"It Hurts to be Beautiful"

Lt. Ella Grey
Crewman Allison Jimsdottir
Cmdr. Arel Smith

****

USS Galaxy
FiFi's Salon

As a general rule, pilots didn't get get manicures. Or pedicures,
massages, and facials for that matter.

Ella sat back in the massage chair, letting it work on the middle of
her back, and decided that whatever teasing she might get from the
Flight deck would be worth it. Three nights of restless sleep hadn't
been totally unexpected but she knew that her recovery time would go a
lot faster if she was able to get more than a couple of hours in. A
fast recovery meant she could get back to work and Ella was always
able to lose herself in her work.

She moved her feet idly in the water as her feet soaked and tried to
decide what color nail polish she wanted. Finally she shrugged and
turned to the person next to her. "What do you think is better, Risan
Sunrise or Andorian Frost?"

Her head buried deep in the whirring confines of the over-sized hair
dryer, Allison von Ernst did not hear the question at first. Her mind
was on the muted guitar riffs echoing in her earpieces, her aluminum
nails gently tapping out the chordings on the armrest.

~~Say what you will...~~~ she mused to herself, ~~~...but Bonnie
Raith can spuffing wail~~

It was only when the sudden -knock-knock-knock on her hairdrying
crown came that she was jarred back to reality.

~~Oh all the totally inconsiderate...~~ Lifting the dome, Allison's
complaint died on her lips as she saw the pathetic wretch sitting next
to her.

"Oh you poor girl...." she breathed pushing a hair back into her pink
curlers, "You really do need some help."

Ouch, Ella thought and then smiled. "It's been awhile since I've been
in here. What do you think of these colors?"

"Colors?" Alli noted the nail polishes, "Girlfriend....we do not
'color' our nails.....we unmask their true potential. We make them
pop!"

"Uh, okay," The pilot replied, thinking that she should have just
decided the color on her own. "Well, thanks. I'll let you get back to
your hair dryer."

"No no no." Alli waved off Ella's protest. "Part of the Starfleet
mission is to totally assist our fellow less fortunate chicks in the
universe."

That didn't sound good. "Oh no, that's okay ..."

But the blond in pink curlers had already risen from her chair and was
summoning over an older Asian woman with horn rimmed glasses.
"Battlestations Bing." Alli beckoned. "We've got 2 seconds to warp
core breach on this lady's 'do."

Staring at Ella over the top of her glasses, Bing muttered something
to herself in Tagalog. "Oh Oh dai. " she tsked, "I see what you
mean. She rook arr tired out. Need big time makeover."

"Roger that Bing." Alli was already picking experimentally at Ella's
hair. "Put my pedicure in stasis.....time to totally give back to the
community."

I really have no luck, Ella decided.

"I suppose it could use a trim and some highlights," Ella said with a
mechanical sigh.

Alli thought for a moment clicking her teeth with her nails.
"Y'know....this is all wrong for you. I liked you better as a blond."

Ella looked at the mirror and couldn't quite picture it. "No, I don't
think I'd look good as a blond." Ella looked wearily over at Bing and
then back at the girl. "Nothing too crazy, okay? No matter how tired I
look."

"Nothing Crazy?" the filipina snapped, "I no do crazy I do pretty.
You no be scared. You 'Boldly Go' and we see about where no man has
been after that."

"Totally." Alli bobbed her curlers in agreement, "I know you're like
totally a fighter pilot and all, but that's no excuse for helmet
hair." An evil grin crossed her face as Allison pulled out a dangerous
shade of red lipstick. "We're gonna make you a fairy princess."

Ella sighed again and then shrugged. "Why the hell not?"

****

"Absolutely not," Arel snapped at the girl and the salon lady. "Do I
looking like a gods damned smegging princess to you? Frell that."

Still in her pink curlers, and with one 'princess-makeover' under her
belt, Allison rolled her eyes as she attempted to convince this
newcomer that she was badly in need of rescuing.

"Its only a little mud treatment and exfoliation." she tried to
explain. "Hel-lo but have you seen your pores lately. They are like
crying out for a little scrub-a-dub-dub."

"I just want to have the bangs trimmed," The security officer said
through clenched teeth.

>From a few chairs over, a woman - one of the pilots, if Arel
remembered correctly - under a thick blue facial mask and with strange
odds and ends stuck in her hair laughed. "Good luck with that. Alli's
in the 'zone'"

Allison bobbed her head and wagged a mascara brush at Arel. "Listen
to Ella now girlfriend. She learned the hard way it totally useless
to resist my powers of beautification. A little eyeshadow....some
glitter-lipstick, and a few hours under a hairdryer and you'll be the
zarkiest chick at the Prom."

"Zark what?" Arel snarled. "Klingons do not go to Prom!"

Alli stuck out her lip and pouted. "Just because you grew as a
Klingon doesn't mean you have to smell like one. Heck why not add
some bumpy things on your forehead and file your chompers down to
points? Are you biologically human or Klingon?"

"Human. And two seconds away from killing you."

"Tut tu..."Alli waved the threat away. "Klingons don't go to Prom
maybe because nobody asked them. As for you sister, you're gonna be
boo-ti-ful."

Arel narrowed her eyes at the other woman and then smirked. "Learn
that from Corgan?"

"Corgan?" Allison paused and made a face. "The only thing I learned
from him is how to be ignored.....which is exactly what you'll be if
you keep on with this pasty faced nonsense...now like do you want help
or not? "

"No," Arel said clearly.

"Please?"

Arel frowned. "I said 'no'. No make-over. No glitter. No zarks whatsoever."

"Pretty Puh-leeeeze." Allison gave her bottom lip a quiver....maybe
just a little speckles....."

***********

Elsewhere

=/\= SECURITY ALERT TO DECK 32. FIFI'S salon. =/\= Ensign Blather
lazily tapped the glowing button. "Security Desk here.....you want us
to respond to a Beauty salon?"

=/\= PLEASE HURRY < sounds of chairs breaking in the background> WE
HAVE AN ARMED ASSAILANT WITH SCISSORS CHASING AROUND SOME TEENAGER IN
CURLERS. =/\=

Blather checked his status board. "Whatabout Lt Smith? I show here
logged into the salon, as well as crewman Jimsdottir.....thats two
security agents right there to respond.....whatdaya need me for?"

=/\= THATS THE PROBLEM....LT SMITH IS THE ONE CHASING AROUND
JIMSDOTTIR....SEND THE SWAT TEAM STAT!!!=/\=

"Charging In" Part One

1st Lieutenant Branwen London

Colonel For'kel Arvelion

Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell

***Location: Medical Bay, SFMC Controlled Hydran Vessel, en rout to USS Galaxy***

Branwen was trying to relax and read a little when she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Her heart fluttered, hoping it was Dar who came back to say he was sorry, and he didn't mean what he had said a few hours ago. Instead she saw it was her commanding officer.

"Colonel." She said softly. "Thank you for coming back for us. How is everybody?" She was still worried about the others who had been captured with them.

For'kel had one thing he could say about the mission... he sure as hell wouldn't be riding in a torpedo again anytime soon. He'd been on rough rides before... it was what the Marines did after all, but this had to be the worst (if most effective) idea he ever had.

"Pretty good. PFC Owen broke her ankle, and Sergeant Ekos dislocated his shoulder, but we had no deaths, no severe injuries." It was much better then they had ever dared hope in fact, far better than the simulations suggested and a near flawless execution.

He was very proud of his Marines, and to be crew mates with people like Dhani, Victor, and Max who made the mission possible. Hell, he was even proud to serve with Saul... not that he would ever 'dare' say so.

"Most of the prisoners will make successful recoveries. How're you holding up Marine?"

Branwen seemed relieved. "I am very glad to hear it, sir. But I am afraid I am a little bit of a mess." It was the first time she had admitted to him about not being all right.

Although it stung like hell, Fork took a seat on a chair set up next to the bed. Fact of the matter was that the Doc didn't need someone needlessly taking up his time given the severe condition many of the survivors, be they Klingon, Cardassian, Romulan, or Starfleet, were in. His hands were full enough. "Don't worry about it, I've seen worse."

Fork smiled, managing not to give any hint of what he was feeling or thinking in the process. "You know, Doctor Burton and Max here are the best there are in the medical business, they'll have you back to normal in no time I'm sure."

"There is no need to try on my account, sir. Max has already told me that they have no idea how to change me back." She chuckled.

"I hope they are going to work really hard, because I don't want to stay like this for the rest of my life. And I guess you don't want me back looking like this. If you want me back at all." They had not parted on the best of terms.

"Lieutenant, I did 'not' just drop out of the damned sky in a torpedo just to haul you back here so that I can say 'you're fired', alright?" He smirked, hoping to illicit a laugh between one of them. He for sure didn't feel like laughing. "Get better first, we'll worry about the rest later."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, sir. Because I feel really bad about lying to you. I really want to make a career in the corps." Before this all happened she had even been hoping for a promotion to Captain. "I'll be going to therapy." She promised. "And I think it is best if you keep me away from Captain Maivia at the moment. He does not want to see me." She quickly looked at Max.

"I agree, Colonel," Max advised. "Especially the way he left here a few hours ago."

"His wife is in sickbay, and he doesn't want to see you?" For'kel blinked several times, it was necessary to absorb that kind of information. For the life of him, he could NOT figure out why that would be... he was lucky enough to get his lover back from the brink, and he was refusing to accept her?

That ungrateful son of a… "Did he give a reason?" Maybe, hopefully, the Colonel figured he was just jumping to conclusions.

Branwen felt uncomfortable. She did not want to tell him the truth, but she had promised not to lie to her commanding officer anymore. And she had a feeling that Max would tell him otherwise.

"Did he ever," Max uttered in a sotto voce. He looked at Branwen and nodded for her to go ahead and tell her story.

"He thinks I'm selfish because I have not killed myself or the babies." Branwen said softly.

"Huh, and hear I am thinking you'd be plenty selfish to do so now after so many gave so much to get you back. I wish he'd enlightened us 'before' the whole rescue thing." Came the immediate sarcastic response.

He was not in a great mood to begin with, and this whole damned soap opera-ish affair wasn't helping things. "Where is he now?"

"I don't know, Sir." Suddenly she remembered the conversation she had with the first officer just before the mission started. "Sir, your wife..." Branwen said softly.

Branwen's statement had For'kel stop dead in his tracks. "What 'about' my
wife, lieutenant?" He looked over his shoulder, and in his eyes there was a
definite burning of rage. He hadn't told 'anyone' about Berilyn's disappearance, so how the hell did someone who was off the ship for a number of weeks know?

She saw his anger, but anger did not scare her right now, and Branwen guessed there was a lot of pain behind the anger. "Have you had any more news about her?" She was not going to betray the first officer, although the woman had not actually said anything about his wife missing. From what she had not said, Branwen had guessed the truth, that conversation they had before the mission started. "How are you holding up?" In the camp it had been one of the things that had kept her sane, not thinking about her own troubles, but the worries of others.

"Just fine." For'kel snarled. "First thing's first, Mister Maivia and I are having a talk, and then 'you' are going to tell me how you knew."

He couldn't freaking believe it, something deep down was suggesting that she and the Capellan belonged together the way they acted sometimes. The Colonel's eyes turned to Max. "Which way did he go, Doc?"

Max pointed aft. "Last I saw he headed back there, it looked like. I'll come with, if you want," he added with a mischievous smile.

"Thanks Max, but your place is with your patients. When So'kol and Owen recover, tell them I want Lieutenant London guarded. If he comes back Doc, stun him."

"Gladly, sir," Max smiled darkly. He had no problem doing more than that to the rat bastard, as a matter of fact.

TBC…

"Charging In" Part Two

Colonel For'kel Arvelion

Captain Man'darr Maivia
Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell
1st Lieutenant Branwen London

***Location: Medical Bay, SFMC Controlled Hydran Vessel, en rout to USS Galaxy***

Leaving the make-shift sickbay with no other directions than to head aft, it was surprisingly easy to find the large Capellan. The internal sensor modules that Victor had set up made the tracking easier than it otherwise would have been.

"Who the 'hell' do you think you are to tell one of my Marines they should commit suicide?" The Colonel started unceremoniously.

Man'darr spun to face the colonel. "As my so-called wife, that... woman should not bring dishonor to herself and me by choosing to give birth to a monstrosity. Any Capellan woman would without hesitation end her life without having to even be asked if such a thing happened to them."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we're not exactly on Capella anymore, dumb ass!" If one never knew For'kel before today, they would have been able to tell he was a very disciplined man. It took a LOT not to just shoot the SOB on sight.

"You know what? The next time you have an idea, or a thought, cross that bulbous vacuum you call a head, do everyone in the Universe a favor and just... let it go! How the hell you made it 'this' far in a Corps that values selflessness while being so selfish is beyond me, 'Captain'! You stand here answering to me with the concept of 'honor', and you have no clue in the slightest what in the hell that means!" From his belt, he pulled a Klingon D'k'Tahg. He seldom resorted to bladed weapons, but this one had sentimental value... it was the blade he received upon entering Arel's family.

"You are an 'absolute' disgrace Maivia, of the worst kind. You're a disgrace as a husband for failing to protect your wife, you're a disgrace as a Marine for surrendering to the enemy and failing to protect those under you, and you're a disgrace as a man for demanding from others what I doubt you yourself are prepared to give up!" He drove the blade a solid 3 inches into a metallic table top next to them.

"So I will leave nature to take its course, mister Maivia. You want to set an example glorifying suicide? Absolutely fine, but as my people say; 'lead the way'." For'kel turned and headed for the door.

"So help me Captain, whichever option you chose, I 'will' see to it that you get the point." And on that punn-ishing note, he left.

At that point, something snapped within Man'darr as the grabbed the Klingon D'k'tagh and snapped the blade, by twisting and pushing the blade sideways until the metal gave. He immediately followed the colonel out and threw the remaining pieces at him.

"What the hell do you know what went on in that prison you filthy shit!" Rage now consumed Man'darr as he remembered the helplessness that he had gone through. His muscles tensed with anger and veins nearly ripped from their skin as they enlarged with blood from adrenaline starting to surge through his body. He remembered, unable to do anything.

"You want a challenge, colonel, then I'll be happy to break every bone in your worthless body!" Without hesitation, he rushed at the colonel, covering the short distance between the two in a second's time.

Everyone in the188th had their own special talents that made them an integral part of the whole. Ward for instance had great endurance, Man'darr was by far one of the strongest on the Galaxy, 'Tish' had the ability to disguise herself in plain sight... and Fork, well, Fork had a combination of traits which, although individually filled better by other people, made him a tough adversary. It sometimes paid to be a jack of all trades. In this particular instance, Man'darr was definitely stronger, but the Stagnorian was smarter and faster. In the second's time he had, he knew he
wasn't going to be able to go 'mano a mano' with him, especially as Man'darr
had the advantage of attacking from behind. So rather than turn and fight, For'kel side-stepped and swept the tree-trunk thick legs of the Capellan, while grabbing his arm and using the man's own momentum to sling shoot him.

Both Marines hit the ground, and For'kel heard a distinct 'snapping' sound from his wounded arm as they collided, but his shooting hand had pulled out a phaser. Man'darr was about to find out what happened when you brought fists to a phaser fight.

Unaware of the intense shooting pain he 'should' be feeling, For'kel pressed the firing stud on his type II. It had been set to one of the heaviest stun settings available, and at this range would likely have killed someone unless medical help got to them quickly. Even the armored gorilla Man'darr was out cold after the blast, and it took a concerted effort on the Colonel's part not to fire a second time just to make sure he was down.

"That is, 'I'll be happy to break every bone in your worthless body, 'sir'!" For'kel grimaced as he stood up, saving a lot of pent up rage so that he could spit on the deck near the downed Capellan. A trio of Marines came into the room after the sensors alerted their patrol that phaser fire had been detected.

"Get... 'this'... to an isolated confinement space. Have the doc make sure he'll live long enough to reach Galaxy, and then let him rot."

*** Medical bay ***

"You think they are going to be okay together?" Branwen asked Max. They both seem really upset. She was worried that Dar would do something foolish to risk his career.

Max shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be fine." As if on cue, two Marines hauled in the limp form of Man'darr into the makeshift Sickbay. Max didn't need a 6th sense to know exactly what went down. "He needs to be restrained, doesn't he?"

"Actually, the Colonel ordered that he be placed in an isolated confinement space. But first he wanted him checked really quickly to make sure he'll live."

"That's fine," Max replied. A quick pass with his tricorder indicated that there were no long lasting ill-effects. A pity. "He'll live, unfortunately," the Medic advised. With that satisfactory answer, the pair took the unconscious Capellan back out and to wherever hole he was going to be stuffed in.

"See," he asked Branwen when they were alone again. "They're both fine."

Bran had watched half in shock. "Dar!" She whispered. "Bloody hell, he can kiss his career goodbye now. How could he! Were is the colonel, is he okay Max?" She knew how lethal her husband could be.

"I'll go out and take a look for him, ok?" Without waiting for an answer, Max headed out and aft. It didn't take long for him to locate his objective.

By now For'kel had calmed down sufficiently from the adrenaline rush to realize just how exhausted he was, and how painful his arm was... even if he did his best to make himself seem fine when he walked in. "Doc, you got a pain killer on you?"

"I think I might have something here for that," the Medic responded as he dialed up a light dose of Terakine and administered it via hypospray to the Colonel. "I figured you didn't feel like getting drugged up too much," Max advised. "That ought to do the trick."

"Thanks." For'kel looked around the room, brimming with the badly tortured
bodies of the POW's they'd rescued. It hadn't come soon enough for some which was regretful, but they'd done the best they could and he wasn't through looking for his wife just yet. "If that son of a bitch gives you too many problems, pump his chamber full of anesthezine. I'm sick of dealing with his temper tantrums." His one year old son behaved better for crying out loud.

"Not a problem, Boss," Max replied. "If you need anything else, give a shout. I suppose I should actually attempt to perform a complete exam on our good Capellan friend to ensure that there's nothing amiss in his biology?"

"They experimented on everyone." Bran said quietly. "That might have something to do with it. This is unreasonable even for him." She was worried about her husband. Despite how he thought about her now, she cared for him deeply.

"Charging In" Part Three

Captain Man'darr Maivia
1st Lieutenant Branwen London

Colonel For'kel Arvelion

Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell

***Location: Medical Bay, SFMC Controlled Hydran Vessel, en rout to USS Galaxy***

The makeshift cell had been ripped apart. Man'darr only knew rage at this
point and being confined only fueled his rage. Dents dotted the bulkheads caused by his constant beating, his mind not registering the pain from the deep cuts on his knuckles, leaving blood marks on the walls where he had struck them and on the floor as the blood flowed from the wounds. His eyes then locked onto the sight of the Medical Examiner. "What do you want, you puny medical...thing," Man'darr asked with an eerie calm, seething tone as he approached the open entrance which was guarded by a forcefield.

"Just checking to make sure you were okay. Need an Anacin? Midol, maybe,"
Max asked with a smirk.

"It is obvious that you do not know my kind, medic. Capellans do not need
doctors. We are not as frail and whiny as you humans and other lesser species."

"Touchy, touchy," Max said with a mock pout. "Next time, I'll send Krieghoff to tame you before I examine you."

"Do you honestly believe I fear that fool? Send him, then and I'll deliver him back to you, lifeless."

Despite Max's glib approach to this situation, he knew he was in serious danger. He sighed. "Well, then I guess I'll have to take matters into my own hands, hmm?"

"Come in this cell and I promise you will not walk out," Man'darr threatened, keeping his gaze leveled on Max as a predator would watch its prey.

"Oh, enough with the Incredible Hulk shit, man," moaned Max as he leveled his phaser at the Capellan. "I know I can't match you physically but like some of my ancestors used to say, the gun was and still is the great equalizer. So if you're feeling froggy...jump."

Max was hoping that the forcefield would knock the Capellan unconscious so that he could treat the behemoth...even though some part of him wished the monster dead... perhaps he could have bled out before Max got to him.

Man'darr felt a sharp pain in his head, which went away suddenly. He felt strange somehow--stronger than his normal strength. He remembered the chip that had been implanted within him, which at this moment sent a signal into his brain, casing the nerve stems from receiving pulses which would register as pain. A moment later, Man'darr began to have new thoughts run through his mind. Thoughts of violence and death. He saw the rescue team dead and with his hands covered in their blood. He then saw the image of a Hydran in front of him. "Kill them! They do not respect you! You are a joke to them!"

Kill them all for they dishonor you and take joy from it! The image of the Hydran
seethed. Externally Man'darr seemed to have stared off into nothingness.

Immediately Max sensed that there was something seriously wrong. Whether it
was Man'darr's stance, or that nagging sense in the back of his head, the Medic didn't know. He backed away and left the containment area to find the Colonel. Quickly.

Man'darr suddenly smashed his hand through the overhead light and spotted the primary power cable. He grabbed the cable, ripping one end out and then jammed the live power cable into an exposed circuit that had run underneath the smashed light.

The result was a feedback across the power grid of the ship. In the resulting feedback of showering sparks, Man'darr was thrown hard to the deck, yet without missing a beat he pushed himself up and rushed out the now disabled entrance.

Everyone else on the ship was likewise rocked, including the patients many of whom were now thrown to the ground. One would have thought the Hydran systems would have been engineered to withstand such a minor disruption to a singular, insular circuit. Then again, there had been a ton of battle damage hap-hazardly repaired prior to the mission. It was possible one of the engineers aboard used that particular minor circuit as a major distribution node. They'd have to find another system now.

Well first thing was first. A certain mountain of man needed to be taken down a notch again. Grinding his teeth in pain, For'kel pulled out his type II and again set it to its highest stun setting. If he continued this, the man would end up being dead by repeated stun blasts. The screeching of the doors as Man'darr began prying them open with ham-sized fists drew the Colonel's attention. He leveled the weapon in wait, prepared to fire several shots if need be.

Likewise Owen and Ekos had grabbed their own rifles and trained them on the door. As big and pain resistant as he was, when the synaptic responses required for your body to operate were interrupted, you dropped like liquid.

"Doc, call for back-up and be ready to protect your patients."

"Call for backup? Yeah, I'll call the Avengers or something," Max quipped, already on the horn with the bridge. "We need help big time guys. Any free personnel, end down to the Sickbay, and call for assistance from the Galaxy. And pick up the speed," he added.

Man'darr heard the approaching sounds of heavy combat boots closing in. Backing off from the door the first marine rounded the corner only to seemingly feel like he had run full force into a bulkhead as Man'darr struck the marine open palm in the chest, causing the Marine to real backwards, dropping his Type IV Pulse Rifle. Without missing a beat, Man'darr picked the rifle up and fired two more shots into the next Marines to round the corner.

He barely felt the burning sensation of the phaser hit to his right arm as he spun and fired three more shots, striking three Marines at the other end of the corridor.

The next shot struck Man'darr in the chest as Leah had carefully aimed her shot. It was a heavy stun setting that would have knocked out most Klingons in a single blast. Her eyes widened when she saw that the Capellan was still on his feet and his rifle swung her way.

Before he could fire though, a second blast struck his weapon dead on the energy cell, covering anything in a three meter radius with tons of sparks and sending waves of energy coursing through his body. Were Man'darr any other species, it probably would have been a fatal electrocution. Fortunately his size and grounding guaranteed it was just on the living side of fatal, though one had to imagine that he wasn't used to being thrown to a metal deck hard, unconscious, like a rag doll.

"He is 'really' starting to irritate me." For'kel muttered, dropping his still 'smoking' phaser to his side as he leaned back against the overturned bed in front of which he'd been propped up. "This time, chain him to one of the support pylons hog-style, and put a damn restraining field around him. And if he escapes again..." the Colonel forced himself back to his feet. "Take your weapons off stun. Shoot to kill."

"No!" Branwen called out. "Sir, believe me, this is not him, not this irrational. They did experiments on everybody brain experiments; they controlled me so I could not harm myself or the babies. God knows what they did to him. Please, just have him restrained until a neurologist can look at him."

"London, shut up!" For'kel barked, not in the mood for a long drawn out debate. By now he'd had enough of her, enough of Maivia, and enough of the whole damned situation. "We are too far behind enemy lines, and too short handed to keep dealing with him. Doc, if he escapes again I expect you to carry out my orders. If you don't think you can, now's the time to tell me."

"No! Put me in a cell with him, and I will try to keep him calm somehow. But I will not let you murder him, he is sick; he's not doing this on purpose." She looked to Max for support, not thinking about the fact that a husband would probably kill her if she came to close to him right now.

"Restrain her too, while you're at it." He wasn't letting any of his other Marines suffer because of battered women's syndrome. They deserved better, and they had better uses for their time to boot. "I'll be on the bridge."

"Max..." Branwen began. Hoping he would do something, she was absolutely
sure they had tampered with Dar's brain, only she had no way to prove it. And the bloody Colonel was being unreasonable as hell. His marines, they had been her marines long before he appeared on the scene and she cared for all of them deeply.

"I'm sorry, Bran," Max apologized. He truly felt for her, but he was also rational enough to read the situation as it were. "There's no way in hell I'm putting you two in the same breathing space, let alone the same cell."

Turning to the Colonel, Max actually had some semblance of attention. "They will be restrained, and kept separate. I can carry out my orders, don't you worry...especially in regards to Captain Maivia. I have no problem wasting him." The look in Max's eyes confirmed that. In fact, if Victory were there, she would say that it was the same look he had on DS5 when he lost it and went after the refugee.

"Oh Max." She said softly. "Please don't restrain me." She went and stood before him so we have to look into her eyes. "I couldn't handle that right now."

Damn that soft spot for cute women who pout, Max grumbled internally. To Branwen, he said, "I won't restrain you. But if you leave your bed or attempt to contact the prisoner, you will be restrained and if necessary, sedated."

Then he took a deep breath and took on a softer tone told her, "let's just get back to the Galaxy and get everything sorted out, okay?"

"Just keep him alive until then, Max." She whispered. "Can I have other visitors?" Because Branwen had somebody in mind to protect her husband.

"If the Colonel has no problem with it, then I don't see why not," he answered cautiously.

"It's your medical area; you don't need the colonel's permission for that. And besides seeing other people will keep me distracted." She smiled at him.

I swear, the Medic groaned. "Okay, that's fine." But I'll be keeping an eye on you, was what Max left unspoken.

"Thank you, Max." She gave him a brief hug, and then went to contact her friend.

"Problematic Harmony"

*****

USS Galaxy

You wake up warm and content ... and know you have a serious problem.

You've cultivated all kinds of bad habits to deal with stress - from
chain smoking to chugging coffee like there's no tomorrow - but you've
never found a way to deal with this. Probably because you've done
everything in your power to avoid it.

Love is a beautiful harmony, your father used to say. Played on the
strings of life or some sentimental crap like that. Your mother's
advice - love would bite you on the ass when you weren't looking.

You think she might be right. What had started as a short term fling,
very reluctantly on your part because you feared something like this
might happen, has become a full time relationship.

Your temporary stop-over? Now a (sort of) paying position on a
Federation starship. Your parents still howl with laughter over that
one.

You even bought some plants last week to decorate your quarters.

You shake your head. You are screwed.

You escape quietly from the room - you don't want to wake him with
your brooding thoughts - and go to the library to think. After leaving
a note, of course, something you never would have thought to do in the
past.

You are *so* screwed.

Libraries are always quiet, except during school visits, but it is
especially silent in the early morning. You didn't used to like such
places but think that maybe your extended stay on Romulus - the
longest you have probably ever been in one place - taught you the
value of silence.

Or maybe twenty years of being on the run finally caught up with you,
ended up running you down.

Or maybe you've just finally grown up.

Of course it will never quite be a "normal" kind of settling down. You
blackmailed your way on board, you've made an enemy of the humorless
Saul, and you still have one last debt to pay. But you have to admit
that you like it here. You like the people and the job.

You love Brian.

And there's the problem. The last person you loved, who loved and
trusted you with no exceptions, was the same person you betrayed. For
a lousy paycheck no less. You think - and you know it's a corny
sentiment - that Brian deserves better than you. You think that you're
going to mess it up.

You feel that he's starting to pull away from you, although you've
been trying to be on your best behaviour.

You wonder if maybe you've already messed it up. It scares you more
than you'd like to admit.

You don't know what to do; you've never found a way to deal with love.

You decide to go over your lost book inventory. Maybe inspiration will
come to you.

Starfleet Third Echelon: The Bainbridge Chronicles

Act I: “The Last Note of Freedom”

Scene 4: “Aftermath”

Captain Gabriel McKibben, Commanding Officer

Lt. Commander Alexander Clayton, Executive Officer/Chief Operations

Lt. Commander Jeremiah Leger, Second Officer/Chief Tactical/Security

Lieutenant Simena, Chief Engineer

Lieutenant Le’on Khatowren, Special assignment – Temp Assistant Chief Tac/Sec.

Lieutenant JG Heather Leger, Assistant Chief Science/Communications

Lieutenant JG Edward Barents, Assistant Chief Engineer.

Ensign Lawrence Odan, Engineer (newly transferred)

CWO WALL-D “Waldie”, Maintenance Droid

CWO WALL-E “Wally”, Maintenance Droid

CPO John Forman, Engineer’s Mate (newly transferred)

PO1C Maria Calloway, Transporter Chief (newly transferred)

Giles Osgood, General Maintenance (newly drafted)

Nathaniel Gates, General Maintenance (newly drafted)

Marcus Adams, General Maintenance (newly drafted)

Ready Room/Captain’s Quarters - USS Bainbridge

***********

Captain’s Log, Supplemental… Three ships destroyed, one ship crippled and two ships severely damaged. That is the final toll of the Hydran Attack on our convoy bound for Deep Space Five two hours ago. The Courageous, the Incessant, and the Uziel have been completely destroyed; the Uziel and Incessant both lost with all hands. The Veldar managed to coast out of harms way after the initial salvo, but from what I’m told she’s barely operating with a skeleton crew aboard trying to keep her in one piece. We might have to scuttle her if we cannot get her patched together in order to survive a tow at high warp. The Krotus and the Bainbridge have suffered severe damage and have stopped to make repairs and to retrieve what little survivors are out there. I’m sorry to say that they are few and far between.

The Bainbridge herself has suffered over fifty percent casualties between the dead and wounded. Our final count is ten dead, twenty wounded out of a crew of fifty. List is included at the end of the report. We rescued thirty-one off of the USS Courageous, more than half of which are civilians. This now begs the question as to what to do with them… I plan on consulting with Refelian on this as soon as I get the chance. Although, I might just have to make them all offers they can’t refuse which is probably what Refelian is going to tell me. Besides, I sure as hell am going to be hesitant to let my own family get off of this ship after that attack.

We called into Starfleet Intel and informed them as to our situation. Luckily, as far as the Krotus knows, we just happened to be in the area and never saw us decloak. I’ve sent in a team of operatives under the guise of ‘helping’ them in repairs to make sure that their sensor logs stay with what we have talked about. They’ve since reported success on their mission. As far as the Hydrans are concerned, well, considering that we managed to emerge victorious in this skirmish, they won’t really be telling their friends about us, will they?

It seems that our skirmish with the Hydrans isn’t the only one. We’ve received reports from all over the Federation of ships, starbases, and outposts being attacked all over the place. Within minutes of the first attack, President Nan Bacco called an emergency session of the Federation Council. Within minutes of that meeting being in session, the Federation was officially at war with the Triad…

Addendum: Casualty List of the USS Bainbridge.

Chief Engineer: LTCMDR Michael Hayes (Human)

Chief Flight Control Officer: LT James Hendricks (Human)

Chief Medical Officer: LT Noah Jaheel (Risan)

Ast Chief Tactical/Security Officer: LT Voreth (Vulcan)

Ast Chief Science/Communications Officer: LT Marden Leeta (Bajoran) (F)

Engineer: ENS Eneg (Bolian)

Engineer’s Mate: CPO Mardah Sayre (Bajoran) (F)

Torpedoman: CRW Blake Riska (Human)

Torpedoman: CRW Michael Forbes (Human)

Yeoman: CRW Jessica Ross (Human) (F)

END LOG.

McKibben closed the log entry with a heavy heart. The loss of Yeoman Ross was especially painful. She was only 18 and freshly enlisted into Starfleet. Hendricks had been on his way to the bridge and his duty station when the attack came in, others at their various duty stations when things went to hell. He pressed a button on his desk. “McKibben to Bridge”

“Clayton here sir.” Came the response.

“We have our team back from the Krotus?” he asked.

“Yes sir.” Clayton said. “They got back about ten minutes ago. They have been debriefed and then cut loose to help with repairs.”

“How’s that going?”

“Simena says that we have warp drive back online and we’ll have shields and weapons soon. I got Leger down in Engineering helping with the cloaking device since he has the most experience with it now with Hayes gone. He says that he should have it up and working shortly. Life Support and Structural Integrity are back up to One Hundred Percent.” Clayton reported.

“Very good. Tarik have a lead yet?”

“Yes sir. This group originated on the far side of Barzan, near the Federation-Hydran Border.”

“Sounds like a good place to start. Lay in a course and engage at Warp 6. And, uh… send in the first of the survivors to me please.”

“Aye sir, bridge out.”

McKibben didn’t have to wait long. His doors opened up and quickly closed. McKibben didn’t think anyone had come in until he saw the grayish looking housecat hop up onto the seat opposite him. “Ah, Lieutenant Khatowren…” he said with a smile, he reached out his hand and shook Le’on’s furry paw. “It’s good to meet you in person finally.”

“Da, Comrade.” Le’on said, settling into the seat.

“I know that you were on your way to Deep Space Five in order to hook up with the USS Galaxy, but I’m afraid that I’m going to have to delay you for the time being.” McKibben explained. Le’on seemed to bristle at that. McKibben held up a hand to forestall protests. “I know that M’Kantu requested you back specifically and that he has more seniority than God, but for the time being, I need you to agree to tag along since you’re the only one whose orders I cannot change.”

Le’on’s ear twitched and he cocked his head in confusion. “You are changing other’s orders?” He asked. “How?”

“You’ve worked with Captain Refelian…” McKibben said, letting his voice trail off. “Besides, some of them don’t have a posting anymore with the destruction of the Courageous.”

“Ah.”

“Besides, from the reports that I’ve been getting, Deep Space Five is a hotbed of activity.” McKibben said, sliding a PADD across his desk for Le’on to look at.

Le’on picked up the billboard sized item (from his point of view) and held it up in front of him. “Ve are going to assist? Da?” he asked with concern.

“No.” McKibben said. “Our orders are to investigate where this squadron came from, kick over a few rocks, and see what we can uncover. The Krotus and the Veldar are to lie low and not attract attention until the initial waves are over.”

“So vhy tell me dis?”

“Again, you’re the only one whose orders I cannot rescind, and I can’t spare the time to take you to the Galaxy.” McKibben said. “Since you have the security clearance and the experience, I’m giving you the temporary position of Assistant Chief Tactical/Security Officer under Commander Leger since you’ve worked with him before along with a field promotion to full Lieutenant for the time being.”

“Very vell…” Le’on said with resignation. “I vill help.”

**********

Engineering… Later on…

Newly promoted Lieutenant JG Edward Barents wiped the grime from his forehead and looked up at the arrival of the six people in Engineering. The Captain had promoted him shortly after the battle had ended right after he had promoted Simena to full Lieutenant and placed her as the Chief. “You all must be the new recruits.” He said, looking them over. “Bridge said that you all would be down soon.”

The highest ranking, a young Trill Ensign, stepped forward. “Yes sir.” He said. “I’m Ensign Lawrence Odan. This is Chief John Forman.” He said introducing the Human male to his left. “And Petty Officer Maria Calloway.” He said, introducing the Human female to his right. “These three are civilian volunteers; Mr. Osgood, Mr. Gates and Mr. Adams.” He said, indicating the three in utility jumpsuits behind him.

“Charmed.” Barents said dryly. He really didn’t have time for mouseketeer roll call. “Let’s go then.” He said, beckoning them forward. He took the PADD from Odan and looked it over. “Miss Calloway, report to the transporter rooms.” He said after first glance. “I have a man down there now attempting to repair the systems now with a couple of people from damage control. Your experience as Transporter Chief on the Courageous will be helpful there.”

“Yes sir.” Calloway said as she hurried off.

Odan tripped suddenly as a couple of brown/grey blurs on treads sped by with what looked to be various parts in mechanical arms. “EEEEEEEEE!” one of them was crying out as they sped by.

“What in the hell were those things?” Forman asked in disbelief as he helped Odan back up.

“Exocomps.” Barents said, continuing to walk as though nothing happened. “We call them Waldie and Wally. Their spoken language sucks, but they can repair virtually anything.”

“Exocomps?” Odan asked, dusting himself off. “I thought that they were boxy little things that hovered. Those things that went by looked like little boxes on treads with claws”

“What? You think that only organic life can evolve?” Barents asked. “But don’t think that any of you can just order them around like any old inorganic. The Captain has granted those two the discretionary rank of Chief Warrant Officer. They can flip you off with those little claws of theirs if they don’t like your orders. So treat ‘em the same way you’d treat any other crewmate.” Barents explained. He then clapped his hands together. “So, let’s get to work, shall we?”

***********

Ready Room/Captain’s Quarters… Later still…

“Ah, come in you two.” McKibben said, beckoning Jeremiah and Heather Leger to the seats in front of his desk. “You have news Jerry?” he asked Jeremiah.

“Cloaking device is fully operational. I’ve informed Clayton and he’s already taken us under.” Leger said. “Le’on has been checked out on the board and is manning it now. So I take it you wanted to see me – er, see us for something?” he asked.

“Yes.” McKibben said. “I’ll come straight to it; I’m sure that you’d like to keep your family on board. Yes?” he asked. When he saw both of the Legers’ startled expression, he chuckled. “Relax, I feel the same way. After the attack on the Courageous and the outbreak of hostilities, I don’t want my own family further away from me than I can throw this ship in Jovian Gravity.”

“Yes sir.” Leger said. “I had been meaning to ask you that.” He admitted. Under the desk, he gave Heather’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I have no problem with that.” McKibben said. “But those who are able will have to have a place to work. The cadets are not a problem. So that brings us to you Ms. Leger.” He said, looking at Heather. “I find myself in need of a departmental assistant chief for Science. Interested in the position? It comes with a raise in rank.”

“Me?” Heather asked, startled.

“I figured Valdis would’ve been promoted into that position.” Leger said, confused.

“She’s much better where she’s at in Intelligence and Strategic Operations and would be a waste elsewhere. Heather here has just below the security clearance needed for our mission, but that can be fixed easily since she worked with Commander Mitchell on the Miranda and Starbase Atlantis.”

“Well then, I would say yes sir.” Heather said with a smile.

“Excellent. Report to Lieutenant Tarik on the bridge then, he’ll get you set up. I need to detain your husband a bit longer if you don’t mind?” McKibben said with one of his roguish grins. Heather smiled back, nodded, and told Jeremiah that she’d see him later in their quarters and left. Both men watched her leave. “Where are the kids at anyways?” McKibben asked Leger.

“Your wife is watching them down in our quarters along with your son.” Leger said. “Aline is with the other cadets all assisting on Damage Control at the moment.”

McKibben nodded as he leaned back in his chair. “How do you like your new Assistant Chief?” he asked with a grin.

“Le’on’s always great to have around. Just wish we could keep him longer.” Leger admitted.

“I agree, but M’Kantu would have my hide for it.” McKibben said. “He wasn’t too thrilled to hear that I shanghaied his cat, but he was at least understanding of the situation we’re in. From the sound of things, he’s up to his neck in problems too.”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that I think that we’re going to lose DS Five.” Leger winced at that comment as McKibben went on. “I promised M’Kantu that we’d drop the kitty off once we’re through chasing down the info we need for Starfleet Intel. So that now begs the question; who do we promote into the position after Le’on’s gone?”

Leger pondered the thought for the moment. “Zim is onboard.” He said. “He was heading to DS Five to help with the Marine Division there, but if what you said is true, and DS Five is going to be debris shortly, then there is no reason for him to go there. That and he’s served under Refelian on the Incursion, so I know he has the clearance to be here.”

McKibben nodded. “I like that reasoning. And I know that you and Zim have worked together before.” He chuckled. “Alex won’t like it though.”

“Alex can also get over it.” Leger said. “Zim is my choice for my department.”

“Alright, I’ll cut the paperwork for his transfer. Now all we need to do is figure out what to do with the rest of these civilians and refugees…”

TBC…

"The Brother I Never Had…" Part One

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell
1st Lieutenant Branwen London

***Location: Medical Bay, SFMC Controlled Hydran Vessel, en rout to USS Galaxy***

Branwen was in bed as she promised when Victor arrived. It was hard for her to keep the tears back, she held out a hand, right now Branwen desperately needed some friendly human contact. "Am I glad to see you, Victor; the whole world has gone crazy."

"Parts of it, anyway," he conceded as he settled down in a chair next to her and took her hand. "I think asking how you're doing is pointless given the situation, so how about this instead: what can I do to help?"

"Things are going from bad to worse here, and for some reason the colonel is angry at me again as well. So I cannot do anything to stop it. My husband just went crazy in here, it took several marines to stop him and the Colonel has ordered his men to shoot to kill if it happens again. Max is not going to stop him; everybody hates Dar at the moment." Best not to mention that her husband had threatened to kill her as well.

"Many of the prisoners were experimented upon, brain experiments. I'm sure they did something to him. I know he can be violent, but not like this. Not so completely irrational and out of control. I need somebody to protect him, to keep him alive until a specialized doctor can look at him. And this is not a battered wife speaking; you have to believe me, Victor. You are the only one I can ask now."

Considering the damage that Maivia had done in his last rampage, Victor was close to certain that no matter what happened the rest of the Marines were going to shoot the Capellan on sight with lethal force regardless of what orders For'kel may or may not have given. "Reality check time, Kit," he said quietly. "Whatever may or may not have been done to Captain Maivia is frankly irrelevant at this point. Whether it's
psychological tampering, surgery, a simple psychotic break, or the fact that your husband is an ass; none of that is important here and now. What is important is that he's obviously no longer the person you know, or knew, and that he's no longer in control of himself. He's assaulted his superior officer with attempted deadly force, assaulted fellow Marines, and has made no bones about the fact that he thinks that you
should be dead as well. It's frankly a miracle that no one's dead already."

"The best thing that can happen for everyone is that he remains sedated and unconscious for the entirety of the trip back, or, failing that, that he just sits quietly in his cell. If he gets out and goes on a rampage again, it's close to inevitable that someone will get killed, and at that point, there's nothing that anyone will be able to do for him." Victor considered his options, and decided that he owed Branwen nothing but the truth. "I'll be blunt. If he stays in confinement, then he's fine. If he gets out again, I'll try and contain him without lethal force - but if I think he's going to kill someone, or if he does kill someone, or if he tries to get in here where you are, then I'll kill him myself, Kit. He's simply too dangerous to give a chance to right now. If that means you're going to hate me, then I'll just have to live with that. At least you'll be alive to do so."

Max was at a respectful distance, both because of the vibe he got from Krieghoff and the fact that he didn't want to appear as if he were eavesdropping. It's not that the young marine required babysitting, however given her potential for irrationality, Max wasn't taking any chances.

Branwen was silent for a while. "You have really changed, not too long ago you would have killed Dar for what he did to me. I still cannot believe that he asked me to kill the babies or me. But still I married him, and I promised to obey him. It's difficult making the right choice. And I want him kept safe, I really do, Victor."

Max choked on his water when he heard the part about her having difficulty making a choice. He quickly wiped his mouth and tried to look busy doing something else. There was a time when Benedict Maxwell, before Starfleet, had been married. The vows that were spoken included love and honor, care for and protect. Nowhere in his vows was there anything about obeying a spouse in committing suicide.

"I may still kill him," Victor reminded her. "If he hurts you again, or tries to... I think its best we don't talk about that right now." He looked down at her hand, and then at her reclining figure. After a moment, he said, "You haven't really thought all of this through, have you?"

"Not at all, I haven't had much chance to think. And to be honest, Victor, I am pretty scared. Max doesn't know if they can reverse the changes in my DNA, or if I will stay this way for the rest of my life. I have three alien embryos in my body, and even I don't know what I think about that. And then my husband..." she fell silent for awhile. "It is a bit much to take in."

"Yes," Victor agreed. "But you have to start. There's nothing that you can do to affect hat's happening to Captain Maivia, so don't try and deal with that now. The same can be said for the genetic alterations that were done to you. But you can start to deal with the psychological damage that the things that were done to you inflicted." He nodded towards her. "And you can make some decisions regarding the fate of the parasites that were implanted into you."

She flinched. "Victor please, they are babies. They can't help what was done to them." Branwen took a deep breath. "I can't have them aborted; it is against my religion and everything I stand for. But I don't think I can keep them after they are born, for one thing Dar would certainly not take me back then. I would have to find a good home for them. Two months ago I had the problem that I could not get pregnant, and now I can only think of how to get rid of my babies as soon as possible." Her lower lip quivered.

"Aborting them isn't going to solve all of your problems," Victor agreed. "But it's time for reality check number two: those are not 'your babies.' If that's what they were, they would be children that you'd conceived out of love, in an act of love, and would raise and nurture in an outgrowth of that love. These embryos are the product of a brutal, degrading act of rape that went all the way down to your genetic code. The longer that you persist in calling them 'your babies' and struggling over forming an emotional attachment to them, the harder it will be on you when they're gone, and the greater the struggle you'll have to hold yourself and your life together. Accept the lives within you, give them birth - assuming that can be done safely - and then let them go. They may share part of your genetic code, but they're no more 'your babies' than that medscanner over there." He nodded towards a table near Max.

Max nodded slowly. Victor was actually correct. They weren't hers per se. She was violated in more ways than the average mind could conceive. And life was not going to get easier for her all around for the foreseeable future.

"Abortion was the last thing on my mind." She said quickly. "That is against my religion." Branwen looked at her stomach. "But I don't know what to do with them after they are born. Victor, they are my babies. I was not raped." No need to tell them how much it had hurt, the operation and the insemination had not been painless. "They are a part of me, if I want it or not, they are growing inside me. My responsibility."

Victor took a breath and let it out in a sigh. "Okay, Kit, reality check number three: you were raped. Unless you were a willing participant in the process that led to your current condition – something that I cannot fathom given what I know about you and your upbringing – then it was done to you at best without your knowledge until it was too late to stop it, and at worst over your active protests and attempts to stop it. Either of those cases are, explicitly, rape. Even if it was done mechanically, by a device, it was rape. You need to stop deluding yourself that this was anything other than what it is, all right?"

She swallowed. "It is easier not to think about it as rape, Victor. Somehow that keeps me sane, and I need to remain sane, if I let go now, I am not sure that I ever will find my sanity again." Branwen closed her eyes for a few seconds. "Still, the fact remains that my babies are innocent. They did not ask for this, any more than I did."

"I've always wondered if sanity wasn't vastly overrated," Victor observed. "I certainly can't say that 'sanity's been very, very good to me' for most of my life, anyway." He shrugged. "But I'm not you, and despite what my detractors might think, I never lost mine, nor am I likely to do it now. However," he frowned down at Bran, "you are so far in denial about so many things that I might need to change your nickname to 'Cleopatra.' Hiding from facts doesn't change them, Kit, it just makes them harder to face when you finally have to."

TBC…

"Gratitude"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, Executive Officer
Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom, Strategic Ops
Cmdr. Brian Elessidil, Chief Counselor
Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, Currently unassigned
Lt. Chris Daniels, Chief Tactical Officer
Lt. Jg Robert Mathieson, MD

XO's Conference Room
=================

"Summat ginger beer all over th' cerebellum", the old man said
pointing at a colored schematic of a human brain at the end of the
conference table. "Thought 'Hydran' at first, an' at second glance
it's sort of Gorn-like, but with spikes in th' reasoning portion o'
the cortex. Cincher was comparin' the lad's personal readouts t' his
present… er… condition."

Another readout appeared on the screen comparing two similar
brain-wave scans, one seemingly the opposite of the other. "Commander
K'aa's brain's been… scarred from wot 'appened on th' Indefatigatable.
Severe stroke, an' his brain's still reactin' as if 'e's had an
ischemic cerebrovascular accident. An if yer thinking this is barmy,
listen t' this… his er... new brain's re-wirin' itself. Y'see, the
Gorn use more instinct n' a typical homo sapiens – a lot more. E's
changin' th 'unused portion' of his cerebral cortex, forcin' himself
t' think like 'e did before."

The doctor's dissertation was temporarily interrupted by the opening
of the conference room's door, and then the ubiquitous buzz from the
regenerative collar around his wrist rubbing against the doorframe
that had become Chris Daniels' personal "ruffles and flourishes" over
the past few weeks, much
against his intentions. He had been in the middle of a
drill--Galaxy's Tactical department had recently picked up 8 new
officers and 15 enlisted rates as a result of the ship's selection as
a testbed for the SGM-132 cruise missile--and integrating the
people--along with the targeting computer-crashing software they
brought with them as the first part of the test--before the ship
shoved off was his top priority.

He nodded at the XO before he took his seat. "Sorry bout that
ma'am...I miss anything?"

Silently the XO shook her head once, then gestured towards the
brainwave readouts being displayed on the viewscreen. Most of the
information was well above her level of expertise, but seeing hard
evidence of what Elessidil and Krieghoff had already told her about
the situation had finally convinced her that what she had originally
considered completely outlandish might not be so off-the-wall after
all.

"Excuse me, Doctor," she said quietly, one hand raising slightly off
the table to get his attention. She'd known Mathieson for some time
now, had even worked with him once or twice on DS9 during the Dominion
War, but sometimes (especially when he was using medical-speak) his
unique way of speaking still gave her problems. "What's a 'summat
ginger beer'?"

"Ginger beer? Queer?" The blank looks from the other people in the
room forced the old man to realize that despite general appearances,
he was the only native Terran in the room and the only one familiar
with the historic nuances of the English language. "Queer - like as
queer as a Klingon vegan."

"Oh," Iniara replied, deciding not to comment on the slightly
inappropriate (though perfectly illustrative, she thought) racial
joke. "So you're saying that K'aa-- the human K'aa, that is-- has
brain wave patterns that match someone who once had a stroke. And
there is no physical evidence in the body that would correspond with
what his brain wave scans are showing us?"

"You're not seriously suggesting..." Jaal quickly put two and two, or
maybe it was five and five at this point, together, "... I mean
really, that the Hydrans swapped 'brains' with these two? That's what
you're suggesting... you 'know' that don't you? Do you have any idea
how whacked out that sounds?"

"Real whaked", Mathieson agreed as he settled down in his seat. "Each
sort
'o stroke's unique - like lightnin' arcs inna sky it never strikes
exactly in th' same pattern. Th' pattern on the human's brain's
exactly th' same as Mister K'aa's readouts from th' Miranda. No way
that can be faked as far as I know, leastaways with Fed science.
'Course, we *are* dealin' with Hydrans an' T'Kith'Kin 'ere, and
they've fergotten more 'bout bio-engineerin' than we know. I'm jus'
tellin yer wot *we* know - this man", he said as he switched the image
on the monitor. "Thinks like a Gorn, an' has th' exact sort o' unique
ischemic scarrin' as Lieutenant Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, Esquire."

Chris shook his head. Even before the image of the sickly--no, sickly
didn't do it justice--horribly emaciated man appeared on the screen,
it had become apparent that he hadn't been called to this meeting for
a tactical
consult. "Hold up there, Doc...you're saying that the Triad somehow
brainsnatched K'aa...and put his conscience in that??" He pointed at
the viewer. "How do we know that's him inside? If they're so good
with bio-engineering, is it possible they could have just
reconstructed his brainwave patterns or something? I mean, they
obviously pulled one over on us already, how do we know this isn't
another trick?"

"We can talk to him," Jaal suggested, "And simply ask him things only
the real McCoy, or McK'aa in this case, would know." The Trill glanced
at the younger officer, "I'm sure you and I could grill him on any
number of things about the Miranda and Atlantis."

"We've already seen that the operative we're currently holding has
rather extensive information from K'aa's life and experiences, so that
may or may not be an effective approach," Elessidil chimed in. "But
it's certainly a place to start. We might also consider some
telepathic investigation with him; it might give us some additional
information as well."

Mathieson nodded and pressed a comm stud on the table's display.
"Well then... let's get crackin'." He pressed a comm stud on the
desk's Ops controls and on the monitor two Security entered the
prisoner's cell and slowly escorted him from it.

==========

"Commander...", K'aa croaked with a slight bow to Tarin and brief nods
to the others in the room. Jaal and Chris were of course, familiar
from his days on the Miranda - two of a precious handful he could call
friends. Both now seemed considerably larger, yet faded of the colors
he had been able to see before. The male Commander was familiar...
the Commanding Officer of the Exeter during the Battle of Romulus if
he recalled correctly, and the flame-haired female was definitely
Tarin Iniara, M'Kantu's XO. Of the Galaxy's Captain there was no
sign, something that installed a disturbing chill in K'aa's new skin.
"Gentlemen... I believe some questions and answers are in order."

The thin man slowly settled into the solitary chair at the end of the
conference room's long table. His movements had become ponderously
slow, as if he had only just come to realize how fragile he had
become. The thin arms trembled briefly as they bore the mass of his
body, and he hesitated briefly once seated as a brief wave of
dizziness passed over his senses. "Let us proceed - the sooner I'm
free of your brig, the better for all concerned."

Jaal had his own set of questions he wanted to ask but decided to let
someone else start the interrogation.

Chris let the silence linger for a few moments, waiting to see if
either Mathieson or the XO would pipe in. A torrent of feelings were
running through his head, not the least of which being total distrust
of the human--if you could even consider him that in his condition--in
front of him. After no one responded, he figured he'd say what he
thought would be the one thing everyone wanted to.

"Give us one reason to believe that the real Th'Khiss K'aa is in
there."

The prisoner's mouth twitched into something resembling a slight grin,
but used different muscles his mind was accustomed to; the effect
resembled something of a grimmace. "Mars", he rasped. "At your
request, your father honored me by inviting me you your family hearth
on Mars. Out of politeness, I... ate the salad that was offered at
meal-time. Salad. Me." He leaned forward, and the brows of his eyes
knotted together as the grimmace deepened. "That was a significant...
hmmm... sacrifice on my part done for my best friend, Chris.
Something I was taking extreme pleasure in 'guilting' out of you until
we were mustered out from Captain Elaithin's command."

Chris sat back in his chair, passive. That was certainly not an
answer he had been expecting. He looked over at Jaal. "You won't
find that anecdote in any report that the Hydrans could have swiped."

"You won't find this either", K'aa croaked as he looked at everyone in
the room before stopping at the Trill. "And for honor's sake, this
goes no futher than this room. Gyndine. Work against the
Syndicate." He leaned back on his chair, putting his thin arms across
his chest. "You paired me with Aina Mason. During the insertion into
Syndicate custure, Ms. Mason partook of a pastry that had a severe
narcotic effect to Bajoran metabolism. We agreed that the incident
was not the young woman's fault, and it was not mentioned in the
official report."

Jaal's eyes narrowed as the alleged K'aa spoke. What he said was true.
"That really better never leave this room," he warned the rest
present. Looking back to the gaunt man the Trill replied with, "And
what else can you tell me about our little excursion to Gyndine?"
There was one other fact no one else would know that would confirm, at
least to Commander Jaxom, that this, was in fact, K'aa.

K'aa frowned at the memory... and at Jaal for having to bring it up.
"A.. difference of opinion between yourself and the Engineering
faction of our away team", K'aa said softly, remembering the incident
between the Commander and Thyago Carniero as far, far more than a
difference of opinion. "The matter was settled... off the record,
courtesy of one of Captain Elaithin's 'suggestions'".

Jaal's head nodded slowly. "Very good. Either you're really K'aa or
K'aa's brain is in that head." He looked at the other officers
present, "I'm convinced."

Chris had a slew of questions he could have asked, but given the
answers so far, he didn't see any reason to question any further. "As
am I...he couldn't have the knowledge he has without having been
there."

Throughout the course of the conversations, Counselor Elessidil
listened carefully, even employing his ability to telepathically sense
the veracity of K'aa's story. Nothing struck him as unusual or out of
sorts in the information presented, but there was a little more he
wanted to know.

~I haven't sensed anything that would indicate he's lying to us,~
Brian briefly sent to Iniara, fairly certain she'd reached the same
conclusion if she had been telepathically scanning him as well.

"'Commander," Brian began, looking directly at K'aa but with something
more
of a friendly, rather than adversarial, look on his face, "forgive me
for sounding the stereotypical counselor but I'd like to hear a little
about how you're feeling right now. You've been transplanted to a new
body, an entirely new species in fact, you've been held captive for
months, you've learned that someone has committed unspeakable acts
using not simply your identity but your actual body, and you're now
being interrogated by people who you have always known to be your
friends. I'd expect that even for a Gorn the impact must be more than
insignificant."

"And like a typical counselor," Jaxom whispered out of the side of his
mouth to Daniels, "Brian has a gift for understatement."

~Goes to the heart of the matter quickly... a refreshing change~, K'aa
thought as he grinned briefly at the question. Looking down at the
confrence table's polished surface, the prisoner observed the thin,
emanciated thing he had become as he weighed on Elessidil's words.
Instinctively he knew what he felt, and the urge to sink his now
pathetic fangs into the throat of the impostor rotting in the Brig was
significant, but not uncontrollable. He knew that his capacity for
hyperage was also gone, and the small, pathetic adrenaline surges this
new body was capable of made him a threat to very, very few.

Closing his eyes and shutting his reflection from his mind, K'aa
thought of the word that best described the fuel of his rage.
"Outraged. Defiled.", he rasped at last. "And angry beyond my
ability to relay
into words. And... changed... yes." He adjusted his mass in the
chair and
leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Have you ever
pondered what it would be like to be another species, Counselor? I
have - and while it was *never* a wish to do so I once wondered what
it would be like to be a human being. Trust me when I say you cannot
imagine the change. Physically, EVERYTHING is different: Sight.
Hearing. Scent. Taste. Touch. Breathing. Hair. Sweat. Nerves.
Muscle. Sinew. Every minute... no... every second I notice something
amazingly different from what I understand is normality. It would be
a lie if I told you that I'm not.... hmmmm... having problems dealing
with the 'new perspective'."

Although Elessidil of course had never experienced what K'aa
described, none of it came as a surprise. For centuries, people had
described out-of-body experiences as life changing; to be out of body
and in addition in another body would certainly be nothing less.

"My mind, however, remains my own", K'aa continued, eyes shut against
the dim images if his new inferior vision. "I am comforted that the
instinct for revenge against my enemy still pulses my heartstrings, as
weak as they are, but I'm finding the need to focus on revenge
exclusively to... push past being overwhelmed by my new senses...
unsettling. I need to work, something significant to occupy my mind.
Now."

Brian nodded a silent assent. Even with the medication he was on the
empathic impressions behind K'aa's words were vivid, and that was what
he was looking for. Facts and details could be learned and faked, but
much less so emotion, and hence it was the more reliable litmus test.

"Welcome back, Mister K'aa," the counselor finally responded in an
understanding tone. "I think it would be a good idea if we talk more
in private soon."

K'aa nodded and looked up at the striking woman directly opposite him
at the table. The others in the room were there to discern the truth,
but the ship's XO needed to make command decisions based on that
information. "Well Commander", he croaked from a thin, parched
throat. "My fate seems to be in your hands. What is to become of
me?"

Iniara let out a breath, looking around the table at the assembled.
"I take it, then, that you are all convinced that this is the real
Th'Khiss K'aa, and recommend that he should return to duty as soon as
possible?" She paused to wait for any objections; when none came, she
continued, "While I think there is enough evidence to suggest that
this is the real K'aa and not a Hydran plant, the Captain may not be
as easily convinced."

The XO paused once more, the muscles in her jaw working as she
thought. "My recommendation will be that 'Commander K'aa should
return to light duty in Operations, and that he be supervised by
someone from this group at all times. We can work out the details
later. Dr. Mathieson, your next task will be to acclimate Mister K'aa
to his new body. As frustrating as it may be to get to that point,
'Commander," she said, finally addressing the man directly, "until you
regain your strength, and can pass the Starfleet standard physical
examinations, I cannot allow you to return to full duty as the Chief
of Operations of this vessel."

"Doctor," Brian added looking to Mathieson, "let's be in close
communication while we work with Mister K'aa. Since we have no real
precedent on the mental effects of a full transfer of a mind to a new
body, I want to be sure to try to catch anything physical that could
be impacting his psychological state."

"Fair'nuff", the old man said with a grunt. "I'll haul' im down t'
sickbay an' give i'm a proper physical - all th' bells an' whistles.
An' we'll hook 'im up with a monitor, jus' t' make sure th' plumbin'
stays kosher."

K'aa's head sagged between his thin, protruding shoulders, betraying
his feeling about his condition. ~Oparations.... again!~ Still it
was a goal, regardless of the indignity of the position, and any step
towards revenge no matter how unpleasant was still progress. Slowly,
unsteadily, he rose to his feet and bowed to the ship's Exec. "I live
to serve. Commander - you have my thanks." Rising, he looked at the
others at the table, offering each a nod of respect. "And my thanks
to each of you as well. I am... in your debt."

"The Dreaded Briefing"

With

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

Victoria Cortlandt, MD (NPC by Omar)
Lt. Commander, Starfleet Medical (Bio-Medical Research Section)
Starfleet Medical HQ, Earth

After Max's meeting with Bental.........

"So I basically just have to give a speech and that's it? No traveling, no special assignments?" Max was adjusting his uniform as he addressed his Comm screen. A slightly wizened woman with sterling silver hair nodded to his questions with the patience of a mother humoring a five year old child. Lt. Commander Victoria Cortlandt was preparing Max for his briefing on Branwen London's condition: how she was found, what interventions, if any, were performed, and her condition upon transfer of care.

They could very well get everything from the documentation, nothing beats a live (or at least recorded) visual log/statement. That's where you understand the nuances of certain statements. Max knew this as a medical professional. Documentation will hold up in court (usually), but the spoken word can give so much more credence (or so much less for that matter).

"Try to keep your commentary relevant. I remember how much you used to ramble in your bio-ethics class." A hint of a smile played at the corners of the elder lady's mouth. In truth, she used to babysit Max when his mother had first divorced his father and moved to San Francisco. Then she had been redeployed and that task had fallen to the young man's sister. It was rather a surprise to her that Max returned to San Francisco as an enlisted man, refusing to even hear of applying for the Academy. She remembered how Gloria Benoit-Maxwell fumed that her baby boy was joining Starfleet as a 'grunt'.

She dismissed the reverie and focused again on Maxwell. "Are you ready, Petty Officer?'

Recognizing that now was the time for professionalism, Max straightened up and replied, "Yes, Commander."

Nodding, Cortlandt directed Max to begin. Out of view, she activated the recording command to capture the full presentation in 2D and 3D.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. I am Petty Officer Benedict Maxwell, and I will be presenting the pre-arrival briefing regarding Marine Lieutenant Branwen London..." He continued with how he found Lt. London, what his initial assessment revealed, and discussion on his notes during continued assessment and treatment, including numerous occasions for mild sedation.

He justified practically every aspect of his care for the altered Marine, to a point that was beyond reproach (as far as he was concerned, anyway). Cortlandt was very impressed with his ability to present information without appearing bored or in a dry and uninteresting manner. He really was his mother's son.

He completed his monologue and waited with a professional smile for the requisite five count before the recording ceased. He has made two such presentations for classes he taught during his brief light duty tenure on Earth a couple of years ago. Finally, his mother's friend spoke again.

"Is everything alright, Benny?" the use of his familial nickname both rankled him and let him know that they could talk informally.

"I miss Connor, Nana," Max replied, using his own familial nickname for the elder Doctor. Victoria Cortlandt gave a small smile, appreciating that he still thought of her as family. Max continued. "I mean I really miss him. Darla is giving me a massive migraine in terms of working out visitation time."

"Benny...you did agree to stay out of his life, not to influence him." She was aware of the particulars of Max's family situation through conversations with Commander Benoit-Maxwell. It was indeed a heart wrenching situation. "So what happens between you three now?"

Max shrugged. "We'll see, Nana." And then he slumped against the back of the chair, the weight of the past week or so really hitting him. "We'll see."

Cortlandt nodded and smiled, this time much warmer and grandmotherly. "Everything will work out, Benny. Cortlandt, out."

Max was left alone in his quarters, pondering his current situation, the events that occurred during the POW's rescue, and where life was taking him. He had a nagging feeling he was about to be taken in another direction that he may not want to travel at all.

OOC Note:- Set directly after 'The Skipper' Posts.

<IC>

"So... Who Was That?"

Colonel For'kel Arvelion - Marine Battalion Commander
Commander Jaal Jaxom - Strategic Operations Officer
Major Nathan Everett - CAG
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant Chris Daniels - Chief Tactical Officer
Lieutenant Fen Gaal - Acting Operations Chief
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff - Assistant Chief of Security
Master Chief Petty Officer Madden Jayce - Chief of the Boat

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

Though she had been part of the fleet now for many years, Kimberly had been
present for only one other change of command in her years of service, but
she had heard others tell of similar events. She wasn't sure exactly 'what'
to expect today really, but a fly-by meet and greet wasn't it. Some
Captains had their own traditions or superstitions, others preferred
formality and ceremony. A few were less formal, a friendly chat and a sit
down. This though...? Okay, she was a Vulcan, and that should've
forewarned her that there was likely to be more in the way of formality
instead of camaraderie, but still...

Turning to face the others who were still present she raised an eyebrow
questioningly, "Does anyone know why the XO isn't keeping the centre seat
right now?" She asked, stepping over to the nearly untouched buffet, "I
mean, after the Starbeast you'd have thought the Admiralty would have had a
little more faith in her. Do the brass think she can't handle it or
something?" Her tone of voice left little doubt as to what she thought of
that. "Okay, there's a war on, but the XO knows the crew, she knows what we
and the ship are capable of. Someone new is gonna spend a lot of time
playing catch up here, and you have to admit this isn't what you might
describe as the most normal ship in the fleet."

~ Understatement of the millennium! ~ She added silently after less than a
seconds thought.

"Starfleet Intelligence isn't what it used to be?" For'kel guessed
half-heartedly as he plucked some of the food up for a plate. He hadn't
eaten in a while... and for the first time in a couple of days he felt like
he wanted to. "It's probably because of the status of the Galaxy actually.
If Iniara was on practically any other ship, she would be commanding it by
now, at the least."

"Exactly," Jaxom added, "It's the same reason I didn't get the Miranda when
Captain Summers was killed and especially with a war going on, they want
someone with 'proven' experience in the centre chair." He shrugged, "It's
mostly standard operating procedure. You may not agree with it but that's
the way things are."

"Ah think it's stupid, if y'ask me," Cowboy said, even though nobody
actually had. "Ah'd feel a lot better with someone who knows this ship
sittin' in that chair, and Ah guarantee you just about everyone else would
agree with me." He picked up one of the small sandwiches that had been left
out, and took an experimental sniff of it before taking a bite. "Ah mean,
sure, the Galaxy's an important ship, but it's not like this is the
Enterprise'r somethin'," he added, his voice muffled by the mouthful of
food.

Fork finished swallowing before responding. "That's because everyone here
knows what Iniara is capable of. Starfleet doesn't. It's the problem with
perspectives... to us, the people aboard this ship are friends and comrades,
while to Starfleet brass we're all names on a manifest, collections of skill
sets, to be replaced, removed, traded, or what have you if an when
necessary. To us, Galaxy is our home. To Starfleet, its 42 decks and 5
million metric tons of warp capable Federation sovereign territory."

"That's the problem Starfleet's perspectives and it's 'always' been a
problem. It's politics as usual. Have I ever mentioned that I hate
politics?" Anyone that had ever had a conversation with the Trill that
lasted longer than fifteen minutes knew, with pinpoint accuracy, exactly how
Jaal felt about politics and politicians. They were a necessary evil,
stress on the evil.

"Politics seems to be something that is becoming more and more involved with
our jobs," Kimberly mused with distaste. "I mean, who's bright idea do you
think it was to send a Vulcan to captain 'this' ship?" Taking a sip of a
random fruit juice on the table she set the glass down with a disgusted
look, whether it was the juice or the thought of a Vulcan skipper that
prompted the look though was unclear. "Of all the command rank officers in
the fleet they send us a logical, and probably 'by the book' Captain."

"Don't get me wrong," she added as she sampled another juice, looking around
at the assembled officers as she did, "I've absolutely nothing against
Vulcans, Frell I dated a Vulcan for over a year, it's just, with some of the
people we've got on this ship I'm wondering if it's such a good thing?"

"She gets her orders, relays orders to us, we relay them to our
subordinates, and so long as nobody messes up with the wrong kind of orders
or in execution of the same, we should all be okay." For the life of him,
Fork couldn't understand exactly where it was the doctor was coming from.
He offered her some of the chips he'd helped himself to at the buffet.
"Nothing really changes."

"Perhaps," she agreed as she took a few of the offered chips, "but she is in
command of this vessel now. It's not just a matter of her relaying orders
she is given, but us following the orders she gives."

"Are you planning on breaking orders some time soon, doc?" Fork teased
before taking a bite out of a sandwich. "Anything we need to know about
ahead of time?"

"Me? Nah... but some in the crew do have a tendency towards, ah, unique
behaviour." She replied in a deadpan tone.

"From an Ops standpoint, it may be a *very* good thing", Fen Gaal chimed
from underneath his considerable whiskers. "We've been in a vacuum
Operations-wise for almost a year since Jamson left, and the new Captain's
record suggests that will be rectified in very short order, which brings me
to the possible change we *may* be facing." He twirled a carrot between his
thumb and index finger as he contemplated some of the ship-to-ship 'scuttle'
he'd been monitoring in the past weeks. "We have an experienced Captain
alright, but the form of experience may lead us to other responsibilities.
I'm getting an incredibly large spike in comm traffic from SF Logistics."

Raising an eyebrow Kimberly looked a little perplexed at that, "So what does
that mean for us?" She enquired curiously.

"Cargo. Very fast, very expensive cargo", the Tellarite finished, snapping
the carrot in half. "The Terran term "Delivery Boy" comes to mind."

Chris turned his head and thought for a second before he spoke. Up until
this point he had just been listening to the other, more experienced
department heads. "That'd corroborate with what I've been getting lately.
Tactical R&D just dropped two weapons test projects on us, one of which is
running roughshod on our targeting computer. They don't usually give these
sorts of projects to ships they plan on sending right back to the front
line. Maybe the higher-ups recognized that the crew and the captain may not
mesh well together so they're giving us a chance to get used to our new
captain without having to do it under full blown combat action." His last
sentence came out more as a question, a shrug forming at his shoulders.

"It would be nice to have a short while for everyone to get used to the
change." Kimberly agreed.

"Or at least properly dispose of the body after the mutiny." Fork muttered
before crunching on another chip. He doubted it would go 'that' far, but
like Kimberly had said, this was a crew that tended towards 'unique'
behaviour.

"Life isn't like that, you know," Victor offered quietly from by the buffet,
"all accommodating and nice; not as a general rule anyway." He moved a
sandwich onto his plate. "Whatever the reason, rejoice in the fact that we
do, in fact, have some time to get accustomed to her."

"Let's hope the Triad's considerate enough to give us the time", Gall said
combing his beard. "Let's also hope the new Captain is as competent with
the sword as she is with the pen, to borrow another Terran term. Her combat
experience is not as... er, impressive as her Operational ones."

"That's all right, there's more than enough combat experience among the
officer's of this ship to make up for the skipper's short fall." Fork
swallowed a quick sip of water. "To paraphrase what I tell my Marines,
we'll watch out for her, she'll watch out for us, and everyone will be
covered."

"Speaking of her combat experience, does anyone actually 'know' anything
about our new CO?" Kimberly enquired curiously, "all I've seen so far is
her medical records, but that doesn't enlighten me as to what sort of
Captain she is? Or anything about her really." Well, you could infer a
fair amount actually from person's medical notes, as well as glean a
reasonable assessment of their personality, but it wasn't really information
she could disclose to anyone but senior medical staff. But it was all
pretty dry reading, there was little there about her style of command.

"I don't know any more than you do, Doctor." Fork scoffed down a sandwich
slice in short order. Damn was the food good.

"I think we're going a little far in our jumping to conclusions," the
Command Master Chief spoke up, her voice soft but weighted. She shook
herself out of the odd stupor that settled over her in Victor Kreighoff's
presence and looked around at the others gathered. "Yes, she will be
different from M'Kantu who was different from Brohde who was different from
Price. I'm sure most of us have served under many captains with various
command styles. This isn't an ideal situation, but we need to give her the
benefit of the doubt and remember that it's not as though Command has
shuffled a pup into the command chair. She's a veteran captain. She's been
in the Fleet for nearly fifty years and in command positions since the start
of the Dominion War and her last posting was on a border patrol vessel.
That will give anyone a certain level of experience."

Madden cleared her throat, shifting her eyes around. "But... to answer your
question, Doctor, if I remember correctly she was a professor of regulations
at the Command School. I imagine she'll be a little bit more of a
stickler." The Master Chief's eyebrow lifted as she glanced at the more...
casual among them. "Which might mean we all need to make more of an effort
in our personal presentation, not to mention fix our habit of running on
'Galaxy-time'." It was what her people used to describe the officer's
tendencies for habitually running ten minutes late.

"Every ship I've ever served on has had the same problem to one degree or
another, whether it was a single department or the whole ship," Victor
observed. "It was called 'Operations Time' in one place and 'Tactical Time'
in another, and 'Leonidas Time' on a third. The simple suggestion that they
finally wound up using on the Leonidas was to simply tell everyone that the
meetings started fifteen minutes before they were actually scheduled, which
cut the late appearances down to a manageable degree. At least until the
department heads figured it out." He sipped at his coffee. "Have any of
you looked at the standing orders she had posted on her last command by
chance? I found them interesting reading. For example, she requires all
Bridge personnel to report for their shifts in Class A uniform."

"I imagine we'll find out at oh eight hundred if she is planning to do the
same here." Kimberly offered, making a note to look the orders up later.
"And as Lieutenant Krieghoff said, she's not entirely inexperienced. Let's
give her some time and see what happens, see how she deals with everyone."
As he had also mentioned, everyone was different she could certainly agree
with him there. Rianissastranara'Cessk who had commanded the Arizona was a
different Captain than M'Kantu, everyone has their own style.

Chris finished his devouring of a sandwich. "Not every captain is born a
legend, doc...this one'll either rise to the occasion... or she won't and,
well..." he shrugged..."then it'll be up to us to make sure we don't go down
in history the wrong way." He caught a glimpse of the clock on the
wall...2330. He turned to the crowd. "If you all will excuse me, I've only
got 5 hours before our next disaster of a test bestowed on us by some
engineer." He shook his head and then smiled. "Us rookies can't go 50
hours without sleep like you all can yet."

"Indeed..." Gall said rising and dusting crumbs from his beard. "It'll be
'Captain' time soon enough, and I'll need to have your departments
re-supplys prepared for the audit tomorrow - I's dotted and T's crossed, so
to speak. The Battle of the Paperwork awaits!"

"And speaking of battles, Colonel, if you could swing by sickbay after
tomorrows briefing please." Kimberly asked, her tone bordering between
polite request and an order. "Until tomorrow everyone, maybe we can get to
know our new CO a bit then. G'night all."

"New Objectives"

With

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP (PC)
Petty Officer 2nd Class, NCOIC EMRT

Charles Danson, Medical Technician (NPC)
Petty Officer 3rd Class, EMRT

Arelis Moreno, Medical Technician (NPC)
Petty Officer 3rd Class, EMRT

Pem Talen, Medical Technician (NPC)
Crewman, EMRT

Venik, Medical Technician (NPC)
Crewman, EMRT

Cariss Parr, RN (ONPC, unauthorized non speaking cameo)
Ensign, EMRT

1030 Hours, Deck 12 Medical Conference Suite...

The small group looked at each other, all wondering the same thing: What did Max want with all of them?

"More scenarios," Pem said dryly as he rolled his eyes at the thought. He didn't think he could tolerate one more 'surprise' training session, although they all had a break while the NCOIC was gone. Venik said as much.

"Maybe he's gonna make us work overtime?" the Ferengi joked. No one was laughing. Then heads slowly began to turn and look at Arelis Moreno. It was practically public knowledge that she and Max had reignited their prior relationship not too long after she arrived on the Galaxy. Every face asked the same question.

"Don't look at me," she replied quickly, her hands held up palm out, "he hasn't been speaking to me for the past couple of days. He must be something big."

Cariss Parr remained silent at she waited to see what was in store for the team. It has been a learning experience for certain. The more experienced Charles Danson did the same, only chose not to speculate on whatever reason their boss called them from either their beds or posts on such short notice.

After another uncomfortable silence amongst the group, Max entered with a stack of PADDs. Without preamble, he tossed them to each member of the Team. While everyone eyed the assigned PADD with varying degrees of uncertainty, disdain, or even apathy, Max spoke.

"Good morning, everyone. I'll keep this brief." He cleared his throat, then continued. "As some of you may have been aware, I volunteered for the rescue of several people from Altroth including a few of our people from right here on the Galaxy." He looked into the eyes and faces of each Team member before continuing. "I've made an important discovery in regards to which direction this team should proceed. If you folks will give me about ten minutes, I'll show you exactly what I mean."

With that, Max left and again confusion set in throughout the group.

"Not very organized, is he?" Pem Talen asked in general, but was looking at Moreno. He didn't feel it appropriate that a Team member and subordinate date or be intimately involved with a supervisor or manager. He also felt the need to voice said opinion the next time he had the opportunity.

For her own part, Moreno (who noticed the stare, and was well aware of Pem's misgivings) deflected the statement and commented on the data she already began reading about on her PADD. "This should make for some interesting reading."

"Reading??" quailed Venik. "Bad enough I have to study to pass my Interstellar Registry, now he'd dumping more schtuff for us to pound into our heads?" His face scrunched for a moment at the thought, then returned to the usual panicked look he always tended to have. "What kind of notes are these anyway? Pattern buffers, deflective energy yield...he plans on turning us over to Engineering?"

"Sure, Venik," replied Pem. "He's saving you the trouble of failing your Medic and being virtually useless to everyone here." Venik immediately shrank in his seat, afraid to say anymore.

"Leave him alone, Pem," Danson finally spoke up. He not only felt bad for the Ferengi, but had to work with the kid later on and didn't need a nervous wreck bouncing around Sickbay. To Venik, he replied, "You are not getting sent to Engineering, because you are not going to fail. You wouldn't be here if Maxwell didn't think you can cut it." Truthfully, Danson didn't exactly see eye to eye with Max, but respected the man enough to defend him to others...and he really didn't feel like dealing with a hyperactive, panicked Ferengi during their shift together.

Before any other discussion could take place, the suite doors swooshed open and everyone stopped. Literally stopped doing everything including breathing as the form entered the room, the doors swooshing closed as the suited person cleared the sensors. It was clearly battle armor, but it wasn't bulky. There appeared to be control panels on the right and left forearms. The helmet was not obnoxious and in fact closely resembled their environmental suits. The only person in the room who smiled was Danson. He knew a Hazard suit when he saw one.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," a voice declared in amplified form from somewhere around the helmet. "I give you, the Mark VII Hazard Suit. Rocket booster, not included." After taking a few audible deep breaths, Max finally removed his headpiece and smiled at the group. "Not only are we upgrading the way we do business, we're bringing back Hazard, Medic style, folks!"

[TBC]

"Thought Process"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
JAG

======================
Personal Journal Entry

It's late again. Early, if one would be technical about it. Two a.m. and sleep escapes me once more. I thought, that maybe, just maybe if Logan would come back that the nightmares would go away. He would be my beacon, my lighthouse in the storm. However, it appears that this is not the case. At least he sleeps calmly. My thrashing about did not wake him for tonight.

I've always wondered if it's possible to hate someone. I can say now that it is. I have hated two people in my life. Fayling McAlister and Andrew Rodriquez. Both dead and at times I wonder if my hatred sent them to their final resting places. Would it be possible to have a hate that strong that it would have the ability to kill another with just the thought of it? Papa always said that anything is possible. If I look at it that way, then perhaps I did indeed kill them both with my thoughts. The question is then...is that a good thing? To some, I think it would be.

Life on board the Galaxy is shifting into a simplistic pattern of boredom. It's enjoyable to me, which may seem odd.

It appears that I have updated all my journals with the exception of this one. It was stuck in the back of my mind....one of those quagmired events that pops up once in a blue moon to gently remind you of a duty you have yet to perform. I hate that.

Things have drastically changed since my last italic posting of Spring. Seasons have receded to new seasons at least on planets, and I find myself single in a mass chaotic realm of middle age dating. Searching for 'the one' has turned fruitless and yet I wonder if he is out there and I am circling him without awareness of mind. I am keeping in mind, however, that I am on a Starship and dating can be kind of 'limited'.

I've been on some mischievously interesting dates, however, although at times most delightful, none have born the requirements of an 'exclusive' relationship that I long for. At this point in time, I also am curious as to if I'm exclusive enough material. A bit old fashioned and unconventional in my ideals, I have found that those unique if not ancient qualities are desired, yet seldom acknowledged within the single dating male of most any species. Who am I kidding? I screwed Jaal pretty much on our first meeting.......

As I had conversation the other evening with a new friend over a mass amount of caffeinated and decaffeinated coffee....we posed a question that hung thick in the air mixing in with the stale smell of an overly liquored Klingon in close proximity to our spot.

Are there rules to this?

We were both in agreement that there is not set rules of dating. In a fly by your pants society, those of us that are stuck in the tar of lost souls attempting to find their match have realized that we each make up our own according to our own beliefs. Find a person....rare as is it...that shares your beliefs and bingo....you might actually have found an old soul that you can spend time with. Beliefs are just a small corner of the portrait. Mix beliefs in with emotional attachment and physical lust *chemistry* and the curtain is about to open on the stage.

None of us know what is around the corner as far as relationships go. Perhaps...if we are lucky....we find that certain someone that draws us in with a morbid sense of fascination. If we are not lucky....we continue the search in hopes that one day that person will appear out of no where and complete us, taking our hand and walks with us on the next stage of what is the production called our lives. We can only pray, and hope...............

More later, sleep is calling....................O

“Let’s Get Physical”

Lt. Commander Th”Khiss K’aa, Chief of Operations
Lt. JG Robert Mathieson, MD

Sickbay
======

The walk from the XO’s conference room and sickbay usually took Doctor
Mathieson about seven minutes, at most ten during yellow or red
alert.. Today’s trip with the new Ops chief took twenty, and each
step gave the doctor cause to speculate and worry. Each step Th’Khiss
K’aa took looked as if he was walking on broken glass, and each
movement the man made was ponderously slow. Severe malnutrition had
made the body he now inhabited extremely frail, but skeletal issues
aside the old man was more concerned with the other effects starvation
would have on the human form.

“Dizzy?”

The question seemed to snap the haggard man out of an inattentive
daydream, and he slowly looked up at the old man. “What?”

“’Re ye dizzy? Ligh-headed?”

K’aa closed his eyes and thought about how he was feeling. “I’m… not
certain. My perception of normality is… more than a little off-center
right now. When I move my head, the room ‘swims’ somewhat..”

The old man grunted and, picking op an ocular microscanner looked
thoroughly into the back of K’aa’s eyes. He didn’t like what he saw.

“Gimme yer ‘and. ‘Ere… feel this?” K’aa saw the physician prod the
tips of his stick-like fingers, but felt nothing.

“Right – on the bed with yer an’ we’ll take a better look at yer
plumbin’.”

W wave of nausea surged up K’aa’s esophagus as he lay down, but he
fought it down as the bio-bed’s instrumentation began to hum. The
day’s adrenaline was ebbing quickly, and he found his motor control
over this pathetically weak frame diminishing quickly. The effort on
just lifting an arm was barely possible, and the effort was halting at
best. The bird-like limb twitched mid-air for about a minute before
K’aa could no longer maintain the effort and was forced to rest.

Mathioson reviewed the initial scan that had prompted him to have K’aa
sent to sickbay and the readout the bio-bed was now displaying. The
Commander’s bones had predictably been decalcified by Hydran
hospitality, but diet, treatment and therapy would work quickly to
alevate that particular condition – it was the host of other soft-
tissue problems that had the doctor worried. K’aa’s kidneys were
working at about a quarter capacity, and renal failure was imminent.
The same conditions had given him diabetes that now threatened his
eyesight and circulation in his fingers and toes. He was also anemic,
and thiamine deficiency was leading to a progressive case of Wernicke
encephalopathy, a degeneration of the former Gorn’s nervous system.
Catabolysis had eaten away at his muscle mass and weakened his
myocardium, leading Mathieson so offer the patient a clear, concise
diagnosis in layman’s terms.

“Yer a fekkin’ wreck, lad… but I seen worse”,

“Where?”

“Eh?”

“I said… where?” K’aa propped himself on his frail elbows to look up
at the old man. “Where have you seen anything worse than this?”

“Cheron, ye berk”, Mathieson growled at being forced to recall the
painful memory. “’Least yer only facin’ starvation – there’s no sign
o’ necrosis, an’ no sign o’ radiation poisinin’. Cheron had a lot o’
that, an people with no ‘ope ‘re promise o’ recovery. Not discountin’
wot ye’ve been through lad, but if yer lookin’ t’ feel sorry for
yerself yer lookin’ in the wrong fekkin’ place. Ye’ll be up an’ about
bossin’ Ops jus’ like ye did on th’ Miranda.”

“I don’t think so, doctor”, K’aa rasped as he settled back on the
bed. “My… power of command was based more on presence than
experience. *This*…”, he said as he shakily raised his hands before
him, “cannot command.”

“Horseshit..”

“Doctor, I fail to see what equine excrement has to do with the
situation.”

The old man fought the surge of impatience that was about to well into
one of his more spectacular chewing-outs when he remembered who he was
talking about. He had never met the prisoner now rotting in the brig,
and reminded himself that the thin figure whose ribs were grinning
through the over-sized coveralls wasn’t human – it was a Gorn, a
predatory reptilian with an alien set of ethics. Mathieson had served
with Gorn before on the Anchorage, and knew that the species despised
weakness in any form – especially from within themselves. Theirs was
a Spartan-like culture, and K’aa in his present form would likely be
left to die alone in the elements. Instead, he remembered what he had
heard and read of Tk’Khiss K’aa, a light Commander with a promising
future in the fleet.

“Look lad, I’ve seen wot Elaithin an’ Summers ‘ad t’ say about yer,
an’ while I never met Captain Elaithin..,”, Mathieson grew quiet as
memory both inspired and saddened him “I’ve ‘ad more than a few pints
with ol’ Chris Summers. Great Cap’n… good man… an’ e’ had a pretty
high opinion of yer – be a shame t’ make ‘im out fer a lliar.”

Again, K’aa rose to his elbows with some effort, and glared at the old
man. There was enough of the former officer left in the skeletal body
to issue order, regardless of how weak the voice was.
“Explain yourself Lieutenant.”, he croaked.

“Chris Summers was a no-horseshit bloke”, Mathieson continued, pleased
that the boy was finally showing some fire. “Th’ shit flowin’ from
yer mouth spoils ‘in mem’ry, cos’ e’ was one o’ th’ best judges o’
character I’ve ever ‘ad the pleasure o’ tippin’ a pint with. Jus’
scanned yer file quick-like., but ‘is name popped up an’ kinda stuck
with me – that, an’ wot ‘e had t’ say ‘bout yer.”

“And that was…” K’aa’s stony expression offered the human nothing
about what he was feeling, but inside his mind boiled. Summers was a
legend, in the fleet and what he and his crew had accomplished on the
Anchorage was worthy of saga, but on the Miranda the Captain had been
aloof from the senior staff and had developed shallow roots. Insecure
after the Indefatigatable Incident, Summers had allowed him free-reign
in Tactical while the CTO was recovering, but was tight lipped about
his performance.

“We ‘ad a Gorn onna Anchorage ‘course, Black Crest feller by the name
o’ S’keeen as I recall”, in his mind, Mathieson could see the hulking
Security officer snarl and his skin crawled. “Biggest horse’s ass
this side o’ the Quadrant. Worked like a dog, but not good t’ work
*with*, if ye catch me drift.”

“The same could be easily said of me”, K’’aa countered. “I am a
demanding taskmaster.”

“But folks worked *with* yer”, Mathieson shot back. “Yer CTO was
recoverin’ from bein’ a Borg drone, and you an’ yer buddy Daniels made
some voo-doo t’ get th’ ship’s CIC up an’ runnin’. ‘E may not’ve said
it to yer, but ‘e was damned impressed. Know wot ‘e said specifically
‘bout yer?”

K’aa managed a weak nod.

‘”Th’ boys a performer… an’ maybe the mos’ un-Gorn-like o’ his species
I’ve ever seen”, the doctor said, repeating what he remembered from
the file. “An before ye get yer knickers inna knot – ‘at was a
compliment, after serving five years with that nob S’keeen.”

A tide of anger had indeed risen in K’aa’s veins, but receded when he
heard the rest of the old physician’s words. As the anger ebbed, so
too did the last reserves of his diminished reserves. His upper body
slid awkwardly back down onto the bio-bed. “Very well, doctor”, he
said with great effort. “Proceed with your treatments, and have me
fit for dust as soon as possible. But”, he added with an unsteady
gesture with his right hand, “once I am recovered we’ll discuss your
attitude, as well as your access... to my restricted... file.

“Bite me”, Mathieson snarled at the patient, and frowned to see that
K’aa had fallen into a deep, fitful sleep.

"Counsellor... Repress your Emotions!"

Commander Brian Ellessidil
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton

USS Galaxy - Main Sickbay

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Well Commander, mind if I ask a favour," not letting him say anything
Kimberly kept talking as she leant on the bed opposite him, "next time you
decide to spar with someone give me some warning please, between you and
Commander Smith a while back my monthly figures have spiked alarmingly for
ship board incidents."

In hindsight taking him off the medication without removing him from duty
hadn't been the most inspired idea, though at the time his symptoms hadn't
seemed that intense, she'd only envisaged mild reactions from the people
around him while he was off the meds, not the intense reactions that had
occurred. Plus the medication was supposed to help and reduce the intensity
and frequency of the episodes. If anything he'd gotten worse.

"As you've probably noticed we've increased your dosage at the moment, so
hopefully that won't happen again, but I have to ask, have you noticed
anything 'odd' lately?" The Commander was, from what she'd gotten to know
about him, a fairly restrained guy. The outburst in the gym a while ago
from all accounts wasn't exactly typical. And Zanthi fever wasn't exactly
something that would stimulate excessive emotional outbursts, spread them
around sure.

"Does it get more odd than getting into an actual fight with a fellow senior
officer?" Brian asked. He had to admit he wasn't thrilled about being in
sickbay yet again -- after all, there was so much else that required his
attention -- but there were more treatments to try apparently. If he ever
wanted to get back to normal, he wasn't in much of a position to refuse.

"In this universe and on this ship, odd seems to be a way of life."
Kimberly reminded him wryly. "I was hoping to do a full neurological workup
while you were drug free, but that doesn't seem to be a viable option right
now. How much do you know about Zanthi?"

"You're certainly more the expert than I am but I know it tends to afflict
older Betazoids, causing them to somehow cast their own emotions onto others
around them. From what I understand it's pretty easily treatable and has no
harmful after-effects for the host or anyone affected."

"That's about it in a nutshell," Kimberly agreed with a nod, "normally those
who pick up on your projections have to have some latent emotion similar to
what you are projecting for you to enhance. When you sparred with Commander
Smith she obviously picked up on some hostility you were projecting at the
time for instance. Normally the medication I'd prescribe, a regime of broad
spectrum anti-viral drugs would clear this up in short order, but for some
reason its being stubborn and not clearing up. If anything you're spreading
your feelings around even more... Hence the psi suppressants."

"So what next? You had said the empathic suppressants could only be a
temporary measure. Am I just going to spiral out of control eventually?"
He asked the question somewhat in jest but deep-down the possibility scared
him greatly.

"Next, a full regime of blood work and neurological scans. We need to
ascertain if there's anything we've missed. Zanthi shouldn't be this
stubborn, or affect you as it is." Picking up a hypo from a nearby tray she
indicated his are, "If you could roll up your sleeve we can start now. As
for spiraling out of control, I believe the suppressants should help for now
until we know more."

The counselor absently fumbled with his sleeve, his mind more engaged in
other matters. "I can't keep this a secret forever," he sighed, staring
into the air in front of him. "I haven't had a chance to talk to the
captain about it yet for obvious reasons, but he's going to have to know."
He looked at Kimberly as she plied her trade. "I don't feel in any way less
able to do my job, but will he see it that way? Will anyone? What's more
suspect than a person suffering from a mentally affective disease insisting
he's fine?"

Considering that as she worked Kimberly silently considered the options. As
long as the medication controlled the symptoms there wasn't really a
problem, however as recent events had shown the medication didn't always
work.

"Well," she said finally after drawing the blood samples, "let's consider
your options and look at how this is affecting you. As shown by your
encounter with Commander Smith for example, your emotions are leaking, now I
know you weren't on the medication at the time so that was a somewhat
extreme reaction perhaps, but even with the medication you're still leaking,
and most of the crew are sponges for your emotions."

"What happens if you have an episode during a counseling session? Suddenly
your client is influenced by external emotions, and under normal
circumstances neither of you will be aware of it." It was never pleasant
telling someone that they weren't fit to do their job, something she had had
to do more than once recently. Hopefully he would come to that realization
himself. A variation on the old adage, 'Physician, heal thyself.'

Brian closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn't like the thought hadn't
occurred to him, but hearing it from Kimberly made it all the more real.

"My case load's been somewhat light lately with everything else that's going
on. Maybe I can pare it down further for a while," he answered, half
thinking out loud. "I don't know. Is there anything else you can do to
figure this out? Are there any experts on the disease that you can contact?
Anything?" He was grasping for any shred of possibility that might help
come up with a remedy.

"I don't want to relieve you of duty, so I'll trust you to manage your cases
and use your judgement. As for experts," setting the hypo down Kimberly
looked him in the eye and smiled reassuringly, "way ahead of you Commander.
I've spoken to a couple of experts on Betazed in the last few weeks. Plus
we have a new Doctor aboard who is somewhat of an expert of neurological
disorders. Gabrielle Watson is a neurosurgeon so now she's free I've asked
her to help out and have a look at your case, she's working on isolating the
strain of Zanthi fever you seem to have contracted so we can tailor your
treatment."

"Guess that's all I can ask for," he said, forcing a smile to make him seem
more confident than he felt.

OOC: Backpost; takes place just before the new captain arrives.

"Escape from the Ready Room"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara
Acting Commanding Officer
USS Galaxy

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Chief Counselor

"Iniara, we need to talk."

Standing across from the acting CO's desk, the words tumbled out of
Brian's mouth far more easily than the significance behind them should
have allowed. There were various things that the counselor wanted to
address with her and he decided to start in order of urgency.

"I've been talking with K'aa and doing some investigation on my own --
it's not K'aa. We're holding a Hydran operative who's been using
K'aa's body."

"What?" The word popped out just like that, Iniara's eyes widening as
his words sunk in. "How..." she started again, her voice trailing off
as her mind tried to figure out just which 'how' it wanted to address
first. How had that happened? Or how had K'aa, or the Hydran in
K'aa's skin, been able to masquerade as the real K'aa for so long? Or
how did Brian figure it out?

But none of the hows leaped forward far enough, and so, her mind a
jumble of questions, all she could get out was, "What?"

"When Jaal and I first spoke with him in his cell, I caught several
fleeting mental images as I scanned his mind. He tried blocking me by
focusing on some very strong and graphic Gorn-like thoughts, but the
image of mushrooms kept coming up. We already had all the incongruent
behavior, so I started looking into things beginning with the
mushrooms images, his service record, personal logs, a conversation
with Lieutenant Daniels, to see if I could find anything that made any
sense." He paused a moment to let his words sink in a little. "The
pieces of the puzzle were there but still unclear, until I got some
help from Science with the mushrooms. The species in the images I saw
first and then in a later meeting with him turned out to be native to
a planet in Hydran space."

"So how did you get 'Hydran operative who's been using K'aa's body'
out of that?" she asked.

"It might not have been enough on which to base a definite conclusion,
but his mental state has been deteriorating and the weight of his own
anger and cravings were enough to break him when confronted with the
mushrooms." Conviction by fungus...it even sounded strange to Brian,
but it had led to the truth.

She nodded slowly, letting that sink in. "Go on."

"The Hydrans have some kind of technology apparently that allows them
to-" Brian stopped mid-sentence, his counseling instincts alerting
him to the fact that the acting CO's eyes seemed almost to glaze over.
"Iniara...when was the last time you had a decent night's sleep?"

She almost twitched at that comment. "Decent night's sleep? What's
that?" She looked at him, then laughed halfheartedly, adding, "So
much for my budding career in comedy."

There was no question that the matter of K'aa was important and needed
to be discussed, but Brian wasn't too certain they would really have a
productive conversation at the moment. He then glanced at the stack
of PADDs that occupied her desk. "Are you really that inundated?" he
asked, already knowing the answer.

Iniara shrugged; there wasn't a point in answering when the answer was
more than obvious. "Not for long, though," she said instead. "We're
getting a new CO; once everything is in order for her, I can go back
to being just the ex-oh."

"A new CO? So Captain M'Kantu's situation is really that bad," he
said solemnly. Brian thought for a moment, his mind reeling just a
little with everything that had been going on. Then he regarded the
exhausted-looking woman before him. "Come on, it's time you got out
of here for a little while," he said, extending his hand. "Let's
continue our conversation somewhere else. Chief Counselor's orders,"
he added before she could object.

For several seconds she simply stared at the hand until finally,
almost defeated, she replied, "All right. I can't very well argue
with orders, now can I?" She stood, hip popping quietly with the
movement, and came out from behind the desk. "Where to?"

Ten-Forward wasn't exactly the place to have the kind of discussion
they were having, so Brian thought of an alternative. "Let's get
something to eat. I have a holodeck program that'll get you out of
the office and also give us privacy."

---------------------
Holodeck 2

The doors whirred open and Brian led Iniara onto a sunny patio in the
midst of a field of trees, flowers and greenish-blue grass. There
were others here -- diners, waiters -- but none to whom the course of
the officers' conversation would matter in the least.

"Been back to Betazed lately?" he asked, gesturing to a table in the
shade of a large tree. "Two Altair waters," he took the liberty of
requesting from a passing waiter as they made their way to the table.

As they made their way into the program, Iniara did her best to
control the emotions that suddenly bubbled up from deep within her.
"It's been...a while," she replied hesitantly as she slid into one of
the chairs and began to focus on the more enjoyable aspects of the
simulation: the warm air, soft grass, handsome waiters...

"What about you?" she asked Brian with a slight smile, the best one
she could manage at the moment.

"No, not the real one anyway." He glanced around briefly,
appreciating the beauty of the scene, but then reminded himself that
they were actually here for business. "The Hydran agent in our brig
said they're holding K'aa on Altroth III. We have to find a way to
get him back -- and get him back into his own body," he added, not
sure which would be the more daunting task.

"Is it possible the rescue team brought him back with the rest of the
POWs?" she asked, milling the idea over in her head. "I haven't read
the full report yet, but from what I have read a good number of the
people they rescued weren't members of our crew, or even members of
Starfleet at all."

"It's certainly the first place we should look. If there's any chance
he's among them, we'll have saved ourselves a huge amount of effort."

"But then...how does one even go about doing something like that?" By
now their drinks had arrived, and Iniara paused just long enough to
take a sip of hers before continuing. "Obviously the Hydrans have
figured it out, and I'm guessing they have some sort of machine that
does it. But without that machine, or the knowledge of the process
involved...where do we even begin?"

"Yes," he nodded, "the agent told me they had developed a device to
effect the transference. The agent said K'aa was probably occupying
the body of a Starfleet lieutenant from the Anchorage. He wasn't
lying, so unless he was misinformed or there's been a change, we
should begin looking there. It shouldn't be too difficult to confirm
telepathically whether or not the mental identity is consistent with
the body, but as for restoring it if it doesn't..." He shook his
head. "I have no idea. You do realize," he began after a pausing for
a moment, "the enormity of this situation. Setting aside for the
moment the likely fact that the Hydrans have developed technology that
allows them to transfer a consciousness from one body to another, if
K'aa isn't among the prisoners our team brought back, we'd not only
have to get the real K'aa back, we'd have to find a way to get the
device itself to restore him -- assuming it works both ways."

"It's likely the Hydrans have been using this technology as long as
they've been cloning sentients. Think about it: from what we've
learned of their cloning process, they pick a specimen, copy their
body, and then when it's ready they copy the mind into the new body.
In this case, maybe they just used the machine to transfer a mind from
one body to the other. And if the Hydrans have figured out how to
make their machine take mind A out of body A and put it into body B,
it stands to reason that it can be used to take mind A out of body B
and put it back into body A.

"That's an awfully simplistic way to look at it, I'll admit, and
speculation is pointless if we can't locate mind A." She sighed.
"Looks like Dr. Burton may be called on to perform at least one more
miracle."

"She'll love that," Brian drolly replied. Kimberly...that reminded him....

"Iniara, there's something I need talk to you about," he began, not
particularly excited about the subject but knowing it had to be
discussed. "I was planning to talk to Captain M'Kantu before
everything happened, but obviously that hasn't been possible. Now
that you're in the Chair for awhile I think I need to let you know."
He took a breath, then continued. "Kimberly's diagnosed me with a new
strain of Zanthi fever. Its effects are much stronger than the usual
version and it doesn't respond to standard treatments. Right now, I'm
on medication that dampens my empathic abilities somewhat to reduce
the disease's effects, but they won't work indefinitely. She's been
in consultation with some other doctors but so far they haven't come
up with anything. If they don't...." He let the last sentence hang
incomplete, as there was little need to say more. If the disease
couldn't be cured or at least managed permanently, he knew he'd have
to leave Starfleet.

"If they don't find a cure, sooner or later you'll...have to leave the
'Fleet, won't you," she echoed. Zanthi fever was never a good thing;
at its absolute best it was a significant annoyance, at its worst...
Not for the first time, Iniara wondered just why the majority of
Betazoids considered their telepathic abilities to be a blessing, not
a curse. All too often, it seemed like some of the best people she
knew had been saddled with the worst sorts of problems.

"That's...awful, Brian. I'm so sorry you're having to deal with
this," she added, her voice softer now. "How long have you known?"

"Since just after we got back from the Vered Cluster. I had
some...problems there that led me to see Kimberly. She made the
diagnosis soon after." He shook his head. "What's really strange
about all this is how generally normal I feel. As long as I'm on the
medication, everything seems fine. It's so, I don't know, just hard
to believe that it won't work forever." Once again, he paused to take
in the beauty of the replica of their home world, somehow appreciating
it all the more. "Anyway," he said, returning to the conversation at
hand, "I don't want to dwell on me right now. I think the best thing
I can do is let Kimberly do her job and follow her guidance. Whatever
happens...happens." Inside, he wished he felt as stoic about the
whole thing as he made it sound. "In the meantime, while I think the
issue with K'aa is a much more serious concern, I think you should at
least enjoy a nice meal here for a bit. That desk in the ready room
can wait for a little longer."

"Is it bad that I almost can't wait to get away from that desk, and
back behind my own for good? I'm thinking I may not be cut out for
command...at least, not yet." She shrugged, idly tapping a corner of
one of the menus that their holographic waiter had left behind. "You
were in the same position though, during the Battle of Romulus. How
did you handle it?"

"It's always a challenge, Iniara. That's why only a relative few
aspire to commands of their own. For me, it was a matter of doing
what had to be done. I didn't ask to be in that situation, it was
dropped on me under very difficult circumstances. You call on your
own strengths, get the help of others where you can, and then just do
your best. I think you've done that pretty successfully so far, don't
you?"

"I've done the best I can, which I suppose is all any of us can do,"
Iniara replied with a small smile. "But you're right; enough about
work. We should relax while we still can...because once the new
captain arrives, life may get busy."

Brian raised his glass in a toast. "To jobs well done, then," he
said, "and to whatever lies ahead."

Iniara's smile spread as she picked up her own glass. "I can
definitely drink to that."

"Full Metal Medics"

With

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP (PC)
Petty Officer 2nd Class, NCOIC EMRT

Charles Danson, Medical Technician (NPC)
Petty Officer 3rd Class, EMRT

Arelis Moreno, Medical Technician (NPC)
Petty Officer 3rd Class, EMRT

Pem Talen, Medical Technician (NPC)
Crewman, EMRT

Venik, Medical Technician (NPC)
Crewman, EMRT

Cariss Parr, RN (ONPC, unauthorized non speaking cameo)
Ensign, EMRT

1054 Hours, Deck 12 Medical Conference Suite...

"Ladies and Gentlemen," a voice declared in amplified form from somewhere around the helmet. "I give you, the Mark VII Hazard Suit. Rocket booster, not included." After taking a few audible deep breaths, Max finally removed his headpiece and smiled at the group. "Not only are we upgrading the way we do business, we're bringing back Hazard, Medic style, folks!"

"Hazard?" squeaked Venik. The appearance of Max from under the helmet didn't alleviate his nervousness. The Ferengi was in the Medic non-Pipeline program, which meant he could complete his didactic courses at whichever facility he took his Medical Technician training. Then he moved on to where he was now, in the field gaining experience. His original SFOS (Starfleet Operational Specialty) was logistics, however something about field medicine intrigued him.

Now he's wondering if it was wise to pursue this vocation and profession with the information overload he was enduring.

"Yes, Crewman Venik. I won't go into a full history and trust you all as adults to look over the complete package that's in your PADDs. Even now, I'm still learning how to maximize the effectiveness of the suits and am working with Security to customize these to our specific needs and purposes." He waited until he was sure the information was sinking in.

"Within two weeks, you will all begin learning hands on the basic functions of the suits, understand the Hazard concept, and within six weeks, show basic operational proficiency while fully suited. If you fail, you're out."

Now Pem was concerned. "Out, Petty Officer?"

"Yes, out, as in off of the EMRT and replaced by another candidate." Max put on his most serious face yet, and it wasn't friendly. Not even in the least. "Understand, people. Up until now, I've had you all train, and simulate, and with the exception of when we were attacked by the terrorists. No more." He put his helmet down and planted his palms onto the conference table, leaning in to deliver the rest of his statement.

"We are going to become a viable and important part of the Galaxy's medical response. We will be like the Marines, first in...last out. We will be the reason that Medics, Nurses, and Doctors want to come here to practice." He stood back to his full height.

Pem didn't say anything this time, and instead glanced at some of the information on his PADD. This was certainly going to be plenty to swallow.

"I'll expect your acknowledgement of the materials received by end of business tomorrow, and the written exam completed within twelve days after that."

"Written exam?" Venik asked. "Where's that?"

"On your PADD, Mr. Venik," answered Max. "All the didactic information will be on those PADDs, although I do remain available for any clarification or information you may need in addition. Any further questions?" No one stirred. "Good, then you're all dismissed."

With that, Maxwell left the briefing.

"Well, I guess we all know who's getting a pass here," Pem sneered, with a side wise glance spared towards Arelis. To her own credit, she simply picked up her PADD and left the room. "I must've hit a nerve," the Bajoran snickered.

"Yuck it up, Pem," advised Danson. "You may very well be the one who's 'out'." He also picked up his PADD and left, with the rest of the team in tow. Pem was left alone in the conference room until he too finally left. Without his PADD.

[fin...for now.....]

"Bran's Addiction"

[still on the rescue ship]

With

Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell
1st Lt. Branwen London

Their rendezvous time was nearing and so far everything was going well
(despite the earlier episodes of random violence that Man'darr had). So it
didn't surprise Max in the least to see Branwen trembling in her bed, her
skin cool, pale (sickly bluish-green), and broken out in a cold sweat.

Of course this wouldn't go completely smooth, the Medic thought to himself.
He had taken the time while Branwen was asleep to review some of the
information and notes made by the late Gro'kle regarding what he did to
Branwen. Max was physically sickened by it, but was certain what he felt
was nowhere near as bad as what his patient was feeling.

He scanned her then drew up an anti-convulsive, then stopped short of
administering it. This was one of the very few occasions where he was going
to need medical direction from Burton. He erected a stasis field around her
and increased the oxygen concentration by 20%.
Bran opened her eyes and shivered. "Max?" She called out when her eyes
focused. "I'm not feeling so good." The young woman admitted.
"Yeah, you look like your reacting or withdrawing from something. I need to
run a new tox screen on you. It'll only take a few minutes."
"Can you give me something, Max?" She asked. "And I am not doing drugs or
alcohol." She chuckled.

"Let me finish this tox screen and we'll see," Max advised. He wasn't a lab
rat, but he could still get by with a scan and a microscope in a pinch if
need be. The results gave him a moment of pause. The chemicals were
attached to several receptors in her body if the chemical composition he was
reading was correct. He couldn't stop what was happening to Branwen if he
wanted to. The sequences were too complicated for him to immediately break
down mentally and analyze. And he couldn't raise the Galaxy to talk to Dr.
Burton for any direction either.

He made his decision and hoped he could live with it. He glanced down at
the data from the facility again, and then cleared the screen, placing the
isolinear chip back into his pocket.

"I'm sorry, but for now it would be better if we didn't give you anything
for now. It would be much more prudent to let you ride this out and let you
body complete its metabolization of the chemicals they put into you."
"Because of the babies. I understand, Max, believe me I can take it if it
is better for them." She tried to smile at him.

* * * *

Two hours later.....

She was really looking sick now, Hydran gene 'therapy' or not. The tremors
were intensifying and Max didn't know how long she would be in withdrawal
for.

"Do you have any idea what is causing this?" Branwen tried to hide have
exhausted the tremors and the pain were making her. If it was dangerous for
the babies, she was definitely not going to take any medication.

"Apparently it's some kind of chemical agent you were subjected to," Max
explained. After reviewing its effects on you, I would say it had something
to do with that device you were wearing when we found you." He remembered
the collar that was on her when they busted her out of the Hydran Prison.
He kept it, just in case his 'handler' found it to be of interest. It was
what he was able to base his current reasoning on. His reasoning, which he
was about to reveal to Branwen.

"Hold your arm out," he commanded. In his hand was a hypo with a silvery
solution in the loaded vial.

She did not comply immediately. "What's wrong, and what are you going to
give me? Is it safe for the babies?" Branwen questioned him.

"I'm going to low-dose you with decreasing amounts of this chemical," Max
replied. "I hope I'm not missing anything, but it would seem that your
withdrawals are directly related to the growing lack of it in your system.
I'll let bigger and better minds than mine figure out how to permanently
wean you off of it, but for now, I'm simply dropping your level of
dependence on it."
"I don't feel good about this. You hardly know what you're doing." But she
could not stop shivering, and that definitely was bad for the babies. "All
right then, let's give it a try."

Max injected her and almost immediately she ceased trembling. Her pallor
returned to what it was when they rescued her. Her vitals were also
returning to similar levels from before.

"I guess it's working," the Medic mused. "You're definitely looking much
better now. I'll keep an eye on you and try to fine tune the decreasing
doses."

"Maybe best to wait until we are back on the ship before you decrease
anything. What if it is something the babies need to survive? I don't want
to take any risks." Her mind was still programmed to protect those babies
at all costs.
"Here's the problem," Max started. He hated getting into discussion
regarding risk/benefit for gestating people. "I'm more worried about you
than I am about the fetuses. I know it sounds cruel, but if you die, they
die with you. Even if they were to live, I wouldn't know the first thing
about how to care or treat them.

"I'm not saying that they are going to die, and I don't think the chemical
is required for their gestation. It appears to be directly related to the
collar you've been wearing. And I don't think you're looking at this
rationally, either. I'm proceeding with the decremental doses every, oh say
two hours."

"No!!!" Bran shouted her conditioning taking over completely. "You must not!
The life of this host is NOT important. You will save the babies." She
grasped at Max. "Give me the full dose, I need it!"
Deftly stepping to the side and then away from his patient, the Medic dialed
up a standard sedative at a mild dose, already tested to not interact with
the chemical drug Branwen had an obvious addiction to, and stepped back in
to inject it.

"Damn you, what have you done?" She was too weak to do much against it, and
as it was a fast acting sedative, she fell back against the cushions almost
immediately.

Max had never liked addicts, but Branwen never asked for what happened to
her, and instead felt pity. He sat back in his chair nearby and watched his
patient doze off. He then turned his attention to the isolinear chip that
appeared in his hand again. He hoped that the information on it would help
Branwen resume some semblance of normalcy in her life.

“Confinement”

[back on galaxy!}

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton – Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant Branwen London – Marine Psychologist

~ ~ ~ Sickbay ~ ~ ~

“Nurse, I keep telling you that I feel fine, and there is no reason to keep
me here just because I’m green. Look, am perfectly able to look after
myself, and for once I do promise to behave, scouts honour.” Branwen tried
for an angelic smile.

It wasn’t working.

For some reason whenever someone promised to behave it always sent a warning
tingle up Arrietty’s spine, as if the words ‘I promise to behave’ was just
another humanoid colloquialism for ‘Ah to hell with it, party time!’
Shaking her head she declined silently as she checked her patients
readings. There was also this green thing. When someone for whom a healthy
shade of pink was the natural colour asserted that they could look after
themselves when they were green, methane dependant and pregnant with Hydran
triplets Arrietty figured a long session with a shrink was called for.

“I’m afraid here you stay for the moment,” Kimberly warned her as she
approached, “we still need to finish the DNA analysis of you and the,
children.” Well, they were children weren’t they? Even though no one knew
what the end result of this gestation was gonna be, the DNA sequences she
had analysed so far were a brain twister for certain.

“Kimberly you have taken enough DNA, blood and whatever the last you a
lifetime. You can tell me the analysis in my own quarters. Because since
when is a pregnancy a reason to keep somebody in sickbay. I feel fine, and
I have things to do, like finding shrinks to talk to. I am getting very
bored in here doing nothing. Come on, my friend, show a little pity. I
don’t want to be locked up in a little room any longer.”

“Well for starters, your quarters aren’t set up just yet to handle a methane
atmosphere,” running her hand lightly over the atmospheric containment field
that surrounded the bed Kimberly smiled apologetically, “so unless you want
to sleep down in the cargo bay that was set up for the Hydran prisoners, and
I’d recommend against that right now, you have to stay here I’m afraid. We
can give you a suitable rebreather of course but they only last so long.
Besides, this is a totally unknown situation,” ~ Another one! ~ “and until
I’m sure you’re not going to have some adverse reaction we need to monitor
you.”

“Will you be able to change me back?” Branwen looked straight at her
friend.

“Honestly. Until we know exactly what they’ve done I can’t answer that.
They’ve altered your physiology and DNA, your immune system has been changed
so your body doesn’t automatically reject the foetuses, your respiratory and
digestive systems have also been changed to keep not only the babies alive
but also you.” ~ And I dread to think what you’re going to start craving
when your body demands certain nutrients for the growing babies… What do
Hydran mothers ‘normally’ crave? ~

All in all this was another weird USS Galaxy moment to add to the growing
list of weird moments. Someone, somewhere was one day going to get rich
with a series of holonovels about this ship, after all their logs were
declassified.

“We have samples of your original DNA, so using that as a baseline and a
template we should theoretically be able to work out a treatment regime, but
if we start anything now the children will most certainly die. And I have
no idea how that will affect your body, the foetuses are very closely linked
into your body by various means, so we may have to separate them if we
attempt anything.” In all honestly, if they tried anything right now the
chances are they’d end up with three dead Hydran half breeds and one dead
marine.

~ Time to hit the books again! ~

“I don’t want the kids to die.” She said quietly. “I don’t know what I want
to happen to them, but I don’t want them to die. Oh… did Max give you my
note to have everyone checked by neurologists? They did something to our
minds, at least some of us to make us more obedient.” She shivered.

“I’ve been reading up on the AAR’s,” Kimberly assured her, “and I’m taking
everything I can find into account, don’t worry. Though I might add that’s
one other reason you’re our guest here.” No reason to sugar coat things
really, she was after all a marine, weren’t they supposed to be tough guys?

“How’re you coping with this? You and your husband?” She’d read the
reports, and had the basics of what happened, but as usual the human(oid)
element was devoid from the report.

“My husband doesn’t want anything to do with me right now. Not until I kill
myself or the babies, and I can’t do that. So we are at a little bit of an
impasse.” She said matter-of-factly. “So is there any thing I can help out
while I’m here, to kill the boredom. I could help out with the other female
survivors, it’s pretty traumatic to be a prisoner of the Hydran’s, you
know. It happened to me twice now, I guess that makes me a professional.”

~ Yup, they weren’t joking! ~ She had heard of Mavia’s somewhat archaic
demands, but as with all things she’d taken it with a grain of salt, stress,
pressure of the moment and all that. ~ Note to self, ban him from sickbay
while Branwen is here. ~ She decided, if he needed treatment he could visit
the ward in the secondary hull. If he was feeling hostile tendencies he
could damn well take them elsewhere!

~ As for you helping out with post traumatic therapy? ~ Looking at her
green skin and considering the rebreather she’d have to wear just to
interact with most people on the ship it probably wasn’t the best of ideas.
More than likely she’d end up reminding people of the very problem she was
trying to discuss with them. ~ Not a good idea! ~

Plus there was the fact she still wasn’t fit for duty. Until they knew
exactly what had been done to her, physically and mentally she was off the
active duty roster. ~ I’m really racking up the ‘unfit for duty’ list
lately! ~

“Sorry Branwen, but until we have a complete breakdown on what’s been done
to you you’re officially off duty. So I’m afraid no patients or fighting
for a while. If you’re bored I can arrange for a computer terminal,” ~
Limited access. ~ She decided quickly. “Or a good book?”

“I could catch up on my paperwork.” She said. “Patient files if that is
allowed? I was way behind before the mission.” She hesitated. “Did Max
tell you about the drugs I need.” It was embarrassing but she really needed
that stuff.

Shaking her head, “Nope, no work ‘means’ no work. No paper work, casual
chats with clients, weapon training, nada!” Kimberly stressed, ~ K’hest,
why is it so hard for some of these people to let go, sit back and get away
from work. What’s with all the workaholics aboard! ~

“As for the drugs, of course Max mentioned it. We have samples in the lab
for analysis and synthesis right now and I’m waiting on the results. It’s
likely he had the right idea to slowly decrease the dosage, and until I know
for definite what we’re dealing with I’m going to stick with that.”
Whatever it was it couldn’t be good, anything the Hydrans decided to force
into you couldn’t be good and addictive drugs were a pet hate of hers
anyway.

“I need a higher dosage of the drug.” Branwen said her eyes narrowing. “I
need it, Kimberly, for the babies. Of course not for myself, it is
something that benefits the babies, so don’t take it away.” She nearly
snarled now.

Shaking her head Kimberly remained impassive and looked at Branwen almost
pityingly. “No, our initial tests show Max was probably right on the button
on this one, but I’m awaiting verification just to be sure. Whatever it is,
you need that stuff about as much as you need oxygen right now. And the
babies need it even less. So, one, don’t get any urges to go hunting for
it, we’re not keeping it around here, and two you’ll get what we think you
need. Not what you want. I’m sorry to be so harsh but right now that stuff
is messing with your head. You can’t see it so that’s another reason you’re
off duty.” Reaching through the atmosphere screen she plucked the
rebreather off the end of the bed and shrugged apologetically, “consider
yourself on enforced R’n’R here at our pleasure for a while Branwen.”

Being a complete bitch didn’t really come easily to her, but right now
Branwen was messed up physically, biochemically and mentally. She was
likely a danger to herself and anyone around while those drugs were coursing
through her system, as well as whatever hormones the gestating foetuses were
stimulating. So, for now here she stayed.

“Kimberly, don’t you dare take that away from me.” Panic shown in her
eyes. The thought of being a complete prisoner again, with nowhere to go
but the small space of the bed was too much. Without thinking she jumped
from the bed, but before she reached the end of the protective field Branwen
fell to her knees hands slammed against her head, as pain shot through her
brain.

With a sigh Kimberly nodded to Arrietty who had stood by silently during the
conversation and watched as she donned her own breather and stepped into the
methane enclosed area. Letting the nurse, who had no reservations about
using violence to restrain a patient if needed, help Branwen back to the bed
Kimberly loaded up a hypo just in case.

“I’m sorry Branwen.” She did mean the apology, she didn’t like confining
anyone but in this case it was certainly warranted until they knew what had
been done, and what was happening. This perhaps was yet another case that
couldn’t be dealt with aboard ship. She hated delegating work off ship, but
in some cases there were experts better qualified.

“Don’t endanger the babies, don’t endanger the babies.” Bran kept repeating
like a mantra as she continued to clutch her head. She hardly seemed to
notice Arrietty getting her back to bed. And she certainly wasn’t violent.

As she watched Branwen being helped back to the bed and listened to her
murmurings, Kimberly couldn’t help but think of one of the old files she had
read at the Medical Academy. Admiral McCoy’s cases were not only
fascinating, but in some instances required reading. His often unique
approach to medicine (Theragen nerve agent!!!) was in some ways the same as
Kirks approach to command. There was one line though, ‘It’s life Jim, but
not as we know it’, that was floating around her mind right about now.
These babies were certainly life, and definitely an unknown quantity.

Despite her feelings though about life and causing harm, if it came down to
a choice Branwen was the primary patient right now. Her life took priority.

“We’ll do our best Branwen, that’s all I can promise.”

Bran looked up through a haze of pain, slowly getting her own mind back.
“Help us, Kimberly. And screw the Hydrans, last time they only invaded my
body, this time they played with my mind. I hate the bastards! I hate
them.” She fought for control. “Can I have the breather back at least,
please? I am no danger to anyone, that much I do know. They want to keep
me alive at all costs.”

“Let’s finish the tests first Branwen, and I want you to sit and have a chat
with someone from counselling okay.” Preferably someone who’ll be able to
tell when you’re lying or just plain mixed up she decided as she ran a list
through her mind of who she could call. Therapists really do make the worst
counselling clients, just like Doctors made the worst patients. “In the
meantime, sit back relax and let us work.”

“Relax, relax!!! I have been held in a cell like an animal for months. I
did not expect to be a prisoner on my own ship. I have done nothing wrong,
Kimberly.” Bran said softly. “And I have been trying to reach counsellors
for days now. I want to talk to Commander Elessidil. And the new assistant
chief. I want him as my therapist. And hell why not send Marc round as
well. I know I need help, my friend. I just don’t want to be a prisoner.”

Sighing, frustration evident in that alone Kimberly had to agree with her
that being a Hydran prisoner, then being rescued and then confined in
sickbay wasn’t ideal, but for now it was necessary. Tossing the methane
breather aside Kimberly shrugged, “I know you’ve done nothing wrong, and I
know you want to get out of here, but for now I can’t let you out until I
know you going to be okay.” ~ And everyone is satisfied the Hydrans haven’t
done anything weirder than green skin and half Hydran triplets to you! ~
She silently added. “Now, I’ll speak to Brian and get him down here as soon
as possible and as soon as I can let you out I will, until then you have to
stay here. I’m sorry.”

"The Brother I Never Had…" Part Two

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Petty Officer 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell
1st Lieutenant Branwen London

***Location: Medical Bay, SFMC Controlled Hydran Vessel, en rout to
USS Galaxy***

"You know, I don't have the feeling that I am in denial. I know I
need therapy now, and I honestly don't know what to do with my babies.
I just know that I cannot kill them, is that so wrong? Even if they
are Hydran, they are innocent. And I need protection for myself as
well as my husband. That's my main concern at the moment, to keep
everybody alive."

"Knowing that you're broken is the first step to getting yourself
repaired," he nodded. "Or so Counselors have been telling me for
years now, anyway. A better sign is admitting that you don't know how
to deal with a problem and need help. Crazy people think they know
the answers to everything. That's why most cultures don't let
adolescents have the power to vote until they at least have the
capacity to admit that they don't have all the answers – because
they're not developed enough mentally to know how crazy that idea is."
He nodded towards Bran. "So, are you asking me for advice on solving
some of your problems? Or just the 'nobody dies' part?"

"Don't get me wrong, I know I'm broken." She wished she had one of
her girlfriends here as well to just hold on to. "I need you close
just to know I am safe, and that nobody else is going to die. They
wouldn't dare wish you around. And a little bit of advice could never
hurt anybody." Branwen tried to smile at him. "So if you have
something to share, please do."

"Pick an issue then," he replied. "But I do feel like I should warn
you that a number of people *have* died while following my advice.
Not as many as have while ignoring it, granted, but there have been a
few."

"First, Dar." She said. "How can I protect him, and save my
marriage. I don't want to give in to him on this issue. I know it is
not good of me, but I have my limitations. I will not kill the babies
just for him." She said defiant.

"That's actually two things," Victor pointed out. "But I'll do my
best with both of them. First off, protecting Captain Maivia – you
can't. Not in your current condition. You can ask someone else to
try – which you've already done – but that's about the limit of what
can be expected given your current circumstances. The rest, as they
say, is in the Captain's hands. If he doesn't have another episode of
violence, then everything will be fine. If he does… only the Divine
knows what will happen in that case."

"As for the second part, saving your marriage… that's tougher. I can
tell you what I believe is necessary for a relationship to work,
whether it's with the One or not; maybe that will help. You have to
talk to each other. Talk about everything and nothing at all. Talk
about what scares you, talk about what excites you, talk about what
you dream about and what you wish for. While you're talking, find
things that you both like to do, and then do them together. Not
things involving work; personal things, recreational things. The more
time you spend together, the more things you find to do together, the
closer you become and the easier it is to overcome the problems that
everyone faces in relationships. You won't always agree with each
other, so you need that closeness in order to learn how to disagree
and still care for one another. Relationships are all about
compromises; you have to learn when and how to make them, when and how
to draw a line and say 'I can't do that,' and when and how to accept
that your partner has done it." He shrugged. "It sounds like Captain
Maivia isn't trying to do that very hard right now."

"I am willing to do all that. Just not when it comes to things that
are forbidden in my religion, like abortion." Bran said. "And I keep
trying to convince people that he is not himself. They really did
brain experiments, Victor. It was ugly, and I am sure that he was one
of the victims. He really needs to be kept subdued and then seen by a
neurologist as soon as possible when we get back. If the colonel
orders him killed now it is murder and he will get into big trouble
about it as well." Why didn't anybody believe her?

While Victor and Branwen were conversing, Max finally moved far enough
away to where a) he would feel somewhat more comfortable as Victor's
presence seemed to have a cumulative effect on him after all, and b)
he could start looking at the isolinear chip he had in his hand.

It was no easy feat downloading this particular piece of information,
but he thought it would be useful to help Branwen. He just hoped that
it wouldn't bring more misery than hope for the young Marine.

"We're back to the reality check thing, Kit," Victor replied sadly.
"Before we go any further, you need to lose your illusions about the
situation. I'm going to repeat myself, and you need to *listen* this
time, all right? Not just nod your head, but listen and understand
the words I'm saying. They're not the ones you want to hear, and you
have a bad habit of pretending that things like that were never said."
He paused for a second and then said firmly, "Whatever may or may not
have happened to Captain Maivia on the ground doesn't matter right now
- experiments or no experiments, stress or no stress - that's not
factored into the equation any more. To be blunt, no one cares any
more."

"The plain truth of the matter is this: the Captain is currently a
danger to the success of the mission and to the health and welfare of
you and everyone else aboard the ship. If he starts to attack people
again, given the way his use of violence is escalating, then the odds
are someone will die. When that happens, he's a dead man. Period.
No do-over's, no I'm sorry's, nothing. He's dead. If For'kel doesn't
authorize lethal force, then I'll take matters into my own hands and
do it to protect everyone else. The Captain's psychotic episodes are
all on tape, so there's a record of his danger to the rest of us, and,
no matter what you think, given the circumstances, no one is going to
get into a great deal of trouble over killing him. Are we clear on
this one, Kit? I know it's not what you want or need to hear, but
it's the truth and you need to understand it."

She shook her head, and swallowed convulsively. "I don't know how to
protect him." Suddenly she sat up on the bed and threw her arms
around Victor. "Don't leave me, I feel safe when you are around me."
She whispered to him. "I don't know what to do anymore." He could
feel her trembling against his chest.

At this point, Max rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time today. He
immediately saw why it was easy to fall for Branwen's 'poor me'
persona. Given the right circumstances, people like her had started
or had been the root cause of many, many bloody conflicts throughout
history.

Clearing his throat, Max stepped forward (quickly hiding the isolinear
chip) and smiled at the pair. "Alright. Time to let the wounded and
infirmed get their rest." The smile faltered as Max caught a vibe
from Victor, but fought to keep smiling nonetheless. "You can stay if
you want, Lt. Kriegoff, but I'll need you two to tone it down.
Meaning keep quiet."

Victor looked down at Branwen, slipped one arm around her
supportively, and nodded. "I'm not going anywhere, Kit, Not until
someone else gets here, all right?"

"Thank you." She whispered back. Somehow that calmed her down enormously.

"Just so we're clear," Victor asked Max. "What definition of 'quiet'
are we using here?"

Now it was certain that there was something about Victor that Max
couldn't shake. While the Security Officer was nothing but nice to
him and they appeared to work very well during this mission, there was
something about him that just made Max want to kick his ass. Then it
happened: Lucinda's slightly altered visage crossed his vision for a
moment. Whatever wavelength Lucinda was able to contact him through,
Victor apparently 'broadcast' on the same frequencies.

To Victor, the Medic replied: "Quiet as in voices that don't carry
heated discussions, debates, or conversations. Like I said," he
added, "time for the sick and infirmed to rest." Max tried a broader
smile, but couldn't bring himself to do it, then turned to walk away.
The buzzing in his head was getting worse.

"We will whisper." Branwen said smiling again, "by the way, Victor,
have you seen Dhani around at all?" She had expected her friend
around before now.

"She's been tied up in Engineering since we got back aboard," Victor
replied, watching Max move away. He'd seen the symptoms of his
presence beginning to wear away an individual's barriers before, but
that didn't mean that he had to like it when he did. "She's trying to
keep the ship going, since we have her wired up seven ways from Sunday
so that we can run her with this small a crew. Especially a crew that
wasn't designed to breath the atmosphere she was designed for, and
doesn't have the right physiological configuration to use the controls
she was built with." He looked back down. "Would you like me to
contact her and see when she can stop by?"

"If her job is that important, and she is so busy, I don't want to
bother her. I can wait until we are back on the galaxy. I really
don't want to keep anybody from their job, I never wanted to be
trouble, but somehow it seems to find me." The marine grinned. "I
wonder that you never grow tired of having to protect me."

"It's what I do, Kit. Protect people. I knew when I was a boy that
it was either that, or be the one that people needed protection from."
He shrugged. "It probably would have been easier to just stop trying
and be a monster, but then I wouldn't have figured out how to have
friends, or care about people the way I do Angelienia." He smiled.
"All in all, I think I made the better choice."

"You definitely did." Branwen stifled a yawn. She was tired, but she
did not want of admit it because she did not want Victor to leave.

Victor gently leaned her back down on the bed. "Go to sleep, Kit.
That's going to do more for you than talking to me right now. I'll
stay here until someone else comes to stay with you, all right?"

Now she really yawned, but Branwen didn't feel scared anymore after he
promised. "All right, Victor." Almost as soon as her head hit the
pillow the young Marine was asleep.

Victor sat quietly for a few minutes, and then softly asked, "She
needs the rest, doesn't she, Max?"

Max nodded. "It's been a long road for her," he commented as he
looked over the readings from the monitor he and Dhani had jury-rigged
earlier to display telemetry from their tricorders. "I think you
could use some rest as well, don't you think?"

"Probably," Victor agreed. "But, as the saying goes, 'there's no rest
for the wicked.'" He checked Bran again. "Would you contact Dhani
and see when she'll have some time free to sit with Kit, here? I'll
need to be checking on the restraints that Captain Maivia is under so
I can say I've done my best if something bad happens."

"Sure, I'll go run down there," the Medic replied. The other Med
Techs here can handle the rest of things for a bit. Just hope I don't
get lost." With that he left the makeshift sickbay and headed
aft...and away from the overbearing impression of Victor's...persona?
No, it's not his persona...Max thought. Then he stopped, and did
something without thinking. He reached out and tried to touch
whatever it was he sensed from Victor the same way he reached out to
connect with his sister.

What was waiting made Max's mustache turn completely white, the
tremors that took him down to his knees were violent. A sudden dark
fear seemed to grip his very soul, and it was getting harder to
breathe. It took him several minutes to get himself under control,
but he still couldn't get up.

The terror faded slightly, leaving in its wake an overpowering sense
of green, as if the color had physical presence and impact. A green
so strong that it scrubbed out other colors and swallowed them up
within it. A green with a voice as loud as the stars, and a smell as
strong as the void of space.

"The Only Two in the Fleet"

1st Lieutenant Branwen London
Admiral Akaar

***USS Galaxy, Sick Bay***

Bran was not doing so well. Being back on the Galaxy meant she had
more time to think about the future, and right now it was all looking
pretty gloomy. Her career had taken a huge knock again with the
Colonel still angry at her. And her marriage? A husband out to kill
her or her babies was probably not the best of signs.

Admiral Akaar, donned in his admiral uniform, stood in a nearby
monitoring room, with his arms crossed. He watched the figure of
Branwen on the small viewing monitor. Other monitors in the small
room displayed constant readouts on the marine lieutenant and the
fetuses. He was not at all happy with the situation, especially a
certain close-minded marine colonel.

Man'darr reminded him a lot of himself when he was younger and was
only one of many reasons why he had taken interest in the situation.
He also wanted to be present to ensure that Lieutenant London was
treated well. Looking at the monitors that displayed the fetuses'
lifesigns, he felt the instinctual urge to kill such abominations.
'No, that is not what they should be called,' he reminded himself
mentally. Without a word, he stepped out of the monitoring room and
into the observation room that held Branwen.

"So....you are Lieutenant London," he observed with his unwavering and
piercing gaze.

Branwen's eyes focused on him, and as soon as she recognized the
admiral's uniform she almost fell out of bed with fright.
"Sir…uhm….yes sir."

"I am Admiral Akaar, and I am here to ensure you are treated well."

"Me?" She squeaked. "Why, sir?"

"Most importantly because of your husband: Man'darr. He and I are the
only Capellans within Starfleet at this time. I have seen that he is
being treated better and when I get the time, I shall set that Colonel
of yours straight about how to treat Capellans. Relax, Lieutenant
London. There is no need to be nervous or frightened of me."

"Thank you Sir." She was not going to speak out against the Colonel
to a navy officer, but she was glad somebody was sticking up for her
husband. "How is he doing, Admiral?" Branwen asked with trepidation.

"Is doing as good as can be expected for a Capellan whose wife has
been violated," he spoke sternly. "You are not Capellan and I would
not suggest, nor expect you to follow Capellan customs in such
situations. I can understand where he is coming from. I used to be
just as he is but the years have wisened me."

"He threatened to kill me or the babies if I did not have an
abortion." Bran looked at the Admiral. "And I think he meant it. I
don't know how to save my marriage, sir." She was also disappointed
that he did not stand by her know that she needed it so badly.

"He's Capellan, lieutenant. Of course he meant it. Capellans value
honesty and friendship above all else in life. I have spoken with
Captain Maivia... and I have convinced him to not kill you. I will be
the first to admit that Capellan society and Code of Honor needs a bit
of tweaking, especially when it comes to Non-Capellans. But in the
end, they are our customs and our traditions."

"I don't think it has anything to do with honesty or friendship. I
would still go through fire for him; I will just not kill my babies."
Branwen said. "But tell him, if he want's to divorce, I will not
fight him. I will not be in his way any longer." She still loved him
passionately, but Branwen was tired.

Akaar stood silently, studying the young woman before him. Had she
truly known what she was getting into with marrying a Capellan?

"Lieutenant," he finally spoke. "Captain Maivia is a lot like I was
in my youth. Hot-tempered and needing a sense of belonging. Like
myself, Captain Maivia and his family was exiled from Capella Four.
However, he has been accepted back among our people. I have managed
to convince him to at least write to you. However, you need to be
more understanding of his position. He feels he has lost everything
at this moment. He has no family and the majority of those aboard the
USS Galaxy would doubtfully befriend him because they tend to
distrust, hate, and even shy away from things which they do not
understand."

"More understanding…." She blinked a couple of times. "The reason he
has lost friends and respect is because of the way he treated me. My
friends are ready to kill him for what he did! And you know, going
through what I'm going through, I could use a little bit of support.
He might be feeling bad, but having an alien invade you and impregnate
you is no picnic either."

~Men!~ She thought silently.

"Your friends appear ignorant, lieutenant," he spoke bluntly, not
taking his gaze off of this woman. "What was done to you was wrong
and horrible. There is no denying that. And yes, you should receive
support. That is one reason I am here. Captain Maivia may be
hot-tempered but you will not find a single man or woman in Starfleet
with more courage and heart than he. What is it exactly that you are
looking for from Captain Maivia, lieutenant? It appears to me from
what I read on reports about the two of you; it appears that you seem
to not care for his customs."

"That is not true. I don't know what he has been telling you, sir. I
respect his customs and his culture. I thought the only thing we were
fighting about was the babies. But now he says I did not respect his
wishes regarding the wedding. I have asked him so many times, and I
tried to incorporate things about his culture, but he didn't want it,
and now it is all my fault. And what I'm looking for; is for him to
sit here with me. He doesn't have to do anything else, doesn't even
have to say anything, just be there for me." She finished quietly.
"That's what you do when you love somebody."

"Lieutenant, marriages go both ways. It is especially hard for a
Capellan to adjust to foreign ways. This is the reason why they do
not venture off of Capella Four often. He does love you, lieutenant,
but in his eye, you have betrayed him by keeping these babies. That
sort of betrayal is the worst of its kind in Capellan Society. But I
know we are not in a Capellan Society...." Akaar thought of his
mother and how she had stayed and fought for her son's rightful place
as heir as the Tier of the Ten Tribes, while he grew up on Earth in
exile.

"Lieutenant, you must learn to accept his ways as he has been trying
to accept yours. He loves you dearly as that is the reason why he has
given up many Capellan customs. And you could be a better wife by
standing up for him against your so-called friends who talk ill of him
behind his back. This information does not come from captain Maivia,
but rather, other sources that are at my disposal, lieutenant."

"Excuse me, I don't know who you talked to, but that is not true. I
am in trouble with my boss for protecting him twice. I have defended
him time and time again with my friends. But he is not helping
matters by hitting me and not standing by me. And those capellan
customs he had given up before he met me. I have always urged him to
be true to his nature. The only thing I will not do for him is kill
the babies because that is against my religion. I am not even saying
I will keep them after they have been born, I will just not kill them.
But I have stood by him more than he has with me." Branwen was
finally getting angry.

"Are you always this stubborn lieutenant? My sources are very
reliable," Akaar stated calmly, crossing his arms. This woman was
beginning to give him a headache and few people were able to aggravate
him as much as this woman did.

"Do you truly think a Capellan can so easily or willing to give up his
customs and beliefs? If Captain Maivia had truly hit you, which he
did not from the report, you would be dead. You state you have
defended Captain Maivia against your friends, and yet you are still
friends with them. Do you always make friends with those who degrade
your husband so willingly? As for Colonel Arvelion, I will soon deal
with him personally in regards to his ignorance."

She was about to give up. Maybe it was the green skin, but nobody
around here seemed to understand her any longer. "You know what,
Admiral. I am tired; maybe we should end this conversation." Because
it was obvious he wasn't listening anyway.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere at the moment, lieutenant. I am here to
help you but you only seem to wish to hear the things about you. Poor
pitiful you," he said mockingly. "You think you were the only one to
suffer at the hands of the Hydrans? Do you have any idea what your
husband went through? The shame he suffered? What the other
prisoners went through?" He motioned for someone to come as the door
opened and an ensign wearing the grey uniform of an intelligence
officer appeared and handed the admiral a PADD. The admiral nodded as
the ensign turned and left the room. Akaar tossed the PADD at Branwen
with it landing at the foot of her bed. "Read it," he ordered firmly.
One prisoner...a Corporal Samantha Beckett was killed after she
killed her supposedly rapist in an escape attempt."

"She….." Bran's eyes widened now understanding why the doctors had
been shielding her and being vague about the others. From the first
Bran had wanted to know and see and help the others but there had been
no permission to do so. "No!!!" She whispered. "Not Sam, no…."

"I am sorry," Akaar said sincerely as he finally approached Branwen.
"Like I've said, I am here to help you out with your marriage with
your husband and to see that you are treated well during your stay
here."

But she wasn't listening to him anymore. All she could see in her
mind's eye was Sam Beckett. How brave Sam had been while underneath
she was so scared. Bran had tried to protect her as best as she
could, but it had not been enough. "Did they bring the body back?"
She whispered.

"Yes, the team did manage to retrieve the body. I did not realize
Corporal Beckett and yourself were close."

"We became close during captivity. They kept us together for a while.
She was such a brave woman. I would like to see her, and I should
write to her parents, maybe I can offer some sort of relief to them."
Branwen said.

"Corporal Beckett's Memorial service is being held tomorrow. But your
requests are granted as long as you are fit to move about. Is there
anything else you require, lieutenant?"

"No sir." She said softly. "Believe me I want to look after my
marines, and I do want to save my marriage."

"As I have said, lieutenant, I have managed to calm Captain Maivia but
try your best to not say or do anything to provoke him as he has been
allowed to contact you via subspace communications. The slightest
thing could set him off and the next time I may not be able to protect
him."

"I will behave, if he behaves." Branwen snapped. "Don't expect
everything to come from my side, sir. In a marriage you both have to
work at it." The naïve little girl was gone forever.

"And you should be more tolerant of other cultures, lieutenant. He
has given me his word," Akaar replied calmly, yet with an edge to his
words as he looked at Branwen and then turned on his heel and headed
out of the room.

She fought the urge to throw a cushion after him. Insufferable males.
Then she lost herself in thought about how to save her marriage is
that was possible.

"Corinthians 13:4-8, 13"

1st Lt. Branwen London
Lieutenant Magnus Nielsen, Ship's Chaplain

***USS Galaxy, Sick Bay***

Bran had asked her priest to visit her in sickbay. She hoped he would
not be too shocked at seeing her green complexion and the methane
breather, but she really needed his help and advice now about what to
do next.

When the ship's chaplain made it to sickbay however, he paused at the
threshold at the sight of the marine. Lieutenant Nielsen was a
fifteen-year veteran in the fleet and had served during the atrocities
of the Dominion wars, but Branwen's appearance gave him pause for the
first time in over a decade. It wasn't the young woman's sickly green
pallor, or the alien life-support device allowing her to breathe.

It was Branwen London's eyes that made him quail - haunted eyes that
had been bereft of sleep and peace for quite some time. Magnus
Nielsen thought of the tortured young woman's brutal past and wondered
what could have affected such a person so visibly.

"Branwen?" he whispered as he approached the Marines' bio-bed.

"Father." She tried to smile at him, but was not sure she succeeded
completely. "I am so glad you came. There are two things I need to
talk to you about. They both involve Cpl Samantha Beckett."

She swallowed. "She was a prisoner with me, and I promised myself
that I would protect her. I failed, father. She... died." Another
swallow. "I heard they brought the body back, and I hate for her to
be all alone in the morgue, can you... can you hold a service for her,
and will you please allow me to punish myself." She had not done so
since she talked to the priest last and he had asked her not to.

The chaplain nodded solemnly, having already performed last rites for
one of the POW's. "It will be done, Branwen. Samantha Beckett walks
in the green fields with our Lord, and you," he said placing a large
hand over one of hers, "must remember that He is Forgiveness and Love.
I know that it's His will that you don't blame yourself for these
events very much beyond your control, and I *know* that He frowns on
your 'punishment'. Like all life you're His creation, Branwen... what
gives you the right to willingly mar His great work?"

"Father," she whispered, "these days I even have doubts. This was the
second time I was captured by the Hydran's within years, and it is a
little bit tough. My husband doesn't want me anymore. My boss is
angry at me. I'm just thinking 'what have I done wrong' for God to
punish me like this. Am I the horrible person that everybody says I
am?" She looked up at him. "In the past punishing myself seemed to
please him. It made the hurting stop."

~Little bit tough??~ The Marine's gift for understatement made Nielsen
shake his head.

"Branwen... nobody says that you're a horrible person; words like that
condemn the speaker, not the subject. You see it as having been
captured by the Hydrans twice - I see it as having survived them
twice. Few Marines who have undergone such odds have survived, and
yet here you are. Other prisoners speak highly of your concern for
them."

Then the Norwegian's face grew dark, and he looked away from Branwen,
"As for Man'darr, you must remember that the Capellans were given... a
different form of our Lord's mercy. He has his demons to deal with,
as you have yours."

"Should I give in to him, father? Am I unreasonable in not wanting to
murder the babies?" She held her belly for a moment. "I know I
promised to obey him when I married him, but abortion is a great sin.
And I cannot do it, even for him. He sees it as a direct betrayal.
My husband ordered me to kill myself or the babies to show my respect.
I could not." She swallowed. "It's the first time I have disobeyed
him."

Magnus Nielsen fought to prevent his jaw dropping like an idiot.
Branwen's husband was adhering to a cultural orthodoxy at odds with
everything in Starfleet except combat, and forcing her to adhere to
those same tenets and taboos. He worried that the two of them,
Man'darr and Branwen, were like two storms that clashed in the
northern sky; one would burn the other out... if they didn't both!
"This is *your* decision, not his or mine Branwen. The decision is
yours... but the burden can be shared. You're not alone, whatever
your husband may say."

"Well right now it is difficult to find people to support me." She
admitted. "My boss is angry I am still shielding Dar. Some of my
friends are mad that I still love him. Dar is angry I let him down.
He won't come back to me if I keep the babies. And I can't kill them.
I would not be able to sleep another night if I killed them. Despite
what everyone tells me, to me they are innocents." She watched him
closely for his opinion.

The chaplain didn't answer immediately, mulling over what he had
learned about Branwen over the past year and trying to understand what
she had gone through in the last month. "Branwen", he began
carefully, "no-one can fault you for love, it's a wonderful...
wonderful thing, as long as it's shared. You love your husband
deeply, that's obvious - but I'm afraid I question his ability to
reciprocate."

The Norwegian stroked his beard thoughtfully, choosing his words with
great care. "The Capellans are an isolated warrior-society with a
very strict set of ethics. What he and his people may define as love
may be very, very different from what you and I expect. Still this is
not his homeworld, and you shouldn't feel obligated to sacrifice your
own sense of self on his behalf. He's part of a more varied society
now... let him start behaving as such. As for your friends?" He
shrugged, and gave the Marine a wink. "We're still here Branwen; you
haven't driven us off quite yet. Give us some credit for loyalty in
these difficult times."

She gave him a brittle smile and took his hand. "Thank you father. I
am going to need all my friends to pull through this. I am so glad I
am back on Galaxy, this place is my home. It is just.... right now I
don't always know what to do. Even the bible is no help because it
gives me conflicting advice. In the past I just punished myself, but
since you and I talked, that is not so satisfying anymore. I haven't
done it since I promised you not to, father. But I haven't found
another outlet yet."

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast,
it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not
easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs. Love does not delight
in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always
trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails... and now
these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these
is love." Magnus smiled as he finished the passage.

"Paul's First Epistle to the Corinthians is a worthy read Branwen, I
highly recommend it. Perhaps, instead of reliving the Old Testament
tone of your upbringing, you could explore the words of a more loving
and forgiving God in the New?"

"I have been reading in the bible you gave me father." As a child she
had never been allowed to read the bible herself and she had not done
so as an adult until Nielsen had given her a bible a few months ago.
"Were can I find it father?"

"In Corinthians 13:4-8, 13," the chaplain answered. "I'll forward the
link to your personal directory along with a few more you might enjoy
reading."

"I will look it up." She looked at him. "Father, may I hug you?"

"As long as your physician permits it," he said nodding at a bald,
stocky figure sitting hunched over a desk at the other end of the
ward, "he rather frightens me."

"They are not so bad; the staff here are very kind to me. I wish they
would let me go home. I am just pregnant, not sick or anything."
That was not completely true but she was getting bored just laying
here every day. Bran held out her arms for him.

"Well, if you really... HRRFFFF!!"

Not for the first time Magnus Nielsen wondered how such a small woman
in such terrible condition could hug a person to the point where he
worried that he'd need sickbay's services for his own recovery.

"Quiet down there", growled the doctor on-staff. "Less huggin' an'
more healin'!"

"Awwww, Doc, cut a girl some slack!" Bran called back to him. "Don't
mind him, he is always grumpy but he means well. Seeing you is really
helping, Father. Maybe together we can figure out a new path for me?
And with the help of the bible of course."

"Of course", Nielsen wheezed. "But perhaps some... hfff... restraint
is on order here. Cappellans are... particular... when it comes to...
physical contact.... with their... hfff... spouses."

"Oh sorry father." Bran managed a giggle. "I keep forgetting you are
not a marine." She let go and patted him on the back. "Shall I read
those passages in the bible so we can talk about them next time?"

The chaplain nodded vigorously as he regained his breath, and brought
out a small PADD and offered it to the Marine. "Well, let's start by
seeing what else Saint Paul has to say to the Corinthians."

"What was left behind"

1st Lt. Branwen London
Lt. Commander Brian Elessidil

***USS Galaxy, Sick Bay***

Something was missing from the young woman the chief counselor now saw
before him. However much had gone on in her life before, there had
always been a spark of life and defiance in her eyes. A stubbornness
shining through, but nothing of that was visible today. The look in
the sunken eyes was dull, from somebody who had given up all hope.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Branwen said softly from her biobed.

Counselor Elessidil approached more closely. "May I sit down,
Lieutenant?" he asked, gesturing to one of the chairs next to
Branwen's bed.

"Yes of course, sir." She said trying to sit up a little straighter.

"How are you feeling?"

"To be honest; not so good sir." That was very unlike Lieutenant
London as well. "I might need a little bit longer before I am ready
to return to duty." She sat down in the comfortable chair. "How are
you, sir?" Despite everything that happened she had been worried
about him. The commander had not been doing well the last time they
spoke.

"Fine, thank you. Probably better than many, given what's been going
on lately. But you've certainly been through more than your share of
difficulties recently, and I'd like to talk about some of that.
Lieutenant," he began after a brief pause, "your work at the Vered
colony aside, I'm inclined to agree that you're going to need some
more time before you're ready to return to duty, at least to
counseling duty."

"So you agree that I was able to do my work there," she said. "Thank you sir."

Then Branwen turned quiet again, and looked at his desk. "Sir, I'm
not going to fight you on this. Then I could work, absolutely.
Now... now I don't even know what to do. It is hard enough just
staying alive." She stared at the table.

Branwen was impregnated by the Hydrans as a science project. At first
she had tried to kill herself, or the baby inside her, but
psychological triggers in her mind combined with the obedience collar
had made that impossible. And when she had told her husband he had
threatened to kill her or the baby because of the shame. And instead
of supporting her, he had filed for divorce. Now that she had calmed
down, suicide was no longer an option, it was forbidden by her
religion. But so was divorce. The future certainly seemed bleak.

"What I agree with is what Colonel Arvelion and I first discussed
before we went to Vered; that the task required all the manpower we
could get and that under the circumstances we'd allow you to serve.
You performed well from what I've heard but that was a unique and
short-term situation. Working on the Galaxy is another matter and I
completely understand that you're going through a lot right now. So
do Lieutenant Mark and Captain Dallas," he added.

"Thank you for standing by me, commander," she said sincerely. "I
know that they were worried, and I have the feeling that we were not
getting through to each other. They just did not understand my point
of view. I could have worked, I proved that. I guess they told you
their side of the story?"

"Yes, they've spoken with me and they're concerned, as I'm sure you
can understand."

"Yes." Branwen was silent for a little while.

"I still say they were wrong. But right now, I cannot work." She
looked at Brian. "With your permission, sir, I would like to see the
new assistant chief counselor. He doesn't know me, so he might have
an open mind. He might help me just decide what to do."

Brian regarded her for a moment. "I'm not going to tell you who you
should see for your own personal counseling, Lieutenant. However, I
think you need to make sure that *you're* the one keeping an open
mind. What if Counselor An'quinsos says some things you don't quite
agree with either? At some point you might have to re-evaluate just
who's being unreasonable."

"Maybe, I am not ruling that out, commander. Look, I understand that
you believe them; they are both senior to me and naval. But I was
there, and I don't think they understood me. And isn't that the most
important thing for a patient to feel?"

"It is...all I'm asking is that you keep an open mind as much as you
expect anyone else to. Please understand, Lieutenant, everyone has
acted only with your well-being and well-being of the people we work
with in mind, and I'm certain everyone will continue to do that. You
have a lot to work through right now, so I want you to find whoever
you're most comfortable doing that with and take the necessary time to
do it. As far as your duties are concerned it'll be up to Colonel
Arvelion to decide what non-counseling work he feels you're ready for.
As for counseling, I'll take into consideration the recommendations
of whatever counselor works with you, but ultimately the decision as
to when you're ready to resume those duties is mine. I'm only going
to get involved in the details of your therapy insofar as they allow
me to make that decision, but you're welcome to come discuss your
overall progress with me anytime if you wish." Brian understood the
enormity of what she was dealing with and he hoped she would be able
to successfully work through all of it.

"That's fair, Sir. And believe me at the moment I have no thoughts of
returning to work, marine duties or otherwise. There is too much
going on in my head." She laid a hand on her belly, "And the rest of
me."

Brian nodded slowly in agreement. "You'll get through all of it,
Branwen. Give yourself time."

"I wish it was just me. Dar is filing for divorce," she said softly.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Brian said sympathetically. "But if
he's not willing to stand by you during a time like this, he wasn't
really committed to the marriage in the first place."

"He did. He has changed so much for me, but his culture... you know.
It's my choice; if I was willing to have an abortion then he would
reconsider. But that is against my religion. And whatever it is in
here, its life and I can't murder that. So I made my own choices,
don't blame Dar, Sir. I guess it is me who is not committed enough."

"I'm afraid I can't agree with you on that, Lieutenant. But it
doesn't matter how I see any of this; what's important is how you see
it. I said I wasn't going to get involved with the details of your
counseling and I won't, but I will say this: stop turning the blame on
yourself or you'll never get out from under it." He shook his head.
"You've been victimized enough; victimizing yourself further isn't the
way to get through this.
Anyway, I think you've heard enough from me for now. As we've agreed,
you're officially relieved of all counseling duties until further
notice. We'll review your progress and revisit your status after
you've had time to work with Counselor An'quinsos." A wan smile
crossed his lips as he considered everything she was dealing with.
"I'm going to let you get your rest now."

"Yes sir," she said as he rose from the chair. "I will make an
appointment straight away. Thank you sir."

"Last Time"

1st Lt Branwen London
Lt Mark

***USS Galaxy, Counseling offices***

"Mark, this is my last visit." Branwen said as she came in.

She looked very different from the last time he had seen her many
weeks ago. She now had green skin and sported a methane breather. "I
have requested to see the new therapist and I have no doubt that it is
a huge relief for you so don't bother to pretend otherwise."

"OH," Mark tried to not sound genuinely surprised, "So you're giving
up then? That's too bad."

"No I am not giving up. Far from it. I am going to work really hard
on myself." She told him. "And hopefully I will find someone who
will believe in me and will support me."

"You're a horrible liar," he told her. "The fact is you didn't want
to do what I told you. You didn't want to follow any of my advice,
and furthermore I doubt you listened to a word I said. SO, yes, you
'are' giving up."

"I doubt that you heard one thing I said to you that whole
conversation." Bran said softly. "This isn't about you winning; it
is about me getting better. I trusted you with more information I
have ever told anyone, counselor or not. But that doesn't count for
you at all. That is why I cannot trust you anymore. I want to work
with someone I can trust and who will be there for me every step of
the way. You don't seem to understand that."

"I heard every single word you said, in fact, I recorded them for
future reference and study," Mark defended himself while trying his
best not to sound hurt, "Furthermore, your problem is you don't think
I'm as good a counselor as you because I use unorthodox methods. I do
the unexpected. I surprise people. I shatter the image that most
people have of what counselors should do, act, and react. That's why
I'm successful at what I do. If you doubted for a microsecond," and
here Mark held his thumb and forefinger a couple of millimeters apart,
"that I wouldn't be with you every step of the way you're wrong. I
understand FAR more than you, or anyone else will ever give me credit
for. Now, if you don't want to trust me, fine, go find someone else,
go ahead, but a year from now you'll still be wallowing around in self
pity instead of getting the 'real' help that you need."

She looked at him. "Do you hear what you are saying, Mark. You are
saying that the new counselor cannot do a good job, not as good as you
could do. That's very arrogant." It even made her smile. "I have no
problem at all with you being unorthodox, I applaud you for it, and I
wish I could do more of that myself. But don't forget the basic
premise of our job; the patient has to feel at ease and safe. You
have to give me that feeling, whatever you do."

Mark looked at her for a moment. Safe and at ease indeed! "You mean
to tell me you didn't feel safe and at ease in your own cabin last
time we talked?" he asked curiously.

"At first I was, otherwise I would not have told you so much. But
that quickly disappeared when I got the feeling that you had not been
listening to me, and when you and the captain ganged up on me
together, it was completely gone. You look like somebody who has
never got negative feedback from a patient before."

"You seem awful quick to judge my performance on just one visitation,"
Mark told her evenly, "not to mention you didn't do a thing I told you
to do. How do you think that made 'me' feel?"

"Mark, when you are working it is irrelevant to the patient how you
feel. That's a basic thing. You have to put your feelings aside,
talk about it with your supervisor. But it is not my problem." She
was silent for a little while. "Although it does make me feel bad. I
wish you and I could understand each other better."

Mark shifted his weight while thinking maybe, just maybe, she was
coming around. "It's not too late you know. We can still get to know
each other better... 'if' you change your mind that is."

To her own surprise Branwen laughed out loud. "Still on about how
everything that happened between us was my fault. You are really
incorrigible Mark. I do want to get to know you better, whatever
happens we will have to work together in the future, I hope. So it
would be good if we got to understand each other."

Mark smiled sweetly, "Well, it 'was' your fault, but I'm willing to
let bygones be bygones and start fresh. What do you say?"

"Let's give it a try." She shook her head. "A clean slate. I'm
still also going to see the new therapist. I figure I can use all the
help I can get, and everybody has a different perspective. Hell, I
have so many problems right now that I could try to find a therapist
for each separate problem; I'd run out of people on the ship! So,
where do you want to start?"

Mark eyed her suspiciously for a moment. After that moment, his
expression changed to one of amusement. "I think it's time you
learned to play golf."

She looked at him and then started to grin. "You are finally starting
to take me serious, aren't you? It's the first time you have invited
me for your famous unorthodox treatment. And what makes you think
that I cannot play golf?"

Mark looked at her severely, "First of all, I've always taken you
seriously Miss London. Second of all, I never use orthodox methods,"
As he went on his face softened and his tone became lighter, "and
third of all, no matter how well you can play golf; there is always
room for improvement."

"What if I beat you?" A sly smile. Growing up in the sequestered
community in Wales, with plenty of space around, golf was one of the
few allowed sports. And she had enjoyed it in her youth, although
Branwen had not played since she was 14 and ran away from home.

"Then you beat me," Mark shrugged. Then he noticed her sly smile,
"Unless you're trying to make some sort of wager," his own sly smile
appeared on his face.

"It had crossed my mind. But I cannot think of something appropriate
yet to wager on. Do you have something in mind?"

"Weeeeelllll," Mark rubbed his chin in thought, "there's the usual...
fine cigars, fine liquor, massages, lap dances..." he shook his head
side to side several times at the thought of Branwen giving him a
massage, or even worse, vice versa. "But you're married so none of
that would be any fun." 'Whew!' he thought to himself.

"You have such a one track mind." Branwen laughed. "How about
something else? Like chores, or a nice present, or a teaching the
other a skill? I know one for me!" She finally said. "If I lose, I
have to strike up a friendly conversation with commander Jaxom."

Mark thought about that. It would go a long way getting her not to be
afraid of the senior officers. "Fine, if I win you talk to Commander
Jaxom, if you win, I'll teach you something new."

"Deal!" She stuck out her hand.

"Who Told?"

1st Lieutenant Branwen London - SFMC
Marine Psychologist

Colonel For'kel Arvelion - SFMC
Commanding Officer

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

(Sickbay- USS Galaxy)

Kimberly had done a good job repairing what damage she could in the
fairly limited time, though despite her best efforts For'kel really
didn't get much in the way of rest... the little rest he did get
rather riddled with bad dreams and nightmares. He put the sling back
on, and knew he'd have to go find at least one runabout partner before
he left. Taking a breath, he forced himself back up onto his feet,
and headed for the door, passing quite a few of the POWs as he did.

"Colonel, Sir?" Bran called out when she spotted him. When he turned
in her direction she gasped. "Are you okay?" She could barely
refrain from telling him how awful he looked.

Fork gave a weak smile. "I'll be fine, Lieutenant." It was a
complete and utter lie of course, he had no way of knowing whether or
not he would be, but damned if he was going to say that to someone who
already had enough on her plate. "Get your rest; I'm sure the doctors
know you need it."

"Ah well sir. I keep telling them to let me go. My boys need me and
I am only pregnant." She smiled. "I never had the chance to really
thank you for coming after us under the circumstances." She
hesitated. "Your wife, have they found her yet?"

"She wasn't at the camp." Fork said flatly. "I want to know how you
knew about it, Lieutenant. Who told you?"

"Nobody really." Bran said. "I kinda figured it out." She decided
not to name the XO; she didn't want to get the other woman into any
kind of trouble. "What are you going to do now? Anything I can do to
help?" She sounded almost eager.

"No." Came the curt response. He knew she was lying, it just didn't
make sense. "How could you have figured it out on your own? I didn't
even know until after we got back from Vered, and you weren't with us
at that point. So I'll ask you again Branwen, who told you?"

She sighed. "Well...just before we left someone came by my office,
she was looking for your office and she had bad news for someone about
a relative. I knew your wife was off ship and I kind of put two and
two together. It's my job you know. I wish I could have been there
for you; that is my job as well." She watched him. "How are you
holding up now?"

"Fine." The growing irritation was barely concealed in his voice.
"Other than us, there are 163 additional Marines in the unit. Each
one of which has families of their own, relatives... hell if a name
was never mentioned you couldn't be sure it wasn't one of 'yours'."
She was acting far too calm, too calculated, to have just randomly
come to that assumption. "Now who told you, and before you answer
think your response over very carefully."

"I am not lying sir. I am telling you the truth. Nothing was said,
but I did put two and two together. No names were mentioned. The
person who told me did not break confidentiality." Bran told him.
"Why is this so important to you? We all have your best interest at
heart. We want to help you." His hostile behavior confused her.

"Going behind my back to be intrusive, find information that has
nothing to do with you so that you can do only Prophets knows what
with it? Yeah, I can do without 'that' kind of help Lieutenant." He
growled, more than fed up at this point. "Good day."

"You wait a minute!" Bran was a bit angry now. "You know that it is
my job to go along when a marine gets news like that. And it is my
job to offer support to help deal with the grief. That is all I want
to do with it, why do you always think the worst of me?"

"Watch yourself Lieutenant. Giving orders to a superior can be
considered insubordination." For'kel sneered. "It is your job to be
there for Marines who get news like that 'if' and when they 'want' you
there. I was never given the opportunity to decide when you took it
upon yourself to interlope! Would you like it if a doctor informed
'me' before 'you' of what happened to a family member of yours?
'Think' before you act." With that last growl, he headed for the
door.

"I usually accompany an officer bringing bad news or I do it myself.
It is tradition on this ship sir." Something he had not checked
obviously. "The men appreciate it. And if they don't want it they
tell me and I leave." Damn the man, she thought. Always thinking the
worst, never giving her the benefit of the doubt, or a kind word when
she needed it.

"how could you"

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara
Acting CO, USS Galaxy

1st Lt. Branwen London
CO, 5th Platoon

-----
Ready Room
-----

"Pardon my asking sir, but is this really necessary? Lieutenant London
just--"

"It is necessary. Lieutenant London carries within her more knowledge about
the Hydran species than we could ever obtain from EPWs. The decision must
not be questioned."

Iniara resisted the urge to sigh defeatedly as she stared back at Commander
Stom, the leader of the Hydran research division within SFI.
She'd met dozens of Bolians during her career, but none had been as stiff
and unsmiling as this man, and it was definitely throwing her off.

After a long pause, the Galaxy's acting CO finally responded, "Very well,
then. But...should she not hear this from Colonel Arvelion? He is her
commanding officer, after all; not me."

"Colonel Arvelion has been informed," Stom replied, though it wasn't really
an answer to her question. "Lieutenant London is in Galaxy's Sickbay. The
fetuses she carries within her pose a security risk to Galaxy, should the
Hydrans wish to retrieve them...and I have no doubt they will attempt to do
so. As commanding officer of Galaxy, the responsibility therefore falls to
you."

"Aye, sir," Iniara said automatically, her voice quiet and resigned.
Not for the first time, she wished she wasn't in this position.

"A runabout will rendezvous with you in two days' time. Lieutenant London
is to come alone, and bring nothing. All her needs will be provided for."

"And where will she be taken?"

"That information is classified."

"Yes sir." Once more Iniara resisted the urge to sigh, this time angrily;
so many things within SFI were classified that there wasn't any point in
trying to get around it.

"Rest assured, Lieutenant London will be returned once the project is
complete," Stom continued. Then, after what seemed like a slight
hesitation, he added, "No harm will come to her. Stom out."

And as the screen winked out, Stom's face replaced with the Starfleet delta,
Iniara couldn't help but wonder how much of that was true.

-----
Sickbay
-----

Instead of her normal strident walk, Iniara found herself almost shuffling
into Sickbay, her reluctance to complete this task more than obvious. And
of course, the duty nurse picked up on it immediately.

As the woman came closer, Iniara saw why: black eyes meant Betazoid.
Putting a smile on her face and hoping that would alter her mood enough to
dispel the nurse's suspicions, Iniara said, "I need to see Branwen London."

The nurse's lips parted slightly, but before she could say anything, Iniara
added, "The matter is urgent. Please."

Thankfully, instead of continuing her protest, the nurse simply nodded,
turned on a heel, and said in a quiet voice, "Follow me."

Bran was sitting up in bed reading some magazine on a PADD. Feeling better
now she was getting kinda bored. She had already started seening a shrink
and hopefully she could go back on light duties soon. Being back on the ship
really helped. This was her home.

She smiled when she saw the XO come in. Bran remembered the chat they had
had just before the mission, she felt they had really connected then and she
welcomed seeing the woman again.

"Hello ma'am. Thank you for coming to visit me."

Iniara smiled slightly as she approached. Given the report she'd read about
Branwen's condition, she'd fully expected the young Marine to be surrounded
by an army of medical devices, and so it was a bit surprising to see her
sitting in bed idly perusing a padd as if nothing at all was wrong.

"It's good to see you back," the XO began, pulling up a chair. "I just read
the mission report, and wanted to make sure you were doing alright. How are
you feeling?" While that wasn't an outright lie-- Iniara had read the
mission report hours ago, and that wasn't what brought her down here-- it
was probably better to start with that rather than jumping right into the
real reason she was here.

"not too bad, ma'am. I think I got off lightly. That is if the doctors
figure out how to change me back." She smiled. "Being back home has done
me a world of good." She leaned a little closer. "Ma'am, can you tell me
more about the Colonel's wife. He got very angry when I brought the subject
up, and it worries me a bit."

Iniara tried not to frown as she remembered her 'conversation' with the
Colonel upon his return. But, the news by now had spread throughout most of
the ship, so she figured passing that information along to Branwen wouldn't
hurt too much. "CPO Arvelion went missing when her ship crashed just inside
Stagnorian space. She's been officially classified MIA. I'm afraid I don't
know much more than that; the Stagnorians have been sending me regular
reports, but unfortunately they haven't contained any new information for
some time."

"The poor guy, no wonder he is horrible to be around. Will you make sure
that he talks to somebody, that somebody looks after him. He's still angry
at me, so I can't do it. I would like to contact Corporal Becket's parents
however. I spent the most time with her before she.... before she was
killed by the Hydrans. I couldn't protect her." Branwen gathered herself.
"And the others that were rescued. They need the best of medical and
psychological care. I am sure that some people had their brains tampered
with. They will need a neurologist." All the information came pouring out
now.

"I'm sure Doctor Burton has everything under control; after all, she's a
counselor too. As for the Colonel...his anger was born from somewhat of a
misunderstanding. I've spoken with him, so things should be smoothed out
now," Iniara explained. "I don't mean to sound callous, but things will
work themselves out, and right now you have a lot to worry about yourself."

She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "That's actually why I
came down here. I received a call earlier today from SFI concerning you and
your...current condition."

"A misunderstanding?" That was news to Bran. Her last conversation with
the Colonel a day ago had ended pretty badly again, very badly indeed. Then
she blinked. "SFI?"

"There's no easy way to say this, so... Thanks to the experimentation you
underwent, and the Hydran infants you're now carrying, you have suddenly
become one of the greatest intelligence assets that Starfleet has. SFI
wants to move you to a secret location until you deliver the babies."
Iniara sighed softly. "I wish there was something I could do to stop them,
but it seems that whatever SFI wants, SFI gets. I'm sorry, Branwen."

"Ma'am, I am not an asset, I am a person, and I live in a free country. I
don't want to go, I want to stay here with my friends, they are my family.
And if that is not possible I will go to my sister who is a Starfleet navy
captain. I am not going to a laboratory." She looked at her superior.
"Ma'am, I don't like talking about my past, my childhood, but it wasn't
pretty, don't make me a prisoner again, I beg you." Branwen looked straight
at the other woman.

Even in her drug-dulled mental state, Iniara had no trouble picking up the
radical shift in Branwen's emotions. It startled her, rendering her
speechless for a long moment. "I..." Her voice trailed off and after
another long moment she tried to start again.

"I know it sounds strange, but think of it this way: if they think you're
so important to them, I doubt they will do anything to harm you. In fact,
they are probably assembling the most highly-qualified specialists as we
speak, so that you and the infants will be as well cared for as possible.
This may be the best thing for you in your current state." Iniara smiled
slightly, though the expression seemed mostly forced.

"Sure fine, but I trust our docs here as well. And I don't want to leave my
home." Bran turned on her stubborn streak. "Saul will protect me, he will
not let those people take me. I am staying right here. I need my friends
around me to heal."

"What about..." Iniara's voice trailed off as she thought for a moment.
She certainly did not envy Branwen's position; in two days some Intelligence
team would arrive and one way or another, Branwen was going with them.
Bental might have been the ship's Chief of Intelligence, but she wasn't sure
if even he could do anything more than delay them. Colonel Arvelion could
have ordered her to go...but almost as soon as they'd returned he had left
again, and wasn't due to be back until after Branwen was supposed to be
gone. But what if...

"What if...someone went with you?" she offered tentatively. "The orders
said for you to come alone, but if we could send someone along with
you...someone who had a reason to be there... A doctor or counselor
maybe..."

Branwen thought about it for exactly five seconds. "Coping with the
aftermath of what happened, you need them all here. We are still a little
short of good therapists, and you have to miss me as well." A small smile.
"Seriously ma'am. My marriage is falling apart, and if I am going to have
any chance of saving it, I have to be here. Psychologically I am a mess,
too much has happened in a short period of time, to heal from that I need my
friends around me. Friends are even more a healing factor than a good
therapist. I need to be here. I promise I will try to be no trouble, but
I'm not consenting to be taken away like some kind of lab animal to be
studied in a cage. I'm not going!"

Inwardly, Iniara sighed. Well, she'd tried breaking the news as
gently as she could, but apparently it wasn't sinking in. "Branwen,"
she began again, "there's something you need to realize. You've been
ordered to report to this facility for observation, and I've been
ordered to make sure you go. As citizens of the Federation you and I
are given an incredible level of freedom, but we are first and
foremost members of Starfleet, which is at its core a military
organization. When we took our oaths, we swore to follow the orders
given by our superiors, even if those orders put us in an
uncomfortable situation or make us do something we just don't want to
do."

The XO stood and took a step back from the biobed. "I'm sorry it
ended up this way, I really am, but I'm afraid neither of us has much
choice in the matter. Your shuttle will be arriving in two days."

The young marine blinked at the unexpected betrayal. Of course she was a
Starfleet officer, and she had always been extremely loyal. But being a
labrat in an institution went a little bit far. Obviously Iniara did not
see that.

Branwen swallowed. "If you say so, ma'am." She just said very softly.

Silence stretched between them for several seconds as Iniara struggled
to find something to say. But, the more she thought about it, there
really wasn't anything more to say. She had followed her orders, and
now it appeared Branwen would follow hers as well. And although she
felt terrible about it, she knew she had little choice in the matter
(...or do you? a tiny voice in the back of her head asked, though she
did her best to ignore it).

After a moment she realized that the longer she stayed here in the
silence, staring down at Branwen staring back up at her, the more
likely it was that she would relent, disobey orders, and do whatever
she could to protect the young Marine. And so, with a slight nod that
was neither proud nor satisfied she took another step backwards, then
turned and walked out the door.

OOC: This happens after the upcoming post with Admiral Akaar.

"Kiss of the Toadlady"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Location: Personal Quarters

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

What am I doing? That was the question of the evening as Ophelia checked her appearance one more time. Some of her staff, obviously concerned for her personal life had chipped in to buy her a membership on USSGalaxyMatch. The database was something created by a bored, lonely person in hopes of gloriously matching single people on the USS Galaxy and turning them into the couple of the year!

The slight, familiar smirk crossed her mauve glossed lips as she feathered back her long jet black hair. The dress, simple in nature, hugged her curves and rested off her shoulders just slightly.

Blinking slowly, she resisted the urge to rip it off before turning to her friend to ask advice. However, the newest member of the Zamora clan just stared at her.

"Your no help." Ophelia muttered.

Kermit the frog croaked his protest of the whole situation loudly. Logan's best buddy just *had* to come with him, and Zamora found herself a mommy to the largest frog she had ever seen in her life. They stared at each other silently for a moment, before Ophelia sighed as the chime rang.

"Wish me luck."

Silence.

"Damned frog..." Zamora groaned before answering the door.

Kermit replied with a simple, low-throated croak as if to ask 'What'd you expect from an amphibian?'

On the other end was a man who could 'almost' pass for attractive... if his blonde hair wasn't weighed down with copious amounts of what appeared to be coupling grease, and if his clothes didn't look like he'd just tossed them into his travel bag when he got transfer orders and hadn't bothered ironing out the wrinkles... ever. His hands were fairly rough, the sign of a heavy laborer, and his face gave him a look of a man a bit older than he actually was... physical stress could do horrifics to one's complexion. "Ophelia Zamora?" He asked with a smile that only a stereotypical British dentist could love before handing over half a dozen, half-wilted roses. "It's a pleasure."

Her hand reached out to take the roses, frozen in a half smile that could have reminded one of a compulsive facial contraction milliseconds before throwing up. "Uh...." Glancing down at the flowers, she looked back up at him. Her expression changing from one of sheer shock to ultimate confusion. "I'll....go put these in water...."

"Your photograph doesn't do you justice." The man, Warp Core Technician 2nd Class Waldo McGreesee, grinned with slightly blackened teeth as he intertwined his hands behind his back. It was a big complement, given her picture was so beautiful it now took pride of place in his bathroom. "Shall we?"

The ability to speak eloquently slipped her mind as her eyebrow popped up. "Your picture does you justice." She mumbled as her mind scrambled for an excuse to get out of this situation. 'Way to much justice.' Zamora thought before offering him a slight smile. It was at times such as this that she knew she was just too nice for her own good. "Where are we going?"

"Well, I was thinking we could start off in Ten Forward." A nice, public place for him to show off the fact he 'could' do this dating thing... 'McGreesee you sly bastard you' he thought, his gap-tooth grin spreading slightly. "Then maybe move to somewhere slightly more private... say the arboretum? I also have a private holodeck program..."

One could only imagine what was in that holodeck program... and they probably didn't want to.

Ophelia had to push the vomit she felt rising back down her throat in a hurry. She couldn't ruin her dress.

Colonel Arvelion was quickly coming to his wit's end... more or less. Not only did he lose his wife, but some damned useless Admiral with nothing better to do showed up and dared not only to question his leadership abilities and the decision to lock Man'darr up, but also question his commitment to the Marines he served. Sometimes, he thought, Starfleet should have periodic purging. A way of lightening the load up-top so that way the rest of the service didn't have to bear the burden of admiralty. Hell, had it not been for the friends he had aboard, like Arel, like Iniara, like Jaal, he probably would be well on his way home by now. It sure as hell beat having to constantly explain to some idiot a century past his prime why you did what you did.

It was by sheer coincidence he noticed Ophelia and some engineer he didn't quite know speaking at the door to her quarters. The distant gaze she had and the ease with which the background streak of the passing Marine caught her attention made it obvious to the Colonel she was bored.

And the pleading look in her eyes was something he understood all too well... a gaze Berilyn gave him a few times when she was stuck at a meeting or some social event she didn't really want to attend. It was the 'for love of all that is holy, someone 'please' save me!' look... one that said she was wishing that she never agreed to whatever it was she'd agreed to.

And Marines by their nature were infamous suckers for the damsel in distress look. Prophets damn it all, he couldn't catch a break to save his life at this point. Just for once, he'd like to have a day off without worrying about someone's world going up in flames.

He tried to keep going, but her eyes followed. Son of a...

For'kel cleared his throat, stepping up beside the shorter engineer. "N'yahti ayedda?" He asked in Stagnorian, exploiting that translation privacy feature and asking if she needed help. The tone in his voice though suggested he was saying something else, and the fact he immediately went for her arm gave even the socially inept Engineer the hint.

A bright, silver oak-leaf also helped with the 'get lost' translation.

"Ah yes. I totally forgot!" Breathing a sigh of relief inwardly, Zamora's posture straightened. "I'm so sorry Waldo, but the Colonel here just reminded me of a very important meeting I have to attend with the other officers. Isn't that right Colonel?" Her smile spoke volumes, and her dark eyes danced lasciviously with the promise of a ripe reward if he indeed splayed the engineering dragon that was breathing fire down her neck.

"Meeting?" Waldo blinked as if he'd been broad-struck. "What's this about?"

"Justice." For'kel answered, figuring he wasn't exactly lying if one interpreted things in the right light. "I'm sorry crewman, but with the change in command, the ongoing war, and differing command styles, the Lieutenant here was supposed to give us a re-fresher course in operational procedures and Starfleet regulations." There, that seemed perfectly plausible, didn't it?

Whether it did or not, Waldo bought it hook, line, and sinker. "Oh... oh! Oh in that case, maybe another time then?"

"Oh, most defiantly. I'll have my secretary call to arrange a time." Zamora stated in a manner that was as flat as a female Horta's chest.

'Her own secretary, eh? Damn I'm moving on up!' Waldo thought to himself, his goofy grin being as goofy as ever. "I can hardly wait!" He walked down the corridor, head held high.

Turning to Fork, she offered an overly bright smile before winding her arm around his as she tugged him away from the situation as fast as possible. "Now....about that reward for rescuing the damsel and slaying the greasy dragon.........."

Fork chuckled. "It's just part of being a Marine, Lieutenant."

"That's gotta be a line they teach you, isn't it? There's got to be something." Zamora paused for a moment. "Fried ice cream...ever have it?"

"Fried Ice cream?" He had heard a lot of ridiculous things since he opted to join the exchange program, and admittedly this probably didn't make the top 5, but it was still pretty damn odd. "Why the hell would anyone 'fry' ice cream?"

"It's how it looks, we don't...." She paused, laughing at a mix of his expression an her evening combined. "Come on.....my treat."

"The Arrival"

Captain T'Vara, CO
Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin, Chief Science Officer
Acting Ensign Aina Mason, Communications Officer

-----
Main Bridge

"Sir, we are now within range of the HD 189625 system," came the
sudden report from the young Ensign at the CONN.

T'Vara nodded once. "Helm, slow to full impulse. On screen."

"Aye, sir."

On the main viewer, the picture changed from the image of the
starfield as they came out of warp, focusing now on the planets which
made up this system. T'Vara studied the image for a long moment as
they drew closer, not for the first time wondering why Galaxy's crew
had unofficially named the system "Jupiter's Revenge". Jupiter was of
course the name of a gas giant in the Sol system, but the name as
applied to this system was not logical. HD 189625 contained only
terrestrial planets.

"Lieutenant Kara'nin," the captain continued, gaze still affixed on
the main viewer. "Where is the origin of the signal?"

The avian did not immediately respond. He could have easily said 'to
the starboard, at a heading of fifteen degrees,' as that was the
orientation of the sensor palette with highest radio response, but he
didn't. He wouldn't say anything until he could gain his astrometric
bearings. His eyes were locked onto the sensor readouts displayed on
the science station before him. This was a new system. Though it
existed within Federation territory and various ships had passed near
it over years, none had taken the time to go inside and have a look.
When the universe was full of roses, one typically did not stop to
smell them all that often. In fact, the only time the system had been
seriously explored was by a Vulcan graduate student one hundred and
fifty years ago, when the star happened to make its way into his
catalog of potential gas-giant hosting main sequence stars. Alas, the
star held no planetary body greater than three Earth masses and so the
Vulcan, like a frat boy to a sorority girl with only an A cup, quickly
lost interest. The star had not been examined since.

So, having just entered the system, it would take some moments for the
Galaxy's sensors to pick out the brightest points of light and isolate
them from the background stars. Those points of light were masses of
various size in orbit around the star. Possibly planets. Possibly
asteroids. Possibly asteroid-sized, planet-killing alien warships.
To discern that, he had to wait some moments for the Galaxy's sensors
to scan the light spectrum and compare it to recorded spectrums of
well over one million spectrographic signatures. Although, those one
million spectrographic signatures included things like the excitation
spectrum of dextromethorphan, and the chances that there would be a
planet-sized sphere of cough suppressant in orbit around this star
were rather slim. So, the search, since things were organized in
terms of likelihood, didn't take terribly long.

"There is a planet," Cutter announced finally, "ten AU to our
starboard, at a heading of fifteen degrees. Initial scans suggest an
atmosphere containing nitrogen, oxygen, CO2, and H2O. The signal is
coming from that direction."

"Helm, adjust course to intercept."

"Aye captain. Adjusting course to 015 mark 340."

As the ship changed direction, the XO looked down at her own console,
examining the streams of data. The planet was possibly M-class,
Iniara realized. Could this be a signal from some previously
undiscovered civilization?

"Uh...Captain, I've got the signal," called out Aina from her console.
"It's on an old channel, part of the previous Earth Space Distress
Safety System. Hasn't been used in nearly two hundred years. Putting
it on main speaker..."

"--on an unknown planet. All propulsion systems are inoperative. We
have suffered severe damage. We request any and all assistance. This
is Captain Levesque of the --triiktriiktriiiiik-- on an unknown
planet. All propulsion systems are inoperative. We have suffered
severe damage. We request any and all assistance. This is Captain
Levesque of the --"

As the bridge listened to the message or watched the moving starscape
on the main screen, little bells were ringing in Aina's head - bells
that started when the name 'Levesque' came out of the speaker.

"The signal is originating from the planet's surface," Cutter declared
as the Galaxy approached. On the main viewscreen, the planet grew
from a bright pin-prick of light into a glowing disk. The light began
to fade as its source spread out, and it began to separate, like light
through a prism, into a rainbow of white, blue-gray, green and sandy
brown. "It's M-class," he said, stating the obvious.

"Can you determine the precise origin of the signal?" T'Vara asked.

"I'm not detecting any debris in orbit," he said. It was not an
answer to the captain's request, but the information was relevant.
There were no signs of a space battle. Which implied that whatever
ship they were tracking had crashed due to, well, due to incompetence.
The only reason one ran their ship into the ground on their own was
no good one.

Also, Cutter could not respond to her request yet anyways, as it would
take some time for the computer to calculate artificial metallic
concentrations from natural ones. Then, he had to scan the potential
positives visually. The first two potential positives turned out to
be mountains. But the third looked to be something shiny in a field.
He sent the image to the main viewscreen. "I believe this is the
origin of the distress signal."

"Oh...It's Flight 19," Aina blurted out and suddenly regretted her
actions as everybody turned to look at her.

As she turned her attention to the young Bajoran, the captain said,
"Ensign Mason. Do you have an opinion as to the origin of this
signal?"

Aina swallowed under the stare from the Captain and nodded, "Yes
Ma'am. Well I think I do. Um...If I'm right - that is the Aiolos,
umm...NX-19...uh...Captain Levesque was the captain. It went missing
about the same time as the USS Indefatigable. The Miranda encountered
that ship a couple of years ago. Aiolos is one of the 'Lost Crews.'

The "Lost Crews" were the stories that always grew in the telling.
Ships that were sent out on simple missions or were there to test the
strange and new technologies or were simply sent out to do battle -
they all had two things in common, they disappeared and were never
seen again and secondly, Star Fleet Command kept the information
classed as highly top secret. All this fueled the rumours and
speculation. And suddenly modern myths and ghost stories are born -
stories that were made to scare the younger cadets especially.

T'Vara raised an eyebrow. "Continue."

"It was a testbed for a new warp system, but went missing in 2164.
But it's about four hundred light years from its last known position.
That's about it, Captain. The ship's disappearance is double top
secret, and mostly everything is just rumour, coz Command has still
got the folders blocked. You can get a hand slap, just looking for
the information."

The XO stifled a groan, wishing the young woman hadn't brought that
last bit up. In the past Mason had done some things, mostly out of
necessity, that weren't exactly within the bounds of Starfleet
regulations. But, the benefits had almost always outweighed the
drawbacks, and so the XO and others tended to just ignore it, or let
Mason off with a much lighter punishment than she would have otherwise
received. But now, with a captain that ate, drank, and breathed
Starfleet regulations every moment of the day, Iniara had a feeling
she was going to get her own reprimand for letting Mason get away with
some of the things she had.

"Have you been the recipient of such discipline in the past, Ensign
Mason?" the captain asked, watching the young woman with a critical
eye.

Aina nodded, not wanting to tell the new captain, she'd got her hands
slapped for bypassing Star Fleet Security Protocols in trying to get
more information about all of the 'Lost Crews,' and she had been
caught. It wasn't as bad as it could've been. She'd been able to
cover how far she had penetrated the archival system, but she had been
caught where she shouldn't have been. It was enough to make her more
cautious in all of her data mining, both legal and not so legal.

"We will speak more of this later," T'Vara concluded, though it wasn't
immediately clear whether she was addressing Aina or Iniara. Or both.
Either way, it was clear from the captain's demeanor that for the
time being the discussion was over. "Helm, establish geosynchronous
orbit above the debris field."

"Aye, captain. Taking her in and establishing geosynchronous orbit."

As the ship slowly turned and began moving into the standard orbit,
Aina began to worry - if this was anything like the USS Indefatigable
Incident - Aina wasn't sure she wanted to know any more. A shiver
went down her spine, thinking about what happened with that ship and
the Miranda - that was a real 'ghost' story and that ship had been
'evil' - what would this one bring?

Across the bridge, Iniara couldn't help but pick up Aina's sudden
burst of emotion, and was surprised to find that she felt almost as
nervous. It hadn't even been a year since Galaxy had discovered the
wreckage of another lost ship-- that of the Romulan Exodus vessel
Talvalen-- which had somehow infected the entire Galaxy crew with the
katras of thousands of long-dead Vulcans and forced them to relive the
entire doomed 120-year journey. She suppressed her own shudder as she
realized what was about to come next.

"Lieutenant Kara'nin, conduct a full scan of the wreckage and the
surrounding area. Ensign Mason, compile a report of all known
information regarding the NX-19 and all other so-called 'Lost Crews'
of the era. Lieutenant Commander Tarin, assemble an away team.
Unless Lieutenant Kara'nin detects an unacceptable level of risk from
the site, you will depart in one hour."

"Yes sir," the XO replied automatically, swallowing hard against the
bile that suddenly tickled the back of her throat. She had a bad
feeling about this.

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