OOC: Took place about a week after the previous mission ended.

"The Way Of The Sword"

Michael McDowell, Engineering
Corporal Cianán Tierney, Combat Medic

Setting: Deck 12, Holodeck 1

Cianán looked down at the floor. He wasn't sure if it was too early for him
to get back into training after his away mission on New B'Hala. While only
he and Commander Elessidil knew the true happenings in the rural colony it
didn't make the fact any easier. The altercation resulted in the Angosian
giving a round house kick to the Betazoid's jaw knocking him unconscious.

The Counselor tried to absolve him of guilt, but it wasn't as easy as
forgiveness. Hearing the doors open to the holodeck, Cianán pushed the
thoughts in his mind away. It was difficult with hyperthymestic syndrome.
Hyperthymesia is typically a disorder, but in the Angosian's case it was
forced upon him. Cianán had perfect memory - he couldn't forget. That was
part of his problem.

Through the arch a human male stepped. It was Michael McDowell, an engineer
that took Cianán up on his offer to do some private martial arts training.
Cianán turned his neck to the side causing an audible pop. It helped him
release tension.

Cianán didn't know much about the guy. He didn't read into his crew record,
it wasn't necessarily for the training. "Hey," Cianán said.

Michael looked at the Angosian man before him. With a nod he acknowledged
the man's presence and his tred became a bit more cautions. He'd read his
BIO and as a consequence did some reading on Angosians and their history. If
he had to be honest to himself then he was wondering if this was at all a
good idea. But, he was here and the point of no return was reached.
"Goodmorning." After some internal debate Michael offered his hand. "I'm
Michael McDowell. I'm here for the training in martial arts".

Cianán took Michael's hand. "Cianán Tierney." The human looked to be fairly
typical height and weight for a man of his age. Looks could be very
deceiving, Cianán learned that specifically from martial arts. He was ready
to get down to business. "Did you have a particular martial art in mind?

Cianán was well versed in most of the major martial arts of Earth and most
of Vulcan. "Perhaps I should ask, why are you interested in martial arts?
That might help pick one."

"That's the one question to which I don't have an answer to. I've asked
myself the same thing but can't seem to find a good answer." Michael
expected to see a frown on Cianán face but there was none. Curious. If he
would be Cianán he would've been at least a little surprised himself.
"Perhaps it´s because I only know the basics when it comes to self-defence,
but that´s only a guess. All I know for sure is that I'm drawn to it."

Cianán listened carefully stone faced. "There are many reasons for studying
martial arts." He paused, "Computer initiate Tierney Seven."

The holodeck grid disappeared and was replaced with a grassy knoll on a
cliff overlooking a sea. It was an inspirational vantage point. Two Asian
warriors appeared. They bowed and then began sparring.

"Combat skill training, fitness, sport, meditation, mental discipline,
character development, self-confidence, and as you said, self-defense are
all reasons for studying martial arts." The Angosian continued as the two
forms before them altered. They morphed into two African warriors who more
wrestled than jabbed as the former warriors.

Michael looked at the fighters that appeared, intriqued by the difference in
the techniques they used. However, none of the styles so far really appealed
to him.

"There are generally three types of martial arts. Striking, which you saw
before and consists of hand to hand combat. Grappling, which you see now and
consists of throwing and pinning. And finally weaponry." The two African
warriors morphed into Klingons who dueled with batleths. "They all have
their advantages and disadvantages. They all require a holistic approach."
Cianán watched the Klingons fight with increased vigor. "Any thoughts?"

"Well, if I had to choose then I'd pick the Klingons and their Bathleths.
Don't ask me why,...it's just a feeling." Michael turned back to face
Cianán. "What exactly do you mean with 'a holistic approach'? How does it
relate to martial arts?"

Cianán paused for a moment. "Martial arts is more than just becoming a
better fighter. If you want to have the best changes of defeating your
opponent, just carry a big phaser and don't let him get close. Martial arts
is a connection between mind and body." Cianán has used martial arts to help
tame the voices in his head. He had already been a fighter, a programmed
soldier that could kill using weapons or hands.

"I see. So I guess that, when learning a martial art, you also have to learn
to meditate?" According to Michael the answer to his question would almost
certainly be a solid 'Yes', meaning he would have to learn two difficult
things instead of one. So be it. Something inside him pushed him to do this.

"In some ways, yes." Cianán said. "It is a different kind of meditation. You
won't becoming a monk or an ancient philosopher, but you'll be able to clear
your mind."

Michael nodded to indicate he understood. He could see why having a clear
mind was an important aspect while practicing any form of martial art.

"Computer run simulation Tierney 5-6." The Angosian said.

The images before them once again vanished. They were transported
holographically light years from their location to a tropical location.
Before them stood several pairs. There were Klingons, Ferengi, and Humans.

The Klingons battled using the batleths. The Ferengi using whips. The Humans
battled using swords. "Weaponry isn't just about using a foreign object to
bludgen an assailant." Cianán motioned for Michael to follow him as they
circled the fighters.

"See how each individual is using the weapon as an extension of their body?"
Cianán pointed to even the ferile-like Ferengi who when extending their arm
to use the whip did so in a fluid motion. "If you want to use how to use a
weapon, you are going to have to learn how to use your body."

The movements of each of the fighters were indeed fluent and it did seem
like their weapon acted like an extension of their body. Michael wondered
how you could achieve that since the weapon itself was as alien to the body
as it could be. "It must takes years to reach that kind of level." He
mumbled softly, but loud enough for Cianán to hear.

Cianán nodded. "You can get there." The Angosian watched as one of the
Klingon's sliced his assailant's arm, sending the deep colored blood into
the air. "I don't think we'll start out with trying to mortally wound one
another." He half smiled, it was his attempt at humor.

Michael watched the Klingon as he sank down to the ground. The other cried
'Victory!' in Klingon, or so Michael assumed. "I couldn't agree more." he
said. "But where does one start when choosing to learn a martial art? Square
one of course, but what's square one here?"

"I think square one is picking which weapon fancies you the most." Cianán
said. "We can get to mind focusing later. You're going to want to get
familiar with the weapon and how it feels."

Cianán spoke again, "Computer end simulation." The familiar black and gold
grid of the holodeck returned. "Run simulation." He thought for a moment.
"Create a 1800s American West General store. Replace the goods with the top
100 most commonly used martial arts weapons." The grid vanished and was
replaced with a structure right out of an old Western movie. Inside where
flour and sugar once was stocked rested various swords, whips, and other
weapons. "Shall we take a look?"

Michael nodded. "Lead the way." He followed Cianán as he stepped inside the
store. Michael was impressed with all the weapons that were displayed. The
whole store was full of them. After some minutes of looking around his eyes
were drawn to a particular corner. It was the part of the store where
several swords were showed.

"They do tend to catch the eye, don't they?" Cianán asked with a devilish
grin. "There are many sword martial arts. Many ancient practices come from
the Asian continent on Earth. Kendo is the way of the sword, Japanese
fencing. Iaido is the art of drawing and attacking with a sword." Cianán
continued. "I think Japanese techniques would be a good starting point."

"Yeah." Michael said slowly while his eyes came to rest on a particular
sword. It stood out from the others because if it's simple,
straightforward, but most elegant design. He reached for it and then slowly
took it out of its holder. "I agree..."

SPUFF

Starring Allison von Ernst

Mary Poppins the Horta (NPC)
Percy Preston (NPC)






"Spuff!!" said Allison von Ernst with a slight snarl.

"Does your mother know you talk like that dearie?" inquired the slate grey horta siting to her left. "A foul mind is a sign of an inferior mind after all."

"Go Spuff yourself Mary." Alli retorted leaning forward over the Scrabble board. "My mother is 20 years and a million miles away."

"Tsk tsk luv.....your Father then?"

"Dad? Ha!" Alli shook her head. "Dad'd got worse language than me.....not that he really cares whats going on in my life or anything."

"Tsk." repeated the Horta.

"This is all very interesting," cut in the pimple faced bespectacled lad curled up next to Mary Poppins. "But Spuff still isnt a word....you cant use it."

"Go spuff yourself Percy."

The entertainment lounge was largely empty this time of day....especially given the Galaxy's lengthy refitting schedule at DS4, and the three Scrabble players had the area mainly to themselves.

The aforementioned Allison von Ernst was hunched over the little game board studying her letter tiles carefully. She'd dyed the tips of her pale blond hair blue recently in hopes of getting a rise out of 'dad' but to little avail.

Beyond that she was dressed in her usual cute style with a pink "Grrrrl Pwr!" T-shirt, frilly skirt and bobby socks.

Cute or not however....she was hard up for a word.

Mary Poppins the Horta was naked as per usual with the exception of her ever present electronic voice device. She'd recently borrowed a new program from one of the girls down on the flight line, but the 'Deep Spanish accent didnt work for her.

She sipped lightly on a molten Lead and tungsten martini and snuggled close to her 'man'.

Percy Preston....the aforementioned 'man' was recent arrival in Mary's life. He'd been dating the Sentient rock for a few weeks now, and while at first Alli had been shocked at the revelation, she soon settled down and accepted it.

Afterall....there were all kinds of weird half Vulcan, half Human, half klingon whatevers running around......why cant a guy date a rock?

No....the only really annoying thing about Percy now was the fact that he was kicking Allisons ass at Scrabble.

"I still dont see how you managed D.I.S.C.O.M.B.O.B.U.L.A.T.E.....geez that was worth about a zillion points."

"With triple letters."

"With freaking triple letters spuff it!"

"Its a word Allison.....I just added onto b.o.b." Percy was unwavering.

"Hel-lo! Its a word in nerd-land maybe. Who the spuff managed to pull those letters in Scrabble?"

Percy wiped his glasses and leaned in close againt Mary's warm rock hide. "I'm using the same alphabet as you....but you still cant use Spuff....its not even in the slang dictionary."

~~~It will be in about 20 years.~~ Allison grumbled to herself. ~~~Everybody is using such old geezer slang nowadays....groovy....cool

cat.....whatever.~~~

There was a long period of silence while Allison agonized over her tiles before finally coming up with a pitiful C.A.T.

The geologist studied the board for a moment before extending that into C.A.T.A.G.O.R.I.Z.E.

"Aw hell."

Mary giggled slightly to her rocky self, but intervened on her young friends behalf....changing the topic.
"So anyhoo duckie....whens the last time you spoke to your Father? Are you making efforts to reach out?"

"I'm making efforts just fine Mary. Hel-lo! Traveled through time and all....consider me very much open to conversation. He's just being a Foozle head about things."

"Really?" Mary played V.U.L.C.A.N. which was briefly challenged on the grounds you couldnt use place names before it was decided that she meant the species.

"Totally Mary." Allison bobbed her blond and blue hair, wishing she had a 'Z' for vulcanize. "I'm like...hey Im your long lost daughter that grew up without a dad and would like to spend time with you and he's all like 'shame on you for messing with the timeline' ."

She shook her head."Im like....shame on you for running out on me dork-brain."

"Thats a shame." Mary soothed.

"Also he's totally all 'boo-hoo...my slutty Vulcan second in command has lost her marbles...boo hoo. What is it with everybody and these cross species relationships?"

An awkward moment as the human-horta couple 'ahem'd

"Sorry....not counting present company but like....Hel-lo...not like children can come of it!"

"We're not in it for children luv....just the casual sex."

Allison glared at the rock. "Waaaaaaaay too much information Mary......I mean how do yall even......nevermind I dont wanna know."

"I'll send you a picture book dearie." Mary sipped her tungsten, "Although I think your dad ought to be the one telling you about the birds and the bees."

"Birds and the annoying talking rocks, more likely." Allison sulked until she found J.A.R.H.E.A.D. which described her opinion of the

aforementioned father nicely.

Percy kept the conversation light....blushing slightly. "So what are you gonna tell him....your dad I mean?"

Alli sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. "I dunno." she shrugged. "I've been thinking about just leaving altogether."

"Leaving! Bloody hell!?" Mary coughed.

"Yuppers.....I dunno...things havent turned out as zarky as I planned them to be. I have a birthday coming up in a few months and I figured it would sure be nice to be back home with mom for that."

"I see."

"Imagine that." Allison snorted. "Me missing my annoying old mother. Universe is coming to an end y'know."

There was more quiet as Percy played Q.U.I.B.B.L.E., Mary managed B.I.R.D. and Allison extended it into B.I.R.D.B.A.T.H.

"When are you making your decision luv?" Mary finally asked.

Allison von Ernst shrugged. "Dunno....soon if things dont change."

"Buncha Spuff." Mary swore.

"Big time Spuff." Percy agreed.

Alli nodded silently before cocking her head to one side as a thought struck her. "Does this mean I can use it as a legal word now?"

The Wretch "What Dreams May Come"

Hydran POW Compound, Location Unknown
================================

Black wings beat quietly against a still, hazy morning, sending a
silent whisper to the nearest grove of spruce and cedar. Quick,
clever eyes pierced the ocean mist to survey the rugged gravel beach
and saw what they had been looking for since the sun rose over the
distant eastern shore. Almost with a sigh borne by its oily black
feathers, the raven left the security of the tree-line and made for
the still figure that had been washed up by the cold waves.

The raven was a cautious bird, and aware of the perils of the land –
the proud eagle capable of snatching wild salmon from the seas itself,
the powerful grizzly whose hunger never abated, and the sly wolf whose
skills at hunting were unmatched. While cautious, the raven held none
of these in fear. Off of each, the raven gorged off what each hunter
could not finish, and when the hunters grew old and infirm the raven
knew enough to hover, for sooner or later their flesh would be his to
feast upon – all he needed to do was be patient. Only one hunter did
the raven fear, and the raven had seen this creatures first timid
steps on this shore many centuries ago – a clumsy, lurching hunter
whose clever hands made magic to tame the wolf, kill the bear, and
bring low the mighty eagle, but had sense enough to leave the raven
alone. Mankind was its name, and now the raven saw a human form
lashed by the sounds waves.

Cautiously, the raven hopped towards the human, ever casting a glance
for danger about it. The human seemed as dead as the cedar snags that
the seas had washed up during the previous storm, but he had to be
certain. Ever curious, the raven hopped closer still and bit at the
soft web of skin between the human's thumb and index finger, drawing
blood and a moan of pain from the man's lips.

>From the sound, the raven hopped back, keeping its gleaming eyes fixed
on the human who not turned on his back as if to look upon the skies.
~Ah, so you live still! A shame – I have not yet broken my fast, and
you seemed so tempting.~

The human's head turned towards the raven and slowly opened his eyes.
Pale blue they were, surrounded by whites turned an unhealthy red and
yellow, and both looked into the pitch black of the raven's eyes. "A
bird that speaks", he croaked quietly. "I must be dreaming."

~Of course you dream~, the raven said without moving its beak.
~Dreaming is the true hallmark of intelligence. Primitive life may
make tools, but only the truly sentient partake of dreams. It is the
well from which hope… and fear is drawn. Tell me… what are your
dreams today?~

"I… " The human's answer stopped at his cracked lips as the raven
held his gaze. He felt as thought the bird was looking beyond his
scarred and weathered flesh, plumbing the recesses of his mind and
soul. Many waves struck the barren shore as they had done for
thousands of years before the man felt his will strong enough to close
his eyes.

~Yes…~, the raven murmured. ~yes… a dark dream… but a fine one. One
the Dreaming has not seen from one such you in many dark nights. I'm
surprised that a soft-skin like you would dream such.~

With great effort, the human rose to a sitting position hindered by
the constant drag of the receding waves. Fighting back nausea, he
could sea the white-capped seas before pale and distant mountains only
partially hidden by the ocean's mist. "What…" he whispered with
effort, "am I… dreaming of?"

~Don't you know? Let me show you.~ The raven spring from the gravel
to perch on a rotting spruce log as the dark sea began to froth and
boil. The sound of the waters echoed against the giant cedars like
rolling thunder as two massive heads crashed from the wild, unnatural
surf. Snake- like, each head bore thick, crested scales and white
fangs dripping with a venom that fouled the very air with a bitter,
acrid stench. Their yellow eyes shone with wild madness and each maw
snapped at anything that moved on the waters, and screamed a roar that
threatened to burst the man's eardrums. As the beasts writhed and
thrashed in the waves, the human could see that the serpent had no
tail – each head was joined by a single, muscular body.

~Look familiar?~ the raven asked. ~It should. This isn't the first
time you've had this dream.~

"No!", the man croaked. "Never!"

The raven merely chuckled. "Look closer."

Indeed, the man stared at the writhing creature certain features on
the serpents face seemed familiar. The color of the scales, the curve
of the maw and shape of the fangs didn't repel the human as he thought
it would. Only the eyes, glaring yellow and rolling with an
uncontrollable madness, made the man's heart race with fear. "What is
it?, he rasped.

~You know~, the raven laughed. ~See… it knows you!~

One of the creatures' heads dove into the boiling tide as the other
rose to eclipse the highest cedar. A deep, hissing laugh like
uncontrolled fire belched from its gaping maw as it hovered over the
human's prone form. Then it roared, and pounced on the helpless human
who closed his eyes and raised a thin arm in a futile defence.

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

"Is it awake?"

The voice was an electric translation of a warbling chitter that
echoed in the Wretch's skull. A tentacle pulled up the Wretch's left
eyelid and peered into the human's unresponsive pupil.

"No. It dreams still. Should we wake it?"

The other guard waddled and looked over the badly beaten form. "No.
It is mercy to let it dream, if only for a while. The Scientist
awaits it."

Together, the Hydran guards dragged the sleeping wretch along the
compound's cold, slate-lined corridor.

"The Final Lesson" - Part 8

*****

I gave Ella a couple of days to recover before I brought in the
mastermind of her abduction -a bug-eyed little man named Jeremey
Flitt.

It would have been better to just kill him but I knew she wasn't
ready, maybe never would be, so I arranged a little music lesson that
I thought would temporarily satisfy her.

I had considered trying to recreate the torture that had been
inflicted on Ella - the hours of singing, on pain of death, to record
his perfect song - but to be honest I really wasn't a fan of opera. I
had an idea that after this Flitt wouldn't be either.

Ella watched with a pale but determined face. Those blue eyes of her
were arctic.

Too bad no one had told Jeremey Flitt that one of life's main lessons
was never to piss off a woman unless you planned to kill her later.

"What are you going to do after this?" I asked during a break from
Flitt's torture.

The girl took a moment to answer, finally pulling her eyes away from
the screaming man. She then shrugged.

"You must have given it some thought." I looked at the ring on her
finger. "At least some one seems to have an idea."

Ella held her hand out to look at the gleaming stones with a bland
expression. Her hand however was shaking slightly. She quickly closed
the hand into a fist and then shrugged. Neither of us had thought to
bring something for her to write with.

I wondered briefly what would become of Ella after this night. She
seemed hell bent on never speaking again so that ruled out her singing
career. It seemed like she had little interest in whoever had put that
ring on her finger.

I toyed with the idea of having her as my apprentice for a few minutes
before deciding that it would never work. I just didn't like to share.

"Find something that will make you happy, Ella," I advised her. "They
say job satisfaction is everything."

Then I went back to work on Flitt's other ear.

*****

"What is it?" She asked as she leaned closer to me.

"The hit wasn't Victor," I told her clearly. "It was Angelinea."

I thrust my knife upwards.

And to my utter amazement - and slight professional dismay - Ella
easily deflected it. She had picked up some new skills since Earth,
probably from Victor Krieghoff, the bastard.

I consoled myself with the fact that if I weren't dying I wouldn't
have missed. "Had to try."

She didn't even look angry. "I know."

Then Ella sighed. "I wished you hadn't come here, Cole."

"Me too," I replied. "Would you have tried to stop me if you knew?"

"That it was Angie?" Ella seemed to turn the idea over in her head for
a second. "Of course."

"Because of Krieghoff?"

Ella nodded.

It was my turn to sigh. "Looking back, I really wish I had killed him
when I had the chance."

"The Green, Green Grass of Home"

Principal Character:

Captain Daren M'Kantu

Special Guest Star:

A famous talking gecko

Extra Special Guest Star:

Well, that would be telling.....

****

As he had on afternoons as a child, Daren wandered through the lush
grassy plain, under the fierce sun, and let time slip away. Here on the
family estate in Tanzania, with the restored wilderness of Africa
surrounding him, modern technology having solved the issues of drought,
weather, and lack of water generations before, time was meaningless
anyway. This was Africa as it had been before man - green and eternal -
and the only time that mattered here was whether it was day or night.

As he wandered, it occurred to him that he was too tall, that the grass
didn't tower over him as they had when he was young; he was a grown man
now, not a boy, he was too old to be here, wandering the grasslands.
He'd done this as a child; as an adult, his grasslands were the empty
spaces between the stars that he'd studied every night when he was young
enough to be here. He should be there, aboard his ship, and not here.

But he couldn't be there.

Not any more.

Why was that?

He paused and watched a small green gecko climb a tree, sunning itself
on a branch, and in its cold reptilian eyes he remembered everything.

The Battle of the Kateren Nebula. The starbeast. The Hydrans. K'aa.

He reached up and touched his neck, whole and undamaged, and knew this
endless time on the grasslands for what it was again: a dreamscape. He
wasn't home; he was inside his own thoughts, sedated, while Dr. Burton
tried to repair the damage that the Gorn Commander's assault had done.

He looked around the vast plain and frowned. He couldn't stay here, not
when he was needed elsewhere. But did they need him? He glared at the
lizard again, watching as it tested the air with its tongue. Would
anyone need him as he was now? Would they want him? Would they... love
him?

"No, guv'nor," the gecko said distinctly.

Daren stared. Even in dreamscapes, lizards were not normally supposed to
speak.

"No, they won't," the small creature continued in a working class
Cockney accent. "No one will need you now, mate."

"What do you know about it?" Daren retorted, despite the absurdity of
arguing with a lizard. "You're only a gecko."

"Am I now?" The gecko licked one eye with its tongue. "Are you sure?
Perhaps I'm something more?"

"What? My subconscious? My id? My ego?" Daren questioned. "Even if you
are, why should I listen to a lizard?"

The lizard shook itself and stood up on its hind legs to its full height
of about five inches, propped one 'hand' on its hip and leaned against
the side of the tree with the other. "What? Would you expect your ego to
be larger? Or your id? Would I be easier to deal with if I were the size
of a dog? A house, perhaps? Or maybe a mountain?" From somewhere behind
him - the voice was male, anyway - the lizard produced a tiny apple and
took a bite.

"I think I'm just working on 'not here at all' right now," Daren
observed.

"Can't help you there, mate," the lizard said. "Like some?" he offered
politely, holding the apple out to Daren.

Daren considered the tiny fruit, and then shook his head. "No thanks.
I'm not hungry."

"S'all right, guv'nor," the gecko replied, discarding the apple and
hopping down to the ground to stroll over next to Daren casually. "I'm
here, you're here, and we're stuck with each other. So, let's have a
little chat, shall we?"

Daren stared down at the lizard as it stopped next to his sandaled foot.
"About what?"

"The future, guv'ner," the lizard replied with a smile. "The future." It
waved a hand out for him to continue walking. "What did y'think it'd be
about? Insurance or something silly like that?"

Daren shook his head, and started to walk. After three steps, he was
certain that he'd left the little lizard behind, but a glance down
showed that it was still with him, it's tiny, unhurried steps, somehow
covering the same space as his larger ones without difficulty. "What
about the future, then?" he asked resignedly.

"Is this what you'll be wanting, then?" The lizard waved a hand out at
the plain. "For the rest of your life? Just this? I'm thinking, not,
guv'ner."

"Excuse me?"

"This," the lizard repeated, poking at the blade of grass nearest him,
and watching it spring back, exposing the tracery of black veins that
ran along the underside. "Is this what you'll be wanting? Walking in
your dreams like you was whole again? No one to speak to but adorable
little geckos with British accents? No wife, not motor car, not a single
luxury?" It shook his head. "You don't strike me as Robinson Crusoe, as
primitive as can be, mate."

"Of course not," Daren returned. "Once Dr. Burton...."

"Oh come on, mate," the lizard said smoothly. "You're not buying into
that are you? All that cutting and transplanting talk? You know what
they take cuttings and do transplants on, don't you, guv'ner?"

"What?"

"Plants, guv'ner. Vegetables. Sessile growing things that never move.
Like you."

Daren looked down at his legs, then his hands. "You're saying that...?"

"Oh, technically *you're* the one what's saying it, guv'ner," the lizard
observed. "But you're after using my lips as it were." He licked his
tongue out again. "If I was having lips, that is."

"So you're my fears about being like this forever?" Daren glared down at
the lizard.

"'At's one way of looking at it, guv'ner," the lizard nodded.

"Suppose don't feel like listening right now? Suppose I just step on you
and move on," Daren raised a foot. "What then?"

"Hey, hey, hey," the gecko raised his hands. "No reason to go getting
excited now. I'm just after being the messenger, that's all. The message
is all you, mate. Squashing the gecko bearing bad tidings won't stop it
- it'll just mean that my replacement will be all bigger and meaner and
harder to get rid of, that's all."

Daren studied the lizard past the edge of his sandal for a moment, and
then lowered it slowly to the ground. "Perhaps you're right," he agreed
slowly.

"That's the ticket, guv'ner," the lizard nodded.

Daren looked away from the lizard and scanned the horizon for a moment,
wanting to look at anything but the small green creature. As he did,
far, far away, he saw a glint of something white on e horizon. "What's
that?" he asked himself.

"Not sure, mate," the gecko answered. "I can't see it from down here.
What say we take a little walk and have a look-see?"

"Yes... yes, I think so," Daren nodded. "I'm not doing anything else
right now...."

"'At's the spirit, mate, C'mon then, we're off!" the lizard urged him,
setting off jauntily in the direction of the faint speck of white.

After a few silent minutes of walking, Daren felt a sense of relaxation
come over him, almost as if a decision had been made and he was free
from the worry that had led up to it.

"Feels better, does it, guv'ner?" his companion asked, hopping over a
stick.

"What?"

"Everything," the gecko clarified. "Now that we're going somewhere, to
see something, it feels better than just walking around in circles,
dunnit?"

"Yes," Daren agreed. It did feel better. "So where are we going?"

"Oh, 'at's easy, mate," the lizard chirped. "We're going all the way to
the edge of the world."

"The edge of the world?"

"You know, where everything stops?" his companion offered. "The end of
the world, mate; where did you think?"

"That's what's up ahead?" Daren stopped and looked up, surprised to see
that the white speck was much larger than it should have been given the
time they'd spent walking. From here, it appeared to be a large white
gate that was only a few miles away. "The end of the world?"

"Well," the lizard conceded. "The end of your world, anyway, guv'ner;
maybe not everyone else's."

"The end of my...?" Daren considered that for a moment as the gecko
started walking forward again, and then followed his small companion,
asking after he'd caught up, "What do you mean, 'the end of my world?'"

"Just that, guv'ner," the gecko replied. "'At's where your world ends."

"Where my world..." Daren stopped speaking as the gecko halted and he
looked up to realize that he was standing in front of a large archway
set into the middle of a low wall that stretched off in both directions
as far as the horizon. Both wall and archway were faced in blinding
white limestone, and a pathway of the same material started a few feet
in front of the open arch and led through it to a narrow bridge that
extended out into... nothing... moving off into the distance where, just
at the limit of vision, it branched into two directions, one spiraling
up and the other down, the two spirals continuing on in their opposite
directions until they became thin threads, and finally vanished.

"This is..." Daren said slowly, comprehension dawning.

"This is where it ends, guv'ner," the gecko said cheerfully. "You chose
your path, start walking, and everything is a done deal. No more
worries, no more pain, no more responsibilities; just milk and bread and
honey in Paradise." The gecko's tongue flicked out. "Unless, of course,
you decide to take the down stairs, mate. Wouldn't recommend that myself
though; the neighbors down there are a noisy lot. All that screaming and
wailing gets on the nerves after a bit."

"But..."

"C'mon, guv'ner, no need to dawdle." The tiny creature tugged at Daren's
sandal strap, exerting an irresistible strength completely out of
proportion for something so tiny. "Off you go."

Daren stumbled a step forward, got one foot on the sparkling white path
and looked back to see the gecko waving at him. "Have a good trip,
guv'ner," the creature called out. "Don't forget to write!"

"But I don't..." Daren began.

"Sure y'do, guv'ner," the lizard returned. "If you weren't thinking
about this, weren't thinking that it'd be better to just let go and not
suffer the shame and frustration and everything of being a carrot, of
forcing June and poor Shiarrael t'care for you n'all, then I'd have
never been here at all." He made shooing motions with tiny green hands.
"Now g'on, off y'go."

"But," Daren protested, I'm not sure that I..." He looked at the bridge,
tried to lift his foot and retreat, and found it stuck firmly in place
on the white stone.

"Ah-ah-ahh," the gecko shook a miniscule finger at him. "No going back
now, guv'ner."

"I..." Daren looked at the path way, tried to free his foot again, and
then looked back at the vast grassy plain. "I know you..."

"Well of course you do, guv'ner," the gecko smiled, his lipless grin and
dead black eyes making the expression one of utter, unrepentant evil,
"now that it's a bit late for changing your mind. I thought for sure
you'd got it at the apple, but that one slipped past you. Got t'put
those little warnings in, don't'cha know; it's in me contract and all.
Rules - got to love 'em. One of my favorite of your lot's inventions."

"I'll...." Daren began, trying to turn around and do what he'd
threatened earlier, stomp the tiny creature.

"You'll stand there, guv'ner," the gecko laughed. "Y'cant be lifting
that foot once it's on the pathway - that's in the rules too."

"Get thee behind me," Daren hissed, struggling to free his foot.

"Oh, now there we go, guv'ner," the gecko nodded approvingly. "That's
one of me favorites, too. Always puzzled me why you lot want me behind
you where y'can't see what I'm after doing, instead of out in plain
sight where everything I did was plain as day." The lizard cocked its
head to one side. "Right nice of you, though, I've always thought."

The gecko looked around nervously, looked up, and made another shooing
gesture. "Right then, off y'go, guv'ner. Can't go back, have t'go
forward. On to Paradise and all that."

Daren stopped, and frowned down at the lizard. "Why are you in such a
rush?" he asked. "You've been in a hurry to get here since I met you...
and now you're in a bigger hurry to..."

"Rush?" The gecko laughed. "Nope, not me, guv'ner. Just got places t'go,
things t'do 'n all that." He looked around again. "Hurry along now, no
need t'keep the virgins waiting. Never understood that myself, must be
one of those things that appeals to your lot." He shifted from one tiny
green foot to another. "Seems t'me that you'd want someone as knew what
they were doing for a partner, but diff'rent strokes and all that."

"I saw that," Daren pointed out. "You *are* worried about something."

"Saw what?" The gecko looked around. "I don't see any...."

A dark cloud suddenly washed over the sun and a thundering voice boomed,
"FORBIDDEN!" in tones loud and deep enough to shake the earth.

"Oh cripes," the gecko winced. "It's the Bottles!"

"The what?" Daren blinked.

"The Bottles," the gecko sighed resignedly. "The law. Means I'm busted,
guv'ner."

"YOU ARE FORBIDDEN TO PASS THE GATES!!!" the voice thundered again.

"S'long, guv'ner," the gecko said with a wave. "Don't think we'll be
seeing each other again. Say 'Hi' t'the Missus for m-"

A foot so large that its scale was meaningless slammed down, crushing
the gecko into a molecule-thick blotch in mid word. "YOU MAY NOT PASS!"
the foot's owner repeated.

Daren looked up slowly. The figure before him as immense, its body
formed from billions and billions of eyeballs and tongues, and the
thunder of thousands of wings beating filled the air. Daren knew it
instantly, knew the voice now that he'd had seconds to think, remembered
the words it had spoken to him a lifetime before, knew without counting
that there would be 4000 wings beating the air, and that its body held
one eye and one tongue for each living human in the universe. "Izra'il,"
he breathed.

The entity looked down from its cosmic height for a moment, and then
shrank down, twisting and turning in on itself until it had assumed a
form less awe-inspiring but no less terrifying. For a moment, he stared
at Daren, and then shook his had in a common, utterly human way.

"Didn't I tell you that you didn't have permission to die?" Victor
Krieghoff said with a frown. "I usually don't have to repeat myself;
most people get it right on the first try."

"Hammer into Anvil"

Gral'Mev Gro'kle, Prison Physician (Omar)
The Wretch

Hydran POW Facility/Lab, Location Unknown
=================================

Sound came before vision, a warbling, distorted chittering that grated
on the Wretch's dim senses. It surged and ebbed like a sickening tide
in his foggy mind, and brought with them other sensations less than
pleasant. Every time his chest heaved for breath, fire raced where
tentacles had cracked ribs. His forearms ached, as did his shoulders
and face, but the sharpest, most intense pain he had ever experienced
came from his mouth. Carefully he prodded the area with his tongue,
which recoiled when he struck the broken and shattered enamel of his
fore-teeth - and the pain! An unfathomable agony exploded in the
prisoner's mouth forcing a weak, sobbing scream.

"Ah, excellent, you are awake," Gral'Mev Gro'kle burbled as he stood
outside the cell looking in. "I was afraid that they may have
actually broken you." He looked down on the Wretch with all three
eyes. "Are you in pain?"

As the Wretch opened his bloodied, crust-covered eyes an unfocused,
milky world greeted him. He managed to turn his head to see the
blurred outline of a squat, tripod-like being observing him. "Yes",
he managed but barely so, yet while his mouth opened as if to scream
again he managed to stifle the sound. "Why?"

"Hmm, simply curious is all," the bloated figure replied. "I could
only imagine what it must feel like for you."

The Wretch's eyes slowly cleared under the harsh, white light of the
Hydran lab, much to the prisoner's chagrin. Designed for beings
without hands to grasp, the facility had an organic feel to it without
edges or corners. The medical instruments in their creches seemed
more a part of a crustacean rather than something crafted as a tool,
and certainly not designed to be used on one of the Wretch's
species... whatever that was. Their unfamiliarity made them ominous,
especially if they were guided by Gral'Mev Gro'kle's tentacles and
will. Still they remained unused, offering the Wretch hope that they
may remain so. "No", he croaked. "You... would not."

"Perhaps..." the Prison Physician mused. "At any rate, I would like
to discuss some of your...ramblings as of late." His tone gained just
a tinge of menace. "They interest us. Tell me about your dreams,
Prisoner."

"Dreams?", the human asked with genuine surprise. "You want... to
know... my dreams?" The Wretch had nothing - no wealth, no military
secrets, no identity... not even a name to interest his captors, and
now the Hydrans were wanting the only thing he had left for himself.
The dreams were dark and terrifying, but they were his alone and with
every shred of will he was determined that they would remain so.
"I'll tell you... Hydran", he inflected the race as an insult. "Are
you certain.... you want to know?'

"Yes, I am certain I want to know," the Hydran Physician replied in an
annoyed manner. Of course he was certain! Why else would he ask?

"Ripping your.... hrrrff... eyestalks off... by the roots!", the human
managed through clenched, broken teeth. "Shoving them... down... your
shattered… and broken.... beak! Kfff... pulling your... intestines....
through your throat." The smile he managed to give the alien
scientist was excruciating, and filled with all the hatred the Wretch
could muster.

"These are the things... *my* dreams are made of."

Internally, Gro'kle actually cringed at the savagery of this...Wretch.
However (and never to show weakness to a prisoner) the Doctor instead
did a passable job of mimicking a human gesture sometimes utilized as
sarcasm for what would be deemed a 'performance': he slapped his
tentacles together lightly three times.

"Perhaps you do dream of such things," the Hydran finally burbled
through the translator, "however that is not the answer I was looking
for. I believe you require some stimulation." A control very similar
to the one used on Lt. Branwen London suddenly became visible in
Gro'kle's tentacle. With the other, a control was manipulated to
simulate the sensation of drowning.

The prisoner writhed against the mag restraints to the point where the
Hydran thought the subject may break one of his thin arms. The
humans chest heaved frantically with the effort to draw air, and his
struggles ceased only when Gro'kle adjusted the controls.

"Truly, I do not understand why you must be so difficult. I can
assure you, I can find, devise, and imagine more ways to cause you
vast amounts of pain and discomfort than you can think to get around.
I want information. INFORMATION!" Again, a control was touched, but
having an entirely different effect this time.

"You... won't... get... it!", the human managed as he struggled to
catch his breath, not knowing what the Hydran could possibly want from
him. Dreams of food? Fresh water? These things haunted him
throughout his waking hours, but what he experienced asleep remained
unknown - other than the screaming every time he woke. There was no
memory of the nightmare, or what haunted his thoughts. He tried
racking his mind for a glimpse... an image... when the sensation
burning started. It began on the back of his legs and arms - a
pleasant, unaccustomed warmth at first that slowly spread to the
agonizing sensation of his limbs being dipped in boiling water. The
initial pain was brief, but then the nerves were given input of a
drier, more intense heat applied. Though he couldn't see what was
happening to him, the Wretch could imagine the skin of his arms and
legs crisping, then splitting.

If a Hydran could smile, Gro'kle would. "By hook or by crook...we will."

A high frequency hum settled the voids of the prisoner's irregular
screams as a small suspensor pod settled to hover over the Wretch's
head. The small, organic-looking device captured his attention and
briefly, his cries ceased as his fear of the thing festered in his
heart. "Who... are... you?" he asked between gasps as the pod floated
above him. Between the machines tiny hover-field generators, two thin
gleaming needles emerged .

"Your interrogator, Prisoner," Gro'kle replied. "I see I have no
choice now, but to take matters a bit further." He remembered his
instructions...not to 'damage' the tissue. But to bullocks with them!
He hit the action control and let his next phase go into motion.

Two small droplets of a pale green drug swelled at each tip before the
suspensors were cut and the needles were plunged into the humans eyes.
The Wretch's scream was a long one this time, far more lasting than
the Scientist would have guessed from such a thin, malnourished frame.
It rang throughout the laboratory until the drugs effects began to
take hold of the humans mind, giving way to a rambling gibberish that
Gro'kle hoped was fueled from the prisoner's subconscious.

"Yes, Prisoner, tell me of what things and landscapes you dream of."
Gro'kle was certain that he crossed the line, but he could repair the
local damage. And he wasn't concerned about the long term
psychological damage. As long as he got his information.

The Wretch hung motionless in his mag-shackles, continuing his random
rantings. His words came from a number of languages from the Alpha
and Beta quadrants that Gro'kle's universal translator could pick up,
and more than a few that didn't. Words repeated in alien phrases.
"Gate" in Federation Standard and Kzinti. "Key", in Klingon and
Rihannsu. "Stargod" in Batazoid and Vulcan. :astly, "Tawil At-U'mr"
in an inflection the Hydran guessed as as being a human tongue long
dead. Soon the gibberish faded to an exhausted silence, and only the
Prisoner's ragged breathing could be heard.

At first the Hydran thought that the Wretch had lost consciousness,
but then a deep, scratchy rasping voice came from the thin, haggard
figure.

"The Dweller on the Threshold awakens!"

"The Children of Yig will be tested!"

"That is not dead which can eternal lie.
And with strange æons even death... may die!"

With that the Wretch began to convulse, foaming at the mouth and
writing until the socket of his left shoulder dislocated with an
audible 'pop'.

"By the Queen's bounty!" exclaimed Gro'kle, quickly tapping commands
in his handheld controller. Another machination appeared from above
with a nastly looking syringe, the needle coated in teflon. It
plunged deep into the spinal column through the Prisoner's neck and
injected a light yellow fluid. Soon the convulsions ceased as did the
foaming. The Prisoner was once again motionless.

When the guard entered, Gro'kle quickly blorped and chittered a series
of instructions. Then the guard left with more speed than he entered.
Turning back to the Prisoner, the Hydran Physician loomed over the
fleshbag and spoke.

"We will get what we want."

"The Green, Green Grass of Home, Part 2"

Principal Character:

Captain Daren M'Kantu

Extra Special Guest Star:

Victor Krieghoff appearing as Izra'il, the Angel of Death

****

"Didn't I tell you that you didn't have permission to die?" Victor
Krieghoff said with a frown. "I usually don't have to repeat myself;
most people get it right on the first try."

Daren stared. Really, there wasn't anything else that he *could* do but
stare.

Victor shook his head again, walked forward, and looked down at Daren's
foot, stuck as if molecularly bonded to the white limestone of the path.
"What, exactly," he asked, "did you think you were doing?"

Daren blinked. "Ummm..." He paused. How *did* one address an archangel,
anyway? Particularly an archangel that appeared in the form of one of
his subordinate officers? He wasn't certain that one had been covered in
either his liturgical studies or his diplomacy classes. "I'm... not
certain, Mighty One," he offered.

Victor waved a hand dismissively. "Please, there's no need for that.
Just use the name you know me by, and that will be easy enough."

"Ahhh... yes... Izra'il?" Daren was not going to call the Angel of Death
'Mr. Krieghoff' - that was simply too disrespectful.

And weird.

Assuming of course, that one could even use that word while having a
conversation with the Angel of Death under the current - or any other -
conditions.

"Better," Victor nodded. "I like that name. Izra'il." He repeated it
again, rolling it around on his tongue. "Izra'il." With a final nod, he
agreed. "Izra'il it is, then."

Daren wasn't certain why the Angel of Death didn't know his own name,
but also wasn't certain that he should be asking that question. There
were answers that it might be better that he didn't know.

"A wise notion," Victor said abruptly. "Too many individuals never learn
the wisdom of silence."

"You... know what I'm thinking?" Daren asked carefully.

"Well now," Victor smiled, "I'd hardly be who you believe me to be if I
couldn't, correct?"

Daren thought about that for a moment. "You mean that you're not... the
Angel of Death?"

Victor's smile widened, stopping just short of impossible for a human
mouth to achieve, and the warmth of the plain fled to the point that
Daren's breath was steaming. "Well now, I wouldn't say that...." he
whispered, the words digging into Daren's skin until they found nerves
to chill.

"I..." Daren began slowly, shivering physically and metaphysically.

Victor's smile warmed, and the chill slipped away as fast as it had
arrived. "Of course," he continued pleasantly, "that didn't really
answer your question, did it?" He looked down at Daren's foot where it
was fixed on the white stone again, shook his head, and added, "Let's
just see about this first, shall we?"

Daren nodded, still trying to decide what, exactly, was going on and why
the Angel of Death had decided to manifest as Victor Krieghoff - to say
nothing of why Allah felt it important enough that he had dispatched an
archangel to speak to him in the first place. He rather hoped it wasn't
because he was going to be asked to become a prophet; they had a
distressing tendency to come to agonizing bad ends, or go live in
wormholes and contemplate linear time, neither of which particularly
appealed to him.

Victor reached down and took hold of Daren's ankle with one hand, pulled
gently - and the foot came free easily. "There we are," he nodded.

Daren took a hopping step back, realized that he was standing on the
molecular layer that had been the Gecko-Prince of Darkness, and
deliberately applied more pressure than was necessary when he placed his
newly-freed foot down. "Thank you," he said simply, leaving off the
issue of titles and modes of address.

Victor nodded pleasantly. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, who or what I am.
That's an interesting question, actually. Would you like to walk a bit
while we discuss it? Say, somewhere away from here?" he indicated the
archway.

"Walking was what got me here," Daren pointed out.

"Well, yes," Victor agreed. "But that was while you were talking to him,
not me. Or yourself, and not me. Or maybe just yourself in both cases."
His smile grew more amused. "Confusing, isn't it?"

"A bit, yes." Daren concentrated for a moment. "But I think I understand
what's happening here now."

"You do?" Victor asked.

"Yes," Daren said firmly. "I'm still sedated. This is a dream - or a
nightmare or hallucination - that I'm having while under sedation; one
where my subconscious is trying to decide if I should keep fighting and
agree to Dr. Burton's planned course of treatment, or just let go and
slip away."

"Very good," Victor nodded.

"The gecko," Daren continued, grinding his foot into the earth a bit,
"wasn't actually Satan here to tempt me any more than it was actually
the most powerful advertising icon of the last four centuries; it was
the part of myself that feels that surrendering is the thing to do, the
part of me, in effect, that feels that death would be better than
fighting and losing my battle to do more than lie in a bed for the rest
of my life."

"And me?" Victor asked, tilting his head to one side.

"You're... you're the representation of the side of me that wants to
live, that wants to fight and keep on fighting no matter what. The part
of me that won't surrender."

"Oh really now?" Victor chuckled. "It's as simple as that, is it?"

"Of course it is," Daren said firmly.

"Interesting, very interesting. If that's the case then, answer me this:
Why, out of all the people that you've known, out of all the faces that
you could have chosen, did you pick this one for me, then? Why assign my
face to the Angel of Death come to keep you from passing the veil? Why
me?"

"Because..."

"Oh come on now, we're all figments of your subconscious here, aren't
we?" Victor asked. "One figment to another - why me?"

"Because I see Victor Krieghoff as..." Daren began. "As...."

Victor smiled, opened his green, green eyes innocently at him to the
point that the black veins shot through them were clearly visible, and
waited.

"Because," Daren said firmly, "I see Victor Krieghoff as being something
akin to Death incarnate. Because he makes me feel like I'm in the room
with a living, breathing avatar of the personification of entropy.
Because he terrifies me on a level that I'd thought I had left behind as
a child. That's why."

"Ha!" Victor clapped gleefully. "There, was that so hard?"

"Yes," Daren said, relieved. "And no."

"So, Victor said, taking a step back, towards the grassy plain, "Because
you're afraid of him, and because you feel that he represents death, you
assign his image to represent death? Or, more properly, the Angel of
Death from your belief system, is that it?"

Daren took a step forward, following Victor without thinking, stopped,
looked over his shoulder, and realized that he'd covered so much ground
in that single pace that the white archway was no longer visible. "Yes,"
he affirmed, turning back to Victor. "Where did the archway go?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Victor said with a quirk of his lip. "You
didn't want to hang out there anyway. Dull place, that, nothing to see
there, nothing much to do; just two choices, up or down, and where's the
fun in that? This," he spread his arms and made a circle, "this is a
much more interesting place to be. There's a world of choices here."

"But..." Daren looked back over his shoulder again.

"No," Victor said, his voice abruptly losing it's good cheer. "There's
nothing there for you, not now. Not until I say that you can go - and I
won't. Not for a long time, maybe never."

"Excuse me?" Daren stared.

"Maybe never," Victor repeated. "It all depends on what happens
afterwards."

"After what?"

"The surgery, of course - if it doesn't work, then maybe I'll give you
permission to die. Or not. I haven't decided yet."

"If you're my subconscious," Daren returned, "then ultimately there's
not much you're going to be able to do about it, is there? Whatever I
decide is going to happen will happen."

"Ah," Victor said, holding up a finger, "now that's the heart of the
issue, isn't it? The crux of the matter if you will: am I really a
creation of your subconscious? Or am I something else, something that's
not subject to your will, conscious or otherwise, at all?"

Daren paused in mid retort, the idea of starting an argument between two
parts of his subconscious suddenly striking him as absurd beyond belief.
A reasoned debate on the other hand, now that was much more his cup of
tea, and could prove to be very interesting from a psychological
standpoint - assuming, of course, that he remembered any of it later on.
Besides, he wasn't doing anything else with his time at the moment.
"So," he said finally, "how would I know the difference?"

"Here and now?" Victor considered that. "Difficult to say. We could, I
suppose, take it as a given if you want and proceed from there? Or would
you rather proceed from the opposite and assume that I'm simply another
aspect of your subconscious?" He smiled cheerfully. "Either way, this
really is becoming much more entertaining than it used to be, you know.
I'm finding that I don't miss the screaming much at all these days." He
leaned a bit closer. "Confidentially, just between the two of us, it had
all gotten a bit boring anyway. Not that I would have admitted it you
understand. Professional ethics and all that."

Daren raised an eyebrow. "Let's... let's start with the assumption that
you aren't a part of me," he decided. He wasn't entirely certain that he
wanted to even consider that Victor - whatever part of his psyche he
represented - was a part of him at the moment, anyway.

"Oh good!" Victor clapped his hands delightedly. "That's much more
entertaining than the other way. So, where shall we begin?" He looked at
Daren expectantly.

"At the beginning?" Daren suggested.

"Which one? The beginning beginning, or just the beginning that's
relevant here?"

"The one that's relevant here, I think."

"Probably for the best; the other one is ever so boring anyway. There's
only so much to say about swirling gasses, stellar genesis, and the like
before you're done." Victor appeared to think for a moment. "Very well,
the relevant beginning it is. That would, I expect, be the whole Gorn
breaking your neck thing."

"I do recall the event, yes," Daren said dryly.

"I thought you might. It seemed the sort of thing that wouldn't really
slip one's mind under the current circumstances." Victor hummed to
himself for a moment as he plucked a blade of grass, examined it, and
then looked back up. "Now where were we? Oh yes, the Gorn. That's where
I come into the picture; a few seconds after the big snap."

"I don't suppose that you'd consider referring to the incident in a more
serious light," Daren frowned. "It is my life we're discussing after
all."

"If you insist," Victor shrugged. "Anyway, that's where the beginning
is. You were attacked, your neck was broken, and you started to die. But
you can't, because I said so."

"Because you... said so," Daren repeated.

Victor nodded.

"Then you are Izra'il?"

"If you say so."

"But you don't"

"Do I have to? Is that necessary?" Victor cupped the blade of grass in
his hands and blew on it, making it a whistle. As he did so, and the
sound reached out around them, every blade of grass on the plain stood
straight up and vibrated in sympathetic motion, the sound of the whistle
building and building until it was almost deafening.

Just as Daren was about to cover his ears, Victor stopped and the sound
faded away on the wind as the grass returned to normal. "That was fun,"
Victor said brightly, like a child discovering something new. He caught
sight of Daren, paused, and continued as if nothing had happened, "Is
that necessary? Isn't it just easier to accept what's happening than
demand explanations you might find disturbing?"

"Disturbing?" Daren asked, even though he wasn't certain that he wanted
to know the answer.

"Well of course. There are all sorts of disturbing aspects to consider
here," Victor said, warming to the topic. "For instance, what if I *am*
the archangel Izra'il? Why would I intervene personally to prevent your
death? Wouldn't that mean that Allah Himself had sent me? Or would I
have done it for reasons of my own? Do archangels do things like that?
Wait, wasn't that Iblis' sin? Didn't that work out rather poorly for
everyone involved?"

"Point made," Daren agreed.

"Oh, but we're just getting started here," Victor said with a gleeful
smile. "What if I'm *not* the archangel Izra'il? What if I'm something
else entirely, something completely divorced from your faith? Why am I
here then? What purpose does keeping you from dying serve? Why would I
choose to wear this face instead of another? Does that mean that I *am*
Victor Krieghoff? That one of your crew really does possess the literal
power to prevent someone from dying if he chooses to exercise it? Why
would he have such a power? Where would he have gotten it? Why would he
choose to use it here and choose to not us it another time? What would
that make him? Would he even be human, or something else? Something...
alien?"

"I... don't know," Daren admitted uncomfortably.

Victor smiled cheerfully. "You see? All sorts of wonderful, disturbing
questions to talk about. Enough for years of deba-" he stopped and
frowned. "Well, that's just rude," he remarked petulantly to himself.

"What is?" Daren asked carefully.

"I have to go," Victor sighed. "The usual, I'm afraid; places to go,
Hydrans to kill, people to rescue." He nodded to Daren. "I don't know
that I'll be back to talk for a while - the connection's not too good
since we left Romulus. Not enough pain and fear and death in the air I
expect. This *would* happen the first chance I get to really talk to
someone without the screaming getting in the way."

"Ahhh... If you say so," Daren returned.

"Remember now," Victor admonished, waggling a finger. "No dying. None.
Not a bit. Not until I get back and give you permission - and maybe not
even then. Understand? I'd be very angry if you didn't listen this time.
You wouldn't like that; you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

"I'll remember," Daren promised.

"Good." Victor smiled beatifically at him. "Oh, and before I go - thank
you. I have the best look ever now, and I didn't even have to kill
someone for it. Pay attention now- I love this part!" He winked one
black-threaded green eye, and began to expand back into the form of
Izra'il, until he reached past the sky. "REMEMBER!" he boomed, and then
was gone with a single beat of his many thousand wings.

Daren stared at the sky for a very long time, and then let out the
breath he hadn't known that he was holding and turned to look at the
plain around him again. "I," he sighed, "really need to speak to Dr.
Burton about my medication when she brings me out the next time."

He looked up at the sky again, watched a cloud trace a path across it,
and then turned back to the earth and began to walk once more through
the green green grass of home.

"Road To Restoration - Part I"

Lieutenant (jg) Michael McDowell
Engineering Officer

With appearances of (in backflashes):
Lt. Dhanishta Eshe - CEO
Lt. (Jg) Faylin McAlister - JAG
Lt. Ophelia Zamora - JAG

*** USS Galaxy, McAlister's Office - First session, 5 months ago ***

Fay attempted to stifle the yawn she felt building behind in the corner of
her brain. However, the body won and she permitted her head to tilt back as
the familiar stretch of her mouth was felt. She was back, in full force and
having ultimate fun tarnishing her reputation yet once more. Looking up she
grinned and spoke, "Here to torment me?"

A fleeting smile passed over the lips of the woman in the open doorway, "In
a way," she replied keeping her gaze level and her posture straight, "yes."

She turned slightly and smiled softly to whoever was outside the door with
her. For a moment all Faylin could hear was a hush of whispering and then
Dhanishta turned back to face her, an arm reaching out to take hold of
whoever was hiding behind the wall.

"We are your one o'clock." Dhanishta said brightly although there was a hint
of uncertainty in her voice as she pulled Michael in behind her.

Michael reluctantly stepped into the JAG's office. Dhani had literally
dragged him over to this place. Of course they talked about doing this, but
he had this uneasy feeling like he was not quite ready. "Hi."

*** USS Galaxy, Eshe/McDowell's Quarters - The present ***

~Oh yeah, nice going. What the hell was I thinking back then?~ Michael
frowned and shook has head slightly as he thought back about his childish
behaviour back then at the JAG office.
It had been the first concrete step for him to get back in Starfleet after
so many years of living two lives, that of a civilian and an Engineer in the
Fleet.

And what a grueling journey it was. Session after session with JAG officers
until it had almost become part of his daily life. It seemed to never end.
Him talking for hours and they recording it all and discussing with the top
JAG Officers back at Starfleet Command. And still nothing happened. It
looked like they hit some wall while trying to get Michael's case through
the system.

Something brushed against his left leg and made Michael look down. It was
his cat Twister. Salem, Dhani´s cat, was looking at him from some distance
near the sofa.

"I know, I know, you want something to eat." He looked from Twister to
Salem. "I take it you have the same wish, right?" Salem answered with a long
meow. "Yeah, I thought as much."

*** USS Galaxy, McAlister's Office - First session, 5 months ago ***

As Ophelia walked into the room, she nodded shyly to Michael and Dhani
before sitting in a lone seat in the corner. "Lt."

Turning her attention back to Dhani and Michael, she spoke. "Let me
introduce you to Lt. Ophelia Zamora....JAG. She's been sent to observe for
a period of time, and anything you say before her is safe."

Zamora nodded silently, offering a slight yet terse smile to both of them.

Michael smiled back at the woman. It was hard not to see her shyness towards
them. He remembered his first few years in the Academy and after he
graduated. He had not been as shy as the Lt., but close to it when in social
gatherings when women were all around. "I have no problem with that."

"Nor me." Dhanishta stated for the record. She wasn't totally comfortable
with another person being present but then it wasn't really her case and
therefore not her place to cause a fuss. She looked back to Michael,
probing him with her eyes for him to continue. They had been here for at
least ten minutes and nothing so far was divulged.

"So, what's going on?" Fay took a sip of her coffe before she caught
Ophelia eyeing her from the corner.

Zamora's eyes narrowed. The rudeness that this woman exhibited on a daily
basis was enough to drive the Spainard to insanity. Her mother always
taught her to 'make your guests as comfortable as possible.....then the
jewels of truth would be revealed.'

"What?" McAlister spat.

"Excuse me, but would you two like anything to drink? I can replicate it
for you if you wish." She asked Dhani and Michael shooting Fay a 'you
should know better look'. "I was just about to replicate some cafe con leche
for myself."

"Eh, yes, Darjeeling tea please." The offer of the Lieutenant came a bit as
a surprise, but it was a welcome one to Michael.

Dhanishta waved a hand and shook her head gratefully before turning back to
Fay and Michael.

After having received his cup of Darjeeling tea and thanking Lieutenant.
Zamora - who, thankfully, understood the phsychological side of
conversations like these - Michael turned towards the JAG officer again.
~Here we go...again.~ "Alright, to come back to what we came here for. It
happened 5 or so years ago. I got transferred from the USS Galaxy to the USS
Windsor. I boarded the USS Achilles at Earth Station McKinley. The Achilles
would bring me to Starbase 86. When we had covered about three quarters over
the journey the Achilles got new orders. High priority. They had to change
course and wouldn't be able to get me to Starbase 86. Luckily... Well, that's
not the right word, but that is hindsight. Luckily they could arrange
passsage for me on a Freighter that was also en route to Starbase 86."

Michael paused for a moment. "And here's where the 'fun' begins. While on
the ship I made myself useful. It was an old freigter with all kinds of
malfunctions. I thought that was the least I could do for the crew. You
know, for their trouble of taking me along. So it happened that at some
point I was working on the Deflector Array. Because of that we had to drop
to impulse speed for a few minutes. I'll spare you the technical details but
dropping to impulse speed couldn't be helped. I had informed the Captain of
this and why it was necessary. She agreed and ordered to get the the ship
out of warp. It was right at that moment that the freigher was attacked by
Orion Pirates. Of course, shields were down before we knew it and they
beamed over the cargo. They were gone the next moment. They left the ship in
a bad state. Shields generator gone, Life support gone, and a warp core
breach in progress. The Captain, the Master Chief of the ship, and I were
the only ones who managed to escape with an Escape Pod before the ship blew
up."

"Charges?" Ophelia spoke up first. "Any brought against you?"

"Oh yes. They didn´t hesitate with that after an investigation was started
and where, at the end, the Captain told the Commander of Starbase 86 her
version of what had transpired." Michael answered cynically. "Not to mention
the ´evidence´ she showed him."

Fay flipped her the padd that she had been writing notes on, and Ophelia
studied it for a moment with concerned vision. "Michael, as you are aware,
all legal proceedings in Starfleet have a tendency to run....how shall we
say this....."

"Slow like a constipated Klingon." Fay added.

Dhanishta hid a snigger at that, she couldn't help but agree with Fay, on
both accounts!

Zamora shot her a look of disdain. "As my colleague so 'eloquently' put
it...yes, slow. However, if you have this evidence that you speak of, I can
submit it personally to Starfleet JAG Headquarters in San Francisco and
place a priority stamp on it. It will have to come before a review
committee, but we should see results within two weeks at best."

"I did that...." McAlister pouted.

"Obviously, you did not do it to protocol Lt. McAlister, or else it would
have been handled already. We have a man here, desiring to get back into
the Fleet as soon as possible for a noble reason, and you toss him aside."
Her jaw set stiffly before turning to Dhani and Michael and offering a
reassuring smile.

Fay just stared at the new JAG with silent anger.

"Now, is there anything else I can help you with? I can send you a list of
what I've done and when it has been received if it gives you comfort in this
situation." Zamora offered the two.

Dhanishta held up a finger, ignoring the tension in the room between the two
women, for getting her man back in uniform was more important to her than
rivalry between comrades, to that end she would quite willingly go up
against a horde of constipated Klingons!! "There is more than that." she
informed them both with a gentle wag of her extended index finger.

She stood up deliberately slowly, this debacle had gone on long enough and
she wanted it sorted now. Mikey had a tendency to lay back and role over,
but Dhanishta was made of sterner stuff. She straightened her uniform and
stood behind Michael, "Not only was he charged, but he was framed."
Dhanishta said without a trace of doubt in her voice.

"The Captain told Starfleet that she was unaware of the modifications that
Michael was working on when the ship was attacked." she paused and looked at
both women before continuing.

"She also claimed that she had not given her permission for the ship to drop
out of warp." Dhanishta looked down at Michael and placed her hand on his
shoulder. "She blamed the attack, and subsequent destruction of her ship
and crew solely on Michaels head." She squeezed his shoulder, an offer of
support as she detailed these things, "The First officer collaborated with
the Captain, supporting her version of events. Michael was not only
formally reprimanded for his actions he was also demoted." Her gaze was
stern as she looked upon the JAG officers in front of her, eying them both
with determination.

Michael cringed slightly and clenched his teeth. Hearing the whole story
over again and the consequences of it still got to him despite the fact that
it happened years in the past. It was still painful. Part of him wished he
just could let it all rest, but Dhani made him aware that that was not the
way to go. That was too easy. Even impossible if you thought about
'selfrespect'. He look at Zamora and McAlister to see their reaction.

"Interesting." Zamora stated wistfully as she noted something on her padd.
She felt at home finally, in her element. Glancing at McAlister, the two
exchanged raised Vulcanish eyebrows as if communicating telepathically in
legalese.

"You have evidence to these claims?" Fay questioned.

Zamora's posture straightened. "If so, it's going to get extremely
messy......"

"Quickly....." McAlister responded.

*** USS Galaxy, Eshe/McDowell's Quarters - The present ***

And it sure did get messy. In a way 'shit hit the fan'. Everything was tried
to keep the two JAG Officers of the USS Galaxy at bay and to keep Michael's
case from being re-opened. Lieutenant Zamora had not been exaggerating.

A chill went down Michael's spine and he felt his muscles tense when he
thought back about those days. He drank some of his hot Earl Grey tea to
quench the feeling. Minutes of silence followed while he sat on the
confortable sofa in the livingroom on this very early morning. The calm and
satisfied feeling slowly returned. He could not remember the last time he´d
felt like this. In a way it still felt a bit strange.

OOC: This is a bit of a backpost and takes place at some point before
we leave the nebula.

"Permission Granted"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara – Executive Officer – USS Galaxy
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – Chief Medical Officer

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Captains Ready Room ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Looking around the bridge as she stepped off the turbolift Kimberly
saw no signs of the struggle that had caused so much chaos on the
bridge. Engineering and Ops teams had obviously done their usual
sterling job of aftermath damage control and clean up, and the bridge
looked as it always did, with one notable exception, the Captain was
still conspicuously absent. Though the centre seat was vacant the
atmosphere on the bridge was different somehow; it was as if his aura
had been injured as well, and the very ship was holding its breath in
anticipation of his return.

Unable to miss the tense feelings in the air, and the glances that
were sent her way as she crossed to the ready room door Kimberly
ignored everyone else on the bridge and tried to suppress the shudder
that ran up her spine. So many people were expecting her to pull the
proverbial rabbit out of the equally proverbial hat right about now.

~ No pressure. ~ She reminded herself as she tapped the door chime.
Though she was far from ready to actually do anything about the
Captain's condition, the XO had to be brought up to speed, and she
most definitely needed her permission for a few things before she
started.

Iniara's expression brightened as the doors swished open to reveal the
CMO. Hopefully she brought good news with her. "Come in, Doctor;
have a seat. Can I get you anything?" she asked, waving a hand
towards the replicator.

"Thank you Sir, but no, I'm fine." Sitting across from the XO
Kimberly tried to relax, but found herself a little awkward sitting
here facing someone other than the Captain. Add to that the news she
was bearing, it wasn't the most relaxing of circumstances.

Settling back into her chair (no, not her chair, she reminded
herself...so easy to think that way) Iniara shut down the desktop
console before turning to face Kimberly. "Please tell me you have
some good news about the Captain."

Frowning slightly Kimberly nodded, though her expression didn't
exactly make the nod a reassuring gesture. "Partly Sir," she
admitted, "so far we've ascertained that the Captain doesn't seem to
have suffered any permanent neurological damage to his brain, though
we will have to confirm that when he wakes up. The main concern at
the moment is the obvious trauma he suffered. Basically Sir, his neck
is broken, and he is totally paralysed from the neck down. Existing
medical procedures simply don't allow for the repair of this level of
trauma." Deflating slightly as she finally admitted this to someone
she looked down at one of the PADDs she was gripping, "there... there
is one possibility," she added quickly, "but the procedure is still
highly experimental, and has been for some years."

"Oh?" Iniara perked up. "What exactly does it involve?"

Thinking for a second she debated the best way to explain what she was
considering. "How much do you know about neural regeneration
techniques and neurosurgery?" Kimberly enquired, first needing to
know if she needed to 'dumb down' her explanation.

"Not much, admittedly. My sister's the doctor of the family, but... I
guess I can understand the basics."

"Okay..." Sliding a PADD onto the desk she pushed it across to the
XO, "There are somewhat in excess of one and a half billion nerves in
the Captains spinal cord that have been damaged," she explained
slowly, "and to repair and regenerate them by conventional means would
be impossible. What I'm currently investigating is a procedure that
was first attempted back in twenty three sixty nine. With current
technology, some modifications and a little specialist help," ~ Okay,
a 'lot' of specialist help. ~ She added silently, "I believe it's
possible to improve the odds of this procedure working and literally
replicate a new section of spine and replace the damaged section with
a new undamaged piece... With enhanced scanners, medical replication
and transporter technology the reconnection of the nerves is something
that can be done in the space of a few hours. Instead of a few
millennia." She added in a deadpan tone.

"One catch though is that to date there hasn't been a successful
procedure of this type since the first, and there were special
circumstances then as the patient was Klingon. I have spoken to the
Captain's next of kin, and Doctor M'Kantu has agreed that the
procedure, though not without risks does represent the Captains only
hope of having anything resembling a normal life again."

As the doctor talked, Iniara briefly skimmed the information on the
padd. There was a lot of information there, only about half of which
she understood. "I know there's only been one case of this being done
before, but do you have an estimated chance of success?"

"If I had to give you the odds right now I'd have to say fifty-fifty,"
she admitted with a resigned shrug, "however," placing another PADD
onto the table as she spoke, "I've arranged for a neurological expert
to assist; with her help we believe we can improve the odds to as much
as eighty percent. I apologize for not clearing this with you sooner
but she was due to transfer to a deep range explorer and she'd have
been out of range if I hadn't called her ASAP. She's already
transferred aboard and is reviewing the procedure I've outlined."

That was certainly not standard procedure, Iniara thought as she slid
the second padd over; though given the circumstances... "A...
holographic doctor?" the XO began as she skimmed the padd. "What
makes this doctor any different from any of our EMH units?"

~ Where to start? ~ Kimberly wondered absently. "Well Sir, although
she is a hologram, she's not an EMH. Some time ago on the USS
Miranda, Watson was accidentally downloaded into the mind of a young
engineer. During the time they shared the same physical body Watson's
program underwent some radical alterations. Lieutenant Jemel's mind
couldn't properly interpret the holographic algorithms, and in turn
Watson's program absorbed much from the Lieutenant's mind."

"When they finally separated them her program had become much more
that it had originally been." That spark that was the core of a
conscious mind, or more simply the line dividing an 'artificial'
awareness from a 'living' intellect. This was something that
philosophers debated, or programmers tried to blur; it was however
something that was not Kimberly's concern right now. "Whatever
happened when they were merged, when they removed Watson, her program
had become something else. From what I've read there was a string of
tests and legal debates, but once they were done Watson was granted
full sentient rights and a Starfleet commission. Basically Sir, on a
conscious level she is alive."

"The reason I contacted her though, like an EMH she has at her
fingertips the capacity to instantly recall medical data, even in an
operation, without the need for data terminal or PADD and that level
of recall could make a difference here. Also again like an EMH she
has superior tactile and optical sensors, again an asset. However
where she differs from an EMH is that while an EMH has a program and
can analyse a situation and create a diagnosis, it is dependent on the
data in its memory banks. Watson isn't limited like that; she's
already proven on the Aesculapius that she can be creative and
innovative where the EMH at the time couldn't." ~ And she can think
through the possibilities much faster that an organic medic. ~
Kimberly added silently, almost a little jealous of Watson for a
second.

"All of this basically though is to give the Captain the best chance I
can. Watson is a Neurosurgeon, and a specialist in several fields of
study. Without her I'd have to transfer the Captain to the nearest
Starbase for treatment, and I'm not ready to give up on him." She
ended a little defiantly.

"Ah. Well, in that case I'm glad you went ahead and contacted her,
then," Iniara replied a bit sheepishly. "I'll have to officially
approve her transfer, but if she's already agreed to it, that
shouldn't be much of a problem."

"She's agreed to a temporary transfer for the duration," Kimberly
said, sounding a little disappointed at the thought, "but if I can
persuade her I'd like to try and keep her on. She had just applied
for a transfer from her last posting, so unless you have an
objection?"

"No, not at all. So... in order to get things moving, what else do
you need from me?" the XO asked.

"Engineering has already set up the equipment I need, and Doctor
Watson and I are already running simulations to refine the procedure."
She added in a reassuring tone, "However, standing orders require me
to clear any unusual procedures if possible with the next of kin and
the CO. Doctor M'Kantu has already given me the go-ahead assuming we
can show the procedure will have a reasonable chance of success." ~
Reasonable, frell, right now just getting him breathing on his own
will be a miracle, but we need to do more than that! ~ she decided
firmly, but silently.

The XO picked up the first padd, skimming the text once more. The
procedure was risky, and having the power to approve or deny it was a
little intimidating. But, if it really was the Captain's best chance
to recover, when she really stopped and thought about it there wasn't
much of a choice to be made at all.

Iniara nodded, pressing her thumb to the padd's scanner. Once it
beeped, she passed the padd back to Burton. "Alright, you've got your
approval from me. Do whatever you need to."

"Thank you Ma'am, we'll do our best, I promise." Accepting the PADD
and standing Kimberly paused a second before turning away, "Ma'am,"
she started a little hesitantly, "the Captain is a devout man if I
recall, a Muslim?"

"I believe so, yes," Iniara replied. She thought about that question
for a moment; humans had so many religions and faiths that it was
sometimes hard to keep them straight. "That sounds right."

"I was wondering if there was another Muslim aboard, one who might
know of any rites or traditions appropriate to his beliefs. I know
little about the Muslim faith," she admitted frankly, "but I would
appreciate some assistance in this regard from someone qualified."

"If I remember correctly, his faith is a...popular one among humans?"
Iniara commented, the tone of her voice indicating she wasn't quite
sure of the proper wording. "It's likely there are other Muslims on
board. I don't think they would mind if you asked some of them for
guidance. Or if you'd prefer, I can ask around myself and point any
particularly helpful crewmen your way?"

"I would appreciate it Ma'am. Normally I'd have someone on my staff
look into it, but we're all a little busy right now as you might
imagine." For a second Kimberly looked as if she were about to say
more, but then shook her head almost imperceptibly, "I'll keep you
informed as soon as I know more." With a wan smile that extended no
further than her mouth she turned for the door. The XO, next of kin
and even Starfleet Medical had now given consent or their blessing, so
now the final decision rested firmly in her hands.

~ Now... Now we make sure this will work. ~ She decided.

6175