"De Ja Vu"

Part 1 of 4

Inspired by "ALTERNITY" recently posted by Dallas.

Previously: After helping to bring down the Hydran Gorn operative, Lt. Commander Darkstar succumbed to his multiple injuries and found himsef in a coma. At his side is the ever faithful Leo Streely, wondering if he will regain consciousness...

Location: Sickbay

Time: After the recent attack

"Rav...........yo..........me?"

"Rav....ca...you ....ar me?

"Raven can you hear me?"

"Raven can you hear me?" the Bajoran doctor asked waving a tricorder over the indian's chest and examining the readings. She offered him a warm smile as he struggled to speak, a smile that had traditionally been the most effective tool in her bedside manner.

"Don't worry. You'll be able to talk again in a few moments. The phaser blast paralyzed your vocal cords." she said. "Its a perfectly normal side effect of your injury. You are a lucky man, Mr. Darkstar. I don't know how you survived without wearing body armor. Some are calling it a miracle."

A look of confusion knitted Darkstar's brow.

He tried to sit up but the nurse laid her palms on his broad shoulders.

"Easy there, Commander. Take it slow. Jumping to your feet so soon will cause dizzyness and nausa. I really don't want that kind of mess on my hands...or feet or where ever it may be." she said again flashing him a smile.

"No Phaser......Gorn." Darkstar struggled.

His throat tingled like a leg that had fallen asleep.

"There were no Gorns. Although I bet it felt like you were hit by one. You took a neural pulse rifle blast that was on its highest setting. By all rights, you should be dead and I should not be having this conversation. You'll be happy to know that there was no damage apart from the shock to your nervous system."

"Don't understand." he said looking around Sickbay.

Everything to him looked similar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Like he had walked into a child hood home that had been remodelled after many years.

"Just give it a minute, your head will clear." the doctor said.

Remembering the brutal attack on M'Kantu, the Navigation Chief asked: "The Captain?"

"He's fine. He's been waiting for you to come around again. In the meantime there is someone else who will be glad to see you. He hasn't left your side since you were brought here." the nurse said pointing across the room. "I'll go fill in the Captain while you two catch up."

"Leo..." Raven said gravelly as he turned his head.

"Close, but not quite." said Q.

He was lounging in a plush blue chair, hands steepled in a perfect imitation of Ben Sisko.

"Although I can see how you would mistake me for my son. Being dashingly handsome runs in the family you know." (AUTHORS NOTE: Remember, Leo is Q's illegitimate son! Betcha you all forgot that! I'll have to build a bio.)

"Q? Where am I? What is going on?" Darkstar asked, the pins and needle sensation in his throat now subsided.

"Thats what I love about you humans. Always so inquisitive." Q said with a smirk.

"Junior always said you were relentless so to answer your questions: First, yes it's me. Second, you are in sickbay aboard the Federation super carrier bearing the colorful non de plume - the USS HOTH. And last but certainly not the least, as for what's going on...you are really going to love this one."

Darkstar swung his legs over the bio bed and caught a glimse at his reflection in the mirror by the sink. He staggered slowly over and studied his image.

His hair was shorn in a crewcut and was flecked with gray. His face was older and more worn. He held up his hands and noted more scars then he had ever had.

Unable to mask his surprise, he turned to Q who was now grinning like the proverial Cheshire Cat.

"Trust me." he said.

To Be Continued in Part 2 of Joe's 4 part Mini Epic!!!

"Boston Legal Part One"

Civilian Defense Attorney Faylin McAlister

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora

Location: Boston Main Starfleet jail: Conference Room B

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

"I didn't kill him damn it!" Ophelia bellowed. Her face crimson as the always calm exterior of Faylin McAlister stared at her across the table.

"I don't know that. I am here at your request." Fay's voice remained stoic, dead, without a trace of humor to it she stood her ground as she mildly took a sip of coffee.

"Oh....just...." Zamora's frustration bubbled to the surface. She *knew* what was going on and she was helpless to stop it.

"Yes?" Fay's head tilted to the side.

"You do know....." Ophelia's face snarled, the lines around her eyes growing deeper as they were met with the satisfaction that laid wide open upon McAlister's features.

Fay stayed silent, took another sip of coffee and sighed. "You have your psychiatric evaluation tomorrow.....the prosecution is slowly gathering enough evidence to put you away for a very long time. From discovery...." McAlister flipped through the information on her padd. "My professional opinion is.....your screwed my dear."

The other attorney's face cemented darkly in place. Her words were kept in tight control in her mind although they were screaming to be released. Her head lowered, her gaze shifted to the table in front of her. Animalistic rage filled her, yet, she stayed professional. McAlister's day would be coming. She would indeed pay for the crimes Ophelia knew she committed in the past...but due to her ability...was able to get off free. There were those in Starfleet Legal, herself included, that were hell bent on putting criminals such as McAlister in her rightful place. In hell. The plan was in place, and from the first time she viewed Fay's locked file, she felt it was her mission in this life to put this woman down.

"Now....we need to review this information again sweetheart. Just so I'm straight on the details. Where were you the afternoon in question?" Fay's eyebrow arched slightly.

"You know where I was. I was ON BOARD THE GALAXY!!!!!" Ophelia bellowed. "There's proof to that fact!" She exclaimed.

"Actually......the evidence I have has you on Tuscany for one day before, and one day after the murder."

"That's a lie!" Zamora hissed. "And you know it...."

"I know nothing." McAlister whispered back sinisterly.

Ophelia bit her bottom lip, sighed heavily, and arched her back. The bile she felt rise in her throat, she wanted to hurl at McAlister.

Fay stared her down before leaning over slightly out of earshot of the digital recorders. "What ever your plan is....." Her whisper was deadly as she continued. "forget it.....I'll go free, and you'll be in jail for the rest of your life." McAlister leaned back, keeping her gaze on Ophelia as she stood and gathered her things. Clearing her throat, she offered a false sympathetic expression. "You have nothing to worry about Ophelia. I will do my best for you...."

Zamora's eyes narrowed to angered slits as she watched Faylin leave. "When hell freezes over...."

TBC:

"Wrong Room!"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara
Acting CO, USS Galaxy

****

XO's Quarters

Iniara sighed contentedly as she exited the turbolift, tapping a knuckle idly against the padd she carried in her left hand. She'd survived another day in the so-called Big Chair; the ship hadn't been ambushed by a Hydran fleet, dealt with a mutiny, blown up the warp core, or started an unexpected interstellar incident, so overall the day hadn't been that bad. In fact, over the past several days she had almost been getting used to the Big Chair.

Almost, she reminded herself. The XO had, after a year and a half, actually gotten used to her position as XO. She wasn't trying to get used to being a CO. Not yet.

"All things in their time," she whispered to herself as she made her way through the gently curving hallways of Deck 8. And right now, she wanted nothing more than to get back to her quarters, unwind with a nice hot shower and perhaps a mug of steaming hot Vulcan mahna tea, maybe do some light reading or listen to some music... Sure, it was different from her regular routine of exercising or sparring until she was too tired to stand, but sometimes the routine just needed a change. Nothing wrong with that.

She smiled to herself as she visualized how the evening would unfold, the doors to her quarters automatically swishing open to admit the suite's owner.

They didn't even have time to shut behind her.

"By the Emissary!" Iniara half shouted, half screeched as she violently backpedaled out of her room. The small padd in her hand clattered to the floor as she impacted against the wall opposite, a look of abject horror on her face.

Quietly, as if nothing at all was amiss, the double doors swished shut again.

"Tarin to Security!" she called out, jabbing angrily at her commbadge.

"Security here, go ahead ma'am." Though the XO was too furious to notice, the pleasant female voice on the other end of the line sounded more than a bit worried. It was never good when the XO called, especially when she was supposed to be off duty.

Iniara exhaled deeply before speaking again, trying to put the anger aside, trying to remind herself that the dispatch officer wasn't the source of her problems. No, she knew exactly who the source was, even if she didn't have a name or face to place with the designation he'd been given in Krieghoff's reports. The so-called 'Phantom' had struck again.

"I'd like to report an intrusion into my quarters," she continued, being careful to keep her voice level. Anticipating the woman's next questions she quickly continued, "Nobody is hurt, and the intruder is no longer present. However, my quarters are..." she paused, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "My quarters are...ah, you'd
best send Lieutenant Krieghoff if he's available."

"Aye, ma'am. A team will be there momentarily."

"Thank you." Iniara tapped her commbadge again, only half noticing the throb of pain as she did so. She was probably going to have a bruise there tomorrow. Not that it mattered...what mattered most now was...

Who in the name of the Prophets would do such a thing?

Sure, she'd read the reports she'd received from Krieghoff. She'd been appalled, even a bit shocked by them; while it appeared that the idea of someone defecating in various places aboard a ship was a practical joke that occasionally surfaced in Terran naval lore, to the best of her knowledge there had never been such an occurrence in
Betazoid or Bajoran military history. So, she hadn't really understood just how awful such a thing could be, not until now, when the latest expression of the Phantom's bizarre joke lay just through those double doors.

Her doors.

The anger welled up in her again, threatening to cross the line into barely restrained fury. How dare someone on this ship violate her personal area in such a fashion! And what sort of person would do this? Were they deranged, or mentally unstable? Were they trying to get back at the authority figures on the ship, fighting back against the 'system' in some strange way? And if so, what was the point?

Silent, she stared at the doors. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she could swear the foul stench was beginning to seep through the walls. Almost like the fumes were trying to break out, to get to their intended target to give her a friendly 'hello'.

After several moments a low growl escaped her throat, followed by a string of nearly unintelligible Bajoran curses. Iniara pushed herself off the wall and stepped toward the door. She found it ridiculous, being kept out of her own quarters because of the disgusting gift some wraiths-damned fool had left behind for her. And in the split second she'd been inside, she hadn't had much time to take stock of the situation. Iniara didn't have many personal effects inside her quarters, but if the Phantom had touched any of them...

Well, if he had, Iniara supposed she was going to have to fight Arel Smith for the right to disembowel the man when they found him.

Taking a second, deliberate step forward, Iniara passed within the range of the door's motion sensor. Still without a clue as to what they hid, the doors swished open once more. Iniara brought a hand to her face, trying in vain to shield herself from the wall of smell that forced its way out of the room and into the hall. Determined, she stepped closer, moving almost inside the room.

Iniara's eyes widened in amazement, then immediately narrowed as the pungent aroma caused her eyes to water. "Dis...gusting," she muttered as she scanned the room. The mess was everywhere...on the walls, the chairs, the tables, the bed...everywhere. From the sheer volume and consistency of it, it looked like the culprit had been saving the material for days. But, she knew from reading the reports that the last time he'd struck had been just yesterday...which put the volume at practically impossible levels. Could humans even produce that much waste in a day?

"Computer, lights, full illumination!" The computer, as unaware of the mess as the doors, complied instantly, the bright lights bathing the entire gruesome scene in harsh, unforgiving light. Iniara relaxed slightly as she saw that none of her few personal effects had been brought out into the open and...altered. Maybe she wouldn't have to challenge Smith after all, she thought as her eyes continued their sweep, moving from living room to bedroom to...

Her frown deepened noticeably; something had been written over the replicator alcove. The message used what looked like Terran letters, though they had smeared noticeably since initially being written. Though, if she concentrated enough, she could almost read...

"Eff...you...ja...Jaxom?"

A sound caught in her throat then as her body suddenly couldn't decide whether it wanted to scream, laugh, or just keep breathing normally. She hacked loudly and stumbled back into the hallway once more. Whoever had done this, whoever had taken that amount of time to send a message, inevitably forfeiting his career in the process, hadn't even bothered to get the correct room!

She didn't know if she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, or give in to the rage and tear this fool limb from limb. All that time putting together a message for Commander Jaxom, and he wouldn't even get to appreciate it! Lucky bastard!

Unless...

Iniara chuckled suddenly, the sound quickly gaining steam and transforming itself into raucous laughter. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she wrapped her arms around her sides, falling back against the wall as she gasped for air between loud cackles. Oh, how ridiculous this all was!

She reached up and tapped her commbadge once more. "Tarin to Commander Jaxom!" she squeaked out between giggles. Not caring whether he answered or what he thought of her bizarre disposition, she continued, "Can you come to my quarters please? There's something here you really must see."

"Wrong Pit Stop"

With

The Phantom Shitter
Public Enemy

In the bowels of the ship.................

It was infuriating! After all that preparation, the excess food, the laxatives, the bucket and brush...all at the wrong room. He had been so stupid! Of course there was still Lt. Commander Iniara. She was always the XO. But for some reason, he thought that the Trill would have taken that position when the Captain was incapacitated. No matter. He had other people to visit and leave gifts for.

For now, he needed to get back to his duties. But first a good long sonic shower...

****

Just over 14 hours later.........................

He wasn't so sure that the day's special was such a hot idea this time around. Nonetheless, things needed to get done. He reached his destination utilizing his usual route (the air vent and crawlspace system). He scanned to ensure that no one was home, and made his way into the officer's quarters in his usual fashion, again taking care not to leave any scuff marks or lasting prints. Let 'em work the hard way to figure out who he was. He still had another day or so before he would have to use his big surprise.

With a very large grin, The Phantom looked around the Fruna'lin's quarters. No wonder no one really liked the winged bastard. His caustic personality shows in his decor. I'll just have to put a little change in that, the Phantom snickered girlishly. He was really learning to enjoy himself. Now if he could just find somewhere prominent to leave his statement. It didn't take long for him to come up with a scrumtious idea.

When the replicator was finished, he placed the silver platter on a table closest to the door. Then after a few moments, was able to leave a nice heaping mound for that flying douchebag.

"Bon Appetit," the Phantom whispered.

[TBC]

"Speaking of K'aa"

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Chief Counselor

Lt. Chris Daniels
Acting Chief Tactical Officer

Sickbay

Counselor Elessidil had spent well over an hour already doing something he never imagined he'd be doing: poring through images of mushrooms from around the quadrant. "This is why I'm not a science officer," he muttered to himself more than once as the images and scientific names began to blur together into one endless stream of meaninglessness. Initially, it had seemed a reasonably straight-forward task -- have the computer supply images of all known species of spotted mushrooms or mushroom-like plants and then go through them to narrow down those that matched the mental image he had from K'aa and from there, decide which were most likely to be familiar to the Gorn or whatever he was.

Brian had been naive as to the enormity of the task and was now ready to gouge his eyes out for it.

Taking a break from his arduous task, he decided to turn to a more immediate source of information: Lt. Daniels. The walk from his office to sickbay went by almost without his noticing as he continued to think through everything he'd seen and heard from K'aa earlier. When he found the tactical officer's bed, he paused a moment to glance at the display of his vital signs to make sure he was in a condition to speak to him. It seemed he was.

"Lieutenant," he began in a low voice so as not to startle him, "how are you feeling?"

The voice woke Chris from a half-asleep state. For the last day and a half he had been laying in sickbay, letting the wonders of 24th century medicine work their magic. The display over his bed listed all the damage. An osteo-regenerative sleeve restoring the shattered wrist, medications to relieve the head trauma and level 2 concussion, blood transfusions, and dermoplast strips to work on replacing the skin that had been slashed out by K'aa's claws. The meds had kept Chris more or less asleep, which was a good thing, since had he been awake and fully alert, he would have probably gone stir crazy. As the haze cleared from his vision, he looked up and saw the Commander at the end of his bed and let out a sigh.

"Well, this buzzing sleeve thing feels pretty good." He lifted his arm, showing the metallic cuff humming away while it restored his wrist bones. "And it doesn't feel like I got run over by a train anymore, so I'd say I'm doing alright, sir. How's everyone else recovering?"

"Plenty of injuries to go around, not the least of which was the captain of course, but I think Kimberly's got everyone stabilized for the time being."

Chris nodded. "Well, I guess that's good." He tried to shift up in his bed and winced, as his rebuilt skin cells tugged against each other. "What can I do for you?"

"I understand you served pretty closely with 'Commander K'aa on the Miranda. I was wondering what you might be able to tell me about him, more personal impressions, the kinds of things that I can't just read out of a psych profile."

Chris tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Thinking about his old friend at this point wasn't a pleasant undertaking, considering most of his thoughts revolved around how to best use a chainsaw to remove K'aa's head from his body. After a few seconds, he started talking.

"The K'aa I knew...even though we were classmates and in the same field of study at the Academy, I didn't know him except by name. He kept to himself, but by all accounts he was very bright. When he showed up on the Miranda, the first impression I got was that this was a very sharp dude. It was obvious that he took a lot of pride in what he did. But it also didn't take to long to see that he was out to prove something, what it was, I could never figure out. He was social enough.. played a lot of poker, and we sat around and talked tactical stuff a lot. After a few weeks he started to open up and talk about non-work things, even showing a sense of humor. He worked like a madman...always. Always seemed like he was looking for a more important position.

After the Indy incident he seemed to self-appoint himself the ship's pariah, even though he never tried to ask forgiveness for what The Messenger did with his body.
Tended to brood a little more. But he was always a good friend to me, at least. We worked well as a team together and got the Miranda's tactical department through some rough times. I think the most obsessive I ever saw him was when we captured that Hydran fighter. It's like it became his life. But then, after the Miranda crew got broken up, he disappeared for a few months. Then when he showed up on Atlantis it was like he was a new person. Did very little work, brooded even more, and basically thought he could solve the Fleet's tactical problems by himself without help from anyone. Which led to some pretty strained relationships." He shook his head.

"The post-Miranda K'aa was most definitely not the same as the one I knew before. The one I knew would have never stood and done that monologue on the bridge, let alone the other things he did to his own crewmembers."

The counselor thought for a moment, making a mental note to closely review K'aa's service record. "And you know nothing of his whereabouts for those few months between his being assigned to the Miranda and then to Atlantis station?"

Chris thought for a minute. "No. When he finally showed up on the station, I asked him where he had been, but all he responded with was handing me a PADD with a bunch of Tactical data about T'Kith'Kin, Breen, and other threats we had in the sector." Chris shook his head. "That was about the time when he started saying pretty much how he was the only one who knew how to win the war...like he was a Tactical God or something."

"That sounds much like what we heard on the bridge," Elessidil agreed with a nod.
"Lieutenant, would you say K'aa at any time showed signs of being...religious in any way? Did he ever speak of personal beliefs or spiritual readings or practices of any kind?"

"Well, I know he studied a Native North American tribe--I'm not sure which. But, I don't even think K'aa himself was a religious person." Chris sighed and slumped his shoulders. "Even when he and I were good friends, he still kept a lot to himself. But I never heard him talk like he did on the bridge right before he attacked the Captain."

"Hm. Even if he subscribed to Native North American spiritual beliefs nothing I've ever heard about them would be in keeping with the behavior we've seen," Brian mused. He thought again for a second. "What about his interactions with people in authority? Would you say he got along well with his superiors? Did you ever know him to be either belligerent or resentful, or even perhaps on the other extreme, sycophantic at all?"

Chris looked down at his cuff for a moment, trying to think back. His headache made thinking all that more painful, but he tried his best to work around hit. "Well, he did have what I thought to be a little over-the-top reverence of Captain Summers...even before he was killed over Romulus."

Chris shrugged. "I dunno, I always thought he was a little more of a kiss ass than most. Like I said, he never seemed content with his job...always trying to move ahead while the rest of us were more concerned with being good at our jobs. Don't get me wrong, the man studied the trade like a madman...but sometimes it seemed like that was ALL he did. Fighting a ship's an art, y'know?"

Chris stopped himself, leaned his head back and took a breath. "Sorry, sir...is any of this helping?"

Brian put a reassuring hand on the Lieutenant's arm. "Very. I'm trying to fill in all the gaps in time and knowledge regarding Mr. K'aa and every bit of information I can get is helpful. I'm just going to ask one more thing before I let you get back to the rest you need. Do you know anything of K'aa's dietary habits? What did he like to eat or what kinds of things did he avoid eating? I know that might sound like a strange question but it is relevant."

It didn't take long for Chris to jump on this one, as the sickly memories of watching K'aa eat had stuck with him. "Raw meat. LOTS of raw meat. I'd watch him ingest
like 4 or 5 steaks at a time. He drank hot water, too, if I recall. Actually...those are really the only two things I've ever seen him eat...raw meat and hot water." He made a face showing his feelings towards that diet. "I suppose if you threw a salad at him he wouldn't be too happy."

"No, I don't think he would." Not the K'aa Daniels knew, at any rate. Brian wasn't sure about the one currently being held in the brig. "Thanks for your help, Lieutenant. You've given me some very useful information."

Chris gave a slight smile. "Glad I could help sir. I just wish it was from somewhere other than a hospital bed. Can I ask you for one thing?"

"Of course."

For a moment, Chris' eyes narrowed and he seemed more alert than at any point during the conversation. "When I get out of here, can I talk to the bastard?"

Sensing there was more to Daniels' request than the opportunity to catch up on old times, the counsellor paused before responding. "Why don't you wait for awhile, Lieutenant. It might be best if we all just let things cool off a little longer. Besides, I think it might be awhile before the K'aa you knew will be talking to anyone." ::But not for too long,:: he thought to himself, as he continued to add up the information he'd been gathering.

But for now they all would just have to take it one step at a time.

"De Ja Vu"

Part 2 of 4 - Making this a mini epic Dru! :)

Inspired by "ALTERNITY" recently posted by Dallas.

Previously: After helping to bring down the Hydran Gorn operative, Lt. Commander Darkstar succumbed to his multiple injuries and found himself in a coma. At his side was the ever faithful Leo Streely, wondering if he will regain consciousness. When Darkstar awoke, he found the world a very different place and rather then having Leo at his side, Raven found none other then the enigmatic Q.

Location: Sickbay

Time: After the recent attack

Darkstar swung his legs over the bio bed and caught a glimpse at his reflection in the mirror by the sink. He staggered slowly over and studied his image.

His hair was shorn in a crewcut and was flecked with gray. His face was older and more worn. He held up his hand and noted more scars then he had ever had.

Unable to mask his surprise, he turned to Q who was now grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

"Trust me." he said.

"What is this? Another one of your games?" Raven demanded.

Q looked taken aback and offended.

"Mr Darkstar, this is no trick and your shallow and narrow minded opinion of me masques you to the magnitude of what just happened."

"Send me back to the GALAXY." the Indian demanded, looming over Q and letting the unspoken threat hang icily in the air. "Now."

"Now is that any kid of way to repay someone that has just in essence saved your life?" Q asked, hands in the air as if to appear non threatening. Seeing confusion knitted firmly across Darkstar's brow, he stood up and offered the Indian his chair.

Raven stood firm as if his feet were rooted to the deck plates. Instead he just crossed his arms over his chest.

"Suit yourself. If you could put aside your bravado for a moment, I'll explain. Imagine the universe as one giant spider web. Millions of tiny strands criss (Not Chris!) crossing one another. Each one a different version of the universe that you know." Q said weaving his fingers together loosely.

"There are always what we in the continuum refer to as anchor time lines where the past present and future will always be what they are. These make up the framework of the cosmos and all the other possibilities in the universe stem from them. Do you follow me so far?"

Darkstar growled.

"If I wanted a lesson in temporal mechanics, I would have reenlisted in Starfleet Academy."

Q frowned.

"My son must have had incredible reserves of patience to communicate with you. I do believe you are even worse then Nyres of Bajor. Now if you could just keep your focus. Those tiny branch timelines that stem from the main anchors? Occasionally these ancillary timelines, these days of future past are so close to one another they give you that lingering feeling of Deja Vu. Like you had the very same conversation before. In fact, you did. Just not on the strand of the web that you call home." Q said holding two fingers so close that they almost touched. "You are just close enough to the other timeline to hear an echo."

Then he crossed them again.

"Every once in a while, the strands intersect and that's what happened in this case. Past and future crossed over."

"What does this have to do with me?" Darkstar said.

"Let me simplify it for you. In the future, you lead an away team to retrieve an item during the biggest war the universe has ever seen. You were shot and you died. In the past, you just battled a Gorn on the bridge of the USS GALAXY in the middle of the Triad War. You were badly damaged and on deaths door."

"At that very moment, the strands of the web intersected and I saw an opportunity. Do you remember after you wrestled the Gorn to the ground, when you saw the white light? Do you remember walking into the light?
You actually crossed from one strand to the next and into your future self. An alternate future actually. I would hate to think that this dreary landscape was what everyone had to look forward to."

"You are saying I went from the past into an alternate future?" Darkstar asked.

"With a little help, yes."

"Put me back."

"I can't." Q said with a shrug.

"Why?"

"Because I am no longer the Q that you know. Please. Perhaps you better sit down."

This time, the Indian did take a seat.

"In the future...or now shall I say your past, the Second Triad War will explode after a surprise attack on the Utopia Shipyards. Mounting losses throughout the fringes of the Federation force Starfleet to turn to our dear friend Admiral Bhrode, the only man who has been able to hold the line against the invaders. In what will become the most controversial moment in the war, Bhrode will be authorized to institute Protocol 34."

"Protocol 34?" Darkstar asked.

"Weapons of mass destruction. Some of the most lethal devices known to mankind. Super carriers such as this one we are on now are built to ferry hundreds of bombers and fighters . The end result was a sweeping victory for the federation but not without great cost. Worlds were sacrificed. Thousands perished. There was even a betrayal of one of their own. They did however emerge on the other side and as has happened throughout history, the victorious Admiral Bhrode was named President of the UFP. The Federation was so weakened and spent from the prolonged conflict, that they were unprepared for what came next. The Borg. Seeing the Federation in near ruins, the drones began an all out assault driving straight to the core worlds."

"Romulus was destroyed. The Vulcans vanished. Kronos was over run and now the Klingons are more a nomadic army then they were a sociaty. Earth has been occupied. President Bhrode, Starfleet Headquarters, The vaunted Academy all fell to the Borg. What's left of Earth is resisting. But the Borg are growing stronger and soon reinforcements will overrun the planet. When Earth finally falls, it will then only be a matter of time before the remnants of the United Federation of Planets is assimilated as well."

"And this...destruction. You just sit and do nothing?" Darkstar shook his head.

"I can't do anything. The threat of the Borg adapting and assimilating my people was too dangerous. I stayed behind and sealed the continuum. Being cut off from my people my power grows weak. It was all I could to bring you here so we would have a chance at turning back this apocalypse."

"How am I to do that? I am just one man." Raven said.

"My good man, in five days...... you Darkstar...... will be the one who walks into the mouth of the lion's den............... and brings back .................the Borg King!"

To Be Continued....

"Common Wounds"

Lt. Commander Adrian An'quinsos
Assistant Chief Counselor

Lt. JG Artim Shivar
Cheif of Life Sciences

Ever since he'd been a Counselor, Adrian An'quinsos hated the appearance of sterile walls. For someone who was born on a world full of life and warmth, the chambers belonging to the Counseling Staff always left him feeling cold and unwelcoming. Therefore is he was going to help people aboard a starship, and this room be like a second home, then those walls would reflect just who he was. As such, those walls were hung with elaborate tapestries and paintings depicting places and beings that had yet to grace the eyes of the United Federation of Planets; his office wasn't called the Counseling Department's Art Gallery for nothing.

Behind his desk once could see jagged, crystalline cliffs beings enhanced by the soft, though brilliant light of a diffuse nebula; the patterns were reflected and reflected again until it seemed as though the cliffs were carved from rainbows. To the right, spaceborne entities, seemingly humanoid and composed of pure light and marked on
their back by a set of wings, streaked across the heavens like the angels of old. The group of them appeared to be riding the 'waves' of a bluish-white star in the distance as though racing to the finish line. Beside that was countryside filled with flowers of every color imaginable beneath a crystal spire that towered elegantly in the heavens like an almost transparent obelisk; all of this was under the watchful eye of the bright parent star above.

On the ceiling (somehow accomplished without breaking his neck,) was an evening setting. A trinary family descended into the black depths, as the last rays of gold, topaz and crimson danced upon the quartz-sand shores like a gentle wave, the rest suffused into the planet's massive emerald rings casing to glow softly and casting the
remaining in a glow that radiated across the sky. Far above the horizon, three moons hung, piercing the darkening veil with their size alone while two smaller moons shimmered softly in the background to signify that they too were present.

To the left was a metropolis bustling with life, the buildings in perfect harmony around it as a great, crystal spire ascending majestically in the distance. What faces and clothing that were there immaculately detailed in truest form causing any onlooker to feel as though they were a part of the depiction. Beside it was a spectacular meteor shower, the pieces together creating a dazzling blanket of light in blues, greens, yellows, reds, and purples. In the middle of these pieces was an unknown world hanging in space with three silver satellites in the background. On the night side, a gentle aurora covered the planet from pole to pole, while on the day side were seen deep, blue oceans, dense forests, and large mountain ranges. Whomever the artist was, they knew what they were doing as this piece was distinctly intricate, created everything in perfect ration, and yet, did not overwhelm the onlooker.

As for the occupier of this office, he was lying flat on his back after unceremoniously falling off a ladder. In putting the last piece up, Adrian got a little ahead of himself, tripped, as was staring up at the ceiling for a moment or two. His only saving grace was when he looked back at the wall and saw it still up did a satisfied smile cross his face. Looking at everything from his location, he was presently satisfied and made notes to add one or two other things, like plants. This thought was interrupted by a chime, which found him wanting to get to his feet with a slight wince as he heard it.

"Come in."

Artim was not having a good day. He had helped out on the bridge with his knowledge of Starbeasts amongst other things but yet he was still having a bad day. Anyone would give what he'd just been through but there was one particular annoyance that had made his day ever slightly more miserable. One of his assistants, the Benzite Ardek, had been cowering in his quarters the better part of the day and it wasn't the Hydrans, the Starbeast, or even the threat of imminent death that had him freaked out. It was Artim that had him so scared he couldn't come to work and the Miran had no idea why. Hence why he was out in front of the office of the Galaxy's newest counselor ringing the chime.

As he entered Artim was quite...intrigued by what he saw. Less the counselor lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling, that wasn't horribly unusual. For all Artim knew he'd interrupted the man's midday nap. No, it was more the fact that one had to search for a square millimeter of empty wall space that wasn't covered with some sort of artwork. Most people only had one or two pieces of art on the wall and maybe a plant in the corner. Then again, most people didn't end up on the Galaxy so perhaps it wasn't so shocking. Still, Artim was quite intrigued at how it all seemed to...work.

After he'd moved into the office far enough that the counselor could see him, Artim looked down at him and said, "I'm sorry; did I come at a bad time?"

"Not at all," The El-Aurian replied without missing a beat and sat up; there was a slight wince on his face as he did so, but otherwise appeared fine. "Just looking at everything from a better vantage point." He got to his feet, looked at everything once more, then back at the ladder. "Of course, getting down there is another question
altogether."

Adrian approached the ladder, closing it up and setting down. Throughout this, he didn't give the Miran repeated looks, frowns, glances, double takes, or any other kind of gesture that might have indicated he was trying to figure this out. After all, one didn't typically find or see humans or humanoids that appeared below the age of sixteen serving aboard starships in any capacity whatsoever. Then again, Adrian wasn't human himself and so took no stock in apparent physical ages; his wife was just over five centuries in age and appeared to be in her early twenties and Adrian certainly didn't look his age… to typical eyes at any rate.

"So what brings you to my office?" He took a seat in one of the chairs there; his desk still had a little paperwork that needed finishing and would get to it later. "Besides the obvious of course."

Artim nodded and headed to another chair. As he settled in he responded to the question, "Well, you might think it would have been the carnage our least favorite lizard just dished out on the bridge but I've seen my share of bloodshed, destruction, and people whom I care for nearly dying in front of me. Comes with the territory around here and, well, can't say it doesn't bug me but it isn't what I'm here for. I'm here about Petty Officer Ardek, one of my assistants. He's locked himself in his
quarters and refuses to come out and apparently it's me he's scared of. I need all hands on deck right now to help figure these Starbeasts out quick."

Listening quietly, Adrian's hands came together in a relatively contemplative pose; his expression was thoughtful as he gazed toward Artim. Mind you, his brow did rise slightly and eyes flicker at the mention of an incident on the bridge, but not much else. He simply made a mental note to ask Brian about it when he had the chance. There was also the term 'Starbeast' he wanted to look up as well; being away from Federation Territory for four years really throws one out of the loop.

"Hmmm… well then, what were the events leading up to the actions of Petty Officer Ardek?"

"Well let's see," Artim started as he searched his memory, "Well when I got back after escaping Deep Space 5 by the skin of my teeth I'd found that our blue skinned friend had ruined an experiment I'd asked him to keep an eye on while I was on leave. Delicate one, hard to recreate. Anyway I did sort of blow up at him...in the lab...in front of everyone. I've tried to avoid him since then since he tends to get a bit jittery around me. I even changed my bridge shifts to make it work. I've tried to apologize but, well, guess it didn't work."

The contemplative prose remained as Adrian listened intently to Artim's words. His eye didn't leave the other officer until toward the end, when they fell slightly, face etched in an expression that suggested more of a pensive aspect to his features. Running the words in his head back and forth he glanced back over at the Miran.

"It's possible that your shift change has increased his anxiety; you're willingness to make things work might be interpreted by him as a feeling of dislike and repulsion. It's a probability that chewing him out in front of everyone was possibly an excruciating experience for him, perhaps more so than for either of us. Benzites are known for showing a sincere eagerness to please and it's likely whatever he did
was his way of trying to please you." He frowned thoughtfully, and then continued. "So, what was your interpretation of keeping an eye on it? Look but no touchie? Do you know how he interpreted your words?"

"Hmm. Good point. It's quite possible I simply got so angry that I forgot how sensitive he might be. What I asked him to do was monitor the environmental conditions my samples were growing in. Without boring you with a twenty minute science lecture, he basically thought he'd found a more ideal setting and made the change without asking me. So yeah, it was mostly an eyes only assignment. I dunno, perhaps I've just become a more… aggressive person the past year. So much stuff
happening and all."

Adrian smiled a little at the comment about a science lecture, and then grimaced a little when he heard what Petty Officer Ardek had done. However, he also nodded; the Counselor was a rather calm and patient person, but even his tolerance level had limits. His 'long discussion' with Captain Strider aboard the Stormwarden concerning his actions with the Vorenedians was one of them. He could never understand sometimes the impetus that young Captain's possessed when they believe they know a better way around things than you do. A feeling of understanding played softly upon Adrian's face as he looked back at Artim.

"Tell me about it… please."

Artim briefly considered using his usual evasion tactics when it came to answering questions he didn't feel like talking about. He'd become quite the master of getting around such questions, particularly when it came to counselors. Over the past century some of the best counselors in the Federation had tried to get the Miran to open up
about his past and failed. He really didn't want to answer this question either but, well, for a change the person asking was at least half his age. For that at least he deserved at least part of an answer.

"Well, as you know many suffer during war and while I got lucky in most of the ones I've lived through, this one hasn't been as kind. I've been wounded twice, possessed by a whiny proto-Romulan katra, and lost the one person who actually loved me for who I was and not because I was a cute little kid. Yeah, I had a girlfriend, a Romulan
no less. Each time I've thought I'd gotten over the last thing when something else struck from nowhere. I thought I was strong enough to deal with it all...guess that may not be the case after all."

To Adrian's credit, he had never opened Artim's file, or any other file for that matter. Those things had thier place, in psychological evaluations and/or before a counseling session. In many aspects this was a part of his racial character; a series of alphanumerics told him nothing, rather it was the person who told him everything, something deeply embedded within his El-Aurian nature. He could find out more through observation, and especially, listening- the trademark signature of his race- than files could tell him. If Adrian wanted to be subtle, it was within his total capability to do so. However, this wasn't a patient or even someone in for a counseling session. This person was here for someone else… and who knows… just to talk. Even Counselors need someone unload their troubles upon, even the El-Aurian ones every once in a while

"Humans have numerous sayings, thoughts and proverbs passed down to them over the millennia." He pursed his lips thoughtfully before continuing. "One in particular goes, it's not the load that breaks you down, it's the way you carry it. You've seen a lot, you've done a lot, you've faced a lot and you probably have the T-shirt; and that's just experiences within the past few years. I don't care how many decades, centuries or millennia a person is, sometimes…" His eyes carried a look of self reflections before moving forward. "Sometimes you need someone in your life that can help get you through this whether it is family, friends, or just a confidant to talk with."

"My father and most of my family were killed when the Borg destroyed my Homeworld. I was withdrawn and the only thing that stopped me from walking out the nearest airlock was my siblings. They understood my loss; it was something we all shared and eventually learned to accept." He shrugged a little. "Regardless, they were there for me; I couldn't shoulder all that weight by myself… I needed a lot of help."
"Well I didn't have anyone for three hundred years and I got through it just fine." Artim's voice seemed casual, almost callous as he replied. Then he realized something. Something was happening that he'd never ever felt before. It was a feeling he hadn't had in years, decades, perhaps even centuries. He was feeling like he wanted to open up to this El Aurian and it was a bit frightening to him.

"Sorry, I...overreacted. We both had our worlds destroyed and have had to live with that. You...you got to leave though...I had to stay. I had to stay and watch it...I had to live in the world we created...and I had no one. No one I could talk to about that time...that place...until now. Well, I had Valera but she's gone now. But anyway...no time for that now. We both have work."

For a brief moment in time he was suddenly reminded as to why his race never shared their stories and experiences with others. They were but small glimpses; doorways into an El-Aurian's soul where they hid their most precious and invaluable possessions to be shown only to other El-Aurians or close friends. Maybe that was his mistake; he may have been an adult, but Adrian was still incredibly young for a member of his race. Still, the words were stung deep; Adrian said nothing, only gazed back upon the Miran in unfettered reticence.

That reticence began to die some as he listened once more, nodding to the apology. While he would never say it aloud, there was a wanting; he wished he could go back id but for one last time to experience once last sunrise and sunset. But then such a thing wasn't possible… except within a Holodeck or the intervention of higher powers, of which was refused the last time that offer was made. The humanoid male listened to Artim's words, the feeling of reticence dying away, replaced by an expression of genuine understanding and finally a nod.

"Yes… we both have work." He repeated thoughtfully and continued. "Remember what I said about Petty Officer Ardek… it might help. And… if you ever just want to talk, just too talk, I'm always around."

"Yeah, I will...and thanks. You've been a great help. And we really should talk sometime...unofficially. Well...bye.", Artim turned to leave and for once was actually disappointed to be leaving a counselor's office. What was going on with him?

"What about some kudos?"
(Takes place not long after 'Holding it in')

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Cadet Paige Sullivan

--

The engineers could not have escaped faster. The minute it became clear that the force fields would hold the methane atmosphere, they disappeared like roaches in a newly illuminated motel room.

She tried to contact Lieutenant Krieghoff, but couldn't get a hold of him. The yeoman in security who Paige had left a message with muttered something that sounded like 'shit, shit everywhere', but the cadet figured she didn't really want to know and just let it go without further inquiry. She thought about contacting Eshe, but given the expression on the other woman's face when she got the comm and the length of time she'd been gone -- to sickbay no less -- Paige figured that the chief engineer had other stuff going and that if she could be there she would be already.

So, not sure whether or not it would be appropriate for her to leave -- even though, technically, her shift had been over for some four hours now -- Paige had settled on a large, newly empty gel-pack storage case and pulled her Quantis [electronic music player] out of her utility pack. She lay there on the hard gray duraplastic, staring up at the ceiling, listening to her most recently uploaded music selections.

She was, needless to say, completely oblivious to everything else going on around her.

That is until a cold sense of dread crept up on her. She startled, and her sudden movement caused her to fall off the storage case onto the cold hard cargo-bay floor with a loud 'oof'. It knocked the wind out of her and she coughed to catch her breath as she pushed herself up and peered over the edge of the crate.

Victor stood there looking... annoyed might be the best description. Paige plucked the earbuds from their place. She was about to say something innocuous -- boring, trite, cliche. At the very least, something safe.

But what came out instead was, "Zular, man, you smell halla *VARD*." Complete with nose wrinkle.

"I've smelled worse," Victor allowed. There had been the time he chased a Lurian into DS9's waste reclamation tank, for instance. "You should see the other guy." That was actually a thought worth considering. The Phantom was going to be running through showers and cleansing wipes like there was no tomorrow -- perhaps he could be tracked that way. "I gather you finished up?"

Paige blinked at him. The other guy?

"The other guy?" Her expression turned into one of complete disgust. She shook her head, not wanting any additional details. "And, yeah, finished, I think. Maybe. I hope... I thought you'd probably want to check and make sure that it's all secure and all that you wanted." She looked out over the reorganized cargo bay. "The engineers scattered as soon as the pods-- cells-- sections? Filled without leaks. I don't know how I'd get 'em all back, but I think I can probably fix any issues because, well, it'll probably be on my stuff anyway. Uhm. So..." She looked toward the control panel.

For some reason, at that moment she thought about how hungry she was and realized that she couldn't remember when she last had something to eat. She was a little disgusted by that thought, especially given the smells drifting around the room, but nonetheless, her stomach offered a quiet growl.

"What kind of operational testing did you put the fields through besides making certain that they'd hold an atmosphere?" Victor frowned. "And when was the last time you had something to eat? Cadets, contrary to popular myth, do not run on caffeine and sugar alone."

"Nah, keppa -- I had a zeffin breakfast." Yeah, which she'd expertly tossed up into the bridge toilet. Sigh.

"I ran several power tests, including surge and failure simulations. I also tested various different stressors: interior and exterior contact, pressure fluctuations, atmospheric failures, B-NGPR death... I have the full reports, here..." She handed him a PADD. "But the bottom line -- the magic number for each cell is eight. Nine, if you really have to and one of the prisoners is small. When taking into consideration the mass and energy output of the slightly above-average Hydran soldier, the field, if operating under low power, will be able to withstand up to nine points of contact -- add a tenth and security has a lot to handle. One of the side affects of the modifications I had to pull on the gel-packs is that the field runs cold. I don't really know why, I'm going to have to research it. It's not a big deal at all, but it will cause the field to look a little different than you're used to."

"How different?" Victor asked as he scanned the PADD. "The number on detainees per cell is fine, but is there visibility loss due to the appearance shift?"

"No, there shouldn't be; I mean, maybe a percent or two. But really, it'll just appear a little bluer when it's assaulted. It'll be like looking through one of those blue tinted glasses, but you'll still be able to see everything."

She saw his expression and wrinkled her nose before pulling off her shoe and chucking it at one of the cells. The force field hissed as it protested against the assault, doing exactly what she said it would.

Well within acceptable limits," he agreed. "A bit hard on your boot, but other than that, I think it will do."

"I mean -- I can try to fix it, but it'll take a while. And you said there wasn't a whole lot of time."

"No need to fix it, it' fine," he assured her. "Now, since I haven't made it to that point in the report you've compiled, how did things go as far as setting up a system to prevent escapes? Lieutenant Eshe said something about as setup to evacuate the hold into space?"

Paige blew hair from her face as she hobbled over and picked up her boot -- slightly singed, she probably needed to replicate a new one. Or at least get this one shined. She plopped on the floor to pull it on as she answered the lieutenant's questions.

"Well, as long as the cells aren't jammed up past capacity, it shouldn't be something we need to worry about," Paige said.

Frankly, while she understood the reasoning behind it, she thought the entire idea of flowing them out into space was barbaric and contrary to what the Federation stood for. They were sentient too, after all; and weren't the protected by a half dozen POW laws? But she supposed she was naïve and inexperienced.

"But, the engineers put in place an emergency override system. It ties in with the transporters and'll pull out all the Starfleet personnel in the room before opening the holds. We reinforced the airlock doors that lead into the ship, so in the little amount of time between the escape and the, uhm. Vooosh." She made a motion with her hands to represent the Hydrans being sucked out into space. "The ship shouldn't be threatened."

She wrinkled her nose, scratching the tip with an index finger as she watched Krieghoff nod, inspecting the cells. She drew a deep breath.

"I only made sure they did it because Lieutenant Eshe said to and she's the chief engineer and a ranking officer and besides, she really creeps me out," Paige said. "But I think it's horrible. I mean. I understand why, but I think there's gotta be another way, you know?

Maybe it's humane compared to how they'd treat us, but space-death isn't... it's like sinking toward their level. And... with the size of the cells and the size of the room, even if half of them were able to escape, somehow, which isn't likely... there wouldn't be enough atmosphere. They'd be easily subdued before they could even try to free any others. It just gives me the eebies."

Victor looked up from his inspection. "It's unlikely to be necessary," he agreed. "And if the sheer number of potential prisoners was smaller, or if they were all soldiers, I'd have never agreed to it. But we're almost certainly going to be getting shipboard crewmen off the damaged hulks. That means Hydran engineering personnel, Hydran Operations personnel, Hydran Intelligence personnel, and everything else that we've got aboard our ships. Think about it for a moment -- would any setup we could put together in the time given hold a collection of the Galaxy's best engineers, operations, sciences, and security personnel for any length of time?" He nodded towards the doors. "That's why the setup with the doors. We won't use it, because we won't have to. They'll be told about it, they'll stare at the doors and study them, and they'll conclude that we do have the capacity to eject them into space -- and not push us hard enough to make that happen."

The cadet listened, smoothing fly-away bangs as she did so, eyes studying the structures she'd helped to craft and the technology that she'd manipulated to drive it. She tried to put herself in this situation, tried to image being held as a prisoner of war, shoved into a cell with a half dozen of her crew members, tried to think of what she would do. She'd listened to stories, to testimonials, to the lectures that were held at the Academy -- how to survive such a situation, what others had done. They were required now, what with the current political situation (which Paige hadn't followed and probably wouldn't have understood if she tried).

But all she could think of was how terrified she would be. She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't even a security guard. She'd never fired a phaser at anything more than a velocity disk. She wasn't sure she'd have the wherewithal to function, much less attempt escape.

"But... I mean, it's great to say that," she said. "That we'd never use it. But at the Academy, they talk about it being your duty to attempt escape and, after that, sabotage if you're captured in battle. Good of the many, even if it seems hopeless. I gotta think that the Hydrans would have similar ideology. So we say that we wouldn't use this, that it's last resort but... what if they don't care? What if it doesn't matter what the odds are, what if they don't believe it or what if they think they can do something else, what if... I mean, what if they try it anyway?"

"If they do?" Victor shrugged. "Then I'll simply have anesthetic gas pumped into the hold, and snatch the ringleaders out by transporter for separate confinement. The only way those doors are being opened is by direct order of the CO -- nothing less."

Paige thought about this for a moment.

She knew about Captain M'Kantu, of course -- his career, his nature, the way he approached situations. In her orientation files she was given a general biography and declassified-version service jacket. Besides that, while M'Kantu wasn't quite a living legend, he was certainly a known figure in the Fleet; it was just like while the Galaxy wasn't exactly the Enterprise, it was still considered one of the more prestigious active-duty ships. She was confident that for M'Kantu, such action would be the last possible resort.

BUT, Captain M'Kantu was in sickbay, dying -- or at least, paralyzed. Some of the rumors said he was already dead and they just didn't want to tell anyone, and others said that he'd never really been M'Kantu at all but he was a Hydran spy and... Paige didn't believe a lot of it, but she did know that regardless, the XO was in charge, and not only did Paige have no idea what 'Commander Iniara would do in any situation, the cadet couldn't even pronounce the woman's name.

"Okay," she said. "And I guess it's not really my place to ask anyway, is it?" She looked up at the dark, imposing security lieutenant, smiling slightly, and trying to mask her fear and reluctance, her doubts. "I'm just a cadet. I'm here so I can learn this stuff. Reality and everything."

"Of course it's your place, cadet," Victor returned. "How can you be expected to learn if you don't ask questions? Most cadet cruises aren't like this one is shaping up to be for you -- the stakes aren't this high, and the missions not this critical -- but you still have to ask the questions, or all this time is, in a sense, wasted. The one of the things that you'll have to learn, that you're learning right now, is when and how to ask the questions when you need answers later on in your career." He turned and looked at the cells for a moment. "Not everyone will react the way I am to questions like that, or to your expressing sentiments of that nature. Some will be belligerent, some will be angry, some will want to debate you on the topic -- but most will simply want the job done well, done quickly, and done without a lot of non-essential conversation."

"All of that said," he continued, "I'm not any of those people. I have the time to answer your questions, the willingness to attempt it, and enough understanding of the issues involved to know why you need to ask them. As for the answers you need?" He smiled slightly. "You're the one that needs to decide that."

She nodded slowly, unsure what else to do as she processed his encouragement.

"I wish you were in operations," she found herself murmuring, "you're so much easier to talk to than my lieutenant. He doesn't want to teach, he just wants to supervise and treat us like slaves there to do his dirty work." Her mouth tightened to one side of her face as she looked at him again. "So thanks, I guess, for taking the time and not biting my head off."

"Personally, I try not to yell at anyone below the rank of Commander," Victor offered. "So far, that's worked for me pretty well, but you might want to start with a smaller ceiling... say Lieutenant. And pick your moments carefully; most Commanders will stop and stare if a junior officer does that, which gives you time to make your case and escape punishment. But Lieutenants, well, we're in that awkward stage where we're vacillating between being officious snots or real officers, so we tend to take things like that more seriously. Present company accepted, of course." He indicated the stain on the front of his tunic. "Just remember that not all officers are afraid to get dirty."

She couldn't help but grin at the advice-- and the man offering it.

"I'll try," she said. And then her stomach growled, loudly. She clasped her hands over it, blushing a slight pink. "Uhm. If you think it's all okay, I should probably go get something to eat," she stated, "and you could probably use a shower."

"Go, eat," he waved a hand. "You did a very good job in a short time while working with a difficult situation and even more difficult people -- not many cadets would have done so well. I need to get some security personnel down here and post them, and then we'll start moving people out of the Brig to here via transporter. *Then* I get to go find that shower."

She nodded as she gathered up her kit and snapped it closed before she stood up and looked at him.

"Good. Shout if anything need adjustment," she said as she backed away toward the door, "and just be sure you don't go see your girlfriend until you find that shower, okay?"

The doors opened and she twisted around, all but skipping through them. Paige grinned like an idiot all the way to ten forward.

She didn't blow up the ship.

And Victor Kreighoff said she'd done a good job.

"Crossed…"

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe
Chief Engineer

(Set after "Holding it in" Pt 2)

***USS Galaxy, Deck 12, Sickbay***

Position Two.

Position two is known as the Crossing card. Apt it is for that card to be one from the suit of Cups. For Cups signifies our hearts, our feelings, our emotions…

Dhanishta's hands trembled, blood stained and cold, dead cold, like the ones she clasped tightly to her breast, believing that her warmth, the warmth from herself could be transferred through that action alone, that the blood which had drained from the face of the mirror image before her might be replenished if only her chilled hands would accept the heat, warmth and love, and make it her own…

Everything had unravelled in that moment. Her life's actions, her choices, all bore down upon her, into her and penetrated her core with their undeniable truth. Every action had a consequence, this she knew; this everyone knew. But no one could predict what that consequence would be.

Would any of us do anything ever if we knew the outcome?

Would we arise from our beds on a morning, knowing how our actions throughout that day would affect another?

The Ripple Theory.

Not just a theory, but fact.

Simplistic, yet profoundly deep.

Toss a stone into a river and watch what happens.

Then contemplate upon this:

You are that stone.

And one thing, just 'one' thing you did or said, created that reaction.

See how far those ripples spread.

See now all the lives that you have affected with one act alone.

And tell me now that you'd still get out of bed.

The scene replayed before her eyes, whether open or closed, it was almost relentless; as relentless as the guilt she felt weighing down her shoulders, forcing her chin to her chest with regret, filling her heart with unbelievable sorrow.

The stains on her skin could be washed away, the burns in her uniform could be repaired; they could be patched if the need arose. But it was more likely that the uniform would be tossed, like ones previous, into the recycler and another produced, another clean, pressed, shiny uniform without a speck of lint or dirt, without any mark or sign of what had transpired.

But those images could not be erased from her heart, her soul or her mind. No, those would replay, those she would analyse for many a night to come, many a day to follow and in every spare second that her concentration lapsed and her mind found its way back to this moment and those before – like a well trodden game path it would return to these hunting grounds – hunting her sanity, hunting her resolve, hunting her conscience: committed to break it, to tear it apart in repossession.

Through the haze in Engineering she had looked up upon hearing that voice. That voice that had tugged her heart strings, caused her steady hands to waver and tremble, for she had seen what would follow seconds before it did. One might call this clairvoyance, but it was not some divine intervention, nor was it some sort of future vision. She knew what would happen next, for it was inevitable. It was the law, the laws of physics and mechanics, the rules of engineering. There was a power build up in the transfer systems, the EPS grid was failing and the only way to try and resolve it was to check the EPS Taps, and that… well that was suicide. And Kala had volunteered, and there was nothing that Dhanishta could do to stop her.

Or was there?

That would be the question that remained for a life time. Or at least until Kala woke up… if she woke up… she is going to wake up, isn't she?

It was a desperate thought, from a desperate woman, who was trying against all odds to hold herself together, to not break down and let it all out, not just yet at any rate.

For these were the things that she held dear. Emotional control. And these were the things she had to let go in order to move on.

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

The Crossing Card.

Emotions.

Emotion: dictionary definition – '(noun) - a strong feeling about somebody or something.'

Feelings.

There are ten different concepts to that one word alone; 1. sense of touch, 2. ability to have physical sensation, 3. something experienced physically or mentally, 4. something felt emotionally, 5. affection, 6. ability to express emotion, 7. impression sensed, 8. instinctive awareness, 9. instinctive understanding or talent, 10. expressive ability.

Feeling is a noun.

Dictionary definition – noun - a naming word: a word or group of words used as the name of a class of people, places, or things, or of a specific person, place, or thing.

How is it then, that Vulcans could suppress such things as nouns?

Lateral thinking, flat, no depth… emotionless…

The Five of Cups:

'The card of the Five of Cups portrays the aftermath of Psyche's betrayal of Eros. Her sisters have stirred her fears to such an extent that she has broken her promise to her husband and lit a lamp to see his sleeping face. Here we see Psyche standing distraught before the empty nuptial couch, the lamp in one hand, the other hand reaching in desperation towards the departing figure of Eros which can be glimpsed disappearing behind the marble columns of their beautiful palace. In the foreground, four cups lie overturned, their contents spilled over the floor. A fifth cup remains standing, still intact beside them.'

"Lieutenant Eshe?"

The soft voice of Nurse Arrietty broke the replay of the last few hours that was on auto repeat in Dhanishtas head. She turned her red rimed unseeing eyes towards the nurse.

"We're done here now." Arrietty told Dhanishta, carefully watching her, trying to ascertain what was going through the engineers mind as she began to pack away her equipment. She had drawn as much blood as she could for the moment. Dhani would have to come back later and donate some more, for she was the only compatible blood donor for her twin. It was lucky for Chandrakala that she was on the Galaxy, Arrietty hated to think what would have happened if she was elsewhere.

Dhanishta nodded numbly, her right had still clutching her sisters to her chest, tears stemmed in her eyes, denied the privilege to fall and streak her cheeks.

"Thank you." Dhanishta whispered hoarsely. She waited a beat, and then two before turning her face back towards Kala's. Once Arrietty was out of her peripheral vision she allowed herself to blink.

Two fat drops fell.

Slowly, stiffly, only now feeling the extent of her own bruises, Dhanishta stood, gently resting her sister's hand and arm back onto the bed where her unconscious form rested, cocooned in some form of coma… one that Dhanishta knew she had created when she bribed death to let her twin live.

Once more her head hung low.

Consequences were a bitch.

(Descriptions of the tarot card Five of Cups, the positions and meanings of the ten cards of the Celtic Cross Spread taken from: 'The Mythic Tarot' written by Juilet Sharman-Burk and Liz Greene.)

"This Mortal Coil"

Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

****
USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Brig

Both eyelid and nictitating membrane snapped open with an audible 'pop' and shakily, the Gorn breathed in to draw a full lungful of air for what seemed to be the first time in hours, exhaling slowly before repeating. Still lying curled on the brig floor, K'aa looked at the back of the cell but knew who had entered... and why.

Another deep breath.

Another shudder.

"I've been expecting you... Lieutenant Krieghoff."

Victor considered the massive form as it lay on the floor for a moment, and then waved the Brig attendants back to the end of the cell row. The Security chief nodded, ushered the junior rating back with him, and gratefully took up position where they could see Victor down the corridor that allowed access to the cells.

Victor watched them pull back to a distance where his aura wouldn't affect them, nodded once to the chief in recognition of his decision to follow procedure and keep Victor under observation at all times before turning back to the cell. He didn't have authorization to turn off the recorders, but didn't care if anyone reviewed them. Let them gain what information they could from the files - that wasn't why he was here.

"You were expecting me?" he asked quietly.

"Oh yesss... quite certainly", the reptilian offered slowly while remaining absolutely still. "Outrage hasss come to me in the form of Jim Corgan. Disssbelief in the form of my good friend Jaal sssoon followed." K'aa's breathing slowly became deeper and more consistent as he adjusted to consciousness. "Death isss a natural progression given my actionsss, wouldn't you agree?"

"Perhaps," Victor agreed. "Certainly there is no shortage of individuals that might want to see that sentence carried out at the moment and I have no doubt that more will follow, making the list larger on a daily basis. But that's a normal reaction, at least for humans. They want someone to pay for what they perceive as real or imagined crimes or injustices that harm them or the ones they care about physically, emotionally and spiritually." He shrugged. "By and large humans are a bloody-handed lot, despite the trappings of civilization." He studied K'aa for a moment before adding, "But then, you already know that, don't you?"

The Gorn snarted, and a thin stream of vapor wafted from his nostrils into the cell's cold air. "Indeed", he growled. "Little hasss changed from the time of your Roman Empire, Lieutenant. The masssesss demand their bread, wine and circussses, and fear the mob when they are denied it. A weak culture, wallowing in extravagance of artificial, synthetic pleasssuress while turning a blind eye to the sssufferingsss of other, lesss fortunate peoplesss. Sssoft. Weak. But there are... exceptionsss."

"There always are," Victor agreed. "Although I think that you're overstating the weakness of the human condition. Just because most people are sheep, doesn't make them evil - it just makes them sheep."

"Agreed, but sssheep have their purposssesss", K'aa hisssed softly. "If one objectsss to the direction of the flock, blame the shepherdssss... particularly if there are wolvesss amongssst them, eh Lieutenant?"

"There are always wolves, Commander." Victor crouched down to put himself more on a level with the reclining Gorn. "There always have been, and there always will be. Just like there have been, and always will be, shepherds. That's true for every race anyone has ever encountered; even the Borg have their Queen directing them. Sometimes they're good shepherds, sometimes bad, and most often, simply average.
That's true for all races, too." He tilted his head to one side as he watched the Gorn. "But you know that already as well."

K'aa shivered from something other than the cool temperature of the cell's air. "Yessss", he hissed at length. "All too well. Ssso - from one wolf to another, Lieutenant - what quessstionsss do you wish to asssk, or shall we wax further poeticssss on the nature of leader and follower?"

"A wolf? Me?" Victor shook his head, "Oh no, Commander., not me. Wolves are social animals, you see. They form packs, and develop a sense of community that pervades everything they do: hunting, killing, raising families... all of it as a group unit. I'm not like that – I don't work well in a group, no matter what the reason. Even when I'm willing to, the others for the most part aren't; they'll never be able to interact with me without knowing, on an instinctual level, that I'm not one of them, that I'm not a sheep or a wolf, but something else, something... alien. A better analogy would be that I'm a tiger, I think." He nodded towards K'aa. "They have an analogue for tigers where you come from, don't they?"

The reptilian's single eye turned to look at Krieghoff's crouched form. "Ssssomething like one, yessss...."

"I thought they would, Commander. Everyone has an apex predator that's a solitary, extremely territorial hunter. The names are different, of course, but the ecological niche is the same. Even when you're talking about sentients, and not animals, the rules of ecological diversity demand it - civilized sentients, are, by and large, sheep that want to be protected and cared for, to have their needs provided for them. Just as most civilized sentients are sheep, some are wolves that prey on them... but sometimes, sometimes you get someone that isn't a wolf. Sometimes you get a tiger." Victor smiled, and for a moment, he wasn't Victor any more, but some thing else, something primal that waited for everyone at the end of their days. "Or you get me." He held the smile for a moment longer, and then wiped it away in an instant, becoming again only Victor. "So, we're clear on that, now, are we?"

The Gorn's nictitating membrane slid quickly over the reptilian's large globular eye as he looked at the human. "Crysssstal... Lieutenant. And for what it'sss worth... you have my sssympathy."

"Sympathy, Commander?"

"Assss you sssay Lieutenant, the wolf hasss the pack", K'aa said as he settled back down onto the floor and gazed once more at the back of the cold cell. "The sssolitary hunter, while more capable asss a ssolitary hunter, cannot match the efficienct of the pack... or the mob. Packsss of leaf-eating humansss barely above the bronze age
brought the tiger to extinction on your world, yesss? Three generationsss brought low an evolutionary development ssspanning hundredsss of thousandsss of yearsss. Tell me, my friend - what would have happened to the tiger if humanity hadn't developed sssomething of a ssselective conscience?"

"It would have died out," Victor replied. "Everything does, sooner or later."

"Then there isss you", K'aa continued. "How do we truly classsify you? One who runssss with both pack and flock, but isss neither wolf, sheep or shepherd? My sssympathy isss that you are truly alone in thisss... part of life. Any tendernessss an act, any intimacy a lie. Should othersss know the truth of you, you would passs through exissstence alone, unloved, and unmourned. Only your duplicity preventsss thiss, and if you accept thisss condition without sssadnesss...." Lying on his side, the Gorn managed a shrug only with some difficulty. "Then your life issss hollow, and the world will be better without you."

"I might have agreed with you, once," Victor replied, "but not now. I know what I am, Commander, and I've made my peace with it. So there's no more sitting around, feeling sad because no one cares about me, or because I can't have this or can't know that. That doesn't solve anything, and it doesn't change anything, either. You have to change what you can, find the joy that you can where it is offered, and revel in the fact that there's joy to be found at all. Life can't be lived in a dream; it has to be lived in the here and now." He smiled, without menace this time. "And because I tried, because I'm not still sitting in the dark staring at the stars, there are people that care
about me now, as friends and as... more than friends. I might not have the social existence of a wolf, and I will never *not* be what I am - but I'm only limited by the boundaries that I set on myself, not the ones that were set on me at birth."

"Darkness offersss me comfort at presssent, Lieutenant", K'aa rumbled, his basso voice weighed down with the temperature. "It makess your image difficult to sseee... thankfully, more ssso than usssual." The Gorn turned his large head once more, looking at Krieghoff with a glare not fueled my hatred or malice. "Asss for dreamsss, the onesss I have for life are far, far from fruition. Dreamsss insspire greatnesss, and fuel great deeds assside from ssspawning fear of the unknown... and other thingsss. Dreamsss offer comfort from the cold, and sssooth the sssoul in timesss of duressss. In that, I am more like the ressst of your ssspeciesss than yourssself. Peculiar, issn't
it?"

"No, I don't think so. All people, regardless of outward appearance or inward biology have dreams. Some individuals dream larger than others, true, but that's more of an individual variation than a special or societal trait. If my dreams are less grandiose than yours, then they simply are less grandiose, not less significant. Everyone's dreams are critical, even if only to the dreamer himself." Victor continued to study K'aa, head tilted to one side. "So what do you dream of, Commander? What vistas unfold for you when you close your eye and let consciousness slip away?"

Another snort from the Gorn sent a blast of vapor against the cell's far wall. He raised his thick left arm and opened a claw as if to cradle somethimg within it.

"Ah... for in that sssleep of Death, what dreamsss may come, when we have shuffled off thissss mortal coil, mussst give usss paussse. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life, For who would bear the whipsss and scornsss of time, Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man'sss contumely, The pangsss of despised love, the law's delay, The insssolence of office, and the spurnsss That patient merit of
th'unworthy takesss"

K'aa lowered his arm, shivering once more. "What I dream of isss Darkness Missster Krieghoff... I fear it almossst asss I much asss I fear you; but your gift at leassst will relassse me from thisss darknesss... and I will bathe in a warm, pure light of the righteousss when it isss all over. Isss that why you are here?"

"No, Commander, not today. Today I'm here to talk, to try and understand who you are. They caught you already, you see. If you were loose and roaming around the ship, then yes, I would kill you... but that's against the rules now." Victor smiled. "I always try to follow the rules; doing that keeps me from becoming what everyone secretly fears I already am." He pointed at K'aa's remaining eye. "But I didn't know who you were, you see, and that's important."

"How sssso?" the reptile hissed.

"Because, Commander," Victor said softly, his voice filling the cell until it seemed to press in on the Gorn from every side, the words like cold scalpels of ice that flayed away scales to expose the nerves underneath them, "there are worse things than simple death. In your case, you've now told me what that is - and there's nothing in the
rules about dreams. So that, I think, is what I'll do instead of killing you: I'm going to kill your dreams, and leave you alive to see them go down into ruin and ashes in front of you. Then we can talk about death. Or not."

K'aa began to shake, and a thunderous cough came from deep in his abdomen. At first, Krieghoff assumed that the Gorn was having some sort of fit, but soon he came to see it for what it really was. Laughter. "Or not... I think", he said at last when the shaking subsided. "Oh yesss, my friend - there are worssse thingsss in sspace
than Death. Far worsssse. They, in part, fuelll the dreamssss I am terrified of - but you needn't worry... if you are curiousss, sssimply bide your time Lieutenant. We'll sssee who'sss people fall to ruin and ashesss!"

"Everything dies, Commander," Victor agreed. "Dreams, people, cultures, planets, stars, galaxies, even universes - they all go down to ruin and ashes in the end. That's just the way things work; entropy always wins. It's how we take a stand against entropy that defines us, the way that we choose to oppose it that gives us meaning. Humans have always been good at that, even before we came to the stars. We fight
and we fight and we strive and we try to hold back that tide, to beat the darkness back for just one more day. That's why we've come so far so fast, that capacity to refuse to accept defeat and to fight as if we can win - even knowing that we will, we must, lose in the end."

He tilted his head to the other side, still watching K'aa. "But that's not really what we're talking about here, either. We were talking about death. Or not. Tell me Commander, what would happen if you didn't die? Or if you did, what if on release from this mortal coil there was no warmth and light - righteous or otherwise - for you to bask in after you moved on? What if there was only the here and now? Or worse yet, an unending here and now, without even the promise of a release until, and perhaps not even then, the universe itself went down to ashes and ruin?"

The Gorn seemed to flinch at Krieghoff's words, his eye narrowing as if pained in some way. "It issss written", K'aa managed at last. "My death isss a forgone conclusssion, Lieutenant - I sssimply don't know the exact moment when the knife will fall, but fall it will I am certain. Perhapsss on thisss very ship - I have ssstudied you all enough to know how much the sssenior officers loath me for the killing... and which onesss are tempted to 'crosss the line' in their definition of jussstice. Even if there isss no afterlife.... which I do not believe... I have sssomething that will outlasst my lifetime."

"And that is?" Victor asked pleasantly.

"A legacy", K'aa hissed. "It hasss been many monthsss since the Miranda left for partsss unknown. I've been very, very busssy. The Tactical intel alone..." The reptilian froze, catching himself in his exhuberence. "Well... asss I sssaid before, Lieutenant... be patient. And remember... there are worssse thingsss than Death."

Victor nodded. "Of course there are, Commander." He thought for a moment, and then slowly recited from memory words that he'd read many years ago in the Academy on a lonely afternoon his Senior year, "That is not dead which can eternal lie, yet with strange aeons, even death may die."

"Indeed", the reptilian growled, clearly unsettled by the subject. "Remember that when sssleep claimsss *you* Lieutenant."

"I'll keep that in mind, Commander," Victor agreed. "And… a piece of advice; if you don't mind that is?"

K'aa craned his neck to look at Victor. The large, golden eye of the reptilian gleamed with a combination of hatred and terror.

"Face your fears, Commander. Fight them as hard as you can, even in your dreams. The moment that you surrender to them, no matter what they may be, you lose your identity and become their puppet."

The Gorn lowered his head gently to the cell floor. "I'll try, Lieutenant", he hissed, "I will... indeed... try. Sssome advice for you though - and I mean it sssincerely - you ssshould learn sssome fear. I know what isss to happen in thisss war. Fear.... isss the
appropriate resssponssse."

Victor stood and nodded. "I know what fear is, Commander. Even if, for most of my life, I've only ever had one thing I'm afraid of, I know what it is." He regarded the Gorn for a moment. "Perhaps I'll come and talk to you again – about death and fear and… things worse than either. If, that is, you wouldn't mind the company?"

The bulky figure at Victor's feet made no verbal reply, but emitted a deep, resonating growl that the Security officer could feel through the soles of his shoes as it vibrated through the deck plating. The alien sound slowly faded to be replaced by he constant hum of the Galaxy's warp engines.

"Interview with a Romulan"

Commander Jaal Jaxom
CO, Strat Ops
USS Galaxy

LtCdr Shiarrael t'Khnialmnae
CO, Strat Ops
Atlantis Sector

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When the call came through from the Galaxy, Shiarrael's curiosity was notably piqued. She knew several of the personnel now serving there courtesy of being reassigned from Miranda. That it was Jaal on the other end was even more intriging. She would have expected to hear from K'aa or Daniels before Miranda's former XO. Seating herself behind her desk, newly inherited from K'aa (they couldn't find anyone
better qualified in the sector) she punched up the waiting conversation.

"What can I do for you today, sir? It's not often I get calls from the USS Galaxy." An understatement, to say the least.

Getting right to the business at hand Jaal stated, "I need to ask you about a mutual friend." The look on the Trill's face was proof that this wasn't a social call.

"What have you got?" Shiarrael could tell that this wasn't going to be something she wanted to do. Loyalties to friends and institutions were tricky subjects to work with in any situation.

Jaal quickly explained the situation and what happened on the bridge after the recent battle with the Hydrans. "...so now, I need to know if K'aa did anything peculiar while working on Atlantis."

Shiarrael thought on this for a good bit, long enough that one might have considered the transmission had frozen or been interrupted. "Well, I can't say personally. After the reassignments from Miranda started coming through I decided to retire from fleet life, especially seeing as how I've got twins to take care of and I wanted to stay with
John. If you couldn't tell, I can't stay away from a good fitting uniform .... Anyways, the point is, up until K'aa left Atlantis I haven't personally interacted with him. I stayed out of the operations and administration centers for the most part excepting Sickbay and I haven't even stepped foot on Reliant. There is one thing, though. K'aa was brought to Atlantis under a very hush-hush situation." She looked down onto her desktop, punching information into a PADD. "It'll take me a bit to find it, but there are some records concerning his coming onboard. As soon as I find them I'll forward them up. I'll also see if I can get the first hand records, chances are anything here on Atlantis could have been tampered with."

"Really? I can't believe security is that lax there," Jaal sounded critical, "...especially with a war going on. What are you people doing there?" His expression changed letting Shia know he wasn't totally serious.

"Well, given his training in Ops on Miranda, not to mention the havoc Atlantis herself wreaks on Federation technology, it'd be no surprise. You HAVE been here before, right?" Shia knew Miranda had been the ship to discover Atlantis, but the extent they had explored her or which crew had come over was unknown.

"I was on the Miranda when Atlantis was initially discovered. I haven't been there since it was found though," Jaal reminisced about the first time he set foot on the station, "I've only read the official reports and heard what Janie has told me since."

"Well, many of the public reports leave a lot to be desired. Most people don't know that more than 70% of the station is as yet unexplored." She shrugged. "Given you helped find her and your reputation, I doubt you'd have any difficulties getting access to the non-public information."

"We'll see," Jaal didn't sound as confident as she did but he sent the request anyway.

Seconds later Shia's computer sounded off. It wasn't Jaal's request for information, however. It was her own. "Well well well .... what have we here?" Shia mused. "It seems K'aa was found onboard a type 9 from Miranda, out cold. Literally. Traces of T'Kith'Kin weapons strikes, micro-fractures in the hull consistent with the same, and
evidences of Klingon style warp plasma residue were found on the shuttle when it was examined. Picked up by the USS Chesapeake, Nebula Class Explorer. There are a few log records on file, summaries mostly. I'll have them forwarded to you immediately. I'm also going to try and get on the comm with the Chesapeake's CO, one Captain T'Aenic. Vulcan if I'm not mistaken by the name."

Jaal found the information as disturbing as interesting. "Thanks. Give me a call if and when you find something else out?"

"Of course." Shia replied.

"Great, thanks," Jaal told her, "We'll talk to you soon then."

The connection was cut and the Trill sat back in his chair rubbing the stubble on his chin. Some pieces of the puzzle just may be coming together.

"Woe are the Deep Ones"

Ensign Mique'lan Dar'ce
Tactical Officer

(with Chad)

==========================================================================
It had been a long shift, and now it was about to get even longer. The Special Investigations department had asked for anyone with interrogation training to assist in questioning the Hydran POWs, and Ensign Dar'ce's name had come up. True, he had been trained for this at the Xenonian Military Academy, and had done some real work with it while on border patrol on the Xenonian Destroyer Eyna Pel.

But those prisoners had been renegade Man'de'har, Indiri, and Yanderin, pirates working for a large syndicate operating in the Republic systems. None of them had been as exotic as a Hydran, and it had been almost eight years ago. Telepathic probing was difficult enough with races that Mique'lan was familiar with, let alone one that he had never had contact with directly.

However, he was duty bound to do what he could. That meant preparing his mental shielding and training his thoughts to the Hydrans in the cargo bay and brig. He would need to get at least a general pattern to their thought processes before he could begin to know if they were prevaricating or telling the truth.

As ready as he would ever be, Ensign Dar'ce walked into the brig, and straight to the cell holding the Hydran to which he was assigned, a technician named Thulkuh.

All the cells in the brig had been modified to hold the aliens. Nitrogen-methane atmosphere had been pumped in so that the prisoners could be stripped of their armor, uniforms, and any concealed tricks and redressed in orange Federation prisoner garb. Of course, the clothing that they had fit bipeds. There was not enough time to modify enough jumpers, so security had just ripped holes to allow for the extra appendages.

But, the first thing Dar'ce noticed as he approached this specific cell was that this Hydran had ripped his clothing even further. In fact, he ripped it clean off, and left it in tatters on the floor of the cell, not one shred longer or wider than a finger. He had spread it, seemingly chaotically, around the floor.

The second thing Dar'ce noticed was that, on the floor, in the center of the orange cloud of fabric and thread, was a jumbled, violet mess of lines and swirls. And amidst all that, lay two small tentacles, about a foot long, pale and yellow, drained of their color. They were tentacles this Hydran had ripped from his own head. And his drawing was in blood.

Blood had never bothered the Ensign, though the fact that this particular blood came from the self-inflicted wounds of disembodied tentacles that once belonged on the head of Thulkuh made Mique'lan wonder of the sanity of this Hydran. He had heard of similar instances involving a myriad of races, cutting and self-mutilation caused by breaks in sanity. If that were the case, it might be that much harder to get information from the man. He lifted the veil from his mind and discovered that like many people called insane, this man's thoughts were quite ordered, though not on a variety of subjects. It seemed this Hydran was solely focused on one thing.

"So tell, me, do you dislike the clothing that much?" he asked by way of opening, hoping to maybe break the ice a bit. "If you would like something else, I'm sure we could get a new jumpsuit to fit your delicate tastes."

"The Great One sees all," the Hydran said without looking up from his work, "We all stand naked before him."

So, this was going to turn into a religious discussion. He had known that the Hydrans worshipped the starbeasts as gods, but had not known to what extent that it could affect their psyche. "Obviously I am not naked, sir. If he can see what he wants, then what is the harm in putting on some clothes?" When he did not receive an answer, Dar'ce switched tactics.

"What is it that you have drawn? And why exactly have you mutilated yourself to draw it?"

"I was given no pencil," Thulkuh offered after ignoring him for a long moment.

'I guess that makes sense, in a very awkward, disturbing way,' Dar'ce thought to himself. He was curious about what was so important to him that he couldn't wait for a pencil.

"The question remains, what is it that you have drawn?"

"A pale homage to our master. His visage burns my eyes and consumes my brain. His likeness spills from my hands from my overfull soul."

Mique'lan looked again at the gory mess on the floor and noticed that it did look vaguely like a starbeast. It was purple and coagulating, but recognizable. "Who is it that you are paying homage to? Are you trying to make up to him for some mistake you've made?"

The Hydran looked up for the first time. His three eyes were wide on the ends of their stalks, his beak hung open and slime dripped from his mouth without modesty. "It is the Great One, Lord of us all. We tried to kill it, like a sand slug!"

This had puzzled the Ensign since he had learned that the Hydran fleet was engaged with the space bound entity. "Why kill your lord? Is that the way you worship your god, by trying to kill him?" Yes, he was goading the man, slightly, but the question was reasonable, and Dar'ce needed to understand the Hydran. He opened up his mind a bit more, and noticed the awe and wonder that the Hydran felt for the starbeast, this 'Great One' that was important enough to self-mutilate over.

"We tried to kill it so that we could become like it. So, that we could become gods eternal. Heretics! Blashemers!" Thulkuh wailed, and crumbled to the ground, weeping. "Their numbers are closed. There is no hope for us. The Great One, he grants only death."

Mique'lan pondered this last bit of information. Their numbers are closed? What did that mean? He received only the slightest hint of death, with a large whiff of grief over what had happened, and what was to come. Still, this mythos was addictive, he needed to understand what this all meant. He might even be able to share something valuable with the other interrogators, since this man was obviously not going to be able to provide anything tactically sound.

Maybe he would provide a way into the Hydran psyche. "If you kill a starbeast, you become as one of them?" he asked. "Do you mean that you become a starbeast yourself?"

"None can become the Great One. The sacrilegious think they can kill the Mighty and steal his power, that a great hunt will allow their souls to ascend and live eternal. That that great and awesome death will let them join membership with the old ones," Thulkuh spoke, as if in a trance, "But they are wrong. I can see now where I could not before. They are wrong! Their souls will live eternal, but they will not ascend. They will transform and climb into the deep, to forever join the blackness. All who defile the Great One will be damned. Woe are the Deep Ones! Woe!"

To Dar'ce, it sounded an awful lot like this race's version of Razeesh, or hell. Eternal damnation, one could say. Instead of going to Heaven, as they might think, Thulkuh was saying those that would kill a starbeast were going to eternally separate themselves from their "Great One."

"Mr. Thulkuh, are there others that believe as you do, or did this revelation just come to you? I only ask because there are other Hydran on this ship, and it might be comforting to them to know they are not alone. You may be able to alleviate their fears. Might that be possible?"

He awoke and stared into Dar'ce's eyes for a moment, lost and alone. Then he fell back and scooted to the back of the cell, his three arms hugging his body tightly. "It is a blessing that the mind is so weak. You live in a tiny cave of comforting ignorance, it is not meant for you to wonder out of it. But I strayed too far. I saw the horrors that lay outside the stone walls and now you've barred the way back inside. The view, it is so awesome and grand. And terrifying. So vast and infinite. I am alone." And he bent down his head and began to sob into his arms.

Mique'lan pondered these sayings for a moment, and wondered what he was going to put into his report. The entire exchange had been recorded, but the Xenonian was unsure how many times he would be able to go through it without driving his roommate crazy. The questions of Heaven and Hell had been answered on his planet many years ago, and there were few people that even posed the questions these days.

His report would be as thorough as it could be. One would generally have to study an entire culture to understand their gods, and Dar'ce was a patient man. However, his orders had been to get tactically sound information. He was bound to be given another Hydran to interrogate. Unfortunately, it probably meant that he might never be able to talk with this man again.

He told the Hydran "Thank you," and "We may talk again," but there had been no response. He was buried in his own mind now, pondering what it meant to lose a god. As the Tactical Officer walked past a guard in the brig, he said, "Make sure prisoner Thlkuh gets some writing implements."

"Of Poop And Caffiene"

Jaal Jaxom
Arel Smith

*****

USS Galaxy
Jaal's Office

It still smelled in her quarters. Arel knew that it couldn't - she'd made the cleaning crew go over the fouled area three times - but she couldn't get the smell (or the insult) out of her mind. Which was why she was sitting in Jaal's office doing all the paperwork that was going to be pushed on her anyway.

A sudden commotion from the outer office caught her attention. It was the loudest, longest, string of curses she'd ever heard 'not' in the Klingon language. The language of the speaker was Trill... she would have known had she known the Trill language.

Arel looked up with surprise at the noise, hand already moving to the first available knife.

Jaal stormed into his office with a completely beet red face. Once he noticed Arel at his desk all he said was, "DON'T START WITH ME," in a very threatening manner while pointing an accusing finger at her. He stalked over to the small replicator alcove and literally punched in an order while muttering something about bodily waste by-products and someone about to die.

Ordinarily, Arel would have been smirking but now she saw someone with a common interest. "I'll let you help me kill him," She said eagerly.

"Oh no," Jaal waved an admonishing finger at her, "You don't understand... I won't need any help... no help at all. I'm going to reach down this guys thoat," he made the appropriate hand motions accurately miming what'd he'd do, "... and pull out his intestines, turn them inside out and re-feed them to him."

Arel threw down her paperwork and stood up. "Not a chance, Jaxom. That pthak is MINE. If you're very lucky I'll let you stomp upon his dead carcass after *I* have killed him."

Jaal stopped his tirade abruptly and looked at her, "Are we talking about the same guy?"

Arel raised an eyebrow. "The shit guy?"

"Shit all over your room?"

Her eyes narrowed. "On my grandfather's bat'leth."

"Wow, he did that?" Jaal seemed to calm down a little once he realized he has someone to commiserate with, "Has this been a problem on this ship for long?"

"Apparently."

"I can't go back to my quarters for over a week. He smeared shit all over everything. Every wall, every floor, even the portholes," the Trill shook his head sadly. "This guy, whoever it is, is going to be deep... well, you know, when he gets caught."

"Because he'll be dead by my hand," Arel said with a nod.

Jaal snorted, "Well, if what he did to our quarters is any indication of what he does to everyone else's, you'll have to get in a 'looooong' line to get a piece of his ass."

"He shit on my bat'leth, Jaal," She snarled. "That's like ... you know, I can't think of an equivalent. Everyone in line will just have to get the hell out of my way."

"At least you don't have to transfer to a different cabin. I'll never be able to live in mine again."

It was Arel's turn to snort. "That may be true for me as well." She sat down with a small grunt. "Anyway, enough about this ... person. How are things going with K'aa?"

Jaal shook his head to correct her, "I don't care what anyone says, that's not K'aa in that brig," he pointed to the lower decks as his raktijino materialized in the replicator alcove. "He might look like K'aa, talk like K'aa, act like K'aa, but it isn't K'aa."

"Looks like him to me."

"He doesn't move like K'aa. He doesn't fight like K'aa. I don't think he's as tactically sound as K'aa. I don't think those are traits that can easily be mimiced," the Trill explained, "For example... let's take you."

Arel raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Yes you," Jaal went on much more calm and analytical than when he first appeared, "The way you move and fight is different than anyone else on the ship. I can't spar with you, for example, the same way I'd spar with someone else. See what I mean?"

"Fine," Arel said with a shrug. "How are things going with the guy that isn't K'aa?"

"He's not saying much," Jaal answered after a swig of his Klingon coffee.

"I could beat it out of him," She replied almost cheerfully. "My back's completely healed so there's no reason I can't help out."

"If it wasn't against the law I'd say have at it," Jaal replied without a second thought.

"Federation has too many stupid laws," Arel grumbled. Jaxom was back in 'command mode.' She saw the chance to either help with the Phantom or K'aa had passed. In annoyance she swiped his coffee. "This tastes horrible."

Jaal looked at her with critically folding his arms across his chest, "Everything from the replicator tastes horrible. This is suddenly a surprise to you?"

"This is especially bad," She said, taking another big gulp before pushing it back his way. "The programmer was obviously not a Klingon."

"Maybe you could program it better?" Jaal challenged her knowing she wouldn't back down. She 'never' did.

"Of course I could," Arel replied. Sure, she knew absolutely nothing about replicator programming but it couldn't be all that hard.

"Well then," Jaal poured it on, "Why don't you so we can all benefit from your expertise."

'Is she programs replicators like she cooks squid we're all in deep shit,' the Trill thought privately.

Arel glared at him and then went over to the replicator. She scowled at it first - intimidating the enemy was always a good first step - before moving to fiddle with the keys.

Jaal watched from the other side of the room trying to see over her shoulder at the sequence of keys she pressed. Sadly shaking his head side to side he wondered how it would turn out.

The cup of raktijino appeared before her. She took a sip and frowned.

"Well?"

"Shut up," Arel snapped before moving to the keys again. Years of watching Sam fiddle with this crap had to count for something.

"Is it drinkable?"

Arel took another sip and then shrugged. "Here."

Jaal took the mug and looked at it tentatively. Then he gave Arel a suspicious glance.

She couldn't decide whether to laugh or be angry. "You scared?"

"Oh please." Jaal brought the mug to his lips but paused. Then he thought, just how bad could it be?

He sipped.

He brought the mug away from his lips as his eye twitched a few times. "Yowza... little light on the caffiene doncha think?" Jaal suspected it had the maximum allowable caffiene concentration allowed by the computer. He was going to be awake for a week straight.

"Night shift will at least like it."

"Good point," the Trill agreed.

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