8-ball watched the ice cream start to melt before her eyes and took a long breath before completing the Vulcan chant. It was a part of her training on patience, a training so sadistic and cruel that only Vulcan whackjobs could have thought of it. Crazy bastards. The second 8-ball was done chanting, she scooped up a bit of ice cream and let it melt on her tongue.

Good. Christ. That was better than sex.

It had been far, far too long since 8-ball had eaten any form of chocolate—any kind of dessert, really, and 8-ball had missed it with a passion. She hadn't had any booze, either, or anything that could be considered unhealthy or unnecessary or not tasting like medicinal cardboard since the last time she'd been on Galaxy.

Just about nine months ago now. Right before she went batshit crazy.

8-ball took another bite of her deliciousorgasmicgod'sgreatestgifttothissideofthegalaxy sundae and then offered a spoonful to her partner in crime, Eptgac. Being a teddy bear, Eptgac did not partake, and 8-ball ate the spoonful herself, eyelashes fluttering in pleasure at the sublime sweetness that was ice cream. "It's a little ridiculous," 8-ball said to Eptgac, "how good this stuff really tastes."

Eptgac did not reply. He was the silent type.
Though she'd been unaware of it, Eptgac had been her constant companion for the past nine months, resting comfortably at her side as she lay in a hospital bed, catatonic. It must have been someone from the ship's idea, to send Epgtac along with her, but 8-ball had no idea who. Ella, she supposed, was the most likely suspect, but 8-ball had never really considered Ella to be much of a sentimentalist.

Hmmm. Ella. 8-ball wondered if she and Victor had resolved their tormented, almost love affair yet.

8-ball had only arrived on the Galaxy earlier this morning. She hadn't seen anybody, save the dude who had shuttled her in and some people who'd been in the corridors. Truth was, she was nervous as hell about seeing her old friends—Ella in particular, but also Nara and Andy and Saul . . . oh, Saul. She wondered how the little sneaky bastard was doing these days. She couldn't even remember which girl he was with last time she'd seen him . . . and she couldn't help a nagging, wiggle of hope that he was single and free for a quickie. She'd always been too curious for her own good.

Except. She wasn't supposed to be into casual sex these days, was supposed to be concentrating on her meditations and finding her sense of balance or whatever. 8-ball laughed to herself. That wasn't going to last. She was keeping up with the chanting, the reflections, the Vulcan nonsense that kept her all sane and functioning . . . but this whole chastity deal? That bullshit was going out the airlock, real fucking soon.

Still. 8-ball had decided to postpone meeting up with any of her old friends, as long as she possibly could, anyway. What was she supposed to say to them? Hey, how've things been going the nine months I've been away languishing in a mental hospital?

Yeah. That would be a fun conversation.

It was, unfortunately, the conversation she was due to have in about twenty minutes with the XO in the ready room. 8-ball was so anxious about that she had to recite another Vulcan chant to keep her fingers from twitching. One would have to assume that nobody would have invited her back on board just to kick her off again . . . but then again, on this boat, one never knew. Still, they'd have to be fucking nuts to throw her back in the saddle of Chief Science Officer. Hell, she'd be lucky if she didn't get demoted back to Ensign.

8-ball thought about that. Was it ethical to demote somebody in rank for mental illness? 8-ball didn't really think so, but again . . . this boat . . . who could say. She was a little surprised she was being allowed to serve at all.

She was also surprised to learn that she wanted to.

When 8-ball first came aboard Galaxy, she hadn't expected to stay very long. Starfleet had been means to an end for her, just a bed, a roof, and some free grub in between. She figured she'd just jump ship whenever she got bored, or, as things were wont to do on Galaxy, when things got to dicey. But she hadn't left. She'd made a home on Galaxy, for better or worse, against all probabilities. She felt like she belonged here, in a crazy sort of way. She hadn't felt that way since living with Big Man in the bar.

8-ball still missed Big Man. She missed a lot of things. She didn't feel nearly as young as she once had. This whole growing up thing was a pain in the ass.

8-ball relayed this newest bit of sage wisdom to Eptgac, who agreed with her whole-heartedly, once 8-ball used her hand to make Eptgac's slightly precarious head nod up and down. Eptgac's head was precarious because it had been sewn back on. 8-ball had stitched him back together, after she had decapitated him.

This was, sadly, before 8-ball had gone really crazy.

8-ball's reigning lack of sanity had begun long before she went catatonic. The seeds of it started back on Trill, when the homeworld was attacked and 8-ball was left in charge of two orphaned children. Azra, the oldest one, was killed on her watch. It fucked her up a little. It wasn't the only thing.

After the hilarity that Trill had been, 8-ball was possessed by two Dithparu. Anlaika, the queen bitch, had used 8-ball's body to screw some guys, kill some people, and hold a whole schoolroom of children hostage. This was also when she had decapitated her beloved teddy bear, and while it was fair to say that 8-ball had never been kind to the little stuffed animal, she had never gone so far as to chop off its head and mount it on a wall.

That had all sucked. Then, as fallout from the telepathic possession, 8-ball's own psychic abilities, which had been null and void before, started coming out of nowhere. They were especially strange to 8-ball because, as a half-Vulcan, she should only have had some form of touch telepathy—non-touch telepath was very rare, even for full Vulcans. But Anlaika's mindrape had whacked out something in her head, and 8-ball started getting spontaneous flashes of words and thoughts that she couldn't shut off and couldn't control.

Then, because that wasn't enough, 8-ball started seeing Azra's dead little body around everywhere. At first, Azra only appeared in nightmares, but it didn't take too long for her to pop up while 8-ball was awake. Not wanting anyone to know that she was going nuts, 8-ball kept her hallucinations to herself. Surprisingly, she managed this for a good little while. Most people on the Galaxy figured 8-ball was crazy as it was, so a few eccentric behaviors, talking to herself or whatever, went widely unnoticed. 8-ball did her job, lived her life, and tried to ignore visions of dead children from the past.

It worked for awhile. But it couldn't work forever.

The straw that broke the camel's back were the alien memories. For some reason that 8-ball could no longer even recall, the entire Galaxy crew were forced to relive another person's memories, and 8-ball had been a mother of three children, all boys. During the course of this lifetime, 8-ball was forced to watch all three sons die before her.

The emotional strain was too much.

When 8-ball snapped back into her body, there was a buzz in her ears, like bees nesting somewhere inside of her brain. The buzz rose to a crescendo, ocean waves hitting the coast, obliterating all other noise, all senses, all thought. The only thing she could see was Azra in front of her, charging her with her failures, her mistakes, her guilt. The only thing she could hear was Azra screaming.

So, 8-ball screamed back.

When she did, 8-ball's psychic abilities exploded. She somehow pushed her hallucination of Azra forward, projecting the little dead girl all over the ship so that everybody on board could see her. 8-ball didn't realize that at the time, though. She was a little preoccupied with the crazies. There was a sound in her mind, like a popping, and then everything just went white.

When 8-ball blinked her eyes again, it was eight months later and she was in a hospital on Earth.

8-ball pushed away the empty ice cream bowl and sighed, running her fingers through her short hair. After waking up and finding out that she'd been catatonic for eight whole months, 8-ball had been a little upset. She was made to go through a barrage of medical tests, doctors' inquisitions and therapy sessions. It was decided that the strain of her new abilities had short-circuited her brain, and the fact that she was clearly undergoing some form of post traumatic stress had only forced the cracks wider. And since she had failed to seek help for either of these issues . . . well, there you go. Catatonic 8-ball.

She was remanded to daily therapy and sessions with Vulcan guides to help her control her newfound telepathy. There was also a bit of physical therapy—relearning how to walk on her land legs, so to speak. Feeling the need to make things as simple as possible, 8-ball had chopped off all of her dark hair. It was now very short, making her look more Vulcan than ever. She wore smiley face earrings to compensate this unfortunate side effect.

Eventually, the doctors gave her a clean bill of health. She was considered fit for duty, provided she continued therapy on whatever ship she served on. 8-ball requested the Galaxy, without any real hope of getting it. If she was the captain of this boat, she wouldn't let herself back aboard.

But, somehow, her request had been granted, and here she was, with Eptgac at her side.

8-ball pulled Eptgac into her arms and looked at him. Over the last month, she had felt a fondness growing inside her for the little stuffed animal. He'd been by her side, literally, every step of the way. It seemed a shame that his name was short for Evil PlayThing Given by AntiChrist. 8-ball briefly considered renaming him something, maybe Frankenstein or Lazarus, given his back-from-the-dead status, but decided that he had simply been Eptgac for too long now. That was what she knew him as, and that was what he'd remain.

"What do you think, Eptgac?" she asked him. "You think I can make it on this boat?" If there was any ship in Starfleet that she'd fit in, it would most likely be this one. The Galaxy, beautiful ship that she was, was full of the most fucked up people that 8-ball had ever met. There had to be a reason that she felt like she belonged here. It was here, after all, or a mental asylum somewhere.

The Galaxy was a flying boat of mostly functioning lunatics and she damn well wanted to find her place among them.

"I'm gonna," 8-ball told Eptgac. "You and me, we're gonna be okay here. I love to take you to the XO's with me, but I'm not entirely sure that would boost her confidence in my sanity. Sorry Eptgac." She gave him a kiss and set him back down where her bed would be, if she'd had a bed.

8-ball stood up and went over her game plan. "First," she told her teddy bear, "I'll talk to Inaira, and assuming she doesn't throw us off the ship, I'll get myself some dinner. Then I'm going track down that little bitch who gave me an empty room for quarters and beat him till he cries for his momma and, you know, gives me a bed."

Eptgac did not reply, as he was still a teddy bear, and though 8-ball may have been a recovering nutter, she had never been quite that kind of crazy. Nevertheless, even though he was mute and more inanimate than most of her friends, he made her feel better. After all, he was also the only friend that she was sure would still like her at the end of the day. Being that he was inanimate and therefore had no choice.

"You and me," 8-ball said again. "We'll be okay. We'll make it."

And with that, she patted Eptgac on the head once more and left her quarters to go to her meeting

~A Needle in the Hay~


Science Decks



"What'cha doin'?"

"Filtering," Neil Eaton replied with a yawn. On the screen before him, there was a waveform - a thin, yellow jagged line reflecting the intensity of radio energy the USS Galaxy sensors had collected in every frequency, binned by a hundredth of a Hertz during some past sensor scan. It was an enlarged view of one of many small thumbnailed waveforms lined up at the bottom of the screen.

"Filt'rin' what?" Warren Carey asked, leaning back in his wheeled office chair, staring lazily at the ceiling.

"The radio emissions of HD 189625 from a scan of HD 205899. It passed between us during the sweep," Eaton explained as he collapsed the view and selected the next waveform.

"That your K2 giant, six hun'red lightyears away?"

"My bouncing baby boy," Eaton sighed.

"Hmm... sounds borin'," Carey yawned, kicking his chair into a slow spin. "I can't work."

Eaton turned and smiled. "I gathered," he said.

"Wanna get coffee?"

"Okay," Eaton agreed, "Let me finish. I'm almost done marking the affected scans. Does that look like an SiO line to you?"

Carey frowned at his office mate's ruse to pull him back into work, yet leaned forward to look at the screen, nonetheless. "Yeah. But, what's that?"

Eaton looked up, but did not see anything anomalous. "What's what?"

"Around seven'y gigahertz."

Indeed, there was a line at the frequency. Small, and hard to distinguish from the instrument noise, but there was a tiny spike. It was not a frequency that corresponded to a molecule either of them were expecting to see. "I don't know. That's not from my star," Eaton said. He clicked the cursor to the line, "Computer says its only marginally significant from the background."

"Check your other scans," Carey said, wheeling his chair in closer. Eaton did, scrolling back through the scans featuring the passing, interfering star. The spike was visible in most of them, but not large in any of them. It was not high amplitude enough to make enough impact in their short temporal resolution. "Decrease your resolution."

"I'll just collapse the whole scan," Eaton replied. He quickly manipulated the program to collect all the sweeps together, letting the computer add the signals. It was simulating the data as if they had been staring at the passing star continuously, rather than blinking at it every five seconds. The star had only been passing through the scan for about thirty-five seconds, so it was not much of an improvement. Yet, the hump at around 70 GHz increased in size to a point where it was clearly statistically different from the background jitter.

And it was not merely a hump. It was a steep spike. In radio astronomy, spikes were not natural. Humps in a signal were made by radiating molecules, shooting out energy as their component atoms oscillated like springs. Theoretically, that energy shot out at only one, very specific frequency. However, the molecule as a whole was often moving in a crowd of identical molecules, all shooting off the same type of photon. And because all those molecules were moving more or less randomly, their highly specific frequency protons became randomly red or blue shifted, and instead of a nice clean spike, you got a smoothed bump.

But, this was a spike. Sharp and clean.

"Zoom in," Carey commanded, and Eaton eagerly obeyed. He reduced the visible frequency resolution scale down to 10 KHz range. It was only then that the spike split into a plateau of any width, 25,000 Hertz wide. And, atop the plateau, there were four smaller spikes, only about a thousand Hertz wide.

It was definitely not natural.

"That's a communication signal," Eaton announced.

"Yeah, but no one commun'cates at that frequency. Right?" Carey asked, kicking his chair across the office to his own terminal. He brought up a quick search, "Yeah, no one uses that frequency. Two hun'red years ago, maybe, but no one now."

"Someone is."

Carey wheeled back over, a wide smile on his face. "Y'know what this means, right? We may have disco'ered new life!"

"You know what that means, right?" Eaton replied, "We have to tell Cutter."

Immediately, Carey's smile disappeared.

"And for Dinner Music?"

Lt. Victor Krieghoff

PO2 Benedict Maxwell

Lt. Dhanishta Eshe

1st Lt. Branwen London

***Location, Altroth III, Prison Facility***

"I'm getting to it! Will you have patience! You... you preached. I'm pretty sure I called you dad because of that." It was coming back to her now. "You preached about commitment, and that there would be bad days, and that I had to keep talking to my husband always, no silences and no regrets. Dhani agreed with you. I don't think she said much else." Brans reply was cut off by a full volley of phaser blasts echoing down the hallway.

"That's all I can remember," Bran finished after a pause, "now will you please get me out of here without blowing me up!"

"Why, of course, Kit," Victor said cheerfully. "That's what we're here for, after all."

He slipped out of the pack he'd been carrying and passed it over. "There are some clothes in there, get changed. I'm not sure what to do about the methane thing, though. Any ideas, Max?"

Max thought furiously and then the idea sparked in his mind. "I have re-breather masks in my med-buffer, and instead of having her breath oxygen, I can configure the gas container to draw in the resident gases around us and have her breathe that in." Already he was working, with a re-breather mask appearing in his left hand, while his right hand hovered just below where a small cylinder was materializing. A small adaptor device was attached to the head of the cylinder bottle, which Max pressed a button on.

There was a brief sucking sound, and if you were close enough you would swear that the air was displaced slightly. Max attached a lead to the adaptor to verify the concentration of gases before he hooked the mask and tubing to the cylinder.

"Branwen, don't start using this until we hit oxygenated areas... like the rescue ship, understand?"

"Yup Max. And thanks." She smiled at him.

Dhani had only been separated from them for minutes, nine, maybe ten? But 'She' only needed a second to put her plans into action. It all happened so fast, in the blink of an eye it was done, and there was nothing Dhanishta could do to change it.

She'd heard the drums and felt the exhilaration, felt the blood pumping and let herself be lost to it, for there was no other choice to make. She understood that now, understood the complete lack of control, understood the meaning of the Fool – to act on instinct alone, to dance on the edge of the precipice, completely unaware of the jagged rocks beneath, understood exactly what 'wild abandonment' meant. She understood him, understood Baile…

Yet the question she had asked him, 'what am I?' she'd never expected him to answer. But he had.

She was alone now, for the most part, unless you were counting the voices in her head or the corpses at her feet. She hadn't realized how painful the pounding in her head had been until it abruptly stopped.

She blinked slowly and surveyed her rifle, following standard 'after action' procedures that she now had full knowledge of; no jams, no blockages and still a full powercell, barely discharged. She looked down at her feet and toed the first Hydran body. His chest still smoldered, blood oozed from the wound and clots clung in clusters around the seared fabric of his torso.

Tentatively she stepped forward, keeping her weapon pointed towards him, just in case. She moved slowly through the bodies counting the shots rather than the kills. The second was much like the first and the third. The fourth, fifth and sixth; direct head shots, and the rest…

Not a mark to be found.

Dhanishta sunk to her knees and rolled one of them over; she checked everything; eyes, beak, each leg, each arm, its head and torso… not even a scratch. The sight was sobering, jarring even. She felt sick and repulsed and satisfied all at the same time.

This is what she was.

~"I tune out."~

Bailes voice filled her mind with such clarity that it startled her.

~"Nothing except the battle exists. Not what came before. Not what comes after."~

Dhanishta nodded numbly and swallowed the lump in her throat.

It was a while before she recognised the sounds that filled her ears as the muffled voices of her comrades', filtering through the corridor. She could still hear their surface thoughts and those of the incarcerated, blending into one another like a stream of flowing water as opposed to a singular drip, drip. Yet even so they all seem so much further away than they ever had before. Such a disconnect.

Sucking in a breath she stood and jogged back to her previous position at the rear of the group, if she was lucky they wouldn't even notice she'd gone.

"Good," Dhani heard Max say as she popped her head round the corner.

"Vic, Dhani, you've got hands on her? I have to do something really quick." Max was already handing off Branwen to Krieghoff.

"If you have to go that badly, the suit *is* equipped to handle most normal bodily functions," Victor pointed out as he handed the clothing to Branwen.

"No, really, it'll only take a moment. I'll be right behind you. And don't worry; I've got guns, too." Max was already taking off down another junction in the corridor to where he thought the nearest access would be. Bental had given him enough information on the facility to get around.

"I'll meet you at the rendezvous point. Promise." And Max was gone.

Dhanishta watched him go, glad that he was heading in a different direction than the one she'd just come from.

"How are the others?" Bran asked Victor anxiously. "Have you been able to save everyone?"

"That," Victor said calmly, "depends on who 'everyone' is, Kit. Dhani, will you watch her while she changes? I'm a bit busy covering her, and I expect she'd be happier with you watching her do that anyway."

"Sure." Dhani replied nodding. She turned towards Bran and motioned her to an area where she could act as a screen to shield Brans modesty and keep her weapon primed for action.

"Good." Victor turned his back and concentrated on his sensor returns. "Where are the other women, Kit?" he asked. "In relation to here, I mean. And," he added, giving the part of him that had been asking for release a conditional answer, "where will I find the individuals responsible for what's been done to you?"

"Not in the medical wing as far as I know. I have been separated from them for several days now, when I last saw them they were kept in the cell blocks, the female wing." Her eyes went flinty, "The doctor has an office at the end of this hallway."

Dhanishta couldn't help but look at Bran as she undressed. There were many more changes than just the physical ones. Her skin had been altered, there were marks on her body that resembled those of brutal torture, her back was laced with scars and while she looked slightly tubby, her face showed signs of thinning, the skin on her arms lacked in elasticity and showed muscle wastage – the kind only caused by incarceration. She'd been cooped up like a battery hen, not allowed to move, not allowed any measure of comfort, and frankly she smelled like three week old rotten eggs. But that was all surface, most could be fixed, a power shower would kill the smell, scars could be healed and skin tone… well, there were some great body paints on the market these days!

But the mental fractures, they couldn't be seen, and they couldn't be healed as easily, if at all. Dhanishta cast an eye over her shoulder. She knew what Victor was thinking, but if he thought that it was going to be a solo affair… he had another thing coming!

"All right, Kit. Now where is the female wing in relation to here?" Victor asked, as he flagged the 'Doctor' and his office for a visit.

"I can show you. I'm not sure I can tell you. It is to the right, and then left and then right again." Branwen said trying to focus and concentrate.

"Then let's go see about them, shall we?" Victor said. Banishing the large Tetryon pulse launcher – a weapon that Bran knew was normally only issued to Marine Heavy Assault units – to the storage buffer and bringing out a more normal phaser rifle, and added, "If you're dressed, that is?"

In a 'ta-da' maneuver Dhanishta stepped aside to reveal the marine. She tried to smile as warmly as she could at Branwen but it was difficult to rejoice in the rescue when she felt it to be such a failure, they hadn't saved Branwen, not yet, and they may not ever.

"I am. Dressed and ready for action, sir!" Bran said determinedly, glad not to be the helpless victim any longer.

"Not quite Lieutenant," Dhanishta interjected, "there's something missing…" she raised an eyebrow behind her visor and tried to force some humor into her body and voice, anything to lighten her own spirits.

Dhanishta had never been one for therapy, but she knew how she preferred to handle things, and while her method wasn't always sound, it sure felt good. She handed over her phaser rifle to Bran and nodded,

"Now you're ready!"

TBC…

"Past, Present, Future - Part 1"

Lieutenant (jg) Michael McDowell
Engineer
USS Galaxy

Commander Thomas S. Riley [ONPC]
Starfleet Corps of Engineers Laison, 2nd fleet
USS Lederman

*** Eshe/McDowell's Quarters, early into Alpha Shift ***

It was surprising how quickly he had fallen back into the 'daily' routine of
things. In many ways it was like he hadn't been a civilian for the last two
years. Of course there were things he needed to get used to again. The
discipline of being present at the very start of his Shift being one. But
all in all, finding his place in the Engineering Department had been
relativily easy.

The desk before him was cluttered with different PADD's. It were all reports
about the technical problems of late that he and others had repaired. From
those reports he was creating one complete report. Not a very exciting job,
except for the part about those burned furry 'tennis balls', but someone had
to do it and this time fate had decided that someone was Michael. In a way
he was glad it was him. He had his reasons, good reasons, to bury himself in
work and the recent increase in things breaking down made that possible.

Picking up one of the PADD's he slowly walked over to the Replicator while
he skimmed the contents. This one was about the incident that occurred in
the brig. It had occurred some time ago, which was an indicator of the
backlog Engineering had when it came to writing the final reports. The whole
problem in the brig where the forcefield had faded to zero strength was all
caused by a Tribble infestation. It was as unbelievable as it sounded, but
it was nonetheless true. Tribbles on board the Federation's flagship?
Tribbles!? How the hell did these most hated creatures, that have the
reproduction rate of Rabbits times factor X (which had to be an awfully big
number), come on this ship? Every soul knew it would turn into a full blown
plague!

"Coffee, black."

He needed that dark liquid to stay awake for at least another hour. Michael
guessed he would need that much time to able to finish the report. Getting
something to eat and catch some sleep would only come after that.

Sleep. That simple, innocent word triggered a cascade of thoughts and
memories. His mind connected the dots, one by one, and in the end it found
what it was looking for: Kala. In a way she was sleeping too, but that sleep
kept her in a tight grip. So tight that she could not wake up from it. She
was in a deep coma.

It had taken hold of her when she was working to solve a build up of plasma
in the transfer conduits during a fierce fight with the Hydrans not too long
ago. Every Engineer knew that manually checking the EPS taps, during
operation, was a very risky thing to do. It bordered on suicide. But at the
time there was no other solution. Kala had taken upon herself to go out
there and do the job everyone feared to do. She hadn't come back. What Dhani
had feared most had indeed happened.

Kala was still alive when they finally found her, but only just. With every
minute that passed dead was creeping up to her, his claws extending, ready
to take her to his dark domain. It was only because of the expertise,
experience, and quick thinking of the Doctors that Kala was still among the
living today.

When was the last time he'd visited her in Sickbay? ~Must've been Saturday,
last week.~ Michael frowned. A week ago? Had it been that long? The feeling
of guilt washed over him. How could he have forgotten her? How could he have
engrossed himself so deeply in his work while she lay there in Sickbay alone
and without her friends near her? ~Sickbay. That's the first place I have to
be when I have finished this report.~

A short sequence of beeps brought Michael back to the here and now. It was
followed by an equal short annoucement by the computer.

["Incoming transmission"]

Michael looked up from the PADD he'd been staring at, his brows raised
slightly, wondering who would be calling him. He rarely was called via
subspace. Only a few friends of the University in Delft on Earth and his
father called him every now and then. However, he hadn't talked to his
father for over a year now. Michael knew all to well that it was the dead of
his mother and his absence on her funeral that had driven them apart. Since
that time his father had ignored him whenever Michael had tried to call him.
Replies to subspace messages came in sporadically if not at all.

"Computer, who is trying to reach me?" Michael already half assumed it would
be Corkey since he was the one that called him most of the time.

[Commander Thomas Sinclair Riley]

Commander Riley? The name didn't ring a bell. ~Only one way to find out.~
Michael walked back to the computer console and sat down. "Put him through."

The Starfleet emblem disappeared and the face of what should be Commander
Riley filled the screen. ["Goodmorning Lieutenant."]

The greeting was put foward in a most formal way. Riley's face showed little
emotion. Michael had no way of knowing if the Commander's call meant good or
bad news. "Goodmorning, sir. Can I help you?"

TBC...

"Of Squid and Captain"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora JAG
Major Nathan Everett, CAG

Location: Fighter Bay

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

She sat quietly in unknown territory, her sketch book in hand, her
eyes leveling with her subject as it rested silently. Her legs pulled
up served as the table to her small sketch book. The pencil darted
then paused, then darted, then paused as Ophelia studied the object in
front of her. Instruments of flight had always fascinated her, as did
drawing by hand. Immersed fully in her artistic pursuit, she was not
aware of the steady footprints that stopped short of her left side.

"Nice work," drawled the newcomer. "What's it s'posed to be?"

"A squid." She responded flatly. Looking upwards, she brushed a long
piece of dark hair out of her face before really looking at him.

Nathan frowned. "That doesn't look lahk a squid to me," he said as he
moved to a crouch so he could get a better look at the drawing. "Ah
mean, Ah've seen squids. Well, not in person, but anyway, they're a
lot uglier'n that." He looked up from the drawing and smiled at
Ophelia. "Hi."

"Well...I'm sure there are pretty squids out there." She jested,
knowing clearly he knew she was drawing a side view of the Galaxy.
"Hi. Ophelia Zamora...Chief Liaison Officer....you are?"

"Nathan Everett, commander of Vanguard Wing. Nice to meet you,
Ophelia," he replied, extending a hand to her.

"Same." she offered somewhat timidly.

"Got a thing fer starships, huh?" he asked, nodding down at Ophelia's drawing.

"They help me escape....from....things." Zamora glanced down at her
drawing, then up towards him. "How long have you been on board
Nathan?"

"Ah came aboard last summer, after DS5 was destroyed. Still gettin'
used to her. What about you?"

"Around then as well. Did a short internship under McAlister before I
assumed my current position. Just came back a little while ago after
a...um....heh." She smiled yet again, knowing she said too much but
hoped he would not pick up on it. "Anyway...do you like the ship?"

Nathan did pick up on it, but he didn't feel a need to press Ophelia
about whatever she was trying to hide. "She's beautiful," he
commented, looking down at the drawing. He looked up again and waved
his hand at the room they were in, grinning. "This ol' bucket isn't
half bad, either."

"I didn't mean my ship." She chuckled then sighed wistfully.
"Perhaps someday...I'll be in the Captain's chair." Flipping the book
shut, she lunged upwards to a standing position. "We can all
dream...can't we?"

Nathan pushed himself to his feet and nodded as he looked down at
Ophelia. "It's a good dream. Cap'n Zamora...that's got a pretty nice
ring to it," he said with a lopsided grin.

"It does have a nice ring, but in all seriousness, I will be a JAG my
whole career. It's a blessing that I'm back considering. Tell me,
have you ever killed anyone?"

He blinked in surprise at the abrupt switch in topic. "Ah'm a fighter
pilot, darlin'. It's part of the job."

"Ever think about it afterwards....or do you just brush it off?" She paused.

Nathan hesitated before answering. People assumed that because of his
attitude and his flying style, Cowboy never really worried about the
things he did, about all of the beings he'd sent to their deaths, in
the name of the Federation. The truth was, he did--all the time. The
moment he stopped feeling guilty for it would have been the moment
he'd lost his soul.

"Ah don't let it bother me," he lied.

"Lawyers don't usually end people's lives in the physical sense.
However, there are exceptions to the rule."

"And you're one of those exceptions?" Nathan guessed.

"I knew her. She was my boss....it's a long story."

Nathan nodded slowly. "If you need someone to hear it, Ah'm all ears,"
he offered.

"McAlister....was one in a million...." She paused reading his facial reaction.
"Did you know her?"

He frowned and took a moment to think about it before shaking his
head. "Ah don't think Ah ever met her."

"Consider yourself blessed. She was an assassin. Got to my uncle
many years ago and sent a rift through our family. Once she had 'come
out' and worked with Starfleet to get to her father, word got out
concerning her hits. Many higher ups opposed her being
'rehabilitated' as did I. Once a killer, always a killer." She
stopped short, weighing the words carefully. "Anyway. I'm not anyone
special mind you. I'm just an average attorney who desires to see
justice served. So, when the opportunity was presented to me to place
her where she needed to be, I jumped at it. I was placed here, as her
replacement once she 'retired' from Starfleet and 'we' went to work
setting her up." Ophelia paused.

"And...?"

"It backfired drastically. However." Zamora paused again sighing.
"Everything worked out in the end. My uncle's death was avenged and I
put her where she belonged......"

Nathan nodded. "How'd it come about?"

"It was the end of a very long trial. Mine in fact. All part of the
grand plan to bring her down legally in the end. She was my
attorney.....things took a turn, she was found out and attacked me for
setting her up. I defended myself...and..well...."

"So what happened after that? They just let you off scot-free?" Nathan asked.

"We are in Starfleet. We are never scot free Nathan. That's why
being a Captain is a pipe dream to me....."

He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. With that attitude, it'll certainly
stay that way."

"Perhaps. Only time will tell, won't it?"

"That's right. You just gotta show Starfleet that yer worthy of that
chair. Ah think you'll be fine." He smiled and then looked toward the
door. "Ah'd better get goin'," he said. "It was nice meetin' you,
Ophelia."

Zamora nodded, watching him leave. She shook her head, realizing that
for some unknown reason, she just unloaded vocally on a perfect stranger.
It was not like her, yet when information is kept hidden, it will find a way of
making itself known in one way or another.

"The Skipper"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO/Acting CO
Commander Brian Elessidil, Chief Counselor
Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom, Strategic Ops
Lt. Fen Gaal, Acting Ops Chief (Dave)
Major Nathan Everett, CAG
Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora, JAG
CMC Madden Jayce, Chief of the Boat
Colonel For'kel Arvelion, Marine Battalion CO
Lt. Chris Daniels, Chief Tactical Officer
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief of Intelligence
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff, Security Second
Lieutenant Raven Darkstar, Navigation Chief

and...
Captain T'Vara, new CO

-----
Deck 15
Main Docking Port
-----

It was late, well into Gamma Shift, by the time the senior staff
assembled in the main docking port's reception area. Normally, a new
commanding officer would be shuttled over from the nearby station;
that way they could get a nice view of their new command before being
welcomed aboard in the main shuttle bay by a mass of saluting
personnel all dressed in their finest. But, Galaxy was still docked
at Deep Space 3, and so it was more practical for the new CO to come
aboard through one of the docking ports. At least, that was what
Iniara had figured when she received a message several hours ago that
T'Vara would be arriving at the main docking port at approximately
2312 hours and did not wish to do a full crew inspection; at least,
not at that time.

Iniara glanced at the wall-mounted chrono; it was just past 2300,
which meant that their new captain would be arriving at any moment.
Automatically she tugged at the hem of her Class A jacket, running a
hand down the front to smooth out any remaining wrinkles. The
uniform, freshly replicated, was by default uncomfortable, but the
Galaxy's acting CO (soon to be just the XO again, she reminded
herself) was determined to make a good impression. This would be her
first time serving under a Vulcan CO, and so to say she was a bit
nervous and apprehensive might have been an understatement.

"Relax a little, will you?" Brian teased, sensing Iniara's nervousness
from his position to her immediate left. "You'll split a seam or
something."

Even though the counselor's goal was to help the less experienced
officer feel a little more at ease, he understood why she felt as she
did. Few things could cause as much upheaval to a crew as a new CO,
and Vulcan COs tended to have a distinct ability to unsettle people
without even trying.

"Sorry." Iniara smiled sheepishly as thoughts of their conversation
the previous night came to mind. She really did need to relax.
Thankfully she had people like Brian around to remind her of that.

Fortunately, the acting Ops Chief wasn't in any condition to notice
her anxiety. Fen Gaal, filling in for the incarcerated Commander
K'aa, looked as if someone had plugged the Tellarite into a wall
socket. His normally, well-groomed beard was wiry, and it looked as
though pieces of it had been physically removed. Before him, PADDs
for each department were arrayed neatly in a grid, and for what seemed
the thousandth time the junior officer shuffled their sequence. When
he remembered to breathe, the air was drawn in with uneven, halting
gasps the effort of which only added to the considerable sheen of
perspiration on his bushy brow.

Nathan made a half-hearted attempt to brush down some of the wrinkles
in his flight jacket as he wandered into the reception area. He'd been
down in his office (Ten Forward) catching up on some paperwork (having
a drink) when he finally realized the time. Having been in a rush,
Nathan hadn't bothered changing into a new uniform; he had a penchant
for not being on time, but that was entirely different from being
late.

He stepped into the room and walked over to join those who had already
assembled, smoothing his hair with his hands. "Sorry, folks, Ah lost
track of the time," he explained. Cowboy looked over at Lieutenant
Gaal and did a double take. "Yikes! Ah thought Ah looked bad..."

"Bad?" The Tellarite's question was more of a bark, and heralded a
more intense bout of sweating. "What do you mean... bad? How bad IS
bad?"

"Let's just say Ah'm suddenly reminded of some really crispy bacon,"
Nathan answered. "What the hell happened to you? You look lahk someone
plugged you into a wall socket."

"Bacon? Wall socket??"

Zamora rounded the corner, complete uniform pressed with a starch that
would make those around her appear uncompressed to say the least. It
was all a part of the role she was forced to play at times such as
these. Who would want to lay eyes upon a JAG that was anything less
than impeccably groomed and composed? Padd in hand, she took position
next to a gentleman that had a rather warming accent. Her eyes darted
over to his face, offered a slight nod of recognition, and darted
right back to the information that rested in her hand.

Coming through the doors into the diplomatic reception room was like
walking straight into a wall of anxiety, and Chief of the Boat Madden
Jayce controlled a visible wince as she did so. She could feel the
anxious buzzing from several decks down, pulsing through the bulkheads
and nagging at her mental defenses with the indefatigable gusto of a
three-year-old child.

She was in a shape similar to the rest of the senior staff, from the
look (and feel) of things -- exhausted, stressed, all-around haggard.
Her people had been having a rougher time than usual, though she
couldn't quite put her finger on why. The bulk of the day had been
spent on her feet, going from one issue to the next, rushing through
the decks like a mad woman. She was starving, her back hurt, her head
was pounding, and all she really wanted was a eight-layer sandwich, a
hot bubble bath, and a back massage from an attractive man. Not that
the latter was particularly achievable at the moment. It was hard to
meet people on a starship, and damned if she was going to don her
OPRED pin and head over to DS3 for a one night stand -- not at all
worth it.

She was the first to dig into the buffet, scooping some finger
sandwiches onto a napkin though the pause was so minuscule it was hard
to notice until she bit into the first and looked up at Brian as she
settled next to him and the First Officer.

"A Vulcan?" she questioned, through the food as she raised an eyebrow.
"That should be interesting." The unspoken addition: with this crew.

"Vulcan????"

Looking down the room at the Tellarite, Iniara replied simply, "Aye,
Lieutenant." She wanted to say more, wanted to try and ease his own
nervousness by telling him how nervous she was too, but then
remembered that as the XO of this crew she had to remain as neutral as
possible in front of her staff.

"Guess they thought things were getting too wild around here,"
Elessidil said in reply to Madden, watching her scarf down a few
little sandwiches as if she'd just returned from a week in the desert.

"That's almost hard to believe," the Master Chief deadpanned,
smirking, wondering idly if just taking the plate of miniature
sandwiches would be horrible. She hadn't eaten since oh-five-hundred
that morning, much less been able to consume her standard four meals
over the course of her day. She was to the point where eating the
sandwiches only made her want to pass out.

"I think what will be telling is what kind of Vulcan she is," he said,
glancing to Iniara. "While Vulcans tend to keep their own emotions
tightly under control, some appreciate the emotional perspective of
non-Vulcans while others see it as a defect of some sort. Could take
some getting used to if she's more of the latter variety."

'You can say THAT again,' Jaal thought to himself. He'd managed to
slide in without anyone noticing his uncharacteristic 'slight'
lateness. Some bad flashbacks of his relationship with his own
half-Vulcan wife surfaced in his mind. But that was so long ago now,
seeming completely like another life entirely. Hoping none of the
mind-readers in the group overheard his thoughts he quickly brought
his mind back to the 'here and now'.

Madden smirked slightly, arching an eyebrow as she looked sideways
toward Jaal Jaxom -- more for his anxiety over being overheard than
for the actual flashbacks (which weren't, exactly, amusing) -- before
she looked back up at Brian.

"Frankly, I prefer the Vulcan mind to any," she said, so distracted
that she didn't seem aware of the revealing nature of the comment:
most non-Vulcan telepaths were unable to navigate the Vulcan mind to
any real success. "It's fascinating. Especially when it is met with
command situations that may not necessarily be logical." She paused,
almost as though tuning into her own conversation. "I'm going to grab
some more sandwiches -- maybe some of the fruit... either of you want
any?"

"Wouldn't dream of depriving you," Brian smirked. He continued, "I
doubt it'll be long before we get to see just how well her Vulcan mind
does work. We've certainly had our share of less-than-logical command
situations."

For once in his career, he was late to a meeting. Colonel Arvelion
was habitually fifteen minutes early for staff meetings, watches,
etcetera, but his runabout had only returned about ten minutes ago. He
was absolutely quiet as he made his way to a seat, giving somewhat
withdrawn nods to the few people he did know. 'Vulcan' Captain made
most people nervous, but Fork never really minded Vulcans, and in
either case enjoyed the freedom of not particularly needing to have a
working relationship with the skipper. He didn't know M'Kantu well,
and it never really inhibited any of the missions. He expected more
or less the same with the new boss.

Chris Daniels stood quietly in the corner, quietly looking horribly
out of place, be it unintentional or not. Having recently returned
from a quick trip back to Mars, he had only discovered a few days
prior that they were taking the "acting" part off of his title of
Acting CTO. The blitz of activity that was the past two days was
culminating with the arrival of the new Captain, which wasn't exactly
the way he wanted to be ushered into his new (but not really) job, not
to mention his first appearance in Class A's since Ezzie's Academy
graduation a year ago. As he made one last check to be sure that
everything looked right on the uniform, he took a look around the
room. He recognized most, if not all, of his fellow department heads,
but being the junior one in the room, he decided the time to open
social interaction with them would come later. Instead, he strolled
over to where Cowboy and Gaal were standing. He got there just in
time to hear the "Crispy Bacon" comment. He smirked and waited for a
break in the conversation. He knew Gaal, and figured some good natured
ribbing to the only other "youngin'" in the crowd wouldn't hurt.

"You think the burnt meat look's gonna go over well with a vegetarian
Captain?" He said with a smirk, looking over at Cowboy.

"Vegetarian?!?"

Nathan grinned, first at Chris, and then at Gaal as he slapped the
Tellarite on his back. "Relax, Curly, Ah'm sure she won't do anythin'
rash, lahk bustin' you back down to Ensign fer offendin' her
sensibilities...or will she?" he said, one eyebrow arching up in a
very Vulcan-like manner.

"Ensign???" The word was barely a squeak from Gaal as he lowered his
shaggy head slowly to the conference table, landing it with a gentle
thud. "Great Bird of the Galaxy take me now", he whimpered.

"Why?"

"The Skipper"
Part 2

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO/Acting CO
Commander Brian Elessidil, Chief Counselor
Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom, Strategic Ops
Lt. Fen Gaal, Acting Ops Chief (Dave)
Major Nathan Everett, CAG
Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora, JAG
CMC Madden Jayce, Chief of the Boat
Colonel For'kel Arvelion, Marine Battalion CO
Lt. Chris Daniels, Chief Tactical Officer
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief of Intelligence
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff, Security Second
Lieutenant Raven Darkstar, Navigation Chief

and...
Captain T'Vara, new CO

-----
Deck 15
Main Docking Port
-----

"Ensign???" The word was barely a squeak from Gaal as he lowered his
shaggy head slowly to the conference table, landing it with a gentle
thud. "Great Bird of the Galaxy take me now," he whimpered.

"Why?"

The single word was quiet, yet seemed to carry with it a certain
weight; that of someone who wore a full four pips on her collar.
Stepping forward into the room, the newcomer shifted her attention
from the bent over Tellarite (who now was in the process of hastily
getting to his feet) and took a deliberate look around before asking
in the same low voice, "Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?"

She was tall and well-built; statuesque even. Her deep brown, almost
black hair was pulled back from her face, revealing just a touch of
grey at the hairline. The smallest of creases had begun to form at
the corners of her eyes and mouth, but they didn't make her look old
so much as distinguished.

Somehow, Iniara felt her body being pulled into a more rigid posture,
her feet automatically carrying her forward towards their new CO. Her
hand snapped up into a salute as she felt her mouth speaking the
words, "Welcome aboard, Captain. I am--"

"Lieutenant Commander Tarin Iniara, Executive Officer, yes?" T'Vara
replied, returning the salute in a manner that could only be described
as efficient.

"Yes, sir," Iniara replied, hoping that her cheeks would do what she
was silently begging them to do: not turn red. She'd been told that
T'Vara was amazingly efficient but that she also valued regulations
and protocol above all things; it seemed in this case the former
outweighed the latter. Ah well, best to forget it and move on. "May
I introduce our senior staff?"

The question was more rhetorical than anything; a phrase that was
meant to mark the transition from one part of the conversation to the
next, yet T'Vara still answered in that same low voice, "You may."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she beckoned with one hand towards
the assembled officers and added, "Please."

Stepping back, Iniara exhaled slowly, relaxing slightly as she
realized this next part would happen fairly automatically. "Commander
Brian Elessidil, Chief Counselor," she stated, starting with the
people closest to them. "Command Master Chief Madden Jayce, Chief of
the Boat."

"Captain," Brian succinctly greeted with a slight nod in keeping with
Vulcan brevity.

"Lieutenant Fen Gaal in Operations..."

T'Vara nodded slightly, taking in the sight of the Tellarite officer
now that he was on his feet and appeared to have calmed down a bit.
"Lieutenant." She paused, then asked, "Where is Lieutenant Commander
K'aa?"

"Lieutenant Commander K'aa is...unavailable," Counselor Elessidil
replied, with a brief glance to Iniara. "It's a matter on which we
can brief you at a more opportune time."

"I see," the Vulcan commented, filing the information for later use
before moving on.

Zamora stepped forward, offering herself in a professional manner.
"Junior Lieutenant Ophelia Lupe Zamora, Judge Advocate General. Chief
Liaison Officer. I look forward to assisting you in what ever manner
you need Captain." Nodding slightly, Ophelia kept her solid gaze
steady upon the woman in front of her. The stare resembled an initial
sizing up of sorts, to see if it was possible to glean any information
on the new officer in a non verbal fashion.

Again T'Vara examined the young woman standing before her, taking note
of her incredibly polished, professional appearance. Perhaps there
was some hope left for this crew after all. "Thank you, Lieutenant,"
she replied with a nod.

Nathan figured that then was just as good a time as any to introduce
himself. He smiled brightly at T'Vara and offered her a casual,
two-fingered salute. "Major Nathan Everett--Commander, Aerospace
Group. Pleased to make yer acquaintance, ma'am."

One eyebrow crept slowly upward as T'Vara looked at the young pilot,
who, she noticed, was rather sloppily dressed for a Starfleet officer.
Never having served on a ship with a fighter group attached she
hadn't been certain of what to expect, but now she understood why some
of her colleagues had tried to warn her about them.

"Likewise, Major," she replied at last, almost hastily moving on.

Jaal's uniform was fresh but his hair didn't look exactly combed and
there was evidence of day old stubble across his chin. "Commander Jaal
Jaxom, Strategic Operations, at your service," he introduced himself
reverently with a respectful nod.

"Commander," T'Vara said with a nod, her gaze lingering a split second
too long on the slightly unkempt portions of his overall appearance.
According to his file, Jaxom was typically a very well-polished
officer; these small aberrations were somewhat curious.

Chris stepped forward and presented himself in turn. He fired off the
best salute he could muster--like the Class A's, something the
extremely casual officer had not busted out in a year--and nodded
slightly, a small but welcoming smile on his face. "Lieutenant
Christopher Daniels, ma'am, Chief of Tactical. Welcome aboard."

Being fashionably late was in some situations considered socially
acceptable, but somehow she didn't think that greeting your new CO
aboard qualified. Sliding the hair clip in place Kimberly tied her
long hair back and took her PADD from between her teeth, not the
recommended place to hold onto one, even a small PADD. Wishing for a
second that the class A dress uniform skirt came with pockets she
sighed as the lift slowed and walked quickly to the reception area.
As it came into view she ran a list of her favourite obscenities
through her mind silently when she realised the new CO was already
there, ~ Way to go girl! ~ the berated herself.

Joining the assembled staff she got her first look at their new
Captain, and for a second felt a stab of resentment. With all the
work she and her team had done for Captain M'Kantu, and now here was a
replacement. There was no justice. Perhaps she hadn't gotten to know
M'Kantu as well as she'd have liked, but he was their Captain, and now
there was someone totally new. True, people were regularly reassigned
within the fleet, but a change in the chain of command was never an
easy one.

"Captain." She greeted the newcomer neutrally, "My apologies for being late."

"I trust that tardiness is an exception rather than the rule, Doctor,"
T'Vara replied, looking down her nose at the much shorter officer, not
for the first time contemplating why so much of her new senior staff
seemed so young. Was it because they really were, or was she herself
finally starting to get old? That was an interesting idea; it would
certainly require further thought.

Behind her, the door slid open again, saving her from being the last
person to arrive. Victor Krieghoff stepped into the room, his presence
announcing his identity before he'd moved into view of the entire
room, and moved to stand at the least occupied end of the room. When
T'Vara turned her gaze to him, he nodded politely.

"Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff, ma'am, Security Second. Commander Corgan
was called away at the last moment by a call from family on Vulcan; a
medical matter. He sends his greetings and regrets."

Madden sucked in a deep breath, closing her eyes as the red hot bolt
of what could only be called telepathic chaos struck her full-on. She
knew who Victor Kreighoff was, of course; he was one of the few people
on the Galaxy she kept regular tabs on -- if for no other reason than
so she wasn't surprised by his presence. She had never been on the
same deck as he, much less in the same room, and she hadn't been
prepared.

It was like someone punched her in the face, threw her on the floor,
and sat on her chest, and all while pushing aggressively through her
mental defenses. A chill fell over her, her vision tunneled, and her
breath caught in her throat. The chaos that bombarded her was
amazing, and as terrifying as the whole experience was, she found it
fascinating. Almost liberating. Almost... a high.

She muffled a moan down to a low clearing of her throat and discreetly
grabbed Brian's arm, leaning heavily against him for support as she
struggled to regain her control. The last thing she needed was to
make a scene in front of the whole senior staff -- and the new Captain
(Vulcans not being particularly comfortable, for lack of a better
word, with highest-level telepaths) -- especially when she'd only just
recently been fully included in such meetings.

Elessidil also felt the presence, though he'd had significantly more
experience dealing with Kreighoff in close proximity than did his
abnormally gifted friend. He also found that the empathic reducing
medication he was on helped a little as well. ~Breathe deeply and
focus,~ he sent, doing what he could to help Madden weather this
particular storm.

Though she was unaffected by Krieghoff's presence, T'Vara still
noticed the crew's varied reactions to him, particularly among the
Betazoids in the room. So what she'd read in his personnel file had a
bit of truth to it after all, despite how incredulous it had initially
sounded. By all accounts he was a fine officer, yet had been passed
from assignment to assignment due to some unexplained (or
unexplainable) defect, until he had become an integral part of this
crew. Intriguing.

"Lieutenant Krieghoff," she echoed with a nod, making yet another
mental note to find out who Krieghoff might be talking about.
According to his file, James Corgan had no family on Vulcan. "Please
express my...condolences to Commander Corgan."

For'kel waited until after Krieghoff introduced himself before
offering his hand. Yeah, he really should have run and gotten his
dress uniform. Who would've guessed the normally straight and narrow
Marine CO would have been caught flat-footed while the infamously
control-challenged crew came off as professionals of the utmost
character in front of the new CO? Such was life.

"Colonel For'kel Arvelion, ma'am."

She took his hand, wondering briefly if the shape of his ears said
anything about his demeanor, or if the Stagnorian race had developed
the same otological characteristics as Vulcans simply because of a
common environmental factor. "You are Commanding Officer of the 188th
Battalion of the Starfleet Marine Corps?" she asked, though it was
more of a rhetorical question than anything.

"Yes ma'am." For'kel confirmed.

As with the Fighter Corps, T'Vara had no long-term experience with the
Starfleet Marines, yet had received no similar warnings about them
from her colleagues. Perhaps that boded well; but at the very least,
it would provide the learning experience she was seeking.

The Vulcan Captain turned to the navigation chief and paused
momentarily, looking far up into his eyes.

Were she human, the still grisly sight of Lt. Darkstar - one month
removed from his battle on the bridge - may have even caused her to
cringe.

The Galaxy medical staff had worked wonders reattaching the Indian's
arm. The plastic cast sheathed the limb in what appeared to the ebon
exoskeleton of a beetle. His face still bore the deep bruising and
scabs from his battle that had to heal naturally. The thick black mane
of hair he once bore proudly was replaced with dark stubble growing
around a still visible pink scar from where K'aa had ripped his scalp
from his head.

Literally.

Still the Captain found his dedication to duty to be a positive
character quality, and she acknowledged his presence with a slight nod
before continuing on.

T'Vara thought that she was done with the introductions, but in fact
there was one more. She didn't notice him before because he was
obscured by the group of officers around her, but now that the last of
them made their acquaintance, he left his vantage point by the door
and came toward her.

Saul Bental was somewhat bitter, but tried to channel that emotion
into a professional, dry appearance. He had a bold alliance with Daren
M'Kantu, and had as much respect to him as he had toward anyone. He
built that relation for years, knowing that it would be crucial when
the time comes to complete his agenda. A Vulcan Captain was the worst
replacement the ship could get as far as Saul was concerned.

Ah well, business was all about flexibility.

"I am your new intelligence officer, Saul Bental." He greeted T'Vara.

"Lieutenant Bental," she said with a nod. By many accounts, the
unremarkable officer standing before her was one of Galaxy's top
talents. "My previous vessel had no dedicated Intelligence officers;
therefore, I look forward to our collaboration."

Now that she had finally met everyone in the room, T'Vara swept her
eyes around, then turned to her XO. "Where is the Chief Science
Officer?"

In all her worrying, Iniara hadn't even realized that Lieutenant
Kara'nin wasn't in the room. She tried to stifle a grimace as she
explained, half-bluffing, "Likely in the labs, sir. He is working on
several long-term projects at the moment. It's possible he couldn't
leave them."

"I see. And the Chief Engineer?"

Her expression remained neutral, yet Iniara had the feeling that
somehow Kara'nin and Eshe's absences were going to become her fault
and not their own. "She is probably in Engineering. I can take you
to meet them if you'd like?" Iniara suggested.

"That will not be necessary; other, more important matters must be
attended to." Turning to address the room once more, the captain
announced, "A senior staff briefing will take place at 0800 hours
tomorrow. Until then, all assembled are dismissed." Then, addressing
Iniara once more, she added, "Lieutenant Commander Tarin, please
accompany me to the bridge."

"Aye, sir," she replied automatically. Looking around the room one
last time, her stomach groaned slightly as her eyes wandered over the
buffet. Only then did she realize she hadn't eaten dinner. But, duty
came first, she reminded herself as she followed their new captain out
the door and down the hall.

{{OOC: Takes place shortly after the rescue team's return }}

"Black Pawn"

PO2 Benedict Maxwell

Lieutenant Saul Bental

Max had barely finished stripping off his Hazard gear when his console (which was always set for audible notification) softly played a short piece from Chopin. He sighed and walked over to see that there was a pawn on the screen. A black one. If Max were the type to think that racism still existed in this day and time like his grandfather told him about from Earth days of old, he would be looking to give Mr. Bental some wall to wall counseling.

But he knew the implication of the image. Intelligence was a shadow community in Max's opinion. And many times, they do things so deep in the dark you wouldn't know until long after it was too late. He was being summoned, no doubt for the information on the isolinear chip he still had on him. He stripped the rest of his clothes off, took a long shower, then got his off duty clothes. Taking a drink of water, he calmed himself then left his quarters to meet the 'Man'.

It was Saul who got to him first, waiting idley in a corridor intersection. He smiled warmly at the medic, as if he cared, which Max was pretty sure was not the case. It was hard not to believe the smile, though.

"Baruch haba." The intelligence chief greeted, "Good to see you're back with everything intact. How did it go?"
"There was much slaying of Hydrans and many a song will be sung by future generations of that glorious battle," Max replied sarcastically. "I have something for you."

"Excellent. Let's move."

Saul took a step in one direction, then stopped as something in his pocket chirped. He furrowed his brow, then turned around. "The other way."

"If you insist," replied Max as he followed the Intel Boss. He was puzzled as to the sudden about face but put it in the back of his mind for the time being.

"What have you got?", Saul asked.

"You were right," Max began. "There was a shitload of bioengineering info in that Quack's database." I'm still a little curious as to how you knew about it, he added silently. "I've accessed it at one point to assist Lieutenant London with her...current condition."

Saul nodded. He knew, ever since the covert operation at Vaden, that the Hydrans were pushing hard on the biotechnological front. This was now common knowledge within the intelligence community. The fact that some of the Hydrans' suppliers were Federations members, however, was far less common. And only Saul knew that one of these suppliers was called Devoss Bental, 'The Fox'.

He was going to keep it that way.

"Did you download anything?"

Max held up the isolinear chip which held much of the information from the late Gro'kle's database. "Everything I got is on this chip. Quad-density, by the way," Max added to explain why one chip was all he needed.

"Excellent. It's no wonder they're heading that direction." Saul brought the chip close to his face. "This could save plenty of lives and ships. Say - what did you say before, about Branwen's condition?"

A moment of pause. Apparently the spymaster does not know all, Max thought. He decided to file that for future use, as well. "She's been subjected to heavy genetic manipulation and impregnated by the Hydrans."

"Impregnated." Saul repeated flatly. He knew she was tortured, but no one in medical mentioned genetic manipulation or... pregnancy. "Impregnated with what?"

Max scratched his head and looked around to ensure that no one was ahead of them or behind them. "Lt. London has three embryos inside of her that have a significant amount of what may be Hydran characteristics. I didn't do a placental on her, so I can't confirm beyond the Hydran doctor's notes."

"But Doc Burton will."

Branwen was already in medical care. Saul intended to talk to her afterwards, but that was too late. SFI will claim her, like they probably claimed Valentina.

A stray thought hit Saul. Why did he care about these people? Branwen, as cute as she could get, was an ex-potential-lover. Valentina? Even less. Aside from the Synthetic arm she crafted for him and for some common experiences, she was nobody. Nothing but trouble. Why bother?

"Anything else of importance you may have witnessed?" Saul asked. "Technology, things the Hydran said, plans..."

"Look, the main thing I was interested in was getting the database info, just like you asked me to. I'm not a spy, I'm a Medic." Max had stopped walking and stared directly at Saul. "What I can tell you is that it was almost too easy for us to walk into a heavily fortified installation like that and grab out people then walk out like we were just out for a stroll."

"Is that so."

Saul began to realize that easily giving up things that can backfire was a common Hydran tactic. It reminded him of that blue smurf leaving explosive presents in the Trideo shows of his childhood. Perhaps the Hydrans watched too much TV.

"I didn't really have time to see-" Max froze. He remembered glimpsing something in the files he perused about a Gorn and an experiment. And there was something regarding a potential bio-weapon, if he read the notes right. "I think you'd get more info out of that chip I gave you. There are some very interesting items of note."

"It was worth asking." Saul shrugged, then clapped on Max's shoulder. "Great job, man. As far as I'm concerned you're on my side now. That means if you need anything, talk to me. Any time."

Saul didn't say 'I owe you one.' on purpose. Though this seemed to be a good kick off for a profitable enterprise, it was too soon for him to get into debts.

"We'll see," was all Max would say. He nodded his farewell and wordlessly took off towards a turbolift nearby. Once in the turbolift, he waited until the count of three and removed an object from his pocket. It was an isolinear chip with the same exact information that he gave Bental.

He made a copy.

Just in case.

off: takes place before the senior staff meeting

"The Final Lesson" - Epilogue

Victor Krieghoff
Ella Grey

*****

USS Galaxy

Ella Grey's quarters

She had fallen asleep on the couch, snuggled under a heavy blanket her
parents had bought for her from DS4, and would have been content to
stay there forever, if not for the persistent beeping at the door.

"Coming," Ella called with a yawn and worked her way to the door.

"Poisoned perfume?" greeted her as the door slid open, revealing
Victor and a trademark frown - number 217 - standing there.

"Seductive and deadly," Ella said. "Come in."

"I heard your trip was eventful," She threw over her shoulder as she
sat back down on the couch, throwing the blanket over her legs.

"There were Hydrans there. They didn't like me, and I didn't care for
them or what they were doing to the prisoners much either. Because of
that difference of opinions, violence ensued." Victor shrugged. "I
happened to be better at it than the ones I encountered, so I get to
be the one that goes home and talks to friends." He nodded towards
Ella. "So, tell me, wasn't the poisoned perfume a bit much to avoid
dealing with your parents?"

Ella smiled. "I've always had a flair for the dramatic. Is Branwen all right?"

"No," Victor replied honestly. "They... experimented on her again,
worse than the last time. She's... gong to take a while to get over it
this time, I think; like you, I imagine."

"I'll manage." She frowned at Victor. "Have a seat, would you? You're
making me nervous by standing there and frowning down on me."

Victor shrugged and sat down opposite her. "Should you be? Nervous, I mean?"

Ella sighed. "No but I'm tired. I don't have to be rational." She
looked down and traced some of the pattern on the blanket. "I'm glad
you're okay."

"I'm somewhat relieved myself," he agreed. "And I'm glad you are as
well." He considered her for a moment. "So how, exactly, did you get
poisoned? I could have read the report, but I thought I'd rather hear
it from you."

She nodded and then ran through the story again, having perfected it
after repeating it for Security, her parents, and Dr. Burton. "No one
seems to know where he bought it; they can't track down the vendor."

"Probably from one of the independent traders who set up carrels to
make some extra money on the station," Victor mused. "They sometimes
slip stuff through customs and deal it that way, especially if it's
something that was designed for a different species - the original
makers of the perfume probably think it just smells pretty, and don't
know that it's toxic to humans."

Ella sighed. "Quite a cautionary tale, huh? You wouldn't believe how
long it took me to convince my parents that these kinds of things
don't happen that often. My father even threatened to disown me if I
didn't quit Starfleet and go home."

'I'm sure that went over well," he observed dryly. "I doubt it will
help - especially if I get your mother - but I'd be willing to call
them and explain that this sort of thing is out of the ordinary, even
here on Galaxy if you like."

"That's very sweet of you, Victor," She replied. "But I was able to
talk them out of trying to drag me back to Earth. I don't think it
will be a problem."

"I doubt anyone could drag you anywhere you didn't want to go, Ella -
and Earth isn't where you want to be right now. If it was, you'd
already be there."

Ella nodded. "True. Even with all the unpleasant things that seem to
occur from time to time, I like my life on Galaxy. I wouldn't change
it."

"Everything has to change, in time," Victor said with a smile. "I'm
living proof of that. The trick, I think, is to make sure that you're
changing according to *your* schedule and not someone else's."

"I... yes, I guess that's the best way to go about it," Ella said.
Internally, she cringed. That had been her cue to smile in response
and switch the subject to his transformation. Instead she asked if he
wanted something to drink.

"Some juice, I think," he nodded, standing. "I'll get it, you stay
there and rest. Do you want anything?"

"Some tea would be nice." She fiddled with her blanket while he got
their drinks from the replicator. There were so many questions that
she wanted to ask him, things she wanted to tell him, but then she'd
have to explain Daro. Ella rubbed her temple briefly and then smiled
when he handed her the tea. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he returned, sitting back down. He studied her for a
few moments, head tilted to one side in his way, and then added, "So,
is everyone else buying the act that you're doing fine, then?"

Ella smirked. "For the most part. They don't have your keen
investigator skills, Tiger. And it really isn't that bad, a little
restless sleep and occasional twinges of pain. I'm still alive."

"I don't know if its keen investigative skills or just that I know you
better than most - or that you're not trying to hide it around me," he
observed. "But alive is good - much better than the alternative."

She was quiet for a moment. "I've been trying to think of some lesson
to take from all this, life is short, bad things sometimes happen,
don't take things for granted... but all I can think of is that I
killed him." Ella's eyes flickered towards his before looking away.
"If he hadn't come on board as my parent's interpreter, he'd still be
alive."

"Perhaps," Victor agreed, "but that was his choice, not yours. You
didn't make it for him."

"I know," She sighed. "I just wish things could have been different."
Ella shrugged again and then looked up at Victor with a small smile.
"I'm really happy that you're okay."

"Thanks," he nodded. "It's nice to know that there are people who
think that way," He sipped at his juice for a moment. "I haven't been
happy about it all the time, you know," he offered.

As usual, Ella tilted her head instead of asking the question.

"Being alive, when so many others around me weren't," he clarified.
Victor looked down at his juice for a moment and then back up at her.
"I think... I think that perhaps every time you're responsible for a
life ending - not like in a war, where entire ships are destroyed, but
when you personally are the one that takes the life, or lives. That
when you kill like that, then a part of your soul dies too. And you
never know when the last bit of your soul will be what goes until it
happens and you're empty and hollow inside."

Ella said nothing, finding there was nothing she could do except agree
- silently - with him.

He looked down again and tossed off the rest of his juice. "Which, if
true says one of two things about me."

"What?"

"That either I've killed so many people that I no longer have a soul
to feel it... or that my soul was so large that I haven't noticed the
loss caused by all of the people that I've killed over the years." He
smiled. "I know which one I prefer to believe."

"I'd like to think that a soul can be redeemed," She said quietly.
"After all the people you've saved, surely it balances out somehow."

"Perhaps so," he nodded. "But I don't know that just saving people is
what it takes to be redeemed; that seems too simple. Redemption is
possible, but only through growth, through becoming something better
than you were before. That growth is what changes you, redeems you,
not just the simple act of saving a life. Unless, of course, that's
part of letting yourself grow."

Ella tried to smile. "You really should market the Victor Krieghoff
outlook on life, you know. I'm sure it would be a big seller. Anyway,
not to boot you out or anything but I'm getting a bit drowsy and you
must be missing Angie."

He nodded, stood, and put his glass away to be recycled. "Take care of
yourself, Ella," he said quietly as he started to leave. "I'm glad
that you're okay too."

Ella watched him leave before laying down on the couch once more and
quickly falling asleep.

~Science Officer's Report~

Captain T'Vara
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

"Enter," T'Vara said in response to the chime. Her two-thirty
appointment had arrived. "Lieutenant Kara'nin," she greeted, taking
special care to pronounce his name correctly.

The winged science officer walked in the ready room and immediately
began to look around. Even though he was still very near the
entrance, he seemed to tower over her at her desk, his tall form made
even taller by the folded white wings behind him. She was not
expecting this - she knew he was a Fruna'lin, and that they were an
avian species, but that was all she knew. For a very brief moment,
she found herself intimidated.

Eventually, he looked at her, a neutral expression on his face.
"T'Vara, isn't it?"

She frowned, taking his lack of salute and his casual means of address
as a form of disrespect. "It is."

"You've removed all signs of decoration," he pointed out, looking once
more at what used to be Daren M'Kantu's office. "How very Vulcan."

She frowned once more, a subtle tension forming across her lips and
brow, and chose to ignore that comment. "You were not present at the
reception last night."

He pulled up chair from near the wall and sat down, resting his wings
behind him. "Yes, I am aware. Were you?"

"Was I what?" she asked, fully looking up at him.

"At the reception?"

T'Vara clenched her eyebrows, the trio of fine, yet still well-defined
wrinkles above her left eye indicating that the expression was one her
face was quite used to. "I was, of course--"

"Then you know I wasn't there. Why are we discussing facts that we
both know?" he asked. His expression was still perfectly neutral,
better than most of her own species, T'Vara noted, but there was a
hard edge to it. He was attacking her.

"It is protocol for the senior staff to assemble when a new commanding
officer comes aboard," she replied, wondering if he would attempt to
provide her with an excuse.

"It's tradition, not protocol."

"The fact that this tradition is not officially prescribed does not
mean it is not protocol. A significant number of Starfleet traditions
are treated as protocol by those in command for a reason: they improve
the efficiency and functionality of ship, captain, and crew.
Furthermore, careful attention to these traditions communicates a
proper level of respect," T'Vara said. "As a member of Starfleet, you
are well aware of the traditions to which I am referring. I expect
them to be followed from this point on."

Cutter rolled his eyes. "If it is efficiency and functionality you're
looking for, T'Vara," Cutter said, addressing her casually once more,
despite her warning; perhaps in spite of it, "then perhaps we should
begin discussing the topic we're intended to meet about? Have you
read my report?"

T'Vara narrowed her eyes at the avian once more before looking down at
her desk. She pulled up the relevant file on her console and
responded, "I have. It concerns the discovery of a potential
communications signal, yes?"

"Yes. A researcher in my department is studying the high frequency
variability of a K2 class star several hundred lightyears beyond
Federation space. During one of his radio sensor scans, another star,
HD 189625, passed through the line of sight. As he was filtering out
this second star's signal, he noticed a very low-bandwidth signal near
seventy gigahertz, showing evidence of a frequency-shift key
modulation."

"Digital FM radio," T'Vara confirmed, recalling her communications training.

"Yes," Cutter replied, clearly pleasantly surprised at her knowledge. "We've performed another scan of the star since that time and have confirmed that the signal is real and is emanating from that system."

"What information does the signal carry?"

Cutter shrugged. "The signal is too weak to receive normally at our current distance. We can only tell it's there by using long-time scans, so we only know global properties of the signal. Assuming it's audio, we think the average frequency is around a thousand Hertz, which suggests it's speech. And, it appears to be a continuous signal."

"Continuous, or repeating?"

"Unclear. My recommendation is to go and investigate more thoroughly."

"What is the distance to this star?" T'Vara asked.

"Approximately twenty-three lightyears. It is a G5 main sequence star, slightly dimmer than Sol. It has no gas giant planets in orbit, or anything else above three Earth masses. Beyond that, we
know little. It's a star that exists in one of these many, many pockets of unexplored space within Federation territory," Cutter explained.

"Is it your hypothesis that this may be a new lifeform, just entering
an electronic age?" T'Vara asked, looking up from the report.

"No, it isn't. That was a theory proposed by the men, Eaton and
Carey, who discovered the signal. There is no civilization that we
know of that developed digital radio communication before analog. So,
we would expect there to be a multitude of signals emanating from the
system. After a full four hour scan, this seventy gigahertz signal is
the only non-natural one we can detect," Cutter lectured. "While it is possible,
I view it as highly unlikely to be signals from a new civilization.
Or, at least from a civilization based in the HD 189625 system. Also,
seventy gigahertz is in the microwave region of the EM spectrum.
Microwave is a bad medium for basic communication in most planetary
atmospheres due to attenuation issues. It is more likely that this is
a signal from a spacebased device."

"A probe, perhaps?"

"Or a ship," Cutter agreed. "However, there is no space-based civilization that currently uses this frequency for communication. It was used on occasion by Terrans and Tellarites around the formation of the Federation and by Klingons over three hundred years ago. Akadians often use this frequency, but they use an octal digit system. This signal is quaternary."

"Then, it is either a previously unencountered species or a change in
modus operandi by a known species," T'Vara hypothesized. She remained
silent for a moment, weighing the options. "Very well; I will follow
your recommendation. Galaxy will divert to the system."

Cutter nodded. "Good," he said, and stood up. He did not nod, or say goodbye or anything else. Once his business with her was complete, he simply turned and left the office.

T'Vara watched him leave and, once more, frowned.

"Epiphany"

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Lt. JG Robert Mathieson, MD
Lt. Commander K'aa??

****
USS Galaxy
Deck 12
Sickbay
======

Victor generally tried to avoid Sickbay, given that his presence there wasn't exactly conducive to the right frame of mind for healing - or being healed. Still, given the number of individuals that they'd brought back that required medical treatment, it wasn't surprising that someone had done - or was doing - something that the doctors didn't want.

He just hoped it wasn't going to be another situation like the one with Captain Maivia on the trip back.

He let the doors to Sickbay trigger, paused in them to prevent the worst of his presence form affecting the patients and staff moving around, and asked, "Who requested security?"

It was eerie just how a very busy sickbay could grind to a halt.

Twenty-four sets of eyes simultaneously diverted all their attention to the figure at the threshold, and the eighteen sentients they belonged to involuntarily held their breaths. Mathieson felt his own skin crawl as he gestured to the bio-bed that held one of the POW's.

"This one. Summat fishy. Needs t' eat, but 'e can do that in th' brig."

"Fishy?" Victor moved into Sickbay so he could get a good look at the patient in question. He eyed the emaciated, gaunt figure, looking more like an anatomy skeleton with skin wrapped around it than a living person, and frowned. "Fishy how, Doctor? Is it fishy as in 'a danger in six months when he's on the way to recovery' or fishy as in 'stop him or we're all going to die any second?'" He glanced over at Mathieson and raised an eyebrow.

"Fishy as 'th' Cap'n's almost 'ed his head tore off by a Triad sympathizer, a Hydran clone recently came close t' blowin th' ship up, an' this bag o' bones", he said thumbing the prisoner in the containment field, "quacks like a human, farts like a human... but doesn't think like a human. Given th' times, I'm not all fer takin' chances."

"Considering that I've been told that *I* don't think like a human being a number of times over the years," Victor commented, "I'd be more inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. But," he forestalled Mathieson's comment, "given the circumstances, I can't really blame you. I'll need a list of the medications he's on and when he needs them, any special dietary requirements he needs, any other special requirements, and you'll need to sign a J-Seven-Alpha form remanding him to Security." He held out a PADD I have the form already pulled up for you.

Mathieson quickly offered the Security officer a PADD. "It's a lil' diffrent that jus thinkin'.... diffrent. Th' lad's definitely been modified by th' Hydrans", he said while pointing to the brainwave display above the Wretch's head. "Sure looks like 'e's gone through th' grinder, but it doesn't explain th' different activities in 'is neocortex, paleocortex an' archicortex, s' well as wot's not 'appenin' in th' cerebellum. Not sure wot 'e thinks 'e is", the old man finished as he mustered the courage to look at Krieghoff, "but 'e 'aint human."

Victor took the PADD and examined the results, grateful for the clearly labeled 'normal human' ranges so that he could tell how far outside them the man came. He wondered for a moment how far outside them he came, decided that was a pointless line of thought, and turned back to the doctor. "Does he require special monitoring? A suicide watch, or constant medical scans?"

"Nah", the old man growled as he looked at the Wretch. "'e'lI live. I can set that crap up from 'ere n' send Max r' some o' the non-comms t' check up on 'im. I'll drop Elessidil an' his Oompa-Loompa's a line too, see if they can poke about 'is noodle a bit. Yer wantin' 'im now?"

The prone figure on the bio-bed tried to say something, but his mumbles were scarcely heard above the security field's steady hum and occasional crackle. Finally and after some considerable effort, he managed something more than a whisper.

"What was it?"

"Now is fine, if he can travel, Doctor," Victor nodded to the doctor. Then, hearing the subject of their conversation, he turned and asked, What was what?"

"I've heard the same lack of explanation from the Hydrans about why I'm to be imprisoned. We seem to be of a similar species", he said with dark glares at both Mathieson and Krieghoff. "I demand to know what I've done to merit more of the same treatment."

It was certainly possible that he didn't know what was wrong with him. Some of the Hydran clone-operatives hadn't, after all. "The sort form," Victor explained, "is that - for whatever reason - your brainwave patterns do not match up with your 'similar species' appearance. There are parts of your brain that should be active, assuming that you are, in fact, human or approximately so, and are not. Other parts, where no activity should be happening, are going full speed. What the Doctor here," Victor pointed at Mathieson, "that's him, has just done, is have you transferred to custody of the Security Department, that's me," he indicated himself. "The point to this transfer is for you to be placed under controlled circumstances until we determine if you're just from a species that has unusual brainwave patterns, someone that had the misfortune to be experimented on by the Hydrans, or another one of their cloned spies and saboteurs slipped into the prison to gather intelligence there." He signed off on Mathieson's PADD. "Got all that?"

"So... I'm being imprisoned for how I think... not for anything I've done?"

"Technically, it's because your brain physically isn't operating like one that should be - as far as we understand it - inside someone that comes from the same racial stock as you appear to. It doesn't have anything to do with your thoughts themselves," Victor explained. "The Hydrans - who we are at war with in case no one's actually told you that - have tried infiltrating clones and reprogrammed personnel back into the Federation as espionage agents. The reprogramming causes alterations in brainwave patterns. Not, I admit, as extreme as what you seem to be experiencing, but that could be do to other factors such as you being an early test subject for the process."

As words like 'reprogramming' and 'alterations' were spoken, the Wretch's complexion darkened and his mouth formed a thing line as he clenched his teeth. "How very Hydran of you", he croaked at last. "Very well.. take me to your prison. I'll let you know how they compare to that of your enemies."

"Oh no," Victor said quietly. "There's nothing Hydran about it - the treatment you'll be receiving or the facility you'll be in. I've been in several of their torture chambers now and that's not something that you'll have to endure here. Not on my watch."

*****************

Brig
===

A nod from the attending Security officer informed Victor that the cell prepared for the new 'guest' had been prepared. It also informed him that, as seemed 'usual' for the Brig, Krieghoff would be left alone with the occupants. It was a silent, understood agreement and while at odds with regulations it was welcomed by all staff - especially during his dark talks with the Galaxy's most infamous prisoner. K'aa's cell was, again, much darker than the others but his bulky form could still be seen in the shadows. As the pair passed in front of the traitor's cell, two large dilated pools shone like pale mercury from the darkness.

"Ah, Lieutenant Krieghoff. Welcome back. More dissscussionsss on your Misssster Lovecraft?" The voice was a deep, gutteral hissing and froze the Wretch in his tracks. "I have ssssome more quessstionsss... if you can ssspare the time. Who issss your little friend?"

"What issss that?" the Wretch whispered.

"A Gorn," Victor explained. "Or something that wants us to believe he's one. We're using the only name we have for him right now, even though we all know it's not the right one. He derives a certain amusement from the fact, I believe, that we have to call him by the name of the face he wears: K'aa."

The next sequence of events were confusing, in particular the source the actions. The scream, the attack, the recoil - all cumulating in a brilliant flash from the Brig's security field. The scream was borne of months of accumulated hatred at an enemy out of reach, fueled by an instinctive drive to sink talons and fangs into the throat of the attacker's prey. The instinctive recoil from the attacker's target was slow, hindered by an alien environment but also instinctive for the individual - one accustomed to the act of infrequent defence rather than attack. Still, it was awkward and clumsy, as though the defender was unaccustomed to the act. The flash caused the attacker to bounce harmlessly away from its target and fall dazed to the Brig's had decking. It would have been a natural sequence of events... had the roles been reversed.

The thin, malnourished human known to his captors only as "Wretch" had sought to kill a three-hundred pound Gorn with his teeth and nails. K'aa, despite years of military training in two separate fleets, was only capable of raising his right claw in a feeble act of defence.

Victor stood there, very still, glad that the Brig recorders were on and would back up his account of what had just happened. One eye on the readouts for the security field that restrained K'aa, he knelt down next to the nameless man. "As odd as this will sound coming from me under the circumstances, are you all right?" He made a quick check of the man's
condition. "I don't see any serious damage; can you stand unaided, or do you require assistance?"

The thin human's rose and bared his reconstructed teeth at Victor, not an attack but a predator's reaction to the presence of an equal. His eyes, however, showed no fear to what Victor was... only the acceptance of the natural way of things. "I am myself, Lieutenant", he said slowly as he steadied himself on his feet. He trembled with the after-effects of ebbing adrenaline as he looked at the imprisoned

Gorn now hiding in the shadows of his cell. "And I remember *everything*. Take me to the cell and please inform your Commanding Officer that I'd like to see him. Tell me... what ship am I on?"

"This is the USS Galaxy," Victor replied, eyeing the prisoner warily, uncertain what to make of the sudden change in demeanor and mannerisms.

"Hmmm... that would be M'Kantu then", the human said seeming familiar with both ship and captain. "It's important I see him or the ship's XO immediately. Barring both being unavailable, the ship's Intel chief will do."

"Assuming that I'm willing to do that for you," Victor began, stepping back and giving himself room to react if the prisoner tried another lunging attack. "I'm going to need at least two things from you to make it possible. One, you're going to need you to step into your cell and wait until I can arrange that. And two... I'm going to need something that I can give as a reason. In that order please."

"I would understand your confusion, and certainly your disbelief", the Wretch said firmly as he looked down at his thin, vein-mapped hands, "but *my* name is K'aa... Th'khiss K'aa, and months ago I was the Ops chief on the Miranda."

"That," Victor said, with a frown, the words he'd just heard so ludicrous that they defied even what passed for 'normal' on the Galaxy, "was not the order I requested things in. But, as reasons go, I can assure you that it's likely to be interesting enough that a virtual parade of people will be talking to you about it soon enough." He indicated the cell. "Now, if you please?"

"Very well", the thin human said with a murderous glare towards the Gorn form in the darkened cell. "My people are known for their patience... I suppose I can wait a little while for my revenge." Without resistance, he entered the cell next to M'Kantu's attacker and sat quietly on the bunk.

Victor enabled the security field, checked it, and then checked the one sealing the still cowering Gorn. Finding them both secure, he silently prayed that someone - anyone - else would wind up doing the paperwork the call he was about to make would generate, and tapped his combadge. "Krieghoff to Tarin. I have a situation that requires command intervention in the brig."

Random Crewman (#4665)
Random Crewwoman (#688)

"Jupiter's Revenge" or "Diety Debate - Poll Closed!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"A vulcan captain. Who'da thunkit?" some random crewman said to his
lunch partner. She shook her head at the comment and gazed out the
viewports of 10-Forward as the starship streaked towards this new
syste. Onboard for less than a day and already charging headlong into
the unknown. No little cruise around the block to get to know her
crew, or a simple 'let's go patroll a sector where nothing EVER
happens cause this crew's seen so much odd stuff lately they're all in
need of Elisidil's attentions.' Nah. 'Let's go explore a star system
where nefarious crap is already happening.'

She looked over to her lunchmate and sighed. "Well, the poll going
through the ship's network finally closed. And guess which one won,"
she querried him, mischeviously.

"Aw crap, you gotta be kidding me!" He put down his glass of OJ and
leaned back in his chair. "I'm not betting with you any more!"

She smiled triumphantly. "Yes, that's right. The new system's been
named 'Jupiter's Revenge,' by popular vote amongst the crew. Most of
the Science flunkies are already replacing the number label with the
new name in their reports and whatnot. Captain Bird-Man's gonna molt
when he see's the first one come across his desk."

"Still, I think Venusian Triangle was an appropriate name," he
commented, taking another bite out of his grilled cheese sandwich.
Darned replicators never could get the taste of melting cheese right.

"The problem, though, is there's no 'Triangle' in this sector of
space, even when we look at stellar geometry." She poked him with her
fork before stabbing a lettus leaf with it.

"Bah. Pure semantics."

Both of them shook their heads and turned out to look at the starts,
munching thoughtfully. The planet had been named "Jupiter's Revenge"
(and similarly themed titles had gone through the polls) primarily
because in Roman religion, Jupiter is the father of Vulcan, the god of
beneficial and hindering fire, whether helpful or harmful, including
the fire of volcanoes. And also the name of the planet the She-B*TCH
now sitting in the Center Seat was from. The crew was split
relatively evenly down the lines about whether she would be good or
bad for the ship in the long run, but all agreed, discreetly and
cleverly though this "Name the System" poll, that the Roman Gods were
playing their fun on the crew of the Galaxy. Most everyone else had
up to this point, so why shouldn't they join in on the fun?

Jupiter's Revenge. Who knows what else ole' Thunder'n'Lightning's got
in store for them once they entered the system?

"Late Night Surprise"

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Lieutenant J.G. Valentina 'Eve' Kyznetsova


=USS Galaxy=

It was the middle of the night as far as the ship was concerned. Most of the crew were off duty, relaxing or asleep as their individual schedules were set up. Headed towards 'Jupiter's Revenge,' all was calm on the Galaxy front.

The Universe never meant for things on Galaxy to stay banal for long.

Which is why, while somewhere between dreaming and awake, a body apeared out of nowhere just above Saul Bental's bed; conforming to newtonian physics and the Law of Gravity meant that the body landed square in his bed. Accompanied by the sudden weight was the sweet stench of blood and other bodily fluids and panting, gasping breaths.

She was Home.

Saul gasped, instinctively attempting to bend forward. He was pinned to his bed by something very heavy, that pressed on his ribcage so harshly it felt like it was going to break.

Sharply cocking his head, he tried to figure out what's on top of him. With the last remnants of air in his lungs, he managed to utter a command.

"Computer, lights...!"

By the time he recognized Valentina's face, his right hand was already loose and holding a Phaser pistol. He heaved, realizing he was aroused under all that weight. Slim, sexy women like Valentina weren't supposed to be this heavy.

She rolled to his side from the movement, her gasping breaths turning to crying sobs as she clutched at Saul, stark naked and covered in blood and gore. She was trying to say something, but being in shock and not to mention hysterical made it more than a little dificult for her to say anything coherent.

Saul looked sideways, meeting the blaming gaze of Thing which left his regular perch on one of the shelfs to observe the new, nude visitor. The two black, beady eyes were focused on them, and Saul could almost imagine it saying 'I'm going to tell Nara!

Unable to handle the rightous wrath of the furry, palm sized alien, Saul diverted his attention to Eve.

This must be a dream, she couldn't be real.

He blindly reached forward, to see if she's really there. His hand made contact with something soft, warm and roundish, almost like...

The gropage seemed to do something to calm her down; Val no longer tried to say anything and instead just lay there, crying into him.

Saul let the phaser drop to the mattress, and patted her back.

"Hey, hey... it's OK, Val, calm do--"

Both of them looked down at the same time, realizing that Saul's synthetic hand was still firmly groping Valentina's breast.

"-ugh..."

The embarssed Dutchman, still not fully adjusted to the new prothesis, lost control. The hand twitched, then squeezed.

"...oy."

"Pervert!"

The slap that met his left cheek would remind Saul that Val was clearly stronger than she seemed to notice. He'd have quite the hand-shaped bruise come morning,

He scuttled on the bed to a safe distance, back against the cold wall.

"Sorry, umm, I'm -- what the spuff happened to you?"

Valentina curled up, still more or less oblivious to - or just plain not caring about - her current state of undress and hygene. "They took me," she began, her voice barely audible. "Tried to take everything .... but I wouldn't let them. It's not their to take."

For one moment Saul wished Valentina would behave like her dry, factual alter-ego, Eve.

"Valentina, who are 'they'?"

Her violet eyes glowed softly in the shadow of her face as they met with his. "Your Masters," she said with malice. "Those that treat all as pets at best and cannon fodder not worth the thought of emotions to waste upon at worse. Even you are beneath their contempt until you interfere with their designs."

As he watched Val dug into the synthskin of her left forearm, opening a ragged tear in the self sealing material. After a moment's searching she brought out an item - her Starfleet issue combadge, the same one that had disapeared with her a lifetime ago.

Making sure he saw, she slowly, carefully, intentionally crushed the device into a useless ball of alloy and tossed it to him. "I quit."

"Late Night Surprise" Part 2
Lieutenant Saul Bental
Lieutenant J.G. Valentina 'Eve' Kyznetsova


=USS Galaxy=

Making sure he saw, she slowly, carefully, intentionally crushed the device into a useless ball of alloy and tossed it to him. "I quit."

Saul seemed unimpressed. "First, you are going to clean this and the blood up. Second, your resignation is not accepted."

Val glared at him, hate in her eyes. "I won't be a party to people who resort to kidnapping, rape, and mutilation to further their selfish goals!" Taking the sheet off of his bed she wrapped herself in it and stood, making her way towards his bathroom. "As for this blood and other stuff, well. There's about 20 people, most of them innocent or ignorant, who won't be going home to their families."

Saul was grateful that she didn't look at him. Did she really mean what she just said?

"If SFI really wants to know what all I'm capable of, then by all means encourage them to keep coming after me," Val spat as she hopped into the sonic shower. "I don't care what their reasons, they have NO RIGHT to do what they tried to do."

Saul took the pistol again. He didn't dare try arming the phaser in his synthetic arm, which Valentina herself installed.

"You say you just killed twenty people. Not all of them tormented you or were responsible at any way to your capture. That's worse than kidnapping, mutilating and the lot in my books."

"At least when I kill it's quick, painless," she said, her head lowered.

Saul cut her off. "Doesn't matter. Dead is dead. Someone lives, twenty, thirty, fifty years, then you make it cease forever. Some of them might have deserved it. Heck, I would help you catch them myself if they weren't dead. But twenty people?"

"The first half-dozen were the actual people operating on me. I could hear them, hear every word, and I KNEW that they had every idea as to what they were doing and why. The rest ....unfortunately for them they shot first. When I walked through a brace of stun beams they switched to kill. And so I killed before I could be killed. They were doing their jobs to the best of their abilities, even if most of them didn't know what was going on. And I was just trying to stay alive. I'm not programed, or trained, to save lives when my own is in danger."

"No, but you had other solutions. The transporter."

"It's not that easy," Val said. "A short hop from one side of the room to the other and up a meter or so is easy, especially since it's in sight. Finding you took a LOT of concentration, and I kept being interupted by barrages of phaser fire."

"Find me? What was the teleporting distance??"

"I don't know," she said as she shut off the sonic shower. "I just reached out, trying to find something or someone I knew. Knew well enough to pull myself to. If I was off on my timing or even my relative momentum, I'd be in space behind the ship, and even I can't last more than a few minutes in space."

"Fascinating." Came the dry reply. Saul had no idea what to do with his TechOps officer. No, make that ex-TechOps. When he refused her resignation, he was about to propose that they seek out those who snatched her and deal with them. But it seemed that Eve dispatched them, as well as a dozen more of Saul's colleagues.

Once she was at it, thought Saul, she was out of control. That is why he asked Burton to install that device inside Valentina.

Twenty people.

"What do you want?"

She hadn't asked for anything concealing, neither had Saul offered, so the door remained closed. "I want to be left alone," she said from within the shower cubicle, her voice small and tinged with hope for an answer she knew would never be given. "I was doing my job. No one on the ship had been seriously hurt, no one else in Starfleet had been hurt. Only the Borg had died under my hands until yesterday."

She popped the door open a bit to look Saul in the eyes. "If someone, doesn't matter who, or for what reason, was trying to take away part of you, or kill you, would you sit there and let them stab you in the back? That's what SFI has done to me."

"Of course I wouldn't - you know that's how I operate. But I would have taken out only those who tried to harm me, not the entire bloody facility staff."

"The 'entire bloody facility staff' was out to harm me," she shot back. "I didn't leave the operating room, they just kept sending more and more in after me. Whoever was runnning the show there was sloppy and stupid, or just scared shitless which led to sloppy and stupid. Besides those that were operating on me, everyone else I killed was security." She paused, looking at the gash in her artificial arm. "I can't work for people I can't trust."

Trust. Saul stopped using that term when he was eight or nine. You don't trust people. You just go with the people who are least likely to backfire. And like Valentina just proved, even they sometimes do.

"That leaves who? Me?"

"Unfortunately, that includes you as well Saul," Val said. "I can't put more than token faith in you, and only that you'll be doing what benifits you most. Helping me right now is nowhere on your 'self preservation' list."

"We went over this in the past." Saul said. It was time to give Miss Russian girl a dose of reality; She often needed it. "I am more than willing to let you walk away despite of what you did, but the truth is they're going to hunt you down, both for your classified knowledge and for whatever they thought they would obtain by snatching you. Do you see other alternatives?"

"Somehow dump me off in the Delta Quadrant, or kill me," she said. "You know as well as I that they may leave me alone for a while, but they'll never stop coming after me. They're too stupid to think that it'll be better to let me be." She paused, then continued, smirking. "Or so intelligent that they can't think of the simple things as the correct solution; gotta make things complicated to fit into their sick, twisted views of the universe."

"Stop being so full of self-pity, it won't get you anywhere." Saul snapped. "Even if it's justified. Get out of here. Officially let's say the reason I'm not trying to take you down is because I cherish being alive. I'll look into your kidnapping, though. No one is going to get out of this clean."

Including you, he added mentally.

"Reflections"

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-ey'd monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.

-William Shakespeare, Othello, Act 3 Scene 3

Brig, USS Galaxy
=============

The dim image on the black plastic panel before me is alien...
hideous, yet I cannot help but look at it for my will guides its
actions and it is my mind that hosts its thought. As reflection, the
first thing I notice is the hair - barring small patches under its
eyes and on the palms of its hands, it seems that hair covers it from
head to unexplored toe. They lack a comforting uniformity, some being
coarse and wiry, others being so fine that they can barely be seen.
They can, on the other hand, be felt and it seems that they rise to
every faint gust of air from the cell’s air conditioning.

And they itch... every last damn one of them.

And then there's the smell. It would seem that primates possess a
more acute sense of it than we do, and it is a sharp, unpleasant
reminder that I have been in thrall at a Hydran prison facility for
quite some time. It is a sour, rank odor that permeates the cell I
occupy, and I hope that it vanishes once I get the opportunity to
wash... but I have my doubts. In between the cells that sprout hair
lay another part of the mammalian experience I am finding thoroughly
unpleasant... those that sweat. The white overall that the Galaxy's
medical staff has given me seems already stiff with perspiration, and
I can feel it trickle along my scalp, and down my spine, and under my
arms. It makes the thin skin on me crawl with disgust, and it is only
with significant effort that I can focus past the sensation.

The reflection stares back at me in the weak light, and its eyes seem
as useless as the claws that trace the image's outline. Impossibly
small, they look on a world now lacking in colors and brilliance, and
seem empty and bereft of character and dignity. They are weak, and
behind them... I have become weak as well. Only a weak thing would
have such a thin, gaunt appearance. The talons on these hands are
worse than useless - they peel off much like ancient papyrus, and
cannot score the weakest of plastic polymers, regardless of how much
force is applied... not that I can manage much. They are at the end
of arms impossibly thin, the flesh of which hands from a fragile, weak
skeleton.

I itch and sweat, and smell, squint in the darkness, and cannot defend
myself. If this is human condition, I’m genuinely surprised that
humanity ever descended from the trees of Earth. Lungs with no
capacity, eyes barely above being blind! I would roar in frustration
if I didn’t know that the sound of my new voice was as pathetic as the
weakest of leaf-eaters.

Primates can apparently hear better than reptilians, and I can hear
the spy in the next cell shuffle and lurch about like a drunken
Klingon after too much blood-wine. I know the sounds he should make
as he moves, and it sickens me that a Hydran inhabits my flesh and has
committed acts of treason with my name and my face. I am somewhat
comforted that at least the instinct to lunge at an enemy’s throat
still resides in my cords and tendons, weak as they are now. The
primate reaction to adrenaline on the other hand, leaves much to be
desired; a bitter, coppery taste floods the mouth, and while the
muscles seem to achieve a marginal boost of energy, the effect is
fleeting and the wake is one of nausea and a weakness. I can’t
control the shaking, regardless of how much willpower I exert and the
weakness sickens me.

Still... I thirst for revenge like never before. It consumes me! I
hunger to see my enemy defeated and helpless before me... by the Fire,
I can think of little else, and each movement he makes in his cell
fans my hatred of him. I will have my revenge - but I must be the
patient hunter now. The battle-site must be chosen with great care
given how weak I am, but it will be chosen.

It *will* be chosen.

I *will* taste revenge.

I am tired. As the rage ebbs in this body, I feel as though I am
drawn slowly but irresistibly to sleep. It clouds my reason,
befuddles my powers of logic fueled by an alien but delicious
sensation - for the first time in over a decade of living amongst
humans, I am truly, comfortably warm.

I am tired… and sleep claims me, but I will dream of revenge - if the
Fire permits it.

And I *will* have revenge…

I *will* have it…

"Ride of the Valkyries"

1st Lieutenant Branwen London

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

Lieutenant Dhanishta Eshe

***Location, Altroth III, Prison Facility***

There were three types of prisoners; those that dreamed of being rescued, those that dreamed of escape and those that dreamed continuously as a way to survive. For the latter there was not much that could be done. Even years of therapy wouldn't be able to cure the minds of those that had passed suffering and lie somewhere in the realms of total and utter torment.

Good food, a nice bed and a life free from danger would never be able to stop the nightmares or the flash backs to this place. For everyone that had been here, the things that had been done to them, the atrocities that had been committed, the thoughts and fantasies they had of their own death or vengeance, would never truly leave their minds.

They were forever tainted.

For those that still had a measure of sanity and within that sanity the possible insane notion that one day they would be saved, well for once, those who believed in 'happy endings' would get that satisfactory 'chic-flick' feeling.

However, for the hopeful, the anticipation of that joyful day held as much expectation as a first date with a millionaire! Dinner and a holo-novel just wouldn't cut it. Candle light supper with a string quartet followed by skinny dipping in a private hot-tub and then 'relaxing' on a bear skin rug in front of an open fire wasn't even a warm up act in their minds.

No, it had to be bigger than that, grander than that. It had to be the mother of the mother of the mother of all rescues! It had to be caviar with the most expensive bottle of champagne on the menu, in the most highly appraised restaurant, with the sort of service that would make you blush. It had to be a full on orchestra at the opera, with her in a ball gown and tiara, him in a tuxedo, sitting in the balcony opposite the Royal family, occasionally dabbing their eyes with a silk handkerchiefs, followed by dancing till dawn with the aristocrats, who would of course invite you over for a spot of tea and golf tomorrow afternoon and then a trip to the Hampton's for the summer. Topped off with a moonlit walk in the outstanding gardens of the Palace, where, under a canopy of falling blossom, he'd turn, take her in his arms, look deeply into her eyes with his piercing, lingering almost haunting deep blue eyes and ever so softly kiss her with all the passion and tenderness that true romance was made of. The sort of kiss that made your nether's tingle with desire and your stomach fuzz with warmth.

That was the sort of rescue they'd envisioned

So when the doors parted without so much as a resounding boom and then they were corralled like cattle into a hallway, thrust a re-breather and told to share it, without so much a laser light show! It was a bitter disappointment.

"MOVE IT, NOW, COME ON, COME ON, COME ON! LET'S GO! MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!"

Dhanishta literally screamed as she ran into the cell and grabbed the first shoulder that she could see, unceremoniously yanked the woman forward, passed herself, before following up with a rather hard shove towards the door.

The air held palpable tension and a rather stifled feeling of repressed panic that made every move urgent and harsh, it was a far cry from the elegance that many had been pining for. However freedom was freedom and whichever way it came, ensured gratitude beyond measure.

For the rescued, it all happened in a blinkered daze. A tunnel vision where one just followed the feet of the person in front like a sheep, searching for the light of day and the unfiltered smell of real oxygenated air, rather than stopping to think what might be around the next corner.

For Dhanishta it seemed to go on for hours and she found herself in a rather difficult position. Every woman moved as if they had a galaxy class starship attached to their feet and trying to convey to them that they had to move their tiny abused butts, whilst trying to uplift their brittle moral was a task of endurance for the engineer. Their element of surprise was long since over, the curtains had fallen on that particular mercy and now it really was a matter of time and precision to get as many as possible out alive. But she was along side a perfectionist and he wasn't going to let her run until they had every single woman out of this place and off this rock.

To the end of the corridor, where Branwen was covering the rear, Dhanishta nodded, signifying that this area was now vacant. She then turned to Victor, who was taking point, and nodded once more. As he lead the charge round the next bend to the next set of doors that awaited them, Dhanishta jogged along side those that they had saved thus far.

It was a shocking sight to be sure. Dhanishta had never seen such humiliation first hand, only ever in pictures of times past. It was devastating to realize that still, even now, in this day and age; humanoids had such a capacity for violence. Yet it wasn't just the violence, for that she could handle. Aggression was part of her upbringing; she'd been surrounded by a culture that worshiped it, that had wet dreams about it which even established a code of honor just for it.

It wasn't the aggression that ate away at her, it wasn't the violence. It was the needless acts of humility, the striping of all dignity, the total and utter violation of a person's soul. It was the fact that they took pleasure in it, that they lusted for it and that they didn't even consider what they were doing to be wrong.

It happened and that was fact. In many cultures, within many species across the entire universe. Somewhere else out there, someone was suffering in the same way people had here. Creed, color, species – none of it mattered. The fact that technology was at its highest, science was in its element and freedom was a way of life for billions, none of that mattered.

All that meant in its simplicity was that humanoid life in every capacity was simply developing new ways to torture, maim and kill their neighbors.

It was quite a sobering thought. But what was more jarring, more earth shattering and rendered most unable to breathe for thirty seconds at least, was the question 'what would it take for me to become one of them?'

How far did one have to be pushed until you yourself couldn't recognize right from wrong, defense from torture, offence from genocide?

TBC…

OOC: This is actually part of a physical/psych eval JP that Rob S. and
I started months ago, but we only got the physical part done, then I
kinda lost track of this part until recently. Sorry, Rob. :-P

"Cowboy Psychology, Part 1"

Major Nathan Everett, Commander, Aerospace Group
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer
===

USS Galaxy – CMO's Office

Nathan whistled quietly as he strolled through the Galaxy's Sickbay
for the first time since before the Vered evacuations. The last time
he'd been there was for his physical examination with Doctor Burton.
They were supposed to do the psych evaluation that same day, but
shortly after Nathan had left, an incident between two of the junior
pilots took his attention away, and he'd had to take a rain check on
that appointment.

A lot more had happened since then.

Unfortunately, the Galaxy had arrived in the Vered Cluster shortly
after that, and he and Kimberly had both been too caught up in
evacuating (or, in Nathan's case, being imprisoned by) the locals to
resume their meeting. After that, Captain M'Kantu had been severely
injured by K'aa, and required Kimberly's full attention, and Nathan
had been preoccupied with rescuing a baby Starbeast.

Finally, however, both of their schedules had cleared, and they could
finally finish the second half of Nathan's examinations.

Now, while Nathan wasn't the biggest fan of physical exams, he rather
liked the psychiatric ones. If there was one thing Nathan
enjoyed--well, aside from flying, and a certain other activity--it was
talking about himself.

He approached the door to Kimberly's office, as pointed out to him by
the nurse who was manning the desk up front. When he saw that the door
was open, he looked inside and saw Kimberly sitting at her desk, her
head down as she went over...whatever it was doctors went over when
they weren't seeing patients. Maybe she was setting up her next tee
time on the holodeck. All doctors golfed, didn't they?

The corner of his mouth twisted in a smirk, and Nathan rapped his
knuckles against the doorjamb to get Kimberly's attention.

"Hello again," he said as he leaned against the jamb and folded his
arms across his chest, grinning at Kimberly. "Did you miss me?"

Looking up from the screen she was focused intently on Kimberly smiled
at the interruption. She had been studying his notes and records from
his checkup, and then going back through his file all the way to the
Academy, and there was she decided, something amiss here. Exactly
what was going to take a little time to put her finger on though.
Some of his results were just a little off, and a detailed analysis of
the holoscan she hoped would give her some answers.

~ Something to do later, ~ She decided as she shut the screen down.

"Sorry if Ah surprised you, but the nurse told me you said Ah could
come right in," Nathan explained.

"By all means," indicating a chair, "come in and have a seat, would
you like something to drink?"

"No thanks," Nathan said with a shake of his head. He stepped into
Kimberly's office and settled into the chair she'd indicated, making
himself comfortable.

"Well, you've been in the fleet for a while now so I guess you know
the drill? We've got an hour set aside, and I'm not as formal as some
counselors you may have met." Stepping over to the replicator she
tapped it as she spoke, "Simply put, tell me about yourself? Say
whatever is on your mind, it's your time."

He cocked his head to the side and watched Kimberly walk to the
replicator. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as he
realized that saying the first thing that came to mind would probably
bring this meeting to a very abrupt end.

"Hell, Ah dunno where to start," he finally said as Kimberly made her
way back to her seat.

As she sat Kimberly sipped her coffee then put it down, she disliked
leading a conversation sometimes, but then first meetings were usually
a little indecisive when it came to where to start. "Well, how about
why you're here, in Starfleet?" She enquired gently.

Nathan shrugged. "Alright. Ah've spent most of mah life in space,
which Ah guess is the main reason why Ah decided to join. Ah've always
liked flyin', and Ah've always been good at it, so it kinda made
sense. S'pose Ah could've gotten a civilian pilotin' job, but both mah
parents're in Starfleet, so Ah've been around it since Ah was a kid.
It's what Ah was used to. Kinda weird, huh? Ah mean, considerin' Ah'm
not exactly the model officer." He shrugged again, giving Kimberly an
innocent smile.

Returning the smile she raised an eyebrow, "Why do you say you're not
a model officer?"

He waved at the computer screen on Kimberly's desk. "Check mah record,
darlin', Ah've built mahself quite the reputation since joinin'
Starfleet. You'd prob'ly find a thousand different mentions 'bout how
Ah play fast and loose with the rules and tend to get pretty friendly
with the opposite sex."

Having scanned some of his file she had to agree, there were numerous
mentions of various incidents that easily fitted his description.
"Well, there's no harm in getting friendly with the opposite sex," she
agreed. "You've no family aboard then?" she enquired curiously.

Nathan shook his head. "Nope, just me," he answered, now sitting up
again as he smiled at Kimberly. "What about you, Doc? That is, if you
don't mind me askin'..."

"Not at all," it never hurt to have a conversation rather than an
inquiry, "I've no family aboard, only a ward, though she's currently
off taking her Starfleet entry exams, so you can imagine she's a
little stressed right now." She added with a slight grin. "How are
you settling in aboard?"

"Better'n Ah thought Ah would," Nathan admitted. "The Miranda's one of
a kind, so Ah was afraid the Galaxy would be more lahk yer standard
Starfleet vessel. Fortunately, y'all over here're almost as crazy as
the folks back on the Miranda, so Ah feel right at home," he said with
a lopsided grin.

"To be honest, Ah dunno how Cap'n M'Kantu did it. Cap'n Elaithin
wasn't exactly yer typical commandin' officer, so Ah get how he
handled it, but Cap'n M'Kantu seemed pretty straight-and-narrow."

He paused then for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly and his head
cocking to the side as he examined Kimberly. "Come to think of it, you
seem pretty normal, too," he observed. "Don't get me wrong, darlin',
that's definitely not a bad thing. Yer just...different from what Ah'm
used to seein' 'round here."

"Why thank you," Kimberly muttered with a slight grin, "nicest thing
that's been said to me in days," she added softly. "I like to think
I'm reasonably normal," she admitted, "out of curiosity though, what
are you used to seeing then?"

"Well, let's see, so far Ah've seen a walkin', talkin' fox who flies
fighters, a genius scientist who still hasn't hit puberty, and a
Borg-killin' cyborg who's really just a big softy at heart." Nathan
grinned slightly as he thought about Valentina, which then faded as he
remembered her disappearance. "Kinda makes me wish there was somethin'
strange about me so Ah could fit in with the rest of the crew."

"Well, you're in Starfleet, out of the hundreds of thousands of
applicants who apply you've not only graduated from the Academy but
also been assigned to one of the flagships of the fleet. You don't
have to be strange to work here, ~ Though it does help! ~ She inserted
silently. ~ "There has to be something about you that stands out
though?"

Cowboy grinned at that. "You clearly haven't known me fer very long,
darlin'. Ah'm only kiddin' anyway, Ah'm just fine with mah regular,
average, ordinary human self. Could you imagine me with pointy ears?"
He shuddered at that thought.

"If you're happy with who and what you are, then you should fit in
here just fine," Kimberly replied honestly, "as you've noticed there's
quite a variety of people aboard, just being yourself is probably the
best way to let people get to know you."

He gave a short, good-natured laugh. "Don't worry, Doc, Ah've got no
problems with bein' mahself." He nodded then, trying to act serious
for a change. "But Ah'll keep yer advice in mind. Ah know Ah can be
kinda gratin' to some people, and Ah really don't plan on alienatin'
mah new crewmates. This assignment'd be a pain in the ass if that
happened."

"Kinda gratin'?" She repeated curiously, "How so?"

"Cowboy Psychology, Part 2"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer
Major Nathan Everett, Commander, Aerospace Group
===

USS Galaxy – CMO's Office

"Kinda gratin'?" She repeated curiously, "How so?"

Nathan's mouth lifted in a half-smile as Kimberly mimicked his speech.
"Well, Ah think the accent has somethin' to do with it," he admitted.
"A lot of folks, when they first meet me, can't really make out what
Ah'm tryin' to say. But aside from that, Ah think mah attitude bothers
some people. A lotta Starfleeters, 'least from what Ah've seen, take
their jobs very seriously, whereas Ah kinda don't.

"Ah mean, yeah, 'course Ah know how important mah job is, but it's
still just a job, y'know?" he continued. "Ah'm not the kinda guy who
lahks to worry 'bout his work all the time, Ah lahk to relax and think
about other things." He frowned. "Maybe that's it, people don't
approve of mah...heh, recreational habits."

"What sort of 'recreational habits' don't people approve?" Getting
curiouser and curiouser about the new CAG she relaxed and let him
do all the talking, this was after all about finding out about him and
his views on life aboard ship.

Nathan gave Kimberly a look. "Yer kiddin', right? You've had all this
time to read up on me and you gotta ask that?"

"Nope," she replied simply, "not kidding. True I have read your file,
but I do like to make my own judgments about people. Everyone has
their opinions and points of view. I like to use my own rather than
someone else's."

Cowboy gave a short laugh at that and shook his head. "Well, a couple
weeks ago Ah'd've prob'ly made some cheesy come-on, offered to show
you what Ah meant, or somethin' lahk that, but now..." He shrugged.
"Ah think Ah'm done with that sorta thing."

"Done with that…?" She enquired softly, "what happened recently to
change things?" A few ideas and thoughts were there already, but
which was at the fore of his mind she wondered.

He shrugged noncommittally. "Ah dunno...Ah guess it started last year,
after the Battle of Romulus." He sat up in his seat. "One of the ships
there was the Regulus, and both mah parents serve on it--mah father's
the commandin' officer, Mom's the CMO. Anyway, the Regulus took some
pretty serious damage durin' the attack, and fer a minute Ah thought
Ah'd lost 'em."

"And…?" She asked gently, not knowing exactly what had happened to
every ship in that battle.

Nathan frowned. He didn't like to admit things like this. "It scared
the hell outta me," he finally said. "That never happened to me
before. But it kinda woke me up, y'know? Made me realize that Ah could
go at any moment, 'specially in mah line of work. When Ah was on the
Miranda, Ah lived lahk Ah didn't have a care in the world. Ah tried to
replicate that here on the Galaxy, but it just isn't the same
anymore." He slumped a little, heaving a sigh. "Ah guess Ah've finally
realized what a hollow life Ah've been leadin'."

"Why do you say a hollow life?"

"'Cause that's what it's been," Cowboy said. "Screwin' around on duty,
gettin' drunk as often as possible, sleepin' with a different woman
almost every damn night..." He shook his head. "What've Ah got to show
for it?"

"Major," stressing the word, "you're aboard one of the fleet flagships
and Commander of the aerospace group, something tells me they didn't
pin that shiny oak leaf on your collar just because of your sparkling
personality."

He snorted. "That doesn't mean a damn thing. Ah got mah first
promotion 'cause Ah was sleepin' with mah department chief on the
Mercury. Mah promotion to Lieutenant had more to do with
time-in-grade'n anything else. And the only reason Ah've got this
shiny new oak leaf's 'cause poor Quattro got himself killed. Ah didn't
earn any of 'em the right way."

"The loss of Quattro was certainly a blow," Kimberly admitted, "I
didn't know him personally to be honest, we rarely interacted outside
of meetings, though his last departure from sickbay was, I have to
admit, unique." ~ Cutting off his own hand was a little drastic! ~
she thought to herself.

~ And if he had come back, I promise you we 'would' have spoken and he
'would' have been relieved of duty! ~ Kimberly mused silently. That
sort of behavior was indicative of a highly disturbed personality, no
matter what his species.

"Even though you've been promoted after his loss, the Captain and the
XO obviously have faith in you, or they would have requested someone
from off ship." Kimberly reminded him, switching back from her
thoughts. "We're in a war, the 'right way' of being promoted
sometimes isn't a luxury we're afforded."

Nathan started to say something, but closed his mouth and slumped in
his chair, frowning as he thought about Kimberly's words. "Ah s'pose
yer right," he said at last. "The Starfighter Corps's got plenty of
other folks who'd love to have mah job. Maybe mah promotion wasn't
just 'cause Ah was the most convenient choice."

"Commander Aerospace Group is a very responsible duty, as is any
senior staff position," Kimberly reminded him. "Agreed, I'm sure
there are many others who'd love the job, but you were offered it."

Cowboy nodded. "Ah know." He chuckled then. "Listen to me, talkin' lahk
this. Not very fighter piloty of me, is it?"

"Well, you're not just a fighter pilot now, you're in charge. I'm
sure the job entails much more than strapping yourself into a fighter
and riding fire in combat, and I imagine that's changed things more
than a little?" Wondering for a moment if his sudden promotion had
unsettled him more than he was letting on Kimberly made a note to
check his last few evaluations for reference once they were done as
well as have a quiet chat with the XO. There were a great many things
she couldn't obviously discuss with Iniara, but asking for a second
professional opinion was certainly acceptable.

"Ah think yer right," Nathan agreed. "All mah life, Ah've always shied
away from responsibility. Now Ah'm a senior officer on one of
Starfleet's best ships, with thirty pilots and a host of noncoms
lookin' to me to lead 'em." He shook his head as his eyebrows knotted
together in worry, a rare expression for him. "What if Ah screw up,
Doc? It's not just mah own life Ah'm gamblin' with anymore."

"Agreed, being in command means responsibilities and duties, people
look to you for guidance and advice. It's a heavy burden, but not one
you bear alone, there is an entire senior staff aboard this ship,
including the Captain and the XO, a veritable wealth of information
and experience. Never be afraid to ask, just remember you're part of
a team," she assured him with a smile. "And also Major, as a fighter
pilot in space I think perhaps you should consider a little piece of
Terran history, and remember what an early Earth astronaut once said
shortly before he launched. 'Please, dear God, don't let me fuck up.'
Shepard's Prayer."

Cowboy laughed. "That's good, Doc, Ah'll have to remember that one."
He relaxed again and let out a breath. "Well, you've certainly given
me a lot to think about. Maybe there's somethin' to these counselin'
sessions after all," he said, smirking.

"I like to think so." ~ Otherwise I wasted a lot of time at classes
and parties at the Academy. ~ She added silently with an equally
silent laugh. "Take your time Major, and my door's always open if you
need."

"Ah appreciate that," Nathan said as he started to get out of his
chair. He stopped and looked to Kimberly. "There anythin' else you
wanna talk about?"

Shaking her head gently she smiled. "Not today, thought that's really
my question." Raising an eyebrow she let the comment hang, waiting to
see if there was anything else he wanted to bring up.

He smiled. "Yeah, Ah just wasn't sure if you had a list or somethin',"
he joked. "Ah don't have anything else to say, so Ah think Ah'll
get outta yer hair now. Thanks again."

"Anytime." Smiling as she watched him leave she picked up a PADD and
started entering her notes, he wasn't quite what she had expected she
admitted to herself.

"Back To Work!"

With

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP
Petty Officer 2nd Class, NCOIC EMRT
USS Galaxy

Arelis Moreno, Medical Technician
Petty Officer 3rd Class, EMRT
USS Galaxy

And random NPC's


Sickbay, 0315, Delta Shift...


After gallivanting in sectors unknown, flirting with Intel, and possibly making the wrong decision in trying to help a certain Marine, Max was actually glad to be back in Sickbay performing routine exams, patching up minor Holodeck wounds (yawn), and performing stock inventory of all the crash carts.

"So have you met the new Captain, yet?" asked Arelis Moreno, a voluptuous Latina who stood as tall as Max did. She was part of the EMRT, a highly capable Medic...and Max's lover. He still wasn't sure how the latter came to occur again, considering how they split up the first time. But he was lonely, and she seemed to be treating him right this time (besides the robust sex).

Then there was Victory. She and Max had drifted apart as of late (mainly because of their duty schedules). He still wanted to get to know her, be a friend, and just enjoy her company. Of course, Arelis took care of that once and for all. But that's another story...

"No," Max was answering while finishing up a blood culture work-up. "But I heard she was a task master." He squinted into the viewfinder and tried to isolate the offending bacteria...there! "Hold that thought," Max replied. He walked over to a Petty Officer from Engineering, typed a command into a PADD, then handed it over.

"Sync this up to your replicator in your quarters and it will dispense 500 milligrams of Corophizine, you take that every 12 hours for the next five days, and you should be fine." He then brandished a hypo. "I'm going to give you some Terakine to take care of the pain. You'll only need one dose, but after that I suggest some over the counter analgesia, ok?"

"Sure, thanks, Max," the Engineering Tech replied, and left after Max administered the Terakine. Max was cleaning his hands when he felt a presence behind him.

"Yes, Arelis," he asked with mild annoyance in his voice. He turned to find himself a few inches from her face. Her beautiful, angelic...

"Wake up, sir," Arelis admonished as she snapped her fingers, knowing full well that getting that close to him would cause arousal. She always enjoyed being able to manipulate Max into a frenzy, but today she was going to behave. A little. "I was asking if you were glad to be back," she was saying.

A small smile crept up on Max's medium complexion. He knew the other meaning of the question. But chose to keep it business-like. "I'll be honest with you, when all is said and done, I actually did miss being here in Sickbay. No one's trying to kill me, I'm not shooting anyone with anything but a Hypospray. It's good to be home."

Moreno gave his shoulder a squeeze with her left hand and smiled warmly at him. "It's good to have you home, Max. Now get back to work!" She playfully punched him in the same shoulder and quickly made her way to a waiting crewman who had a nasty rash. "Looks like another contact dermatitis, Max."

The Medic shook his head and walked over to the new patient. "So have you been wearing your environmental suit too tight as well," he asked.

"Welcome Home"

Valentina Kyznetsova
Nathan Everett
===

Eve was back. No one knew how she'd arrived onboard, or that she was
even back onboard until sometime after departing for this knew system.
Someone had even nicknamed the suspected planet and source of the
mysterious emissions "Pandora." The rumor mill was hard at work,
coming up with reasons why Val was gone, how she'd left, how she'd got
back, things that had (or had not) changed about her, so on and so
forth.

Valentina didn't care what anyone thought, save for one. She hadn't
gone out in search for him yet, though she had a feeling he'd come
find her once word got to him that she was back. So she stayed in her
quarters when off duty, working on a few personal things and hoping
he'd stop by, at least to say hello.

Nathan stood in front of the door for a few moments, taking a minute
to compose his thoughts. He'd heard some of the techs down in the
launch bay discussing Valentina's supposed return, and wondered why he
had to hear about it from them rather than from Valentina herself. But
that wasn't particularly important to Nathan; as far as he knew, they
were all still rumors. He could be standing in front of an empty cabin
like an idiot. There was only one way to find out for sure.

He reached his hand up, and let his finger hover over the door chime
for a second before tapping it.

She'd dozed on the small couch in her quarters, so when the chime rang
she was startled awake. Still, Val knew who it was.

The door slid open, and Nathan smiled brightly when he saw Valentina. "Hi."

"Hi," she said, blinking sleepy eyes as she approached him. Her
figure swathed in a deep purple dress that accentuated her eyes, she
looked rather stunning for only puttering around her quarters.
Despite her overall appearance and the happy tilt she gave to her
smile, it was obvious she wasn't her usual self nowadays. That
twinkle in her eyes was faded, and her voice didn't quite convey the
happiness she felt at seeing Nathan again.

Nathan's smile faded somewhat, and he looked around Val's quarters for
a moment before speaking again. "Uh...so, can Ah come in?"

She nodded, stepping back from the door to give him room to step
inside. "I missed you." The look in her eyes this time matched what
she said.

He entered the room, the door whispering shut behind him, and nodded.
"Ah missed you, too," he replied, feeling both confusion and relief as
he said the words. "What happened to you?"

Val led him to the couch, sitting down somewhere near the middle.
"Well ..... Starfleet Intelligence happened." That was all she could
figure out on how to say it in as simple an expression as possible.

Nathan's eyes flashed. "What the hell'd they do to you, Val?" he
demanded as he sat down beside her.

"It's not what they did, it's what they tried to do," Val replied,
voice quivering. She had to concentrate for a moment to keep her
composure as she whispered her next words. "They tried to take my
cybernetics from me."

"What?! Why?"

"They didn't say. Snatch and grab while I was out with Commander
Jaxom on a Hydran hulk investigation, then the next thing I know I'm
in some operating room and they're cutting me open." She shuddered,
remembering how it felt having her synthetic flesh carefully being
sliced away by strangers. Thieves.

"Bastards," Nathan growled, his hands curling into fists. "If Ah ever
get mah hands on 'em..." He shook his head. "Who the hell do they
think they are? They had no right!"

"If they can manage to convince the right people that there's a
'danger to the Federation' they can do whatever the hell they want."
And she was right, to a degree. Certain extreme measures were, of
course, off limits, but the broad range of authority SF Intelligence
was capable of wielding was astounding if one only used the proper
words and phrases to convince the masses. Or the right figures of
Brass.

He shook his head. "That doesn't make it right. Yer a goddamn asset to
the Federation, not a threat. They had no right to kidnap one of their
own citizens lahk that, not without justification." Nathan sighed and
tried to relax. "Alright. So how'd you get back here? Did they letcha
go?"

She shook her head. "I don't think killing the people who were
operating on me and then the dozen or so 'security' sent to 'subdue'
me counts as being let go. As for how I got back onboard, I can't
talk about that part."

Nathan turned to look at her. "You...you killed 'em?"

Valentina nodded, looking up into his eyes. "I panicked," she said.
"The security I would have just let go, but when stun didn't work on
me they switched to kill."

"Aw, man..." Nathan ran a hand through his hair. "Ah'm sorry,
Valentina. Ah'm sorry you had to go through that. If Ah'd known where
they'd taken you..."

"You wouldn't have been able to do anything," she finished for him,
placing a hand on his shoulder. "Though I do kinda wish you could
have come charging to my rescue."

He grinned and put his hand over hers. "Ah would've, y'know. Ah may
not be a cybernetic super-soldier, but Ah'm not helpless in a
fight..."

"I'm no super soldier, that's the Angosians," Val said, giving Nathan
a kiss on his cheek.

Nathan chuckled. "Mah mistake. What happens now? Somehow Ah don't see
you happily goin' back to workin' fer Starfleet, not after this."

"I tried to resign but Saul wouldn't accept it." She's purposely left
her crumpled combadge in his room, on his bed. "For now it's the
normal stuff, and I'm' happy just to be busy. Takes my mind off of
other things." ~Such as the faces of those I killed,~ she thought.

"Typical Bental," Nathan muttered in annoyance. "Ah s'pose Ah can't be
angry with him in this case, though. Ah wouldn't've accepted yer
resignation, either. Granted, mah reasonin'd be a bit more selfish..."

Valentina smirked, "oh really? And what reasons would those be? It's
not like I'd be going anywhere off ship anytime soon, seeing as how
we're on a mission already."

Nathan smirked right back at her. "Ah wasn't thinkin' 'bout what you
think Ah was, believe it or not." He shrugged. "Ah dunno, Ah
mean...there somethin' wrong with me wantin' you around?"

She shook her head, "No, and I'm glad at least one person not in
Intelligence missed me."

He laughed, and only a little self-consciously. "C'mon, Ah'm sure Ah'm
not the only one."

"You're the only one who said as much without being prodded or lead
into it," Val said, snuggling into him.

Nathan put an arm around Valentina almost instinctively. "Yeah, Ah'm
impulsive lahk that," he joked. "Ah'm glad yer back, darlin'."

"What now?" she asked, pulling her bare feet up onto the couch,
comforted in his embrace.

"Now...well, Ah guess now we try to get on with our lives. And get
ourselves ready fer in case yer friends at SFI try again."

Sounds like a plan," Val said, wrapping her arms around the pilot.
There was a lengthy silence between the two as they basked in each
other's presence before she spoke again. "I wouldn't mind if you
stayed the night," she said softly. "Even if it's just you and me and
nothing happens."

"Ah'd be happy to," Nathan replied as he pulled her closer to him.
"And Ah promise Ah'll keep mah hands to mahself," he teased.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she finished with a wink and
a kiss, a real kiss this time.

He leaned forward and kissed her back, pulling back after a moment and
smiling. "Are you tryin' to seduce me, Miss Kyznetsova?"

"I didn't know I had to try," she replied, eyes still closed from their kiss.

Nathan laughed softly, his fingertips caressing Valentina's cheek.
"Touché," he said before leaning in to kiss her again.

"Alone...."

Victory
Petty Officer Third Class
Nurse
USS Galaxy

She had a lot of time to herself these days. Not that she was not
working or going about her duties, but it seemed when she was off duty
Victory dissapered to the world. Or at least that was how she felt
about it anyways. Unlike when she was stationed on board the USS
Victory it seemed she had not made enough of an impression on the
Galaxy to catch anyones attention. Her relationship with her fellow
medical staff was no more than professional. Once she stepped foot
outside sickbay she was on her own and had little contact with anyone
else. She would go by the hydroponics bay and botanical sections
before returning to her quarters for the evening.

Her room was small, but she had been lucky enough to get a private
room. Not many noncom's had that luxury. When she had been aboard the
Victory she had shared a room with another nurse. She missed it
actually. The empty quiet that greeted her every time just reminded
her of how alone she had become after her previous home and all of her
friends had been destroyed. Even the one person who she thought she
had befriended on the Galaxy had drifted away rather quickly. Max,
assigned to a different shift than hers and always busy. Neither of
them had been able to get a moment to see each other and say hi. She
hadn't seen him since the last major medical staff meeting and she
missed him. She missed a lot of things.

Sitting up on her bed Victory swept her eyes across her small cabin.
The room was sparsely decorated. She had little to no personal
effects, most of her things had been lost with the USS Victory when it
had gone up in flames. In fact all she had that remained save for the
uniform she had been wearing at the time was a small pocket
holographic album that contained holo's of her friends from the ship.
It now rest on the small night stand to the left of her bed.

Her cabin had no windows allowing her to look outside. She had
started to give the room some life though. Since she had been
permanently assigned to the Galaxy she had started slowly collecting
cuttings and samples from the botanical section and begun growing them
in her quarters. Quite a few potted plants now resided in her cabin
that she tended and cared for. Horticulture has always been something
she liked. She didn't know why. She just did. Somehow seeing caring
for plants and seeing them grow to flower seemed to help her feel
better about things deep inside, even if only a little.

She glanced at her clock. 0900 hours. Still a good amount of time
before her shifts start at 1500. Most others would try to get some
more sleep at this point or go hang out with their ship mates but she
just sat on her bed and pulled her knees up to her chin as she slid
her arms around her legs. A side effect to her lack of a biological
body was the reduced need for sleep. While her brain DID require her
to sleep, she needed much less due to how her life support systems
worked. Sometimes she wondered if it was also her sub conscious trying
to make up for all the time she spent in stasis in the cold of space.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rest her chin on her knees. The
silence and darkness flooding her senses. She could remember...only
ever so distantly and remotely the sound of a heartbeat that could be
heard and felt in the most quiet of moments. Even that comfort she
lacked. She had no heart. Just a small power core that constantly
maintained her systems energy needs.

She shook her head, her long red hair flowing about her shoulders.
That was enough self pity sulking for one morning. She picked up her
glasses, unfolded them and put them on as she got up and padded across
her cabin to the closet. Withdrawing a t-shirt and shorts she changed
into it and pulled on a pare of slippers. She was going out for a jog.
She didn't need to for exercise. Her artificial muscular structure did
not require any sort of physical activity to maintain its fitness. It
was just something that seemed good to do at the moment.

Grabbing a tie as she stepped out of her cabin she pulled her hair
back and fixed it to to keep it out of her eyes and was off at a quick
but relaxed pace down the corridor, her feet impacting rather lightly
on the deck despite the weight of her deceptively small and petite
looking armored frame.

OOC: Timing Note... This takes place after the Colonels talks with Iniara
but before the 'Skipper' posts. Apologies these should have gone out sooner.
RobS

"Patch Job - Part 1 of 2"

Doctor Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer
USS Galaxy

Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer
188th Starfleet Marines Detachment
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

(Sickbay)

It had been a 'long' way back to the Galaxy... a 'very' long way, and given
the numbers and physical states of the POW's, there wasn't a whole hell of a
lot of time for the overwhelmed medics aboard 'Marine Alpha' to pay much
attention to non-lethal injuries... although blessedly Max 'did' keep the
pain killers handy.

He knew he was 'messed up' after his pair of encounters with the damned
Capellan. Just thinking about what happened made him... well let's just say
the fact Man'darr made it back alive was a minor miracle of self discipline
among a great number of people. More than one Marine had offered to have an
' accident' happen... it got to the point that he swore he was watching
Starfleet Security's movie of the month "The Godfather".

Now that things were more organized, the majority of the POW's were
transferred to Delta IV, and he still had one more trip to make, he figured
he should get checked out.

He knew before he headed to sickbay that he was probably going to get yelled
at, with what one might consider to be good reason too. He hadn't kept to
his promise regarding wearing the sling, the mission and the war
surprisingly failing to halt while he healed. He knew he'd pulled, or
strained, or fractured 'something' when he carried that nurse out of the
camp, and the fighting probably hadn't helped either. He knew he 'broke'
his arm when the two-legged tank called Maivia trucked him and he had to use
his body as a speed bump. Then there was the symptoms that came with
classical clinical exhaustion, numerous muscle and joint aches, scratches,
bruises... yeah he'd gotten rather roughed up over the course of events.
War was hell and all.

At least in Galaxy's sickbay things seemed rather peaceful.

From her office it wasn't hard to miss the Colonel as he entered, and
Kimberly watched as Arrietty directed him to a biobed. She watched him for
a moment as he walked then sat, letting herself visually assess him as he
moved. One of her tutors had been a proponent of what he'd called visual
diagnosis, the ability to look and rely on your own senses... 'You never
know when that handy tricorder will fail you!' had been his popular refrain.

The Colonel was in some discomfort that much was obvious, and with more than
just his arm she noted, and the way he simply flopped onto the bed spoke
whole volumes about his energy at the moment. She'd planned a rather
lengthy diatribe for him regarding the healing process and how it included a
certain amount of rest. That had unfortunately been shelved after she'd
read some of the limited information available right now about what they'd
been through.

Sighing she got up and slipped on her blue coat as she walked over, right
now she didn't need to start an argument with him, besides he was a marine,
what were the chances of him actually listening? They were all convinced
they were invincible.

"Colonel." She greeted him simply as she approached, "welcome back."

"Doctor." For'kel watched her carefully as she approached. Between the
rescuers prior to the rescue, the rescue itself, Man'darr after the rescue,
Branwen after that, and at last none other than Commander Tarin Iniara
herself (oh, and Branwen once more for good measure) he'd gone from fight
to fight. Some were more mental and emotional, while others were almost
purely physical. Either way, they left one rather dazed. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thanks. I should point out though that that's my line," she
joked as she sat on the bed opposite him. "How have things been with you?
What's happened?" Noting the bed the Colonel was sat on was active she
glanced at the monitors for a second before settling her gaze on him. What
had happened off ship was of course a matter of constant speculation by
many, and while the truth would get out sooner or later, here and now she
preferred sooner.

He smiled at the joke, and closed his eyes momentarily to rest them. He
didn't quite remember the last time he slept, and with eyes closed the
dizziness and nausea seemed to pass more quickly. This was actually going
much easier than last time... he was pleasantly surprised. "It's a long
story. If you want details I'll share, but the long and the short of it is
we got the prisoners out, no fatalities that I recall. Both Lieutenant
London and... Captain Maivia..." the last was said with more than a little
disdain. "They're both back aboard."

Plucking her tricorder from her belt Kimberly raised an eyebrow at his tone
regarding Mavia. Wondering just what had happened she stood and gently
rested a hand on his shoulder. "Well Colonel, lay back, relax and let me
check you over, and while I do you can fill me in on the details. I imaging
you're the first of several people I'll be seeing so I'd appreciate all the
details you can provide. I'm, glad to hear that everyone got out safely, so
you're job is done. This is where mine starts." She reminded him, perhaps
unnecessarily.

Being a POW was something she had some experience with, and while there was
the catharsis after being freed, it wore off quickly, then came the
sleepless nights, the nightmares when you could sleep and the anxiety. She
needed details if she was going to help.

"So what happened? To them and you?" She asked as she got to work.

He wasn't kidding when he said it was a long story, and lying down per her
instructions didn't help anything. After the pain of moving, he felt like
he was going to plum pass out for a day or so. "With us... we made it to
the objective..." he couldn't really be more specific at the time, or maybe
he could but he figured it best to rest on the side of security. "I figured
the best way to get planetside without alerting anything was by torpedo...
we inserted near the holding facility, I hit pretty hard... but we got there
in one piece. We broke in, overtook their computer systems, busted into the
prison, found... tens of dozens of prisoners, Federation, Romulan,
Klingon... others I'm sure but I'm having trouble remembering... and it took
us a long while to get them out. We managed to do it just before a Hydran
taskforce showed up, and we escaped. As for the prisoners, we found them in
all kinds of conditions ranging from pretty good for new arrivals, to...
there are things I'd rather not describe at all if possible doctor. Do you
really require it?"

"As the CMO, I think I'm going to have to say yes to that I'm afraid. While
I can respect privacy the health and well being of the crew is my concern.
I need to know what happened as people have this irritating habit of not
telling me everything when it comes to their health." Stressing the last
few words as she spoke she resisted, for now, the impulse to lay into him
for the very same thing. Her scans so far we showing the usual variety of
combat trauma you'd expect, among other things.

"I take it that with your torpedo insertion method the sling wasn't an
option?" She asked, her tone still mild and pleasant. Once he was relaxed
and had the chance to speak his mind the had a list of things she wanted to
mention though!

"The torpedo had no bearing on the sling. The fact one can't operate a
rifle while one of his hands is bound up, was. It's also quite difficult to
carry someone to safety with it, and Prophets knows it's not exactly
advisable to get into a fist fight with Maivia while one of your arms is
essentially tied back." He took another deep breath, giving himself some
time before going into the rescue mission again. "Many of the prisoners
showed the effects of physical torture, running the whole gambit from
physical to mental and sexual abuse. A high percentage of them couldn't
move on their own either due to injuries, malnutrition, what have you... I
ended up carrying a woman out."

~ Well that explains a couple of things. ~ Kimberly muttered to herself. If
anything his arm was worse now than when he had left, all the careful regen
work undone by physical stress the healing muscles weren't ready to cope
with. Add to that an obvious amount of physical ad emotional stress and
exertion; put simply the Colonel was a wreck. And if he was a rescuer she
hated to think what state the former POWs were in.

<tbc...>

"Patch Job - Part 2 of 2"

Doctor Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer
USS Galaxy

Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer
188th Starfleet Marines Detachment
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

(Sickbay)

~ Well that explains a couple of things. ~ Kimberly muttered to herself. If
anything his arm was worse now than when he had left, all the careful regen
work undone by physical stress the healing muscles weren't ready to cope
with. Add to that an obvious amount of physical ad emotional stress and
exertion, put simply the Colonel was a wreck. And if he was a rescuer she
hated to think what state the former POWs were going to be in.

"Thank you for that Colonel, I'll make sure to try and be ready for whatever
comes though the door." Checking the scans again she activated the privacy
screen around the bed and faced For'kel, "could you take off your jacket and
shirt please," she asked, "and how's your back feeling?"

Oh for Prophets sake, did he 'really' have to? What ever happened to the
advantages of modern technology dagnamit? Not that he spoke those words, on
some level he knew the doctor knew what she was doing, even if it was damned
inconvenient. Taking the Hazard suit off first, followed by the jacket and
shirt, he left them at the foot of the bed. "Like a shuttle landed on my
back. Or rather, my back broke a shuttle's crash landing." Fork offered a
small, detached smile. "I'm not going to like your diagnosis, am I?"

"Probably not," she agreed from behind his back as she studied her tricorder
and his bruised torso. Looking at the bed readouts to confirm a few things
she snapped her tricorder shut with perhaps a little too much force and
stepped around to face him. "Okay, first, consider yourself at absolute
'best' on light duty. And when I mean light I 'mean', 'light'." She
emphasised sternly

"I seem to recall warning you that over stressing you arm before the regen
therapy was complete would be damaging," holding up a hand to forestall him
she continued, "I know you had a rescue mission to lead, and I'm not going
to argue with you on that one, most people aboard seems to have a burning
desire to go to their respective afterlives in whatever manner they choose
without my help, but you at least had a very good excuse. However, the
damage is done. Your arm is broken, again. And the surrounding muscles
that weren't properly healed have torn, again. So we're back to
osteoregeneration and regen therapy for the arm. This is going to take time
and patience."

"Other than that you have a few minor fractures on four ribs, nothing major,
an impressive amount of cuts and bruises, and a selection of pulled muscles
that will keep me busy for the next hour or two while I fix them."

"Do what I say and I'll have you back on full duty in a week and fully
healed in maybe two. Ignore me and I'll have you relieved of duty until you
are fully healed. Understood." Throughout her soliloquy her tone had
changed only once or twice, at that last though her voice became flat, calm
and very serious.

"I don't 'have' a week." He gritted his teeth in barely repressed
frustration. Would it 'kill' the universe to back off for a damned minute?
Sighing and obviously making an effort to maintain his composure, he came to
the conclusion that the rest of the ship would likely find out soon enough.
"My wife is missing, doctor. There's only one more place I can think of
where she might be, and I need to try to find her." There, it was out in
all its simplicity. "I appreciate all your efforts, but you're asking me to
potentially risk the life of the person whom I swore to put before all
others. I won't do it."

Sighing as well Kimberly closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose
for a second as she thought quickly. ~ Why oh why is nothing ever simple
around here! ~ She griped, nothing she said was going to stop him right now
she realised, she could order him, but there was a very strong probability
he'd ignore her and go and do what he wanted to do anyway. Then where would
they be? She could report him, in fact regulations would be on her side if
she did, unfit for active duty, but again by the time she had done so he'd
likely be gone.

"Colonel, I'm not unsympathetic, believe me..." ~ Damn! ~ "Okay, look I can
repair the bone and knit the muscles short term, but it's gonna hurt so I'll
give you something for that. Also if you stress it too much it could break
again and the muscles will be damaged if you stress them too much. However,
I should warn you, if you come back with your arm broken again I won't be
able to use an osteoregenerator, too much danger of osteonecrosis. Your
bones will need to knit on their own and remember how to heal."

Picking up a bone knitter she scanned his arm again, "Do me a favour, take
some backup with you, someone to do the heavy lifting."

"Are you offering to tag along, Doctor?" He gave a small smile, figuring
she wasn't but wanting to be sure anyway.

"Tempting," she replied, "but I still have much to do here, so, perhaps next
time."

"It was worth a shot." He took a breath and let her do her job. Annoying
as it was, he couldn't help but have a certain amount of respect for someone
who would voluntarily care for others. "I'll bring help, and I won't lift
anything heavy I promise. I can't thank you enough."

Shaking her head as she worked, "No, don't thank me yet. Do that by coming
back in one piece with your wife. Also, don't rush into anything, and if
you need help, don't be afraid to ask. I'm sure I've a volunteer or two
around here if you need a medic?"

"I'll keep that offer in mind doctor, thank you for your generosity." He
then bit his lip, realizing she'd 'just' asked him not to thank her yet.
Damnit.

"Have you spoken to the XO? Does she know?"

"I have. I just came from seeing Commander Tarin as a matter of fact." He
sat up a little straighter to keep himself awake. "I'm not the kind of
officer that... I think the saying is 'goes off half cocked'? At least not
all the time."

"Glad to hear it Sir." Slowly working the bone knitter over his arm with
one hand she scanned the break with her tricorder as she worked to knit the
damaged ends of the bone together. The stress fractures around the break
were going to be a problem, if she simply fused them it would certainly heal
the bone, but they'd ache like a Drannit, and wouldn't have the tensile
strength of a properly healed bone. Thinking a second she ran options
through her mind.

Looking at his face for a second she could see the worry and weariness
etched on his features, his people, his wife, taken away and now needing
rescue. One thing after another. "Lay down Colonel," she ordered suddenly,
"get some rest, sleep if you want to. I'm going to be a while fixing this
as best I can. If you want to sleep be my guest, in fact I heartily
recommend it. If you like I can give you something to help you sleep for a
couple of hours. If you're determined to go and do this at least get a good
nights sleep before you go rushing headlong off into the Goddess knows
what."

"You can call me by my name, doctor." There really wasn't a need to stand
on formality after all. "And... is it really necessary? Every minute I
stay here..." he left it at that, there was no need to go into it. "The
sooner I can leave, the better."

"Colo... For'kel," she corrected herself with a nod, "I promise I'll get you
on your way as quickly as I can, but some things cannot be rushed. I'll
work as quickly as I can, but the tears to your muscles have to be properly
healed or I might as well not bother, so sit back, relax and let me work.
I'll try to keep you here for as little time as possible."

There didn't seem to be much use in arguing the fact for now, so he did
something he didn't often do. Shut up and do as he was told.

<end...>

"Lady Refugee"

1st. Lieutenant Branwen London
Marine Psychologist

Lieutenant Saul Bental
Chief of Intelligence


Saul watched the lone woman through the screen. The regular barren interior of the interrogation room was made a little more lively and less intimidating prior to this debriefing, per Saul's orders, but he knew SHE will still be traumatized by the experience, and perhaps even hate him. Not without a good reason, he thought, since instead of participating in the rescue mission he helped orchestrate, Saul chose to remain on the Galaxy. And now he was going to welcome her in the manner dreaded by rescued captives.

Branwen was sitting in an easy chair per medical orders. She had her methane breather with her, through her green skincolor it was difficult to see if she was pale and scared or not. For now she was taking in her unfamiliar surroundings.

Raynor approached Saul, trying one last time to convince him to leave the debriefing to someone who isn't 'attached' to the subject. Saul kindly explained to him that he wanted the woman debriefed, not sexually harrassed. Raynor sulked to his office, and Saul could almost imagine hearing something unzips as the door hissed closed.

There was no point in delaying furthermore.

He strolled into the room, uncounsciously holding his breath. This was either a woman he once had feeling towards, which endured great suffering, or a clone infiltrator that was about to endure great suffering. He was the one who had to determine that. It was a task he would leave to no one else.

"Hey." He greeted gently, taking the seat in front of her.

"Hiya Saul." She smiled at him. "Good to see you. I was wondering when you would show up here. How long do I have to stay here? I shouldn't be away from the hospital for too long, they still want to keep a close eye on me you know." Bran rolled her eyes. "Maybe we could go to the observation deck and gaze at the stars? Remember how we met there and I thought you were a knight in shining armor." She giggled at him. Bran hated being locked up right now.

"Not a bad idea." Saul offered her his hand.

On their way out, Saul signalled the mildly surprised security guard not to follow them.

As they left intelligence, Saul spoke up again.

"Tell me what happened."

"we got captured. There was no way to get away any more. And then we were taken to this prison facility, I don't want to talk about what happened there, Saul." She gave him a brittle smile. "Let's just talk about other stuff. So how are you and Nara?"

"Good." He replied stiffly. "Listen, I know you don't want to talk about it. I wouldn't either. But you have to. I thought it would be better if you did it with a friend and not some stranger."

"they will send me to a shrink soon enough, and then I probably will have to do, otherwise they will say I am uncooperative again." She sighed. "But I find it difficult to talk about it with friends. Its kinda personal, and I'm definitely not going to tell strangers. So lets drop it, okay."

Saul caught the 'again' hidden between the lines. This was not good.

"You'll have to speak about it with someone in intelligence, Bran. That's the only way we can prevent it from happenning to to other people, or to understand and undo the damage they did to you. I understand if you don't want to share with someone who knows you, so I can bring someone from DS4... but just know that whatever happened there, I won't regard you differently. You're still lady Branwen, no matter what happened back there."

"I don't want to talk to strangers." She turned towards him. "Don't you get it, everybody hates me already. My friends are angry because I still love my husband after everything he did. He and his friends say I don't respect him and his customs. My boss says I don't respect him, and I'm not doing my job right. My colleagues in counselling say I am not willing to work on myself. Nobody on this bloody ship believes in me!" She was trembling. "I talked for hours after the first time, I told your people every disgusting demeaning little detail, and that did not help. It happened again! And this time they really got me. Saul, all I want to do is to forget, and to get my life back. Maybe back here on the ship I can do that, this is my home after all. I just need a little time, and to just be here."

"I don't hate you."

"Oh Saul." She said softly. "You are always there for me, aren't you." Suddenly she put her arms around him and clung on tightly.

"Of course, lady Branwen." He replied. "That's what knights are for."

He instinctively wrapped his arms around her to return the embrace. However, still slightly stunned from Branwen's gesture, he forgot that she was 5 inches taller than Nara.

Subsequently, his hands didn't clutch her lower back as planned, but a more roundish and tender section of her body.

Caught off-guard, Saul squeezed slightly to make sure. Yes - that was definitely her ass.
Her eyes grew huge, but then she began to giggle. "Saul! A bit higher please."

It was so like him to try and make her a laugh at a time like this. There were two people on this ship she knew would always be there for her and who would never hurt her. The nicest men in the universe, Victor and Saul.

He let go quickly. His jaw was still intact - which was a good sign.

Or perhaps it wasn't, if the real Branwen would have broken it. Again.

"Sorry..." He leaned back slightly, so he could stare into her eyes. "And I am more sorry that I HAVE to ask you about what happened, Branwen. If life was fair, you would go on a log, nice vacation somewhere, and let time heal you. But it ain't fair. So they're not going to let you go until they know everything, and until they are sure that you are you. Understand? I got to you first because I'm probably the only intelligence officer in the fleet who cares more about you than the information you can provide."

"Saul." She said softly. "I can't tell you much. I don't understand what they did to me. The doctors can check it is really me, but the rest I would rather not talk about. I did it last time because I thought it would help in finding closure, but it didn't'. It made things worse. It was pretty bad okay, and degrading." She had tears in her eyes. "Protect my Saul. Like you always do."

"Hey, I will. If only you will let me." He took her hand again. "Let's go now."

They remained silent until they found the observation deck. Graciously, it was empty.

"I almost forgot to tell you, and it's a little late..." Saul began, "but me and Naranda enjoyed the wedding."

Branwen could not hide a sad smile. Saul was not the first person she wanted to talk about the marriage that seemed to be failing. "I'm glad." She finally managed to say. "And I'm glad you guys are so happy. And yes." She answered his earlier question. "I very much want you to protect me, you are my knight in shining armour." The marine looked up with trusting eyes.

"I hope your husband doesn't have a problem with that." Saul joked.

Her head lowered just a little for a second. "Let's not talk about my husband okay. I trust you, you are my friend."

So much for trying to make her feel at ease, thought Saul.

"If you trust me, then you must help me protect you. Even if it's painful. Try... try to look at it as if you're watching someone else. You don't have to talk about the really... difficult... parts. Only in between. Things you heard being said, things that interested them, Technologies... anything, Bran, You have to."

She stayed close to him, trembling, but nodded. "What…. What do you want to know. I will try to remember. To be honest I have tried very hard to push it all away since we were rescued."

"What did they ask you about, In their interrogations?"

"They…. They didn't interrogate me so much." Shivers again. "It … for me it was about other things." Things she didn't really want to talk about.

Saul closed his eyes.

"Experiments." He murmured loathingly. Maxwell already told him about these, and if anything made him regret not joining Arvellion's mission - that was it. Girls like Branwen shouldn't endure that suffering. That was part of the reason Saul objected to women joining the marines.

He didn't want to take Branwen back to that needlessly.

"Just tell me... what do you think they were trying to achieve?"

She looked at her belly. "hybrids." Bran said softly. "I was their first prototype breeder. They treated me…. Better then the rest. I should be gratefull." But she didn't sound gratefull at all.

"So there were others. Do you know names? Species?"

"you don't understand." She said. "I was the first. I think they were planning on doing this to others if they succeeded with me. I don't think they had started yet. I did not see any others that is for sure. Of course I can't be sure, they kept me very separated from the rest."

"Let's hope you'll be the last." said Saul, but he had little faith in those words.

"Absolutely. The doctor was killed, and his research destroyed. So hopefully it ends there." Branwen said as they both looked at the stars.

After a short while, Saul turned his head to look at her. Despite of what she's been through, she looked radiant as the dim light from outside fell on her skin, giving it a milky shade.

He didn't want to tell her that there was probably more than once Hydran researcher experimenting on hybrids, and that Starfleet Intelligence will set their greedy eyes on her regardless.

They will take her away, he thought, and experiment. Her body and soul will be raped again, this time by their own people, not the enemy.

He'll have to come up with something. He must.

A JILL NORMAL DOUBLE FEATURE!!!

Grab your popcorn folks!

Its two stories for the price of one!!!

With an extra special appearance in honor of 8-Balls return to the Galaxy.
(somebody better explain to Kaylee who Jill Normal is and no offence is meant.)

"Spaghetti Incident"

The afternoon rush at Galaxy's Deck 8 Caffeteria was already in full swing when Jill Normal strode in through the hissing double doors.

True that replicator technology had made traditionally prepared meals somewhat of an anachronism, but the facilities remained crowded nontheless, whether from a taste for

authentically cooked meals, or simply not having enough time to run down to one's cabin between shifts.

Grabbing a tray off of the handy stand, Jill weaved her way through the line, ending up with a platefull of spicy spaghetti and some garlic bread strong enough to ward off

vampires.

(you never knew on the Galaxy.)

Shuffling back out into the throng, theyoung girl from New mexico plopped into the first empty seat that she could grab, finding herself face to face with the most

surprising of table-mates.

She was a Vulcan......at least she seemed to be so biologicaly speaking, but the torn leather jacket, nose ring, and half burned out cigarette hanging from her bottom lip

spoke of different origins.

"Yo." said the Vulcan around a mouthful of roast beef.

4 years of Alien culture and Anthropology classes at the academy suddenly seemed inadequet for poor Jill.

A pierced Vulcan eating meat?

Still...in the spirit of boldly going, Jill sat down and introduced herself.

"You're new here." the vulcan replied, dipping the messy hunk of meat into an aus jus bowl. "Dont think I've had sex with you yet."

Blinking, Jill stammered a responce, "Jill Normal...class of 84....only been aboard since Christmas. Graduated the Academy with the Winter semester."

"Academy?" The vulcan snorted. "Oh yeah...I seem to dimly recall that.....place with all the boring lecture halls and the big oragne bridge right?"

~Boring?~ Jill wondered. Maybe some subjects got a bit dry, but in the frantic hustle and bustle of attending the most academically demanding school in the entire

galaxy, Jill could never truly say she was bored....she hardly had time for it.

"Uh....yeah well." she nodded, "Rewarding though. Hard to believe that I've actually made it through and am out here in space for real."

The Vulcan glanced around her surroundings and shrugged. "meh.....it'll do for now until I find something better."

"A better assignment?"

"Someting better than Starfleet." the Vulcan corrected and took a shot of Jack Daniels (it was already 2 in the afternoon.) "this is just a temporary gig until I can

figure out what else to do...or run out of people to screw....whichever comes first."

~what else to do?~ Jill was stunned. For as long as she could remember she could think of nothing else.

Since that first visit to the Smithsonian at age 8, young Jill Normal had dreamed of the stars.

Saving her allowance to catch the lunar shuttle tour of Tranquility base historic site......taking on extra credit courses in math and science in school, spending weekends

home studying while all her friends were out partying.

Jill had sacrificed all through High School...busting her ass on the track team, and re-busting it in the classroom struggling for the highest GPA possible just in order

to qualify for a shot at the Academy.

Student Body President.

Community service.

Valedictorian.

Endless referral letters from pillars of the community.

Less than one tenth of one percent of all applicants ever made it into Starfleet.

Over 1000 students competed for the one spot that Jill eventually won, dripping blood sweat and tears over a grueling application process that challenged her mentally and

physically.

Pop quizzes in particle physics.......straining at pushups in 2 gravities.......mechanical aptitude tests....psychological profiles.....

You had to really WANT to be there to get into Starfleet.....and this chain smoking Vulcan did it for lack of anything else on her plate?

"You're joking right?" Jill asked. "This is all a whim?"

Lazily blowing a smoke ring, the woman shrugged. "Oh its allright......the foods decent.....sex is great....and I got my trusty teddy bear.....Like I said it'll do for

now."

Jill wanted to cry.

The application process was only the begining. Four years of Academy high standards had driven young Normal almost to her breaking point.

Classes in MAth, Physics, Galactic History and Culture.....Exams in Strategy and Tactics.....Moral dilemas. Deciding who lives and who dies......nights spent screaming

into her pillow from frustration.

As for sex.

Ha!

Jill hadnt had time to get laid since summer semester two years ago.....and that had cost her precious study time and a disappointing B- on her final.

"Starfleet's a privilidge." she stated, setting her chin firmly. "I busted my ass to get here, and I intend to make a career of it."

The Vulcan rolled her eyes. "Whatever...loser. Are you sure we havent had sex yet?"

"NO!"

"Oh....wanna go make out then? I've got a list ot complete."

INTERMISSION

a public service message from your local televison station.

Uncle Leo wants YOU!

In this time of war...

Join the Federation Starfleet to fight off the invading Hydran Hordes!!

Remember....the evil Hydrans are after the virtue of your white women!

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

"Waiting Room"

Jill Normal shifted uncomfortably in the sticky waiting room chair, nerves racing anxiously as she waited for her name to be called.

~~~stupid stupid stupid.~~~ she kept kicking herself mentally. ~~~Of all the silly little-girl screw-ups! You had to go and get yourself knocked up on shore leave.~~~

Strictly speaking, jill had not technically confirmed that she was pregnant yet, but one ill advised tumble in the sack on Risa, followed by one missed period later, and

things were looking grim.

~~~Come on...come on...lets get the show on the road!~~~ she urged mentally.

The line at the DS4 family clinic was almost out the door. A dozen or so nervous looking ladies sat in front of Jill, likewise watching the clock with anticipation.

The Bard aside, the question was not to be or not to be but rather.....Am I or am I not.

A few weeks before, Jill had been lamenting her chaste status due to the tremendous struggles of life at the Academy. Now out in the fleet however, she had been

introduced to the realities of 'shore leave' and plunged in head first.

~~Plunged in, spread knees first.~~~ she mentally corrected herself. ~~~idiot.~~~

As mentioned, Jill was not the only gal in a crisis this morning.

The poor lady to her left as a matter of fact looked quite the worse for wear.

Holding a bulging belly and sucking on some sort of strange breathing mask, she had evidently been through alot.

"Triplets." she announced when Jill politely inquired. "Im having Hydran triplets....little squirmy bastards."

"Hydrans?" Jill asked in shocked surprise, "but you're human....how the hell...."

"War is hell." replied the woman. "Apparantly the Royal Hydran military-Industrial complex has determined the path to victory lies in knocking up poor innocent humans.

They've devoted billions to the project."

"Sounds....uh....extreme." Jill could think of nothing else to say.

"Squirmy bastards." the woman agreed.

Turning to her right, Jill found an equally surprising patient.

"Horta babies!!! What the hell....they dont even repoduce sexually."

"Whatever..." the woman sighed. "Still...a couple stiff drinks and you'd be amazed at what wonderful things pseudopods can be."

There were similar stories froma ll the other patients.

"Romulan babies....once you go green....nothing remains to be seen."

"Implanted by Bajorans.....you know what the bumpy ridges on the nose are for right?"

"Wookie babies.....dont ask dont tell."

As stories were shared, Jill began to feel a bit embarrased by her rather pathetic fears of merely having normal human offspring. Especially when she saw the poor thing

lugging around the Ferengi spawn. "Dont beleive them when they say nobody ever got pregnant off of Ooo-mox. she warned.

In the end Jill's tests were negative....simply a late period, and an otherwise clean bill of health.

She felt bad in a way as she left watching the poor 300lb woman bulging with what she claimed was her Naussican love child.

"Bastard doesnt even call anymore." the lady spat.

"Closure?"

Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer

Sergeant Ieyasu Kurita
Corpsman
188th Starfleet Marines Detachment

Private First Class Leah Owen- SFMC (NPC-Chris)
Aide de Camp
188th Starfleet Marines Detachment

Commander Arel Smith
Strategic Operations Officer

Lieutenant Darius Slaughter
Fighter Pilot Extraordinaire
USS Galaxy

=======================================================
(Main Shuttle Bay)

"So where are we going, sir?" Leah asked as she watched the Colonel
give the borrowed runabout 'Hudson' a pre-flight once over. It may
have been something of an archaic ritual, but he had nothing better to
do while he waited on the flight department staff to give the all
clear.

"We aren't going anywhere that I'm aware of." For'kel looked back.
"Commander Smith and I were going to look for my wife." There were
few people aboard who knew, hell he could count them all on his hands
with fingers to spare, but Leah was as smart as a whip, and when he'd
asked her to check on how many female Trills were recovered, she'd put
two and two together.

It had been a 'long' time since she saw the Colonel's better half, not
since she helped book passage for Berilyn's trip. She'd kept the
secret to herself though. That being said, she also knew when she was
needed. She folded her arms over her chest, and stared at him with
that 'that's what you think' look. "Semper Fidelis, sir. I wouldn't
be much of a Marine if I let my boss and friend run off without
faithfully following."

Fork was in no mood to argue. Besides, she was a hell of a culinary
genius when it came to manually adjusting replicator recipes, and they
could always use someone to baby-sit the runabout. Not to mention it
would be nice to have someone as sarcastic as he was who, unlike his
dear sister Arel, would swear in a language he knew. "Okay, you can
come..." And naturally, as soon as he looked back towards the sweetly
smiling Leah, he caught his sister's eyes. "Private Owen, this is
Commander Smith. Arel, Private Leah Owen, Starfleet Marines."

Arel rolled her eyes. "Kahless help us, another marine."

Thumping from the back of the craft indicated that Sgt. Ieyasu
Kurita was already aboard and stowing his gear. The young man from
Fukuoka had originally be assigned to the USS Galaxy as a combat
medic attached to the medical department, but now that the 188th was
embarked he had returned to his duties as a member of a rifle
company. Stowing his tuffed medical duffles into one of the overhead
bins, he thanked his ancestors that he was back where he belonged and
not babysitting fleet weenies all the time.

"So desu....All packed and loaded, For'kel san." he nodded in the
direction of the colonel. "Pretty much a full load of stabilizing
drugs and a portable stasis unit.....should the need arise." Going
after the taisa's wife was a delicate mission, and he wanted to be
sure to bring her back no matter what condition they found her in.

Darius Slaughter watched through the view ports of the runabout as the
Colonel made his own pre-flight inspection of the bird. Considering
the mission they were engaged in, he couldn't blame the man. The ship
had to be perfect. Darius was already certain that he was, otherwise
he wouldn't have requested this particular bird for the Colonel
himself. Not to mention personally pilot her through hell and back if
necessary. "Colonel, she be ready ta go. 'Tis nary a tribble aboard
and everythin's runnin' in tip top shape."

He wondered idly how much it would cost to put a tribble aboard. It
would certainly annoy the hell out of Arel. Ahh, nothing like
familial bonds to make one grateful to be alive. For'kel took a deep
breath; it looked like they were ready to go. "Thank you, everyone. I
hope it goes without saying that whatever happens, I'm grateful for
everything all of you've done. It is an honor to serve with... most
of you." He smirked in Arel's direction before heading for the
airlock. "Let's get this show on the road."

****

Arel loved her brother but if she heard one more tribble joke she was
going to have to kill him. "If I hear one more tribble joke, For'kel,
I'm going to kill you."

For'kel raised an eyebrow. What the hell was she talking about
tribble jokes for? "Don't worry; it'll be no tribble at all." He
cracked a crooked grin. The Colonel had gone the whole trip so far
without saying much of anything to anyone, simply gazing at the stars
as they passed by. His darling sister had always been a bit looney,
but now she was starting to hear things too, he figured. "How long?"

Too long as far as Sgt Kurita was concerned. Ever since his Boot
Camp Days, the young Marine had had severe bouts of queasiness
associated wit shuttle rides. He could ride a drop ship now
problem....bumping and rocking all the way through the
atmosphere....but put him on a nice smooth shuttle and things got
nasty real quick.

They were on day three of their trip. The last day going 'to' the
planet. He'd asked the aforementioned question of 'how long' at least
a dozen times a day, it had become habitual really. When he 'did'
talk, it was the only thing he wanted to know. And to Leah's credit,
she never lost her temper in responding, though that didn't
necessarily hold true with everyone else. "One hour and seventeen
minutes." The Terran woman gave a small smile as she surrendered the
flight seat back to Darius. They'd been pulling shifts as much as
possible to make sure nobody was overworked. "Anyone hungry?"

The question only set off a new series of stomach rumblings from
Kurita. ~~Ware satsu-yu kudasai~~ he groaned to himself. Kill me
now. For'kel shook his head, and then turned his attention back to
Arel. "Your auditory hallucinations aside, you never 'did' say what
your problem with Marines is."

Arel looked at him as if he was crazy. "I'm a Security officer."

"Yeah, so?" The Colonel smirked.

"So we don't like Marines on principal," Arel replied. "Everyone knows this."

"Aye, that be true," Darius chimed in. He'd been silent most of the
trip, just listening to everything and making sure the little grunts
didn't dork something up while they were 'standing watch.' "'Tis a
long 'n glorious history o' tha' rivalry b'tween Security 'n Tha'
Corp." He was just thankful For'kel was saying something else besies
'are we there yet?

"That's not what surprises me." Fork leaned back a bit in his chair.
"I'm surprised that you of all people are allowing yourself to be lead
around by tradition."

Arel snorted. "Picked you as my brother, didn't I?"

"Aye, tis a fine thing ta be sayin'," Darius snorted. "Marine's're
tha biggest support'r's o' "Tradition" as I've ever met, an' such
attributes spans tha' ages. Speakin' from personal experience."

"Begging the tesai's pardon..." Kurita began with an `urp, "but what
exactly is the plan here?" Silently the Marine hoped it wasn't a
repeat of the scorched earth policy For'kel instituted back on Vered.

And it certainly wouldn't be. After all, other than the ship and a
whole bunch of rocks, wild-life, trees, and grass, there wasn't
anything on the planet. "According to records, one of the ships that
attacked the transport my wife was on crash-landed into the planet.
We'll run a thorough scan from up here." Hopefully they'd find her,
beam her up, she'd be mostly okay, and they could head home. "If we
find no sign of a combadge or life sign, we'll land, begin a cordon
and search in the area adjacent to the crash site, and of the crash
site itself. We'll bring back whoever we find."

Kurita gave a small nod, thinking about the stash of body bags he had
packed along with the rest of the med-gear. "Hai, tesai-san."

"How much longer till we're there?" Arel asked.

"Not soon enough," the pilot muttered under his breath, turning his
eyes to his consol.

When they finally did arrive, a complete sensor sweep of the area
around the crash site, out to a radius of 500 kilometers, revealed no
sentient life signs at all. There was no indication of a settlement,
a camp sight, emergency beacon, not a damned thing. It looked like
they came all this way for nothing... but it was too far a trip to be
deterred now. "Darius, when you get the okay, beam us down straight to
this corridor on the ship, here..." he fed the transporter coordinates
into the system. "And I'm sure you can figure out how to best do the
aerial search. We'll keep in touch."

The pilot nodded, the sober expression adorning his features a stark contrast to the humors he'd featured for most of the trip.

(Res anyone?)

Fork and the rest if the group grabbed their equipment. He gave a
nod, followed by the word 'energize' and off they were.

Once the crew had completly vanished and the computer reported 'transporter sequence completed,' Darius sat back in his chair and sighed. He had a feeling this wouldn't turn out well in the end, but he'd do everything in his power to see to it that all that could be done on his end would be done. Turning his seat around he placed his hands on the controls and began his search pattern. Slow and steady, letting the sensors examine and absorb every last shred of information there was to be had.

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

The ship was a wreck... literally.

It was probably a wreck before the crash, but now it held that title
for purpose. Many of the more maintenance sensitive areas of the ship
were rusting over already. The initial rescue party had gone about
the arduous task of making the wreck 'environmentally secured',
removing any and all explosives, the warp plasma, and most of the
anti-matter stores. The lights none-the-less came on when they
materialized, care being made to insure the auxiliary power system, a
three-stage fusion-fission-fusion micro-reactor on this particular
ship, was left in tact for the purpose of salvage operations later on.

Metallic chunks like stalagmites shot up through the decking. They
were on deck three, and the decks below them had been compressed by
the force of the crash, smashed and sandwiched together. If Berilyn
'had' been on one of those lower decks, they would have had no way of
ever finding her by now.

He knew the orders to stick together and to be careful didn't need to
be reiterated. His Marines were trained well enough that they knew
the hazards of hanging out in a crashed ship and that they shouldn't
go getting lost... and Arel just wouldn't have listened anyway, so why
waste the breath?

"Berilyn?!" For'kel shouted out as loud as he could before going
completely silent. He couldn't help but hope a response would come...
probably something along the lines of 'what the hell took you so
long?!' knowing his wife.

Unfortunately, no response ever came.

Arel's initial impression was that it didn't look good. She looked at
her brother for a long moment - wondering what she would say if the
time came to claim it a lost cause, knowing that comfort wasn't
exactly high up there on her list of skills – and then turned to
resume the search.

Kurita sniffed the air....musty. Kinda the dead air smll that comed from too much stillness.
If anybody had survived they were long gone.

The doors had to be cut into to gain access to at least three of the
rooms they came across, the door stops having been jammed by debris or
dented preventing them from opening automatically or with brute force.
Tricorder scans didn't indicate any life-signs, but one never knew,
given how crafty Bery could be, whether or not that was an accurate
report.

Life signs aside however, Ieyasu kept his medical tricorder whirring for the other end of the spectrum. Death signs....was the cruel joke inside the medical community. Cell deca rates. Bacterial bloating of tissue, and the emergence of biological gasses being released from dead flesh. Even if the Colonels wife had been squished below decks.....there outght to be some sort of indication.....not that Kurita advertised what he was scanning for.

What ever struck her odd about the Transporter Room, Leah would never
know. There was just something about it that made it seem to her like
an obvious choice to begin searching. She gave a casual look back to
her group, before judging the room wasn't 'too' far away and
continuing on her intuition. It took half a minute or so to force the
doors open, but once she managed to push her way in, she could hear
something that would normally send a shiver down the spine of a Marine
that just entered a room.

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

It was only the realization that 'had' it been a bomb she would likely
have been dead anyway that compelled her to move forward to the
console from which the sound was coming from.

'CYCLE IN PROGRESS- SELECT DESTINATION' the transporter console read
in bright, gold letters. Under it, flashing in angry red, the words
'WARNING: DATA-STREAM CORRUPTED, PATTERN INTEGRITY MAY BE IMPAIRED.'

"What the hell would..." she began murmuring the question of why a
transporter would be active in this environment to herself, before a
very convincing reason struck her. "Colonel! I found somethin'!"

If you were to count the seconds going by, you would have just barely cleared one by the time the Stagnorian was in the room. When he saw the console, he wanted to kick himself. Bery using a transporter, he should have known. "Transfer all the power you can from everywhere this ship has it to the transporter systems. I don't care if you need to scrape ions off the lights, Leahl."

She did as ordered with nothing more than a compliant nod. Leah re-routed
every bit of power the ship had to the transporter systems, or at least to be
used by the transporter. While she did that For'kel ran his fingers over the
console, the coordinates he was feeding to it being right back on the pad
itself. The less of a distance, the better.

'WARNING: UNABLE TO COMPLETE TRANSPORT CYCLE DUE TO PATTERN DEGREDATION'
The console flashed back in the same red.

His mind running a mile a minute, as you would expect from an engineer (or
ex-engineer) trying to solve a problem, he routed maximum power to the pattern
buffers and attempted to complete the cycle again.

'WARNING: UNABLE TO COMPLETE TRANSPORT CYCLE- INADEQUATE DATA-STREAM FEED'

Fuck, if it wasn't one problem it was another. Not missing a step, For'kel
went about the task of linking the back-up computer banks of the targeting
scanners with the pattern buffer's computers, hoping that there would be enough
of the pieces rediscovered between the two distinct, but equal systems to
piece together a stable enough data-stream that they could at least complete
the cycle.

'WARNING: UNABLE TO COMPLETE TRANSPORT CYCLE- PATTERN INTEGRETY IMPAIRED'

He tried tying in the files from the main computer database which included
genetic information of the passengers. There had to be 'something' to fill in
the missing holes.

'WARNING: INADEQUATE ACTIVE SIGNAL- STORED PATTERN CRITICALLY IMPAIRED...'

'WARNING: SAFETY SYSTEMS COMRPOMISED- UNABLE TO ABORT TRANSPORT CYCLE...'

'WARNING: UNABLE TO COMPLETE TRANSPORT CYCLE DUE TO PATTERN DEGREDATION...'

He couldn't materialize her, and he couldn't de-materialize her because of
the safety protocols in place to prevent the kind of accident that was
happening here. The computer systems were too damaged, too impaired to account for
the degrading signal. Berilyn's silhouette appeared in the curtain of
sparkles that was the normal, awe-striking display of a transport in progress. The
console below him, despite his best attempts, shot back warning after
warning. No matter what he did, there wasn't 'enough' of her left to bring her
back... not that it stopped him from trying.

That was until there was a final set of beeps. 'DATA-STREAM COMPROMISED-
PATTERN LOST.'

The silhouette disappeared, the transporter cycle ended, and only a few
angry sparks from the transporter systems indicating overload sounded off.

That was it. No Berilyn... not even a body to return home for proper
mourning. Nothing. If it wasn't for the transporter console, he would've dropped
like gold plated lead from a Ferangi crook's hands.

Kurita snapped his tricorder shut, wincing at the loud click it made in the sudden silence.
~Gomenasai Tesai san~~ he silently prayed. ~~Oya sumimasen.~~

~~~~~~~~
Back onboard the runabout, the sensors picked up the sudden surge in energy from the transporter unit and warbled it's audible warning. Keeping an eye on the other scans, Darius watched with hope in his heart and mind .... and he too felt the loss when the sequence ended, the surge in power died, and no extra life sign was detected by the sensors. ~Gods and Goddesses; take her soul inta' yer care, and lend yer comfort upon the Colonel.~
~~~~~~~~

6265