Joey?"

"Have you ever heard of a Betazoid named Joey?" Andrus snapped. An hour of wrestling with the muck and he hadn't moved a centimeter. And his left hand was now completely absorbed.

"Hey, you people have naked weddings," Samantha snapped back. "Who knows what other kind of weird things you do."

He rolled his eyes. "My first name is not Joey."

"Jurot?"

"Nope," Andy grunted.

"John?"

"No."

"You know, you could just *tell* me what it is and save yourself the hassle," She told him.

"If I wanted people to know my first name I wouldn't have used an initial, Sam," He replied.

Sam shrugged. "It's your funeral."

*****

They were going on two hours now and Andy had reversed his position. He hoped the ooze ate him. Soon. Anything to get her to shut up.

"Hey, guess what color I'm thinking?"

"Samantha," Andrus said. "Shut up."

"Come on, let's see how good of a telepath you really are. I'll give you a hint - it's not blue."

"Please don't take this personally, Sam, but I really don't want to see inside your head. Ever."

"Oh, I know. It's a lot to handle," She agreed imperiously. "For someone with a lower I.Q. I mean."

"HELP!!!!" Andrus shouted.

****

"HELP!!!!," Samantha shouted and then paused. "I need a good title."

They had both stopped trying to pull away from the wall by now and had started taking turns yelling for help.

"HELP!!!!"A title?"

"HELP!!!!" For my paper, Silly," She replied. "You need a good title to rope them in. And you better believe I'm getting an A plus plus for this paper."

"HELP!!!!" How about "Stuck in the Middle with You" or "Inside the Belly of the Beast," Andy suggested.

"HELP!!!!" Oh, please. Cliche much?" The girl replied and Andrus grit his teeth.

"HEL .... hey, stop grinding your teeth, J-something Andy. It's your turn to yell."

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?!?!" Andy screamed.

(tbc)

"Through Alanna's Guiding Light"

Elrin "Vixen" Kit'ari
Ella "Songbird" Grey

==========

"Alanna, if you can hear me out here, I need your guiding light. I need your wisdom. I need ... something."

It had been a long time since Elrin felt as conflicted as he did right now. It was true he'd lost people close to him in the battle that had just occurred. Someone may well have died because of him and no matter what anyone told him it was somewhat natural for him to blame himself. However at the same time he'd just had one of the most spiritual experiences any Kit'sarin could conceive. He'd been in the presence of one of the sons of Astor. One of the Guardians of Kit'sar.

In fact a sensor image of the now dead starbeast, as the terrans called it, was being displayed on the viewscreen in front of him.

Elrin was on one knee with his head bowed before the image. The crimson and silver ribbon that was normally on his arm had been replaced by a sash of the same pattern which was worn over a white satin tunic. Around his neck was a silverish pendant in the shape of a stylized Kit'sarin eye. As Elrin recalled this was the appropriate garb for a proper worshiper of the Watcher and was not something he'd donned in a long time...a very long time.

Ella tapped the door lightly. A few others had said that Elrin was 'off worshipping' and while she didn't have a religion of her own, she could try to respect another person's faith.

Elrin was slightly startled when Ella walked in. His head jerked around and he had a look of surprise on his face.

"Who's there?"

"I didn't mean to disturb you," She said awkwardly in her clipped monotone. Ella found the whole situation awkward actually – putting herself out there as a friendly type for real and not just as a means of hiding what she was.

The vulpine relaxed slightly when he saw it was Ella. Truth be told he knew it was only a matter of time until one of his officers showed up to talk to him. Who knows, she might even be able to help. At least she might understand.

"Ah, lieutenant, sorry for the reaction. Was so lost in thought there you would have needed a search party to find me there. Um, so, what can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to see how you were doing." Vixen had been ... different since the encounter with the Starbeasts.

"No better, no worse I suppose." Elrin rose to his feet and gestured to one of the chairs on the other side of the small room. A moment later he plopped down in the other. Despite his best efforts to hide it Elrin clearly looked tired. His face wore a neutral but clearly strained expression. Not knowing where else to begin the Kit'sarin simply picked a spot and started in.

"From what you said during the battle I take it you never have had, how do humans put it, a revival of faith?"

Any explanation on her part would probably take hours so Ella just shook her head.

Elrin simply nodded. " Well, I'd feared I'd lost mine until...well...I saw it. See, what you call the Starbeasts we know as the Kit'astor. They're guardian spirits to us, or rather we think they're spirits, well maybe spirit is a bad word. We've seen them of course, but never up close. Not alive. One crashed on our world several centuries ago.
There's a temple built around it...wait...am I rambling?"

"No," She said with a smile. "It's an interesting point of view."

"Well ma'am, the reason I've been acting...well, the way I have been acting is that all this has reminded me of something I've lost. A way I've been deficient much of my life. I've tried so much to assimilate into your culture I've forgotten where I came from. Seeing it reminded me of all I haven't been and I'm afraid I'm having trouble dealing with that.

"We have a pretty good counseling staff," Ella replied, trying not to choke on the fact that she was recommending therapy. "Or there are several officers who are religious that might be able to understand better."

Elrin thought for a moment and shook his head. "Thought about that. Not sure any of the counselors could really help me with this. What I need is a priest from home but, well, can't go there. Alanna tells us the best solutions is ones we find ourselves. Looking to others should only be a last resort. Perhaps I should give it a bit more time."

"Perhaps," She said. "But, if you want, you can talk with me when you need to."

Elrin's nose twitched for a moment and then a slight smile came over his face. It seemed that it was all he could manage at the moment but he was trying to show gratitude. "Thank you Lieutenant. That really does mean alot to me. Through Alanna's Guiding Light I'll get through this in time. It will not distract me from my duties any longer though. Should the three legs return, I'll be fully ready to meet them."