OOC: Occurs after the Captain's intro to the crew, sorry if it's a little outdated.

"Bedside Manners"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Chief Medical Officer
USS Galaxy

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

~ ~ ~ Sickbay ~ ~ ~

Once the plan of the day had been laid out for the officers and senior NCO's
(For'kel had scheduled a fairly easy day or two of class-room instruction
before they got back into the swing of combat drilling) the Colonel made his
way, as quasi-ordered, to sickbay. Kimberly was a sly one, catching him
while they were at the staff meeting. 'Well played' he thought to himself
as a joke before smiling amicably to the Galaxy's Chief Medical Officer.
The sickbay was finally starting to look empty, likely the last of the POW's
who wouldn't be staying on the Galaxy as 'transfers' or 'for observation'
had already departed. "You wanted to see me, Doctor?"

"Colonel. Yes, thanks for stopping by." Indicating a nearby bed, "I just
thought that now you're back we could finish what we started. You were in a
bit of a rush last time we spoke." ~ So much so that you left here half
fixed and ready to drop! ~ She reminded herself sourly. Stopping that
train of thought before it went too far she sighed, he wasn't the only one,
and at least he hadn't removed an appendage in order to get out of sickbay
quicker. That had to be the all time record at present for this sickbay
regarding determined exits.

~ Let's hope no one tries to top 'that'! ~ She had no desire to see what
someone would do to beat that one. "How're you feeling, you left in a hurry
so I hope you took things easy?"

He did as he was told. For'kel knew she'd gone out of her way to be
helpful, and there probably weren't enough words to indicate his gratitude.
"Thank you doc, I know I'm not the easiest patient to contend with." He
took a deep breath, mostly on habit. "And yes, I didn't break, rip, tear,
or exert myself much at all."

"Well, you came back, and of your own accord." She complimented him with a
smile, "So in my book you're a pretty good patient. No running around to
find you." Snapping open her tricorder smoothly she checked his injuries,
pleased to note that he was fairly accurate in that regard, it did in fact
appear he had listened, another plus for the Colonel. Not a typical jarhead
it appeared.

"I heard a little about your trip," she offered in a soft tone as she
worked, gently working the muscles and tendons to help the healing, "how're
you doing?"

He bit back his first reaction which was to go with a sarcastic bite out of
the realization that she 'was' trying to be helpful, and her concern
appeared to be genuine. Besides, it was never a good idea to make the
person in charge of your health angry. "Still breathing." Was all he could
manage after a rather long pause. He didn't know what he was 'supposed' to
say, and there were way too many conflicting thoughts to articulate any one
individually.

"This is gonna hurt a little I'm afraid." She warned him as she took his
arm in one hand, his shoulder in the other and rotated the shoulder,
stretching the muscles and tendons. "D'you feel like telling me what
happened?" She asked in a conversational tone as she worked.

Marines might have had a reputation for being gluttons for punishment,
however although Fork could 'deal' with a great deal of it, he was by no
means the kind of fanatical fan of pain your holonovel heroes seemed to be.
He winced, and minus the adrenaline rush one might have experienced in
action, even yelped with the movement. It hurt more than 'just a little',
but everyone had their own judgement as to what constituted just a little
pain. The doc must have been a closet masochist. He practically doubled
over, and grabbed the bio bed for support... but despite it all, didn't miss
a chance to deliver a light hearted joke, even if it was through gritted
teeth. "Are you going to keep torturing me until I do?"

"This isn't the torture." Easing off his arm for a moment she scanned it
again, "I'm saving that for the next time." Continuing the stretching, but
a little gentler she remained silent, letting him speak if he wanted to.

There was still a good deal of pain, even if it was a little more bearable
now. For'kel thought long and hard about what to say... if anything.
Kimberly 'had' said she'd 'heard a little' about 'the trip', so he was sure
she probably already knew this as he spoke. He ran his good hand through
his hair, having become more than a little stressed with things. hell if you
looked 'really' closely you might have found a single silver hair, maybe
even two, on the normally dark brown head of the Colonel. Wasn't even past
his first century (no where near it even) and yet already... what a shame it
would have been if he actually needed it. His thoughts were elsewhere
though.

"She's dead, Kimberly." The Colonel muttered in what barely qualified as a
gasp of a voice. "I don't think we made it there in time, and she's dead."

Pausing her ministrations she gripped his shoulder gently, a silent offer of
support. Platitudes were pointless, what could you say to someone who had
just lost their wife.

He took a deep breath and laid his hand over hers gratefully. In reality he
had shed a lot of his tears in the solace of the runabout, so 'for now' he
was okay. That had a habit of changing come nightfall though, at least
that's what the pattern seemed to be. "She apparently tried hiding in the
transporter... her pattern degraded too severely and the system was too
damaged to compensate. She never materialized and we lost her pattern." He
gulped, deciding not to, push his luck and just stop there.

"A brave thing to try, but if I recall, even in a perfectly functioning
transporter still a very dangerous thing to try." History had never really
been one of her strong points at the Academy, well up to the point where she
had actually experienced it that is, but she could only recall one instance
of that particular procedure working, and it had taken an engineer of
extraordinary expertise to pull it off. In a damaged ship with no miracle
worker though.

Setting her equipment aside she stepped around him to face him. "I'm here
if you need me, okay." In time, he would want to talk, in time he would be
able to remember her and smile at the good times. Right now though, it was
too fresh, too raw. Plus he was Stagnorian, and as with most species they
had their own customs and traditions he would likely need to respect. It
was said time heals all wounds. Not exactly true, it might not heal all
wounds, but you could learn to live with them, deal with the consequences
and move on.

He gave a grateful, if saddened smile for the offer he wish she hadn't felt
compelled to make. "Thank you for your generous offer Doctor, but I would
think by now you've had your fill of dealing with me."

"No For'kel, it's what I'm here for, both as your Doctor and... and as your
friend." Adding the last slightly hesitantly she returned the sad smile,
perhaps she was being a little presumptuous, their professional interaction
had never been that great, but here on this ship there was a sense of family
among the crew, they lived and worked together, protected each other.

Now if that didn't just have the effect of warmly mashing the hell out of
the proverbial emotional button. Fork cupped her face and inclined his
forehead against hers for a second or two, opting to explain only when they
stepped apart. "The equivalent to a 'hug' among my people. There are few
aboard who know about it, so don't tell anyone. It's a state secret." The
words being followed by the obligatory smirk. Hey, someone had to make life
in sickbay interesting.

"I can keep a secret." She promised, recognising the humour and glad he
could smile, even a little. Picking up a hypo from beside the bed she
offered it to him, "It's preset, though there're only two doses in there, in
case your arm troubles you too much while you're trying to sleep. You
should be fine in a week or so though. Just take it easy, and call if you
need anything."

"Thank you." He accepted the hypo and hopped off the bed. "Have a good
day, doctor."

"You to For'kel."

OOC: This is the first post in a side plot that deals with, what
else, Branwen London's "delicate condition". This side plot will be
moving a bit slow until Mieke returns from holiday in a couple weeks,
but I wanted to go ahead and start sending what we have written thus
far.

"The Experts Arrive"
part of "The Branwen Project"

featuring
Lt. Cmdr. Marcelo de Souza, Project Operational Command (Kat)
Lt. Cmdr. Mattias Aewyn, Chief of Special Projects: SFI Analytical Corps (Kate)
Doctor Felicia Khatroweena, Commander - Specialist (Trevor)
Doctor Krystof Frost, OB/GYN (Eric)
Dr. Nora Martin, OB/GYN (Lori)
PO3 Azeni Aria, Nurse (Kat)
Lieutenant William Davidson, Medical Systems Specialist (Martin)

-----
Main Shuttlebay
The Facility
-----

"That's the last of it."

"Finally." Lieutenant Commander Marcelo de Souza pressed his thumb to
the padd, then passed it back to the man in enlisted blacks standing
next to him. "Thanks, Chief."

"Aye, sir." Marcelo watched the man go, then turned back and gazed
out at the expanse of the shuttlebay, letting out a soft sigh. At the
moment, the bay held a pair of Type 19 shuttles and one Type 9A cargo
shuttle, as well as a small assortment of cargo containers, most of
them now empty. But soon, very soon, the shuttlebay would begin to
fill as the 'brains' of this operation began to arrive.

Casting a quick look at the wall-mounted chrono, Marcelo couldn't help
but be amazed at how quickly all this had been put together. No more
than 72 hours ago he'd been stationed on Starbase 336, overseeing a
shuttlebay upfit, when he'd been rather unceremoniously whisked away
by a pair of black-collared men and told that he would now be
overseeing another sort of 'upfit'. So after a few minutes of barely
contained panic, followed by a few minutes to collect his thoughts
(they hadn't even let him collect his things before they departed, a
fact which still irritated him), followed by a few not entirely
unexpected minutes of arguing with the black-collared gentlemen, he'd
finally managed to get them to see things his way.

Marcelo de Souza had a reputation as one of those officers who had
such organizational talent that he could complete most any sort of
project at least four or five times faster than any other comparable
officer, but only if he was allowed free reign over all aspects of
said project. And it had taken exactly four minutes and thirty-seven
seconds of heated "discussion" for the SFI spooks to realize that. But
thankfully, once they had come to an understanding, once the spooks
had uttered the magic words 'we don't care how, just get it done', the
events of the next three days had flowed as smoothly as melting
chocolate on a woman's...

Three days. The words repeated in Marcelo's head as he realized
something: he'd been working now for three days straight. Three days
on a project he knew absolutely nothing about (aside from the fact
that there was a lot of medical equipment involved) that was taking
place somewhere he knew only very little about (he'd been able to
ascertain that they were in a disused base on an apparently
uninhabited terrestrial body of some sort, but past that...). On the
second day, and after a great deal of prodding, one of the spooks had
finally told him the project had something to do with someone named
Branwen.

So, in their sleep-deprived and stressed out states, he and the half
dozen Ops crewmen he'd been able to bring with him had dubbed this
"The Branwen Project". It was a pretty stupid name now that he
thought about it, but at least it gave them something decently
interesting to call this whole thing. (Even if it did sound like the
name of a bad Martian band.) Now all they needed to do was come up
with a name for the base that was more interesting than "The
Facility". But, now that Marcelo thought about it, he was probably
going to need a few hours' sleep before his brain had the energy to be
creative again. So, for the time being, "The Facility" it was.

The sound of footsteps behind him abruptly roused Marcelo from his
thoughts. That would be Mattias Aewyn: the one Marcelo had begun to
think of as "Head Spook". Like most of his subordinates, Marcelo
wasn't very fond of Starfleet Intelligence...he could tolerate them,
especially since he knew they had the (admittedly intimidating) power
to make him "disappear" at a moment's notice, but asking for anything
more than tolerance was probably a bit much.

"They should be arriving soon, yes?" he asked without turning his
head, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the entrance to the shuttle
bay. The blast doors were open, revealing a mostly dark, mostly barren
landscape beyond. Idly, he wondered if there was any sort of
atmosphere out there, or if the craggy grey rocks were just as
inhospitable as they looked.

"Yes."

The Head Spook was tall and solidly built. At nearly 6 feet 10, he
was especially tall for a Betazoid, and the broadness of his shoulders
and overall chiseled size of his body made it so he stuck out from
almost any group -- other than, perhaps, a herd of Klingons -- like a
Rigellian in a sea of albinos. He was the type of physical specimen
that they usually recruited and cultivated for fieldwork -- and he
had, at one point, been a field operative, a good one too. But he
never cared much for that type of work. Deep cover didn't suit him;
no, Mattias Aewyn liked being himself far too much.

"I would imagine," he added, as a clear after thought. He glanced at
the chronometer on the shuttle bay wall. "They're running late. That
makes me crazy."

His voice was deep, fitting for a man of his size, with the slight
accent most Betazoid possessed if they spoke Standard on their own and
not through the UT. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he pulled
the top from the small text-based communicator on his wrist, reading
its contents before snapping the cover close.

"They're entering the atmosphere now."

Marcelo nodded once, half-watching Head Spook out of the corner of his
eye. He really hoped the shuttles would start arriving soon, partially
because he wanted to be done with this so he could go back to his
makeshift quarters and sleep, but also because he was hoping for
someone to talk to other than spooks and cargo grunts. Spooks... well,
spooks kind of spooked him, especially the mountain of a man standing
next to him; and while he was proud of his men (especially after the
insanity they'd been through to get this place ready), most of them
were less than stellar conversationalists. And if there was one thing
Marcelo de Souza loved (other than hot women, of course), it was a
good conversationalist.

Suddenly, a glint of motion caught his eye, a sliver of light
reflecting from some unseen light source off what he hoped was a
shuttle. He squinted, automatically taking a few steps forward,
watching the tiny thing as it slowly increased in size, the shape
eventually resolving into what Marcelo thought was a Type 18, maybe
another Type 19, shuttlecraft. And unless he was mistaken, it looked
like there was a second one coming in behind it.

"Finally," he breathed, relaxing his posture only slightly as he
watched the pair of shuttles glide effortlessly down and into the bay,
stopping directly in front of them. Now, he hoped, the real work
would begin.

Doctor Felicia Khatroweena, or 'Cat' to the people that knew her best
stepped out of the warp shuttle. She took the opportunity to stretch
her muscles: she'd been cramped in the shuttle for the last sixteen
hours. Her eyes squinted as her slitted pupils in her green eyes
adjusted to the light in the bay. Her ears flickered at the sounds in
the bay; she turned to the sound of a familiar humming to watch a
second shuttle slowly come to rest on the shuttle pad next to hers.
She stepped aside to let another one of the other passengers from her
shuttle disembark.

While Cat kept her face passive, the end of her tail flicked from side
to side, around her ankles. To those that knew the half-Caitian
medical officer, it was a barometer to her feelings and right now it
was a red warning that Cat was more than mildly pissed.

First, she was called out of bed by a black uniformed idiot who used
some admiral's name that was supposed to impress her, and passed her a
padd. Cat took great pleasure when the man's face turned sour when
she made the officer wait until the very vague orders had been
identified and verified that the orders were real. But it seemed that
she was considered important in something, because when she began
making preparations for her daughter to be looked after by friends on
Cait, the man, though obviously impatient and talking about timetables
and the like, didn't quite push the point that Cat had expected. So
that was one concern that Cat did not have to worry about here --
wherever here was -- her daughter was having a very unexpected
holiday.

But she had arrived...and it was more than obvious to her that
Starfleet Intelligence hadn't changed one iota. Despite the removal
of Section 31 and it's control over Starfleet a few years before, the
return of Jordan Elaithin to her position as director of Clandestine
Ops -- and SFI Director Marta Batanides giving her full rein -- saw
all the good intentions and the plans and ideals pushed to the wayside
so the 'spooks' could play their stupid games again.

Cat's ears flickered again and the slitted pupils in her green eyes
watched as an Ops officer moved over to the gathering group. Noting
the pips of a lieutenant commander, she also took some pity on the man
as she noticed the look of stress and tiredness in his eyes. She also
noticed a whiff of tension from the man through her sensitive nose.
He'd been more harassed than she had been, which made him 'liaison.'
That is: 'gopher and dogs body' and generally the person who knew who
to talk to and where to get everything from.

Next to him, well - did they stamp out intelligence officers in some
form of machinery? Except the small number that she had actually met
and had some real association with, such as Donovan and Jordan, the
rest just seemed to be plastic replicas of some 'real' spook
somewhere.

She took a step to the man, holding her hand out, "Doctor Khatroweena
- and you are?"

"Marcelo de Souza, project operational command," he replied, his
expression brightening noticeably as he took her hand, savoring the
soft feel of it in his own. He wondered what she was doing later on;
in his sleep-deprived state he even considered asking her as much, but
instead decided to play it straight (for the time being, at least) and
added, "Anything you need, ma'am; just let me know."

Shortly thereafter a tall man stepped out of the second shuttle,
behind the one the feline had emerged from. Clad in a conservative
suit, he was also accompanied by a pair of assistants, female both. A
briefcase in his left hand was all he carried, the pair behind him
getting busy unloading a few crates from the back of the shuttle.
Ignoring their work he made his way towards the trio, nodding politely
to all.

"Doctor Frost," he said as way of introduction.

Krystof Frost: OB/GYN, retired lieutenant commander from SF Medical,
and all-around a good-natured human being. He supposed the one
mission his ship had engaged in that had had questionable goals was
the reason he'd been tapped for this particular venture. The Clearance
was already there, as was measures to cover up his sudden
disappearance should they be necessary. Having set up a practice on
Earth, he'd known that there would come a day that someone would have
need of his services for a house call, but this was far from the type
of traveling he'd had in mind. Hence the additional cargo he'd
brought with.

The two lithe figures unloading his pre-packed personal equipment had
been handpicked by one of the black suits, or so Frost had been told.
Over the flight out to this spit of creation in the middle of nowhere
Frost had grilled them mercilessly until he was reasonably assured of
their competence. He wouldn't have anyone working with him on a
project someone deemed supremely important that didn't know their
stuff.

"I'll save my pertinent questions for the briefing that will
inevitably commence once we're all assembled, but if I may, I'd like
to inquire as to your specialties," he said to the three. "Curiosity
is a hard thing to suppress, especially in the human condition."

Mattias looked at the other man with obvious distaste. Unlike many,
he didn't shy away from snap judgments of others, and he was sure that
by the time all this was finished, he would want to snap Dr. Frost
like a twig. Or at least, recruit one of his friends who was still in
that line of work to do it.

Cat turned to the human doctor - "Me? Recombinant DNA Gengineering in
Species Hybridisation and Assisted Birth Protocols. Other than that,
most of the time when I am in the wards, I'm a GP; well, used to be
anyway."

One of the tall lithe females who'd arrived with Dr. Frost, this one a
blonde, set a case down beside him with a loud thump. She didn't mind
assisting, and she didn't even mind the grilling she'd received, but
she damn sure wasn't going to be anyone's porter, especially when she
had her own bags to carry. She offered her hand to the Caitian and
smiled politely. "Dr. Nora Martin, OB/GYN and women's health
specialist. Much of my work deals with high-risk pregnancies," she
said as a matter explanation.

"We will go over that when we are all assembled," Mattias stated. He
didn't want any more dialogue out in the open than could be helped.
True, he was just an analyst these days, working behind a desk and
stepping in where jurisdiction between the SFI Directorates was murky
at best. However, his days as one of Jordan Elaithin's spooks weren't
as far behind him as he would like to think, and his paranoia was
still well honed. "So until then -- let's just say that we are all
more than qualified for what we are here to do, and leave it at that."

"Agreed," Marcelo replied, in the hope that the less the group
chatted, the quicker they would finish assembling, and the quicker he
could get back to the comfort of his bed. And maybe Doctor
Khatroweena's embrace, he thought for a split second before
remembering that Head Spook was a Betazoid and was probably cataloging
every embarrassing thought that came out of Marcelo's head, just
because he could. Groaning to himself he stepped over to a nearby
workbench, grabbing one of his discarded padds and marking off
everyone who had arrived thus far.

"Petty Officer Third Class Azeni Aria, reporting for duty."

Startled by the voice, Marcelo looked up from his padd to see yet
another arrival standing at attention before him. She was short,
probably the shortest of the group thus far, and as expected was clad
in enlisted blacks, the teal piping on her uniform indicating that she
was likely a nurse or some sort of medical technician. Her wavy brown
hair, tinged with a slight amount of grey at the temples, was pulled
into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Everything about her
screamed 'mouse'; everything but her eyes, that is.

"At ease, Petty Officer," he replied, unable to keep from staring.
While everything else about the woman was relatively ordinary and
subdued, her eyes were a brilliant shade of electric blue with streaks
of a silvery color shot through the irises. Marcelo had met many
Bajorans in his lifetime, but none of them ever had eyes like that.

Aria tried to keep her composure, but after several long moments
realized that the 'Commander was still staring at her. Slowly she
looked up at him and smiled softly. "Optical implants, sir. I lost my
natural sight when I was young; these were installed when I joined
Starfleet."

"Ah. Yes, of course," Marcelo responded hastily, looking back down at
his padd and ticking off her name on the list. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, sir," she responded before moving off, quietly studying
the other new arrivals.

Someone cleared his throat in such a manner that it couldn't be
ignored. Until now he'd been rather quiet, thinking about what all had
transpired over the last 48 hours and the reasons why he had been
recruited. He looked at 'Commander de Souza. "I think I'm the last of
this group of specialists. Lieutenant William Davidson, Medical
Systems Specialist."

"It seems that you are, Lieutenant," Marcelo said, looking from the
man back down to his padd, ticking off the last name on the list. He
turned and looked back at Aewyn. "Except for our 'honored guest' and
her entourage, everyone on the list is here."

Cat looked around at the assembled people and then to Mattias, "If all
of us have arrived? I need to freshen up and grab some sleep. It has
been a long journey and not one that was the most comfortable. When
is the initial briefing scheduled?"

The intelligence officer glanced up again at the chronometer on the wall: 1956.

"Fine," he said, nodding curtly. "Let's meet in the conference
roommate at 2300. That should give everyone plenty of time to do
whatever it is they need to do before we get down to business." He
glanced at Marcelo -- Mattias wasn't the strongest telepath in the
world, little more than the standard Betazoid P5, but the man's
horniness was starting to wear on him and he was more than a little
thankful, at that moment, not to be a member of the opposite sex. "And
please. Take care of it." He shifted his attention around to the
greater group. "Once we get started, there's not going to be a lot of
down time."

TBC

"Confused Memories"
2nd Lt Cora Dobryin - SFMC
2nd Platoon Leader
188th Marines Detachment "Furies"- USS Galaxy
=======================================

At some point Cora was going to have to explain her current situation but
had absolutely no clue ho just yet. Recently another message arrived which
provided more information. Like the first if had been enough to shock When
she wasn¹t on duty her focus was dedicated to sorting out this ghost from
the past. This happened to be one of those times she would have preferred a
face to face meeting yet that wasn¹t going to be possible for a while.

~Why don¹t I have a better memory of what happened back then.~ It wasn¹t the
first time a thought like that had passed through Cora¹s mind. Honestly she
didn¹t know how to deal with the realization that something very unexpected
had happened on one of her previous missions.

Cora wasn¹t sure who to talk to because this was so personal. After
pondering things for a bit longer she decided to go for a jog. She wasn¹t
good at confiding in people, in fact it had become more of a habit for her
not to say anything to anyone unless it became absolutely necessary.

For now it was too confusing to try and sort anything out. Honestly Cora
wasn't sure if that is something she could do on her own. Turning her
attention back to her workout, Dobryin set aside thoughts of her personal
issues.

All Cora could do is giver herself time to let the memories resurface. So
far they presented themselves in very small pieces. The end result didn't
Fit the rest of the puzzle that happened to be her recollection of that
mission or it was all a lie.

"Something Different This Way Comes"

Lieutenant Kimberly Burton - Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant T'Pol (8-ball) Hunter - Assistant Chief Science Officer
Plus Guest Star - Eptgac the Teddy Bear

~ ~ ~ Main Sickbay ~ ~ ~

8-ball walked down the Galaxy corridors, well aware that people were staring
at her. This, to some extent, amused her . . . she'd once run down a
corridor barely dressed to less response. But when people thought of
8-ball, they inevitably thought of sex, so a mostly naked half-Vulcan simply
didn't garner as much attention as it once would have.

A half-Vulcan, however, dragging a mostly decapitated teddy bear down the
hallways like some demented Darling brother from Peter Pan did manage to
attract attention.

8-ball ignored these people, intent on reaching her destination. Over the
years since she'd come into possession of the little bear, 8-ball's feelings
for Eptgac had changed from rage to something more akin to fondness . . .
Eptgac was her friend, because she forced him to be, and now he was in dire
need of some help. The stitches around his neck had been coming apart for
months, as well as the crooked ones around one arm and the few she'd sewn
into his stomach. Cotton was threatening to fluff out, potentially leaving
her inanimate friend nothing more than a shapeless brown sack best used to
lug potatoes.

This, of course, was simply not acceptable. So 8-ball had come to fix
matters once and for all.

8-ball arrived at her destination and entered at once, paying absolutely no
attention to anyone else needing help in Sickbay. "Hey Doc!" she called
out, plunking Eptgac on one of the exam tables. "I need your help. I'm
here for a physical."

Across the room, Kimberly and Arrietty turned at the summons and both eyed
the pair who were now occupying a bio bed. One she hadn't seen in quite a
while, the other though. Quizzically studying the figure on the bed for a
moment Kimberly looked to Arrietty and shrugged, "So. it's a teddy bear."
She stated matter of factly as she saw the bemused look on her head nurses
face.

"A 'teddy-bare'? It appears to be a semi-stuffed ursine life form of some
description. Why is it here?" Still studying the same bed on the other
side of the room the head nurse raised an eyebrow and looked at her boss
with a perplexed expression. "This is sickbay, not a sewing circle. Why
would someone bring something like 'that' with them for a physical?"

"Some people are very reassured by their teddy bears, they relax them."
Recalling her own stuffed bear which had literally travelled through space
and time with her she started to walk over to the Vulcan and her somewhat
dishevelled bear.

"I'm El-Aurian, I may listen a lot that doesn't mean I understand
everything." The confused nurse muttered as she returned to her duties.

~ This from the woman who chose a name from an old Earth children's story
'cause her own was too hard to pronounce! ~ Setting the debate aside for
now Kimberly smiled as she looked to the latest arrivals.

"Hi." It wasn't the most eloquent of greetings, but add to it the smile and
it reassured most people, "and welcome back." She offered sincerely, she'd
not really gotten the chance to get to know the Lieutenant when she'd
assumed the CMO's duties, and 8-balls departure had been fairly sudden. "So
what brings you to sickbay? What can I do for you?"

Arrietty had made one good point though. This wasn't a sewing circle, but
on a closer inspection that teddy bear sure needed one.

"I," 8-ball announced, "am fine." It was something she said to herself a
lot these; being an ex-crazy person, she felt the need for occasional
confidence boosters. "My teddy bear here, however, is a lot less than fine.
As you can see, he's been through a lot. He's beyond my capacity to heal."

She then gave the El-Aurian nurse a dirty look. "And don't think I don't
hear you over there . . . yeah, I'm talking to you. Semi-stuffed ursine
life form, indeed." 8-ball patted Eptgac on the head, gently, so it didn't
fall off. "Don't you listen to her, Eptgac. The mean nurse doesn't know
you like I do."

8-ball sighed and then looked up at the doctor who was studying her with one
of those inscrutable expressions . . . she was either amused by 8-ball's
antics or she was trying to remember where the anti-psychotics were placed.
"I'm not crazy," 8-ball said, always betting on the latter. "But you're not
exactly booming with business here, and I figure if you can fix internal
injuries by pretty much pushing a button, you can do something about my
friend here to make him less . . . floppy."

She was right, Kimberly had to give her that. Since the Captain... Captain
M'Kantu that is had departed things had quietened down significantly. And
today was a slow day.

"Let's have a look then." Kimberly agreed with a straight face. She had
been asked to do many things in her career, some had been distasteful, some
had been deeply troubling. Others though had brought a smile to her face
and more still gave her that sense of satisfaction of a job well done.

None though had made her want to burst into a fit of giggles as this moment
had. The Teddy Bears physical.

Activated the biobed on a whim Kimberly muted the alarms that would have
clamoured for her attention after they had failed to detect a pulse, or
respiration or other vital life signs. Considering the bear 'had' no pulse,
respiration or any other normal biological activity she didn't really want
them on. What she did want however was the holo-imaging system that she
used to scan patients and see what was wrong.

Gently laying the bear flat on the bed she projected an enlarged holo-image
of her patient above him and studied his 'condition'. "How long have you
had, ah, Eptgac?" Kimberly asked curiously.

"It's an anagram," 8-ball explained. "Of sorts. Evil Plaything Given by
AntiChrist. And . . .crap. I don't know. Awhile? Almost ten years, I
think." She scrunched up her nose, trying to remember when she last saw
Brian the Fucktard. "Good God, I'm getting old. I'm going to hit 30, if
I'm not careful."

"Gos'se, thanks for that," Kimberly muttered wryly, "I'm only a year or two
older than you so I'll let you know when I get there first, give you some
advance warning." Though that is one 'weird' name for a cuddly bear. she
added silently.

Studying the holo-scan as she spoke it didn't take long to discover the
cause of the problem, this bear was most decidedly sick. Much of his
stitching was frayed, stressed and ripped, there were areas where his fur
was ripped, mostly small areas but rips none the less, and his stuffing had
obviously been leaking for a while. Add to that an attempted decapitation
sometime in his past and you had one sick teddy.

8-ball watched Kimberly scan the bear. In truth, she wasn't sure she'd
actually been expecting this much dedication . . . but she was absurdly
grateful. Eptgac was important to her, dammit. "So," she said, "what's the
verdict?"

"Okay then, what we have here I'm afraid is one sick teddy bear, though
nothing we can't fix fortunately." Walking over to a nearby replicator
Kimberly punched in several orders and specifications, ignoring the
occasional odd look she got from her staff as she did. If they didn't
understand what she was doing, or why, they were in dire need of their own
teddy bear. As her order was beamed in she looked to 8-ball, "This
shouldn't take too long." She promised.

8-ball raised one eyebrow. "Not to sound ungrateful," she said, "because,
really? I am SO not complaining here, but . . . you're being awfully
understanding for, you know, a sane person. Do you have a teddy bear fetish
or something?"

Laughing merrily over the sound of the replicator Kimberly shook her head,
"No, not a fetish, though I do have my own teddy bear, so I understand the
attachment. As for sane... well," collecting the replicated equipment she
walked back over to the bed and picked up a surgical tray. Laying out the
equipment neatly, sewing kit, fur patches and various other items, including
a generous amount of new stuffing she patted Eptgac gently, "Sanity is a
matter of opinion, we all have things or people that mean a great deal to
us. If this little guy is important to you who am I to turn you away."

Privately, 8-ball felt that sanity was only a matter of opinion in the same
way that history was written by the winners--the psychotic losers weren't
going to get a vote. They could scream all they wanted about voices in
their heads talking to them, and it was up to the people around them to
decide if they were batshit crazy, or just eccentric. But since Kimberly
was giving her what she wanted, there really was no reason to push the
point.

"Well, thanks," 8-ball said. She watched as the doctor started reassembling
Eptgac, remembering how her own hands had once unsteadily stitched the teddy
bear's head back on. "You have your own bear too, huh?" she asked, quirking
an eyebrow. "If it's a girl, we should set up a playdate. Eptgac's love
life, sadly, leaves something to be desired."

Chuckling again Kimberly nodded as she held patches to the bear and using an
autostitch carefully stitched the fabric together with seams only a
microscope would see. "Well, she doesn't get out much, and this guy will
soon look much better." Removing the loose thread that held his head next
on she slowly stuffed him with new stuffing, ending the floppyness that had
prompted this bizarre visit, then began to reverse the decapitation.

~ Oh if only every patient was this easy to heal! ~ She thought to herself,
the last time someone had come in with neck problems it hadn't quite been
this easy.

8-ball frowned as she watched Kimberly finish fixing up Epgtac. There was
something . . . moving . . . in the doctor, then, some kind of emotion,
liquid, memory . . .8-ball groaned and mentally told her psychic what-sit to
shut up. Her psychic what-sit completely ignored her. 8-ball saw a flash of
the Captain, of M'Kantu, his neck . . .

"Oh God," she murmured.

Raising an eyebrow as she worked carefully to reassemble Eptgac Kimberly
looked at 8-ball curiously, that was the sort of reaction she'd expect from
a bystander when someone suddenly bled out all over the floor, not when a
stuffed bear split a seam in an unfortunate part of his anatomy and let out
a wad of stuffing.

8-ball glanced up and then bit her lip, felt a guilty flush rise in her
cheeks. She certainly hadn't meant to pick up anything from the doctor, but
some people got touchy about that sort of thing, intentional or not.

"Well," she said, "I sort of have this whole psychic deal going on . . . and
I swear, I didn't mean to read you, promise, but . . . I just, I saw Captain
M'Kantu in here and the way his neck looked, it just . . . it must have been
awful." 8-ball wasn't exactly buds with their former commander (hell, the
man had once sentenced her to study-buddy time in the kids' classroom . . .
sadistic bastard) but she had a certain level of respect for the man, and
anyway, not many people deserved to have their neck broken. It was horrible
to see, the way it hung there, twisted, wrong . . .

"Don't worry," Kimberly assured her, "I'm not exactly in a position to block
my thoughts, they tend to leak," she apologised. Being completely psi null
was in her eyes not a problem normally. The standard PSI assessment at the
Academy had proven once and for all that she was about as telepathically
active as a rock. Strong thoughts and emotions as she understood it were
fairly easy for people to pick up if they had the ability, and while most
telepaths weren't actively 'listening' someone this close was likely to pick
up on something.

"On the up side though," she assured 8-ball, turning Eptgac over to repair
the final seam, "the Captain is better now, and Goddess willing should be
back with us one day, but it wasn't pleasant at the time." Finishing the
last stitch she sat the bear on the biobed and plumped him to evenly
distribute the stuffing then smiled. "There," she announced warmly, "one
healed teddy."

8-ball looked at Eptgac and smiled at the way she could hold him carelessly
without fearing that his head would fall off and be used as a soccer ball.
"Thanks," she said, honestly, to the doctor who'd *cured* him. "It, ah,
means a lot. I know you certainly didn't have to."

"No trouble, no trouble at all." Kimberly assured her warmly, "And any time
he needs a check up feel free to swing by." She added impishly.

8-ball nodded and retreated towards the Sickbay doors, holding Eptgac
loosely in one hand. "You see," she said to him. "Some doctors DO have
good bedside manners, contrary to popular belief and general paranoia."

"However," --and here she looked over her shoulder to glare at the evil
nurse who'd done nothing whatsoever to help-- "you do have to watch out for
the occasional nurse who's more inclined to treat you as psychotic instead
of just quirky. Escaping them can be a tricky thing, but you'll learn in
time, I'm sure. Now, let's go home and eat some chocolate, shall we? I'm
so in the mood for an ice cream sun--" The doors closed behind her, cutting
off 8-ball's dialogue with the cured teddy bear.

Watching 8-ball depart, animatedly chatting to her bear Kimberly turned back
to the bed, "Don't say a word Arrietty!" she warned her nurse as she did,
not needing to be a telepath or even look in her direction to know what the
expression on her face was right now, or what was going through her mind.
Humming to herself she smiled as she tidied up.

~ Some days, this is a 'great' job! ~

"The Investigation" Part 2

Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO
Lt. Victor Krieghoff, Security Second
Lt. T'Pol "8-ball" Hunter, Sciences
Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineering
Ens. Alexandra Lee, Engineering
Cwm. Jonathan Smithwick, Medic (NPC)

-----

"Anyone, report."

"Captain, all external sensors are offline." That was T'Mar again; of
the half-dozen people on the bridge (all of which had miraculously
survived the impact, he noted) she seemed to be the least injured or
shaken up.

"What about internals? Damage report?"

Lt. Cmdr. Greentree turned in her broken chair to face the captain, even
though in the near darkness none of them could really see much of
anything. "Also offline."

"Is anything online?"

"Uhm..." JP heard some tapping, which he assumed to be Jessa trying to
type at her mostly ruined console. "No sir, not--"

And of course at that precise moment the emergency power feeds decided
to kick on, bathing the bridge in a low red light. It wasn't much, but
it was enough to show the bridge crew just how much damage had been done
on impact. The ceiling was pressed down on one side, and a couple of the
panels had popped loose and impacted the main viewer, shattering it.
Both forward consoles had come loose from their moorings and had tumbled
to rest against the viewscreen. The remaining consoles were more or less
intact, but occasional sparks from the engineering console indicated
that things might be worse off than they appeared. But what was probably
the most irritating part was that the ship had come to rest somewhat
tilted, and then the gravity generators had failed, so everything that
wasn't bolted down had slid to the left and now it felt like everything
that was pinned down was going to follow suit soon enough.

"Emergency generators are coming online...obviously," Greentree
reported, flinching whenever the console sparked. "Internal sensors in
the primary hull are almost functional, but I'm getting no response from
the stardrive decks. External sensors are trying to come online.
And...oddly enough, communications are functioning at nearly one hundred
percent."

Beside him, Andy snorted, the noise predictably touching off yet another
round of coughing and hacking. JP reached over to pat his friend on the
back, but stopped abruptly when something in the deck below him groaned.
"Eesh. Maybe not."

"Captain," T'Mar interjected, tapping at her console as she tried to
make sense of the half-destroyed display. "External sensors are
functioning at eleven percent capacity, and indicate that the planet is
Minshara-class."

"In...that case...recommend we abandon...ship, Captain," Andy
half-croaked, his speech erratically accented with short, dry coughs.
Levesque looked around for a moment at the shattered bridge. So many
years of research and development, so many millions of man-hours spent
putting this ship together, and now look what it had gotten them. It
took over four hundred people to keep this beast going, and only God
knew how many had survived the crash. All that time, all those
resources, all those people...and here it lay in a shattered heap on
some planet somewhere. And they didn't even have the ability to figure
out where they were.

He sighed defeatedly. "Alright. Open the ship-wide broadcast channel."
Pausing only slightly to wait for Jessa's confirmation, JP continued,
"All hands, this is the captain. Abandon ship under standard plan
outlined in emergency protocol 5. I repeat, abandon ship, emergency
protocol 5. Levesque out."

"Never thought we would need that protocol," he commented to his XO
after the channel had closed. Truthfully, when the command team drafted
"Emergency Protocol 5: Evacuation Procedures in the Event of an
Unexpected Planetary Impact" last year, JP thought it was almost a waste
of time. But now...he was very thankful that they'd spent that extra bit
of time covering all their bases. "Activate the distress beacon."

"Beacon activated, sir; begin recording when ready."

JP nodded and took a deep breath. "This is Captain Levesque of the
starship Aiolos on an unknown planet. All propulsion systems are
inoperative. We have suffered severe damage. We request any and all
assistance. I repeat, this is Captain Levesque of the starship
Aiolos..."

-----

"The signal is coming in loud and clear; about fifty meters dead ahead
and one deck up."

Iniara wasn't sure which of the two engineers that had been; it was
dark, they were both behind her, and in the narrow echoing hallways she
couldn't really tell one voice from the other. "On the main bridge,
right?"

"Aye, sir."

"Okay. Almost there." Almost there, Iniara repeated in her mind. She
wiped her sweat-soaked brow with one hand, grabbing at the wall with the
other. Even if the greenhouse effect hadn't made the ship's inside
nearly as hot as a sauna, the exertion of climbing at such an angle was
more than enough to make her sweat. And for some unknown reason she had
a pounding headache. She hated mystery headaches; that was never a good
sign.

Sweat dripped from Alex's face onto her uniform. It seemed hotter inside
the ship than it had been outside. Climbing upwards at nearly a 45
degree angle didn't help the situation at all. She took out her canteen
and took a small sip of water. Some rustling in a growth of vines to her
right immediately caught her attention as she drew her Type 2 Phaser and
leveled it in the direction of the noise. "What the hell is that?"

Her question seemed to be immediately answered by a wet brown glob
impacting the long sleeve coat of her warm weather fatigues. "ooop.
ooop. oppp," came a noise from a small spider monkey-like creature which
darted out of the vine growth and scurried down the corridor.

"Great! My first away team mission and I get shit thrown at me by a
monkey!" Alex complained as she removed the light coat.

"Welcome to field duty." Nara stated it matter-of-factly and without
sympathy. "This is nothing. Ever been in battle?"

"One second, ma'am." Behind Alex, Medic Smithwick stepped forward,
pulling out his tricorder. For most of the past several hours he'd been
silent, only stopping to observe and record information about each
strange plant or animal any of them came into contact with. This was a
brand new planet, full of new organisms and new diseases, and if one of
them was unlucky enough to contract something, having all the
information already at hand would be much more beneficial than trying to
track down the offending organism.

"Just need to get a quick sample," John continued, holding up the end of
the coat's sleeve and waving the tricorder over it for several seconds
before producing yet another small sample vial and scraping a bit of the
smelly goop into it. "The... substance seems benign. You should be
alright... stained coat notwithstanding," he added with a smile.

8-ball looked at the two of them for a minute and then continued to
climb. She did not particularly trust *benign* substances and she wanted
absolutely nothing to do with them. She was somewhat reassured, however,
to note that the medic had only said "You should be alright" with a
tempered sort of optimism, instead of big, jolly, "You'll be perfectly
fine." If that were the case, 8-ball would be screaming, running (or
falling) back in the other direction. Nothing said painful, excruciating
death like some moron proclaiming that everything was just dandy.

Of course, no need to wait for alien creatures tossing their benign
substances around . . .the heat was doing its best to cook her from the
inside out. 8-ball felt like someone was smothering her with an
extremely hot pillow, and she muttered to herself as she climbed, coming
up with as many colorful variations of the word 'fuck' as she could
manage. It did nothing to help her intake of oxygen flow, but it did
make her feel a *little* better.

Nara climbed as well, making sure to be aware where her phaser was. She
had a feeling -- a hopeful feeling -- she'd need it. She'd been stuck on
the ship amongst her job and domestic duties for so long. Even things
with Saul were getting run of the mill. Which felt more surreal having
that intuition he was hiding some pretty exciting stuff. She was itching
to know. Not because she felt the right to know as his lover, but she
needed some adventure!

From around the corner, there came a 'awk' sound, followed by more
scurrying, and the small animal zipped back up the corridor along the
vines, whining in fear as all eight legs moved rapidly, before vanishing
into an air duct whose cover had been burst open by emerging plant
growth. Seconds later, Victor Krieghoff moved into view at the end of
the line of Away Team members, the shadows cast by the light clipped to
his uniform making him appear more satanic than usual.

"We didn't need that animal for anything did we?" he asked, checking
back over his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah," 8-ball said. "I was going put a leash on it and call it
Fluffy." Then she decided to clarify, because she wasn't sure how much
Victor understood sarcasm these days. At one point, humor seemed a
little beyond him, but he appeared to be a very different man than the
one she'd last seen a year ago. Still creepy as all hell, though. Just,
maybe Death Jr. instead of just Death. "Nah," she said. "At least,
Sciences doesn't want him. We have enough weird things to dissect
without random alien spider shit monkeys, thanks."

Chuckling, Nara added, "I brought something back from planetside once.
Ever been around an angsty teen? These aliens would flee if they met
her."

"Good - and I think we can all agree that angsty alien spider shit
monkey teenagers would be a concept so horrifying that it should never
be mentioned again," Victor agreed with a half-smile. "Whatever it was
that was eyeing us outside doesn't see to have followed us inside -
which could be good or bad depending on the reason why."

"My God," 8-ball said to Victor. "That was honest-to-God humor. It's
like I don't even know you anymore." She pushed back sweat from her
forehead and decided to ignore it when more popped up instantly. "Well,
let's hear it, Mr. Funny Man. What's the GOOD reason that these AASSMT's
haven't followed us?"

"Good if they just doesn't like the wreckage for some reason," Victor
explained as he looked around and took a drink from his canteen. "Bad,"
he continued, stowing the canteen away, "if it was because something
they were afraid of already lives in here."

8-ball groaned. She knew this mission was going to end up with her
getting eaten.

Nara patted 8-ball on the back. "You think monkeys could kill us after
all we've been through?"

"Yes," 8-ball said, rather flatly. "I have faith that the universe will
provide as humiliating and ridiculous a death as it can possibly
proscribe."

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora

JAG

PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell (PC by Omar)

EMRT

PO3 Arelis Moreno (NPC by Omar)

EMRT

Location: Sickbay *yet again*

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

'Pain in the ass?' She thought. 'No....too obvious...' Ophelia thought again with a slightly perturbed expression etched on her features. Coming around the corner, she viewed the large entrance to sick bay and her mind shot itself into over drive. 'Migraine...that's it."

Scrunching up her face in mock pain, she scanned the area for the one person she obviously came to see. Sighing, Ophelia came to the conclusion that he might not be on shift at this point. 'That would suck'

The things women did to get attention, it was almost....well...it just wasn't right. Yet, here she stood in casual attire that accentuated her curves knowing damned well she could send him over the moon. She hoped so anyway at least.

It was the start of another Delta Shift, and Max was beginning to feel the wear and tear of not enough sleep. He spent almost all of Gamma shift chatting it up with Victory in the Arboretum. And now he had to deal with not only his...current lover (soon to be ex-lover), but concentration has eluded him thus far in his routine tasks.

He took another swig of coffee and winced as he burned his mouth again for what had to have been the fifth time in the last 15 minutes. He turned to address Arelis, who was in a funk of a mood as it were. Apparently she heard about his hanging out with the nurse.

"Could you run over to Med Lab 2 and grab the results for McPherson?" Wordlessly, Arelis left her station and walked out of Sickbay, but not before passing a glance at the woman standing just out side the doors in casual attire.

Ophelia arched her eyebrows at the woman before turning her attention back to the search. And that's when her eyes locked onto him as he took yet another swig from the mug. Offering a timid, yet assuming smile, her hand shot up and shot right back down in sort of a shy wave. "Hi." She muttered.

Max smiled as his patient from earlier entered Sickbay. "Hey, how are you? Ankle feeling bad again?" He immediately put his mug down, concerned about his patient.

"Ankle's fine actually. It's my head right now. It seems I have this...pain." She grinned, her game of pretend quickly sinking into reality. "I don't know if there is any cure.........it might be a chronic problem." Again, a small smile peeked out as her eyes dropped to the floor.

"A pain, you say," the Medic replied, slowly realizing that something else was afoot. He decided to go along for the ride...wherever that might lead. "Okay, have a seat over here and I'll take a better look at you."

"Okay." She paused. "Now what?"

Yeah, now what, his inner good guy questioned. Don't you see what's going on here? Resist, good man, resist!! For his own part, Max continued to remain professional. For the time being. "Now," he got out, "I look into your eyes and look for signs of, ah, something."

IS that the BEST you can do?? cajoled the inner bad boy. Duh, I dunno... Get real, man! You're looking for signs that she's got the hots for ya! Indeed, Max saw the flash of mischief in her eyes. An errant thought caused him to break his concentration and he dropped the remote scanner he had just picked up to check Ophelia's eyes.

"I am so sorry, please excuse me," he blubbered, quickly bending down to try and pick up the scanner.

"It's okay." Zamora whispered before looking at him with complete and utter innocence. She bit down on her bottom lip while looking straight at him. "So....find anything....interesting?"

"I think I may have, but it may need a deeper look," is what escaped Max's mouth before he could even blink. He tried his best to keep a straight face about it, but knew his eyes betrayed him.

"Your eyes are very telling..." Ophelia responded. "So." Straightening out her posture a bit, she kept an even facial expression. "Are you going to ask me out or what?"

"I was wondering the same thing," he replied. "I'm pretty good at stir-fry..."

"Yeah? Interesting." She permitted a half grin to creep across her mouth. "Anything else your pretty good at?" 'Oh god..here we go again. I just need to screw him and get it over with' Lia thought to herself.

"I'm off during Beta and Gamma shifts...we could go into further detail then...," Max replied. Just let her screw you and be done with it, the Inner Good Guy admonished. The Inner Bad Boy remained quiet, but Max was sure he was smiling about it.

"Sounds like a plan. Wow....it appears the pain in my head is gone...go figure...."

"Imagine that," said Max, truly feeling like seasoned steak for the grill.

"Is there anything I can bring?" Loaded question, very loaded. However, being an attorney, Ophelia was excellent at asking loaded questions because the answer always hinted at the true intentions of the person.

"I'll leave that up to you," Max returned, knowing better than to answer a question like that. "I hope you like spicy. That's how I like to cook." You are such a dork, teased Inner Bad Boy. For once, Max had to agree. He could have used some kind of double entendre, or statement loaded with innuendo, but oh, no he had to go for 'I hope you like spicy'. Dorkus Maximus, indeed.

Ophelia just nodded, letting the tension between them permeate the air and wonder freely through the sick bay. "I....should get going. Your place around 7?"

"Um, yeah 7 tonight works great for me." He felt the temperature rise between them quite some time ago, and was on the verge of panting. He could already imagine what it would be like to-

The doors slid open and one Petty Officer Moreno returned with the lab results that Max had asked for. Oh, shit, thought Max, Inner Good Guy and Inner Bad Boy in unison. Arelis simply looked at the both of them, placed the requested lab results on the counter near them and made her way to another part of Sickbay.

"Someone woke up alone...." Ophelia muttered to herself as she watched Moreno disappear. Turning her head, she offered a knowing smile. "Bye....."

Max offered a silent wave and mouthed the words, "Later."

"Flirting with the friction of tension"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora

JAG

PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell (PC by Omar)
EMRT

"We have to stop meeting like this." Lia stood at his door casually dressed in jeans and a black off the shoulder top.

"Do we," Max asked. His uniform was gone, replaced by a tee shirt and khaki pants. The odor of cooking was present in the room, but not overbearing.

"Naw, not really." Zamora gave him the once over, inwardly nodding with extreme satisfaction. "It smells good in here." She wondered if her perfume offset the smell of the steak any, and hoped that she didn't spray it on too thick or that Max had any type of allergy to it.

"Thank you. I hope it tastes as good to you as it smells. Please, come in and make yourself at home." Max stretched out his arm in invitation. As she passed, he gave her his own once over and was very satisfied with what he saw. "Would you like an appetizer," he offered.

"I'm okay now.....but thanks." Zamora found her way to his couch and tucked her legs up underneath her. Once comfortable, she quipped. "Do you have time to sit with all your cooking?'

"Um, yeah sure," he answered quickly. He cast a glance at the fare he was preparing, then sat down near, but not too close to the litigator. "Everything is pretty much done," Max explained. "It's all set to keep warm, now."

"That's good." She responded quietly. Her gaze lifted, looking at him rather intently. "Do you ever get involved with legal cases due to your profession? Medically speaking?"

That's a left field question, Max thought. "Back when I was a part of NYC EMS I went to court quite bit for cases relating to patients I treated or just as an expert witness. Occasionally, I still do appear in court as an expert witness." He wondered where this was going.

"The reason why I'm asking is that I'm looking for a person that I can come to for medical consultation if the need ever would arise in a case. I might have one coming up....and your expertise would be welcome."

"Of course," Max replied. "I would be more than happy to assist your department in any way I can." Which was true, as he had been looking for ways to make broader use of his knowledge.

"Wonderful." She responded quickly. Zamora stiffled a yawn she felt rising up. It was not him for certain, it was the demands of work and motherhood rolled up into one. A small bit of silence floated between them. Ophelia not really sure what to say at this point so her gaze wondered down to her lap where her entwined fingers were resting. She fidgeted for a few moments before looking up and smiling.

"Is that all you wanted to ask me," Ben inquired. "Or is there something else you're maybe looking for the right way to say?" It really was not in his nature, but occasion has risen more than once where he had to be bold in his statements.

She stayed quiet not really knowing what to say or how to say it. Ophelia wasn't versed in such matters usually being the one that was told what to do and how to do it. "Is there anything you want but don't know how to say it?" She posed in return. It was always safe to answer a question with a question. Besides, men were supposed to make the first move...weren't they?

For his own part, Max had never been the pursue and capture type when it came to courting someone. To him things just happened when two people who connected met. Now he was on the hot seat again, and figured they wouldn't get anywhere (doing anything at all) if they played question versus question all night. "Well, I..." And just like that he lost his nerve. "I'm sorry, this is awkward for me..."

"Same for me." She responded. "It's supposed to be easier...right? I mean....we look forelornly into each others eyes and feel the chemistry, lean over at the same time, and let nature take its..........."

"...course?" Max replied in a whisper right before he kissed her lightly on the lips, then slowly drew away to a few inches away from her face. He said nothing else, but his eyes begged the question: now what?

"Exactly." Feeling somewhat relieved that the ice had been broken so to speak, Ophelia leaned back just a little. "See, that wasn't so difficult...." She paused, taking a minute to look up at the ceiling. "Something's burning....."

The sarcastic remark Max was about to make was cut short by the warning tone and message from his cooking area.

[Warning, prepared food has exceeded established parameters and has begun to burn...]

He was up and already at the 'stove' where ever thickening smoke escaped the concave wok he was preparing his peppered steak in. "Ah, balls," he muttered. "Might I interest you in a vegetarian stir-fry instead?"

"Honestly, that sounds fine as well." She responded. Standing up, she walked up behind him, glancing behind him. Her breath whispered on his neck. "Hi...." A slight smile appeared.

"Hi..." Max replied, a light smile of his own as he slowly turned and ever so carefully took Lia into his arms. He cradled her towards him by intertwining his hands amidst her back. "Maybe we should just..." he trailed off.

"Fornicate in your bed?" She offered before laughing out loud at his reaction. "Why don't we.....just talk....and get to know each other?"

"I think that's the best idea I've heard tonight," Max said, feeling very relieved as the pressure dissipated.

"Support"

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Chief Counselor

Lt. Cmdr. Adrian An'quinsos
Asst. Chief Counselor

More than once, Brian stopped and considered turning away from the
door before reaching it. He
was being irrational and he knew it, but this was more difficult than
he would have preferred.

But why?

The question flashed through his mind almost as many times as he
considered retreating to the
safety of his office.

"No. Stop it," he muttered to himself, glad that there was no one at
the the counseling suite
reception desk at the moment. The sight of the Chief Counselor
repeatedly walking toward, then
away from, his assistant's office wasn't exactly a sanity-inspiring
spectacle. With his
newfound semi-confidence, he took a few solid strides and closed the
distance to Adrian's door.
Knowing his assistant wasn't in session with anyone at the moment,
Brian wasn't surprised when
the door slid open.

He looked at the man at the desk without waiting for any response to
his sudden entrance.
"Adrian," he said, his tone perhaps a little more abrupt sounding than
he would have intended.
Such was the price of forced determination.

Reports, that was all that lay before him today, well for the rest of
the day anyway. As seemed
custom, most of his patients had either come and gone or rescheduled
appointments. Some did this
because they couldn't get around work. Meanwhile others did it because
they hated seeing a
counselor, any counselor. It didn't matter if the person behind the
desk was Betazoid,

El-Aurian, Human, or Klingon, people would rather have an appendectomy
done than get their head
examined. However, other made up for those slots, such as the colorful
house calls he got, and
of course the surprise visits. Yes, it was definitely the surprise
visits that made it all worth it.

And then his head darted upward, the thoughts of a moment ago slipping
away into the recesses of
his mind. Expression in earnest, he stood from his desk in attention.
The only thing that threw
this scene off balanced was the fact that he hit his knee on the way
up and in doing so, had
this serious look of pain on his face.

"Sir?"

Brian cringed at the greeting. "Sorry," he said, waving his hand to
dispel the abrupt air he'd
unintentionally established. "Adrian, I uh...I need to talk. To a
friend...well, I guess to
the Assistant Chief Counselor too," he added, thinking the matter
through for another second.
He approached Adrian's desk. "Do you have a few minutes?

"Apology accepted and please, have a seat." Adrian eased around the
desk with a slight limp, and
finally easing into the other seat. He began shaking his leg a little;
it was apparent that
Adrian would live after all. "Well, that's what I'm here for, to
listen. What's on your mind?"

"Actually I guess I should apologize to you," Elessidil said,
gesturing slightly toward Adrian's
knee. "Anyway," he continued, "what's on my mind." He looked away
for a second, re-collecting
his thoughts before looking back to Adrian again. "A lot of
things...but one thing in
particular." He didn't want to sound melodramatic, but the truth was
he *felt* melodramatic.
After all, he had a career-threatening disease. How was he supposed
to sound? Happy? "Adrian,
I've been diagnosed with a mutated strain of Zanthi Fever. Are you
familiar with the
condition?"

"I'll never know it in another hundred years from now." At times he
had heard Human students say
that during their academy days. Adrian wasn't entirely sure why a
short-lived race would coin
such a term, but he suspected it was intended to spoken with that
notion in mind. He listened,
momentarily considering how ironic it was to ask a Betazoid that
question. "Zanthi Fever? Yes,
I've heard of it." He leaned back thoughtfully. "It targets the
empathic abilities of mature
Betazoids, causing them to project their own emotions onto others. It
appears to work only on
those individuals where a latent propensity for that emotion was
present." He passed a gaze over
at Brian. "A mutated strain, how severe is it?"

Mature Betazoids. Made it sound all the worse. "We -- Kimberly and I
-- aren't entirely sure.
The effects have been sporadic so far, but a lot of that has to do
with the medication she has me
on while she tries to figure it out. When it does hit, it seems to be
pretty severe. It causes
something of an emotional feedback loop."

"Considering what I've read, the regular version of this illness is
bad enough; it can lead to
some, if you will forgive, interesting reactions… and chaos." Adrian
tilted his head
thoughtfully. "You mentioned an emotional feedback loop? How does this work?"

Brian nodded. "My natural empathic ability amplifies the emotions as
they come back from
whomever I project them to, and then they go back out even stronger,
and so on. Arel Smith and
I got into a brawl in the gym awhile back because of it," he somewhat
ashamedly admitted.

"Ah…" Adrian trailed off, roughly understanding the concept presented
to him. "And has anything
happened since then?"

"Nothing major. Andy and I have learned how to deal with it when we
see it coming, but it
doesn't make communication any easier. But I guess that's my concern,
Adrian. Kimberly says
the medication won't work forever and that it's going to get worse.
Unless she can find an
answer...." Brian shook his head. "If this goes out of control when
I'm in a counseling
session, or sitting in the command chair up on the bridge...I shudder
to think what could
happen. It almost ruined my efforts on the Vered mission. If it
hadn't been for Cianan Tierney
I'd probably still be there, hiding in a cave somewhere with a bunch
of refugees."

The El-Aurian did what he did best, listen to his friend's words and
considered everything in
them as he thought about what he would say. It couldn't be said that
Adrian was neutral in
expression; his face bore a strong expression of concern. "This may be
an obvious question but
have you contacted the Doctors on Betazed? Barring that have you
spoken to any Doctors from
other telepathic/empathic races; the Vulcans, Ullians, Napeans, Cairn,
or others?" He brought up
his hands contemplatively. "As for your illness, I'm sure you've been
handling things very
carefully; I've been wondering why my workload has doubled." He winked
and grinned softly.

Elessidil forced a grin in return. "Kimberly's been in touch with
doctors all over the
quadrant. No one's seen this strain before it seems." He sighed,
bracing himself to say what
was next on his mind. "Adrian...I don't know if I can keep myself in
active duty knowing what
could happen. I've been trying to decide what I should do."

His expression along with the semantic gesture remained. "As my friend
and Commanding Officer, I
am behind you in whatever choice you feel is wisest. More so, as your
friend, I'm here for you
no matter what." It was almost like talking to his sister back on the
Stormwarden, except Brian
was male and many centuries younger than she was. Inwardly he was
cringing at what was about to
be said next. "As a Counselor, the recommendation would be no duty
until such time you were fit
to go back to work. I know it's the last thing you'd want to hear, and
the last thing I want to
say, it's the logical option." He tilted his head slightly. "I know
the doctor has been in
contact with Doctors all over the quadrant, but has she considered
any… unconventional
treatments?"

Adrian had said nothing Brian hadn't expected or thought himself.
Still, the what to do wasn't
as clear as he would have liked it to be. It was much easier to make
a decision like this when
you felt incapacitated, but in general he felt fine. It was what
*could* happen that bothered
him.

"Unconventional treatments?" Brian thought for a moment. "I'm
honestly not sure. She hasn't
suggested anything unconventional yet. Did you have something in mind?"

"Aside from a Mind Meld?" He considered all the options and began to
toss them around.
"Considering its nature, one could always use: radiation therapy,
nanites, bacteriophages… and
other ideas that could be employed."

"Nanites?" Brian repeated. "I think I'd prefer to stick with the
conventional until Kimberly
says otherwise." He sighed again, his mind really no clearer than
when he started. "I don't
think I'm ready to make a decision yet. But Adrian...I need you to be
ready. I don't know how
this will play out yet. I might stay fairly stable for quite awhile,
or things might change
quickly. Either way...well, just be ready."

"Your choice; but it's amazing what they've come up with these days."
He shrugged; of course
Adrian would never consider using nanites either. He simply nodded and
looked over at Brian as
he spoke. "Well, sooner or later something will have to be done Brian,
and I have faith that you
know what you're doing."

"That's probably more than I can say right now." Standing, Brian
looked at his friend, grateful
for the personal and professional support he had in him. "Thank you,
Adrian. I'll keep you
posted."

"Departmental Diplomacy"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
JAG

Lt. JG Greg Davis
Attorney

Lt. JG Mark Fuldauder
Paralegal

Various NPCs

Location: Conference Room A - Liaison Department

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

Arrival at the monthly departmental meeting was fragmented. Nodding to those that arrived, Zamora sipped what remained of her coffee and gently placed her crystal mug down on the oblong table. Various crew entered, but the two that stuck out were Davis with the donuts and Fuldauer with his easy, lazy smile. She counted them, six in all and we were good to start.

"Good afternoon!"

Mumbles of greeting met her initial greeting with mid afternoon weariness.

"Less than enthused to be here, I take it?" Lia posed. Small smiles laced with truth gave her the answer she was searching to find.

"I'll try and make this as short as possible then. One of our main responsibilities of this department is to improve relations between departments on this ship. It has not been happening. Little skirmishes are popping up between departments. Apparently, a 'prank war' has been initiated between departments that have always been at odd with each other. Granted, the pranksters have not been caught as of yet. However, if one really looks at the pranks being pulled, it's not that difficult to place what departments the crew came from."

"For example?" Davis muttered as best he could with a mouthful of maple creme stick.

Ophelia opened her mouth in protest, then shut it before any words could leak out.

'That was my maple creme stick.' She thought in defeat as she watched it get mushed and get swallowed.

"For example...the hydroponics lab reported that someone managed to change the environmental controls in the room and frost over the pumpkin patch they had been monitoring for months."

"Oh damn. No Great Pumpkin this year Charlie Brown." Fuldauer contributed with a girlish chuckle.

"Mark...." Zamora warned.

"Who's Charlie Brown...and what's a great pumpkin? Arn't they all pretty big?" Davis questioned which made Fuldauer giggle more.

"Sorry!" He offered apologetically after viewing Ophelia's stare.

"Tactical is reporting that several of their crew have been trapped by random containment fields at various times during the day." She spoke firmly, silently wishing she had more coffee.

"Oh man. Gives a new meaning to playing capture the flag."

"Mark! Please......"

"Anything else?" Davis asked attempting to keep the meeting on track.

"Various things. However, I need suggestions on how to smooth things out. Sciences was more than a little pissed when someone dumped Piranhas into their departmental pet fish aquarium."

Fuldauer opened his mouth, only to have Ophelia raise her hand. "Cork it Lt."

"I was going to suggest a departmental crew exchange program." He replied with a defensive tone.

"Explain....."

"Well.....crew members are exchanged for a time between departments that hold hostilities towards each other in an attempt to understand what the other crew go through on a daily basis. Sort of like the student exchange program....only with grown ups."

"Command would have to approve." Davis shot out between another swallow of donut.

"And.....in all honesty, I don't believe the new captain would find the 'logic' behind such an en devour." Lia thought out loud. "But....you can draw up a report and I'll present it to her soon."

"Why me?"

"Because, Lt. Fuldauer, I ordered you to do so." She smiled cheekily at him.

"Pardon me Lt. Zamora. This was just delivered for you. The gentleman told me to make sure you received it as soon as possible." Ophelia's secretary gingerly placed the covered tray down and handed the woman a hand written note. Watching her boss's reaction, she spoke yet again. "He was obviously from sick bay......."

"Thank you Lisa." Ophelia stated shortly in a way that Lisa knew to make a hasty departure.

At this point, interest around the oblong table had perked. Gone was the mundane meeting and in it's place a mystery.

Opening the small card, Ophelia cemented a firm smile on her mouth followed shortly by softly blushing cheeks. The smell continued to permeate the room, causing the group of distinguished legal and diplomatic personnel to slobber openly much akin to Pavlov's famous dogs.

"What is it?"

Ophelia shrugged before lifting the lid and peeking underneath. Looking up, she caught all of her crew staring at her, silently demanding an answer as the watched her grin turn overly goofy. Lifting the lid for all to see, she revealed a perfectly seasoned, perfectly cook steak resting on a plate surrounded by red rose petals.

"It appears...that someone is already practicing the delicate art of departmental diplomacy......" Fuldauer whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Several snickers broke the silence, causing Zamora to raise her hands in defeat. "Dismissed!"

"Entirely Fascinating Med-Check"

---
PO 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell
Paramedic Practitioner/Emergency Medical Response Teams
USS Galaxy-A

Staff Technician Rheay Olin,
Flight Crew Technician, Vanguard Group,
USS Galaxy-A

AND:
Technician Gedala Darks
Ordnance Specialist, Vanguard Group,
USS Galaxy-A
(APC - Aet)
---
===Somewhere in Medical Country, Deck Wherever===

"Just keep walking," the redhead barked while jamming an elbow into
Ra's back, nudging her forward. "Your organs will not be proclaimed as
a waste of oxygen and blood all on their own, you need some smartass
Med monkey to go over you first. One would think that you had grasped
the bare basics of existence by now."

"Shadup," the slim blond mumbled hurtfully, dragging her feet across
another uninspiring hallway towards the medbay the extremely perky Ops
Ensign had referred them to. Apologies, Crew Orientation Manager. Meh.

"I just had one of these like two months ago," Ra continued whining as
the duo slithered into the medbay, stalling for a moment as a
flustered looking Nurse made an intricate line between them with a
tray of what looked to be the combination of a canine's dinner and a
pair of dentures. The two techies shared a look, shrugged in unison
and parted ways, making a perfect split to opposing directions of the
complex.

"You had one last damned year. And don't bite anyone, that's what I
do," Dala hollered over her shoulder, already making a beeline towards
a particularly handsome someone. She was not known for wasting time,
her own nor anyone else's.
Ra just waved her hand dismissively in the Trills general direction
and trekked forward, at the same trying to force her guts to settle
down in their deranged fear of people dressed in teal tones. She was
not comfortable with the odds that this 'Maxwell' would be one of said
folks.

Max's mood was for the moment neutral. He had just broken up with
Arelis (who was on the other side of Sickbay tending to a fractured
leg) earlier, and understandably considering his sudden and latest
interests. And then there was the Delta Shift rush. For some reason,
everyone and their mother (in a couple of cases literally) needed
medical attention. He wasn't sure if it was pre-mission jitters or
people giving in to the notion that there was some kind of haunting
going on (which was the latest tale spun from the rumor mill).

He sensed that someone was approaching and without turning from his
screen asked, "Can I help you?"

Ra jumped a little at the sudden questioning coming from the towering
Medhead. She composed herself quickly and cleared her throat, giving a
useless nod at the same time. ?Entirely possible, sir. I?m a new
crewmember, here for a routine physical. I think I was assigned to a
Benedict Maxwell, if that?s plausible.? She tilted her head to the
side slightly, scanning the mayhem around herself with moderate
interest. All this silly crazyness...and ghosts, le fuck? Clearly this
was a whole other world from the calm bubble that the Venture had
floated in.

"What's your name," the Medic asked. He looked at the chronometer
then back at her.

"Rheay Olin, sir. SFFC enlisted grease monkey." She smiled meekly,
hopping out f the way of another rushing whoever.

"Okay, well you're late," he growled. "But that's alright. No one
seems to have their act together these days. C'mon," he directed,
motioning to an exam bed/table nearby.

Ra eyed the chronometer quickly as well, pursing her lips slightly.
"Sorry sir, I guess between the orientation and the getting lost I
forfeited some time." She headed in the direction pointed to, quite
literally like a lamb to slaughter, sighing under her breath. Incoming
tirade about the horrors of smoking and drinking and falling face
first on deck plates incoming, And this time from a guy who looked
like he could squash her with his pinky.

"Alright, Ms.....Olin," Max started absentmindedly as he pulled up her
information on his PADD. "Let's see, here. Do you smoke, drink
alcohol, partake in exotic substances, harbor exotic animals?"

"Yes, yes, yes and yes if my roommate counts." She cringed inwardly,
hoisting herself up on the exam bed of no return. Ra wished she could
have lied. Lord knows, she had gotten increasingly better at it over
the years spent in Starfleet.
"Nooo, sir, -I- do not know how this shipment of Kanar ended up in the
cockpit of Mustang Four."
"No, sir, I haven't a clue why Pilot Keredian is petitioning for
medical leave due to 'allergies', I don't know who gave him that rash.
I mean, where he got that rash from."
"See, I was actually in Engineering when that particular part of the
deck collapsed..." and so forth. But she figured messing with resident
Big Angry Looking Guys was not the safest way to integrate herself
into the merry crew. Just have to tough it out.

Max raised both eyebrows upward in response to her painfully honest
answers. He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. "I'm going to
refer you to a substance user's program. You will complete said
program, and cease any further use of illicit substances if you wish
to remain on this ship. Am I clear?"

Oh frek. "Yes, sir," she uttered in a particularly unenthusiastic
voice, dangling her legs over the side of the contraption. That
rotation again.

Nothing new, really, a good two thirds of the combat enlisteds had
gone through the cycle at least two to three times in her knowledge.
And she wasn't a particular fan of telling straight lies to higher-ups
when the matter was as...well, minute, as this one. Not like
Keredian's bright blue face-rash or anything.
All judgements aside, every now and then the lowliest and
most-often-found-dead-in-a-random-bay members of the crew needed to
zone out a bit. Ra would have perhaps brought up the whole telepathic
insanity and aching loss of a loved one (who ?doesn't- have one in
Starfleet) story to add to her personal excuse, but meh, what good
would that do. Completion of said program, yes, but try to catch the
whole crew not either heavily drunk or phased out in a corner after a
heavy casualty battle scene. Consider it a dare.

"Okay. Any recent illnesses or injuries not logged with your last
assignment or in transit to the Galaxy?"

"Not really. Mild migraines, but those have been going on for years. I
think on my last assignment they just stopped logging them at some
point." She shrugged once more, generally being of little use on her
current perch. He looked grumpy and busy, she felt small and panicy.
All in all many good times were to be had.

"We'll begin recording the migraines again, and you'll get a complete
cranial scan in-" he checked the openings on another screen through
his PADD "-two days." At her quizzical look, he explained further.
"Here on the Galaxy, we take medicine seriously. And I like having
good baseline information to work off of." He checked off a few more
items, then continued. "Alright, let's check out your vital signs..."

Ra took a deep breath, wiggling about uncomfortably a bit more at the
whole process. Charming, her compulsion to get away from Med landed
her deep within enemy lines. "The migraines are probably mostly
self-inflicted, I tend to keep away from Telepathy as if it could kill
me." 'Aside from the fact that I drink, smoke, stray from sleep and
get high on occasion. Cranial scan indeed.'

As soon as she was finished with that thought, a huge crash sounded
somewhere behind the impressively broad figure of Maxwell, resulting
in a row of sailor-like cursing as a tray of vials exploded on the
floor with a brilliant array of colours and a tiny Bajoran nurse was
left kneeling in the middle of it. Ra had to almost bite her tongue to
keep from laughing at the very very impressive choice of words. "She
should go try out for Marines, I think she'd fit in splendidly," the
slender Betazoid offered idly, trying to see if she could at least
coax a half-smirk out of the doc. C'mon, that roommate bit would have
had most normal people in stitches, pun intended!

He actually had to smile. Said Bajoran nurse had a tendency to get on
his nerves from time to time, anyway. "Look," Max offered as an
apology, "I've been under a lot of stress lately. A lot. So I'm
sorry for being such a hard case. What's your Telepathy rating,
anyway?"

Score! The doc was only partially an angst-ridden package of emo! She
was an inch from throwing her arms up in glorious celebration, but
thankfully was intelligent enough to convince herself of the fact that
an action like that could also cause for some serious blending in
issues. Instead, she just gave a genuine smile to the husky male.

"'S alright, you doctor-types need to be a bit menacing to keep us
lowly beings on the straight and narrow. And I haven't the slightest
clue, since I've been actively boycotting the notion of it for several
years now. I think it was somewhere in the safe midgrounds when I
actually was dabbling with it. Nothing minor, nothing major. For the
life of me I can't remember how it scaled, though." Ra shrugged
apologetically, giving her best 'I'm adorable and unthreatening in a
mousey way' impression.

"I see," Max replied. He had finished his initial and secondary
assessments by this time. He had a full scan of her to add to her
file. He can review the comparison later or have one of the other
Techs handle it if he gets backlogged. "You're basically all set,
unless you had some other questions or concerns?"

Ra was pretty sure she let out an involuntary victory hoot as she
bounced off the cart thing. Whoops. "No, sir, thank you for your time.
I'll go get my head checked in two days and so on. And I'll bound over
here for the specifics on the program as well." She would have also
liked to add suggestions of him eating some chocolate and getting a
massage to mellow out, but that would have possibly not gone over
well, like most of the thoughts she had had that linked to Maxwell
over the course of the last ten minutes.
"And thank you for not lecturing me on the evils of smoking, you're
the first Med to have done that." She grinned and rushed off, barely
avoiding slipping in the collection of muck on the floor and just as
narrowly escaping falling into a doorframe when Dala glomped her from
a blind spot.

"There's a Betazoid Med Tech here who's meteorically hot! And you have
no idea who I heard is on this bucket!" Dala was brimming with
excitement as she ushered the smaller female out of the room, leaning
on her heavily. She also elbowed her in the ribs when Ra failed to
show any inkling of interest.

"SMITH! Who would have thought that we would end up on the same ship
with the biggest constant PMS case two times!"

Ra just hung her head and allowed her friend to mush her wherever she pleased.

"Long time no see"

PO 2nd Class Benedict Maxwell
Paramedic Practitioner/Emergency Medical Response Teams
USS Galaxy-A

Petty Officer 3rd Class Victory
Nurse
USS Galaxy

OOC: Note that this post is set before the pair of posts with Max &
Zamora

The sound of wind gently rustling leaves filled the air as a cool
breeze swept through the small stand of tree's. A woman lay in the
grass, her hands behind her head and her eyes closed as she listened
to the calming sound. Her red hair, splayed out around her head wildly
and a pair of glasses lay beside her folded up. She was clad in a
simple floral print dress and barefoot.

She smiled a little as the cool air coursed over her. It had been
a while since she had run this program, not since before her
assignment to the Galaxy or the events on Deep Space Five. It had been
one of the favorites of her and a now forever lost friend. And while
there were still memories attached to it she still felt at peace and
able to put things out of her mind while running the program.

Sitting up slowly, Victory picked up her glasses and placed them
on before standing and starting off through the stand of tree's to the
lake that lay beyond. Pausing she knelt down and picked a flower which
she placed in her hair, tucking the stem behind her ear, before
continuing on.

She spent a good while walking lazily about the scenery, letting
herself forget, for a while at least, the realities of shipboard life.
Eventually though she departed, closing down the program and stepping
out form the holodeck. She couldn't stay in there forever. Eventually
she had a duty shift to attend to.

The materiel of her dress swished about her legs as she started
off down the corridor. Not feeling like taking the nearby turbolift
she decided to take the long way, to take the one on the far side of
the level.

In stark contrast to the beauty walking in his direction, he was clad
in his Hazard uniform, sans headpiece, clomping down the hallway like
a flatfooted horse. The events of the past few months or so have been
playing themselves over and over in his mind. His temporary
incarceration on DS5. The Hydran assault and capture of DS5. The
'Resistance'. The Vered Cluster(fuck). Arelis walking back into his
life. The rescue of the POW's. Victory.........Victory?

Max brought himself back to the present and focused on the short
woman that he had been enthralled with since DS5 (yes, he still felt
strongly about her). The dress she wore was in contrast to the black
leather dominatrix suit he once fanta-

"Hey, Vic," Max greeted, banishing the lewd fantasy to a faraway
place.

Victory looked up at the taller person, her optical sensors focusing
on his face. "Max?" she replied, she hadn't seen him in a long time
now, nit since shortly after the event with the deck decompression.
"Hey, it's been a while" she smiled, happy to see a friendly face.

She came to a stop as the gap between them shrank to a mere couple of
feet. "How have you been?" she asked. Max was the only person she
could call a friend since the events on DS5. The fact that she had not
been able to keep in touch with him had been upsetting. But now that
he was standing in front of her she remembered how much she missed
him. If she had a heart, she knew it would be beating fast.

"I've been okay, keeping busy on my Delta/Alpha shifts." He smiled
now, realizing how much he really missed her. On Delta Shift, Max was
the Medic on duty, while on Alpha shift he helped out for a couple of
hours before he moved on to Hazard training and other EMRT functions
he had to deal with. "They keeping you busy on Beta shift?"

"Oh, busy enough" Victory replied, though onconvincingly. "Nothing
nearly as exciting as things must be for you, since your part of the
Hazard team though!" she shrugged. "Truthfully though I sometimes get
the feeling I am not terribly needed on Beta shift. Either that or
they forget I am around" her smile faded a bit, a hint of the
loneliness she had been feeling over the past few months creeping back
into her mind.

Max picked up on the slight expressions, and felt doubly bad; One for
re-entering a whirlwind relationship with Arelis, secondly for his
flirting with the JAG, Ophelia Zamora (or was she flirting with him?).
He got along with several people on board, but Victory was the first
person he actually felt a connection with.

"Trust me, they know you're there. You've already proven that you're
a valuable part of the entire medical team." A pause. "Tell you what,
after your shift I'll be more than happy to take a stroll through the
arboretum with you. I believe I still owe you a date," he added. There
would be hell to pay when (not if) Arelis found out, but he would
cross that bridge when he came to it. Max felt that he owed his time
to his true friends as well.

"Really?" Victory's eyes lit up. All the negative thoughts were
imediatly pushed out of her mind "I would love that!" she said and
smiled broadly, feeling at that moment that she could almost fly she
was so happy.

"Then it's settled," Max smiled. He forgot about everyone and
everything else, only the short young (?) woman who stood before him
remained. He almost opened his mouth to say something else, then
decided better not to ruin the moment. Instead, he said, "Then I'll
see you after Beta Shift?"

"I can't wait!"she replied. "Um, where should I meet you?" she asked,
clasping her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting with the
materiel of her dress out of excitement.

"Take it easy, Vic," Max mock chided."Let's meet on Deck 14 by the
fore turbolift and go from there?" He was actually looking forward to
going now. The arboretum was very relaxing...and not something he
usually shared with anyone.

"Okay, deck fourteen after beta shift. I got'cha" Victory repeated
the information outloud, more for her own memory than anything else.
She took a deep breath, not that she actually needed to breath, and
her red eyes rest on his as she calmed herself. "So, um, I should
probably let you get back to whatever you were on your way too, looks
like your still on duty" she said, almost sheepishly.

"Well, I think I can put that off a little to walk you back to your
deck," Max offered.

Victory looked as if she were going to blush. "I couldn't keep you
from your duties any longer" she replied. "I mean really, I must have
kept you long enough already"

"Oh, it's no bother at all. Besides, we haven't had a chance to spend
any time together whatsoever in recent time."

She smiled. "Well if you insist than I would be happy for you to walk
me to my deck" she relented and they started off at a casual pace in
the direction she had been traveling when they had encountered each
other.

They walked in silence for a while, then Max asked a question. "Have
you ever wondered what happened to your family? I mean back on
Earth...back then?"

"My family? Back on Earth?" Victory blinked, looking almost if she
didn't comprehend.

He nodded slowly with an encouraging smile for her to continue.

"I have no memories of my life before I was taken. Every piece of who
I was before than was taken away from me piece by piece and I can't
remember a thing about who I was, who my family was..." she trailed
off, looking very sad. "I have brief flashes of things when I dream,
but I don't know if they are reminents of memories or just my mind
playing tricks on me. I've tried working with counselors to remember
my past and even a mind meld with a Vulcan, but nothing ever worked"

Victory stopped walking as she fell silent, looking at Max with her
glowing artificial eyes. "I think something about me.. what I am is
why a lot of people don't talk to me and stay away. They are afraid?
Don't understand?" she sighed. "I..."

"And what exactly are you," Max asked. "Not what you think others see
you as, I'm asking you what you see yourself as?"

"I'm not sure sometimes" she replied. "I know what I don't want to
be. But I also know what I have inside me..." she trailed off, looking
a bit worried. "Sometimes..." she paused, taking a simulated breath.
"Well. I don't want to be what I was made to be, I know that. I don't
know if that makes any sense"

"It makes sense to me. And that you know what you don't want to be is
a start. You always have to start from somewhere." His body armor made
a dull plastic clink as they stopped at the turbolift. "But you have
to look inward and decide what you are, what you see yourself as.
Besides," he added with a wink, "I haven't stayed away...not on
purpose, anyway."

Victory smiled, just a little. "I didn't think you had" she replied.
"Well, I at least hoped you hadn't" she added as they stepped into the
waiting turbolift. Victory ordered it to her deck and leaned against
the wall as the lift car began to move. "I really have missed you, you
know" she said after a long moment.

“Guess we should try bumping into each other more often than...”
Victory trailed off, looking back into Max's eyes, illuminated
indicators rotating slowly as her optics attempted to focus on what
what no one could see beyond the eyes.

Max remained silent, instead committing every feature of her face to
memory. Without thinking, he slowly reached out and lightly grasped
her hands into his. All he thought about was the moment. With her.

Her hands were slightly cool to the touch, but not enough to be
overly different. A slight smile graced her lips as the world seemed
to grow silent. The humm of the lift car, thoughts of other things
fading away as time it's self seemed to slow. Victory didn't even
notice that she had slowly pushed away from the lift car wall when Max
had taken her hands into his.

There were no Little Good Guy or Little Bad Boy advising him this
time, no thought of reason or consequence. He moved in closer to her,
feeling a push/pull that he didn't need to understand or want to
resist.

Even though she was lost in his eyes, Victory could feel the space
between them shrinking ever so slowly as they drew closer to each
other. It was almost involuntary, like an invisible force was drawing
her to him. She didn't know if she should stop, or let herself be
drawn in like a moth to the lamp. Deep down though, at this moment she
felt more real and alive than any time she could imagine.

Their bodies were pressed against each other now, but not in a lewd
fashion. If one were an observer, they would see two long lost lovers
embracing each other tenderly. And indeed, this is what Max was
feeling at that moment in time. Deep within to his very soul he felt a
sudden calm and feeling of serene content.

She let herself sink into the embrace, feeling the warmth and comfort
that came with it. Slowly, almost hesitantly at first, Victory leaned
closer, edging up onto her tip toes. Her lips made contact with his,
softly. A tingling sensation jolted through her artificial body and
she didn't even care to think of it was anything like what her real
body would have felt or not. Her entire universe consisted of this one
moment and place, nothing more.

It was a kiss like no other for him. There was no lust, no
libido....just he and Victory. And like everything else in life,
inconvenience just had to raise its ugly head for at the moment of
true connection the turbolift stopped and opened its doors to reveal a
couple of now gawking onlookers.

Still in the world that just existed between Victory and Max she did
not notice the lift had stopped or the onlookers for a few long
moments. But as the kiss finally subsided her eyes were drawn to the
motion barely noticable at the edge of her vision. Her face flushed
bright red and she took a step back

"I um....I" she stammered, eyes wide, glancing back and forth between
the newcomers outside the lift and Max

With a sidewise look at the onlookers, Max growled, "Beat it." The
doors closed and the two were once again left alone. "Well, that
should be all over the ship by the end of next shift."

Victory's eyes bulged. "I...I shouldn't have been so forward..." she
managed, blushing as bright red as her hair and eyes. Deep down though
she didn't feel like she had been too direct, the tingling sensation
from the kiss still lingered on her lips.

Max smiled and shook his head. "Nothing too forward about it. Just
happened."

She smiled back, looking a bit relieved "Um..This is my deck, I
should probably get ready for my shift" she said, her cheeks blushing
again.

"Um...sure. I'll see you afterwards," he asked. The turbolift already
opened up once again, this time to an empty corridor.

Victory smiled. "See you then!" she bounced off down the corridor at
a happy pace, waving back at Max as she looked behind her.

He waved and smiled as the Turbolift doors closed.

It wasn't far to her quarters where she got ready for her shift in
sickbay. It was going to be hard to keep her mind on her duties as
excitement about her date with Max in the arboretum threatened te be
too much.

The Games Starship's Play

Starring

USS Galaxy

USS Zeus

Space......

The eternal ocean of nothingness that encompasses all that is and all that ever shall be.

All of life, love, and the eternal struggles that make up our very lives, are nothing more than mere bubble floating on the great nothing that is true reality.

To say that we are less than nothing is a gross understatement in itself.

We are mere motes of plankton tossed to and fro on the gravitational tides that govern the movement of the emptiness.

Somewhere......somewhere way out in the void something moved.

A minute spec k of reality set against the backdrop of the infinite black.

It tore through space at speeds that defied the natural order of the nothing.....skipping in and out of this universe like a needle stiching its way under and over a swatch of black cloth....huge energies that outshown the stars bundled tightly in its fiery belly.

Like a wolf it prowled...tentacles of probing energies feeling out into the void...looking for prey it probed the darkness...its appetite for devastation unsated.

Zeus was its name......

Somewhere nearby.... a mer e fraction of nothingness compared to the scale of the universe, another speck drifted on the tides.

A great princess of metal and light hovering like a gilded moth over the stellar flame of a common G5 star.

Where the one tore through reality, the latter glided smoothly. She danced delicately in the gravity well of the speck of dust known as HD189625-d, aglow with light and sound, laughter and families.

She too probed, but her touch was gentle and inquisitive, peeling back the layers of secrets slowly,like a discrete lover peeling back the shrouds of cloth from his enamored.

She was a queen amongst the wolves....

Galaxy was her name...

They picked each other up at pretty much the same time........

Two sensor panels 15 light years apart lit up at almost precisely the same instant warning their respective operators that somewhere out there...out in the distant void of space a starship waited.

The former ship, USS Galaxy, laying deep in the Gravity well around HD189625-d had the more powerful sensors of the two, however the latter, USS Zeus, screaming its way through the netherworld of cochrane warp space was a much newer and stealthier design and as such the differentials canceled each other out.

An initial exchange of identities was made. Probing energies with coded IFF frequencies issuing top secret challenges and receiving classified replies.

The 'secret handshake' of Starfleet.

They were friendlies... a rare thing in the harshness of space, but even friends could be rivals in the matters of love and war......especially in the matters of war.

Zeus altered her approach vector slightly....still at superluminal speeds she masked her approach behind the tidal locked 6th and 7th worlds of the system, cloaking her massive energy expenditures behind the double planets complex gravitational flux.

In essense, trying to 'sneak up' on her older sister.

Galaxy wasnt fooled at all. While the Captain may have tsked at the illogic of such a game of cat and mouse, there were benefits to be had in inpromptu tactical drills.

Shifting her orbit into a higher plane, and attenuating her scans to a more select frequency, it was rather hard to miss the roaring of Zeus's four warp nacelles.

It was a game really.

Dangersous games.

The games that starships play.

Nipping and tugging at one another's heels in a ritual that while seemingly juvenile and playful, bespoke a more sinister reality.

In this world, Starships would savage starships.

Especially in these days and times, a brilliant hulled leviathan would gloat over the shattered hulk of its burnt and broken prey....

If one did not learn to play the games....one could never learn to fight the true battles amongst the glittering night.

Zeus popped back into reality somewhere over the pole of the third planet.

It was called the Bhrode Backflush Manuver.

A certain redheaded captain had learned this trick a half dozen years before...in the radiation fields of the far off Mako Nebula .... reversing thrust and dropping from Warp 9 to sublight in a matter of seconds.

It was the equivelent of cruising along at highway speeds and suddenly throwing your car into reverse.

There was an indescribable scream of chewed up metal, a violent lurch pulling more G's than a supergiant could ever produce, and a final corona of sparkling Chernekov radiation as Zeus dumped her superluminal speed in a shower of light and fire.

The Galaxy tactical officer swore and watched the show with one eye closed against the glare....If the manuver hadnt been invented by a former Galaxy Captain, he wouldnt have been alerted by the computer to its possible use and as a result would have been quite sensor blinded.

But the Princess that was Galaxy had more elegant tricks up her sleeve.

Let the wild cousin zip and dance amongst the flames....patience too was a virtue, and the simulated target lock never wavered.

Besides....a Princess was never without her attendants.....

Like silver sharp ghosts amongst the darkness, the snub nosed hornets of Galaxy's fighter squadron roared in from behind the planets moon.

A swarm of sting tongued buzzards they swwooped in changing speeds and vectors in a desperate attempt to confuse the Zeus's targeting computers.

Unfortunately, if the Galaxy was a Princess.....an heiress wearing $10,000 Versace......then Zeus was the wild Goth Girl cousin wearing torn fishnets, combat boots, and a spiked neck choker.

Darkly cute, but dangerously unpredictable.

The redhead didnt need a targeting computer to deal with mere fighters, just a quick mental calcualtion and a scattering of simulated phaser shots spelled doom for the cowboy and his posse.

The goth dancing on their graves in her combat boots.

Zeus was faster and more manuverable... it could twist itself into knots the Galaxy couldnt even dream of ....much to the chagrin of its Engineer.

Galaxy however had a bigger punch...the huge underslung phase cannon could fire one red hot inferno that could tear a ship in two.

The princess and the wildchild came nose to nose, and if this were anything but a game, the result would have been tough to call.

But playtime was over, and the toys needed to be put away for a later time.

Still glowing slightly from her spectacular drop from Warp speed (six crew injuries reported ...having been thrown from their stations) the Zeus settled into parralell orbit just off her older sister's starboard bow.

The elder....all lights and curves, a symbol of peace and exploration....ready for the royal ball

The younger an arrow shaped rebel bred for speed and battle.....ready for the mosh pit.

The sisters nodded in respect to one another....hating each others existance...as sisters often do.

"Honors to Starboard." said the Vulcan "USS Zeus arriving."

"Honors to Port." said the redhead. "USS Galaxy in formation......prepare to embark Marine unit. "

?Grumbling?

---
Staff Technician Rheay Olin,
Flight Crew Technician, Vanguard Group,
USS Galaxy-A
---
===Deep in Fighter Country, Deck Wherever===

Ra grumbled heftily as she dove under the bottom part of Dala?s
two-story bunk, lower portion of which was currently covered with
various crates that seemed to contain what looked awfully alike
exhaust system parts for fighters. Mostly because that?s exactly what
they were. Rare few Enlisteds had the pleasure of obtaining a 4-person
room for just two, so until other hapless beings were crammed into
theirs, Ra?s and Dala?s bunker had been proclaimed as a makeshift
storage area.

Currently Ra was more worried about finding her left boot though, the
few metric tons of gear sprawled out in the room did little to nothing
to concern her. At one point she had even considered building an organ
out of the thin but rather well toned slim pipes. Just goes to show
that she grew accustomed to idiocy in SFFC storage remarkably well,
leaving aside the fact that when Dala went to whine about it, she
almost got a tooth knocked out. Ra wasn?t about to follow the lead.

?I am a divine being,? she mumbled victoriously, slinking back out
from under the low bed, boot in one hand and a PADD in the other and
the expected piles of crap covering her uniform. Cleanliness in said
bunker was a wasted effort; they?d given up on it about 3 days ago.
The slim tech propped herself up with some help from the wide beams of
the berth and managed to sit down on about a half an inch that was
left uncovered on one of the beds. Throwing the randomly excavated
PADD on the first crate in her way, she sighed with dramatic gusto and
raped the second boot on, fastening it tightly.

A few weeks onboard and already they?re sending her off of it.
Stepping on people?s toes as much as she had during her short service
on the Galaxy had apparently already made her a good candidate for
crappy missions with scary Marines.

Well, actually this time it ?was- for stepping on someone?s toes. A
Tech Sergeant someone. A Tech Sergeant someone who was tasked with
putting together a 4-person team to go along with a bunch of Marines
to do lord knows what lord knows where while the rest of the crew got
to duke it out with ghosts. The Betazoid was just hoping they would at
least include one person in the away team who knew what they were
doing, like a Flight Crew Chief or something.

Ra shook her head miserably at the idiocy of it all. Just one step to
the left could have salvaged her from a potentially dangerous mission
where everything was on a need to know basis and apparently she didn?t
need to know. As per usual. Her brows knit in frustration as she shot
a quick look at her sizeable container of gear in the far corner of
the room, mostly well-organized in a system-within-madness sort of
way. ?Electrical tools, gear packs, safety packs, treads, swag, shit,
more shit, crap, gum, lighter, smokes?smokes.?

?Fussum fussum?? she muttered under her breath, having gone through
her rather scientific checklist in her mind and coming short quite
possibly the most important part of her away gear. She popped up
quickly, painfully pounding her head against the metal frame above
her, and pulled herself up on her bed with an ease of motions that
would suggest that she had in fact not been drinking the night before.
That she hardly cringed at the bang her head suffered, however,
noted that she was at least high on life at the moment or just pissed
off beyond repair.

Ra steadied herself on the edge and stuck her hand in the overhead
apartment, blindly fishing around. It seemed a crude way of solving
the problem of finding lost items, but over the years she had found it
to work better than expected. The few assorted lumps on her head from
falling things were not enough to stray her from her path to glory.
?I hope this isn?t one of those, ?we?ll be out for half a week? and we
get back two months later things,? she noted to no one in particular,
sliding down on the dull gray ground again with two unimpressive
satchels locked in her hands. She strode over to her duffel and hid
her priceless possessions in a random compartment on the side and
double-checked all the locks and clasps before attempting the fatal
error of hoisting the behemoth on her shoulder.

As expected, she tumbled over on her back immediately after straightening up.

?Mrrr...?

Ra sighed again, staring blankly at the equally as vacant ceiling.
?This is going to be a looooong mission,? she uttered painfully,
rolling off the mountain that was her gear and built herself up to a
stand again. The second attempt at mastering the secrets of duffel
carrying was a bit more planned, with booted legs parted just enough
to give maximum stability and a mind focused on the hugely important
task at hand. There was still a bit of wavering as Ra steadied the
straps but generally speaking, since there was no falling, it could be
considered a roaring success.

The pale girl grunted with a less than feminine flare and proceeded to
stomp out of the room to go find wherever she was supposed to be in
about five minutes. Marines, whee.

"What Lies Within: Part 6- Conclusion"

Admiral Sonia An'quinsos- 11th Fleet
Lieutenant Adrian An'quinsos- USS Galaxy
And Assorted Cast of NPC's

*The Binary System*

"Ryx'shíol nèreth saushev Aurikel?"

When Celadus learned of their position in the docking bay, he had
prepared a full assault force to strike- and then something caused him
to belay that order. The powerful primal instincts infused within his
being demanded the destruction of these infiltrators, his other,
higher senses said otherwise. The species that appeared similar to his
own seemed closed in thought, emotions speaking of strict discipline,
duty, and purpose. The other two were different, and just wasn't in
their conversation. The woman appeared to be in her late
thirties-to-early-forties, but he knew looks were deceiving. He felt
age and experienced that easily dwarfed his own; and her uncanny gaze
toward the air ducts was unsettling. From the other he felt youth,
maturity, and a sense of calmness he recognized many times from the
monks in their temples. Celadus followed the younger of the two,
wanting his suspicions confirmed; he didn't recognize the language the
younger one spoke to the marines in, nor had cause to; he came from a
different world and a different quadrant. But the whispers of his
native tongue by the younger one so fluently and so naturally gave his
cause to speak; the statement hinged on a question that he wanted more
than anything else to be answered…

And the answer caused him to smile, posing a more suited question to
one of his people.

"So far so good." Adrian replied, looking back at the marine in
relief, and then turning slowly as the second question was being
asked. The smile began to fade as his eyes fell, not in shame but in
sorrow. The words began to form slowly on his lips. "Icthyr rá'shièn
sersheí nàa'jaórû Xjhrev… [and our people were scattered to the four
winds.]

The inquisitor stepped forward; the vast bridge was partially lit,
leaving several sections engulfed in varying amounts of darkness, some
of which thick enough to hide in. He was as tall as Adrian, with
short, curly-blonde hair and skin of a deathly pallor. While he lacked
claws, two things were apparent; his eyes were as fresh blood and
there was a definite presence of fangs. ["Where were our ships to
destroy these invaders when they came? Why did the Emperor not summon
the fleet? ]

["The Time of the Empire has long passed. They were not perceived as a
threat; by the time they were, it was too late. They wiped out our
colonies and swarmed our system with the purpose of destruction
pouring from their collective lips."] He looked up at the other
El-Aurian and intoned. "D'vrièl shéna-"

"Haàlaláè…"

He looked up; the word resounded in a chorus from the shadows that
sounded breathed rather than spoken, and felt, instead of heard. On
many worlds throughout the galaxy, there are words that no master
linguist, corporeal, noncorporeal, or otherwise, can translate, for
they were not meant to be translated. Scientifically called
abstraction or expressions, they are referred to at times as the words
from the soul; concepts, constructs, and ideas that through intonation
speak merely by comprehension. With a mere utterance they evoke
emotions, suggest actions, and even paint indescribable images,
understood only by the recipient(s.) Within the intricate,
quasi-melodic language of the El-Aurians a fair number of these words
existed. This particular one invoked sorrow, pain, and longing without
measure or end, lacking approximation, and untranslatable into any
concrete idea. Reaching his ears he took a slow breath; their sun was
beginning its ascent and music echoed across the countryside and into
his room to fill his dreams with unsettling images that drove him
awake just hours before his sister would arrive to save him…

"Haàlaláè…" Adrian breathed in reply with a powerful sense of sorrow…
*Elsewhere on the Nemesis*

There was no corridor, no stairwell, or turbolift to get them to this
location. The only way in and out was through an access panel located
in the central part of the ship. Exiting that panel, three people
gazed down a long, half-lit corridor to the door on the other end. As
the Admiral noticed in the other ship, it was one way in and one way
out, and mentally gave thanks to every pantheon on ever world she
visited (consider the number of planets, a simple 'thank you'
sufficed,) before taking steps to move toward the door on the other
end. Taking out a simple padd, Corporal Swindle, a hair shy of
six-feet-two-inches in height too out a padd, inputted something into
it and handed it to the Admiral as nonchalantly as could be expected
in this kind of situation…

'How many languages do you speak ma'am?'

'All of them'

He blinked at the answer and then looked back at her and began in
Bolian. [We're being followed.]

[I know.] She replied and continued. [They've been watching us ever
since we've arrived I think and divided up when we split into groups.]

[Why haven't they attacked yet?] Sergeant Nordstrom joined in.

[They could be waiting for orders, or just simply sent here to observe
what we're about to do.] She studied the door, slipping from Bolian to
standard Vulcan. [Regardless, study the corridor for any possible
advantages; I'm not looking for a fight, but I won't hesitate if they
send us an invitation.]

They nodded, nearing the door, and turned around, not because she
ordered them too, but because they were watching her back. Corporal
Swindle had her disruptor, while the Sergeant had her sword.
Strangely, with a nickname like Thor, the sword almost suited him,
especially when one of its names was 'Foe Hammer.' Sadly though, it
was no substitute for the real thing…

*Bridge: USS Stormwarden*

"Captain, sensors have just picked up a faint, neutrino spike."

"Source?"

"It's coming from…" He looked up with a frown. "The ship?"

"And now?"

"Nothing."

Captain Strider stood up, eyes locked upon the screen. "Run a series
of passive and indirect scans upon and around the ship, meanwhile
continuing your scans of the system. If there is something out there,
let's keep them thinking we're not aware of them. Lieutenant Commander
Ellard, have shields and weapons at the ready. I want this ship ready
prepared to take on a Hydran assault force if we have to."

*Nemesis: The Bridge.*

"Beautiful, absolutely beautiful, bravo!"

There was a clapping at the main entrance leading to the bridge as
five individuals stepped forward, three what looked to be phaser
rifles, one holding something in his arms, and the last one with a
smirk. Understandably caught off guard by what had taken place a few
seconds ago, the marines refocused their attentions the sinister
characters present. Adrian looked studied the four of them with
civilian clothes carefully, noting nothing on them to identify who
they were and then focused on the fifth person, eyes meeting the man
whom he noted had something in his arms- or rather someone. His heart
skipped several beats as he noticed the clothing, the hair, and the
expression. Taking the sword from Callahan, he approached directly;
the sword angled downwards from his left hand ready to strike as he
got close. The phaser rifles were raised, the fingers positioned
themselves on the triggers, watching the El-Aurian advance on them as
though he was about to unleash the dark forces of Hell upon them. They
paid no attention to the shadows as eyes watched the confrontation
carefully. He drew closer and closer, thoughts of vengeance lingered
upon his lips. They stepped back until finally they saw no other
choice, looked over at the man who apparently lead them and pulled the
trigger…

And nothing happened…

Adrian paused, looked down at his chest and appeared to be trembling.
Within a few seconds that trembling made itself apparent in the form a
dark, giddy laughter. According to his sister, in the old days after
the dreadnoughts had been created the El-Aurian military force made
full use of their Dampening Field Technology. Applied on the
dreadnoughts, it rendered the ships invisible and weapons of non
El-Aurian origin useless. With later applications, only someone with a
genuine El-Aurian bio-signature was able to use weapons aboard a ship.
The adrenaline fueled laughter began to die away as knives the size
the marines carried were pulled out as all three of them moved swiftly
toward the security officer holding his unconscious son. The sword
shifted toward the one he gathered was the leader and growled as he
spoke.

"What have you done to my son?"

"I can assure you that he's quite alive," The leader and frowned.
"During his capture my associates became over enthusiastic-"

"They hit him with two, sir!" Lieutenant Reid blurted out as a knife
came up to his throat. "I heard the conversation!"

"Did you have decency to give him proper medical attention, or was
whatever you came here for, far more important than the life of an
innocent child?" He finished, practically yelling for their blood when
he did so.

"Temper, temper Counselor; I would think that those of your calling
would be the most stable and level-headed of anyone here." He shook
his head and continued. "I'm not here to argue, I'm simply here for
the ship."

"Then you are here to argue after all." His eyes flickered briefly to
Celadus; while watching the events the enhanced El-Aurian had subtly
moved into a darker location. "So the question is; how are you going
to move an eight-and-a-half kilometer long ship over nine-point-three
billion metric tons in weight? Get out and push?" He sheathed the
sword; Adrian's glare diminished in intensity into a countenance that
was dark and angry. "Maybe if you open fire on here in the right
location, some of that energy might reactivate the core to move it oh…
a few meters. With enough ships performing this task, you might
eventually reach your base of operations in about… a few thousand
years time."

"The stellar converters should be operational; after all, these ships
were built to withstand the extremes of space; they are after all a
testament of time." There was a certain glow in the man's eyes. "We're
within minimal range of the binary pair; an energy loss shared by the
both of them would be minimal at best."

"How did you…" The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up as
he looked upon the person before him with different eyes than before.
Physically this guy looked in his early thirties; however one from a
race such as his knew looks were deceiving. After several seconds he
finally shook his head in disbelief. "Gó'al'd'jhèk shù'ryx navàndeì!
You'll bring disgrace upon your own people for this. How do you
justify being one of us and adding to the grief already pervading this
universe?"

"After we've helped rid the Federation of their enemy, we can turn our
attentions to the Borg." There was an unsavory, acidic inflection in
his voice. "Over two and a half billion murdered by them, not
including the colony worlds. They deserve nothing less than to choke
on their own blood!" He took a few steps toward Adrian, voice echoing
throughout the bridge. "There are none among our people who lost
someone to them. Your father remained on the Homeworld to help
coordinate the evacuation and died in the end."

"My father did what any altruistic leader of his people would do;
Salyavin did his best to ensure that as many of our people that could
escape would survive." His head tilted slightly; the younger
El-Aurian's expression softened considerably with understanding. "What
was done is done; we cannot go home even if we wanted to, only
remember it as it was. Haàlaláè…"

"NO!" He screamed, darkening the room with a growing tenseness. "They
turned us into refugees; the mysterious Listener race who do little
more than listen to your problems and dispense advice! Our people have
been diminished, but you… you are old enough to remember our golden
days! Our cities were full of towering cathedrals, numerous cloisters,
vast libraries, crystal spires, and temples predating either of us in
age, all in harmony with the land around it. Our people suffered
wrongly at the hands of those butchers and with this ship we can even
the score-"

"IT'S GONE!" Adrian thundered back, advanced forward a few paces.
"Destroyed, obliterated, annihilated, wiped out, reduced to rubble, no
longer there- what gone do you not understand?" The Counselor was
unexpectedly seething as he continued. "All we have is our memories;
we carry our culture and traditions with us wherever we go and so long
as one of us remains, so too do those memories survive!" His hands
lifted up from his side as his body twisted smoothly into a ninety
degree angle away from the older El-Aurian. Throughout this, his hands
flowed like clockwork until his left one was outstretched, palm facing
toward him and the right hand close to his side. "No, I don't think I
can allow you to take this ship."

The other El-Aurian shifted in a similar manner, palm facing upward
and toward the Lieutenant Commander in a spear, while the left palm
faced the opposite direction. "So be it."

*Nemesis: Dampening Field Room*

Unlike the other ship, where she had little time to notice, though the
room lacked any obvious ventilation ports, it was obvious that climate
control was being managed somehow. The Admiral suspected there were a
number of small ventilation shafts that lead to the room, but had no
time to explore the option. As it stood the door was open and both
marines were watching and studying the corridor. Each second they
stood there, the more they noticed the light began to diminish. It was
gradual at first, but began to pick up until the corridor was lit in
little more than pinprick intensity.

"Almost done with the configuration, how's it looking out there boys?"

"Like Hell's about to be unleashed upon us… ma'am." Nordstrom answered.

"Good, good…" She trailed off, fingers moving quickly over a panel
complete with a series of alphanumerical characters used for special
calibration of the generator. "Configuration… check, realignment of
the array is taking place… now…"

*Bridge: USS Stormwarden*

"Captain the dreadnought is no longer on our sensors." There was a
small beep, followed by a few buttons pressed and a smile proceeding.
"I'm reading a ship on the farside… it appears to be trying to use the
deflector to mask its presence again with no success."

"Bring us about, best possible speed." Strider ordered. "Tactical as
soon as we're in range, raise shields and ready weapons."

"Sir, reading two more ships coming out of warp and heading straight
for us under full impulse, sharing the same signature as the other
ship. Estimated time of arrival… seven minutes, twenty seconds."

"Then let's make the most of our time." He replied. "We've got a few
mines on aboard, so let's put them to good use. Plot their trajectory;
let's see if our new friends like surprises."

*Bridge: The Nemesis*

When opponents faceoff, there is one simple goal above all else- to
win. It doesn't matter if it's friendly sparring, a tournament, or the
field of battle, the goals are the same. Reasons behind this once
simple purpose can vary from individual to individual. Some fight
simply to defend themselves or to protect others from harm. Others see
it as a way to relieve stress, a friendly battle between friends or
siblings. Then there are those who have something to prove; an
ever-present chip on their shoulder which could lead to bullying. And
then there are those who fight based on their principles. Subtle, when
roused they can be the most dangerous, and in the extreme, are willing
to lay down their lives if such is necessary. To attack without reason
was to have no direction and worse, no goal to speak of. For Adrian
his cause was simple, and his principles defined by the most important
people in his life.

"Perhaps it's wise if you stay down," His opponent swept back into a
decisively defensive posture. "Any further strikes could prove fatal."

Those gathered could not mistake the deadly artistry for what it was.
Perhaps other onlookers might have considered it some sort of
beautiful orchestration, a graceful dance without end. But after
encountering and/or seeing so many fighting styles from so many races,
they knew martial arts when it was performed. Some might have called
it Terran Baguazhang, except for the fact that it looked more fluid,
dynamic, and intricate. The El-Aurians looked calm and controlled as
palm, spear, knife, hammer, claw, and fist strikes were traded,
blocked, and countered, kicks neutralized, and both side appeared to
be in stalemate. It was though they were predicting one another
movements seconds before they were being made and thereby halting
crippling blows with a refined grace and skill. Spins, circles, and
spirals; in a kata or other ritualized format these movements would be
obvious instead of with delicate subtlety such as what was occurring
on the bridge. Unfortunately one person had to give, and only
experience would prove the victor. With a few carefully place strikes
to his chest and sides, Adrian, the younger opponent fell to his knees
with a spot of blood coughed up on the floor.

"We're just… getting started." He stood up slowly, wiping the blood
from his lips and entered into an offensive stance. "You must be
insane if you actually believe I'll allow you to take this ship in one
piece."

Drawing to his full height, Adrian struck back with refueled tenacity.
He knew he could counter Spiral Form on a beginning and
semi-intermediate level. Here he was out of his league with a number
of thoughts weighing in heavily on whether or not to actually
integrate those styles he had learned from other worlds or not. But an
overriding thought deigned him not too. If this was going to be done
it would be accomplished as one El-Aurian to another with what was
taught to him at tis fullest potential. And with that sense of
necessity and fresh adrenaline pumping through his veins he was just
fast enough o take his overconfident opponent off guard. A palm strike
was landed smoothly on the older opponent's side, another one to the
other side, and the strongest fist strike he'd ever delivered plowed
into the humanoid male's solar plexus. Unfortunately as a parting
gift, along with a palm strike to the face and a fist strike to the
ribs. Not surprisingly, his nose began to bleed as he felt of the
location of the second strike and winced… not good.

"Why… why do you resist?" The Older El-Aurian asked rising slowly up
from the floor.

"Why… do I… resist?" Adrian drew to his full height despite the pain
and went into a defensive stance. "Look at the child in that human's
arms and ask me again why I am doing this. You look- carefully- at my
boy and then restate you question! We've know sorrow, pain and loss;
our people have lived with that experience for over a century. When
we're together we like to tell the stories of old, sing our songs, and
pen our words, but we cannot be consumed by our past. Our descendants-
my son- must know our heritage, but he must also know something else;
he must know that the future is what he makes of it and that it is a
bright one indeed!"

"But this is also a part of his legacy too, his birthright!" The older
El-Aurian retorted several steps forward.

"And what exactly is that birthright, to make war?" He shouted, making
his approach. "To have the knowledge is one thing, but knowing when to
use such measures takes wisdom! Our people are scattered across the
universe; after you win this war for the Federation, are you going to
track them all down?" Adrian drew within striking distance, eyes
focused on the other El-Aurian. "And suppose they refuse, will you use
force of arms to demonstrate your point?"

As the fight continued, the marines were surveying their surroundings,
trying to find something that could be used to their advantage. Not
surprisingly, they were also looking around try to see where about the
other El-Aurians had went when they noticed something moving in the
shadows slowly toward the group with the knives. Brady looked down in
his hands, still holding the disruptor and smiled. It was time to see
just what their newfound allies were capable of and set his sights the
second guy in the middle of everyone. Brady had always been a top
marksmen but he wasn't looking to blow this man's head off, only graze
him. He had read a few reports concerning the use of this weapon by a
Doctor Tolian Soran and had some idea what to do and not do. Making
sure that everyone was engrossed in the fight, he motioned to Callahan
to appear as though he were doing the same, carefully brought up the
disruptor and took special aim…

"Mister Reid… duck…"

Zack Reid turned his head to see a pair of blue eyes looking at him
and heard the same faint whisper again. The officer did as he was told
as he dropped to a crouching position, a volley of green energy flew
over him, doing almost what it set out to do, only better than anyone
could have realized. Corporal Chance Brady fired, but failed to
realize one thing; reading about a weapon and firing that weapon were
two different things. Lieutenant Zachary Reid had ducked in time for
if not, he or Maxim would have been struck and possibly killed.
Instead the volley, flew past the El-Aurians in battle, and struck the
guy in the middle in the chest. He flew backwards through the air, and
went limp, either dead or unconscious. One of the two bolted into the
shadows for cover where he found himself quickly dealt with; there was
a scream lasting all but a second before it and him were silenced
forever. The other, dove behind the security officer and had that
knife planted smartly at his neck after he had put Maxim down on the
floor.

"Fire anymore shots and he's dead, it's as simple as that!" The guy
called out frantically and suddenly froze as he felt a white hot
sensation on his neck and something warm trickling slightly down his
neck, and stain his shirt.

"I have no qualms in killing you, believe me." Said a very calm and
thoughtful voice behind him. "However, while in the presence of
children I try to refrain, the keyword being 'try' in that sentence."
It was definitely female and definitely sounded absent of humor. "So
if you would be so kind as to relinquish your knife…"

"Y-y-you w-wouldn't w-would you?"

"Oh, I believe her," Sounded a male voice with absolute conviction.
"Several… creatures attacked us before we finished. She grabbed the
sword, and began slashing left and right, clean strokes everyone of
them."

"She looked like a woman possessed." The other replied. "Course she
was also enjoying herself; the Admiral had that certain… gleam in her
eyes…"

The sword pressed deeper into his neck as more blood began to seep
out. Jaw trembling with fear, the man threw the dagger off to the side
and remained still, expecting death at any moment. Instead, the sword
was removed leaving a clear gash where it had once been. The sword
then moved toward the manacles, tapping them with indication that they
should be removed and he move toward making that happen before he
lost, say his arm, or worse. Meanwhile, Adrian's opponent made use of
the distraction as well to take out his fellow El-Aurian. To his
credit, the younger El-Aurian landed enough strikes, kicks and blows
to make anyone proud, leaving serious contusions, possible broken
ribs, and even a bloody nose, but inevitably the young man fell. The
moment this happened, he went into an all out run, making it to the
control console and activated what needed. He smiled as everything
began to hum to life…

*The Binary System*

The Nemesis's stellar conversation system was near-exactly as it
sounded. It took the energy of a given star, channeled it back to the
dreadnought, and converted it into a usable source of power.
Understandably it was activated only when the ship was down to minimal
power. Once activated it would the remaining ship's reserves to
generate some sort of stabilized, graviton field matrix around the
entire ship that would begin the process, as what was happening now.
From bow to stern the ship ignited in a faint, resinous glow. At first
one must assume that glow to be from the twin stars that comprised the
system. However as it grew in intensity, it started to become highly
apparent that this was no reflection. The bluish-white glow began to
undulate, spiraling outward in all direction from the ship, and then
refocused into a superluminal pulse; instead of arcing towards the
center of the duo, it struck the G6V dwarf, leaving its K2 companion
alone. Barely moments after this a spiral of energy welled up from the
surface, tracing the same path of the pulse, and slammed into the
dreadnought, illuminating it further in a deep, metallic gold. What
matter that had accumulated on the hull bean to be stripped until the
drab grey was once more a deep, radiant silver.

However, no ship had time to stare in eerie awe or admiration at this
spiffy-looking monster of death. Rather there was a two-to-one fight
taking place in the asteroid field, as the third one was destroyed due
to mines that were set to their highest yield. As was stated
previously, this system was deemed an ideal location to run tests,
specifically on weapons and weapon systems. This also meant they had
one advantage; the ship was armed to the teeth with the Captain
musing, before the fight commenced, what better way to test their
potential than on real ships instead of asteroids. Their disadvantage
however lay in numbers; though the Stormwarden's shields were designed
to handle such a beating from multiple ships, they were starting to
feel the burn. The Vorenedians aside, from what the Captain could see,
these guys were packing some heavy equipment; their phaser arrays were
a bit stronger than projected and there were several bluish glows
indicating the using of quantum torpedoes. Before Strider initiated
another order sensors detected another ship moving into range from
(apparently) out of nowhere.

"I'm reading a tritanium-alloy hull signature… traces of Iridium,
Kellinite, Osmium, and at least two other unknown elements." The
helmsman looked up. "It's the Orioni't'hazi Captain."

"Tha Captain's on the dreadnought, so who's piloting the ship"

"We're being hailed."

"On screen."

A humanoid male with short, red hair and bright green eyes showed on
screen. He appeared to be looking at another screen, then nodded and
smiled slightly. "Looks like you have a little problem, need some
help?"

A humanoid male appeared, with short red hair and obviously bright
green eyes. He was looking at a screen off to the side and smiled
slightly. "Looks like you have some trouble, need some help?"

"Whatever assistance you can give us would be appreciated!" The
Captain replied.

"Excellent, you lead and I'll follow, Eldred An'quinsos out."

"How many siblings does she have again sir?" The helmsman piped up.

"Too many." He replied and continued. "Now, attack pattern
Gamma-Omega-Seven. Let's see what they're really made of…"

*Aboard the Nemesis.*

"Adrastos," The Admiral sheathed her sword and approached. "It's been
a very long time; I hope you have a good explanation for all of this…"
She trailed that sentence off leaving no mistake of what would come
next.

"When I was a boy… my father took me to the Temple of Light on the
western shore of the Striding Ocean. It was hewn from crystal; every
shape, shade, and color imaginable comprised its inner and outer
workings. The monks themselves were said to have shaped the crystal
spires that towered at the center of our cities." He continued to
stare, almost in a daydream at the screen readouts. "I was taken to
the center of the temple to a place of mediation while my father
finished his business. After a little while I grew impatient and began
to leave and that's when our sun began to set. The room was suddenly
filled with such rich radiance; even the dome of the temple looke3d as
though it was infused in an otherworldly light." He slowly turned to
face her. "As a group of monks began chanting in another room, I just
remained there in reverent awe. It was beautiful Sonriell, one moment
of perfect beauty that will never be forgotten should I live ten
thousand years."

"Our people have lost much." She intoned with somber reflection.
"Would you have them loose everything?"

"We have already lost everything; we have nothing to lose." He
retorted. "We would be doing all the other races a favor; they would
sing our praises and tell our story until the heat death of the
universe!"

"One ship against thousands Adrastos?" She shook her head. "I can't
allow this to happen." The admiral unsheathed her sword and motioned
the marines to check on Adrian. "While my little brother has no qualms
in dying if the cause is truly worth it, I have no qualms in taking a
life if the ends really and truly justify the means."

"You would kill one of your closest friends Sonriell?" He looked on.
"The one you turned to when your husband and children died in that
terrible accident?"

"One, for the sake of billions." She replied adamantly without
hesitation, took the sword on Adrian's back and tossed it to him. "Our
people abandoned this path long ago and we can no longer walk it, only
forge a new, better one on fresh ground."

He caught it perfectly, feeling of the weight as she spoke, and made a
series of strokes in the air. "Then so be it…"

In armed and unarmed combat, Sonriell could easily integrate her
knowledge from other worlds into her movements. However, in this
place, before this person, her movements, patterns, and strokes, was
purely El-Aurian; everything culminated into a graceful, lethal
spiral. Using similar movement, the pair seemed locked in an intricate
dance of metal; for a few seconds they appeared at mid length,
instantly close in on one another, and then move outward. In a few
instances they were close enough to smell one another's breath with a
decent sniff. They blocked, countered, struck, blocked, countered, and
continued with seemingly no end in sight. Adrastos began to look like
a man possessed; his once clean strokes began to grow wider, while
Sonriell had a face of pure calm as this deadly dance began to come to
its culmination. A few more strikes, a few more counters, more
striking, an opening forming and finally… the death blow… and then it
stopped.

"I'm sorry Adrastos." Sheathing her sword, she stooped down and took
him in her arms, holding him as he began coughing up blood. "My father
took me to visit the Temple of Life, located in the equatorial regions
on a plateau overlooking a dense rainforest. The monks are said to
attune themselves to the universe; they find harmony and balance in
everything. It was a venerable monk named Theyris who approaches me as
stared down into the valley floor and told me that life in all forms
is sacred. All things are born and all things die, but it is within
those few moments of existence that we know how beautiful and precious
that existence is, the price that must be paid, and how fragile we
really are." The El-Aurian female gazed down at him. "They live on my
friend; you will see them again… as I will see them again."

Tears flowed down the man's cheeks as he spoke. ""D'sará sén'shóù kyriéll…"
The El-Aurian woman passed a hand over his eyes to close them and
looked at him for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she closed
her own eyes and took a deep breath, accepting the price that was
made. "Go to them my old friend; they are calling to you beyond the
veil. Keìlàshèil… "

"Captain Strider's log supplemental:

Three hundred and forty four El-Aurians were treated with the serum;
all signs of their enhancements have been removed. With the
dreadnought at full power, a decision was reached that it would leave
known space, heading towards the destination of a presumed lost,
El-Aurian colony. The ship has a number of outdated records of such a
location and plans are being made to see if it exists. With
preparations being made, they should be underway in another day.

Lieutenant Commander Adrian An'quinsos is still under Doctor Rhyxia's
care for injuries sustained during the mission. According to her
reports, had he been human the Lieutenant Commander would have died;
instead his stubbornness held out. Considering I've worked with him
for four years previous, I'm not surprised, though I have to wonder
sometimes why he returned to Counseling. It almost seems to me like
he's wasting his time for bigger and better things. Regardless, I'm
glad to know he'll live. His son, Maxim was treated for minor burns
wrought by two phaser beams at close proximity and was released four
days ago. The Doctor said there would be some numbness for several
days, but that would soon dissipate.

The Admiral is spending much of her time aboard the dreadnought,
learning as much about ti as she can, downloading old information to
study, uploading new information for their benefit, and making sure
everything is perfect before they set off. After that, the Admiral
will be taking her own ship, along with her brother and nephew back to
the USS Galaxy, while we take Lieutenant Reid back to Deep Space Five.
Computer… end log."

With everyone aboard her ship, the Admiral practically shooed Eldred
away from the controls and began set headings. Adrian was in the small
Sickbay sleeping; Maxim was doing the same in a separate bed, his hand
stretched outward, holding his father's hand as he did so. Bidding the
Stormwarden, Godspeed, the screen switched to the sight of the
Nemesis; the remains of Adrastos had been placed into an empty torpedo
casing and launched toward the binary pair. Now she sat there, Eldred
in another seat watching as an echo of their history came alive with a
radiant, distinct violet glow signaling the warp tunnel drive was
activated. The massive vortex opened and she smiled. They would be
gone for now, but not permanently. No, their ancient language had no
real word for goodbye…

"Àk jhû órièm toreìs." She intoned the promise that they would meet
again. In the end, she mused, this mission wasn't about what lay
within that ship, but what lay within all of them as well. She paused
for a few more seconds in reflection and then began plotting
coordinates; it was time to find locate the USS Galaxy…

*Just before the Galaxy entered the system…*

The signal was received and two figures were beamed aboard in
Transporter Room One. The older one might easily have been mistaken
for a cadet, only the pips said otherwise. The other was clearly a
child about seven to eight years in age and smiling. Thomas Jensen
looked between the two of them; the boy looked okay, but the Counselor
appeared as though he was a little worse for wear; maybe a day or two
in sickbay would do him some good. His thoughts were only confirmed by
the Counselor's movements; he walked off the padd a little slower than
someone his (assumed) age should have done so, while the boy followed
slightly behind him, watching him

"Been through a rough time sir?" Jensen spoke up with slight concern.
"Want me to inform sickbay of anything?"

"There's nothing sickbay can do that hasn't already been done." He
retorted with an assured smile. "As for a… 'rough' time? We leave the
dangerous stuff to security, fighter pilots, and the marines. My rough
times involve stubborn patients and putting this guy to bed."

The boy grinned and looked back before they walked out and waved.
"Have a good day."

The transporter chief stood their silently as the pair left; perhaps
the man was right. Everyone had their place and most certainly
whatever the Counselor sustained it certainly wasn't on some wild
adventure on a haunted ship or anything. He shook his head and
continued his work…

"Downhill"

Captain T'Vara
Commanding Officer

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Security Second

-----

Deck 1
Ready Room

Perched on the edge of her seat, T'Vara's gaze swept around the Ready
Room, automatically noting all the flaws that would need correcting. She
was pleased to find a smaller number than she had expected, but
Operations would still need to send at least one work crew to effect
modifications.

So far, the captain thought as she stood and moved from behind the desk,
everything had gone as she had predicted. Most of the senior staff had
behaved as she had expected, although she would refrain from making
definite conclusions until she had met face-to-face with each of them
and could appraise each of them conclusively. First impressions were
valuable, but they could sometimes be misleading.

T'Vara stopped before the room's only nonstandard decoration, a large
Japanese koto leaned against the wall next to the room's small sofa, and
not for the first time contemplated its design. The elaborate
multicolored wood inlay on the surface of the instrument was, in her
mind, full of imperfections. Several particularly thin slivers of wood
had cracked over the years, and the grain of some of the lighter pieces
was quite different from the rest of the colors. Yet, when she viewed
the piece as a whole, the imperfections seemed to disappear as the whole
image came together.

A mentor of hers, Admiral th'Horvan, had once likened the unique
instrument to a starship's crew. Individually, some of the pieces had
flaws, and some were quite different than others, yet when taken as a
whole the disparate parts came together to create something beautiful
and amazing. T'Vara failed to see how the koto's design of the Fire
Plains was beautiful or amazing (or anything more than an accurate
representation of an important site on Vulcan for that matter), but
eventually she had come to understand the lesson the Admiral had been
trying to give. Perhaps, then, the varied and sometimes imperfect
members of Galaxy's crew would come together to create something more
than the sum of their parts. Only time would tell.

The chirping of the door chime caught her attention, and T'Vara turned
her attention from the instrument, automatically returning to her seat
behind the desk. This would be Lieutenant Krieghoff, Security Second and
Acting Chief of Security in Commander Corgan's absence. Folding her
hands across her lap and turning to face the door, she called out in an
almost melodic contralto, "Enter."

Victor paused in the doorway, PADD in hand, and took in the alterations
to the room's decor in a glance, and then continued forward smoothly
enough that the slight hesitation seemed like a politeness rather than a
way of sizing up the room, and thus its inhabitant. The musical
instrument had been unexpected, but it gave clues to T'Vara's interests,
and such things were always worth knowing about a commander.

Stopping at the specified distance from T'Vara's desk - Victor, being no
stranger to halting in front of Commanders' desks, had long since taken
advantage of Starfleet's standardized cabin layout system to master the
trick of measuring the required halting distance by pace-count from the
door - he nodded politely, "Captain. Thank you for taking the time to
see me on such short notice."

The captain nodded once, and then gestured towards the pair of guest
chairs, wordlessly indicating that he should have a seat. "What is it
you wish to discuss, Lieutenant?"

Dealing with Vulcans was, and always had been, something of a relief to
Victor. The problems he had with people's reactions to him weren't
present when dealing with Vulcans, or if they were, no Vulcan had ever
admitted them to him, and they didn't particularly care about his lack
of socialization. Vulcans were, by and large, content to operate within
regulations, which was fine for Victor; he liked operating by the book
for the same reasons they did: he knew what to expect and so did they.
And in the moments where he was acting outside regulations, well, most
Vulcans were normally content that he could explain and trace for them a
chain of evidence or thought processes that made some logical sense
after the fact.

He privately hoped that he wouldn't be doing much 'after the fact'
explanation with Captain T'Vara.

"Several things, Ma'am," Victor returned as he moved to a seat,
"although specifically, and first off, the fact that I have instructed
the Bridge Security detail to not comply with your Standing Order Number
4, requiring the wearing of the class A Uniform while on Bridge duty.
Rather than have the blame for not following it fall on them, I thought
it best to see you in advance and explain my reasons for doing so."

As expected, she replied with a single word. "Explain."

"Starfleet's Class A uniform was designed for many things, Ma'am, but
swiftness of action and range of motion on the part of its wearers were
not, to my knowledge, part of the design criteria," he explained,
offering her the PADD in his hand. "If you'll examine the file I have
tagged, you can see that, using the Quartermaster General's figures, a
wearer of the Class A Uniform loses, on average, 9.71% of their freedom
of motion and 8.55% of their ability to react quickly owing to the
construction of the uniform." He paused to give her time to verify the
figures he'd looked up the night before. "Granted, neither of those
figures is very high, but, considering the incident that incapacitated
Captain M'Kantu, and the likelihood that the Galaxy will continue to
attract a greater than normal share of attention from Hydran operatives
given her prominence thus far in the War, I do not believe that *any*
loss of capacity is acceptable under the current conditions."

For a long moment T'Vara studied the padd, carefully reviewing the
presented information. Never one to make snap decisions unless it was
absolutely necessary, the captain made a mental note to have her yeoman
verify the data Krieghoff had presented in addition to tracking down any
other studies related to performance efficiency and the Class A uniform.
Placing the padd on the desk at last she replied, "Very well. I will
take this information under consideration." It wasn't an automatic
approval, but it wasn't an automatic rejection either.

Considering that it wasn't an outright refusal, Victor supposed that he
had gotten as much from that portion of the discussion as he had any
right to expect. "Very well, Ma'am," he nodded. He hadn't received an
order to put the personnel back in their Class A's, and they weren't
going into them until he did, so it was time to cover the other topics
he'd planned on discussing.

"Moving on," he continued, "I've taken the liberty of reviewing the
Standing Orders that you had issued during your last assignment, and
have determined that, other than the one previously discussed, there
appeared to be none that directly impacted Security. Realizing that you
haven't had a great deal of time to decide upon anything, I still wanted
to take the opportunity to ask if you were contemplating any that would,
or if you intended to make alterations to the ones that currently
stand?"

"The Security division training requirements put in place by Captain
Bhrode will remain," she answered, referring to the long-standing
requirements that the entire Security department be held to Marine
standards of physical fitness. "However, I am considering a revision to
this order, one that would require Security and Marine personnel to
spend a greater amount of time training with one another."

"Unified training, Ma'am?" The last round of unified 'training' with the
Marines Victor recalled had been prior to the Defiant Incident years
before, and it hadn't been a success by anyone's standards.

"Departmental reports seem to indicate some form of informal rivalry
between Galaxy's Security personnel and Colonel Arvelion's Marines.
While these reports conclude that this rivalry is 'mostly harmless', I
cannot allow it to go ignored. Previous studies of similar situations
indicate that a regular schedule of cross-department training between
such rival groups decreases the level of rivalry in 84.3% of all cases,
and eliminates it in 50.2% of cases."

The captain paused for a moment, and then added, "However, before I
implement such an order, I would hear your thoughts on it."

"The training or the rivalry, Ma'am?" It was always best to be sure with
Vulcans.

She thought about it for a split second before replying, "Both."

"Very well," he nodded. "The rivalry you refer to dates back to the days
when Captain Bhrode was Galaxy's CO. He formally placed the Marines and
Security directly in competition with each other for the 'right' or
'privilege' of performing tasks that were traditionally assigned to
Security: escorting Away Teams; Search & Rescue Operations; personal
security details for ship's officers in hostile conditions; and so on.
He further weighted the competitions by setting the standards of success
so that the Marines were favored. I've always presumed that it was an
attempt to push Security into achieving a higher level of performance,
but if so, then the plan backfired. The institutionalized rivalry he
created fostered a sense of resentment on the part of the ship's
Security personnel, both towards Captain Bhrode personally, and towards
the ship's Marine contingent in general. The situation was aggravated by
some, but not all, of the Marines using this arrangement to lord it over
the Security personnel. That," he added preemptively, "was primarily an
issue in the lower Marine enlisted ranks - the senior NCOs that I came
into contact with didn't appear to feel that way." Gunny Goldstein, for
example, hadn't. For a moment, Victor wondered where Betty Goldstein
was, and what she was doing, and if she thought of him and the times
they'd drank coffee in 10-Forward together occasionally. Times that had,
he now believed, possibly been something more than just two
professionals drinking coffee, although he'd been unable to recognize it
at the time.

"Since Captain Bhrode's departure," he continued, "that rivalry has
lessened from its formal, institutionalized start to the more informal
state we have now, primarily because Captain M'Kantu chose to not
continue the competitive process and returned Security and the Marine
contingent to their normal duties. Some members of Security,
particularly the some of the ones who were here during Captain Bhrode's
tenure, haven't fully let go of the rivalry in the time since then,
although no one that I'm aware of is pushing to keep the issue alive. I
expect that it will continue to fade of its own accord as attrition,
replacements, and the passage of time have an effect."

"I see," T'Vara replied with a nod of understanding. This was the first
time she had encountered a concrete example of a commanding officer
deliberately pitting departments against each other. Perhaps the
situation was more complex than she had initially concluded.

"The training you propose," Victor continued carefully, "may, however,
have the effect of aggravating the situation, particularly as I expect
the personnel that were here during Captain Bhrode's tenure will see any
sort of unified interdepartmental training as a prelude to the same
thing happening again: Security being forced to compete with the Marines
for the 'right' to do the job that they're supposed to have already."

"The purpose of such an arrangement," T'Vara explained, "would be to
foster teamwork; I have no intention of pitting these departments
against each other in a competitive scenario. Each group has been
trained to fill similar, though distinct needs; forcing one group to
compete for tasks best completed by another group is highly illogical.
Do you believe such an arrangement would cause more problems than it
would solve? And if so, how can such a problem be minimized or
eliminated altogether?"

Victor considered that for a moment. How would he handle that? How would
Chulak have handled it? "Some members of Security work in conjunction
with the Marines now without issue - the Armory staff in particular," he
noted. "They won't be an issue. But the main body of the department is
another issue." He turned the problem over in his head until his
experience as Chulak sparked an idea from his personal experiences. "The
simplest way to avoid reigniting the rivalry," he began, "would be, I
believe, to start the training off small; two or three individuals at a
time - certainly no larger than a squad - as opposed to the entire
department. Perhaps the Hazard Team first, since no one would think it
unusual if they were to run exercises with the Marines."

"A good start. Perhaps this experiment should begin with the Hazard
Team and the Marines' ARC unit under Second Lieutenant Ward," T'Vara
commented.

"I'll speak to Col. Arvelion and get the sessions set up," Victor
agreed. "Unless there is a critical scheduling issue, we should have
something ready to show you by tomorrow." Privately, he thought that he
and For'kel could have it done in about three hours, but there was no
sign that the project required that kind of rush.

T'Vara nodded, and then continued, "With the latest round of crew
transfers, the Hazard Team roster is somewhat sparse. Have there been
any plans made to replenish the team?"

"I know Commander Corgan had discussed it," Victor said slowly,
unwilling to blame James for something. "But he hadn't set a formal
tryout date. I have, however, signed off on the addition of a Medical
Petty Officer - Benedict Maxwell - to the Hazard Team of my own
initiative; the Team hasn't had one for as long as I've been on it, and
I thought it was time it did. I'll go on and put together a Hazard Team
tryout program and submit it for approval by the end of the week." He
paused, and then continued with equal carefulness, "The Galaxy had no
Hazard Team under Captain Bhrode, and although Captain M'Kantu
authorized the assembly of one, the Galaxy has encountered few
situations that required fielding the entire Team since then. Several
sub-units of the Team have participated in missions as part of a larger
whole, but the last time it was in the field as a unit was on a mission
to Barzan during the Borg conversion of the planet. If you anticipate a
greater utilization of the Team, then there are some other changes that
I'd like to make, subject to review by Commander Corgan on his return."

"I do not anticipate specific uses for the full team in the future.
However, a similar special operations unit was formed aboard the USS
Vah'Kol during her mission to the galactic barrier some years ago; while
the team was initially formed purely for experimental purposes, it
nonetheless proved to be quite useful on more than one occasion. And,
given the current climate of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants and the fact
that the Federation is at war, a heightened level of preparedness would
more likely than not be a benefit." T'Vara paused, her head cocking ever
so slightly to one side. "Have you spoken with Commander Corgan
recently? Shortly after taking command of Galaxy I sent him a short
message, but I have yet to receive a response. While I know he is on
leave at the moment, it is still somewhat worrisome."

"The last time I spoke to the Commander was the day he departed for
Vulcan." Victor considered that a safe enough statement. "I'm not
certain of the entire problem, but from what he told me then, he was
intending to travel to the Thlaska Monastery on Southern Vulcan, to be
present for a portion of the treatment his family member was receiving."
Chulak's memories of the region involved cracked, barren deserts and
temperatures that felt like they approached the melting point of lead.
"It is possible, since I know nothing of the specific treatment in
progress, that he may be incommunicado for some time if the monks deemed
it necessary."

"I see." T'Vara's eyes narrowed slightly; she was well aware of the
level of development in the areas around Thlaska, many of which remained
just as they had thousands of years ago. In particular, the monastery
itself was completely secluded, and only received information about the
outside world through pilgrims or other visitors. If Commander Corgan
was indeed at Thlaska, contacting him for anything short of a major
emergency would be difficult.

"Very well, then," she continued almost abruptly before moving on to the
next topic. "Several of the Security department's status reports
describe the actions of a vandal referred to in these reports as the
'Phantom'. However, mention of this individual ceased some weeks ago.
Was this situation ever satisfactorily resolved?"

Victor didn't particularly want to answer this question since the case
was still open, but since he'd been asked.... "No Ma'am. Not if by
'satisfactorily concluded' you mean that the individual responsible was
apprehended and remanded for confinement and treatment. The incidents
simply... stopped. I am informed by Counselor Elessidil that an abrupt
cessation is uncommon in such cases unless acted upon by an outside
force, so I am led to conclude that the individual responsible was
either part of the crew that transferred off-ship at the Starbase, or he
has stopped out of fear of being apprehended. Potentially, however," he
added, "the perpetrator has decided to lie low in the hopes of securing
one final target of the most epic proportions possible before he is
captured. If that is the case... then it's possible that your presence
aboard as the new Commanding Officer will provide that target."

The captain was silent for just slightly longer than normal before she
responded. "Then I hope he is apprehended before he has such an
opportunity, for your sake as well as mine."

That, Victor decided, was as polite - and literal in this case - a way
of saying that shit rolled downhill as he'd ever heard. "Understood,
ma'am," he nodded. "Do I have your permission to place a non-intrusive,
jam-proof monitoring device on your quarters, set to monitor for
activity strictly when you're out of the cabin? I've already," he added,
"given myself permission to do the same for my own quarters, and started
a rumor that my personal security arrangements are much too stringent to
need to fear the... individual... in question. I'm hoping that the
challenge will be enough to bring them out if they're still aboard."

"A novel idea," she responded with a nod. "You have my permission to do
the same to my personal quarters."

"Very good, Ma'am. Is there anything else you need to discuss at this
time?" Victor could think of several things, but didn't want to drag the
meeting out too long - time enough for that another day.

"There are several more items, but none are so critical that they must
be discussed immediately. Let us continue at this time tomorrow,
though."

"Very well, Ma'am," Victor nodded. ""I'll personally see to the
modification to your cabin security. I should be done in no more than an
hour. When you go off-shift tonight, please contact me and I'll
demonstrate it to you, so that you'll understand the system and what it
can and cannot do." He stood. "Until then, Ma'am."

"Yes, until then," the captain replied. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Victor nodded again and departed, already reviewing the things he'd need
to secure the CO's quarters. Whether or not the 'Phantom' was still
aboard, Victor had no intention of being the one standing level spot
when things stopped rolling downhill.

"A Dangerous Mind"

Captain T'Vara
Lt. JG T'Pei

"Things are only impossible until they are not" -Jean-Luc Picard

T'Vara set aside the personnel file, pondering its contents. The subject of the file had been a valuable member of the Galaxy crew for four years; had been its Chief of Sciences, even. Now, though, she represented a liability—-one who would not have been allowed back on a Vulcan ship. If the crewman in question had been Vulcan. Which she was not—-at least not entirely.

The status quo could not continue, however. Half-human or not, Lieutenant T'Pol's behavior was disruptive at best, dangerous at worst.

The captain considered her options. In normal circumstances, T'Vara would have replaced the Lieutenant, even though merely finding someone else with her capabilities would be difficult. The most logical place for T'Pol was on Vulcan, with individuals specifically trained to deal with her problems. T'Vara pushed back from her desk and walked to her window, crossing her hands behind her back. In this case, the most logical solution was simply not feasible. Replacing an officer during a war was impractical, and inefficient.

For several minutes, T'Vara watched the features of the planet below slowly change as the Galaxy continued in its orbit. She could not afford the time to find a replacement, nor could she afford to lose a potentially valuable officer. 'It is not just in Operations,' she thought, 'that the chief enemy is time, Mister K'aa.'

Sparing one last glance at the planet, T'Vara returned to her desk and pressed the comm button. Perhaps, when all solutions seemed to have been eliminated, the logical choice was the only one which remained.

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

"Enter."

The Vulcan in front of her was young, over 30 years younger than herself, and the captain noted without surprise that her uniform was immaculate, just as it was every time she had seen her on the bridge. Just like the Vulcans she was used to serving with. T'Vara gestured for her to sit.

"Lieutenant T'Pei," she began. "You are relatively new to the Galaxy, are you not?"

"Yes, sir. I was transferred from a posting in the Vered Cluster six months ago."

There was curiosity in her officer's eyes, and T'Vara knew she was wondering why the captain would ask a question whose answer was readily accessible in the personnel files.

"As you were not here a year ago, it is unlikely that you have met an officer who was recently reassigned to the Science Department—-Lieutenant T'Pol." She noted with the slightest amusement that although the other woman's face remained calm, she tensed almost imperceptibly at the question. Indeed, Lieutenant T'Pol could have that effect, even on the most controlled of minds.

"I have indeed not yet met the Lieutenant. However, her reputation precedes her, sir."

T'Vara studied T'Pei's face as she considered her next words carefully. Despite her impressive abilities and training, 66 years was not enough time to gain the wisdom required to be favorably inclined to the orders that this woman was about to receive. It was one thing to accept that other species lived by customs that differed from your own; it was another thing entirely to accept a member of your own species rejecting these customs deliberately.

"You studied with Reldai T'Less."

The other woman raised an eyebrow at the abrupt change of topic, but nodded.

"T'Less does not agree to teach students lightly. You have a unique set of skills, Lieutenant." T'Vara placed a PADD on the table between herself and T'Pei. As the latter picked it up and began a cursory review of its contents, she continued. "Despite Lieutenant T'Pol's previous...reluctance to study C'thia, certain recent events have made it necessary. This contains the relevant medical details which the Lieutenant has agreed to release. You will note that just prior to her incapacitation, the Lieutenant psychically projected a hallucination onto the entire crew."

T'Pei abruptly raised her head from the PADD. "The Lieutenant is only half-Vulcan, Captain. It is not possible that she..." She trailed off as if reconsidering accusing her captain of lying, no matter how indirectly.

"The most extreme of her abilities have arisen only when she is under emotional duress. Once she gains some measure of control over her emotions, her doctors predict that these abilities will become manageable, or perhaps cease entirely."

T'Vara saw the exact moment when T'Pei realized the direction this meeting was going. "And...I am to assist her."

"Of the Vulcans on board, you are the most qualified, as you share the abilities she must learn to control."

It was impossible for T'Pei to dispute the logic in the captain's statement, although for a instant, she looked as if she might try anyway. T'Vara folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently for reality to sink in.

"Yes, sir," T'Pei replied after a moment.

T'Vara was impressed by the serenity in the other Vulcan's voice. "Excellent. I trust that you will contact Lieutenant T'Pol immediately, and report to me regularly regarding your progress."

"Of course, sir."

T'Vara unfolded her hands and stood. "Thank you Lieutenant. That will be all."

OOC-takes place a day or two after "A Dangerous Mind"

"Kahr-y-tan" (The Way of the Vulcan)

Lieutenant T'Pol (8'ball) Hunter
Lieutenant JG T'Pei

"There is no offense where none is taken." -Surak

1900 hours
As a rule, Vulcans don't bet. But if she was a betting sort of Vulcan, she would have won. Not much, though--the odds were too far in her favor on this one. T'Pei felt the passing of the hour, but did not cease her meditation. The Lieutenant would be late, by just enough to make a point: She might have to play Vulcan to stay sane, but she would never convert.

At 1912 hours the door chimed, and T'Pei rose.

"Enter."

T'Pei suppressed a grimace as a storm cloud of hostility and flowery perfume strutted through her cabin door. It seemed impossibly ironic that someone could look so clearly Vulcan, after putting such obvious effort into making herself less so. Her hair was cut short, in a traditional style, revealing the most obvious Vulcan feature, of course: the ears. However, her ears were pierced and dangling jewelry--currently, some hideous bright fuchsia skeletons. She was also wearing what appeared to be a very old Starfleet uniform--back from the days when the women officers wore skirts instead of pants. Completing the . . . unusual . . . outfit were knee-high boots that, at best, could only be called impractical.

The two women stared at each other for a moment, both in shock that the other was so exactly what they had expected. The disdainfully queasy look on her soon to be pupil's face made it clear to T'Pei that the dark floor length robe was
an . . . unfortunate mistake. Endeavoring to be appear amicable, she inclined her head slightly to her guest.

"Lieutenant T'Pol," she began.

That was mistake number two.

The lieutenant's nostrils practically flared. "My name," she said, "is NOT T'Pol. If we have to do this . . . Vulcan mindtrippy crap . . . we're going to have to get a few things straight. First, I NEVER go by that name. My name is 8-ball, and that's that. If that offends your delicate sensibilities, you can call me Lieutenant Hunter. Hell, you can call me Elmo--but NOT T'Pol. Cool?"

T'Pei blinked at the outburst, confused as to what offense she had given, calling an officer by her name and rank. She briefly contemplated asking why it would be preferable to be called an inanimate object or by some...alien name she did not recognize, but caught herself. 'I must recall that despite her outward appearance, Lieutenant 'Hunter' is of half-human lineage. And, when dealing with humans, ignorance is often...intellectually preferable.' In the end, she settled for a raised eyebrow and a small nod, the tried and true Vulcan way of indicating "I have no clue what illogical nonsense you are spouting now, but sure, whatever."

The woman in front of her took a deep breath, perhaps reminding herself that a Vulcan wrestling deathmatch wasn't what she was here for. "Good," she said, sounding a trifle calmer. "So . . . how do we do this? Please tell me I don't have to wear . . . that."

"No," T'Pei replied cautiously. "However, it might not be advisable for you to wear those . . . garments, either. Many meditation techniques are most effectively conducted while sitting." The younger Vulcan began to sputter, but T'Pei ignored it and plowed on. "As for 'how we do this', I believe that the most efficient course of treatment will be to first work on the basic meditation techniques you have already been taught. Once you have mastered these, I will next assess the extent of your new abilities before we begin to work on your emotional control at a deeper level."

Lieutenant Hunter frowned at her. "Okay," she said, "look, I'm okay with a couple of chants here and there, but I have no intention of being turned into some kind of emotionless Vulcan-bot. Because, you know what, *I* am not Vulcan. I just have some rather unfortunate genes. *I* am human, and humans like their illogical, completely inefficient emotions. You're not taking those away. They're what make me ME."

Like repeatedly being plunged into cold water, T'Pei's psyche was getting inured to the emotional onslaught just being in the same room with this woman entailed. "Lieutenant," she interrupted. "My understanding is that the more . . . disturbing elements of your psychic abilities manifest themselves when you are experiencing extreme emotions. If you wish to avoid further incidents like the one that happened months ago, some level of emotional control will be necessary."

"Lady, I'd rather go fucking nuts again than to be one of you." But the other woman looked away then, as if not sure how true this statement really was. She took another deep breath, visibly attempting to calm down, and approximately five long breaths later her emotional thunderstorm had dwindled back to a tolerable simmer. T'Pei could feel the anger and resentment still brewing in the lieutenant, but these emotions were tempered down by a greater one, fear.

The lieutenant looked back at her, a very artificial grin twisting her lips. "Fine, Miss Vulcan Death Queen. You win for today. Let's just get started, shall we? The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I get my brownie sundae."

"Before we begin, please tell me what your training up until now has entailed."

"Well," Lt. Hunter said dryly. "I haven't slapped you yet."

"I fail to see how that bears on the question."

Lt. Hunter rolled her eyes. "Jeez, kid, lighten up. You see, that's the problem with this whole I-don't-feel thing. You may get bonus points for perfecting the scornful eyebrow raise, but you lose major on the whole sense of humor deal."

She shrugged her shoulders carelessly. "Besides," she said, "I'm telling the truth. Mostly, what I've worked on is emotional control . . . albeit MINIMAL emotional control to avoid becoming a fucking robot . . . but, you know, some deep breathing, a couple of chants, a few boring meditation exercises, the usual. And if you don't think it's working, trust me, you don't know me that well. This time last year, I probably would have thrown something at you by now and run away to hide in the Holodeck."

'This is a complete waste of time,' T'Pei thought, turning her back on her student and blowing out the candle she had lit earlier over by her meditation stone. Although outwardly she remained passive, internally she was becoming agitated, tempted to lash out at this woman, a half-Vulcan, who actually believed that refraining from physical violence was an improvement in control. And, like all emotions, T'Pei's frustration was deeply unsettling to her.

She dropped her head and breathed in and out slowly, an image of Reldai T'Less entering her thoughts. Could she have taught someone who was so determined not to learn? The priestess had attained a level of mental control that would have both inspired and intimidated her pupil, had T'Pei been human. Yet, although she would have been completely capable of purging her emotions completely, she had never followed the path of Kohlinar. As a child, T'Pei had asked her why this was so. Now, over 50 years later, she thought she finally understood her teacher's answer.

The lesson plan would need to change.

T'Pei was calm now, and spoke quietly, still facing her meditation stone. "Very few realize that the path to C'thia, the way of truth and logic, does not require a complete rejection of emotion. It would be illogical to deny that which is a part of us, Lieutenant. Instead of rejection, one seeks to master their passions and emotions. It is called arie'mnu." T'Pei paused, unsure if her message were getting across. Turning, she noted that the Lieutenant was at least listening, whether or not she understood what T'Pei was trying to tell her. "The first step in this process is awareness of the passions which rule you. Right now, your emotions control your thoughts, and your actions. Only when you are aware of your thoughts, and can separate them from your emotions, can you allow your thoughts to control your emotions, and your actions."

The lieutenant raised her eyebrows. Both of them. "O-kay," she said slowly. "Well . . .I'd say that right now, I'm *feeling* a lot of frustration, anger, and general latent homicidal tendencies . . . and I'm *thinking* that it's got to be almost time for this little Vulcan intervention to end, right? How'm I doing so far?"

"If I am not mistaken, that was an attempt at humor," T'Pei remarked, earning herself a derisive snort and an eye roll. "However, I believe that you are correct that today's session should end. When we next meet, I will teach you a meditation technique which endeavors to separate emotion and consciousness. Until then, when you are meditating, pay attention to the thoughts which occupy your conscious mind, and the emotions that these thoughts evoke. Record them if necessary, so that we can discuss them."

"Great," the Lieutenant said. "Catatonic for 3/4th's of the year and my cure is a couple of chants and a dream journal. Sounds swell, T'Pei. I'll get right on that. Until our next torture session . . ." She turned around and left the quarters at a speed more appropriate for a person fleeing for their life.

T'Pei contemplated the door for several moments. In three long strides she had exited, spotting the lieutenant's distinctive attire 20 paces down the corridor.

"Lieutenant...Hunter," she called. The other woman seemed to ignore her for a moment, then stopped, sighed audibly, and turned around to face her.

"The purpose of this..." T'Pei paused. "...I assure you that I will not attempt to turn you into a 'Vulcan-bot'."

Lieutenant Hunter just watched her for a long moment, utterly silent, an inscrutable expression on her face. Then she tipped a wink and grinned. "Appreciate that," she drawled and walked away.

T'Pei stood in the hallway in silence for a long time before returning to her quarters.

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