"Towards the Unknown"

Stardrive/Engine Away Team 2:

Cmdr. Arel Smith
Ensign Callum Kochanski
Ensign Alexandra Lee
Crewman Gary Upchurch, NPC

****

NX-19 (Aiolos)

****

"Jaxom to Smith, go ahead and secure the perimeter while we
investigate in main Engineering. We'll keep this channel open."

"Understood," Arel replied. She sidestepped a sizable chunk of...
something - who knew what it once was, the vegetation seeming to have
bled from the fractures in the ship and pooling over everything in
sight - and turned back to the others.

"Stay close to me and Upchurch," She said to Kochanski and Lee. "If
everything looks good, we can split into two teams so you each can do
your, er, tech stuff."

"We'll get on with the 'tech stuff', Commander. Just keep the guns out
the way." Kochanski had the habit of not even realizing when he was
being rude. He'd also been known to not show much respect for security
officers either. He wasn't a pacifist; he just felt that a phaser
could only make a bad situation worse.

"Sure, Sparky," Arel replied in a flat voice. "Do I have your
permission to use the guns when something nasty tries to eat you?"

"Sorry sir." He said apologetically. "If it's alright with you I think
we should start with the engineering labs down the end of this
corridor." He finished his sentence, almost cringing at his previous
faux pas.

****

Twenty minutes later

"Internal perimeter secure, Jaal," Arel said. "We're splitting into
two teams, Lee and I and Kochanski and Upchurch. I propose check-ins
every hour."

"Sounds good to me. Talk to you soon," the Trill commander replied
through the commbadge.

"You ready for this?" Arel asked the other security officer as the
ensigns prepared whatever they were going to need.

"I… think so, Ma'am," Upchurch replied, trying to suppress a stammer.
He'd done this before in simulation, but never 'live' as it were.

"You'll be fine," She said. "Just don't fuck up."

****

Two hours later

=/\= Krieghoff to Smith =/\=

"Go ahead, Krieghoff," Arel replied.

=/\= I've got the perimeter energy pickets ready for beam-down,
Commander. Will you need any manpower assistance in setting them up,
or do you think that there's enough free hands already there? =/\=

"I think we're good for now."

=/\= All right, then. Do I need to tell Commander Jaal that you're
going to be pulled off exploration duty for a bit, or do you want to
handle that? =/\=

"I'll do it. We're due to check in soon anyway."

=/\= Understood, Commander. Krieghoff out. =/\=

She looked over at Lee. "Let's go get the others."

****

Ten Minutes later

"Ummmm… Ma'am?" Gary called out tentatively. He looked up blinked, and
added, "That would be 'Commander Smith Ma'am' and not "Ensign Lee
Ma'am,' I mean."

"Just stick with Commander from now on, Gary," Arel said with a sigh.
She was already feeling tired - probably this damn heat - and didn't
have the heart to mess with the new guy. Maybe she'd be up to the task
after her lunch break.

"I've got something over here…." He pointed towards the thick
undergrowth he was clearing for the next energy picket emitter.

"Yeah?" Arel said as she started over. "What is it?"

"I-it's a headstone, Ma'am. At least I think it is…"

Mi Bano es su Bano


A JP starring

Midshipman Paige Sullivan (Kate)
Ensign Saiyk (Chris D.)




(Set shortly before the Away Misison)


Like ten thousand needles of hot liquid ecstasy, the steaming showerhead beat down on Saiyk's bare olive skin in a symphony of sheer pleasure.

~Hot Water,~ he almost groaned to himself in guilty pleasure, ~persuading evidence of a Divine being in the universe.~

The fact that the young Vulcan had only been introduced to the concept of hot showers during his first year at the Academy may seem a little unbelievable at first glance, however if one were to break it down logically -- as one must when dealing with his race -- the truth of the matter became clear.

Water in any form was still a scarce resource in the bone-dry deserts of Vulcan. With only 20% surface coverage, the expenditure of H2O for pure hygienic purposes was... illogical at best.
This is not to say that Vulcans were not a clean people... far from it Energy being so plentiful in the 24th century, the sonic shower was the device of choice for maintaining personal hygiene.

Indeed, Saiyk had taken sonic showers the first 18 years of his life up until his first week in San Francisco when he somewhat hesitantly stepped under a waterfall of steaming liquid that poured from the bathroom fixtures in his barracks. Now, four years later he was hopelessly addicted.

Hot water: his one oasis of comfort in a human world of universal air conditioning and too bright lights.

He stoically went about his duties day by day in a constant state of goose bumps and repressed shivers, but every evening when he came home it was straight off to the showers to bask in the eternal glories of Warp Core heated water.

Dipping his head under the stream, he allowed the hot rivers to thoroughly drench his sandy brown hair.

His coloring, though rare amongst the legions of raven-haired ancestors, was not entirely unique. Indeed there were occasional recessive genes that resulted in the occasional blond or -- more shockingly -- redheaded Vulcan.

Likewise his somewhat wavy styling was more of a rebellion from four years of Academy-enforced buzz-cuts.

The tiny bathroom he shared with Paige Sullivan was a swirling cloud of steam and water rivulets coating every exposed surface.

There were those Vulcans who maintained that one must resist overindulgence in that which was inherently pleasurable. This was true to a certain extent, but Saiyk determined that, within reason, it would be illogical to deny certain practices on a mere whim.

He cupped his hands beneath the spray, observing how tiny whirlpools formed between his fingers, and enjoying the happy slap of water against the porcelain tub once he opened his hands again.

How long had he stood here? An hour... two...?

He traced a quadratic equation in the steam-moistened tiles... better to stay here than brave the frigid environs of his room.

"Spike! Heva bayo, 2 frakin hours, y-a!" Paige's irritated voice hollered over the rain of the shower. "I'm coming in, avert your eyes, I gotta go." Her tone had the frantic edge of someone who had been forced to hold it for way too long.

She didn't wait for a reply before she hopped into the wash-closet, the door falling closed behind her. She undid her pants as she went before finally thudding down onto the metallic throne, finding near immediate, toe-curling bladder relief. She sighed softly, eyes momentarily closed as she sat there, just appreciating the wonders of indoor plumbing; she opened them again when she reached for the TP and discovered it to be a damp and pathetic roll of sog.

That's about when she realized that it was impossible to tell whether his eyes were averted; she couldn't see more than a foot in front of her for all the steam.

"Foss's Cave're you doing in here?" she asked as she put herself back together and then flushed. She brushed sopping wet bangs off her forehead. "Bayo, seriously. We need to get you electric under-jams or something. This is ridiculous."

Beyond the translucent shower screen, Saiyk was making a valiant stand against gritting his teeth in a very un-Vulcan like manner.

The unannounced flushing of the toilet had produced a very predictable fluctuation in the water temperature that, again, his years of sonic showers had not prepared him for. After all, back on Vulcan, the temperature of the sonic shower didn't change just because somebody plugged in the coffee maker.

"I... indeed," he managed through semi-grit teeth. "The situation can accurately be described as... ridiculous... as you put it."

Watching her screen-distorted form shimmy back into her pants he wondered briefly at the logic of Starfleet's diversity policy... sacrilege... for even Surak espoused the benefits of Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.

Wiping a wet hand back through his hair, Saiyk wondered if Surak ever had to share a tiny bathroom with a hyperactive girl with a speech impediment.

"What do you suggest," was all he said, hesitantly touching the hot water faucet.

"I've no idea," she stated, washing her hands, and then she paused by the door, "but having to barge in like this is humiliating. So unless they can somehow get us another wash-closet, we have to do a sign-up or... something. And with the greater problem, I don't know. We've upped the temp a lot, Spike. We can't help that I come from a cold planet and you come from a hot one. I just think it's easier for you to put more on than it is for me to walk around naked."

Behind the curtain Saiyk opened his mouth to point out the error...walking around with nothing on would technically allow a certain freedom of movement...but he closed his mouth again.

It occured to him that probably wasnt the point.

Reluctantly twisting off the spray, he silently listened to the drip drip drip of the last drops making their way out of the head.

"Indeed...I shall endeavor to compromise." he said with a hint of regret.

As the chill settled back in around his shivering bones, Saiyk began preparing himself for the endeavor ahead.....his first Away Mission.

"You Again"

---
Lieutenant Mark
Counselor
USS Galaxy-A

Staff Technician Rheay Olin,
Flight Crew Technician, Vanguard Group,
USS Galaxy-A
---
===Somewhere in Looney Bin Land, Deck 14===

There was a certain level of huffing and puffing in the air as the
frail form of Ra clambered through the long winding corridors, glaring
with sullen discontent at sign plates, derailed in her search for
lunch by a strict command to go report for mandatory idiocy checking,
aka tea at the counseling yards. Her dislike of counselors and mostly
everybody wearing a teal collar was very well documented throughout
recent years. Having to spend an hour weekly with several of said
beings due to 'tragic events' a few years ago had done enough to put
her off of them for a good while.

But, orders were orders.

"I need a smoke badly," she mumbled to no one particular, dodging out
of the way of two insanely large Security Ensigns and almost walking
face-first into a wall. Steroids, clearly. What a waste.

She gave an irritable sigh, skidding to a halt in front of the cabinet
she had been referred to and chimed diligently, the door wooshing open
in front of her within seconds.

"I hold great anger towards my childhood and I'm considering a
sex-change," she hollered with a dull smirk, wobbling bravely into the
room, ready to face and conquer, divide and bewilder.

"Again?" a vaguely familiar voice asked, "Or still?"

A middle-aged lieutenant was manning the receptionist desk until the
regular receptionist came back from lunch. When he turned to see the
familiar face his face broke into a wide grin, "Miss Olin! It's good
to see you again! Followed me here from the Miranda did you? For my
excellent counseling technique no doubt." He huffed onto his
fingernails and gave them a light polish on the front of his uniform.
"What can I do for you today?" he asked smugly.

"Oh please," Ra chuckled, mirroring Mark's smile. "I go all across the
universe and I still stumble upon the common evil." She strolled
onward across the makeshift reception area, chewing up the gap between
herself and the aging counselor.

"I'm just here to be poked and prodded and perhaps be proclaimed
mentally unfit, yet strangely fascinating." Ra skidded to a halt in
front of one of the rare few counselors she had ever had a taste for
and reached out her hand for a friendly shake.

"And as for the earlier question: still. Again. Neither, both, so on.
Ignore me."

Mark took her hand and shook in a most polite fashion. It was the kind
of shake a man would offer a woman he was very fond of but not
necessarily interested in dating. "Strangely fascinating? Definitely.
Mentally unfit? I doubt it. Don't you remember what I told you back on
the Miranda?"

"Yes, yes, I'm clearly saner than most for admitting my insanity. I
also recall that you agreed fervently with me that half of the Miranda
crew should have been locked up in tight white spaces. Care to express
opinion on the current lot of misfits we're stranded with? If I'm not
too mistaken, I heard ramblings of ghosts and poltergeists, oh my," Ra
rolled her eyes theatrically before returning another smile. Finally,
a friendly face onboard which wasn't belonging to a ravenous redhead.
She couldn't wait to ask about what cigars Mark had stashed away at
the moment!

Mark leaned back in the chair and rubbed his day old stubble
thoughtfully. "Ya know... given what I've seen so far... it's a real
close call." He massaged his chin a little more and added, "I think
this crew edges the Miranda's by decent fraction. It's astounding
really." His expression showed genuine astonishment.

Ra rested against the receptionist's desk, propping herself up on her
elbows and smirking slightly at Mark's incredulous look. "Right, that
still doesn't really answer the query. But I guess I'll have to wait a
few days before I can really comment on the situation myself, I
haven't even been to the pits and met the person who's assignment it
is to make my life hell. Though I'm sure Dala ? do you remember her?
She was the one who slept with every...thing ? will fill me in on it
as soon as I run into her."

Ra squinted slightly, looking around herself. "By the way, Mark, don't
mind me asking but have you been promoted or demoted to receptionist?
Never did figure out how it worked in Counselling." She grinned
mischievously, dipping her head to the side a bit as she considered
the aging man.

At that point the proper receptionist returned from her break. "Thanks
for filling in Mark."

"Any time my dear," Mark answered while standing up and moving to
allow Rhonda to take her seat back. Turning to Olin, Mark asked, "Care
to continue this conversation in my office?"

Ra nodded with a slight smirk, giving a sideways glance at Rhonda
while trotting after Mark like a good puppy would. "So it was a
temporary promotion, huh," she uttered sweetly, not really expecting
the counselor to give her any kind of a reply other than total
ignoring or an amused snort.

Once inside the door slid shut. Mark plopped down on the
psychiatrist's couch with the eye shattering patterned upholstery. "If
I remember correctly you're probably dieing for a smoke about now." He
watched with a critical but amused eye.

"You, my dear sir, possess excellent mnemonic capabilities for someone
of your advanced age," the blond cheered idly, giving the room a
once-over quickly. Just as mind-numbingly weird as aboard the Miranda.
Good things never change, apparently.

He walked towards his desk and popped open the miniature humidor
filled with the Federation's finest in cigars. He plucked one out for
himself and casually offered Ra one with a flick of his other hand.

Ra almost skipped over to the hovering cigar, the man behind it wasn't
of great importance at the time. "You're almost managing to make me
like you counseling pricks. Just don't tell anyone!"

Mark chuckled at that, "Your secret is safe with me."

She happily weighed the cigar in her frail hand, at the same time
trying to remember the last time she had actually had one. "Got a
light, dearest? I actually went for 3 months without smoking on my
last assignment, cap was a hardass about such unhealthy habits.
Thankfully I then found the combustion lab and could continue my
self-destructive ways."

"Of course," Mark produced a lighter from a pocket in his uniform
jacket and deftly lit his and held it out to light Ra's.

Ra huffed in the smoke from the lit cigar with distinct pleasure,
tilting her head back a little to let a stream of grey whirls out from
between her lips. "So," she began, focusing her eyes on Mark once
more. "Aside from converting me to Mark-ism, are you going to ask me
probing questions about my sanity now or do I get to look at blobs on
screens or what not?"

Mark blew a smoke ring that hovered over them in halo-like fashion
before the enviromental system whisked it away. "Not unless you want
me to. Do you? Surely you're not having any doubts about your
sanity... Are you?" He keenly observed her body language while
appearing not to.

"Oh please," she scoffed with mild amusement, following the route of
the short-lived circle with her eyes. "I've long ago given up doubting
anything less practical than the contents of my sandwich. It's simply
not healthy!" Ra grinned lightly, giving the counselor a fond look. "I
am, however, still happy to run into you here, Mark. It's been a while
since I've had some figuratively steady acquaintances, nice to stumble
upon the old ones."

As slow as her last assignment had been, it was still a far cry from
stable or secure, not that said situation differed from everything the
rest of Starfleet had been going through for the past countless years.
One always thought to be more special than the others, though, thus Ra
hadn't made a fuss of her sudden appreciation for the island of calm
that seemed to waft around the relaxed human in her company.

"Thanks," Mark blew another fabulous smoke ring, "I don't get many
compliments. That means a lot to me."

"Anyone else I should be aware of from the old Miranda whackjobs
onboard this tin, by the by?"

Mark's mouth twisted into small grin, "Actually, yes. A number of
Miranda's crew ended up here. Arel Smith, Chris Daniels are among some
I think you'd know... oh, and Jaal Jaxom. I think there's more but I'd
have to check the personnel records."

Rheay nodded grimly at the mention of Smith and the others. "Mhm?heard
about Smith, my idiotic roommate was positively bouncing about that
one. I bet she's going to get herself into some silly trouble with
that woman at one point or another. And Jaxom?" The tiny Betazoid
shuddered at the sudden memory of a certain day spent in the holodecks
with Dala and the representations of Commander Jaxom and Commander
Michell. She could barely control blushing at the whole ordeal, which
was slightly amusing since she didn't even feel a twinge at the
thought of what took place with Dala and Mitchell some weeks later.
Fickle female minds.

"And Jaxom?" Mark prodded playfully.

"It's a long story," she just uttered with a flustered sigh.

Mark wondered if he should casually mention his favorite Trill was
currently single. Nah, it's best when they find out on their own. He
merely gave Olin a silent 'go on' expression.

"Anyways, shall we just proclaim me sane and promise to go drinking
coffee and smoking abhorrently large amounts of unhealthy things soon
or do you have some kind of a thing to prod in my brain while I look
adorable?"

"Well, it's about lunchtime for me.. which is usually just some
coffee. You can join me or not, either would okay and I don't 'think'
it would affect your sanity at all." He rubbed his chin in thought for
a moment, "No, now that I think about it... it wouldn't affect your
sanity at all."

"Blatant lies," Ra snickered, taking a step towards the door. "I'm
sure you'll poison my little mind with your witty medical debauchery.
But nonetheless, coffee sounds thrilling. You can fill me in on all
the adventures Miranda and Galaxy have had while rescuing some
Admiral's granddaughter's teddy bear from the Borg or whatever."

"The Riot Act"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora

JAG

Location: Ophelia's Personal Quarters

"Logan, I'm going to look at the news for a quick second." Zamora spoke as she pressed the control.

"Good Evening. I'm Chet Chattery and welcome to the Universal News Network. We have just learned that all prisoners except one have been recaptured on the penal colony of Redfurion Five. The maximum security prison experienced it's most brutal riot ever three short weeks ago when ten prisoners attempted to escape. The escape for the most part, was successful however; it resulted in a horrendous uprising within the prison population. It is rumored that one prisoner alone was responsible for the deaths of seven guards and seriously injuring the Warden. As a result of the riot, seventeen inmates were killed through what was deemed as 'crowd control' by Starfleet officials. A universal bulletin has been expedited for the prisoner with the alias of…………"

"What happened to pleasant news?" Ophelia muttered to herself before turning the display off.

"Heck if I know." Logan half responded as he busied himself with a new train track formation.

The response from her son elucidated a small smile.

"Lo, Mommy's going to check her work correspondence for a minute…K?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then." She walked past him, sitting herself at the console, half groaning when she viewed the long message marked 'confidential'.

Starfleet Communication

Classified for Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora, Chief Liaison Officer USS Galaxy

Stardate:

Lt. Zamora,

It has come to our attention that prisoner 356BVI2 has escaped from penal colony Redfurion Five. Be advised that there is a remote possibility that this prisoner will be attempting to reach your destination to enact harm upon your person.

Zamora halted reading. She *knew* exactly who prisoner 356BVI2 was. Hurling herself towards a trash receptacle, the breakfast of the past morning exited her stomach with force, causing her head to spin at the lack of safety for her and her son that she now felt. Her head rose slowly as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Perfection was not the current order of the moment.

"Mom, you okay?" He asked with concern.

"Fine." Lia croaked out. "Mom will be right back." She stood, stomped to her bedroom and hoisted herself up in a chair. She faintly tapped a communication channel open to the Warden on Redfunian Five.

His image materialized on the viewscreen.

"May I help you?" The bruising around his check and the cut around his mouth was still very new.

"How could you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Lt. Ophelia Zamora, JAG, USS Galaxy. I'm referring to prisoner…."

"Ah, yes. Her. " He responded with a solemn face.

"How?"

"We are still investigating the incident."

"Still investigating? How does a changeling escape from a maximum security penal colony?"

"Lt…..I stated we are still investigating." He stated sharply.

"Well, what in the hell am I supposed to do in the mean time to protect my son and myself?" Her voice raised.

"In my opinion……there's not much you can do. A copy of that letter has been sent to your security department. I would suggest conferring with them as far as your safety is concerned."

"You are no help." She cut the communication growing more ill by the moment.

Location: Monastery of Kauai

The soft low tone of the bells of the monastery rung out across the area decorating the air with reverence as she awoke. It was early morning, before the fog lifted and before the sun completely rose in the sky. Dew was still present on the orchids, heaving their petals downwards. There was a change in the air, due in part to the strange new woman that inhabited the place of peace and harmony.

Along the dew, a small cobblestone path wove around the mass gardens signifying a pureness. It was in that pureness, that if one listened carefully, the sound of the monks chanting could be heard. It was a beautiful sound, one of experience and religious freedom.

As she sat in the small room that was provided to her, she glanced around. Paper thin walls, literally, reminded her of the tea house she had visited in Japan once upon a great moon. The thatched grass mat that she slept on had been difficult to get used to, but considering her last housing arrangement, was gravely welcome. The strong breeze that danced through the window suggested that a storm was approaching which meant rain…again.

Lifting her left arm, the woman scowled deeply. She was marked, and no matter how she changed herself, the mark identifying her as a fugitive from Starfleet would always be there. It was a mark, which if checked, would identify her as a very dangerous being. She had no idea why they would consider her so dangerous. Hell, some of them had hired her for their own personal bidding.

Rubbing the permanent ink, she had to find a way to rid herself of it. Cut it out…it would leave a scar, yet anything was better than attempting to hide it. She had already dug the microchip out of her upper forearm. They should have known better. Starfleet had put a monkey wrench in her master plan. She sighed, but quickly changed her facial expression as the orange robe entered her sleeping room.

"Tea……" He quietly quipped. "It is good for body and soul."

The woman nodded to him in kind as she accepted the terracotta cup from his hands. The warm liquid transcended the clay, warming her hands. Her eyes were solid, calculating as she took the frail form of the monk in. It would be so easy to feed the overwhelming hunger she felt.
'Save it.' The woman whispered in her mind. She was indeed saving her anger, her hunger for a target that truly deserved it.

TBC......................

"On the Corner of My Mind"

Starring
Übermensch

My name is Rebecca Catherine von Ernst…….

I am the most dangerous woman in all the Federation…..

I am also the weakest and most damned.

The alarm buzzer cuts through my nightmares at 0530, but in the half darkness of my quarters the visions that haunt my reality continue to mock and torment for long moments after consciousness returns.

It takes a while to figure out when I am…..as it always does.

Am I eight years old weeping at my fathers funeral?

Am I sixteen, endlessly awkward and stumbling over my first interview with a representative from Starfleet?

Maybe I am twenty four and suffering from a humiliating experience flubbing my fist kiss with James Corgan?

My only kiss with James Corgan.

Finally I decide that I'm 33 and Captain of the USS Zeus. That has to be right because I don't remember anything happening after that……and I remember everything.

Sensing my movements the lights brighten a bit causing me to wince from the already oncoming headache.

Its like a kiss on the cheek from an ever present lover.

Good morning darling….mind if I run construction equipment through your brain?

"Computer…Corn Flakes….slightly soggy." I whisper into the darkness, and a cerulean glow delivers my morning routine.

It took years to get the computers to attain the exact level of half crispy, half soggy flakes, but I relish the results….as I do with little else in my pitiful life.

Munching softly I pad my way around the room taking in the horrible grandeur of it all.

A stack of PADDS from the 359 Tactical School ready for my review…..my ever present homework.

A holo of my momma back on the farm in Minnesota. Long haired and smiling, with a hint of worry in her eyes.

Oh Momma if you only knew, you'd give up your darling daughter for lost long ago. The look of concerns replaced with horror and disgust.

I pause at the windows. The great floor to ceiling portals that look out onto the planetary world of HS189625-d and the glowing Starship hovering alongside.

The Galaxy.

I almost drop the cereal bowl as the memories hammer me.

"Gawddammit Ernst get a move on!!"

"Rebecca how could you!"

"Run faster pendeja! Stupid Pinche Snowflake…everybody is waiting on you!!!"

"Thanks to von Ernst's screw-up, everybody will be working double shifts to fix things….."

=====

I wake up huddled on the bed again, not realizing how I got there. My soft blue robe wrapped about me like the thickest starship shield ever, protecting me from the outside.

I take another glance at Galaxy hovering outside.

"Computer….close the windows." I rasp….and am alone again.

Dumping the half empty bowl into a sink already full of dirty dishes, I work my way across the carpet towards the bathroom.

Dropping the blue robe into a mound at my feet, I take a nervous glance in the huge mirrors while the water heats up.

The silver surface reveals every flaw.

Five foot nothing…95 pounds, and pale as snow.

A spattering of freckles crosses my nose and runs down onto my hunched shoulders.

Pronounced ribs over a flat tummy give me a certain emaciated child look, while pitiful A-cup boobs make me look like a stupid 12 year old boy.

I'm not a woman…Im an 'it'.

Tearing my eyes from myself I hop into the shower and for long moments am actually at peace.

The headache fades…

The voices from the past fade…

Even the memory of being tormented by the pretty girls in the Academy group showers is merely an annoyance.

Silly girls….most of you have barely made it to full lieutenant, while I command a starship.

========

"Stupid von Ernst…get your bony ass out of here…."

"Way to fuck up on the run this morning Ernst….You screwed up my grade….."

"I think Ernst here needs a lesson in how to keep up….who else thinks she needs a swirlie in the toilet?"

I fight back with one hand, the other desperately clutching at my towel attempting to cover my nakedness.

The women descend on me….all grasping hands and heaving bosoms…the likes of which I'll never have.

Screaming, I'm swept off my feet and very easily carried to the stall where my red hair is drenched again and again in the swirling whooshes of the flushing toilet.

"No…no…stop it stop it!!" I scream.

=====

I stumble against the Zeus's bulkhead on my way to the bridge, instinctually grabbing for the towel that isn't there.

I'm fully dressed. Slim black uniform with Captain's pips at my neck.

I shake my head to clear it…how did I get here?

I'm not getting my head flushed down the Academy toilet….I'm the most powerful woman in the Federation.

I catch my reflection in the wall mounted LCARS display.

Woman?

Most powerful 12 year old girl with no boobs maybe.

I sigh, and the headache welcomes me back from my memories.

====

Fear and Panic welcome me to the bridge with a nod before turning back to their tasks.

They hate me.

Tall and beautiful they are everything I'm not.

Competent mostly.

They know the truth that others only suspect….I'm not fit for this job….the Captaincy.

That's the whole reason they're here.

Phobos and Deimos were the names of the horses that pulled the Chariot of Ares….the God of War.

Fear and Panic are the two officers selected specifically to pick up the slack for the War Goddess Rebecca and her personal Chariot.

Panic….tall and blond….with a keen eye for diplomacy and subterfuge, that I could never possess. She kept me out of political trouble. Ie…not blowing up every alien starship I came across.

Fear…shapely and dark haired. A secret expertise in psychology. She was there to monitor my sanity….such as it was.

What was I there for….

Oh yeah…to kill things.

=====

Dead bodies floated across my view in the zero gravity of the K-4 space station. Lieutenant James Corgan is at my side breathing heavily in his space suit as we drift through the blood……

It will be hours before I can scrub the stains from my suit…..I will never cleanse them from my memories.

====

"Captain?" Fear asks again. Her eyes studying me intently. "Did you hear me."

"W….w…what?" I stammer, "Oh yeah….the tour."

There is a tour scheduled for today…unfortunately.

Noodles.

Captain T'vara invited me over to the Galaxy for an inspection, and despite my initial horror, Panic quietly nudged me in the direction of friendly acceptance.

"A tour…delighted…I'd love to come."

My soul screamed.

Galaxy is where my nightmares were born.

=======

The larger girl slams me into the back of the closet forcefully, her hands grasping at my pajama top.

"Settle down beautiful, " she coos in my ear, as I struggle to escape her clutches.

Her name is Nilani Kahn, she's 6 feet tall with a killer shape, and she's trying to rape me. "You're so cute Rebecca, " she whispers, her breath hot on my neck, perfume choking me…."I just want to be with you….just for a bit…is that so wrong?"

I fight with all my might, but only loose two buttons off my top for my troubles.

Nilani is already topless, pushing me back into the corner of the closet, cutting off any escape…

"Leave me alone…." I squeak.

But I'm a mere Ensign….she's a Lt Commander, and there is no denying her.

"I'm a girl." I protest…I'm not supposed to kiss other girls…

No matter. Her lips descend on mine showing her tongue between my teeth, while her hand works its way up to cup my nonexistent breast…

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!" I scream.

=====

"Excuse me Captain?" Tarin Iniara pauses in her tour. "Did you say something?"

I blink. I'm standing aboard the USS Galaxy right outside the room in which Nilani attacked me 7 years ago.

I got lost in the past again.

"I said nothing Commander." I reply coolly…my emotions in pure Ice-Bitch mode. "Please continue the tour."

Tarin Iniara….Ensign…newly transferred to the USS Galaxy just as I was transferred out.

I subtly shake my head to keep the years straight again.

Tarin is talking and I try to listen, "….ship's external configuration has changed since your days as XO, but the internal designs of Dr. Quick are mostly unchanged."

===

Dr Quick…..dissolving into a pile of Maggots aboard the horror-ship that was the USS Defiant.

James Corgan exposed to vacuum and coughing up bloody ice crystals.

Victor Krieghoff ascendant….taking on a horrible destiny and mantle……

My skin crawls….

====

"So good to meet you again Captain. Its been a while."

Victor himself is standing before me, clearly the source of my heebie jeebies.

I'm on Galaxy again with Victor Krieghoff of all people.

I don't even pretend to be nice…my façade cant stand up to him.

"F…f…f.ine….Okay….j….just go away." I wave my hand, head swimming. Victor's presence reminds me of my own horror aboard the Defiant.

Swallowed up by the legions of dead who fell at my hands…my older self a skeletal woman dancing on the grave of the Federation.

4 years later I find that prophesy coming true.

"One hundred Eighty seven!!" I blurt.

"Ma'am?" Ensign Iniara again….no wait Commander Iniara.

"187...I've killed One hundred eighty seven people under my command." The confession is random and clearly confuses the Galaxy XO. "I remember them all….." I add.

There is a pause before I look around…..I'm sanding in the Security offices…Victor Krieghoff retreated to a discrete distance. That strange blond girl from the Armory looking on nervously popping her gum, but somebody is missing.

"Where is Commander Corgan?" I ask.

=======

"Hi there….I'm Ensign James Corgan." he sticks out his hand in greeting as I sink deeper into the waiting room chair. "I guess we're both part of the Broken Heads Club huh?"

"R….r…r..Rebecca." I stutter….I always stutter…"I'm here for an ap…p.pointment with Councilor An'Quinsos."

James grinned and tapped his skull. "Broken heads." he winked. "Don't worry us crazies have to stick together."

And he did.

He rescued me from the Borg when I was locked up in the Brig…..

He protected me from the Space Vampires during their icky assault……

He held my hair as I vomited from the horror of the floating bodies in station K-4.…

He stood between me and the Hirogen hunters in the Mako nebula while I cradled the bleeding gash across my cheek.

I touch my cheek and the scar long ago erased.

"James….gone?" I repeat the Commander's explanation with barely a nod.

Like my sanity.

The Broken Heads Club gone.

====

The tour continues in a blur, ghosts from the past around every corner…..

Shuttle Bay.

My suitcase blowing open and personal underwear flying across the deck for all to see…..they laugh at me.

Deck 5

My old quarters….where Corgan refused to kiss me….

I never tried again with anybody.

Never will.

Engine Room.

Where as XO I had my final confrontation with the woman who raped me…..Captain Bhrode leaving her dead on the floor with a broken neck.

Dead eyes staring up at me. Kiss me Rebecca….kiss my dead lips

Tactical Offices.

The permanent rings from my Hot Cocoa staining the CTO's desk.

The Holodecks

Heather Sanchez screaming in my face as we struggle on our morning PT run. I throw up for the third time that morning.

Finally the Bridge

A shy redheaded Ensign sitting at Tactical atop a huge stool swinging her legs randomly in boredom.

"Ensign von Ernst." Captain Price saying, "Mind you don't kick me in the back of me Gulliver mate."

"Sorry Captain." I blush.

Captain T'vara looks at me oddly. "There is nothing to apologize for Captain von Ernst. It was enlightening to hear your impressions on how this ship has changed over the years."

I blink and look around the bridge….nothing is familiar except for the ghosts of the past waiting around every corner.

They'll get me in the end…..the living…the dead….the lives I've destroyed.

"Of course Captain." I say through lying teeth. "I've enjoyed the trip down memory lane."

Memories….on the Corner of my Mind.

My name is Rebecca Catherine von Ernst.

I am the most dangerous woman in the Federation
And I scream inside for my very soul.

"The Fires of Liberation"- Preamble Finale

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

(With some likely unauthorized guest appearances)
==============================================

(Cardassia Prime- Approximately 25 kilometers outside of Lakarian City)

The Hoppers were forced to land what would have been a full day's journey on foot from the Cardassian capitol because of the massive ring of automated and manned defenses that the Triad had set up to guard against a direct air-assault of the Cardassian Capitol city. The decision wasn't made lightly, but after several hundred sorties by fighters, intense starship bombardment, and Cardassian resistance assaults, the ring of defenses were still too formidable a risk for a direct assault... even an over-flight and para-drop would have been too risky with the heavy shielding and weapons emplacements in the city... not to mention the million or so Triad troops calling the city home.

Still, a 25 kilometer march, even in full gear without the strength enhancements provided by one's hazard suit didn't really phase the Colonel 'much'. He was accustomed to walking... and there was more than enough vehicles around to insure that you had a break every now and again, and could switch off when called for it.

The Hoppers lifted back off, some veering off to harry enemy troops and provide over-head cover, but most to go pick up 'second wave' troops. The 188th was left as the advance guard of the 1st Starfleet Marine Division. The 1st MD was given the task of securing the south-eastern quarter of the city, and was joined by the elite Klingon 'Immortals' shock-troopers division (because a normal division of Klingon warriors just didn't have enough cowbell), the 4th and 6th Andorian Imperial Guard Infantry Battalions, a Marine Combat Engineering company, and a Support Services battalion to provide the needed logistical and medical services likely to be needed with the eventual onslaught. Above them, two full squadrons of Starfleet's Fighter Corps boomed, ramming their munitions down the throat as of yet unseen enemies, and providing crucial air support.

The 188th moved ahead cautiously. They would be at Lakarian's famed outer wall by sun-up the next morning at their pace, and although one could have pushed ahead at a far greater speed, doing so risked excessively high casualties via fratricide as much as any enemy ambush or mine field.

It was the latter that brought the 188 to a halt a mere six hours into it's journey. Fork sighed as he looked down at the telemetry being fed to the ground troops from science departments aboard the starships orbiting them. One, seemingly geo-synchronous with their position shined like the chariot of Apollo in the sky even as the infamously hot Cardassian sun began setting. Not much was comforting to Colonel Arvelion right now... right in the enemy's cross hairs, with little terrain protection, in the blazing heat of the Cardassian early-evening (Survival training in the Vulcan desert, during the day, had been a special kind of hell for For'kel... an experience he hoped never to repeat, but he didn't get a say in what spots the enemy decided to defend.) But knowing he could, at a moment's notice, call in the massive firepower of the USS Zeus to devastate any advancing army was a bit of divine reprieve. Granted, Marines as a whole tended to hate calling in firepower from starships. First off, as Fork knew intimately, you couldn't guarantee they'd be there when you needed them. More importantly... what kind of Marine needed a 'fleet' asset to accomplish his mission?

In the latter regard, Fork's original training, back home, emphasized the strategic and tactical advantages offered by truly combined-arms warfare. He had no such prejudices, and certainly wasn't beyond calling for an orbital bombardment should it be necessary. That would be until he got too close to the city...

But in either case his thoughts were starting to run off with him, courtesy of the way too high surface temperatures. Hazard suits were wonderful while you weren't trying to maintain stealth, but when you were they became just bulky over-throws which made the heat even worse.

Anyway, again off track. Before anything else, he needed to get the damned mines taken care of.

"We can always beam them up." Lance Corporal Leah Owen suggested.

Fork licked his lips. "They're likely running transporter scramblers... and the Cardassians in particular are known for booby-trapping their mines. Any attempted beam out will likely set the things off." He didn't want to have to explain about the transporter-sensitive anti-matter war heads in Cardassian mines that were encased in a molecule-thin case of neutronium and, which dematerialized when a transporter cycle began, injected pure antimatter into the cavity of the very matter-based mine and was essentially akin to a micro-torpedo exploding right in front of your face. "I'd rather not try disarming them until we know what we're dealing with. Get Gunny Thral up front with out engineers, tell him we need the EMP tanks to clear us a path."

"Colonel."

"What?!" The increasingly frustrated Stagnorian turned around... only to come face to face with none other than Lieutenant General Kolek, the Vulcan commanding officer of Starfleet's 1st Marine Division. Fork was lucky, the weather was perfect for General Kolek, and the Vulcan had taken it upon himself to read the biographies of the officers below him, and he knew the Colonel was no fan of high-temperatures, the kind of guy that had an odd propensity for 'sweating the small stuff' and not the big stuff so much... and more importantly for the Colonel's sake, he was the kind of Marine who got a mission done.

Fork for his part immediately went to attention, a position his muscles 'vaguely' remembered. He wasn't a big fan of 'needless' discipline either, and preferred a more subtle touch when it came to command. He'd also been fortunate (or unfortunate in this case) enough to have been given a pretty wide range of discretion when it came to shaking up the 188th and re-training them. So long as things went well, he didn't really have a need to worry... so he'd been told. "My apologies, General."

The Vulcan bowed his head slightly as if to say 'Do not worry my dear Colonel, you are expected to be irrational and your actions accordingly do not surprise me... in fact they only serve to strengthen my culturally engrained biases against emotions and tacitly against all who display them for, although I have them, I have grown beyond the need for such erratic displays.' Damn pointy-eared bastard.

You have pointy ears too.

Not 'that' pointy... ah shit. Yeah, when you started having internal arguments yourself, you knew things weren't right. Damned heat. Damned Vulcan. Damned mission. Damned sun. Damned Triad. Damned rock in his boot...

But hey, war was hell.

"Colonel, I have a mission for you." The Vulcan gestured to his own personal buggy. "Please join me, privately."

'All right, but I'm no cheap date.' The sarcastic part of his mind shouted for attention as he nodded, following the Vulcan in dead silence. They got in, the driver started driving, not far, but out of ear shot.

Damned bastard General had his own personal buggy, complete with air conditioning... and of course the Vulcan son of a bitch wasn't using the AC. At least the breeze generated by the driving was nice... though it left Fork wondering if driving around in a marked buggy this close to the lines with a General was the smartest idea for the General. He should've been back where it was safer.

"Colonel, I am sure you have read the same intelligence reports I have regarding the Cardassian resistance?"

Fork nodded. The Vulcan, in his infinitely calculating way had expected as much. Say what you want about their society of logic, but they were as manipulative a bunch as any species out there. They knew how to get what they wanted, and right now Geneal Kolek wanted a Marine that was a bit more thoughtful, a bit more diplomatically astute, and a lot less 'macho' than the average 'jarhead'. He wanted someone who would work 'with' the Cardassians, not make himself into their next dictator. Someone who could train them, tolerate the likely levels of insubordination and insults, and had the experience in working with local populations necessary for a liaison. The Colonel happened to be the perfect fit... fairly well read, slightly more knowledgeable of Cardassian culture, without the prejudices that were pervasive among Starfleet Marines from the Cardassian-Federation War of the 2360's and the Occupation of Bajor, and was high enough in level to get some respect, without being too important should the worst happen, or should the Cardassians get the idea that they were a suddenly a major power again.

Cardassians were renown for having good sized egos.

Most importantly, he was sure the Colonel wouldn't be the type to shoot first, and ask questions later. Fratricide would have been a big drawback, and Cardassians dying at Federation hands would've turned the resistance against the Marines. Fighting the Triad is hard enough... a Mexican standoff between the Resistance, the Triad, and the Allies would have been inconvenient to say the least.

"Very well." Kolek replied flatly, or in Vulcan 'Excellent! I am rather truly impressed by the fact you did your homework, Marine... even the required reading!' "You are to take three of your Marines, and get to this location before the battle for Lakarian City. This is Sergeant Ja'ta Col. He will be going with you."

The Bajoran driver turned and gave the Colonel a dutiful nod. One that was quickly returned.

"Sergeant Col is intimately familiar with Cardassian culture and the mission at hand. He will be your advisor for this mission. Your Marines are to rendezvous with the leader of the Lakarian resistance movement, provide whatever support you can for his group, and assist them in conducting their pre-operation assaults. Once this is done, you will return to your unit at the earliest possibility. Understood Colonel?"

"Yes sir." Fork nodded.

"Very well. Good luck."
=======================================================

If only Colonel Arvelion had some kind of knowledge of the Alpha Quadrant prior to the year 2370 (when his people actually arrived). If he had grown up hearing the stories of the Bajoran Occupation, glued to an FNN network show broadcasting the shocking images of Setlek III... then maybe he wouldn't have been the open-minded, rather naive young officer that he was. Had he ever taken a particular shine to the recent history, he certainly would have remembered the name of the man that he was about to meet.

The name of the man who, to this day, inspired the deepest hatreds and fears of Bajorans, and soon to be of Federation citizens everywhere.

Alas, it would be a name lost to him right after this mission... one he would live the next two years in blissful ignorance of. A small fact, a side note that should have been doomed to be lost in the texts of history as nothing more than a footnote.

It wouldn't be though. It would be a name that would come to haunt For'kel's dreams as much as it did the Bajorans, or the rest of the Federation's, and would become synonymous with terror itself. The embers of a people's Imperial dreams would burn in him, and unleash a firestorm that, before it was over, would see the evacuation of a major Federation world, the death of hundreds of millions, the disfigurement of billions more, and sow the seeds for the Federation's impending destruction... internally as well as externally.

It would also see the definition of what it meant to be Starfleet irrevocably changed, and the loss of one decent man's career for the sake of the 'greater good'.

"Here we are." Col replied as he brought the armored buggy to a stop.

"How do you know who it is we're supposed to meet?" Fork wasn't dumb, there 'had' to be a reason he was selected to go on this mission too.

"His genetic treatments saved my life." Col replied matter of factly before both men saw the tell tale flashing of a strobe. "There he is."

Six figures approached out of the darkness, Cardassians dressed in traditional military uniform. 'The New Order' scribbled in Cardassian in a bow over the ray-like insignia of the Cardassian Union.

"Col, it is good to see you again." The elder of the Cardassians, all males, shook Col's hand. "How is your mother?"

"Wishing I wasn't here, sir." The Bajoran who owed his life to a war criminal shook the reviled surgeon's hand. "This is Colonel Arvelion, your new Starfleet Liaison for this mission."

"Ahhh, Colonel Arvelion. We've heard a bit about you." He offered his clean, blood-stained hand to For'kel who knowing no better accepted. "Welcome to the building ground of the new Cardassia."

"I guess that makes us the wrecking crew then." Fork smirked. "Thank you Mister...?"

"Moset. Crell Moset."

"Skips and Sparkles"

Lt. 8-ball Hunter
Lt. Chris Daniels
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

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

It was times like these that 8-ball missed being Chief Science Officer.

Mostly, she didn't miss it at all. She had never been big on the whole responsibility thing. It wasn't nearly as much fun as you might expect. Besides, the less stress the better these days, especially when you were inclined to hallucinate dead people.

So, this demotion business? Not necessarily a bad gig, except . . . you didn't get to choose your assignments as a high-paid flunkie. In the past, 8-ball would have ordered herself to stay happily on the Galaxy and do her wacky science mojo stuff from the (relative) safety that it provided. Now, however, she was playing on the giant creepy ship of doom, analyzing mission and crew logs with a few other Starfleet officers.

At least no one had been eaten yet.

8-ball scanned through a personnel log and glanced over her shoulder.

"Anyone find anything interesting yet?" she asked.

They were in the captain's quarters. As expected, the room was a wreck. The tumble the forward spherical section had taken left the room's furnishings in significant disarray. On top of that mess, the portholes had broken during the crash, and over the last two hundred years or so, nature had come in and made itself quite at home. The floor was covered in a fine layer of mud. It was unclear how much of it consisted of dirt that had been blown in by the wind and rain and how much of it consisted of rotting carpet. In the sunnier areas, grass had even started to grow from the floor.

"Yes," Cutter Kara'nin said simply. He stood near the bottom corner of the room. The entire sphere section of the ship currently sat at about a forty degree angle, so besides the traditional ceiling and floor, there was definitely a top and a bottom to the room. "The room is surprisingly organized," he said. It was an odd statement to make, considering.

8-ball's idea of what qualified as interesting went a little more along the lines of 'Ohmygod, everybody on board was eaten whole by gigantic pink space whales!' But this, apparently, was not Cutter's style. "Uh, okay," she said. "What do you mean?"

"These two chairs have been erected upright, and the bed positioned lengthwise against the wall. This mattress has been shoved into the resulting crevasse," he stated, pointing to the furniture. Indeed, two metal dining chairs rested against the wall, next to the bed. The bare mattress was pressed between the frame and the wall like a taco shell. "Someone slept here."

8-ball had to agree. "Interesting," 8-ball said, even though pink space whales would have been infinitely cooler. Short of them, though, she wasn't having a lot of luck discovering what had caused the newest version of Roanoke. She looked back to the mattress and raised her eyebrows. "Not exactly cozy," she murmured to her co-worker.

The conversation between Cutter and 8-Ball was intermittently interrupted by the clatter of movement amongst clutter outside the captain's quarters. Chris was gingerly making his way to their location, and he contorted himself through the mangled doorframe and braced himself against a wall.

"Whoever was left after the crash tried to set up a defensive perimeter according to the armory officer's log. Didn't say against what though. I went outside and looked at the weapons mounts and the laser cannons were surprisingly intact. First time I've seen one of the old Janus models for real. They built those suckers to take a pounding. They must have hooked them up to a battery...which means they might have had power to spare after the crash."

"Did those logs say anything about who survived the crash?" Cutter asked. "Or why they failed?"

"So far, not much," 8-ball said as she rubbed gently at her temples--the beginnings of a headache were beginning to accumulate there. "Do you really think there were many survivors?" She couldn't see how---surely, some DNA trace would be left behind if a large group made it out.

"We rummaged through several officer's quarters before finding the captain's. Some, like this one, show signs of occupancy after the crash. But, they've all been abandoned," Cutter explained. "The survivors left, taking all traces of food and cloth."

8-ball shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't have a lot to offer in the way of explanation, at least, not yet. There are a number of logs here, sensor logs, personal, but all of them are extremely damaged--so far, there's very little about what happened after the crash. I know a few of the people who survived . . . here are some letters from a CONN officer named Halberstam . . . and I have a very brief personal log from a Lt. Brian Cheng, but there's nothing that speaks to what happened here. Mostly, it's just hopes and fears from people who didn't want to die here." 8-ball rubbed gently at her forehead again. "I guess there's a chance that they didn't."

Chris turned to Cutter. "I found a lot of stuff referencing people by first name. Maybe 15, 20 people if I recall. Not many details in the logs though...it would seem they were busy with other endeavors."

"Chris, right?" Cutter asked, confirming the name. He walked up the steep angle away from the bed and approaching the human. "You're a tactictian. If you had survived this crash, what would you do? I would make sure I had water, food and shelter."

He nodded. "Basic Survival 101. After a crash like this you'd want all that, take care of the wounded, start signaling for a rescue, and defend yourself."

"They have all that here."

"Yeah...they do..." Chris' voice trailed off as he started to move along the wall to the busted portholes. He stuck his head out with a curious look on his face, then started talking again. "In a crash like this you'd want to stay at the site as long as you could... makes it easier for the rescue party to find you, and in reality, it'd be the safest place." He turned and started looking at the way the room appeared to be left. "There's no essentials left in here, but they did leave the bigger things that would be nice to have in a long term survival situation. Assuming they didn't get wiped out and then looted by someone else, there's two situations. One is they didn't have the time or the courage to come back and get this stuff. The other option is they found something better."

Cutter raised a blue feathered eyebrow and glanced around the room. "What did they leave that you would have taken?"

"Tools. Eating utensils. Except for the clothes, sheets and blankets, they left supplies you could use for shelter or protection." He began to shift around the room. "Various personal effects. Not to mention that mattress and these chairs. If you were moving somewhere better or safer but without accomodations and weren't under a time crunch, all stuff that you'd want to bring with you, or eventually come back and get."

"But if you were in a hurry, you wouldn't be dragging chairs and things with you," Cutter said.

He nodded, an almost sly look on his face. "Exactly. My guess these people didn't leisurely decide to abandon a pretty good initial shelter."

The avian frowned as he folded his arms and shifted his wings. They were missing something. "Let us review what we know," he said out loud, but to no one in particular. "We know there were survivors, a fair number in fact. But, there are no bodies. If they died here, even if their carcasses were scavenged by animals, there would still be skeletal remains."

"No DNA remaining either," 8-ball said. "Not even a trace of it, anywhere on the ship or the surface."

"True. But, we haven't checked the entire ship yet. There could be some preserved in sealed off places. And, DNA does decay over time. This ship crashed over two hundred years ago, and in a jungle, which is definitely not an environment suited for the preservation of organic material. It's possible the lack of DNA remains could be explained naturally," Cutter pointed out.

"We would still expect skeletons, if they did die here. We find none, so must conclude that they left. We notice things missing. All the food stores are gone. All traces of cloth are missing - clothing, blankets, et cetera. We expect, if the survivors abandoned the ship for some reason, those things to be missing. But, as Chris has pointed out, basic tools have been left behind. If the survivors left, we would also expect those things to be missing, but they are not. What else would we have expected them to take, but has been left behind? What is missing that we would not expect them to have taken?"

8-ball sighed. This was like a pop quiz on the ghost ship of the damned. "If you're looking for a specific answer, I'm coming up empty," she said, glancing over at Chris to see if he had a better response. He shrugged in reply to her unasked question. "But pretty much everything with a pulse is gone. Every trace of organic life has left this ship. All that's left is a bunch of . . . stuff."

Cutter turned his stare towards 8-ball, a look of anticipation on his face as he approached a realization. "You're right. That's it, exactly. But, it's not just organic life. All organic material is missing! People, remains, DNA. Food, meat, cellulose. Cotton, wool. Wood. It's all gone. Anything left is made of metal or plastic or nylon or polyester."

8-ball blinked. "Whoa, I'm right." She grinned. "Score one for the crazy half-Vulcan." Her grin faded as she started to think about the implications of these findings. "What the HELL could cause something like that?" she asked.

"I don't know," Cutter frowned.

"No weapons we know of." Chris added from the knowledge that he had. "Even the outlawed bioweapons leave some organic material behind." He went and looked out the window. "Has anybody checked those hills in the distance yet?"

"There are other teams--" Cutter began to reply, but he suddenly trailed off and jerked his head to the side of the room. Behind him, instinctively, his wings flexed and unfurled slightly, as if he might need to take off at any moment.

8-ball raised her eyebrows. "Got somewhere to be?" she asked him lightly. In truth, she was hoping he'd say let's get the hell out of here. She was more than ready to take a break from the uber creep ship.

"Did..." His head craned forward, his eyes concentrating on a spot on the wall. "Did you see that?"

Chris gave a look around the room and turned back to Cutter, a confused look on his face. "See what?"

"Movement. Like a flash. Or a sparkle," he said. Without waiting for a response, he approached the wall, slowly, as if it were a wild animal and not, in fact, an immovable wall. When he had closed the most of the distance with his body, he reached out with his hand until it touched the metal hull. His eyes were locked into one spot. They either were, in fact, seeing something, or he was having a very vivid hallucination. Cutter seemed surprised when his hand actually made contact with the wall.

8-ball glanced at Chris, confirming that he had also failed to see any sparkles or little twinkles in the air. She looked back to Cutter, who was still all handsy with the wall. "Um, no," she said slowly. "You okay there, boss?"

It took a moment for the avian to respond, but eventually, his hand moved back to his side and he straightened up with a harumphing grunt. He turned to face his fellow away team members with an embarrassed frown. "Yes. I'm fi-i-i-i-ine." It wasn't so much that Cutter stuttered the words as the syllables skipped over themselves, like an old record stuck on a single lyric.

8-ball frowned and took an immediate step backwards, glancing once again at Chris to see if he'd noticed anything. She couldn't see anything different, but that sound was decidedly not normal.

Chris stepped back and returned the look to 8-Ball. His total lack of experience with the supernatural left him dumbfounded. "Uhh, dude....?"

"Cutter," 8-ball said. "What in the hell was THAT?"

He looked over at her curiously. "What was what," he asked. Then, as an afterthought, in case they had now seen what he had seen, added, "Did you see it, too?"

"Dude, your whole voice just shook, like . . . I don't even know quite how to describe it." 8-ball hadn't exactly been loving this place before, but now she was starting to feel more than a little freaked out.

"My voice shook," Cutter scoffed, though, subtly, or subconsciously, it seemed as if he might have been faking his ignorance. "I said I was fine. I did not stutter or... shake."

"Hey man." Chris stepped forward. "I don't know a lot about your species, but the sounds that just came out of your mouth ain't even close to normal in any language."

The avian squinted his eyes for a moment at Chris and 8-ball, before folding his arms across his chest and turning away. "I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about," he denied, ending the discussion.

"Look," 8-ball said. "You're seeing lights and we're hearing . . . I don't know, static? Maybe we should all take a five minute breather, get off the ship for a couple of minutes and, uh, regroup a little?"

"You're suggesting we abandon our investigation and return to the Galaxy?"

~Hell, yes~ 8-ball thought. She attempted to come up with a more Starfleet rationalization of being a coward, but before she could think of anything that Cutter might listen to, sparkles and glitter started filling the air next to her. "Oh hell," she murmured. "Cutter, I think you're crazy's catchin."

Chris' eyes shifted off to a random spot in the room, only for a second, but long enough for him to think he saw something and then have it disappear on him. He hid his surprise well, but it was becoming apparent that this ship was either on a massive acid-trip or something wasn't right.

"That may not be a bad idea Cutt--8-Ball?" Chris turned his head to the right, looking for someone who was no longer there.

Cutter peered back over his shoulder at the tactical officer's surprised question and quickly grew confused. He had expected her to be missing, or doing something unexpected. Instead, she simply stood there, nothing amiss. For a moment, at least. Then, gradually, she began to evorate away.

"Yeah?" 8-ball asked Chris, unwilling to take her eyes off the shimmering lights that were suddenly in front of her. They seemed to be coalescing somehow, creating a vaguely humanoid shape that was doing its best to freak her the fuck out. Chris didn't respond, so she reluctantly looked back at him. He was staring at her but . . . not.

Like she wasn't there. Like he was looking through her.

"Hey, Chris. Chris? Cutter?" 8-ball turned her head to see if the Magnificent Winged Wonder could see her, but a hand on her shoulder forced her around violently. The lights were less lights now than a shadow of a man, filling out with flesh and teeth and nails that obviously had not been cut in a very long time. Yellow nails that were digging into her shoulder. 8-ball screamed and wrenched away from him, throwing herself forward and past her colleagues.

Chris didn't even move, but Cutter turned, seemed to see her stumble to the ground ahead of them. "Cutter," she said, reaching for his hand, but the . . . man . . . the thing was coming for her. As an anthropologist,you weren't supposed to classify people as savages, but that's what this guy was . . . tall and dirty and visibly short a few pips of a full insignia. There was blood around his mouth. 8-ball screamed again, struggled to her feet, and ran the hell away in the opposite direction.

Cutter stepped forward and reached down, reacting to 8-ball's plight. To Chris' eyes, it looked like the avian was hallucinating, grabbing for things that weren't there, and immediately after he had reached out, it seemed like Cutter realized this, himself. He stopped and pulled his hand back, disoriented, as if he had just woken from sleepwalking. He straightened up and looked around the room.

"She disappeared," he said, finally, though it was more of a question than anything else.

Chris was now thoroughly confused by what he was witnessing. 8-Ball had just vanished, and Cutter was flailing around like a madman at times. Instinctively, he reached down and drew his phaser..coming to the realization that he didn't have anything to shoot at. In perfect assymetry, Chris noticed Cutter had gone for his tricorder.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock!" Chris' voice elevated, showing his discomfort with the strange situtation. After a moment, he regained his composure and spoke in a more professional tone. "But where the hell could she have run off to?"

"You couldn't see it?" Cutter asked. "She just..." he began, then stopped, noticing his loss of demeanor. He quickly puffed up, and in an instant, seemed to decide on a conclusion. "She blueshifted."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking? [Pt 1]"

Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Corporal Cianan Tierney

Scanning yet another corner of the remnants of some unknown structure,
there were several reasons Brian could think of at this moment for why
he'd rather be somewhere else. Number one on the list was the heat.
At first, the prospect of spending some time on a sun-drenched planet
had some appeal, but that quickly evaporated like the small beads of
sweat that rolled down the back of his neck. This place was no Risa.
Second was the sheer tedium of scanning these ruins. While there were
undoubtedly those on the archaeological team who were in heaven here,
from the counselor's perspective it just wasn't quite the same as
working with a real person. Perhaps the ruins would have been more
interesting had it been less hot.

There was yet another reason Brian would have much preferred to be
back on the Galaxy, but it wasn't something he could really talk about
out loud. Ever since their brief telepathic exchange before the
landing party split up, Andy had remained on Brian's mind. Why such
pleasant yet uncomfortably inopportune thoughts would decide to invade
his mind now he wasn't sure, but there seemed to be little he could do
about it. Sporadic recollections of the previous night together
flitted into his consciousness for no directly apparent reason,
requiring the counselor to make concerted efforts to re-focus his
thoughts on the task at hand. In the absence of some other scapegoat,
it became something else to blame on the heat.

About to turn a corner behind a taller wall remnant, Elessidil stopped
and leaned against it for a moment. Overwhelmed by a sudden
dizziness, he thought he'd sensed a cacophony of voices in his head,
none of which he could distill into anything intelligible. A moment
later, the sensation passed and he was left once again with only the
heat.

"Corporal Tierney," he called out as his mind settled, "can you come
here for a moment?"

Cianan found their assignment relatively dull. Did a marine really
have to be present to hand hold the fragile officers? Kicking a stone
in the dirt, Cianan wondered if it was of historical importance. He
decided to forego future dirt kicking. What a bore. Hearing Brian's
voice he looked up. He closed his tricorder and walked to the
Betazoid, keeping a phaser ready.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" Cianan asked.

"I'd like you to scan my vital signs. I think this damn heat is
starting to get to me."

The physician in Cianan momentarily perked. He reopened the tricorder.

"Run!"

The blasted voice in Cianan's mind shrieked again. Cianan ignored it,
though it disturbed him. It wasn't a voice from the past, at least not
one his near-perfect memory could recall.

"Explain your symptoms." Cianan had lousy bedside manner. The
tricorder indicated slightly elevated heart rate and pulse.

"Just a brief moment of dizziness," the counselor answered.

"It doesn't sound like you've approached heat exhaustion. If you begin
to feel pale or clammy, cramping, or further dizziness we should get you back to
the Galaxy." The marine looked at Brian, wondering if his recent
diagnosis had anything to do with his current state. Cianan wasn't as
well versed in bio-psycho disorders in relation to environmental
conditions. "For now, I'll take you to rest in the shade and drink
some enhanced water."

Closing his tricorder for the moment, Brian sighed. "Yeah, I think
that might not be a bad idea," he said, unusually glad for Cianan's
presence. Brian wasn't afraid of anything here, nor did he really
expect anything of life-threatening proportions, but there was just
something about the prospect of sitting down with the Corporal that
made him feel...good.

"You must be bored," the counselor said as the two moved into the
shade. "There must be a hundred other things you'd rather be doing
than playing glorified chaperon." Finding a place that wasn't too
rocky, he sat, mindlessly patting the ground next to him for Cianan to
join him.

Cianan looked over his shoulder at the others on their team. They
appeared preoccupied with scanning. "I wouldn't say bored. Is there a
difference between bored and dull?" Cianan sat down and unloaded his
backpack. He reached into the bag and pulled out a water. "Here, you
should stay hydrated." Thanks in part to Cianan's unique physiology
his need for hydration was greatly diminished.

"This must be a nice change of pace for you," the Angosian commented.

"It is a change of pace," Brian acknowledged, gratefully taking a long
drink. "Don't know if 'nice' would be the right word...though it has
gotten a little nicer," he added with a smile. Suddenly, the
sensation from before, as if a crowd of voices were talking at once,
returned, causing Brian to flinch. A moment later it was gone.
"Damn...that dizziness again," he said, once again assuming it was an
effect of the heat. He drank some more water.

Cianan arched an eyebrow and put his hand to Brian's forehead. "You
don't feel clammy and don't seem to have a fever." The medic pulled
out his tricorder. He noticed a heightened pulse that could be
attributed to stress.

"Do you think you need to go back to the ship?" Cianan asked.

"Run!" Cianan closed his eyes for a moment to get rid of the voice.

"We can't rule out your condition." Cianan said as empathetically as possible.

The touch of Cianan's hand suddenly made Brian feel like a schoolboy
again, so much so that the Angosian's brief mental reaction went
unnoticed. "Are you sure I don't have a fever?" he asked coyly,
grabbing Cianan's hand a placing it again against his forehead. "I
mean, who knows what complications could arise from my 'condition',"
he said, echoing the word with a more playful undertone.

Cianan swallowed hard as his flesh touched the Counselor. It was
uncomfortable in both good and bad ways. "Did Dr. Burton mention any
potential hazards?" The marine missed the innuendo.

"Hazards? What hazards could possibly befall me now? I haven't felt
this safe and comfortable in awhile," Brian said, the smile never
leaving his lips. "Except for this...fever...of course. There must
be something you can do," he added, leaning in ever so slightly.

"Like knock you out again?" Cianan asked adding a half grin. The
marine closed his tricorder and set it down.

"Maybe...in a manner of speaking," the counselor replied. "There's
more than one way to knock a guy out, you know. I prefer other, less
violent means."

"Like how-?" Cianan regretted the question and his eyes opened wide.
"Comm-, Coun-, Brian, are you?" The marine couldn't deny the ever
increasing affinity for the Betazoid. Call it transference, the lure
of power, or simply being mesmerized, Cianan was at the point he could
admit feelings for the Counselor. "I'm not sure you mean this."

Brian smiled. Fueled by their physical closeness and the stirring of
the Cianan's feelings, he stared directly into his eyes. "Mean what,
Cianan? That I think the heat might be getting to me? That I need
your help? Or that having you nearby makes me feel better already?
Believe me, I mean every bit of it." He edged his face ever so closer
to Cianan's, the emotional tension between them building by the
millisecond....

Then suddenly, Brian stopped. The strange voices intruded once again
into his mind, a little stronger this time. He closed his eyes and
shook his head as if trying to ward off a cloud of gnats. "What the-"
For the first time, the thought occurred to him that maybe it wasn't
merely the heat getting to him. Opening his eyes, he looked at Cianan
again. "Something's...not right..." Brian suggested, sounding
somewhat dazed as his thoughts remained stuck between alarm over the
voices and his infatuation with Tierney.

"Call Me When Your Sober"

Faylin McAlister

Location: Monastery

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

"I am taking my leave." The silken words slipped out of her mouth to the grey haired man that sat before her. "I thank you for your generous hospitality Guru."

All he could do was nod not knowing that much of the woman that stood refreshed before him. He tilted his head to the left side, observing silently the white bandage that was caked with fresh blood located on her left wrist. She made him uncomfortable in her revitalized state. Gone was the injured tormented soul and in it's place was something quietly evil.

McAlister's eyes followed his before raising to meet his gaze. The darkness was there, lacing her pupils with a venom that only revenge could quench. The knowledge that was passed between them suddenly made them bitter enemies. He was light, she was dark. Time stood still as their eyes screamed back and forth at each other. It was best that this woman leave, right now. She was upsetting the balance of harmony with her being.

"I bless you, and wish your journey successful." He responded in a hushed tone.

Her head held high, she smiled that uneasy smile that set those around her ill at ease. "Rest assured, it will be very successful." Her right hand raised, caressing her right cheek bone as she turned to leave.

He shivered slightly, not at the cool breeze, but at the enigma that was departing. Who or what ever her mission, he suddenly prayed that it would not go smoothly for her.

=============================
She needed information. Basically stripped of everything, McAlister needed resources to get to her end goal.....Zamora. Squinting up at the sun, she felt the warmth of it beat down upon her. Earth was not available to her just yet. Remote, vacation planets were. So, she ended up here, an undisclosed popular spot.

The combination to the small storage locker was easy enough, for he had given her the code in an encrypted message she had received. Some people still believed in her and her abilities. Opening the locker ever so gingerly, Faylin reached in and extracted the zippered case. She reminded herself to properly thank Mister Z the next time they ran into each other, for he had saved her butt on more than one occasion recently. Content with everything, she located a quiet spot by the infinity pool.

Lounging much like a lizard, Fay cemented herself among the vacationing 'stupid'. Large sunglasses, tiny yellow bikini, tan skin, and hair the color of burnt mahogany swallowed her easily enough within the masses of those on leave. Glancing down at her manicured toes, she had to smile at her resourcefulness. Not caught yet, will not be *ever* caught. Her mind ran rampant with the thoughts of the memos being delivered right about now.

They knew that she was out, on the run and she relished that fact. The game of cat and mouse had started and she was more than ready to chase the prey. With Corgan out of the picture, she assumed that Victor would be leading the security department. That was a joke in and of itself. She could see him, attempting to comfort Zamora who was just about ready to leap off the deep end into the abyss of insanity. It was a lovely place, one that McAlister could highly recommend. Sipping on her Pina Colada, her mind focused on the task at hand. It was time to turn up the heat a tad.

Resources were plentiful here she thought as she glanced around. Starfleet had a base, yet it was very loosely guarded. By resources, McAlister was referring to beings. They were so gelable. Especially men. Show a little leg, bat an eyelash, and the intelligent woman could get anything she wanted. Pretend like your drunk and you are going to 'give it up' and the universe is your oyster.

Standing, Fay wrapped the white cloth around her waist. The order of the day, was to locate someone with enough security clearance so she could locate the whereabouts of that blasted Starship. That in and of itself wasn't difficult, she already acquired a target. However, she had a few things against her that required more research. The typical questions that any renegade assassin asked herself before a job. How do I kill him and where do I hide the body?

Waving her hand in front of her face, Fay realized that everything would run it's course. Knowing what she knew of security measures around the base on this planet, she would be able to gain entry with relative ease granting that she looked like someone and had the various means to pass through security. Standing still for a moment, she watched the uniformed target walk past her the way he had done every day for the past eight days.

He was a boring man, short of stature with rather large ears. To some, he would be considered ugly. However, to McAlister he was the most beautiful being she had ever laid eyes upon. His security card hung around his lanky neck. Snapping it...the sound would be so crisp and lively. She thought. She could almost imagine his head would lay at on the cold floor after she was done.

A quick smile his way, a timid wave, and ohhhh....there was his interest. He smiled back in a nerdish fashion, causing Fay to want to throw up a bit in her mouth. If it wasn't for killing him, she would brush him off completely. Humans were always so...uncomplicated. It struck her as humorous at times.

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

Later that evening

The soft giggle of the woman that came with him was intoxicating. More so because he was drunk off his rocker and she was coming on to him! The Lord was smiling down on him. His hands shaking with excitement, he stumbled with the keycard that gained entry into his home.

"Here honey...let me get that for you...." McAlister stated sweetly.

Like the moron that he was, he easily handed over the card that gained entrance into his flat. She smiled as she slid the card through the door then as his attention was on not tripping over the doorstep, she slipped the card into her small purse. Step one.....completed.

Upon entering, she found herself lip locked with a sloppy kiss as his hands started to freely roam over her bottom.

"Woah there, big boy. Why don't you do what you need to do, and I'll go make myself comfortable."

He nodded, then swayed somewhat as he turned.

'Idiot.' Fay thought to herself as she locked herself in the bathroom. Placing her purse up on the bathroom counter, she opened it and extracted some tools of the trade thanks to Mister Z. Tucking her hair up into a sloppy bun, McAlister inserted two sticks making an elegant 'x' within the mass of hair.

The other tools would be for after the job was done. Grabbing a glass, she smirked. Who had a replicator in his bathroom for God sake? It worked.... Replicating two glasses of wine, Fay brought the small vial filled with a dark reddish liquid she had in her purse and poured the contents in the left glass. Lifting the glass up to the artificial light, she swirled it gently, watching the liquid dispense. Step 2....completed.

Exiting the bathroom she called out for him and he answered with a belch. Her eyes rolled upwards. The sacrifices she had to make...just freakin incredible. He was currently on the bed, attempting to look somewhat attractive. Smiling, she offered him the glass which he readily accepted. She took a slow steady sip of her wine watching him with interested eyes. This was the part where it got good.

"Your.....beautiful...." His head dipped to the side as a confused expression etched across his face.

"I know." Fay stated sinfully.

His head swayed to the other side, the look on his face etched itself deeper. "I........"

"Aw...you don't feel very good, do you?"

He shook his wobbly head back and forth as he watched her approach.

"Of course you don't...it's alright baby....everything's going to be okay. Do you know why?" Her tone changed to a soft caress.

"No...tell me."

She pursed her lips as she crawled on top of him, straddling his lap. This caused him to grin a lopsided grin.

Leaning over close to his ear, McAlister whispered in an eerie tone. "Because.....I'm going to kill you. But don't worry....I put something in your wine to make you fall asleep. You'll never feel a thing my sweetheart."

His eyelids drooped as his head flopped. With his eyes still open, his mind was able to make out the image of the minx that sat on his lap.

"There we go.....say good night honey...."

His torso relaxed as his head flopped back on the pillow. Eyes still open somewhat, Fay snarled. She hated when they fell asleep with their eyes open. Leaning over slightly, she did him the common courtesy of closing his eyelids. Pausing for a moment, she leaned back and gave his right cheek a few good smacks for prosperity. Bringing his wrist up, she felt for a heartbeat...nothing. She placed her ear next to his mouth....no breath.

Nodding her head in satisfaction, she got up from the dead body, made her way to the bathroom, and retrieved her purse. Coming back to the bed, she hoisted herself up on top of him again. She worked best with her victim underneath her. Step 3....completed.

With one hand, she held out his index finger on his right hand. With her free hand, she brought out a scanner from the purse. Quickly, she scanned his fingerprint and when the device beeped with satisfaction, she placed it gently inside the bag. Next....well....this was the messy part. Extracting one stick from her hair, she pressed a small button on the stick. Out the end, a blade presented itself.

Half grinning, McAlister leaned towards his eye. She wanted all her basis covered should security at the base be tight. Fingerprint, retina, security card, and the ability to change into the plump little nerd made her job almost complete.

Sitting back on her legs, Fay held the eyeball up to the light. Eyes were so strange. Even now, as she viewed his left blue eye, she thought she saw a hint of fear in it. Tilting her head downwards, she took in the form of the body as she raised the blade yet again.

"Now......let's have some real fun....shall we?"

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