"One Night In Bangkok" - Part I

(NPCs)

* * * * *

One night in Bangkok
and the world's your oyster
The bars are temples
but their pearls ain't free

You'll find a god
in every golden cloister
And if you're lucky
then the god's a she

I can feel an angel sliding up to me

* * *

STARDATE 62183.2 (8 WEEKS AGO)
SHANDOK TEKNA, BANGKOK, EARTH

Light flares and heat spreads as a microcosmic explosion waxes ember orange. Flame dances from a spent matchstick, jumping to the cigarette dangling from the preternaturally wide lips of a pale-skinned man—bald, with herculean features. He pulls at the Gauloise, the glowing flame-light reflecting in his troubled, storm-gray eyes. Slowly, they close, then open again as heady Turkish smoke permeates his lungs.

"Find her," he rasps, sending the cigarette bouncing precipitously.

A Caitian on his left nods once, her triangular ears rotating like tractor beam searching for purchase on a starship's naked hull. The black-furred felinoid skirts around the writhing crowd, stalking her way to an upper balcony.

"I'll be on the overlook," he informs the other standing to his right, a solidly-built Stith. It bobs its beaked, marsupial head low before turning to part the crowd, a thick, muscular tail trailing low like a crocodile lurking in the mallows.

The man watches the pair push through an undulating orgy of hot, barely clad bodies; the sweating ruck gesticulating in synchronized time to raucous teknic music booming throughout the expansive hall. It's practically too much for the gray-eyed man: Visions of exploding bombs and incendiaries—blood-hot battles long past—vividly recalled by his mind's literal translation of music's cardiac pulse.

He snaps his eyes back open, focusing somewhere—sometime—else. Swiping the cigarette from his mouth he drops it, crushing under his boot heel.

"Find her," he growls again, turning away from the pulsing crowd. "Find her, or we're all dead."

* * *

The Caitian watches the tekna crowd with slitted emerald eyes, scanning over the throbbing, writhing mass below. She leans out from her mezzanine perch, bracing as her curved hips gently grind against the polished marble balustrade. Palpitant basso beats percuss her body like a sympathetic tuning fork, sending an electrical, calibrated resonance oscillating through her flesh and sinews. Her fingers span as her foreclaws orgastically spasm—eyelids screwing tight as her tail snaps erect, its tufted gray tip flagging with a small, spasmodic shiver. Her breath catches low in her throat, transforming into a deep, contented churr as a languid smile plays across her cheshirine, upturned lips. The syncopated beat-pulses focus her, heightening her naturally-attenuated senses.

Focusing back on the dance floor she fluidly ratchets onto her bare-clad, digitigrade feet, leveraging any advantage as she takes in a myriad of bouncing, sweat-drenched faces. The effort is nearly futile, she realizes, trying to match only one face in a press of hundreds. Of course, there are easier ways of apprehension: scanners, biometric locators, or the all-inclusive transporter lock. But her prey is wary; any hint of a scan or even a fleeting quantum lock will raise alarm, as she's learned twice, already.

Still, the Caitian prefers it this way; she is a Lenaran, a powerful, black-furred jungle race of hunters. Few of her kind are known beyond her homeworld, the typical Federation citizen equating all Caitians to the majority of tawny-furred Anarans indiginous to the arid savannahs of the main continent. No, her people are hunters, prowlers—mythical shadow-melders spun into monsters by ignorant Anaran mothers intent on scaring misbehaving kits into compulsory rectitude.

These aspersions have never troubled her, but have empower her: reaffirming her role; her existance. She is a night-stalker, a mythic mistress of darkness, a death-dealer.

And tonight, the hunt is on.

~Crouching Tiger, Hidden Denobulan~

Lt. JG Artim Shivar

Ensign Relsta

PO2 Ulrich Ossuary

Ensign Relsta puttered about as happy as a clam.

The sun and high humidity had put her into high spirits. For the first time since leaving Denobula for the Academy, her skin didn't feel like it was going to crack and peel off from lack of moisture.

Now that she had had a bit of a wash in the river, she could even forgive the monkey responsible for the excrement that had coated the right side of her body for the past several hours. The cheeky little fellow was just defending his territory, of course, and rightly so!

Whistling a Denobulan sea shanty (her second husband's favorite) she bent over and peered over her companion's shoulder at his tricorder.

"How completely fascinating!" A delighted smile split the Ensign's face in half. "This algae is heterotrophic. That's quite unusual for a fresh water plant, wouldn't you say?"

Bounding to her feet before Artim could even respond, Relsta strolled slightly further down the bank, occasionally stopping to scan a plant or animal that caught her eye. Noting a species of reed she had not yet documented, the Ensign crouched down. Slowly, she extended a hand towards the plant cluster.

The breeze picked up, rustling the reeds, and suddenly—a flash of slimy black and yellow. Relsta caught a glimpse of two glittering black ovals centered in a red diamond.

A snake!

"Eeeeeee!" Her tricorder crashed to the ground, temporarily forgotten, and the Denobulan woman squealed, clutching her hands to her chest.

In an instant, Artim had appeared by her side, phaser drawn, looking around for the threat. All he saw was water, reeds and rocks. Oh, and there were some purple flowers, too. He wondered if maybe the Ensign was just really, really scared of bees.

"Um....Ensign?"

Relsta gaped at the Miran. With wide eyes, currently a vibrant shade of green, she chattered at him in rapid-fire speech. "Lieutenant, I found a snake! It's in the reeds!"

Artim nodded gravely and shot the Ensign a reassuring look. He knew exactly what to do. This was part of Academy training for those in the Sciences track—snakes just seemed to pop up in the craziest places, and you had to be ready, anytime, anywhere.

Phaser in hand, the Miran stealthily approached the reeds. Using a long branch to push them back, he held his breath, ready to shoot at the slightest sign of trouble. There it was...frozen and ready to strike.

Wait.

It was a wet stick. The snake was a wet stick with red and yellow leaves plastered to it. Complete with tiny black beetles. Gritting his teeth and counting silently to ten, Artim stepped to the side, letting the Ensign see the fearsome beast for herself.

"Oh....." Relsta looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry I called you over for nothing."

She looked so crushed, that Artim decided to be merciful. "It's understandable, Ensign. A lot of people feel strongly about snakes."

Relsta nodded thankfully, grasping the Lieutenant's hand. "I knew you would understand. I was just so thrilled to have found one....I guess I got a bit carried away, didn't I?"

The Ensign was too caught up in her disappointment to notice Artim's jaw drop. "Freshwater snakes are my specialty, you know!" She shook her head slowly, her eyes fading to a mournful shade of hazel. "And we saw those eggs earlier....it must be bird mating season...I could have seen him eat...such an opportunity..." Mumbling to herself, the Denobulan ambled off dejectedly.

Artim was speechless. Never, in all his years....and that was saying something. Putting away his phaser against his better judgment, Artim rubbed his temples. That headache would just not go away. The Miran found himself wishing that PO2 Ulrich would return. As annoyed as Artim had been about the branches in his face, there was something to be said for safety in numbers, and he had felt slightly uneasy ever since the security officer had walked off.

Just as Artim was contemplating checking in with the other man, his commbadge chirped, a cheerful contrast to the somber, deep voice that came out.

"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..."

Artim turned back toward the river, his unease growing as Krieghoff continued.

"...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."

"Ensign, did you receive the Lieutenant's message?" Artim called, peering in the direction the Denobulan woman had gone. Where was she? She was tall, and unless she had gone back into the trees, should have still be in sight. Artim frowned and tapped his commbadge. This was not the time to wander off and pout about snakes.

"Shivar to Relsta." Irritation was creeping into the Miran's voice, as well as concern. Something was wrong on this planet, something more than the animal attack, and if he could just get rid of this blasted pain in his head, he could figure it out. "Please answer, Ensign."

The Miran felt them coming before he saw them. His heart pounded a tattoo in his chest—he was trapped between them and the river. He inched his hand towards his phaser, barely breathing, not daring to turn around and give away that he knew they were there.

Another chirp shattered the silence, and Ulrich's voice crackled from Artim's commbadge. "Ossuary to Shivar, are you and Ensign Relsta all right?"

"Damn it, Ulrich!" Artim spun, whipping out his phaser and firing as the first creature charged. Four! There were FOUR of them! The stunning blast did not even faze the creature and Artim stumbled back into the river, beyond the shallows, the water rushing around his legs. It was so fast. Frantically fighting the hard current, the Miran fumbled with his phaser. 'If I can just set it to kill--'

Artim felt himself fall, hearing the splash distantly over the roar of his headache, and then there was only blackness.

"Now Would Be a Good Time to Leave"


Capt T'Vara
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Lt. Chris Daniels

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

Cutter Kara'nin and Chris Daniels walked out on the bridge together. Cutter immediately headed for the back science stations, practically shoving the crewman working there out of his way. Chris headed down the ramp towards the captain.

Neither officer had taken the time to turn in their gear or change into the mandated Class A's that the Captain decreed would be worn on the bridge. That being said, their dirtied duty uniforms and equipment belts stood in stark contrast to the orderly neatness of the bridge crew, and indicated that this was not going to be a routine status report.

Normally Chris would have stopped to get a report from his Tactical Duty Officer; however on this occasion, he blew by LtJG Androuios and went straight up to T'Vara. He stood a few feet in front of her chair and waited for her to acknowledge him.

"Yes, Lieutenant Daniels?" the Vulcan woman asked, tightening her lips into a subtle frown as her eyes scanned his uniform.

"Captain...our team experienced a...problem down on the surface. Eigh--err, Lt. Hunter has gone missing." Chris' tone indicated more frustration and anger than despair.

"Missing?" T'Vara asked. "What happened?"

Chris shook his head. "Don't know ma'am. All three of us experienced varying degrees of physiological symptoms, and then in the middle of a conversation she just vanished. Mr. Cutter has a scientific theory, but we decided in the interest of not having more missing crew members, to use Galaxy's sensors to try and find her."

T'Vara raised her left eyebrow, intrigued by the situation, but annoyed at Daniel's sparse reporting. Nevertheless, her next course of action was apparent. "Junior Lieutenant Androuios, please scan the surface for Lieutenant Hunter's transponder."

Androuios spoke up from behind the arch. "Captain, Lieutenant...I'm picking up Lt. Hunter's commbadge ID down on the planet." At that, Chris moved up to look over his shoulder.

"Lieutenant Hunter, this is Captain T'Vara. Please report," she said, tapping the badge on her chest. There was no answer, so she repeated her call. Again, no response.

"Beam her aboard," T'Vara commanded, rising from her chair to face the tactical officers behind her. "Have the transporter chief report on her condition."

The El-Aurian Tactical Officer ran his fingers over the controls for a few seconds then lowered his head in dejection. Daniels spoke for his junior officer.

"Ma'am, it's not her...just her commbadge lying on the ground."

"Use the lifesigns detectors. Scan for Vulcans," T'Vara told Androuios, then turned to the more senior officer with folded arms. "Lieutenant Daniels, perhaps you could explain to me what exactly happened?"

Chris spent the next few minutes going through in detail the events that took place. Cutter's mysterious skipping record act. Chris' seeing things. "So then as we were discussing Lt. Kara'nin's issues, I turned and, quite simply, Lt. Hunter had vanished without a trace."

"Could she have walked away without being noticed?"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. There was debris and crap all over the room. Not to mention it was lying at an angle. If she had tried to walk out, we couldn't have helped but to hear her leaving."

Androuios lifted his head from the console. "Captain, no sign of Lt. Hunter. Just her commbadge transponder signal. Negative on any Vulcan lifesigns."

"This doesn't make any sense," Cutter said out loud, his first words since they had come to the bridge.

"What? That just her commbadge is there?"

"No, not that. Please. We saw her disappear. You think ultraviolet resonance scanners and imaging sensors are going to find her when our eyes could not?" Cutter sniped. "No, while you have been wasting energy running pointless scans, I have found something truly interesting."

"And that is what, Lieutenant?" T'Vara asked.

Cutter routed a graphical display to the main viewscreen, a continuously updating bar graph showing three boxes. Two were barely visible, hovering around zero, the third towered above, constantly enlarging the scale of the vertical axis as its numbers grew higher and higher. "This is a neutrino count from a unidirectional detector looking down above the crashed vessel. Do you notice anything peculiar?"

Chris looked at the graph and did his best to analyze the data with the limited scientific knowledge he had retained from Basic Sciences for the Warfighter class at the Academy. "The fact that you have three bars and only one is really bouncing around?"

"Um, yes, to put it in as simple of terms as is humanly possible," Cutter said, rolling his eyes. "In more adult terms, it's only reading one species of neutrino. Tau neutrinos. In a normal solar system like this, we should be counting large numbers of all three types of neutrino. Perhaps more of one kind than the others, depending on the core temperature of the central star and our distance, but as a general estimate, we should be seeing roughly equal counts of all three neutrino species. Scanning down towards the crashed vessel, we're only seeing one.

"Now, here's a similar count, but from a unidirectional detector looking up, away from the planet," he said switching the graphs. The new graph showed three bars that were much more competitive than the last. In this one, the bar labeled as electron neutrinos was winning, roughly 40% of the count were this of this type. The other two bars were split each at 30%.

Chris nodded. "So the problem is with the planet itself."

"Something on the planet is affecting the neutrino count," T'Vara acknowledged, to which Cutter nodded a professorial 'yes.' "But, neutrinos do not interact with normal matter and energy, not to these extents. What could cause this phenomenon?"

Cutter took a breath, considering his answer. "I am not certain," he said eventually, "but these results are impossible. It's almost certain they are related to whatever happened to 8-Ball."

"So can you find her?" Chris blurted out, then looked over at T'Vara. He had spoken out of turn...but at this point, if she didn't immediately ask the question, he would.

The avian looked at him skeptically. "I don't even yet know where she could have gone," he scoffed.

Chris' eyebrows furrowed towards each other, a habit he had picked up when he was lost in thought. Finally, he turned and looked at T'Vara. "Captain, there's something else. When we were down on the ship, all we found was inorganic material. Everything else was gone with no trace of where it went."

"Except for all the flora and fauna on the planet," Cutter pointed out.

"Right. It was just from the NX-19...which was generally Earth built and supplied. So what could be the correlation between Terran materials vanishing and the native life not?"

T'Vara stood silent for a moment, running over facts in her head. "Lieutenant Hunter's initial report from the first away team indicated that the base coding for the lifeforms on the planet was very similar to our's. Double helix deoxyribonucleic acid with four bases. The primary difference between this life and the lifeforms we are familiar with is that the DNA on this planet uses uracil instead of thymine, whereas we only use uracil in our RNA. It is a rare construction, but has been observed several times."

"Could that one molecule make that big of a difference?"

"I do not see how," Cutter said. "The difference between thymine and uracil is a carbon atom and two hydrogen..."

As he trailed off, he turned back to his station. Chris could see over his wings that the avian had brought up what looked like models of the molecules, two lattices of spheres in the shape of a hexagon. Cutter spoke again, "Actually... yes..."

"You find something?"

"Yes," he replied. "The neutrinos from the planet - not only are they all tau neutrinos, they have a very particular energy distribution. A very narrow distribution. Now, it's not wholly true that neutrinos don't interact with normal matter. They do, but the interactions are usually rare. But, these neutrinos, they have an energy which matches up almost exactly with a vibrational harmonic of thymine. When they interact, the neutrinos impart their energy onto the thymine molecule and cause it to resonate in a very particular way."

"That is an unlikely coincidence," T'Vara acknowledged.

"And what's the significance of the resonation?" Chris asked.

Cutter corrected, "Resonance. By itself, it means nothing. Molecules are constantly vibrating. This particular vibration of thymine would have no effect on any biological function, and certainly wouldn't cause her to disappear in the way that we-- that I witnessed," Cutter said, his wings folding back in discomfort as he corrected himself. Chris had not seen what he saw. "But, vibrational fields can interact with other vibrational fields. And subspace fields can manipulate three-dimensional space in ways that could cause the neutrino effect we're observing..."

He turned back and ran another scan. After a moment, he piped the results to the viewscreen once more. It displayed a skeletal map of the surface, with an overlay of concentric rings, like an elevation map, but blue. "These are the results from a subspace differential pulse. There's some type of subspace field on planet, centered near the crash site--"

"Why was this not noticed before," T'Vara asked.

"It's not a scan normally run. We had no reason to look," Cutter answered, before continuing on his train of though. "I'm reading spectral lines at regular frequencies - harmonics. One of these match the vibrational harmonic of thymine. Now, if this subspace field and the vibrational fields of the thymine molecules overlapped, they would interact. Probably reinforce one another, naturally realign until they were in phase. The subspace field is more intense, so the thymine would probably realign to it, rather than the opposite, which could cause anything in that interaction vertex to undergo, well, quantum dimensional shift." That would explain the blueshifting that he saw. 8-Ball had not moved in space, or time, but in another dimension. That would not explain why he could see it, although, subconsciously, Cutter was happy to continue to ignore and deny what was happening to him.

"So am I right in saying that it would seem as though she phase shifted?"

Cutter's eyes narrowed, and he looked down at the tactical officer from his seated position, "No," he spat in an insulting way, "Although, if it's easier for you to think of it in that way, then yes. She phased."

Chris' eyes narrowed at Cutter as he fought back the urge to punch the smug son of a bitch. If T'Vara hadn't been standing right there, he may very well have. Most of the time he could take being corrected if he was being wrong. Being talked down to was something else entirely. Instead of reacting irrationally he took a moment to think and then turned to the Captain.

"Ma'am, if Lt. Kara'nin's theory of phase-shifting is right, my money'd be on the same thing happening to the Aiolos crew as what happened to Lt. Hunter."

"If that is true, then the other members of the away team are at risk," T'Vara pointed out.

"We should probably get everyone else out of there before we lose our chance to get them back."

"Agreed," T'Vara nodded. "Junior Lieutenant, alert the away teams. I want them all recalled to the Galaxy."

"Oh Breen, Where Art Thou?"

Faylin McAlister

George

Del

Location: Family farm - some obscure place in Georgia, United States

=======================
The few strands of graying hair highlighted the hair that had not turned aged as the older, distinguished man sat on the rickety porch swing. Beside him, sipping on some fresh lemonade, sat his cousin. Not the brightest bulb in the bunch, talking to his cousin beat carrying on a conversation with Roscoe, the farm's mascot and one hell of a basset hound.

Turning his head to the side, George deposited the last of the brown wad that was previously tucked away in his cheek into the old coffee can that rested just to the left of the swing. Cocking an eyebrow as the dog sniffed the air, George felt he should comment at the current state of affairs.

"Looks like Roscoe is sniffing something......"

Del just looked blankly at the dog. "Let's hope it's not another dead gopher."

"Uh huh....."

With a lazy urgency, Roscoe repositioned himself, trotting off as low hitched basset hounds do, and went to investigate the smell that he was enchanted with somewhere in the near cornfield.

"Huh.....he usually only moves that fast when Rosie's around."

"Ayeap...."

A few moments of silence passed, before the loud and obnoxious braying of Roscoe was heard through the tri-county area.

"AWROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" A slight pause. "AWROOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"Damn Del....that dog's found something."

"A *big* gopher?" His cousin replied in earnest causing only a scowl from George.

"We better go have a look see....ya never know in these parts what can appear." He stood, brushing off his coveralls.

"Maybe its aliens. I hear they are sneaking round here lately.....those Breen types....I heard they is nasty beasts of darkness!" Del responded.

-------------------A short travel later--------------------

The two men stood with most curious expressions etched upon their features. Del repeated the gesture of scratching his head several times, while George just watched Roscoe wagging his long tail in victory of what he found.

"That's one hell of a big gopher....." Del paused tilted his head to the side. "One damned good looking one too....."

"It's a woman....." George whispered.

"Is she dead?" Del picked up his walking stick, leaning forward poking the mass of mangled human female flesh with gross interest.

"Del. Knock that off ya here me?!?"

The woman's eyes flickered for a second before a slight groaning could be heard from her dry lips.

That gave Roscoe enough incentive to step forward, planting a big wet doggie kiss on the woman's cheek. His sniffing in her ear made her groan even louder.

"Looks like her hearts a ticking alright...."

George sighed. Just what he needed right now. Some half naked woman in the farm's cornfield severely injured. What would Mildred think? Hell, what would everybody think? Another long night of moon shining...that's what.

"We better go and get something to drag her back up to the main house. Tend to her injuries and then we will figure out what to do with her." George ran his hand through his peppered hair while catching an interested glance from his cousin.

"Don't even think about it Del."

"Damn......she sure is purty though....I wonder where she comes from....."

------------------------------Undisclosed Breen ship------------------------

"Do you think she'll be pissed?"

"Pissed?" The Hydran replied in mock amazement at his fellow Breen's question before responding completely. "Let me think.....we deposit a wanted assassin on some hick farm in Georgia instead of where she wanted to go. We left her with no communication device, no way to prove who she is, and no weapons."

"Think she will find us?"

"Yes I do."

"Think we are dead?"

"Yes, I have no doubt of that."

"If You Talk About It...."

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Dr. Dominica Krieghoff
Klaus Krieghoff
Lieutenant Shelley O'Rourke

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 39
Victor Krieghoff's Office

"She's insane," Victor repeated for the third time. "Psychopathic.
Homicidal. Sadistic."

"But surely she wouldn't..."

"Yes, she would, Mother. She would kill you, Father, the neighbors from
sixteen kilometers to the south, your pet Rynx Cat, and then stake your
goldfish to the dining room table with toothpicks through their tiny
little still-beating hearts if she thought that it was amusing in some
way." He frowned, trying to think of something to say that would
convince his mother that she needed to do what he was telling her. "She
is..." painful inspiration struck "...everything that Mrs. Kendrick told
you that I was when I was a child, and the two of you thought that I
wasn't listening, Mother."

Dominica winced and a mixture of pain and sorrow at the knowledge she'd
just received filled her eyes. "Oh baby," she whispered. "Why didn't you
say..."

"Why didn't I tell you that I heard her? That I almost always heard
her?" Victor asked. "Because it wouldn't have changed anything, mother.
You know that. All it would have done was hurt you, just like it did
just now. Except that then, it would have been worse, because you
couldn't stop associating with your superior's wife. It was better for
everyone that I just said nothing."

"You... were protecting me?"

"Of course I was, Mother. It's what I do, protect people. I made that
decision a long time ago thanks to you and Father. If I'd been the
Kendrick's child..." he shrugged. "I probably would have been the
monster that she thought I was. You two made sure that would never
happen - and because of that, I had the time to learn to say the things
that were inside me all along, struggling to get out."

"The things inside you?"

Victor smiled, his normally severe features softening. "Things like, 'I
love you,' Mother. Or 'I think that you're the most beautiful woman I
know.' Or maybe, someday, 'Will you marry me?' I haven't tried that last
one out yet, but I think about it sometimes when Angelienia and I are
dancing, or having dinner, or just when we're sitting and holding each
other."

The pain in his mother's eyes faded, to be replaced with an inner joy
that was much more pleasant to see. "Oh, baby...."

"And," Victor interrupted, "I'd like you and Father to be around when I
get around to saying those words - so will you please do what I'm asking
and go? I've already gotten Ar'resh, Rexa, and Greta to agree - they're
en route as we speak. With you two there, the only one left to strike at
me through is Angelienia and she won't go - I've already tried. At least
she's here, on the Galaxy, so getting to her is more difficult that
getting to any of you." He sighed. "Please, Mother?"

Dominica looked off-screen, and nodded as Victor's father moved into
view, suitcase in hand. "All right, Heinrich," she agreed softly. "I'll
go - if for no other reason than to keep your father from spending all
his time out hunting."

"Would I do that?" Klaus asked with a laugh, laying a large gun case on
the table next to his bag. "I've already packed your things and warmed
up the runabout, dear. We can leave as soon as you hang up." He glanced
at the screen and nodded to Victor, smiling. "Take care of yourself,
son."

"I will," Victor promised. "And just to be sure... you both understand
that you don't have permission to die, don't you?"

Klaus laughed once and Dominica smiled, shaking her head. "You know that
just saying that won't make it so, dear," she admonished.

"Humor me," Victor returned, leaning closer to the screen. "You both
understand, don't you?"

"Yes, Heinrich," Klaus nodded, still smiling. "I understand."

"I understand too," Dominica repeated. "Such a silly superstition you've
developed."

Victor relaxed and nodded. "Of course it's just a superstition, Mother,"
he agreed. But even the silliest ones have some basis in fact. Fly safe,
and I'll be in touch... and I love you," he finished.

"We love you too," his parents chorused in a practiced manner and then
signed off.

Victor relaxed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a
moment. His family would be safe now - McAlister might be able to find
where they'd gone with a lot of work, but actually getting to them once
they were there was out of the question. Rexa and Ar'resh were the only
other people that knew the codes, and there was no way one of them had
been replaced. No matter how skilled McAllister was, she couldn't
impersonate one of his aunts for more that six seconds in the presence
of the other without giving herself away.

That just left the people on the ship that he cared about. His lover,
Angelienia, his friends, Ella and the rest, they were all here, and he
would defend them on his home ground: The Galaxy.

McAllister would get aboard the ship, he had no illusions about that;
she was too skilled a psychopath to stop mundanely with scanners and
security checks, especially with whatever group she had working with her
- and there was a group, that was plain. Alone, she didn't have the
resources and the manpower to do some of the things that she'd done. A
group, though, did. Ergo, she was a part of one, if not its leader.

No, she'd get aboard somehow; he had to plan for that. Fortunately,
defense was always easier than offense, since you *knew* that an attack
was coming, so all you had to do was plan for it. That didn't mean that
he had to like it, though. His strengths weren't in defense, he knew
that, and so he had to assume that McAllister also knew it.

She'd probably expect him to be who he'd been before, and personally
watch over Lieutenant Zamora - but he wasn't that person anymore, so he
wouldn't. Instead, he'd sent someone that McAllister had no contact
with, and thus no knowledge of, a man that was so wrong for the job by
normal selection methods that only Victor himself and an accused coward
were rated as worse. Because Callahan was the wrong man for the job by
any rational selection process, he was the right man for the job; the
man that McAllister couldn't predict.

That was the way to win against McAllister, Victor knew. Not with
careful, meticulous plans that would just fed her psychosis and fuel her
megalomania; the woman ate up layers of conspiracy and subterfuge like
that as if they were popcorn. No. the way to win against McAllister was
to give her what she expected, what she was expecting to find - and
then, illogically, irrationally, throw her a curve like he was doing
with Callahan and some other things he'd set in motion off the record.
To do things that made no sense in her conspiratorial world, and would
thus leave her off-balance.

And then, when she was thus rendered vulnerable, kill her.

Victor had no illusions about that either. McAllister was, one way or
another, going to die. Locking her up in a rehabilitation facility
sounded nice, but it wouldn't work. She'd just get out again, either on
her own, with the help of her organization, or through a random act
sponsored by the Divine, and then the killing would start again. That
was the way these things went.

The only way to stop her, the only way to end the cycle of death, was to
do what Starfleet should have done the last time they caught her: kill
her.

No whining, no excuses, no second chances. Not with her, or anything
like her. Not with anything like what he could have been.

You killed monsters, and Victor, better than anyone, knew a monster when
he saw one.

The only issue left was how many people she managed to maim, scar, and
murder before he, Callahan, or someone else, got around to doing it. And
it would happen, that was certain.

Nothing was more certain than Death.

"You're doing it again."

Victor looked up at the figure in his office doorway. "Doing what,
again, O'Rourke?"

"Making one of those faces like you used to make all the time," she
returned, "the ones that curdled milk, and dropped Crewman Recruits dead
of heart failure at ten paces."

"No one ever died just because I looked at them, Shelley," Victor
replied. "Ran off a catwalk, yes; fell down an open turbolift shaft or
ladder hatchway, yes; turned around and ran away, yes - but never just
dropped dead."

"Still working on that sense of humor, I see," she said with a shake of
her head.

He frowned and took a drink of his coffee before replying. "I don't feel
much like joking."

"Did McAllister call again?" O'Rourke asked, suddenly serious.

"Yes. About every twelve hours now, like clockwork. Sometimes with a
recorded message, sometimes live, just so I can't risk not looking at
the call until later." Victor finished off the last of his coffee in one
long swallow, ignoring pain from the liquid's near-scalding temperature
and set the mug down. "She's decided that the best way to needle me is
to talk about sex, which makes her calls particularly disturbing."

"She calls and talks about... sex?"

"Sex," he confirmed.

"And that's disturbing?"

"It is when it's coming from her, Shelley. She's full of things to talk
about on that topic: where she wants to have it, how she wants to have
it, what she wants me to do to her while we're having it, what she wants
to do to me while we're having it, how many times she wants to do it in
front of Angelienia before she kills her, what animal she wants to be
when she's doing it to Angelienia in front of me as she kills her, how
she wants to do it with my father before she kills him...." He closed
his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs and them
pushing the anger and disgust he felt at just thinking about it out as
he exhaled it. "The list is, apparently, endless."

"And it's working, just like she wants, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," Victor sighed. "It wouldn't have before, but it does
now. And her reminding me that if you talk about a thing enough, it
happens, isn't helping."

"Why?"

He opened his eyes. "Why, what?"

"Why wouldn't it have worked before?" she asked quietly.

Victor sighed and looked at his empty coffee mug again, reading Betty
Goldstein's name and rank on the side before responding. "Because I was
so disconnected from the rest of you that it wouldn't have reached me,
Shelley. No one could have reached me back then, not even by having sex
with me, much less just talking about it."

"So, because you're not... like you were before... she can hurt you like
this? By talking about this kind of thing?"

"Hurt me, yes," he agreed. "Just like any normal person. Make me afraid
of her, no; she doesn't understand what the only thing I've ever been
afraid of is. Make me angry... no. Not like this." He pushed the cup
aside. "But she keeps trying. If she were smarter, she'd know not to try
and make me angry at all."

"Because...?"

Victor knew he shouldn't, not with O'Rourke, not with all the time it
had taken for her to acclimate to his presence and reach her current
state of balance, or whatever it was. He knew that, but for a single
moment, he didn't care.

His sense of presence expanded as it had done less and less frequently
in recent months, pushing outward powerfully enough that O'Rourke took a
step backwards as if she'd been shoved. "Because," he whispered, the
soft words carrying out into Security Main and reaching every ear there
despite their lack of volume, their edges cutting into everyone in
earshot like frozen knives of distilled fear. "She might think that it
would be amusing to see me angry... but she won't be laughing for very
long if it happens. No one will be laughing if that happens - not even
me."

"Stop that!" O'Rourke hissed, eyes slitted, leaning forward as if
bracing herself against a strong wind. "Stop it - that's not who you are
anymore, Victor!"

Victor met her eyes, smiled once in a chilling, awful way, and then the
pressure of his presence was gone abruptly, as if it had never been
there, causing O'Rourke to stumble and catch the doorframe to keep from
falling. "We can debate that another day, Shelley," he said tiredly.
Then, louder, he called out past the redhead, "Sorry, folks. My bad day
isn't a reason to take things out on you."

There was silence for a moment, and then a lone voice answered, muffled
in an attempt to disguise it, "Easy for you to say, Chief, you're not
the one who needs to change pants."

Victor frowned, snorted, and finally managed a tired laugh. "That's why
they're black, to keep the stains from showing," he called back, drawing
three disguised chuckles, and then rubbed at his forehead. "Tell Walter
'thank you' for me, Shelley," he sighed. "And I'm sorry, you didn't
deserve that."

"No, I didn't," she agreed, "but it's all right this time. You're under
a lot of stress and..."

"And that explains why it happened, but doesn't excuse it," Victor
finished for her. "I know. I'm just... tired. Tired of McAllister's
calls, tired of the paperwork, tired of making decisions about
everything from people's lives to the brand of coffee in the replicator
out there, to... everything," he finished. "I'm tired of everything, and
I'm especially tired of being chained to this desk instead of being out
there, doing things." He took another deep breath, and let it out
slowly. "None of which has anything to do with you. So... what was it
you were originally going to say before all of this?"

O'Rourke looked at him for a long moment, without speaking, and then
sighed. "It's Commander Smith."

"What did she do now?" Victor asked wearily.

"She went back down to the planet."

Victor blinked. "She what?"

"She went back down to the planet," Shelley repeated.

"Dammit," Victor announced in an off-handed way. "She's gone after the
predator that killed Upchurch. Okay, who'd she take with her?"

"No one."

"No one. Of course." Victor rubbed at his forehead with the heels of
both hands for a moment. "All right, nothing you could have done. It
isn't like anyone in the department can order her to do anything since
she outranks us all. Keep a watch on her, and yank her out if it looks
like she's getting into trouble. Do not ask her for permission to beam
her out - just do it. I've had one man chewed up by the local
wildlife..." Victor paused as he realized that he had to send a message
to Upchurch's parents now, something he'd never needed to do before
"...and that's enough for today."

"I-" Shelley started to say, and then stopped and merely nodded, "all
right." She turned to leave, stopped, and turned back. "If you need
anything," she offered softly. "Help with the paperwork, whatever, let
me know, all right?"

"All right," Victor agreed. "Go on and get that transport order in
before she gets into a fight and..."

An alarm from the monitor desk out in Security Main sounded and the
ship's computerized voice announced, =/\=Life sign alert on Commander
Smith, Arel. Subject has experienced life threatening damage.=/\=

O'Rourke ran for the console without another word and Victor stood up
and followed her, a single word hanging in the air behind him, "Dammit."

"Saying Grace, Part One: Come Back For Your Flock"

Lt. 8-ball Hunter


Somewhere in the universe, there was a happy family sitting down for a meal.

8-ball imagined them as blond. It said something about the mental state of brunettes, that in a universe full of Hydrans and Cardassians and Ferengi, a normal family still consisted of tall, white, blond people. In 8-ball's imagination, the mother had short hair and wore a polka-dot dress. The father was partial to wearing mismatching sweater vests. The little blond children kicked each other under the table.

The family said grace. They ate three courses. They displayed impeccable table manners.

On the other side of the universe, 8-ball watched a different sort of family meal.

**

(One hour earlier)

8-ball had, with difficulty, dragged herself away from the spot that Cutter and Chris had beamed away from only moments earlier. She wanted to stay; she wanted to maintain some kind of hope that they might beam back at any moment, spout some nonsense like "leave no man behind" and take her away from this ghoulish godamn place---but she knew that such a hope had no basis in reality. The Galaxy crew would come back to rescue her, once they had regrouped, once they were ready.

All she had to do was stay alive until they got here.

There were a number of tactics that she could employ in order to boost her meager survival rate, none of which included standing in the middle of a corridor where anybody could come and blindside her. She'd retreated down the hallway, thinking to make her way off ship. There were a number of teams outside who would be easier to spot than the ones scattered around this gigantic wasteland of a boat. She could find one of them and sing horribly until they had to notice her. At the very least, she might be putting some distance between her and the crazy maniac who had attacked her. She had no way of knowing how many of them there were, and it stood to reason that the ship could be their base of operations. She could very well be much safer on the planet's surface.

Well, maybe.

8-ball edged around a corner as quietly as she could and then froze in place as the voice of Death spoke to her.

"Krieghoff to all Away Team Members," Death said. Normally, 8-ball didn't actually think of Krieghoff as Death--she preferred Insanely Scary Guy or Broody McBrooderson--but today his voice seemed to be particularly ominious. "Be advised that there has been an Away Team fatality---"

What? A fatality? She had just disappeared---someone died?

"--due to action by the local predator life-form. Said fatality occured from well-executed ambush in open terrain when the individual was separated from the rest of their team by no more than 5 meters."

Okay. So maybe she'd be rethinking that outdoor picnic plan a smidge. Although, it was entirely possible that the alien lifeforms would be no more capable of seeing her than her crewmates had--possible, but unlikely, given Lady Luck's general attitude towards her which, in general, could be summed up concisely in these two words: Fuck you.

8-ball decided not to leave the ship. On her top ten list of ways not to die, being eaten alive was easily in the top three.

Wait. Someone had died. Oh shit, did that mean---

"No general recall is announced at this time---"

Oh. Thank. God.

"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."

"Wait," 8-ball said. "Don't go. One of your sheep is lost. Come back for your sheep, Victor. FIND YOUR SHEEP, DAMMIT!"

When it become apparent that Victor was not going to make another transmission, she grumbled to herself and started moving down the corridor again. She'd made it another six feet before she heard screaming from somewhere behind her.

8-ball did what she did best and ran the other way.

"First Examination"

Lieutenant Branwen London - Hydran Gestation Chamber
Captain Karyn Dallas, Fleet Counsellor - London's Morale Support
Doctor Felicia Khatroweena, Commander - Specialist

Cat moved through the corridor to the small trauma centre in the 'Facility,' with her doctor's coat swishing behind her she entered through the two semi-transparent doors that lead to the intensive care units. Moving around a partition, that seperated this ICU from the others in the area - she saw the sight of Lieutenant London.

Cat's ears flickered as her tail swished from side to side in surprise. The sight of the woman in reality was different than that of the images.

The distention of the woman's 'pregancy' was obvious and to Cat an easy option to resolving this situation became very hard. Not impossible - but close to near as damn could make it. She would have to do more studies on the level of gestation of the foetuses and the level of development and inter-capillary interaction with the placenta before she could be certain, but taking the foetuses from Lieutenant London could be a risk to her. With a final swish of her tail, she came into view of the marine lietenant...

"Another one come to see the monkeys." Branwen said with a sneer, "Have you brought a banana to make me behave?"

"Hello Lieutenant London," started Cat as she approached and turned to grab the privacy curtains and pulled them around the bed, "Would a banana have made any difference?"

Branwen didn't even try to answer that, she just glowered at the new doctor. Not expecting much change from this one.

Cat gave a closed mouth smile, "No I didn't think it would - so it would have been a waste to bring the banana." Leaning over Branwen, she tapped some controls on the biobed and relaxed to turn her attention to the woman, "I am Doctor Khatroweena - I am here to make sure that you and the babies are fine and healthy and to make sure that the changes that the Hydran..." Cat paused, her voice was dripping with her own venom, "Officer...have been neutralised."

"Sit up, please Lieutenant," asked Cat. As she grabbed the edge of one of the pillows.

"Woof!" Branwen responded with venom. But what else could she do but do as she was told. She realized that at this time she was much too weak to attempt to escape. And when she did she needed a plan first, because right now Branwen had no idea where to run.

As Branwen moved forward, with some difficulty, Cat fluffed the pillows and changed it so the woman could better sit up, "Comfortable?"

"No, but don't worry about it, nothing you can do will make me comfortable." The patient snapped. "To get on with it, the sooner you can leave me alone again."

"Lieutenant London," Cat started as she grabbed one of the chairs up against a wall and spun it around to sit down next to Branwen, she crossed her long legs, smoothing down the skirt of the uniform. "I am here to..."

Cat stopped in mid-sentence as a thoughtful expression crossed her face, "Branwen, I am not the enemy - I am not here to harm you or to do anything that would stop you from returning to your assignment in Starfleet. My primary concern is healing you and the safety of the unborn life that you carry. But I'm an old-fashioned doctor enough to believe that if a person does not want to heal, they never will - no matter what a doctor may do to save their life."

Branwen just looked away from Cat, studying the repeated geometric patterns in the privacy curtains.

"Some information that I have no idea about, that is some of the most important is about you. It is simple to see that you would like this nightmare to end and there are some of the best physicians here in the Federation to ensure that what happens. But there has been one question that nowhere can I see the answer to...What do you wish of the life you carry?"

Branwen had opened her mouth to be abusive again, but at the last question the doctor asked her she closed it and thought for a few seconds. "You know, that's a first from you lot, to ask what I want. I want to correct you first, I want to heal, do you think I survived all those months in captivity to die now?" She looked at the Caitian, "But silly me expected to be welcomed home, to be cared for by friends. Not to be carted off into another kind of captivity. There are guards at my door, I am kept in another sort of cage that I am not allowed to leave. Believe me, it doesn't do wonders for morale."

She took a deep breath again. "First, I wanted them dead, I tried to kill them, but my tormentors have changed my brain so I can't." Another sharp intake of air. "Now, I was brought up believing that life is sacred, any kind of life. I don't want them dead anymore, Doctor, even if that is going to cost my marriage. I want my babies to live." Branwen looked directly at Cat.

Cat nodded with a closed mouth smile, "That is what I needed to know, Branwen." Cat looked around, at the room - a gilded cage was still a cage. "I can't do anything about the accomodation, Branwen and to let you on a little secret, you know as much as where you are as I do. While I can't do anything about the guards or the doors - I can do what I can to ensure you are treated more like a sophont than an object."

"Everybody tells me they can't do anything, but they will try, don't bother." Branwen said wearily. She was getting tired, but would be damned if she was going to show the doctor. Even though she hated being prodded, at least it meant some company. It got kind of lonely in the huge unit on her own.

"Possibly, it just might be true, Branwen, have you considered that at all?" Cat returned as she stood up. "I don't need to be a doctor to see that you're tired - so I'll leave you to rest. I wanted to talk to you about something else, but it can wait for a few hours. As a doctor, I'm saying go to sleep, at least try to - if you have some trouble, I suggest some hot milk with some nutmeg in it."

"You can ask." She said quickly. "I will not promise you I'll answer, but I don't like a mystery. If you leave now, I will be agitated to know what it is you want to talk about." Branwen looked boldly at Cat.

Cat smothered the feelings of frustration that were starting to rise - 'Another bloody officer who hates Medical. I'd wish the Academy would do something about that,' she thought to herself.

"I will not promise you I'll answer," Cat repeated as she sat down again. "Why is that?" she asked.

"I am not a very patient person, and I don’t like to be left hanging in the dark. you said you wanted to talk about something else, and then left it hanging, I hate that! Talk about it, or don’t mention it, but not the middle way. That seriously pisses people off." Branwen found it very liberating to speak her mind. It had never been her style, always afraid of hurting the feelings of others, but she was passed that point now.

"Ok," Cat returned, nodding slowly as she sat down. "I'll be doing a series of tests, to determine the actual state of the pregancy and the threat to your life and that of the foetuses of letting the pregnancy go to full term, or to schedule that they be moved to gestation chambers. It is my opinion to go with the chambers - unless I find data that has me fear for either of your lives, in the short term. One of my specialties is the study of Exo-obstetric Immune Sensitivity Syndrome. Which is specifically to do with the children born of parents from different species or more the complications that can occur for that child, and even the mother."

For once Branwen was listening attentively, this was useful information, apparently this doctor did know what she was talking about, and although she would never admit it, it did give a safe feeling. So instead of making another snide comment, she nodded and listened.

"There is something called the 'Vilmour Map,' which maps the genetic compatablility with many of the other species of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, more specifically with humanoids, but with some study other races have been..." Cat stopped, "My apologies Branwen - I didn't mean to lecture."

"The Hydrans are not on the Vilmour Map, which means that we do not have any idea on the developmental changes that you and the babies will go through on the pregnancy. Genetic similarity between Hydrans and humans is almost seventy three percent. To achieve a viable DNA sequence, there would have to have been massive genegineering done and considering the notes that were collected from that 'creature' he wasn't entirely sure of the viability of the structure."

”What are you telling me?” Bran felt her heart constrict in fear, fear for her babies.

"In short, Branwen - this situation is totally unique and has not been attempted anywhere else. We have no information on what the development of the babies will be or what their requirements will be. While a natural birth is something that many of my colleagues consider, the 'preferred option,' many of them are forgetting about EIS, because of the work that has been done to avoid it occuring."

"No, the two reasons why is that with you still carrying the babies, it will hinder possibly what treatments are needed to save their lives or what treatments maybe needed to save your own, if a complication does occur with a 'natural birth,' if it could be called such a thing. Secondarily, while you are still carrying, any treatments to return you to active duty will have to be postponed until after the birth and with the information that we do have, that will be another seven to twelve terran months."

“That long!” Branwen exclaimed, trying not to panic. “I’ve already being pregnant for three months, I can’t go on that long.” Suddenly she felt as if not enough air was making it into her breather and she was going to suffocate.

Cat saw the panic in Branwen's eyes, "Slow you breathing Branwen, slowly. Count to three between breathing in and breathing out. One...two...three and out. Again! One...two...three, in!" She could start to smell the panic in the woman.

Cat put a hand on Branwen's arm, she felt the muscles tighten, "Relax Branwen - listen to me, relax your body. Concentrate on what I am saying, one...two...three, breath out...relax your shoulders...relax your shoulders, breathe in..."

Cat was berating herself, she'd had triggered a panic attack. This woman was still too close to the trauma and with her history - the Lieutenant's folder had shown a level of instability, alternately submissive then domineering, more than likely a reaction to feeling of insecurity to the feelings of submissiveness. Cat concentrated on calming Branwen down, getting her to relax her body and control her breathing. Another 'reject' from the Academy.

Another part of Cat's mind berated her for her thoughts - Cat knew that she wasn't the model of a perfect Starfleet Officer, so who was she to judge.

Branwen did her best, but with a methane breather the rules were slightly different. A panic attack was not a pleasant occurrence. She had had a few in captivity, and thought she would die from them. But Cat’s voice actually helped and slowly she was getting herself back under control.

Cat could feel the muscles in the arm relaxed and Branwen's pulse slow. Her breathing was getting back to normal and to Cat's nose, the stench of panic was starting to dissipate. As soon as Cat was sure that Branwen was recovering, she turned to the bedside stand and ordered a glass of pure water from the replicator.

"Here Branwen, drink this," Cat ordered as she offered the glass.

As Branwen took the glass and started to slip slowly, "I'll come back after you've rested," Cat said. "You'll need time to recover - and rest Branwen."

Branwen looked over at the Caitian while she put down the glass. “Thank you.” She said grudgingly. “And I think you are right. It is not the best atmosphere to relax and sleep, but I will try.” Bran even managed a slight smile for the other woman.

Cat nodded, "Good."

"Excuse me, Branwen?" a woman's voice called out hesitantly. "May I come in? I don't want to interrupt and I can come back later..." Dallas had left at Branwen's request because London said Karyn was hovering. Karyn couldn't deny it, really, and agreed to go for a stroll, but the longer she was away, the more worried she became.

”You have to ask the doctor.” Branwen said with a slight yawn.

"It's ok - I'm finished here," called out Cat as she turned around to see the woman who was entering the unit. Cat stopped, her mouth dropped open - but her continually flickering tail seemed to be frozen in a 's' shape as she recognised the new-comer. Regaining her composure, Cat smiled - "Karyn, I didn't know you were here? You been kidnapped as well?"

Upon seeing a familiar face in such a high stress situation, Dallas nearly squeeled in relief like a school girl. It was much harder on Branwen of course, but it wasn't easy for Dallas to wear the pips of a Captain and not have much control over what Branwen was going through. It didn't help that London was not happy she was around. "Cat! Oh I'm so happy to see you," she rushed foward offering an embrace.

Cat hugged Karyn, it was almost surreal to be in the middle of a highly secret installation and to see someone that you had almost lost contact with in a small number of years. "Oh by the Fates, Karyn - it's so nice to see a friendly face here."

“Hey guys.” Branwen spoke up from the bed. “Why don’t you find the room to talk and leave me alone.” But she was smiling, seeing the emotion on both friends faces, allowed her to see the doctor and the shrink as humanoid beings with feelings again.

"We should leave Branwen to her rest," Cat said as she took Karyn by the arm and moved up the corridor to the nurses' station, where a Intelligence uniformed officer was standing guard. Frowning at the woman's presence, Cat took Karyn into one of unused offices at the side. "I was about to ask what you were doing here. But then I remebered that the folder had you as attached to the Galaxy. How is the ol Gal?"

"Different faces, same drama," Karyn replied with a smile. "Starfleet Medical went insane for a bit and decided to promote me to Captain," she added, flashing her shiny fourth pip. "I'm the Chief Counselor for the Fleet now, so even though I'm still based on the Galaxy, the brass like to send me hither and yon." She lowered her voice then. "But I insisted on tagging along to this circus. There was no way in hell I was going to let Branwen go through this alone. I still can't believe SFM greenlighted this," she added with clear rancor.

Cat grimaced as she gave a slight nod, "This secrecy, all of this...it is so stupid. Branwen should be on Cait, Vulcan or Terra - somewhere where there are real facilities." She stopped as she looked at Karyn, giving a wide closed mouthed smile - at least one thing is done properly, "You are here. London is going to need all the help she can get to get through this and with you here, I can relax knowing that at least the mental health side is well covered."

Karyn smiled, tipping her head in acknowledgment of the clear complement. "And I can relax knowing the medical side is equally well covered." Dallas took a moment to gaze at her old friend a moment longer. "I've missed you, Cat. Seeing you here makes the universe make sense right now, and lately, that hasn't seemed possible."

Cat studied Karyn for a few moments and hugged her again, "It is so good to see you again. But I am here to do a job - and I better get back to it. I'll be seeing you at the meeting tomorrow."

Karyn nodded. "I'll see you then."

"After all this, we are going to have to stay in better contact," Cat said finally and headed out of the room.

"If anything good is going to come of this, I hope I can renew a friendship," Karyn said to no one in particular.

off: takes place after "If You Talk About It"

"Best Served Dead"

Commander. Arel Smith
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

****

When the rifle failed to bring the beast down, Arel knew she was in trouble.

Not too much trouble, of course. She'd brought her back-up weapons
this time and Arel was, after all, one of the best bladesmen on the
Galaxy. Still, it was a real pain in the ass when something wouldn't
die the way you wanted it to. And she really wanted the creature dead.
Especially before its friends caught on and found their way back.

She took her two blades out of their sheaths, gave a grim smile, and charged.

****

Victor ignored the usual stares, glares, and other looks he typically
got when entering Sickbay, and waved off the Vulcan nurse that started
to approach with a, "I'm not making a drop-off today."

Two turns, a smile and a nod to a doctor that was trying to use a PADD
as a shield to keep him at bay, and Victor was standing in Smith's
doorway staring at her. Or what was left of her.

"If you tell me that 'you should see the other guy' Commander," he
offered after a moment, "I believe that I'm going to do something so
horrifying that your grandchildren will quake in fear when my name is
mentioned."

Arel peered at Krieghoff through a fog of medication and some serious
pain. She wanted to tell him that Korvin was too young to give her
grandchildren - unless Q had come along and messed with time again -
but she didn't think the grim looking lieutenant would find it funny.

Instead she gave a wan smile. "Ever read about the Amazons, Krieghoff?
Always thought it would be fun to be an amazon.... bitches never
mention how painful it is."

"They didn't, as I recall, wait until they were full grown to have a
breast removed," he returned. "Nor did they have it done by animal
bite." He looked up at the readings on the display over her bed.
"Besides, they surely wouldn't have had all this other damage done at
the same time. A hundred years ago, you'd be dead - a few thousand
years ago, you'd have never made it up off the ground."

Arel would have shrugged her shoulders but that, like everything else,
hurt like hell. There wasn't a part on her that wasn't broken,
bruised, scratched, scraped, or seemingly mauled.

"Good thing for doctors then, huh?" Arel said. "So this thing ... real
bitch to bring down and I don't reco ... rec ... suggest it but if you
must the eyes are the best place to start. There's also this softer
spot on the side of the head."

"Where we found your d'k tahg embedded? I'll remember that," he
nodded. "Now, as to what you were doing down there to begin with....
Care to enlighten me?"

Arel looked at the man as if he were stupid. "I was hunting."

Given his own recreational habits - How long had it been now? Years?
Too long in any event - Victor didn't think that he could dispute
that. "However easy that is for me to understand, I'm not sure that it
will look good on a report to the new CO. I doubt that she's much of a
hunter."

She frowned and tried to think of something more elaborate. "I was
hunting ... things?"

"All right, you were hunting. I think that I'll call it 'engaged in
extended low-intrusive reconnaissance to locate hostile forces' though
- that sounds much more like something the CO will find acceptable,
and it's literally true at the same time. Unless you have an
objection?"

"Seems complicated," Arel replied with a large yawn. "But whatever
sharpens your blade."

"Sometimes life is complicated - or you have to make it sound that way
so people understand you," Victor explained. "Three questions, and
then I can let you sleep. All right?"

Sleep sounded like the best idea she'd heard in ages. "Okay."

"One, knowing you and how well you fight, I have to ask - why did you
let an animal do this to you?"

The sudden annoyance helped clear her head for a moment. "Do to ...
the little fucker's packmate snuck up on me," Arel said with heavy
disgust. "Second question?"

"Why knives? I know you love them, personally and culturally after
your upbringing, but you're also smart enough to use the right weapon
for the job, and a knife isn't the right weapon for those things."

"yIDoghQo'. I tried the rifle. Didn't work," Arel replied. "Bat'leth's
harder to sneak off ship. Third?"

"Didn't work, how exactly?" Victor returned. "And we're still on
question number two - that's a clarification, not a new question."

She frowned. "Not sure exactly. Their bodies have... I can't think of
the word. Like armor?"

Victor frowned, trying to decide what it was that the severely wounded
and just as severely medicated woman was trying to tell him. "They
have a natural defense against phaser fire," he repeated slowly,
trying to pace his words to the speed that Arel was capable of
processing them through her medication. "Not armor exactly, although
you said they were tough to bring down with knives, so they may have
some of that too. Something like... a natural shield, perhaps?" That
was going to make things difficult, if true - and he had no reason to
doubt that it was.

Arel nodded and then winced. "Absorbed the phaser or reflected ....
techies can ... play with the .... carcass to find out." She gave a
long sigh which lead into another yawn. "So, third?"

"What do you want me to tell your husband when he calls back?"

That woke her up again and she snorted. "James called me? Yeah, that
would be a cold picnic in Grethor."

"No, I called him," Victor replied. "You're attached to my Department,
it was my responsibility."

"Ah," She said. Then she almost grinned. "Tell Mitchell he should see
the other guy."

"All right, although I don't think that he's going to be any more
amused by it than I will," he nodded. "He was concerned, though - I
gather he's not used to people calling him to tell him that you were
almost killed."

"Almost killed," Arel mumbled. "Not by a smeggin' animal."

"He asked if you were dead, and then if you were dying, and then how
badly you were injured," Victor told her. "Then he asked if I was the
guy whose ass he was going to kick, which didn't make a lot of sense
at the time."

"Then what happened?" She asked, closing her eyes and listening to
Krieghoff's voice.

"I told him that if he was going to kick my ass, then he either needed
to start working out now, bring friends, or have a leg about a
quadrant long, which amused him enough that he told me that it wasn't
his *leg* that was a quadrant long.

"Heh. Trust me it's not that long."

"I'll take your word on that," Victor assured her. "He did ask me to
tell the reconstructive surgeons something though - which I will most
assuredly *not* do without your permission."

She opened an eye. "Oh?"

"He asked that when they do the reconstruction work, that they make
them," Victor held his hands up in the approximate area of where a
exaggeratedly large pair of breasts would be on him, "larger."

Arel made a thoughtful sound. The idea of going a size up *had*
occurred to her when the doctors had discussed options but she had
decided against it. It would throw off her balance too much. "Tell him
I'll think 'bout it. After he makes those alvas of his larger."

Then she winced. Finger quotes were really a bad idea when one was half mauled.

"I'll be sure and pass that on," Victor agreed dryly. "Although I'm
not sure it'll have the same effect coming from me."

"If the pthak ever calls me back, I'll be sure to pass it on," Arel
said, closing her eyes once more. "Can I sleep now, Krieghoff?"

"As long as you wake up when you're done," he agreed. "Understand?
Otherwise I'll have to crawl in your head and wake you up, and I doubt
that you'd find that pleasant. Most people don't, if I recall
correctly."

"Not afraid of you, Krieghoff," She said as drifted off to sleep. "Not
afraid of you."

"Sons of Capella" Pt. 3


Admiral Leonard James Akaar

Marine Captain Man'darr Maivia

Jenna Lee; Civilian Lawyer

Various NPCs



The office was rather large for a temporary one, yet like many temporary offices, it was mostly bare save for the essential items of a large desk, four chairs, and two sofas, as well as a lavatory.The room was occupied by an older female human dressed in a light blue long-sleeved top with grey pants. She wore her light brown, greying hair back and worn up, giving a professional auroa about her. 'I'll be glad to leave this dreaded, dull starbase,' the woman thought as she let out a sigh. "Enter," she called after the chime sounded of her office.

In walked an admiral and a marine captain. "I presume you are Admiral Akaar and Captain Maivia?"

"Yes," Akaar answered. "Captain Maivia just arrived from the USS Galaxy."

"Thank you for not making me wait any longer Mr. Maivia. I am Jenna Lee, your Defense Counsel. Have a seat," she jestured to two empty chairs. "I've read over your service record and information regarding your recent capture by the Hydrans. Upon watching Akaar and Maivia sit, she continued. "Your service record is impressive, Mr. Maivia, but your history of violent acts are not. Admiral Akaar, I want all Medical data regarding Mr. Maivia after his return from the Hydran Camp availiable to myself as soon as possible, especially in regards to the device discovered implanted in Mr. Maivia's skull.."

Akaar bowed his head slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

Jenna looked back at Man'darr, who was remaining silent. "I will arrange for you, Mr. Maivia, to see a counselor in regards to your recent actions. We may be able to use their conclusions in the proceedings."

"I do not need to see a counselor," Man'darr protested.

"Captain Maivia, you, like many Capellans may not like the Medical Profession, but it is for your own good. You will attend the session and you will be cooperative. The last thing I need is for you to reject my directions. Understood?"

Man'darr nodded. "Yes."

"Good. I will schedule an appointment the first thing tommorow morning. That is all I have for you at the moment, Captain Maivia. You may return to your temporary quarters until the morning."

Man'darr stood, still curious as to why someone who didn't like Starfleet would choose to defend him. "Aye, ma'am." Man'darr turned and left the office, as Admiral Akaar stayed behind.

Once Man'darr left the office, Akaar stood from his seat. "May I ask why you have decided to defend Captain Maivia despite your dislike of Starfleet?"

"Why do you wish to know, admiral?"

"Because I think its imperative I know your reasons for defending Captain Maivia. Someone who dislikes Starfleet does not voluntarily defend someone serving Starfleet."

After a moment of silence, Jenna spoke. "Admiral, I have a daughter serving in Starfleet. Ensign Alexandra Lee. In fact, she serves aboard the same vessel as Captain Maivia, as an engineer." He voice became softer. "I have not seen my daughter in five years, admiral...not even a communique from her. However, I cannot blame her I suppose...I was against her joining Starfleet. She could have done so much more with her education. She's an independant one...she gets that from myself. So when I learned of Captain Maivia's troubles, I immediately looked into it. I may not like Starfleet, admiral, but if it will give me a chance to speak with my daughter again, then not even the Borg will stand in my way."

Akaar nodded thoughtfully. "I see. I am sorry to hear of your troubles with your daughter. If you wish, I could arrange for you to visit with her after the Galaxy returns from its present mission."

For the first time Akaar had known Jenna, a smile crossed her face. "Thank you, admiral. I would like that very much."

"If there is nothing else, I will leave you to your work, Mrs. Lee. And I will have those medical reports sent to you as soon as possible."

"Good. I will see you tommorow then, admiral. Good day."

Akaar nodded and exited the room, leaving Jenna to herself. She let out a sigh as this wouldn't be the most difficult case she had fought but it would be challenging nonetheless due to Maivia's past violent acts. Yet, these were the type of cases in which she thrived on. She picked up the PADD containing Man'darr's service record and began to study it once more. "Well Captain Maivia, if anything, you are one hell of a fighter," she commented to herself softly as she eyed his list of accommodations. She would use these as part of her defense.

****

Man'darr shifted his weight in the massive chair within the overly decorated office which seemed to be designed to enable a person to feel more comfortable...save for a Capellan. The past hour had been tough to deal with.

Opposite of him, sitting in an less cushioned chair was a betazoid woman with brunette hair worn up, and a Starfleet Uniform with the rank of Lieutenant. "So tell me, Captain, what were your feelings on beeing locked in the Galaxy's Brig?" the woman asked calmly.

Letting out a sigh in an attempt to vent his frustration, Man'darr shifted once more before answering. "How do you think it made me feel? I spend months locked up and unable to do anything to help my wife or others only to be locked up upon my return to the Galaxy. How would you feel counselor?"

The anger was nearly a mental slap in the face. Man'darr did indeed harbor violent tendacies. Yet what would one expect from a warrior race such as Capellans? "Well, you did strike a superior officer," she stated after glacing at her PADD holding notes recorded from the incident.

"No, merely a higher ranking one, not superior. And that is only after he insulted me," Man'darr snapped back instantly.

The woman held up a hand. "Captain, please calm yourself. There is no need to get angry here. And getting angry will not help you in your hearing. Understand?"

Man'darr closed his eyes and took several deep breaths in an attempt to exhale the anger from his body and allow his mind to relax. "Yes," he said after a moment and opening his eyes.

A smile crossed the woman's face. "Good. Lets continue."

****

The next day, Jenna, Man'darr, and Akaar were gathered in Jenna's Office once again. "The trial date is set for tommorow. I have asked for this quick trial in order to hopefully throw the prosecution off balance and hopefully persuede the judge to rule in your favor. I've had a chance to look over the medical reports last night and early this morning as well as Lieutenant Drodi's conclusions in regards to your behavior. I will have Lieutenant Drodi take the stand during the trial as an expert. I believe I can prove that the constant insults you have endured from the crew of the Galaxy, along with your recent captivity, that you, as a Capellan could not control your actions. If I am correct, Starfleet Training Procedures at the Academy requires all cadets to take and pass an ExoCommunications Course when deaing with humanoids and even Starfleet Officers from other species."

"It sounds like a solid defense, Mrs. Lee," Akaar commented.

"Thank you, admiral." She then turned her attention to Man'darr. "Captain Maivia, are you ready for this trial?"

"Yes ma'am." He, for the first time, wondered what his future would be like and he began to miss Branwen dispite her defiance of him.

"Good. Then the next time we will meet will be at the beginning of the trial

"Jaded"

Faylin McAlister

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora JAG

Location: Various

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

Her eyes opened slowly, peeking out of swollen eyelids. Taking in the decor and the simple fact that she was under a blanket completely and utterly naked, Fay came to the conclusion that she was not on board the Galaxy as of yet. It was a simple thought, one that pissed her off to the ends of the Earth. It was her turn to feel used by her 'allies'.

'Assholes.' She muttered. With pain, she hoisted herself up on her elbows, noticing almost immediately that her wounds had somehow been mended. Primitive, but in still working order.

"Damn it." McAlister spoke with a louder volume.

Glancing around, she felt ill. It was coming, she deserved that. However, the woman felt like a total lab rat concerning the Breen and their little injection to stabilize her shifting ability. She wouldn't put it past them to attack her home world in the near future, and she was used as the control group of the latest bio weapon they were developing. At this point, she had to wonder if the dosing device was still in her arm. Slightly touching her forearm, she smiled. It was indeed still in place.

Was it workable? That was the biggest question. Sneaking on board the Galaxy....it would have to be different now.

'Oh well.' Her mind started to work overtime. Georgia....of all places. From Georgia to the planet.....with injuries that have obviously been medically attended to. They wouldn't buy it. Not by a long shot.

The window drew her attention. Open about half way, the light breeze of midnight drifted through and tickled the curtains. Pausing, she let her eyes drift closed, taking a long draw of the fresh country air. It was refreshing, but did nothing to calm the fact that for the first time in her adventure, she felt lost.

Standing, Fay walked over to the closet. Reaching upwards, she pulled the string that led to a single light bulb. Her first order of business was to find something to wear. She preferred black, but would not be surprised if all she found was coveralls and plaid. Settling on a pair of jeans and a white long sleeved shirt, Fay quickly dressed. If it was one thing that McAlister was good at, it was sneaking around so that no one heard her. The upstairs of the large farm house was simply laid out. Passing a bedroom, she snarled as she heard loud snoring.

Downstairs was dimly lit by a few soft lamps. Country. Very country. There was no sign of modern technology in this hole. Settling her eyes upon an ancient antique desk, Fay studied the weird large device that rested upon it. It was on, that much was obvious because the screen saver flickered. Glancing left and right, she was satisfied for the moment that no one was awake. Pulling out the chair, she sat and looked.

'Dell Inspiron 1521. What the hell?" Placing her finger upon the small finger pad at the bottom, Fay cautiously moved her index finger around.

The screen flickered to life, revealing the welcome screen that she recognized. UOL. Universe On Line was always around to help troubled assassins in need. She loved it.

"Ah, this is more like it....."

Fortunately, the moron that was online last did not log out. Clicking the IM button, she grinned as the personal messenger screen window popped out. Who ever this person was, he had very few buddies.

"IM......Well now...let's see if Ophelia's up...shall we?" Fay talked to herself as she entered Ophelia's screen name.

"Lawgoddess32....Christ...what a screen name...." She talked to herself yet again as she waited for the window to pop up.

---------------------------------Location: USS Galaxy----------------------------------------

Her ice cold hands shivered against the worry that flooded her soul. Little sleep and even little food compounded with a stressed heart made Ophelia the shell of a woman she was just a few short weeks ago. Was her mother still alive? Would Fay be able to get on board this ship? Would she survive against Fay's arsenal of death? Scanning the information in front of her, she sighed taking another sip of her warmed peppermint tea attempting to squelch the questions in her head. That's when the window popped up.

-Death knocks on your door Ophelia, are you ready?- *Sheepluvr08*

"Sheepluvr?" Lia asked with confusion in her voice. Her fingers sped over the keyboard in response.

-Who are you?- *Lawgoddess32*

-Take a wild guess. You are a smart girl, arn't you now?- *Sheepluvr08*

-Fay?- *Lawgoddess32*

-Oh! She can be taught! Hi girl! Hey, I wondered if you have read the book, 'A thousand things to see before you die'. It's a good read......- *Sheepluvr08*

-Fay, what do you want?-

-Your head on a plate with a side of cheesy fries.-

-Where are you? You know I can trace your ISP address.....your as good as caught.-

-Nice try Lia, very nice try. However, by the time the authorities will get here, all they will see are two stupid bumpkins and a basset hound. By the way, your mom is dead.-

-This is getting really old Fay. Come and get me. That is, if you are smart enough to get on board this ship.-

*Lawgoddess32 has signed off.*

Ophelia's anger bubbled within her as she stood, pushing the chair back in a violent manner. This was her home, her life, *her* place of refuge and it was frightfully being invaded. Pausing, she stared at her son playing, silently wondering what kind of example she was setting for him by just watching and waiting for the eleventh hour. She was a much stronger woman than she was portraying recently. She had the inner drive, the core survival that women were blessed with to see many things through to fruition. Why....why should this situation be any different.

It was time to take her life back, bodyguard or not, Galaxy or not, weapons or not. Narrowing her eyes, she began to work out a plan. If Fay couldn't come to her, Ophelia would go and find her first. All it would take would be one shot....with a very large gun. Her mother's death would be revenged, as well as her uncle's death. Fay was wanted by Starfleet, and it would be a pleasure to serve the organization to her fullest capacity.

She bit her bottom lip before leaning over and extracting something she had received from Victor. It was time to visit the armory and a cute girl named Allison who Ophelia knew could hook her up in proper 'fashion.' Then, she was off to have another chat with Krieghoff.

Helpless, Hopeless .... Lost ....

Un-named Hermaphrodite
Un-named Science Person
Un-named Gold-Shirt

Onboard an Un-named Federation Starship

~~~~

In a darkened crew lounge somewhere onboard the Starship, an unnamed hermaphrodite lay curled up in a depressed, dejected ball on the couch. Shi didn't know how things had gotten this bad; the events of the past couple of months revolted against the decency within hir soul and the love in hir heart. It had all started ago when hir wife had finally agreed to try for a baby. It wasn't that they didn't want kids, but the timing was always wrong. Or something. Shi couldn't remember it clearly anymore. They had tried for the last year or so, with no luck. The doc's all said everything was OK, it just wasn't happening, and that happened even in same species relationships. It didn't make hir feel any better.

And then, they ran into HIM. Some brawny goldshirt who'd helped them with a holodeck program they were writing for eachother. He'd invited them over for dinner, and they'd accepted. Hir wife had said yes a little quickly, but shi thought that was just because of nerves. The three had had a good time, talking about themselves, shi was so obviously proud of hir wife, a science person. While not an officer, she was still just as important! The night had drawn on, and shi'd become very sleepy. He'd offered his couch to them, promising to wake hir wife in time for duty in the morning. Again shi mistook the eager acceptance of hir wife for something else.

The next day shi woke, alone on the couch in the goldshirt's quarters. Hir wife was already up, he said from the table, munching on breakfast. Shi thanked him for being so nice to them, then retreated to their shared quarters. Midway through the day shi called him up, wondering if he'd like to have dinner with hir and hir wife at their quarters, but he said he couldn't. Some report or another ... shi couldn't remember, just that he said no. Shi still prepared a nice dinner .... but it was miserably cold by the time she got home. She said something about a project that she needed to help finish up, took a shower, grabbed a bite from the replicator, and went straight to bed. Shi noticed her uniform wasn't all perfect the way she liked it to be, but put it down to the project. Sometimes they got really technical, and shi didn't know the first thing about Projects. After cleaning up the uneaten dinner, shi slipped into bed with hir wife, falling asleep with her snuggled into hir embrace. Shi whispered to hir mate, just before drifting off ... "I love you." Shi didn't get a responce, thinking she was too far asleep to whisper back.

The next morning, she was gone far earlier than normal. No wakies, no note saying she had to report in early. Shi shrugged. Shi didn't know that much about Starfleet, even though shi'd been married to a member for the last 3 years.

The scene repeated randomly over the next 4 months, and what was worse was she no longer had time for sex anymore. Shi knew she wanted a baby, they had both admitted such many times. Shi asked hir wife about this one night, when she had come home on time. She fidgetted a bit, saying something about a new timing trick someone had told her about. Shi smiled and nodded, believing what she said. Shi had never been given any cause to think she'd lie to her.

That's when shi caught them.

It happened completly by accident. Shi went for walks around the ship every day at lunch time, and hir wife knew this. Shi'd run into an engineer and the two fell to the deck in a jumble of limbs and a startled shriek from the herm as an ankle was sprained. A short trip to sickbay set it straight, and shi went home much earlier than shi'd expected, still limping a little. The doors to hir quarters opened, and the sounds coming from within were ... sounds?!?! Shi dashed inside, ignoring hir discomfort in the rush, only to stop short at the threshold of the bedroom. There, in the bed shi shared with her wife, hunky goldshirt had just finished fucking hir wife. Shi stood there, eyes wide, shocked as shi watched hir wife lay there, rubbing her stomach so contentedly as he lay next to her in the spot shi should be laying in, their comingled fluids dripping from both. There was a bump there in her stomach, one shi didn't remember seeing before.

The goldshirt grinned, giving her tummy a pat. He went on to explain that they'd been fucking ever since that first night. Shi only half heard his mentions of having talked with her and the two deciding it would be better for him to be the father of her baby. Up until now they had kept this secret, thanks largely due to hir naive nature. And that was when shi'd been uncermoniously tossed out of hir own home. He and hir wife needed to talk about child care and other important things and shi didn't need (or have) a say in anymore.

And so shi wandered the ship till shi'd found this unoccupied lounge, putting up the 'do not disturb' indicator and curling up on the couch, gazing out into the stars. ~How could this have happened?~ Shi thought to hirself as shi cried.

"Saying Grace, Part Two: Theories and Blood Drops"

Lt. 8-Ball Hunter


They were eating their food off the ground.

Civilized people didn't do that. That was the general notion, anyway---although the very concept was based on some ethnocentric prejudices that anthropologists such as herself were supposed to be immune to. Still, 8-ball's imaginary blond family, sitting safely in their dining room galaxies away, would never stoop to such a thing. Their dinners would always be served on a long wooden table with maybe a candle or two for ambiance. Even 8-ball, who had never been particulary partial to sit-down meals and crappy dinner music, usually preferred to throw her spaghetti into some kind of bowl before eating it. At any rate, she didn't usually lick it off the ground and smear it all over her face.

But she could see that these people here had very different idea of what table manners consisted of.

*

(45 minutes ago)

8-ball's decision to run away from danger, to leave the screaming person to their doom and get the flying fuck out of here, had lasted about forty-two seconds. After that, she stopped and changed her mind.

It had nothing to with altruism. 8-ball, in general, did not consider herself to be much of an altruistic person. But she had no idea what was going on here, and if she intended to find out what had happened to her or how to fix it, she could hardly huddle in an empty room and wait for everything to blow over. It was possible that the person screaming was another crewmate from the Galaxy, maybe someone who had been injured in some way and needed assistance. 8-ball didn't have an overwhelming urge to give assistance, but she did have a deep desire to not be alone anymore on this godforsaken ship. If she found other people, people who were not hairy and gross and attempting to tear her head from her shoulders, she stood a better chance of getting out of here. At the very least, she'd have somebody to be scared with.

Still. This was obviously a bad fucking idea.

8-ball sighed a deep, bitter sigh, and turned around to creep carefully in the direction of the agonized screaming.

As she made her way down the corridors, trying to pinpoint the source of the shrieking, 8-ball attempted to come up with some sort of explanation for what had happened to her. There were a number of different things that might explain her current predicament . . . the most obvious one, of course, being that she was dead. When she had slapped Chris an hour ago, he didn't even feel it . . . because her hand had passed through his head, like it wasn't even there. Like she was some kind of spirit.

8-ball really needed to try walking through walls but feared getting stuck in one instead. So she didn't.

The problem with the being-dead theory was that nothing had killed her. And her body hadn't slumped to the ground or anything . . . there had be no tears, no "8-ball, 8-ball, you died too soon!" Also, it was a very depressing notion, and 8-ball didn't like to think about it. So she chose to believe that something else had happened--maybe she'd come in contact with some kind of unseen energy field, mutating her entire molecular structure; maybe she had been transported to some kind of parallel dimension, two identical ships in the same space . . . although that didn't explain why she could see the others . . .

The screaming cut off abruptly, which was a very ominious sign. 8-ball froze in her tracks and tilted her head, listening for some kind of noise. Continued screaming was bad enough---that was indicative of torture, not oops I fell and hurt my head---but a shriek cut off like that meant somebody had probably lost their head.

And here she was, skipping merrily towards it.

Though every survival instinct she'd ever had was screaming run away, run away, 8-ball walked quietly forward, edging along the side of the wall. She walked for five minutes before coming upon a very large pool of blood, already starting to dry into the carpet. There was no one around, no bad guys, no axes, no body parts, just the blood settling into the floor, too much for one person to have lost and lived.

8-ball backed up. She backed up quickly.

Unfortunately, she backed up too quickly and felt her foot hit something behind her. She swallowed her shriek and spun around, trying to find her balance even as she fell forward into a pile of debris. She felt her uniform snag on something jagged and landed hard on one wrist as she face-planted into the floor.

"Motherfuckingsonofabitch," she muttered into the carpet.

She rolled to her feet quickly---she was completely exposed here, apparently in more ways than one. She glanced down at her uniform and saw where it had caught against a sharp edge of the wreckage, splitting the right side of the fabric almost in two, exposing half of her bra. "Great," she said, as she looked down to watch blood trickle from her chest down to the carpet. "That's just great. Wonderfuckingful. Now these guys will probably sniff out my blood or something."

She looked down curiously at the blood drops which made a horse shoe pattern on the floor. She could see them, of course, but no one else could see her, so it stood to reason that no one else could see the blood, either. What a comforting thought---and too bad, really. If she opened up the cut a little more, she could write "8-ball was here" in blood.

Lovely.

8-ball realized that she could die here and no one would ever know--with no trace of her left behind, no blood, no body . . .

No organic material . . . all the organic material has disappeared . . .

"Jesus," she whispered. "Is that what happened to the---"

A hand landed on her shoulder and she screamed.

"The Arrival"

Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Chaplain (Captain) Sanguines Ephral Templar – SFMC
Gunnery Sergeant Thral - SFMC
Staff Technician Rheay Olin - SFFC

=======================================
(Mess Hall- USS Zeus)

Dinner was of course delicious, but For'kel being whom he was, wasn't
the kind of guy to complain about how the food tasted anyway, so
long as it was edible. Be it the most industrialized, processed dish
known to mankind (replicated SPAM), or a succulent filet mignon
prepared by hand from a freshly slaughtered cow, he was equally
satisfied. When it came to food, he wasn't difficult to please.

Now it was the post dinner kind of 'associating' that, for some
reason, was considered necessary. So necessary that Leah had made him
promise he wouldn't just leave for bed, which felt like the best way
to spend the next day or so while they were on course for Alpha
KS-128. After all, once they were there, there was no telling when
the next good night's worth of sleep might be.

Ra poked idly at her glass of unknown warm concoction. She hadn't
asked what it was, no one had volunteered to tell her, so she'd done
the polite down and prodded at her food like a sickly fowl and now
sipped on her drink like a well-behaved child. Kebs and Denovo were
immersed in a stressful debate over the usefulness of the new
'dippers' electronic makeup (apparently the gages had lost some
agility in return for better longevity, which Denovo applauded and
Kebs scoffed at) and Esh had already bowed out and headed to
whichever direction she felt like.

Ra sighed almost inaudibly, unwilling to really get down with the
conversation Kebs seemed to be losing (who really cared about angle
depth conduits anyway as long as they were doing what they were
supposed to be doing) and not sensing any kind of a better pastime
either. Her little trek to find a place to have a smoke had ended as
a fiasco when a Sergeant had stumbled across her lighting up in one
of the hangar bays and since then the day had pretty much ended for
her anyway.

To add to the direness of it all, they still hadn't a clue where they
were supposed to be and their stuff was currently stacked neatly in a
spare Enlisted bunker somewhere on Deck As Low As We go. Ra shot a
somewhat sullen look at the Colonel.She couldn't help but ooze out a
little misdirected frustration at him until she could bump into
Starvel again.

"You 'can' complain, you know." Fork turned around and smirked in
Ra's direction. "It's what officers are for... handling complaints,
or so I'm told."

A chuckle came from behind and, oddly enough, above the two. "Some
people might beg to differ on that one, Brother Colonel."
Chaplain Templar was grinning as he gave Fork a pat on the shoulder.
"They'd say the NCO's the one to handle complaints, because all of
their issues are with their officers." Templar, for his part, had
been enjoying himself. He'd circulated leisurely through the
assembled, doling out parcels of wisdom, encouragement, or just
plain good natured friendlieness.

Ra eyed the Colonel with slightly pursed lips, dragging herself just
ever so slightly out of her personal misery. "You wouldn't like me
when I start complaining, sir. It's better to just put up with my
sulking, saves some of your valuable nerves."
She also noted that Templar had a valuable point. Rheay liked the
current placement of her head and she was adamant about keeping it
there, rather than on some spear thrown by a crazed alien Marine after
she'd pissed him off on the topic of poor preparation and information
circulation for a mission. Ah, the sad sad life of NCOs.

"Not all of them. I've known quite a few sergeants that were 'far'
worse than any officer I've worked with... well most anyway... okay
maybe half." The more he thought about it, the more he realized he
was outgunned in this debate, and with good reason. Officers were
often pricks. "Don't worry about my 'nerves'... Ra is it?" It had
been quite some time since they last spoke on Earth... years even,
and it had been more then a couple of hours since he last checked the
roster so it wasn't like her name was burned into his memory. He knew
it involved something like a sun-god deal... "what's the worst I can
do, send you home?"

"Oh trust me, the Colonel can take whatever you can dish out. He's put
up with me all these years". Thral piped up from nearby shooting a
toothy grin to the Colonel. Ok, so Thral really wasn't much of a
complainer but coming from a Tellarite those words should mean
something. "Or you could take it up with me, wait, that might not be a
good idea."

The slim Betazoid considered the sight of the pondering Colonel with
mild amusement creeping into her otherwise sullen composure. At least
he knew he had nothing on her in this conversation.
"Yes, it's Ra. And I doubt you'd be so kind towards me as to send me
home after such a short batch of mingling, sir. I do, however, like to
stay on this side of the airlock and I'm well aware that the current
Captain of this tin is into spacing people who whine too much. Her
ways might be infectious. Also, I think it'd be best if I –didn't- get
into trouble with your fellow Marines, sir." She hiked a thumb in the
general direction of the Tellarite, who she considered to be enough to
prove her point.

Kebs frowned slightly at Ra and her rather nonchalant way of
communicating with the Colonel, which Ra noted and dismissed with a
flick of her wrist. The tall Trill scoffed at that and smirked,
turning towards Arvelion. "We'll manage, sir. Miss Olin here is just
wound up a bit too tight for her own good."

"And you're just an inch away from lugging our gear until the end of
the mission, Technician," Ra murmured sweetly over the rim of her cup,
throwing Kebs a less than friendly look.

He stifled his urge to laugh. They reminded Fork a lot of how he and Crougar used to act back when they were junior officers. At least they had the right attitude about things.

=======================================
(Hangar Bay- USS Zeus)

The Zeus, being of the Prometheus class lines, didn't have an
excessively large hangar bay, but one of the ships slated to join
the Task Force had a large complement of support craft and hoppers
aboard, ergo the 188th didn't really need to bring more than two of
it's own... sufficiently small enough to fit in the Zeus'
shuttle-bay along with the few auxiliary craft normally kept on
hand. Roughly half of the 188th would be transported to the surface
in the craft, the other half beamed down by transporter to
pre-planned locations coordinated with the Marines already on the
ground.

Now it was time for the typical pre-briefing mission.

"Listen up!" Fork waited for the bay to quiet down before he got
underway issuing orders. "Platoons five and six will be transported
to the headquarters complex to provide additional security.
Apparently the field hospital has been experiencing harassing fire
from Triad mortar crews on the other side of a frozen lake, standard
search and destroy. Platoon four will provide logistics support and
security for the anti-ship defense positions. Platoon three will
provide additional security for the fighter-base they have on
one-two-eight... it's a subterranean facility, so other than
checking everyone to make sure they are who they claim to be and
assisting the security forces deployed there, you'll need to keep
aware of your surroundings. Platoons two and one will be deployed
in the trenches, and will serve as QRF if called up. The air-group
will be waiting for our comrades in the fighter Corps to join them.
Let's get to it."

Ra frowned deeply, arms crossed over her chest and her humongous
duffel leaning on her leg. She considered the already all too
familiar sight of lined up Marines with an uncertainty that was
bordering on dislike as Arvelion barked out scant directions for the
various platoons. It wasn't that she disliked jarheads, in fact she'd
known a few who were quite adorable beings, but it was their whole
concept of operation. They were glorified cannon fodder who were
mostly kept around due to silly regulations about it being impolite
to just demolish certain structures/vessels/nations, which in itself
was somewhat of an outdated notion. All in all the slight Betazoid
just didn't feel safe being cooped up with a bunch of people who were
saluted for dying in battle. Seriously, how whacked is- that?

"Is it just me or are they still not telling us all that much?" she
questioned in a whisper, throwing Esh a somewhat concerned glance.
"It's on a need to know basis and..." Kebs barked in from behind the
two females.
"And we don't need to know." Ra finished with a groan, biting the
inside of her cheek. Not too promising at all.

"At least not right now." Fork pre-empted any response that might
have been coming, and tossed one of those infamous 'black death'
encrypted PADDs Ra's way. "They're secretive about the location of the
fighter base for obvious reasons, the planet's under constant attack
and often times the fighters are out-gunned. That being said you'll be
happy to know you guys will be safe and warm where they have you
assigned, working on keeping the fighters they have flying."

"Get used to it. Knowing too much in this business can be a bad thing.
Spots there knows what he's doing.", Thral tried to be comforting, but
he probably was failing miserably. His normal intense demeanor when
heading into combat was probably preventing it. Still, his words were
as true as they were poorly delivered.

Ra fumbled with the PADD, almost losing it to gravity and her own
appalling ineptitude at catching stuff. After securing it in her hands
she gave it a quick glance, followed by equal ones to Arvelion and
Esh. "Well, apparently whining really does get me everything," she
mumbled, nodding thankfully at the Colonel before starting to digest
the newfound titbits of info.

The Colonel nodded back, opting to tend to his own flock and letting Ra handle hers. "Make sure your men are ready to go Thral, load down the buggies with everything you can. We can always find closet space, can't say the same about spare equipment. Double up on everything."

========================================
(Bridge- USS Vigilant)

"Battlestations." Nasav gave his customary one-word order as he
briskly crossed the command deck and took his seat. The lights grew
red and the 'gong' of general quarters echoed throughout the little
Defiant class ship. "Time until we enter weapons range?""Two
minutes, twenty seconds." Ensign Azer replied, his interface with
the tactical controls of tactical station one operating at normal,
impressive Bynar efficiency. His twin, Izer, was operating tactical
station two. The pair was a great addition to the little ship,
their slight stature being made up for their interoperability.

It was simply easier to refer to them as Azer and Izer (their actual
names, in binary, run through a typical universal translation
program, produced those names) then to have to remember a lengthy
change of zeroes and ones... or who's one went with what zero.

"What's the task force's status?"

"All ships report ready." The Risian operations officer, Trissa
Relet, reported.

"Task force fighters are launched." Ensign Izer reported after a
quick binary chatter with the computer.

Nasav's eyes ran over the orders being passed between the different
ships of the group on one side of a panel, the location and strength
of the enemy fleet being displayed split-screen. Things weren't
looking 'too' good for the Federation group right now... but then
again what was new? "Slow to one-quarter impulse and maintain
formation. Transfer auxiliary power to weapons and shields,
prioritize targets for engagement. Standby until we get the order."

============================================
BRIDGE---USS ZEUS

"Remind me again why we're doing this?"

"Ma'am." Panic was slightly confused. Never in the last four years
had her Captain ever asked to be 'reminded' of anything. She may
have been nuts, a social nitwit, or violently cold hearted.....but
never forgetful.

"Reminded of what ma'am?"

"The Marine thing." Rebecca von Ernst gestured lazily at a stream of
polynomial equations scrolling across her repeatere screen. "We've
got a half-dozen Fusion-Cobalt warheads down in the armory right? We
just light off one or two of those in the upper atmosphere, and
Ta-DA! The whole planet is sterilized....no more invasion problems
and we dont have to worry about a bunch of sweaty Marines eatting up
the ships supply of fresh ice cream."

Panic exchanged a look with Fear. "Ummmm...we cant obliterate the
planet Ma'am becasuse its our planet....we're on the defensive this
time."

"Defensive?" Rebecca chewed her bottom lip for a moment, lazily
curling a strand of red hair around a pinky. "Do we do Defensive?"

"Yes Ma'am....but not very well. We rather excell in the offensive,
kill'em all, leave no stone standing mode, but we need to work on our
restraint."

"Restraint." Rebecca grumped, "This is so dumb."

"We're the good guys Ma'am."

"Whatever." she dismissed with an annoyed wave. "Still, put a
restriction on the ice cream...the bone-heads will have to do with
the replicated stuff."

"Jarheads....not boneheads.

"Whatever."

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