USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 60808.03 - 60808.09

Logs

"Sons of Capella Pt. 2"


Admiral Leonard James Akaar

Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia


A low hum and an occasional beep from a computer console was all that Man'darr could hear as he sat in the chair near a viewport as the the stars streaked by the Danubae Class Runabout. Man'darr enjoyed the silence, as he thought over his current situation. If he was discharged from Starfleet, he was not sure what he would do or where he would go. At the moment, he only wanted to be left alone. The sound of a door opening caught Man'darr's attention as he watched Admiral Akaar enter the nearly empty passenger compartment of the runabout.

The admiral sat down in the seat across the aisle from Man'darr and let out a low, long sigh. "We're currently five hours out from Starbase Seventy Five. Once there, we will meet with your assigned defense attourney. The next day an arriagnment will be held to hear the facts about the case. I'm not going to lie, Man'darr...there are those who do not wish to see you in uniform any longer."

"More people protecting me? With all due respect, admiral. I want to fight this battle myself."

"This is one battle in which you need all the help you can get, Captain," Akaar replied sternly. "Do not let pride get in the way of that fact."

"It is not just a matter of pride, admiral. I have found that when I depend on others, things rarely work out for the better. That is why I prefer doing things myself."

"Perhaps, but you are getting help on this matter, captain," Akaar replied sternly. "I believe you to be a good man, and I will not see such a man simply tossed out of Starfleet with a ruined career all due to a quick temper and an apparent tampering of your mind while prisoner of the Hydrans."

Man'darr was silent for a moment, as he didn't like to be reminded of his time as a Hydran Prisoner. "Very well," he finally replied in a gruff voice.

"I will leave you in peace until we arrive at Starbase 75, captain," Akaar said, standing up and exiting the passenger compartment and into the cockpit.

Man'darr readjusted his seat to lean backwards as the darkness of sleep soon enveloped him.

****
A small boy watched as a younger girl emerged from the ocean waters of the beach with its nearly pure white sand. "Hey Mandarr, did you see me?" the girl called to the boy.

"Yeah that was great, Jill!"

Man'darr's sister approached him, giggling. "Nobody can body surf better than me!"

"We'll see about that!" the young Man'darr rushed off into the ocean and swam throught the breaking waves. After a moment, he saw a wave start to form as he turned and began to swim towards the shore as fast as he could. The wave soon caught and began to carry Man'darr in path. As the wave broke, it slammed Man'darr down into the bottom of the shallow ocean, flipping him over several times as he saw darkness and light of the sky and the ocean bottom from the tossing. As the wave receeded, it left the sand-scratched Man'darr behind.

He heard the laughter of Jill nearby. "You body surf like a brick!"

Man'darr got to his feet and chased after his sister, who ran as fast as her legs could while giggling.

****

The change in cabin pressure woke Man'darr from his dream as the runabout equalized the pressure with that of the large Shuttle Bay of Starbase 75. Outside the viewport, the flight deck was packed with shuttles, runabouts and flight deck crewmembers. He was finally here. Standing and grabbing his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he followed Admiral Akaar out of the runabout and into the bay.

"So, who is this attourney that is supposed to be aiding me?" Man'darr finally asked as the two officers stepped through the doorway which led to the maze of corridors of Starbase 75.

"She is Jenna Lee. She is a civilian attourney from Alpha Centauri and has vast experience in defense as well as prosecution. She is considered to be an innovative and determined attourney. She is not too fond of Starfleet, however, I do know she has a daughter serving in Starfleet."

"If she is not fond of Starfleet, then why did she choose to defend me?" Man'darr asked as the two officers rounded a corner.

"Of that, I am not completely sure. Once she learned of your position and assignment, she became very interested."

"Strange," Man'darr simply commented.

"Indeed, it is."

In a moment, the two came to a halt outside a door. "These will be your quarters, captain. Station security will have your movements tracked until the hearing is over," Akaar explained. "I also understand that Mrs. Lee wishes to meet with you within thirty minutes after you arrive. I believe its best to meet with her as soon as possible."

"Very well," he sighed. "Lets meet with her now," he said, dropping his duffel bag to the deck and stepping out of his temporary quarters.

"Precious Cargo"
by Academy Graduate T'risia
As yet unassigned, hoping for post on USS Galaxy

The slender, pretty vulcan woman waited in a dark alley of the Terran city
of San Francisco. Her black hair hid her pointed ears, and she was dressed
in simple, black and green robes typical to her people's native style. The
flowing garments flattered her figure in a way that she had found
frustrating. She wished to wear the Terran styles, but had no idea how one
should move in the clothes. They always seemed to flow the wrong way...

Her sharp hearing picked up the sound of footfalls approaching. Her
piercing green eyes narrowed in anticipation, the only indication of emotion
on her placcid features. Looking down the alley, she saw that is was not
her intended rendezvous, just a Terran about his inscrutable Terran
business. She sighed, hoping the freighter captain had not lost the item,
or been detained. T'risia had to have it when she had heard it was
available, and struggled to set up the meet before shipping out. The
meeting had cost a great deal of credits...

Once again, she heard footfalls. She pulled up the hood of her vulcan
clothing, and saw the freighter captain walking lumberingly down the alley.
A heavyset man, of slovenly demeanor...not the suave rogue depicted in her
novels. She wondered if she would ever meet, and be swept off her feet by
one of *those* captains...

"Do you have it?" she asked, without ceremony?

"Of course!" said the jovial trader. "Do you have the credits?"

The vulcan woman tapped her PADD a few times. "The credits have been
transferred."

With a flourish, the Terran male produced a small box. "Then this is yours,
lady! It has been a pleasure doing business with you...I'll keep you
appraised of any other shipments."

Distractedly, she said, "Please do," as the fat man walked away. She turned
away from him, and set the case on the ground, entering the combination to
reveal the contents. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the promised
artifact, pristine within. She had finally acquired one of the most sought
after items of the late 20th century Terrans... a "Beanie Baby."

What, though, did one do with it?

"Skips and Sparkles, Part II"

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Lt. Chris Daniels


"Blueshifting? What the hell is that??" Chris had turned to Cutter and asked,
his phaser still drawn, unsure where, if anywhere at all, he should point it.
Cutter's gaze was locked in front of him, presumably where he saw what he
thought he saw. For a long time, he ignored Chris' question, until he called
out his name once more. Only then did Cutter seem to wake up. He turned
towards the tactical officer and explained, "Blueshifting is an effect on
radiated light caused by movement of the source. You might have heard of it as
Doppler shift. Blueshifting occurs when the light source is moving towards
you."

"Yeah...doppler shift is part of how we pick up incoming ships. So you saw her
coming towards you?"

"What I saw," Cutter began, then stopped, pausing for a moment to gather his
words. "No, she didn't move. When you called out to her, she was standing
right there," he said, gesturing towards the space to Chris' right, then he took
a few side steps to his left, "and she was staring here. As I looked at her,
she started to fade away, like she was evaporating. Not like how dry ice
evaporates; it looked like high speed footage of carbon crystal lattice
evaporating due to high energy nadion bombardment."

Chris looked back at Cutter. "Dude, I shoot weapons and study fleet movements
for a living. You work on science shit. Not a lot of overlap in terminology
there."

The avian frowned at the lack of shared experience, and he attempted to describe
the image. "She began to sparkle as various molecules in her body were forcibly
dislodged from the greater structure. Then she fell and raised her arms, in a
defensive way, like she was being attacked, but I couldn't see anything. That's
when I stepped over, to try to help her. I reached down, and the sparkling -
the appearance of evaporation - stopped, and she looked... it was as if I was
looking at her through fog. For a moment, at least. Then she... blueshifted.
The light bouncing off of her turned blue - her skin shifted indigo, her uniform
went ultraviolet. Then she was gone."

Chris finally lowered his phaser, realizing that any threat there was wouldn't
be affected by it. His face contorted slightly as he processed what Cutter
said. "So you're saying you saw her... could it be a transporter effect?"

"Unlikely. For that optical effect... to blue shift that much, she would had to
have been moving towards me at nearly half the speed of light," Cutter
explained. In the spatial dimensions, at least. A corner of his mind was
pointing out that there was at least one other dimension she could have moved in
that might have caused a similar effect, but he silenced that voice, afraid to
consider the consequences that implied for him.

"Riiight...I'm no scientist, but that just doesn't seem entirely normal."
Chris' eyes drifted off to the corner of the room for a brief moment again,
thinking he saw something that he shouldn't have been there. "And I'm beginning
to think that getting back to the ship is an even better idea now than it was
before."

Cutter stared at the human, somewhat shocked. Normally, it was only him who
made suggestions like that. Most humans seemed to faithfully follow the foolish
philosophy of 'leave no man behind.' "You don't want to stay and try and find
her?"

"I do, but if all three of us go away, then the Galaxy has to send more people
down into this shithole and try to find us, only to have more vanish. Plus
we've got more toys to play with up there to try and find her. You think we
should stay?"

"No, I agree," Cutter replied. He started to move towards the center of the
room, "We should beam ba-a-a-ck-ck-a-a-ab--"

Chris jumped back in surprise. Cutter had been walking forward and all of a
sudden, right before Chris' eyes, he froze, like a crashed holoprogram,
unnaturally still for a fraction of a second before he started skipping
backwards, rewinding like a tape back to where he was, both his movements and
his speech playing in reverse, until he froze once more and began again to move
forward, "--should beam back to the Galaxy."

Daniels grabbed the slanted ceiling of the room for a support and looked at
Cutter. "Dude, what the hell is going on with you? That's the second time
that's happened in the last 5 minutes."

The avian squinted at him, "What are you talking about?"

"What do you mean 'what am I talking about?'?? You just skipped like a record
with a scratch in it!"

The avian frowned, a trained reaction and began to spout, 'I'm certain I don't
know what you're talking about,' before he stopped, realizing that although he
was not aware what he had just done, by Chris' reaction, it was not something he
could deny, nor manipulate his witness into questioning himself.

His mind flashed back to the moment before his return to the Galaxy, when he
stared a black hole in the face and was irradiated with unknown energies, to the
several odd incidents afterwards which were growing to numerous for him to
sensibly ignore. This was the most observable one yet. The wall that he had
erected in his mind suddenly lost another few bricks. Something was happening
to him; the black hole had changed him. He just didn't understand how. And he
certainly didn't want to discuss it with anyone else.

"Then, perhaps we should heed your advice, and get out of here before any other
unexplainable events occur."

Chris relaxed ever so slightly and put his phaser away. "Good, now I don't have
to stun your ass and drag you bag." He tapped his commbadge.

"Daniels to Galaxy, two to beam up." The transporter tech responded, saying to
standby for 30 seconds.

Chris looked around the room one more time, looking at nothing in particular.

"Hang tight, 8-ball, we'll be back to get you."

"McAlister's Mafia"

Faylin McAlister

Location: Breen ship - Undisclosed Location

======================
The sickbay was much like any other sickbay, until one noticed a Chameloid changing it's form on the bio bed.

"No...." McAlister growled. "Nothing."

"Give it time to work. It's only the second injection." The mechanical voice from behind the mask interjected.

"I don't have time!" Fay lurched forward, grabbing the beakish protrusion with aggravation. "Get that?" She hissed. "No time....no time to perfect. It has to be perfect now!"

"I do....However....."

She released him, forcing herself to push the being backwards. "We are arriving within the vicinity of Alpha KS - 128 within a few days. I need this to get on board you pathetic excuse for a doctor.....now....get back to the lab and make IT WORK!"

Her eyebrows lowered as she watched him slink away. 'Try it again.' Fay thought to herself. Screwing up her face, she glanced down to see her Terran arm transform into a scale like projection.

"Damn it!"

"It takes time....we are not positive that this will even work. It's a brand new chemical chemistry this time around. It's taken us years to be able to see some result...and the fact that you need it now is not helping matters." The baritone voice interrupted, causing McAlister to glance to her right.

"I don't have time.....I have...a week at best. Knowing Krieghoff, he had the scanners set to pick up my Chameloid DNA. The whole point of this was to be able......"

"I know. And I sympathize to your cause...believe me."

"Spare me. Is everyone gathered?"

"Yes, everyone is. We are just awaiting your arrival."

Fay smirked before sliding down of the gellish bed. Clearing her throat, she found her place among the corridors of the familiar ship. The doors slid open to reveal an oblong table complete with several beings from various races.

Her eyebrows instantly arched as they stood when she entered. "Sit down." Fay barked. They did as she commanded.

"It's been a while, I am aware of that fact. And, after one last small job, I will be able to take over my father's place as the head of this syndicate. It is unfortunate that his death had to occur....but as we all know, I had a job to do back then and he was an expense that I was able to afford."

The quietness swept through the room before her voice was heard yet again.

"I do have to commend our friends the Hydrans here for their wonderful connections. The kidnapping went off very smoothly down to the Starfleet Security vehicle. Nice touch. I assume Sophia is comfortable in her new surroundings for the time being."

He nodded with a bit of pride. "Yes."

"Dead yet?" She asked him.

"No Ma'am."

"Good....I want that pleasure myself. It seems you have redeemed yourselves after that sad little attempt at impregnating on of my former crew mate. I'll give you an A for creativity, but an F for execution. Idiots."

The Hydran just studied her. Rumors of her insanity had spread far and wide, and here she was before them. Something had to be done, or else she would run amok much like her father before her. The syndicate had grown under her command, that much is certain. Yet, he had to figure her out.

"Now, that being said....after this side job, I want the focus to be on the Risa colony. Crime is up a total of 20 percent over the last 18 months and Starfleet has been doing nothing except putting morons in command making it all the easier to transport our goods all over the universe. I want to move our main operations there...not keeping them on Olrion Five."

"I doubt that choice is a good one...." He spoke out verbally what all the others were thinking. "Olrion Five is secure, we've been transporting for years from that spot and no one is none the wiser. Transfer to Risa, and we have to star................."

The knife ripped through the major artery causing a spray of fluid to cover the beings opposite of where he was sitting. Grabbing what was considered his shoulder by Terran terminology, she sent him flying backwards onto the floor. That motion in and of itself caused his wound to open further...the result was the remnants of his body fluid flowing onto the floor.

"Any more objections?" Fay muttered as she wiped the blood off of her face. Her eyes cruised the table, satisfied with a bunch of negative responses to her question. Several of the others found themselves looking into the face of a being that was truly insane.

Taking a small napkin, the Breen leader smudged the blood that covered his vision. 'Dark days.' He thought to himself.

"I think that handles it. I want reports in the morning as to the whereabouts of our transport ships. And they *better* be on their way to Risa." Fay paused, taking a sip of the latte she had her assistant bring her earlier. "By the way...." She motioned to the blood pooling on the floor. "Watch your steps...we wouldn't want to have any more accidents....would we?"

"No...." Came the group response.

"Good." Glancing down at her arm, she contorted her face once more. The arm grew silver scales, yet stayed in Terran form.

"Excellent." McAlister whispered. "One step closer....."

"The Man for the Job"

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Chief Petty Officer Jack Callahan

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Security Main

What did he think he was doing?

That was, Victor decided after a moment's reflection, a good question:
What *did* he think he was doing?

He was supposed to be locating a bodyguard for Lieutenant Ophelia
Zamora, someone to station with her as a security detail until he - or
someone else - put a phaser bolt through Faylin McAlister's head and
ended the threat that she posed. He'd run a dozen comparisons with the
bright and shiny automated assignment selection software that he now had
access to as Acting Department Head, watching as it compared service
records and fitness reports and psychological reviews and, for all he
knew, rankings in the unofficial beer-drinking competition that the
Security ratings held at every layover, before popping up a neatly
ranked list of four names suited for the job.

They problem was, none of them were right for the job, and he knew it.
They met the technical qualifications he'd input into the software, they
all had good service records, squeaky clean psychological evaluations,
and brushed and flossed after every meal. They were good officers and
enlisted personnel one and all.

And he knew in his gut that Faylin McAlister would kill each and every
one of them in thirty seconds or less.

And no matter how many times he varied the settings, the software wasn't
going to change that feeling, because it couldn't select based on the
criteria that he needed. It wasn't programmed to think with its gut -
aside from the absurdity of it having one to begin with. But he was.

That was what he should be doing, thinking with his gut, his instincts,
not letting some software program tell him who was the best man for the
job.

His hands danced across the LCARS panel as he reconfigured the search,
leaving the technical qualifications in, but reversed the good service
record and psychological evaluations to select the worst rated personnel
for the search. As an afterthought, he also eliminated anyone that had
appeared in the previous dozen searches. He ran it, and leaned back to
see what happened this time.

The search returned three selections, ranked in order of preference by
worst:

--Lt. Victor Krieghoff.--

Nice to know he was still Number One at something.

--Lt (JG) John Morris--

Only on the list due to an accusation of cowardice in the face of the
enemy that was widely known to be a previous commander's sloughing off
of his own cowardly actions. Interesting, he certainly had the
experience and had done bodyguard work before in the civilian sector...
but he was the oldest Lieutenant on the ship at 60, and that was strike
against him if it came down to a fight with McAlister. Still....

--Chief Petty office Jack Callahan--

Callahan? Victor frowned and leaned back. Callahan. He was a friend of
Commander Corgan's, drank, smoked occasionally, had a list of minor
reprimands as long as he was tall, but... He checked his personal combat
ratings and other qualifications, finding them all good. Callahan....

Morris? Callahan? He rolled the two over in his mind. Callahan? Morris?
Callahan? The computer fairly screamed 'no' at the thought, but his
gut... his gut said 'yes."

And today, Victor was going with his gut.

=/\=Krieghoff to Callahan, report to my office in thirty, please.=/\=

****

"You gonna answer that?" Ensign Martin Weaver asked as he circled to his
left, keeping his chin tucked low and his gloves held high, never once
taking his eyes off of the man in the ring with him

"Hadn't planned on it." Chief Callahan said. His left hand jabbed out
twice and connected with the Ensign's headgear but the lean youngster
didn't take the bait this time and he didn't present the opening for the
right hand that Jack had been looking for.

Weaver chuckled.

"I donno know if it's wise to keep 'the Creeper' waiting. He ain't as
warm and fuzzy as Corgan was." he said missing with a crisp right hook.

"If he wanted me that bad, he would have beamed me over." Jack said
circling right to give Weaver a clear view of the two attractive women
who just walked in the gym and begun a series of stretches.

The Ensign's eye wandered to the beauties and with a quickness that his
42 year old frame rarely showed, Jack switched to a left handed boxing
stance, stepping on Weaver's foot as he did.

The kid instinctively looked down and...........POW!

"Dames..." Jack said taking off his headgear, grabbing a towel and
wiping the sweat from his brow. "They'll get you every time."

*****

Thirty three minutes later, hair still disheveled, Jack strolled into
Victor's office.

"Chief," Victor nodded, stopping work on the report he was filling out.
"Thanks for coming by. Coffee?" He indicated the SFMC mug sitting on his
desk. "I've got some of the real thing in the pot - no replicators."

"I'll pass. That stuff gives me heartburn." Jack said waving his hand
and plopping down in the chair. He pushed it backwards just a little bit
to be sure he was not too close to the acting Security Head.

"Just to get it out of the way, Chief," Victor started, "because I've
been called into plenty of offices without warning, and spent half the
meeting waiting for the other shoe to drop, I'm telling you up front
that this isn't a meeting about a reprimand, a transfer, a complaint, or
any of the things you're probably expecting."

Jack chuckled.

"Well now I guess that just leaves a promotion. I'll be honest, Vic. If
you're telling me that I'm the new Security Chief, my first order of
business is to get rid of that," he said cocking a thumb towards the
mosaic hanging by the door.

Victor looked at the mosaic and smiled. "Since my girlfriend made it for
me, I'm afraid that it's going to have to stay, Chief. But that's pretty
much the exact reason I called you up here."

"Because of my taste in art?"

"Because there are maybe - maybe - five people in the department that
would have made that joke, whether they knew who'd made the prayer
mosaic for me or not. That means you don't scare easily. Looking at your
record, you also don't back down easily, don't like to be pushed around
no matter who's doing the shoving, and you really, really hate to lose."
Victor paused. "Or did I get any of that wrong?"

"You do seem to have my number." Jack quipped.

"Good," Victor nodded. "I know that you're friends with the Commander,
and not with me; that's only to be expected since I'm not noted for
being a friendly guy. But being friends with James wouldn't be enough
for him to cover for you the times he has. He's a good man, but not that
kind of good. If you weren't capable of doing the job, if you couldn't
be depended on, then he'd have signed the transfer papers without
blinking. I know that, because that's the only reason I'm still here
too. I think that we're alike in that way, Chief: we both do the job,
but people don't often like the way it gets done once it's over with."
He shrugged. "I am what I am, and you are what you are - and he kept us
both here because he saw the need for people like that."

"Yeah you and I are just a couple of swell guys. I'm assuming we're
dancing around like this because you have a sales pitch coming."
Callahan said

"We're doing this dance, Chief, because I need a man for a crappy,
thankless job. A tough man who won't be bullied, won't be threatened,
won't let himself be pushed around, who doesn't get scared easily... and
who really, really hates to lose. And my gut tells me you're the man for
the job." He leaned forward, propping his forearms on the desk.
"Interested?"

Jack leaned forward...but not too forward as to pass the newly installed
safe line.

"Whadda ya got?" Jack asked with a grin.

"Moving Day (Please Don't Drop That!)"
by Ensign T'risia
Security Officer, USS Galaxy

The slender Vulcan woman had been well pleased to receive her desired posting, on board the USS Galaxy. When the communique arrived, she had been alone, reading one of her precious Terran Novels. To say that she was excited would be to add an unfortunate and human quality that she did not understand to her interpretation of the matter. It was satisfactory that events had unfolded as she had intended, no more, no less.

However, immediately forthwith, the puzzle of packing up her belongings...her extensive collection of Terran artifacts, loomed overhead. Immediately, she opened a file and began a directory structure for the boxing methodology. First, the items would be sorted into large boxes based upon their time of origin, and then further subdivided into categories based on art, literature, or cultural significance, and further subdivided based upon size....

Her eyes rested on the puzzling "Beanie Baby." It seemed to defy logical classification. Resignedly, she decided that each time period would have to contain a "Miscellaneous" category. Furthermore, the container for such a category should, logically, be rather large.

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

T'risia had decided to wear civilian clothing for her arrival upon the USS Galaxy. Her garments were traditional vulcan attire, which she thought made a far better impression than the Terran designed Fleet Uniform...which she never quite felt comfortable in. Logically, she knew that it was due to the habit of wearing more flowing, desert garments for most of her life on Vulcan, and she chided herself internally for the attachment to habit, a lack of discipline. Her green eyes were complimented by her flowing green tunic, embroidered with Vulcan sigils, and her hair was held back by a green headband. Close fitting black trousers and boots completed the ensemble, and she felt that she was in fact the picture of a dignified vulcan.

She had attached a combadge to her tunic, as well as a Terran artifact from the 1960's of old Earth dating. The legendary "Happy Head", a bright yellow emblem wishing the viewer peace and prosperity. T'risia was not entirely sure of happiness, but felt that it might project an air of willingness to learn from others.

T'risia had requested a shuttlecraft, as her collection required the utmost care, and she did not trust it to the transporter grid. The vulcan woman knew this to be illogical, and struggled with the concept, but in the end, the sanctity of her collection prevailed. Even now, as the shuttlecraft came to a landing in the Galaxy's bay, she was mildly concerned about the handling of the meticulously packed boxes.

Upon landing, T'risia rapidly departed the shuttlecraft, with cool, Vulcan efficiency. Immediately, she was met at the ramp by a pair of Landing Bay Support Personell, by their uniforms, Cadets of some sort. She raised her hand in the Vulcan salute to both, saying, "I am T'risia, reporting for duty. Peace and Long Life."

The sandy haired young man on the left was first to reply. "Um...yeah. Peace and all of that. We have orders saying that you have..." he paused and checked his PADD. "A cultural anthropology collection that needs a lift to your quarters? Is that right?"

The somber vulcan woman nodded, her emotionless face treating the collection as if it were pure latinum. "Indeed, it is quite correct."

The second young man, dark haired, interjected. "I'm, um...Joseph Franks. I...I don't know how to say this...are you wearing a happy face?"

The vulcan woman paused for a moment, and then nodded gravely. "Yes, Joseph Franks, I am. Do I not look happy to be here?"

The two human males exchanged a look of puzzlement. As they did so, T'risia said simply, with no expression on her placid features, "If you would help me apply antigravs to my collection, I am certain that you would in fact see that I am most surely happy to be here."

Although they did as asked, the two young men never saw her emotionless expression change, and neither could either say that she had seemed happy at all.

"Stuck With You"

 

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
JAG

and

Chief Petty Officer Jack Callahan
The Bodyguard

Location: Ophelia's personal Quarters

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

She thought it best to send Logan to a friends for the afternoon. It left the task of explaining who the new room mate was until the new room mate was actually around. Her quarters were spotless, the kind of environment that would make any neat freak stand with proud posture. Sighing, Ophelia gracefully sat on the edge of her couch. It had been a while....a long while since she had shared quarters with an adult.

A sharp pounding on the door to her quarters startled her.


It was more of a deep booming then a knock.


Almost as if someone were kicking on her door.


"Enter....." Lia smirked openly while glancing at her French manicured finger nail. 'The chime is a wonderful invention' She thought to herself as she steeled herself for whom she thought it might be.


The door slid open to reveal Chief Petty Officer Jack Callahan standing in a rather nonchalant manner, duty jacket wide open rather then appropriately zipped, one hand hooked into his belt and the other balancing a large, battered star fleet duffel bag on his shoulder.


He was shaking his head.


"For someone who needs a bodyguard, you're pretty quick to open the door without knowing who is on the other side." he said. Not waiting to be asked inside, he strode across the threshold and dropped his bag with a loud plop on the floor.


"By the way, the names Callahan." he said flashing a grin that at one time may have been considered charming.

The left eyebrow shot up in defiance at his appearance. In quick fashion, Ophelia crossed her arms in a defensive stance. "Krieghoff...sent...you?"

She watched his affirmative nod while a wave of uncertainty hit her. He did look like he had knowledge through the years, but what kind of experience was the question she was asking herself. Her first thought, considering his appearance and sad attempt at a lame smile, made her think of gaining experience in a brothel on Risa. How was that going to help her?

"Well....um...." She inched past him, giving him the once over before raising her head to meet his gaze. "I've moved my son into my bedroom....so....you can have his room for the time being." The sleeping arrangements would okay. Logan's bed was small enough to fit in her bedroom so it would work until this thing with McAlister blew over.

To her surprise he didn't seem as though he were even paying attention to her. Instead he was shuffling around the quarters looking at everything.


"You live here long?"


"A while, why?" She answered before noticing one of the remote controls was off center about three fourths of an inch. Without thought, she straightened it, then realigned the other two that rested beside that one.


"Everything is so neat and sterile. I feel like I'm in the sickbay lobby." he said picking up a framed picture of Logan from one of the shelves. "Is this the kid?"


"Mr. Callahan, I prefer neat and sterile. Disorganization leads to chaos, and chaos is not how I prefer to live my life." Lia paused for a brief moment. "Yes, that is Logan....the kid...as you so refer to him by."


"We'll I've seen enough. Ready to slip into your bedroom for a few moments?"


"I need a bodyguard, not a man whore." Lia stated simply. "Your handsome and all....but...."


"Don't flatter yourself, darlin. I just wanted to see what the room layout looked like. If something bad happens and I have to go into a dark room to grab you or Logan, I really don't want to run into a dresser. The "Thinking the Worst" thing is good though. Keep that going until this whole mess is straightened out. It'll make my job easier."

"Oh....of course." She paused. "Mr. Callahan, let me let you in on a few things. I don't know what your background is, or how long you've been in Starfleet, or what you've even done. Hell, for all I know Krieghoff sent me a chef off the USS Diphtheria. What I do know, is that there is an insane 'thing' after me and my son....and you were sent to protect us. I usually don't trust people at all, but I find myself having to do just that."

He nodded, then finished his inspection of in the master bedroom and was apparently satisfied that he wasn't going to break a hip stumbling around in a power loss.


He came back out into the living room and flopped on the couch with a great sigh as if resigned to some unknown fact.


"I need to know what I'm gonna be up against. What can you tell me and don't leave anything out. Something you find trivial or too embarrassing to say could end up causing us all a problem later on."

Lia bent at the waist, picking up a data pad and handing it to him. "This is what I have on her. Her history, her training...what we know of it, and the many people that she has killed along the way including my uncle and ex husband. She's an expert, trained, deadly, and beautiful. She's escaped from a maximum level prison and she's coming after us. She's a shape shifter....so I don't know who I can trust, or who I can't. She's fooled me before...."

He held up a hand and took a long moment and read the pad before speaking again.


"Lemmie ask you something. Do you bring home men on a regular basis?"


"What?" Lia asked in amazed shock. "I don't know what type of woman you take me for Callahan.....but I do not bring men here on a regular basis. Just one...but...." Her mind shot to Max as she ended the short response with a sigh. She missed him....and she could not afford herself to get emotionally attached to him.



Jack sighed again, his shoulders sagging slightly while the padd dangled from his hand.


"I'm getting too old for this." he said to himself before addressing Lia again. "I just asked because if this McAlister is a shape shifter who apparently knows you, she could imitate a gentleman suitor. Unless you plan on having me hover by and watch you at all times if you know what I mean, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to control your urges until this mess blows over."


"Bite me." Lia spouted off with anger. She paused before getting more information for him.

"Also, I just received this message and photo thirty minutes ago...so yes....she is coming." Lia handed him the picture and print out of the note. "To say I'm scared is beyond the truth. To say that I'm not leary of your 'skill' as a bodyguard would be an understatement at this point in time. You look like you don't know which end is the business end of a dog let alone know how to kill a Chameloid. So pardon me for being blunt. but unless you can show me how your going to protect me, I feel more alone now than ever before."

Jack shot up from the couch and hooked both hands in his belt.


"While we're being so open and honest here, sunshine, lemmie tell you that babysitting some stuck up prima donna while her past tries to kill her isn't tops on my list of things that give me a little tingle in my heart. And for the record, if you think that I'm not up for the job your little Chameloid girlfriend wont think so either. Somehow our head of security thought that I was the man and baby I mean THE MAN for the job. Like it or not, we're stuck with each other...and I have to take a leak so why don't you think up a safe signal while I hit the head."


"Remind me to have Kreighoff court martialed. And I am not a prima donna!" She muttered before arching both eyebrows at his 'THE MAN' comment.

"Safe signal? What the hell?" Lia tilted her head as she reminded herself she had a pumpkin spice latte that was awaiting her attention on the end table. Grabbing the mug, her eyes raised towards his direction. A motion she wished she hadn't had done.


"A safe signal. Like a wink or a rolling of the tongue or something. That way we always know who is who just in case McAlister tries to pull something cute." he said walking into the bath room, leaving the door wide open in the process.


"God damn it Callahan!!!" Lia bellowed. She found herself blushing, more angered at her glowing cheeks then witnessing his glowing cheeks peeking out from the regulation Starfleet pants.

'It is a nice butt." She thought before growing audibly at herself.

"Just to let you know...I'm lousy at remembering to put the seat down too!" he shouted.

"Disturbia"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
JAG

Faylin McAlister

Location: Breen ship, undisclosed location
Ophelia's Personal Quarters - USS Galaxy

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

"We ready?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

McAlister cleared her throat. Her eyes scanned the damp room in a critical manner making positive that everything, and everyone was in place.

"They will not be able to trace this....correct?" She posed the question again as she pressed a button on the wall. The bright spotlight shown down on the captive who was overcome by all the motion around her. With that done, she cut off the end of an ancient Cuban cigar, lit it, and with satisfaction took a long drag off of it blowing the smoke into the air.

"They will not know where the feed is coming from. We have it rerouted several times, and if they are fortunate enough to figure it out, we will be ready for them."

Fluffing her long, blond hair, McAlister tugged on her replicated Starfleet uniform. "Let's get this show on the road."

======================
Ophelia's Personal Quarters

"Incoming message. Urgent." The computer console droned. Glancing around, Zamora took note that her 'bodyguard' was sleeping in Logan's room. What ever it was referring to, she could take it in relative peace.

The screen flickered before a grainy image came into view. The moment her brain registered who is was, Ophelia gasped outright her face turning the color of a white Orchid.

Waving her hand in a non challant manner, Fay spoke with a rather large demented smile. "Hello Lia. Let me give you a few minutes to escort your son out of the room. What we need to converse about is not for little ears to hear."

"Logan.....go take your trains to my bedroom." Her voice was shaking as well as her hands.

"But mom, I want to." He protested innocently.

"Now!" Lia barked before turning back to Faylin's face.

"Ok." Came the whisper. "Sorry...." He gathered up his trains, going into his mother's bedroom with depressed body language.

"Tsk tsk Ophelia, children need patience...and it appears you are lacking in that right now."

"Fuck you." She responded in jest.

"Now now, Ms. Zamora. Would you talk to your mother with that mouth? Oh wait....." McAlister backed up slowly, revealing Sophia strapped into a steel chair under a bright light. Viewing Ophelia's new expression, Fay smiled yet again.

"I guess not. What a predicament we have here......daughter....and mother."

Fay's eyes narrowed in a challenging manner. Having the upper hand in situations caused her great delight. The inner torment always settled when she felt in control. After this, would be a different situation all together.

"How? Victor assured................"

"Oh yes, Victor. Brand new Chief of Security on board the famed USS Galaxy...isn't he now? It's a shame, I did wish to play with Corgan a while...but....life gets in the way at times...." She circled Sophia, placing her right hand on her left shoulder. "Victor...failed to double check his information! It is a pity....just ten minutes earlier and he would have been able to save the day!"

"Let her be! She's done nothing wrong!" Lia pleaded.

"That's where your wrong Zamora. And you want to know why? I'll tell you. She gave birth to you....she created the little whore that tried to set *me* up." McAlister squeezed Sophia's shoulder gently as she extracted the blade that she hid in her waistband.

"No!" Ophelia gasped as she viewed the blade inch it's way towards her mother.

"No one bests me Lia!" Her tone grew angered, inflamed as Fay continued. "No one! Not you, not Krieghoff, and not Starfleet. How's it feel Lia? Cause, I tell you what, it feels *good* on this end....let me tell you. It's a wonderful feeling, knowing that I hold her life in my hands." She leaned towards Sophia's face, drawing the blade of the knife across her cheek, indenting, but not cutting into the older woman's flesh.

"Faylin...please!! Leave her be!" Ophelia's voice wept with desperation.

"Ya know...we are not that different you and I." Her posture became lazy as she leaned her arm against the back of the chair. Taking a long drag on the cigar that rested in her free hand, she leaned over and blew the smoke directly in Sophia's face.

Lia's mother attempted to keep a straight face, but coughed frantically through the cloth gagged that was in her mouth.

"Are you freakin kidding me Fay? We are totally different in all aspects. I don't go around killing people for sport!"

"Well...ya got me on that one...however....you send people to prison...that's a death sentence right there. And besides, let me ask you one little question." The knife was pressed firmly into Sophia's cheek. The woman winced as she felt the slight beading of blood on her skin.

"Oh my god! Please...don't do this!!!" Ophelia cried out.

"Mom?" The small voice erupted.

"Get that kid under control Lia...or he's going to see his grandmother....." McAlister calmly made the suggestion as she pressed the knife into the flesh deeper watching the blood flow with fascination.

"Stay in my room Logan! NOW!" Ophelia barked out before pressing her hands on the screen.

He turned back to the room breaking his mother's heart with the hiss of the door.

"Good girl. Now what's the first thought that comes into your head about me Lia? Tell me...what is it?"

"Your dead. If I ever get my hands on you, your dead. I'm going to kill you, chop you up into little pieces and feed you to a Cardassian dog....you worthless bitch!" Lia screamed.

"Oh very good. See? You want to kill now, don't you? Believe me Ophelia, it's so easy to see the line of justice and revenge blur once those sticky things called emotions come into play.....It's all part and partial...and once you accept that fact....you'll be so much more happier Ophelia. It's freedom...to be able to.............."

"Mom? Mom....." Her hands grasped at the image of her tired mother, attempting to find something to hold on to.

"So sweet Lia. You care so much for your mother.....touching. So touching in fact...that I'm just going to allow her to speak to you one more time. Arn't I great? Go ahead Sophia...talk to your daughter for the last time....." Fay tugged on the gag, allowing Sophia the ability to speak.

"Ophelia..." Her vocal tone scratchy from the lack of fluid she was given over her time in captivity.

"Mom....I'm so sorry. God...oh my god...." She slumped into the chair, her legs weak from worry.

"Lia....it's okay. I do not fear death.....for it takes me to a place more beautiful and peaceful that this earth."

McAlister rolled her eyes while clapping her hands slowly as she circled the chair. "Oh man...it's just too sweet!"

"Ma'am...." A voice cut into the transition. "They are getting closer."

"Damn.....Well, Lia. I guess your going to miss the big show.....the 'prestige' as it's called among the fellow assassins. The climax, the time where I'll look into Sophia's eyes here, and watch her soul leave her body. I'm sure she'll head to Heaven where she will look down upon you and smile. But, if you are a very good girl, I'll record it for you and send it to you as soon as possible...You have to *promise* to be good though......"

"NO! MOM!!! PLEASE!" She sunk to the floor, her tears wetting the console as she screamed in horror. "NO!!!! GOD NO FAY!!!"

McAlister's right hand raised, with her index and middle finger dipping several times as that demented, satanic smile emerged one more time. "Bye bye now Lia....."

"GOD DAMN IT!!!" Lia screamed outright through her tears as her fists pounded the console until her flesh turned crimson red. "MOM!!!!!!!!"

Logan emerged from the bedroom yet again, only to be found cradled tightly by his shaking mother in the matter of seconds. Her warm tears hit his face, and although he did not fully understand what was going on as of late, he did know that someone just hurt his mother very badly. Reaching up with his hands, he patted her on the back the best way a six year old boy could do in the midst of his world under attack.

In a whisper, he attempted to comfort his grieving mother. "It's okay Mom.....it's okay......"

"Eye of the Beholder"

Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'a

Operations Center, USS Galaxy
=======================

~By the Fire, she's beautiful.~

At the present time, to tell the truth, she was more than simply
beautiful. She was something that had emerged from the foggy mists of
his most intimate dreams, and Th'Khiss K'aa wanted her more than he
had ever wanted anything in his young life. To him, she was as close
to perfect as he could imagine. Sleek and graceful, she still
possessed an obvious confidence and air of authority that told all
that beheld her that she could more than take care of herself. She
was made for such things, and K'aa hungered her for it.

Whenever he caught glimps of her, the small hair in the back if his
neck rose as if charged with electricity and his pulse began to race.
Small beads of persperation formed on his upper lip, and he found his
attention to the tasks of his office faltered whenever he heard
mention of her name.

K'aa tried to shrug the feeling that his nerves were being lit on fire
by pindering if this was atypical mammal responses to stimuli, but at
his core knew that the attraction was deeper, rooted in his Gorn
psyche rather than the feeble, skeletal form he now bore. It had to
be... humans couldn't possibly feel something so strong, so amazingly
powerful and pure.

Bitter adhrenaline flooded his mouth when the emergency channel
crackled open from planetside, and his mind was brrutally slammed back
into reality.

=/\=Krieghoff to all Away Team members.=/\=

The Ops chief kicked his chair forward and began to monitor the scans
Sciences were performing on the planet's surface. Throughout the
honeycomb of ancient ruins, the small blue blips indicating away team
members danced haphazardly, and more disturbingly the totals didn't
match the original beam-down figures.

=/\=Be advised that there has been an Away Team fatality due to action
by the local predator life-form. Said fatality occurred from well-
executed ambush in open terrain when the individual was separated from
the rest of their team by no more than five meters. No general recall
is announced at this time, but all Away Teams are instructed to
tighten their perimeters and exercise extreme caution. If surrounded,
or under attack, then beam out at the first opportunity. Krieghoff
out.=/\=

The Gorn closed his pale grey, all-too-human eyes and sighed, then
opened them to gaze upon the Tactical monitor to his left.
Tauntingly, the Zeus and all her glory drifted casually alongside the
Galaxy, and would fill his dreams for days, perhaps weeks.

~Soon, precious. Not now, but soon~, he thought as as he began ro
rise and head for the bridge.

~Be patient~

"Leadership and Crap"

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

Bunch of SFFC and SFMC blobs (NPCs, respectively)
---
===Somewhere in the USS Zeus, Deck Wherever===

"Seriously," the lithe form of the Betazoid tech mumbled painfully as
she almost toppled off the transporter pad, saving herself with
haphazardly forward thrown hands and bouncing off the shoulder of a
sizeable Marine. The bulky form of the Denobulan seemed about as
phased at her sudden crashing into him as he would be about a
butterfly landing on his nose, simply making a slight batting motion
at her general direction while the considerably smaller-bodied Denovo
had to make a less than graceful leap to keep Ra from falling flat on
her ass. Or in her case, the huge baggage of gear she was lugging
around on her shoulders.

"You should really gain some mass, Ra," the stumpy Terran Systems tech
remarked solemnly, hiking the girl up to stand straight from her
elbow. "Me and Sergeant Quaval aren't always going to be around to
keep you on your boney legs, you know," he added, idly dusting off his
cuffs when he was assured that the accident prone little thing was
balancing to at least moderate satisfaction.

Ra shot a glare at the man, a mixture of depression, fatigue and
all-around pissed-offedness combining into a bright laser of targeted
discontent. "Thank you, Denovo, I'll take that into consideration,"
she muttered through gritted teeth, turning her attention to stumbling
off the pad and landing on her feet as well as slinking behind the
assembled and seemingly thrilled Marines. Kebs gave her a nod and a
wave from somewhere behind the lines of giddy jarheads, giving Ra a
beacon to struggle towards.

"Do you think there's any chance they're going to let me smoke in the
near future, Kebsy?" Rheay fell hard against the back wall of the
transporter room, creating a bang that caught a few ruffled looks, but
her carebox was just about empty and the Marines were slightly too
happy to be anywhere but on the Galaxy to apparently care too much.
"And what exactly are they doing?"

"I think they are preparing to 'overtake' the boat with some makeshift
combat drill," a rather soothing voice cut Ra's musings, coming from
the corner next to the Betazoid, Esh tilting her head and furrowing
her brow a bit as she tried to catch a few more mumbles from the ones
in command. The Andorian nodded to mostly herself, agreeing with what
she had said earlier based upon the few tidbits she had looted from
the orders up front.

From the whole collection of four techs, who had been stranded with
the pack of rabid dogs that were the Marines, Esh (abbreviated due to
violent lack of pronunciation skills within the fighter pits) made the
least sense to Ra. She was polite, kept mostly to herself, was a hard
worker and knew her way around the inner and outer workings of a
fighter just as well as Ra did, which absolutely did not reflect in
her rank or current mission placing. In the SFFC universe, good
techies usually got promoted to at least some kind of a respectable
level within a few postings, since the turnover had increased
significantly within recent years and the Fleet needed to give the
Enlisteds at least some kind of an incentive to lull around.
Apparently the crappy wages and constant threat of blowing up along
with a hangar bay were not very appealing to the younger masses. So,
taking that to account, it made no frakking sense how someone of Esh's
skills and Fleet record could still be stuck at Technician while even
snappy irritating piranhas like Ra herself had made it to higher
rankings.

All in all, Rheay understood why most of them got picked for this away
team. Ra could see what Starvel saw in her ? prickly know-it-all with
an attitude. Kebs was lumbering and too adorable for his own spotted
behind and Denovo?nobody really got along with Denovo. He was just
that king of guy. But Esh! Esh! That shining star of SFFC rapture and
wonderment! What had that poor thing done to get thrown with the
current lowlifes of the techie group! Ra frowned heavily. This was
going to gnaw at her all throughout the mission, she just knew it.

"Ow!" she yelped violently, dragged away from her inner conversation,
flinging herself more on top of her ridiculously heavy cargo than
before. "Why'd you do that?" she growled, giving Kebs a dirty look
while she rubbed her arm where he had pinched it.
"We're supposed to be moving somewhere, not dozing off, oh great
leader," the Trill noted, jabbing a thumb at the last eager boot sole
that flashed at the door, the bay having cleared out with impressive
speed.
"That's 'oh great leader, ma'am', you prick," the pale excuse of a
great leader snorted, pursing her lips with annoyance. This was all
turning out to be less than fantastic.

"Anyone got a clue as to ?where- we're supposed to be moving, though?"
Blank stares. Please, not like the Marines are ever aware anyone else
exists aside from them and might need a little guidance. Would have to
wait until another cocktail party to share thoughts with Arvelion, it
seemed.
"We'll, -you're- the one in charge, so?" Kebs gave an adorable smile
that went well with his doe eyes and made Ra wish urgently for a rifle
and a skinning knife.
"Fine."

The word was uttered with decisiveness and flare rather alien in Ra's
range of vocal motions. The next sound in the transporter bay, save
for the varied chattering of the local flunkies, was the loud clang of
Ra's duffel impacting with the ground below. "Esh, drop your gear,
Kebs has kindly volunteered to continue being the ass that he is.
Let's go find dinner and somewhere to smoke."
The willowy techy marched out of the room with long strides, pausing
for a moment in the corridor and mentally flipping for whether to turn
right or left, ready to conquer the many evils surely lurking in the
belly of the USS Badly Chosen Mission. Esh and Denovo trotted after
their fearless commander with hushed musings of her smoke deprivation
flung between each other and Kebs was left in the far back, tugging
the gear equivalent of roughly his body weight.

May the leading commence.

"Welcome to the Jungle Pretty Young Thing"

Faylin McAlister

Location: Undisclosed. Breen Ship

========================================
Swirling colors. She did not know exactly what they were created from, just that they were there. An overly sharp pain entered her right side causing her to side step and twirl as the being punched her left eye.

"Again!" McAlister barked!

The crisp sound of the Hydran barreling towards her, and she did not cringe. Her head tilted slightly down as she braced her face.

*POW*

Fay wavered, shaking her head back and forth gently as the pain drilled into her.

"Again!" McAlister growled out of anger.

He came at her repeatedly, relishing the fact that he was given permission to beat the hell out of his boss per her request.

"Good!!!" She weezed. "One more......"

Her head lowered slightly as he came towards her. The grotesque sound of soft flesh hitting steel resounded throughout the space provided them.

"That should leave a mark...." She muttered grabbing the chair for balance as the fresh blood dripped on to the floor.

"Along with the others, Ma'am."

McAlister glanced at herself in the mirror. Still in her 'Fay' appearance, she studied the welts, forming bruising and caked blood.

"I'm not sure.....what do you think?" Being a woman at heart, and given the chance to look at herself in a full length mirror, she checked her bottom. Fay nodded with satisfaction.

The Hydran studied her bruising. "Your butt looks great...for a Terran. I think we need to concentrate on your left arm. Break it....compound fracture of course....messy is best."

"I knew I liked you for some reason." McAlister smiled, wagging her index finger at her 'punisher'. "Okay then. I need to transform one more time."

"You do realize that after you are on the planet, make *sure* that you inject yourself with the last dose. Your right arm has the implant that will disingrate after you press that area on your forearm. The form you take will solidify and you will not be able to transform until a while after you get on board......then.....if they scan randomly, your caught. They will most certainly pick up on your DNA and your screwed."

"That I'm not worried about. Catch me, catch me if you can......" Fay laughed before transforming. Wide deep set blue eyes sparked of innocence as she looked at the Hydran.

"Nice....." He nodded approvingly.

"Think it will get the attention of a group of dumb ass Marines from a certain starship?" She posed the question as she leaned back slightly on her heels, presenting her left arm on the wooden table that stood between them. Fay rocked on the balls of her feet for a few times before planting them firmly on the ground. She nodded, bracing herself with a coolness that was extremely eerie.

He raised the mallet, "If you don't, your injuries most certainly will."

Her smile hid the pain she felt coming even before the tool collided with her forearm.

*Crack*

"Holeeeee SHIT!" McAlister's scream of pain cut through the dimly lit room. A little dance commended from the pure in appearance being as she dealt with the pain. Her head turned defiantly, taking in what looked like the bone as it pierced through the pale skin.

Taking a few moments to compose herself, Fay glanced over at her dangling arm.

"Good job....I mean really, really good job. Can't feel a thing...." With her right hand, she wiped away a few tears of pain that lingered on her face and sniffed. Her head started to really swim at this point, a fact that she rather enjoyed. Better than drugs....alcohol....or raunchy sex.

"Transport ready?" Fay paled, weaving a little on her feet.

"Yes Ma'am....."

"Good. Just make sure you put me a little ways out. That way it's not so obvious that I was *planted* there." She slurred her words a little, the impact of the beating sinking into her body. "The shuttle.....Federation?"

"Yes. It will look like an accident......"

"Remind me...how did you guys get your hands on a nearly destroyed shuttle?" She slurred yet again, with her eyes rolling back into their sockets.

"We are not as dumb as they believe we are....Ma'am?" He paused and watched as she fell to the floor. Leaning over, he poked her with his large hand. "Ma'am?" No response.

Sighing, he picked her bruised body up, flinging it over his shoulder and made his way to the large transporter padd they had rigged earlier in the hanger bay. Why someone would go through so much for revenge was beyond his comprehension. What ever her reason, he respected her in ways that no one else did.

"Pay No Attention to that Half-Vulcan Behind the Curtain"

(takes place simultaneously with Skips and Sparkles, Part II)

Lt. 8-ball Hunter

Guest appearances from Lt . Cutter Kara'nin and Lt. Chris Daniels


This was exactly the kind of thing that made her wary of away missions.

8-ball crouched, hiding, under a fallen bulkhead, occasionally peeking around the edges to see if her pursuer had gone away to eat somebody. The . . . thing . . . that had been chasing her, the psycho that looked more beast than man . . . he seemed to have vanished from sight. She seemed to be alone.

She didn't trust that for a damn second.

In theory, away missions were supposed to be productive excursions that led to a better understanding of different cultures or helped to advance scientific knowledge by thoroughly examining some unknown phenomenon. Away missions were meant to be positive encounters that would pave the way to an even more utopian future.

So far, this away mission had paved the way to 8-ball becoming invisible and a potential dinner entree at the local nutjob buffet.

Which only went to show that theory could only go so far, and that 8-ball's luck, at times, seriously fucking failed her.

"I should've stayed catatonic," she whispered to herself.

She edged out from behind the bulkhead and stood, uneasy, ready to run. So far, she could hear nothing but the sound of her own hyperventilation, but she had no doubt that the man who had been chasing her couldn't be too far off. She had to get back to the other members of her away team. So what if they couldn't actually see her? It was better than being by herself. At the very least, she could make snarky comments about Cutter's wings without having to worry that he might pick her up, fly a hundred feet in the air, and then drop her to a pancake death.

8-ball ran as quickly and quietly as she could. Cutter and Chris were pretty much right where she left them, looking around and talking. She interrupted them with a big grin and a,"Hi guys!" hoping for a reaction something like, "8-ball, you're alive! You're right here! How awesome is that--let's get the fuck outta dodge!"

She got part of that reaction. "You don't want to stay and try and find her?" Cutter asked Chris.

8-ball turned to look at Chris. "WHAT!"

"I do," Chris said, "but if all three of us go away, then the Galaxy has to send more people down into this shithole and try to find us, only to have more vanish. Plus
we've got more toys to play with up there to try and find her. You think we
should stay?"

"YES!" 8-ball said, despite the fact that his logic was sound and that, in his shoes, she'd probably be saying the same thing. None of that made much impact when you realized that your colleagues were leaving you behind. "Of course, you want to stay." She turned back to Cutter. "You've always liked me, haven't you, Wing Boy?"

"No, I agree," Cutter replied. He started to move towards the center of the
room, "We should beam ba-a-a-ck-ck-a-a-ab--"

Chris jumped at the sound, but 8-ball only glared balefully at the lousy excuse for a bird. "I hope your godamn head skips off," she snapped to Cutter.

Thankfully, no such event happened. "Back to the Galaxy," he finished, as if there had be no type of audio interference. As Chris explained what had happened, 8-ball looked frantically around her, trying to find something that could signal to her two crewmates that she was still very much around. She couldn't find anything.

She was so beyond screwed.

"Then, perhaps," Cutter said, after he took some time to consider Chris's observations. "We should heed your advice, and get out of here before any other
unexplainable events occur."

"Oh, come on," 8-ball said. "Unexplainable events, skipping voices . . . where's your sense of adventure, man? Be a little more of a team player, would ya?"

Chris seemed to relax as he put his phaser away. "Good, now I don't have
to stun your ass and drag you back." He tapped his commbadge as 8-ball tried to slap him, just because she was annoyed with him. Predictably, it didn't work out so well. He didn't even feel it.

Godammit.

"Daniels to Galaxy, two to beam up." The transporter tech responded, saying to
standby for 30 seconds.

Chris looked around the room one more time, looking at nothing in particular.

"Hang tight, 8-ball, we'll be back to get you."

8-ball watched as they dematerialized from the ship of doom.

"Jackass!" she called after him.

"Debugging"
Lt. Commander Adrian An'quinsos, Asst. Chief Counselor
Lt. Daniel Scarborough, Sciences
Acting Ensign Aina Mason, Communications Officer

Computer Core Operations, NX-19

The hatch into the core room opened as the Adrian, Daniel, and finally Aina slowly crawled into the cramped ODN control system. Still on the lookout from snakes, Aina pointed out a short round corridor - "That should get us to the core. Hopefully there will be some diagnostic stations working to access the data."

The Lieutenant Commander nodded, crawling out and into the corridor, thanking every deity across the Alpha Quadrant that he wasn't claustrophobic - yet. Taking a few steps, he stopped and smelled the air; it was musty, perhaps a bit mustier than it should have been. He looked back to the exit way with a frown, and then scanned the corridor from his location and finally the floor, which was covered in fair coating of detritus. And then he felt the urge; time seemed to slow as everything in the universe told him not to look up, just to keep on going, and forget the fact that he could hear noises other than them. Unfortunately, not being totally connected with the universe at that moment, they sent a message to his answering machine as his head lifted upwards, something unintelligible pouring from his lips and then ducking as what appeared to be a swarm of bat-like creatures descended. Their piercing screeching was enough to drown out a Klingon Keg Party,
as they flew toward an adjacent opening and vanished somewhere into the ship.

"Right…" He said, straightening up, and considering how many centuries he just aged at that moment. "The core…"

Aina had ducked as the screeching and the fluttering of wings got her attention from the exploration of a broken panel. She looked up and watched as the creatures fluttered out, farther into a darkened corridor.

Daniel looked up at the cracked plasma display panel. "Uh, maybe it's, uh... um, just, um... maybe there's just, uh, um, damage to the, uh... the, um, monitor. If you just, uh, you know, just, just, uh, plugged in a, uh... a new one--"

"That's basically what we'll have to do," returned Aina. "The panels are too badly damaged, but I can get a signal from the old low freq em system used on these things. Might be able to make..." Aina started tapping on her tricorder, "a...connection...come on you...what do you mean access is denied...you piece of sh...what the..."

Aina looked at the tricorder and looked at a barely discernable hatch at the bottem of a panel. Kneeling down, using the tip of a piece of broken metal, she pried off the panel and peered inside. After a few second s of study, she rested back on her haunches and gave the panel a hit with the flat of her palm. Dust and some caked on dirt, fell to the ground as Aina turned her attention back to her tricorder.

"Now, who's the boss?" Aina said with a smile on her face as she watched scrolling code, "Right...now, we can get somewhere. I've set up my tricorder as a router/controller, if you connect to it - I can give you access to any of the core. You'll be able give orders through your comms and any video data will appear on a padd."

"Um, can, uh, can you, um, access their, uh, their, um... uh, their sensor logs?" Daniel stuttered.

Aina smiled, "I can give you access to what the ship's chef made for breakfast for the captain - and whether it was real cream or mock cream on the pancakes. As long as there is a connection and power we can talk to any system on the ship."

The El-Aurian was half-listening as he scanned the area visually, looking for any more signs of possible disturbances. Technical work such as this wasn't his forte, and besides, after all, too many cooks were bound to spoil the… what did humans call it… stew? Taking out his tricorder, he began a more detailed scan; the winged 'rodents' had already left, and from what he could find, there was nothing else indicating other life forms, aside from insects. Putting away the tricorder, he slowly looked up, an overriding sense of need, followed by relief washing over him as there was nothing else… except maybe dirt. Turning his attentions back to the motley duo, Adrian walked back over and observed what was going on.

"Uh," Daniel drawled, while poking vexedly at the oversized PADD he held, "I, uh, I'm getting, um, a, uh, connection error 505, um, when I, uh... when I, uh, try to, um, access the, um, uh, EM recorders."

Aina crawled on her hands and knees, her head and upper torso were deep inside a maintenance hatch as she wriggled in looking around the core. "Anything yet," she called out after a few minutes.

"Uh..." he hummed for a long time, "um, no." From inside the hatch, Aina muttered something like okay and twisted her body around. Suddenly, the error box disappeared.

"Oh! Um, okay, it's, um, it's connecting, now," Daniel said as he looked down at Aina as she wriggled her way out of the confined space, "What, um... uh, what was the, uh... uh, what was wrong?"

Aina shook her head after wriggling out from the core hatch, "I'm amazed anything is still working - but then, it's all solid-state tech. But this 'moth' was a problem, it was across the Aiken Two-Seventy Relay. A real 'debugging.'" Aina flicked the dead multi-winged thing, that looked like a moth with eight legs off her hand. "That should be it."

Daniel nodded and unplugged the small silver box that was wired to the PADD, a portable hard drive. "Yeah, I, uh... I, uh... um, me too. I, uh, I've copied all their, um, their sensor logs from, uh... you know, from just before, uh, they stopped working."

"Cool," returned Aina nodding.

"I'll, uh, have to, uh... I have to, uh, to, to take them, um, back to the, uh, the Galaxy. Uh, I, uh, I'll need to, um, you know, cross, uh, cross, um... look up all the, uh, the old, um, sensor read out protocols, you know, before I'll, uh, be able to, uh, um... read them," Daniel explained.

Adrian was amount to comment when an emergency call came out over the comms, =/\=Krieghoff to all Away Team members.=/\=

=/\=Be advised that there has been an Away Team fatality due to action by the local predator life-form. Said fatality occurred from well-executed ambush in open terrain when the individual was separated from the rest of their team by no more than five meters. No general recall is announced at this time, but all Away Teams are instructed to tighten their perimeters and exercise extreme caution. If surrounded, or under attack, then beam out at the first opportunity. Krieghoff out.=/\=

All three officers looked at each other, there had been no evidence of any animals of predatory nature here in the core...

Tapping his badge and giving the order to be beamed up, Daniel's form slowly disappeared in a flash of blue.

Adrian nodded to Aina, "I'd think it best that we stay in sight of each other."

Aina nodded, as the two officers returned to the studying of the computer logs.

"CLICK"

Starring

Crewman Allison von Ernst

Crewman 'Mary Poppins' the Horta









=== In other news today... the Federation Council...===

click

=== Welcome back to Big Brother XXXXIV ======

click

===Stay tuned for scenes from next weeks program.... =====

click

=== Today on Oprah...I'm carrying a Hydran Love child. ====

click


After the umpteenth 'click' Allison rolled her glitter speckled eyes and glared. "Mary, drop to sublight with the channel surfing girlfriend. Stop to see whats on before switching to something new."

"Sorry luv, but as you told me last night when you wanted to watch 'Real World: Breen'....she who holds the clicker, controls the world."

After a hard days work, the two roomates were curled up on their respective sides of their tiny shared cabin ready for a lazy evening watching the boob tube.

Mary the Horta was atop her polished granite perch, clutching the channel changer in a molten pseudopod and sipping on an adult beverage.

Across the way, young Allison von Ernst lazily strummed her purple guitar and wiggled her toes in her pink fuzzy slippers.

"Whatever, girl.....All Im saying is pick something already....go back to that Hydran love child thing. That sounded weird-a-licious."

click

===....and if you put your hand right here you can feel them squirming their tentacles around in my belly....====

click

Rolling her eyes and popping her gum, Alli strummed a different chord. The sound muted and dull without the amplifier...she was just goofing off really anyways.

Pausing she grabbed a handfull of Jiffy-Pop from a bowl balanced on her nightstand and crunched happily.

It took real skill to chew gum and eat popcorn at the same time without making a real mess, but she was an expert.

Mom may be the cats pajamas at blowing starships out of the sky.....but Alli knew her bubble gum.

For herself, Mary clicked the controller again and quietly sipped on her after-dinner drink; a beaker of chilled mercury with little tungsten sprinkles on top.

Just the thing after a hard day at the office.

click

=== Here we see the ravenous Bugblatter beast in its natural jungle environment. We see it stalking its favortite prey in the form of young Ensign Redshirt. The ensign stiffens and sniffs the air sensing danger. The Redshirts defensive adaptations are many however hs colorful plumage does not camoflage him in the arboreal background. The predator considers his prey, and With a swift lunge, the beast leaps through the air....====

click

====Yowza yowza yowza!! come on down to Crazy Streely's Military surplus emporium. Thats right we have Tricorders...phaser pistols, photon tubes...and lots of those little circuit thinga-ma-jigs that seem to go in everything! That's Crazy Streely's for the highest quality starfleet surplus. Stuff so good you'll wonder where he got it all....====

click

Crunch crunch....Alli munched quietly and narrowed her eyes. "That guy looks familiar somehow.....hmmmmmmm."

"All in your imagination luv." Mary waved a pseudopod dismissivly. "Too much conspiracy theory nonsesnse in your genes."

click

==== He's dead Jim...====

"Blah....reruns."

"No wait thats a good one...."

click

==== ....Leave you as you left her....buried alive at the center of a dead moon...buried alive!....KHAN! KHAN!!! KHAN!!!! =====

"What channel is this anyways? Sci Fi?"

"No dearie...this is the history Channel....shame on you for not knowing your founding fathers."

Alli struck a discordant note on her guitar with a sharp TWANG!!
" Dont mention fathers....fore or otherwise girlfriend. Kinda tender subject for me got it?"

click

====....new from the fashion capital of the Federation. Paris, France come a bold new statement in women's clothing. Its the Bare essentials Collection from designer Jean-Claude Fabrique'. Why the Term 'Bare Essentials sir?
-Beeecause you silly twit....you weeel see that I have striped my models down to their bare essentials...no longer do we deal with the limitations of cloth...we eeeliminate it and voila'.....A Fashion Masterpiece! =====

"Their naked!" Alli snorted. "That aint fashion!"

"Naked?" The rock-alien leaned forward to study the tube. "Sorry luv, I never can tell with you humans....naked...clothes.....so confusing."


click

==== Thats Right General Karg!!! You really didnt get promoted to the Klingon High Command....you just got PUNK'D on Galactic TV........RAAAAAAARG!!!!!!!! Ouch stop...dont kill me....CRASH!!!!======

"Ouch...that totally had to hurt." Alli winced.

"Yes indeedy." Mary Agreed. "Like the old klingon Proverb says....Fool me once...Shame on you.....fool me twice....prepare for Doom!!"

click

===== next....on a very special Blossum....=====

click

==== .....I'll take wacky starship crews for $1000 Alex...====

click

==== .....Order now for you very own HORATAS GONE WILD SPring BREAK video!!! ....=====

On Screen the images of jiggling rocks prancing around with certain pseudo pods blurred.

"Holy Zark! Mary." Allison sputtered, leaping from her bed. "Thats....thats....YOU!!!!"

The Horta merely shrugged, "We're all young once dearie. I was a naive little rock working my way through school....it was easy money."

Allison knelt before the TV in open mouthed shock. One part of her brain was struggling to connect the blurred out portions with the fact that the Horta went around naked anyways. She asked Mary about this.

"You worry about your dangly bits dearie...let me worry about mine."

"Hel-lo! First of all rock-head, My bits arent dangly....I prefer the term perky."

"Dangly...perky...whatever luv." Mary flipped through a few more channels. "Alien anatomy isnt my strong suite."


click

====.....My social life is more active now that I have my adult undergarment.....====

"Ewwww...." Allison retreated back to her bed. "Thats the sort of thing you just dont need to advertise."

"How so?"

"Trust me Mary....if you need a diaper....you'll go out and find one somehow.....you dont need TV to encourage you."

"I never thought of it that way dearie...true true."

click

=== Mork from Ork...Nanoo Nanoo.... ====

"Oh I met him once." Alli observed.

"Who....The actor?"

"No silly...Mork from Ork....Uncle Lysander took me once. Zarky place Ork.....A bit touristy though."

"Ork...got it."

click

===== Next on History Channel....The Manchurian Cantidate...The 2008 Presidential election and how the winner destroyed the world....Right after these messages from Masengil.......Do you ever have that not so fresh feeling? =====


click

"Ah yeah...we studied that guy in school last year....can you beleive the idiots back then?"

"Ancient history luv....those were the Dark Ages you realize."

"Still....hel-lo the warning signs were everywhere right?"

"Hush dear and eat your popcorn."


click

"Galaxy Bound"
Ensign Hok
Conn Officer

On board the USS Zeus, on his way to his assignment on the
USS Galaxy, Hok had a lot of time to think about how his
life had turned out. He had been perfectly content in his
Ferengi lifestyle. He has involved in his father's
business, and was also learning how to make his own way.
Things couldn't have been better, that is, until his father
was killed.

Sighing deeply, he remembered his last day on Ferenginar....

Hok was staring at the digital clock on the wall. The white
numbers were oddly-shaped, perhaps in some ultra-modern
style, instead of the traditional manner in which Ferengi
numbers were written. Many traditions had changed over the
last ten years or so, ever since the reformations that were
started by Grand Nagus Zek, and continued by his successor,
Grand Nagus Rom.

Hok was almost fully of age, when Zek created the reforms
that changed Ferengi society, reforms that were not
well-received. He wasn't sure what to make of them; his
father had railed against them in public, but how could
anything that would increase the profits made by Ferengi,
all Ferengi, be a bad thing? The reforms would even give
his moogie a chance to earn profit.

Moogie...

Hok sighed and looked at his moogie's face. Her eyes were
closed, and her color was almost white. It scared him to
see her like that, but he felt ashamed to look away. How
could he not look at his wonderful moogie, when she was in a
coma, likely because of his father, his brother, and now, him?

Hok gently ran his fingers across the back of one of her hands.

"I wanted to tell you, Moogie, that I'll be leaving
Ferenginar for a while, maybe for a long time," said Hok
somberly. He felt guilty saying it, though he knew his
business license being revoked, was his father's doing and
not his.

"I'm going to try to get a fresh start so I can care for you
better. Until then, Glosh will be looking after you. You
remember Glosh, don't you?"

Glosh had wanted to enter into a marriage contract with
Hok's mother, but Hok's father made a better offer to his
moogie's father, so he was awarded the contract instead.

Hok grew silent, not knowing what else to say. Lovingly
kissing his moogie's hand, he patted it softly and got up.
Looking at her face one last time, Hok left her room.

***Earth, Months Later***

Hok sat in the chair, rocking nervously. He stared at the
light blue walls covered with citations and awards. He
admired the achievements, but they intimidated him. Why
would such a man approve a Ferengi that had his business
license revoked?

Hok turned his attention back to the Starfleet Admissions
Officer, Commander Lee Travis, as he finished reading Hok's
file. The man was a Hew-mon, tall and well-built, with
dark, curly hair, that had tinges of gray on the sides. His
brown eyes were serious and showed that he was a confident
and efficient man. Hok knew he was doomed.

Turning off the computer console on his desk, Travis looked
directly at Hok, just by moving his eyes, and without moving
his head.

Hok swallowed.

"Well, Mr. Hok, your file isn't something I normally see.
Your background check took a long time. It seems some of
your relatives were suspected of associating with
undesirable people."

Hok didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. What
could he say?

Travis studied Hok for a moment before continuing.

"Your test scores are high enough for you to be accepted."

Hok felt hope inside, but he held his grim expression.

"But there are just some things in your background, that
cause me to be concerned."

Hok's shoulders slumped.

Travis drummed his fingers on his desk. Leaning back in his
chair, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Are you willing to work hard and accept the ideals and
beliefs of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets?"

"Yes, sir. I am," said Hok.

"Because your citizenship papers have arrived. You've been
accepted as a citizen of the Federation."

Hok began to feel hope.

"All right, Mr. Hok, you're in. It's against my better
judgment, but you're in. Don't make me look like a fool."

Hok smiled.

***4 1/2 Years Later***

The Zeus was less than ten minutes away from the Galaxy.
Once he transfered over, the next phase in Hok's journey
would begin. He had left Ferenginar because of things done
by bad people, things beyond his control. He had no
resources to gain profit, and his life was in danger because
the Orion Syndicate wanted something his father had.
Joining Starfleet, something he did out of desperation,
seemed the only option he had. Until the war, it had turned
out to be just that. Now, who knew what was in store?

The Great Material Continuum could certainly be
unpredictable, to say the least!

"The Quickening"

Bringing Back the one and only:

Dr. Jebediah Quick

Where the heck is Tomball, Texas?"

"Sorry?"

"Tomball...never heard of it."

"Oh that.....uh...little town on the Northside of Houston. Rustic...big trees. You'll like it."

Lt Dan Mathers scowled at his control panel and tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. As a member of the Diplomatic Courier team, Mathers was used to the occasional unannounced assignment which is why he kept his shuttle on a 15 minute hot pad at all times.

Still...to be handed a Top Secret PADD halfway through the Chow line on Surf and Turf night was a little above and beyond the call of duty.

"Been looking forward to this all week." he grumbled to himself, carefully guiding the shuttle through the crowded atmospheric traffic. "They had fresh tartar sauce

and everything."

At his side, Lt Commander Javanshir smiled. "Better not let the Admiral hear you talking like that...people from him planet got a racial aversion to any sort of fish platter."

Mathers frowned. He didn't care if Admiral Hooosk looked like a 6 foot walking Halibut. He could go and take a flying leap back into the watery ocean that spawned his scaly ass...Mathers wanted his Tartar sauce.

"Coming up on Houston traffic control." Javanshir noted, subtle altering his course and activating the transponder beacon.

Suborbital flights were always a little bit crowded, especially with rush hour traffic, but their Starfleet registration gave them a little leeway on airspace restrictions.

"So who is this guy anyways," Mathers asked again, "…and why does he deserve a 'stretch' at this hour?"

The 'Stretch' referred to the plush limousine type diplomatic shuttle the pair was flying. Faux leather seats, ice chest, and tri-D reception right in the back.

'This hour' of course referred to the aforementioned Surf and Turf night that the hungry lieutenant just would not let go of.

Javanshir...a vegetarian to whom the menu made no difference anyways...read off the small PADD. "Says here a Doctor Jebediah Quick...Specialist in Biomechanical

reproduction, Starship propulsive Psychology and Interior Design. needed for some sort of special Top Secret Project."

" Interior Design? Propulsive Psychology?" Mathers frown deepened. "What does he psychoanalyze the warp Core or something?"

An answer would have to wait as Traffic control crackled to life, and vectored the 'stretch' into a gentle landing in the midst of a North Houston neighborhood.

Outside of the City megaplex itself, the large 3 acre lots were beautiful homesteads surrounded by tall trees, lush fields and barking dogs.

"Quaint." Javanshir observed, squinting his eyes against the late afternoon sun as the hatch hissed open. "Nice neighborhood it looks like."

"Hot." Mathers countered tugging at his collar, "Damn hot...how do people live in this humidity?"

The arrival of a shiny Starfleet shuttle in the middle of the road had attracted the attention of the local neighborhood children.

Huddling around on bicycles and makeshift skateboards they poked each other in the ribs gushing at 'how cool' this was, and how 'all the kids at school wont believe

this.'

"Hey mister....what kind of shuttle izzat?" called one skinned-knee kid licking an ice cream cone.

"This Shuttle...uh....its a Type 14 Diplomatic kid." Mathers answered. "This is Green Arbor Street right?"

"Yah....how fast does it go?" the kid continued with a sloppy lick.

"Very Fast....." Mathers stomach was rumbling again looking at the ice cream. "Say...you kids know where we could find a Doctor Quick? he's supposed to live on this street."

"That aint a fast shuttle." another kid put in with a scoff. "Thats one of 'dem fancy diplomatic shuttles...its for girls."

The two officers winced a bit....the elimination of sexism aside, it was a kinda 'girlie' shuttle.

"Yeah...ha ha...very funny...now about Dr. Quick?"

"He dont wanna see you." said yet a third child. A little 5 year old sprite in a dirty sun dress, and clutching a headless Barbie.

"He dont...er he doesnt?" Javanshir asked. "Why's that princess."

"Not a princess!" the girl retorted. "Im a vet-n-arian!"

"A vetenearian?" the Lieutenant Commander smiled. Funny how little girls either wanted to be fairy princess's or Vets. "Well how about you just point out the house where the Doctor lives?"

As a group the neighborhood children pointed off to a rather run down looking abode with a messy lawn badly in need of a mowing.

Various bits and pieces of old vehicles dotted the landscape ranging from old motorcycles, to what appeared to be a disassembled Romulan shuttlecraft up on blocks.

"What's that....an old Delorean?" Mathers pointed out a wreck half hidden under a tarp as they walked up the walkway.

"Yeah....looks like he modified it to run on fusion power...."

A quick ring of the doorbell, and the two Starfleet officers were surprised to have the door answered by a man with no head.

Literally.

Other than the fact that it had no head, the body was quite ordinary in every other sense. A bit on the skinny side , and quite tall.....that is if you allowed an extra foot or two for the missing noggin.

It was clad in raggedy old shorts, flip-flops, and a tie-dyed t-shirt that apparently had a hole for a neck...if one had been present.

"Yes?" inquired the headless body. "Are you boys selling Starfleet cookies already this year? Very well I'll take some thin mints and a couple boxes of Peanut Clusters."

Being a highy trained officer who was trained to'boldly-go' Lt Mathers recovered first. "Dr. Quick?" he inquired, "Dr. Jebediah Quick?"

"Yo." came the reply, and the headless body quickly shook hands with all present. An eerie experience.

"What can I do you for dudes?"

"Uhhhh....what happened to your head Doc?" the question had to be asked.

"doh!" came the reply, and the body proceeded to slap its forehead....if it had been present. "I totally forgot I had it on."

Reaching up the hands made as if to lift something off, and presently a wild-haired human head appeared exactly where it was supposed to be....the hands now cradling an odd assortment of wires and springs attached to what looked to be a large salad-bowl.

"My invisible Helmet." Explained Dr. Quick. "Totally still working out the kinks and bugs in it.....only manages to hide what its actually sitting on."

"Oh." Mathers was terribly confused.

"I tried sitting in it once.....totally disconcerting dude....couldn't find anything to take a whizz with right?

There was an awkward silence for several moments before Quick added, "Y'all want to come inside and grab a beer?"

"Uh....sure...uh...no sir." Javanshir waffled, "We're here by order of Starfleet Command to recruit you for a Top Secret Project. We're instructed to brief you and convey you to a waiting ship in orbit."

"Suit yourself, let me grab a brew ski first though." Quick retreated back into the house....a cluttered dungeon of books....disassembled computer parts, and little animal cages.

Against one wall was a photo of Jimi Hendrix at WoodStock, and against the other was a chart of the periodic table of elements.

Across the bottom of the chart somebody had scrawled....'you'd think so...but you'd be wrong.'

Retrieving a Schlitz Beer from a filthy refrigerator, Quick cracked it open and considered the pair with a odd gaze.

"So...top secret project and all that....righteous. Starfleet finally got my memo about the hamsters and baby oil thing right?"

"Uh....no sir...its about something else."

"Oh?" Quick looked crestfallen, "Uh...better forget what I just told you then. What's this all about then?"

Javanshir produced a PADD. "Hydran bioweapons project....cloning of humans and impregnating them with gene-spliced fetuses."

Quick was scanning the details, making gagging faces, "Oh dude....that just aint right. We get a paternity test on this chick?"

"A what?"

"Paternity test dude....shows who the father is."

"The father was a test tube Doctor. She was rescued from a Hydran Bioweapons lab."

Quick shook his head. "Ah yes....the old test tube baby to take over the Federation trick."

He seemed lost in thought for several moments.

Taking another deep swig of his Schlitz, Quick nodded. "Very well....I'll take the case. However what I'm gonna need from you guys is a case of Microwave burritos and two dozen copies of The OMEN and

Rosemary's Baby on video cassette."

The two officers looked at each other. "Huh? Rosemary's Baby?"

"Think man." Quick tapped his wild haired noggin. "Its classic infiltration tactics.....true one is merely a tripedal life form from planet Hydrax , and the other is the living spawn of the Prince of Darkness, but the methodology is the same."

"Sure Doc....whatever you say....can we go now?"

"Totally...just let me grab my invisible helmet and throw a bunny rabbit into the snake pit, and I'm good to go."

He flailed around a bit searching for his helmet which seemed to have actualy turned invisible on him. "Aw dang-it…forget it…Lets go meet this Branwen London and her satanic brood."

"Ummmm she's only pregnant with Hydrans Doc....not the Antichrist." Mathers corrected.

Again Quick looked hurt, "Oh...really. I rather liked the other way round. Mind if I take a crucifix along just in case? "

"The Truth is..."

Lt. JG T'Pei
Lt. T'Pol Hunter

"If there were a reason, a Vulcan is quite capable of killing-logically and efficiently." –Spock, Journey to Babel

1907 hours

It wasn't surprising, really. Breathe in, breathe out. Six. Lieutenant Hunter had been late for the first four sessions, and it seemed she would be even later this time. Breathe in... Logically speaking, of course, T'Pei was indifferent to her lateness...breathe out. Seven. She could continue her private meditation until the Lieutenant arrived, and have the session then. Breathe in... Moreover, T'Pei was forced to conclude that the more she was able to meditate before having to deal with the woman, the less likely she was to say or do something...unfortunate...such as stunning her and packing her away in a box on a shuttle bound for Vulcan...breathe out. Seven. Wait, eight? She started over at one.

It was now 1912. And meditation, for the first time, was not focusing her thoughts. It was not helping at all, in fact. As the minutes ticked by, the imaginary shuttle's destination had been upgraded to Hydran territory.
T'Pei stood with resolve when the door chime finally sounded. The Lieutenant's laxness could not continue. The treatment, and perhaps T'Pei's sanity, would have no chance if her student did not begin to take it seriously.

The doors slid open.

Clearly, she was not taking this seriously.

If you kept your eyes below her waist, the half-Vulcan looked like she had taken T'Pei's words about 'appropriate' apparel to heart, wearing practical black shoes and pants that were easy to meditate in. All of your illusions were shattered the moment your eyes strayed up, however, when they were assaulted by a pink glitter tee shirt—clearly homemade—which proclaimed "Kiss the Vulcan Reject" in large letters over an equally large bosom that was straining the extra small shirt beyond any reasonable capacity.

If she was endeavoring to communicate her distaste with the entire situation, she had succeeded. It didn't take Vulcan hearing to pick up on that message, loud and clear.
T'Pei decided to ignore the shirt. With this woman, one issue at a time was...more than enough.

"Lieutenant Hunter," T'Pei began, with typical Vulcan calm. "It is eighteen minutes past the hour. In the future, please do not be so late for our sessions."

Needless to say, the Lieutenant's response lacked any semblance of Vulcan calm. "I'm sorry. I never meant for any real work to get in the way of these little playdates, T'Pei."

T'Pei hardly thought she deserved that level of ire. She knew the Lieutenant's duty schedule, and her shift had ended just over three hours ago. Not breaking eye contact, T'Pei clasped her hands behind her back.

"I hardly view these sessions as 'play' Lieutenant, and I suggest that you do not either. Now, let us begin—"

"Oka-ay!" the Lieutenant barked. "But it is ridiculously hot in this room. Like, I woke up in Hell hot." She wiped her forehead dramatically and thrust her hand towards T'Pei, presumably to display sweat, although the Vulcan certainly did not see any.

T'Pei paused to consider the puzzling complaint. Physiologically speaking, the Lieutenant, as a half-Vulcan, shared many of the genetic traits which should have made the current temperature of the room tolerable, if not even preferable to those on the rest of the ship. Having lived among humans for her entire life however, it appeared she had become acclimated to the lower temperatures they preferred. With a raise of her eyebrow, T'Pei filed the thought away for future consideration, musing that it would be...impolitic to turn this example, however appropriate, into a lesson on how the mind can exert influence over the body.

"I apologize, Lieutenant," she said quite reasonably. "The temperature controls are set to match the ambient temperature on Vulcan; which, along with a higher gravity, can be beneficial for meditation. I had taken only your physiology, and not your upbringing, into account." T'Pei started across her quarters to the environmental controls. "I will lower the temperature to—"

The other woman had clearly stopped listening the moment T'Pei opened her mouth. "—Whatever. I can't work like this." Hearing rustling, T'Pei turned back to find that the scenery had grossly changed. Now, her field of vision was dominated by a pair of breasts, trying to escape from a sports bra that clearly favored form over function. The Vulcan tried to decide if she should still turn the temperature down, if only to stop this woman from taking off any more clothing.
Were those...polka dots?

The Lieutenant was speaking. T'Pei wrenched herself back into focus.

"Your...rack?" The question slipped out just before T'Pei registered the other woman's smugly significant look down at her chest. Oh. "I was not—" T'Pei stopped herself. 'Debating this would be inefficient and illogical. Which is precisely Lieutenant Hunter's goal.'

"Let us move on. Since we last met, how has your progress been in isolating your thoughts during meditation? Have you been able to ascertain what it is that you focus on?"

Thwarted in her attempt to elicit a suitable reaction, the other woman rolled her eyes dramatically and switched tactics. "Boys," she chirped, ticking her fingers off one by one. With each item, she tilted her head in one direction and thrust her hip in the other, turning the list into a somewhat spastic dance maneuver. The overall effect reminded T'Pei of the flighty blonde crewman in the armory. "Chocolate. Boys. Science. Boys . . .hot chicks. Eptgac. And, yeah, boys. Would you like details?"

Before these sessions had irrevocably altered her world view, T'Pei would have thought 'Most unusual', and pondered if these were the subjects that concerned most humans. No doubt, though, the list bore no resemblance to the Lieutenant's actual thoughts. It was intriguing that this woman had once been Chief of Sciences. She concluded with a particular tawdry thought, shooting T'Pei a lascivious smirk and waggling her eyebrows. 'No,' T'Pei mentally amended. 'What is intriguing is that this woman was allowed into Starfleet at all.'
'Although...' Flashing back to the thoughts her mind had been distracted by in her own meditation, she privately conceded that it might be prudent not to judge.

"I believe we should begin a new meditation today. Previously, we have focused on identifying those things which distract your thoughts throughout the day. I believe we have...successfully identified a wide range of topics which fit this description."

That was certainly a diplomatic way of putting it. T'Pei bent and lit the single candle sitting in between two meditation mats. "Sit in a comfortable position. This meditation trains you to both become in tune with yourself physically, but also to move past distractions, focusing on your thoughts in an orderly manner. You do not need to actively redirect your natural flow of thoughts off of...boys and chocolate. Instead, focus your mind upon your katra. By stepping outside of conscious thought, you will develop the ability to identify those deeper thoughts which underlie consciousness."

Apparently anything above monosyllabic was beyond her student's attention span. Lieutenant Hunter's eyes had actually glazed over, focused somewhere in the vicinity of T'Pei's left knee.

"Lieutenant Hunter," T'Pei said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. There—actual eye contact. Sacrificing explanation for brevity, she seized the opportunity to get her student to actually listen. "Breath in and out at your normal pace. One breath in and out constitutes one cycle. Continue until you reach ten breathing cycles."

"Great!" The falsely perky armory crewman was back again. "I get to learn how to count. Do I get to use my fingers?"

"If you lose your place," T'Pei continued austerely, "start over at one. Once you have finished ten breathing cycles, start over."

The Lieutenant grunted, but plopped down into a cross-legged slouch on one of the mats. T'Pei knelt on the other mat, as the Lieutenant gave an exaggerated sigh, expelling the air from her lungs, in preparation for the exercise. It was only when she let out another sigh, even more plaintive than the first, that T'Pei realized this was the Lieutenant's attempt at the meditation. If, that is, a grand total of two 'sighing cycles' could be called an attempt. "All right. I'm focusing on my consciousness, and all my consciousness is saying is that it's hot and I'm bored."

"Lieutenant."

"Yes?"

"Be quiet and count."

This time, what the Lieutenant did actually resembled normal breathing. And her patience lasted all the way to five repetitions before she muttered "This is ridiculous. What is this really supposed to accomplish?"

T'Pei took a moment and conducted her own brief breathing exercise. How was it possible to teach someone who was incapable of listening, and when she did listen, deliberately ignored what you said?

The Lieutenant was getting warmed up into a full-fledged rant. "Maybe I shouldn't be here at all, if this is your idea of making progress. I could get the same amount of insightful knowledge working in the little kid's classroom."

Being around this woman was like being stuck in the ice cream parlor of attitude problems—so many flavors to choose from, you could have a new one every day and the only progress you would ever make would be getting brain freeze.

T'Pei could feel a seed of anger threatening to take root in her throat and strangle her. Which was a completely illogical reaction; T'Less had taught her more control than this, surely? It was just...fifteen years among humans had not rattled her to the extent that five hours with this woman had. And the smirk on her face told T'Pei that she knew it.

"I mean, come on. I know this isn't exactly a plum assignment for you, right, having to train that wacky human in the ways of the Vulcan Master, so, let me guess? You decided to come up with the most bullshit meditations possible, not to teach me but just to drive me even more crazy? Maybe I'll go so batshit nuts that I'll land up in a coma again and I'll be out of your hair for good. How's that sound, T'Pei--does that sound good to you?"

Enough was enough. T'Pei's eyes flashed with barely controlled anger. In just two minutes, the Lieutenant had made a mockery of her efforts to help her, and the customs and history of her people—their people—the very customs that had pulled the Vulcans back from the brink of self-annihilation. Was she really so desperate and stubborn that she would let herself mentally implode just to prove a point?

'She might be.' T'Pei closed her eyes, the anger suddenly gone. If she truly wanted to martyr herself to her emotions, then nothing, not T'Pei, not the captain, not all of Vulcan, could stand in her way.

Fine. T'Pei would step aside, after she tried one last time to make the other woman stop and think. Lieutenant Hunter could mock Vulcan training until the end of the Triad war, but the fact remained that nobody, nobody in the universe had enough attitude to outstare a well-trained Vulcan.
And T'Pei was well-trained, indeed.

So she stared. It took exactly seven sentences before her student noticed that she hadn't responded at all. Something was afoot.

"The silent treatment, huh?" she said. "Gee, we really are reliving grade school." T'Pei stayed silent, watching as rising anger spread a splotchy red blush across the half-Vulcan's face. This was a risk, and she recognized that there was a good chance that the other woman might get up and leave permanently. Or maybe spit in her face. She kept staring. She could do nothing for someone so bound and determined to resist half of herself. If the Lieutenant decided to try, then they could keep working. If not...she would inform the captain that the lessons had no logical potential for success.
Now the Lieutenant was glaring back at her, calling her bluff. Unlike before, though this anger was only bravado. T'Pei could tell that she was confused and...unsettled? Good. T'Pei kept staring, entirely nonplussed now that she had made her decision. However this ended, it was going to end. Now.

The woman across from her fidgeted slightly, but did not back down. She wore a petulant mask, but her face flickered with the barest hints of other emotions. T'Pei wondered what she was thinking about. Presumably not boys.

The entire battle of wills took 42.8 seconds. Then even the mask fell off and the flickers of emotions became clear.

She looked like she was going to cry.

"Fine," the other woman yelled suddenly, shooting to her feet. "I lose, all right? You win; you're the top dog around here. I just--I'm not going to waste anymore of your time, okay? I'm not going to waste either of our time!"

She was pacing, waving the tee-shirt like a sad, glittery flag, until she dropped even that and it fell to the floor next to T'Pei. The disdain, the anger, and the smugness—gone. Which left a crumpled, broken, scared woman.

T'Pei realized she was meeting T'Pol Hunter for the first time.

"You clearly can't help me—clearly, you don't want to help me—and I can't take anymore of your bullshit. I've got enough on my plate as is. So, why don't you meditate on your numbers—maybe, if you're really advanced, you'll make all the way to twelve!—and leave me the hell alone. I do not need this crap."

With that, she rushed towards the door, snatching her shirt as she passed. T'Pei heard the whisper of the door closing, and it felt like thunder.

Except it couldn't be. The hurricane had just fled.

'Is that not what you wanted?' a little voice asked her. T'Less' voice. 'An end, no matter the result?'

T'Pei shook her head. "It was her choice, Osavensu. I cannot help her now."

'You were so eager to let her go, T'Pei-kam.'

T'Pei stared into the candle. Another contest she would win—it would melt, and then it would just be her, sitting in the dark, talking to a woman who had been dead for eight years.

She breathed in, and then out, letting her shoulders slump. One.

" . . . Out There"

(occurs at the same time as "The Truth Is . . ." and takes place before "Skips and Sparkles, Part I")


Lt. 8-ball Hunter
Lt. JG T'Pei

1907 hours


8-ball's day had, quite simply, sucked. It had sucked in just massive fucking proportions. Nevermind the fact that her alarm clock failed. Nevermind the fact that her sonic shower busted. Nevermind the fact that she made a miscalculation at work right in front of that gorgeous boy from Astrometrics . . . 8-ball's uniform, the one that had fit perfectly last week, was now at least twice as snug around the hips.

The only cure for such emotional trauma was, of course, a warm, gooey brownie.

Unfortunately, eating said deserved brownie and changing into some clothes that were a little more . . . imaginative . . . had put 8-ball the teeniest bit behind in her appointment with T'Pei the Vulcan Fascist. It was too much to hope that the woman had spontaneously exploded, or at least had the good grace the cancel their meditation/torture session. All 8-ball could pray for was the slim possibility that the Vulcan Master of Doom was in a slightly more charitable mood than normal.

Such was not the case.

T'Pei's quarters had been transformed into a vague approximation of Hell. The air was less like oxygen than it was a thick, woolen blanket that had been shoved over her face to smother her . . . and then set on fire for good measure. T'Pei herself stood at the head of the room, dressed in dreary black clothing that did nothing to enhance her figure. She looked to be a cross between some boring ordained minister and no smaller evil than the Father of Lies himself.

She most certainly did not appear to be feeling particularly charitable, at the moment.

Sure enough, the first words out of T'Pei's mouth were, "Lieutenant Hunter, in the future, please do not be so late for our sessions." Like she'd been standing there for hours or something when 8-ball was, what, a minute late? Jesus, what was this, high school? Like she was running late just to piss off T'Pei.

"I'm sorry," 8-ball said, gamely attempting to keep the edge out of her voice. "I never meant for any real work to get in the way of these playdates, T'Pei." She stepped further into the room, although every survival instinct told her to back out. She hoped that, at least, the sheer inventiveness of her outfit was not going to waste.

All in all, the clothing she' d picked had been relatively practical: the pants were black and stretchy, the shoes standard and workable. The shirt, however, while comfy was designed with another purpose in mind. It was bright pink and glittered the optimistic message of "Kiss the Vulcan Reject."

8-ball had created it last night. She was pretty proud of it, all things considering. Especially taking the expression on T'Pei's face into account, which was almost an actual . . . expression.

Heh.

8-ball wished that she could bask in the awesomeness of her fashion prowess, but the heat was sucking the life out of her very soul. "Okay," 8-ball said mildly. "It is ridiculously hot in this room. Like, I woke up in Hell hot." How were they supposed to get anything done if they were dying from heat stroke?

Another legitimate question that T'Pei did little more than sneer at. 8-ball had to hand it to the Vulcan, though. She certainly did have that bitchface down. "The temperature controls," T'Pei explained, with one eyebrow raised in the epitome of condescencion, "are set to match the ambient temperature on blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."

8-ball tried, she really did . . . a Herculean effort, some might say, but good Christ, how could anyone pay attention to such meaningless droning? There were Borg who would prove better orators than the "instructor" standing before her now. It was the best she could do to get every other word in, and even that was a struggle.

" . . . much higher gravity . . . blah . . . higher level of heat . . . blah blah . . . beneficial for meditation . . . blah blah blah blah. Blah blah, blah blah."

In the time that it took T'Pei to finish her entire speech about the temperature, whole universes were born and then dismantled. God was probably pining for the good ole days.

"Okay," 8-ball said, once she ascertained that one could not literally die of boredom. "Whatever. Look, I can't work like this."

Which was such a shame too--she'd spent, like, minutes coming up with this perfect ensemble, only to ruin it now by stripping away the primary piece. But there was really no way around it--8-ball was here to work on some serious thought, and there would be absolutely no thinking happening if 8-ball was sweating her brains out through her ears. It was the only logical solution she could come up with, and Vulcans were all about the logic, yeah?

So 8-ball took off her shirt.

After a moment of pure prudish shock, T'Pei's bitchface seemed to magnify by, like, a hundred. Contempt and disapproval were clearly written all over her bland little features, which, Jesus. Even when 8-ball was being logical, she couldn't do anything right by this woman.

"What?" she asked, bravely keeping the exasperation out of her voice. "I can't melt and meditate at the same time, okay? This way we'll both be able to concentrate."

Or would've, if T'Pei seemed capable of lifting her eyes from 8-ball's tits. Either the woman was mesmerized by the sheer size of them, or she was fascinated/horrified by the sports bra decorated with little black 8-ball's. "Assuming," 8-ball added mildly, "that you can stop checking out my rack, that is."

T'Pei, of course, pretended not to understand what a "rack" was, and then by the time she supposedly "understood," she immediately got indignant. "I was not," she started to say before cutting herself off and switching to another subject entirely. 8-ball smirked briefly. She was so getting under the Vulcan Death Queen's skin.

Awesome.

"Since we last met," T'Pei said, vainly attempting to get back to the matter at hand. "How has you progress been in isolating your thoughts during meditation? Have you been able to ascertain what it is that you focus on?"

8-ball had given the matter some due consideration. "Boys," she said honestly, holding out a hand and ticking off her fingers one by one. "Chocolate. Boys. Science. Boys . . .hot chicks. Eptgac. And, yeah, boys." It didn't exactly paint her as the deepest and most contemplative member of the Galaxy (that honor probably went to Mr. Broody McBrooderson himself, Victor Krieghoff) but it was a sincere assesssment of her thoughts, so she didn't know why T'Pei had to get all pissy about it.

Other than the fact that she was the Devil, of course.

8-ball offered details--partially out of sincerity (who knew--maybe the Vulcan master had to know every sexual fantasy in order to properly "heal" her) but mostly because she was irritated and tired of the way this woman was looking at her.

T'Pei declined the offer and made no further comment on 8-ball's thought processes, although scorn practically dripped from her pointed little eyebrows. "I believe," she said, "we should begin a new meditation today. Previously, we have focused on identifying those things which distract your thoughts throughout the day. I believe we have . . . successfully identified a wide range of topics which fit this description."

Ah. There was the scorn, then. What a snotty little bitch. Just because she wasn't a friggin monk . . .

T'Pei lit a candle and told 8-ball that they would begin their little therapy here, sitting across from one another on the meditation mats. Just once, 8-ball would like to see a meditation mat that had, like, kittens on it or something. Maybe skulls. Skulls would be particularly appropriate, given the givens.

"This meditation trains you to become both in tune with yourself physically---"

Yup. There came the blah-ing again. 8-ball yawned and struggled to once again pay attention to T'Pei's droning. Good God, couldn't the woman just talk like a normal person for once?

"You do not need to actively redirect your natural flow of thoughts off of . . . boys and chocolate. Instead, focus your mind upon your katra blah blah blah blah blah blah blah . . ."

8-ball had never been able to fall asleep with her eyes open before, but she was considering giving it another serious go. T'Pei was saying something about identifying deeper, more subconscious thought, and all 8-ball could think was, ~Good Christ. Isn't it time to leave yet?~

"Lieutenant Hunter," T'Pei barked. 8-ball jumped a little and looked back up. Okay, okay. She'd been zoning, yeah, but there was no need to scream at her, was there? She attempted to refocus.

"Breathe in and out at your normal pace. One breath in and out constitutes one cycle. Continue until you reach ten breathing cycles."
Really? Really? THAT was the grand master plan--count your way back to sanity, 8-ball. Reach 10 and you'll be as good as new!

8-ball rolled her eyes, a little disgusted with the whole situation. Here she'd been, struggling this whole time, attempting to put up with the indignity of behaving like a Vulcan despite her strong upbringing against such behaviors . . . here she'd been, going against all her convictions and listening to this demon woman from the underworld, and this was her answer? First grade math?

8-ball's sarcasm, therefore, was completely within bounds. "Great!" she said, a huge, fake grin stretching her face apart. "I get to learn how to count. Do I get to use my fingers?"

"If you lose your place," T'Pei said, completely ignoring this, "start over at one. Once you have finished ten breathing cycles, start over."

Ugh. This was ludicrous. 8-ball sat down on one of the depressingly bland meditation mats and took a deep breath that, admittedly, held just a touch of a desperate sigh within it. She took another and then shook her head. What was the point of any of this? All she was doing was wasting her time. "All right," she said. "I'm focusing on my consciousness, and all my consciousness is saying is that it's hot, and I'm bored."

Sure enough, bitchface struck again! "Lieutenant?" T'Pei said coldly.

"Yes?"

"Shut up and count."

That seemed a little rude, for a Vulcan, but 8-ball ignored it and attempted to focus on her breathing again. The sooner she finished this, the sooner she could go home, eat the world's biggest ice cream sundae, and vent to her teddy bear. Her determination lasted at least seven breaths, but . . ."This is ridiculous," she said. "What is this really supposed to accomplish?" Like deep breathing was really going to give her some deep insight into why she went all schizoid.

T'Pei apparantly had to do some of her own deep breathing. Normally, this would amuse 8-ball greatly (maybe it still did, just a little) but she wasn't asking to piss off the older woman. She was too tired and frustrated to really put forth that kind of effort. All she wanted was to go home.

T'Pei said nothing, which pissed 8-ball off a little. She was sick of this woman's condescending attitude, sick of her meditations and her anal retentive nature, sick of her sticky-hot, disgusting quarters, sick of her godamned stupid little raised eyebrow . . . 8-ball was tired of all of it, and she refused to hold back any longer. "Maybe I shouldn't be here at all, if this is your idea of making progress. I could get the same amount of insightful knowledge working in the little kid's classroom."

That brought up memories 8-ball would rather not dwell on, and the fact that her mind had gone there at all just pissed 8-ball off more. "I mean, come on. I know this isn't exactly a plum assignment for you, right, having to train that wacky human in the ways of the Vulcan Master, so, let me guess? You decided to come up with the most bullshit meditations possible, not to teach me but just to drive me even more crazy? Maybe I'll go so batshit nuts that I'll land up in a coma again and I'll be out of your hair for good. How's that sound, T'Pei--does that sound good to you?"

By this time, it was becoming readily apparent that T'Pei wasn't speaking. She was just staring at 8-ball, her eyes emotionless and fixed. Oh, yes. That was so mature. "The silent treatment, huh? Gee, we really are reliving grade school."

T'Pei didn't rise to it. She didn't even blink. She stared straight at 8-ball, an unspoken challenge in her eyes.

A godamn staring contest. ~Fine, you bitch. You're on.~

8-ball glared back at her "teacher," infuriated with the inanity of this entire session. Obviously, this wasn't meant to be--she'd accepted, back on Earth, when she'd woken up from her catatonic state, that she'd have to change her lifestyle a little, that she had to be prepared to do things she didn't wanted to do to, but this, this was too much. She'd do some meditations, maybe even try to find a new teacher who could appreciate her situation better, but T'Pei, T'Pei was a heartless bitch, and 8-ball didn't need to put up with her.

She was determined to win this ridiculous pissing contest, determined to show up this little Vulcan snot, but T'Pei was good at this . . . not a single muscle moved in her face. She was exactly what a Vulcan should be: expressionless, cold, apathetic. It was hard to win a battle of wills against apathy, hard to fight an immovable, uncaring force. 8-ball hated her for that, hated her for her ability to remove herself from the situation. She hated T'Pei for causing the situation, for being so inflexible and intolerant when 8-ball had really been trying here.

She hated Iniara for ordering these stupid sessions and she hated the doctors for not fixing her properly back on Earth and she hated, she hated Azra for dying in the first place, for fucking up her life and then not having the decency to stay dead . . .
Christ.

8-ball stood up so suddenly that she almost kicked the candle over. The Vulcan Death Queen probably thought she did it on purpose. "Fine," she said. "I lose, all right? You win; you're the top dog around here. I just--I'm not going to waste anymore of your time, okay? I'm not going to waste either of our time. You clearly can't help me--clearly, you don't want to help me--and I can't take anymore of your bullshit. I've got enough on my plate as is. So, why don't you meditate on your numbers--maybe, if you're really advanced, you'll make all the way to twelve!--and leave me the hell alone. I do not need this crap."

She grabbed her shirt from the floor and stormed out of the quarters without bothering to put it on or see if T'Pei had any kind of reaction. If she did, it was probably some kind of Vulcan Dance of Supressed Glee, secure in the knowledge that she didn't have to put up with the half-Vulcan nutjob any longer.

8-ball slid into her T-shirt while standing in the turbolift and walked as calmly as she could back to her quarters. It was only once she got there and had Eptgac tightly within her arms that she sank to the bed and started to cry.

~Sunday in the Wood with Ulrich~

PO2 Ulrich Ossuary

Ensign Relsta

Lt. JG Artim Shivar

This was not shaping up to be Petty Officer Second Class Ulrich Ossuary's favorite away mission of all time. Shannon had told him to bring sunscreen, three times as she would no doubt remind them when he got back to the ship. But then she'd given him that wicked little lopsided smirk, and said we don't want to burn that sexy bald head of yours, do we Ully? and well, sunscreen had frankly slipped his mind.

The memory cheered Ulrich up considerably, as did the sight of the river. He hooked his machete onto the belt of his fatigues and headed back into the thick bushes to retrieve the scientists he had been assigned to accompany. The Denobulan ensign, Relsta, stumbled by him first, immediately pulling out her scanner and making a beeline for the river. Artim followed close behind and he was in an equally grumpy mood. Apparently those who were walking ahead of him seemed to neglect the fact that some of the branches they were casually brushing aside were smacking him square in the face. One of the great disadvantages of the rest of the team having two feet on you. A moment after yet another branch that was allowed to fly back sent the diminutive lieutenant flying backward landing in pile of mud he couldn't help but speak up.

"Um, Petty Officer, you know if career advancement is your long term goal it's generally not a good idea to let your mission commander get beaten up by branches! Makes him quite grumpy and gives him the urge to write bad reports." Artim wasn't shouting, but he really didn't need to. The sting was quite present in his voice without raising it.

Ulrich gingerly touched his lobster-red forehead, now complemented with a budding headache between his eyes. 'Glorified babysitting...that's what this is. What's next, changing Short and Grumpy's diaper?' The petty officer immediately regretted the thought as he glanced back at the other member of the away team 'On the bright side, at least I didn't get hit with monkey shit', he ruefully conceded, watching as Relsta apparently concluded the river was safe to enter and plunged in, furiously scrubbing at her sleeves.

Artim had already started scrambling over the broken, slippery-with-moss rocks towards the river. Ulrich hesitated, giving one last look at the thick foliage. He wasn't thrilled with the prospect of spending the hottest part of the day by a river in the middle of an all encompassing blind spot; it didn't take an exobiology degree to know that even on unknown planets, the large toothy jungle critters liked the local watering hole as much as the small cuddly ones. 'Oh well', he mused. 'No use crying over milk that may or may not be spilled sometime in the future.'

The now somewhat cleaner Relsta was gesturing animatedly at a layer of moss that was surely far more exciting than its appearance—which was, as far as Ulrich could tell, decidedly mossish—suggested. Beyond her, he had a clear line of sight downstream for at least 200 meters, and could see the river curve back on itself in a tight zig zag before continuing on south east. Upstream was far less clear. The river curled around a cluster of trees and Ulrich could see nothing beyond roughly 25 meters. That was certainly undesirable.

Machete once again in hand, he sidestepped a cluster of reeds and cleared his throat loudly at his companions, who had moved on to scanning...a pile of rocks in a puddle. Of course—how fascinating. "I'm going to go check out the area upstream just beyond the turn. I'll stay within comm range--don't leave this area, and stay aware of your surroundings!"


Artim ignored him, clearly still miffed, but Relsta looked up, giving him a friendly nod and—whoa. That smile was big. Just how many teeth did Denobulans have? This was definitely confirmation of his 'no aliens' policy. Ulrich liked his ladies feisty, but he had no interest in a morning after with a lady who could—'And might, you never know about these sort of things, Ulrich old boy'-- bite his head off.


Feeling like he'd dodged a bullet, Ulrich scuttled backwards away from the two scientists with as much dignity as possible. At least he now felt sure that they could handle themselves. Any animals that bothered them would either be eaten or glared at to death.


It was only a couple of minutes of trotting before he was around the bend and out of visual contact. Here, the trees relinquished their stranglehold on the riverbank, and there was a wide grassy field, dotted with flowers. Ulrich realized that the oppressive and silent stillness had also vanished with the jungle's retreat. He figured that the claustrophobia-inducing quiet had been the source of the unease he had felt when the team was hiking in.


Continuing to follow the curve of the water, Ulrich abandoned the slippery riverbank rocks for the grass, and found himself imagining a picnic here. Although—perhaps not with his current companions. And certainly not with this blasted headache, which was getting worse by the minute. When they returned to the ship, he'd have to design a holodeck program based on this field. He and Shannon could spend an afternoon here, maybe even swim in the river, or fish off of that old stone bridge over there and see if they could catch their own lunch.


Wait. Ulrich halted abruptly. There was a bridge here. Not a tree, or flower. A bridge. People had been here. And since it was water...there might be a settlement nearby. Ulrich cut a diagonal across the field to get a closer look.


The riverbank was no longer rocky on the southwest side of the bridge; it was thick, squelchy mud. Ulrich didn't mind getting dirty, but getting a boot stuck in the mud wasn't on his top ten list of fun activities, and the northeast bank seemed dryer. Plus, that bank was shaded, and today, that was on his top ten list.

The beeping of his commbadge interrupted his scrutiny of the bridge's foundation, and he tapped it absentmindedly. Short and Grumpy, or Tall and Toothy? he wondered. Whichever it was, it was perfect timing—he needed to get them up here to see this bridge.

"Krieghoff to all Away Team members..."


Ulrich froze in horror. Everything but the bridge in front of him seemed to stream into the river and be swept away. Birdsong and insect hum were swallowed by red heat both inside and outside his head, which throbbed in time with Krieghoff's words.

Away team fatality...local predator...well executed ambush...separated by no more than five meters...

He'd left them alone. Blindly surrounded by jungle.

Ulrich ran.