USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 60808.17 - 60808.23

Logs

On The NX-19 PART 2

Cmdr Jaal Jaxom
Lt. (jg) Michael McDowell - Engineering
Ensign Riley McKenna - Engineering NPC
PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell, Paramedic

== NX-19 (Aiolos), Main Engineering==

"Sounds good," Max muttered and invited himself to take the lead, which
helped in decreasing the exclusionary DNA from everyone else in the team.
Again, as he continued his scans, there was not one hair folicle, not one
cell, no trace of anyone being here except the local shrubbery and wildlife.
"Still nothing, Sir," Max reported.

'That seems somewhat... odd,' the Trill commander mused to himself as they
walked cautiously towards main engineering.

The group approached the doors that led to main engineering. They were
double wide much like 'modern' doors that led to major areas on the Galaxy.
'Some things never change,' Jaal thought.

The doors were split a few centimeters but not far enough apart for a
humanoid to fit through.

"I would actually pay to see someone squeeze their way through that," Max
said aloud before he realized that he was speaking his thoughts again. "Did
I say that out loud?"

Jaal glanced back at the medic with a grin, "Yes, yes you did... and now
that I think about it, I think I would too."

"Hate to dissapoint you all, but the only way you're going to see that
happen is if there's a changeling in our midst." Michael added to the
somewhat frivolous discussion. For him it was simply too hot to stand idly
around while making jokes. Best to keep on moving and get the job done for
which they'd come here. He moved to the doors, keen on getting them open so
they would be able to enter Main Engineering. "Anyone up for helping me in
trying to slide them open by hand?" He looked around to see if there were
any volunteers. His eyes came to rest on Commander Jaxom. "With your
permission of course, sir."

He had to admit, it 'was' hot. Even a little hotter than the drought season
on Trill where he grew up. Jaal could feel the sweat dripping down his back
under his uniform. What he wouldn't give for a cool pool to soak in right
now. He decided complaining with the rest would do no good not to mention
set a bad example.

"All right then, let's see what we can do here." Jaal stepped forward and
volunteered himself to aid in the prying open of the doors.

Without waiting, Max holstered his tricorder and placed his fingers into the
tight space, then looked back at McDowell in askance.

The three men managed to pry the doors open enough to one person to squeeze
through. "Let's shine a light in there before we go jumping in," Jaal
suggested.

Riley moved forward a bit to see if she could help. Shining the flashlight
into main engineering so they could get a better look at the situation.
"Anyone see anything that looks unsafe?"

Michael peeked around the corner of the left door. What he saw didn't
surprise him much. It was complete chaos, similar to what he'd seen so far
in the rest of the ship. A bulkhead that lay nearby seemed to have snapped
like a twig. Several consoles had been smashed. Then he noticed the warp
engine. At least, he assumed it was the warp engine. It only looked remotely
like the one that powered the Galaxy. "Looks safe to me from here. But looks
can be decieving. Better do a scan of the area with a Tricorder. Maybe it
will give us some more information on what's in there."

Jaal adjusted his own tricorder. "Still no life signs.. of 'any' kind." He
allowed himself an unsatisfied and unprofessional grunt. "I'm going in."

The Trill stepped through the doors shining his own light, which was
attached his wrist, into the gloom. From outside the doors the others could
see the light beam slowly scanning around the room. He wiped his forehead
with his sleeve as the heat beat down on the ship and the
small landing party inside.

Sweeping his light around the rest of the way he found what he was looking
for... an undamaged console. He strode over carefully as to not trip on the
considerable amount of debris strewn across the floor. "Who brought the
engineering kit?" he asked.

"Both me and Ensign McKenna, sir." McDowell stated. It never was a good idea
to come unprepared to such a situation as they were in now. "What do you
need?"

"Bring it in and try to gain access to this console. Who knows what we'll
find." Jaal looked around waiting for the others. This ship wasn't exactly
standard fair for the Starfleet of it's time. There was a good story to be
told and Jaal wanted to hear it.

Michael looked back McKenna and wondered if she would want to try her hand
at recovering whatever secrets this ship would hold. He'd half expected to
step forward, eager to offer her help, but she kept silent instead. He
wondered why. Was something wrong? Could be but she didn't show it. And
right now there was no time to find out. That should have to wait until
later.

In the end he decided go himself. He stepped through the small opening
they'd created by moving the doors apart. Like Commander Jaxom, the first
thing he did was to shine his light in several direcions of the room. It was
complete chaos. Several native plants had found their way in through the
cracks in the hull and he even saw glimps of mysterious small lifeforms
fleeing away from the light. Then he pointed his flaslight in the direction
where Commander Jaxom stood, thereby illuminating the console that was still
intact.

"So, not everything was smashed. Guess we can call this our lucky day." he
said while inspecting the old and relatively unfamiliar design. "We still
need power though, before we can even attempt to access it. Or we could try
to use an external powersource and hook it up, but I'm afraid that won't get
us much further."

"I think one of the tricorders will have enough juice to at least power one
console up," the Trill was already making the connection with his own
tricorder.

Max continued his scans, making continual adjustments to his tricorder. He
did pick up the arachnid-type lifeforms that scurried away from them as they
entered the room, as well as some creatures that were similar to fair sized
rodents. There was a fairly earthy odor, and thick blue moss near the
console where Jaxom stood.

Suddenly there was a short, sharp, shrill cry along with a sound of
something being crushed. It shattered the relative silence. For a moment
McDowell stood still, nailed to the ground. "Geez, what was that!?" He then
quickly turned around as it seemed that the sound had come from there.

A thick ten legged creature that looked like a very well fed 'mutant' spider
scurried away under an exposed wall panel, dragging one of the multi-jointed
legs with it. It's fading shrieks sent chills up Max's spine, but he still
did his job and waited until it was clear to obtain a sample from the ruddy
looking fluid sample it left behind. He had already made several scans of
the arachnid-type creature before it was gone. ~Thank goodness for quick
reflexes and quick thinking~, Max thought. To McDowell, he asked, "You
alright?"

Michael looked to the side and nodded towards Maxwell. "I'm alright. That
thing, or whatever it's called, just scared the hell out of me." He looked
back at the console again and tried to make sense of the layout. "Screaming
spiders. Weird." McDowell mumbled as he wiped away more sweat from from his
face using the sleeve from his jacket. "Kind of creepy if you ask
me,...like everything here is." He fed the console a few of the more common
commands that he knew of. Just to confirm that there wasn't any power. As he
suspected, nothing happened.

Jaal was as startled as the rest of them at the screaming spider. He shook
it off as best as he could and continued to work.

~Damn inconvenient.~ McDowell crouched down to inspect the rest of the
console to see if it really was intact. They had assumed it was simply
because it hadn't been smashed to pieces, but there could be other problems
that prevented it from operating. It didn't take long for Michael to notice
what was wrong. Something had punctured a wide whole in the base of the
console thereby severing the EPS power conduits. ~Well, that's just great. ~

"I'm afraid we're stuck here for a little while longer. The power conduits
that feed this console are cut off. I have to fix that first. ...Sorry."
Michael opened his Engineering kit and took the right tool for the job.
"Ensign McKenna, can you lend me a hand?"

Another sound, this time even more alien and frightening, filled the dark
room that was Main Engineering. It was a low but powerful growl. From the
moment it was heard it was obvious that this came from a much bigger
lifeform. No one moved and before anyone could say or do anything it was
followed by a sound that reminded them of claws scratching along metal.

"That...was no spider." McDowell said slowly.

Max's heart skipped a beat, felt the panic trying to overcome him but
swallowed it down as he gave his tricorder a quick look to confirm his
suspicion. "It's in this section with us," he reported. "I think we need
to put some distance and a few bulkheads between it and us." Indeed the UNK
icon on his handheld, which indicated what was previously identified as an
apex predator for this region, was slowly circling them.

Jaal was looking around at the ceiling of the enginnering compartment
trying, without much l uck, to triangulate where the sounds might be coming
from.

"Yeah, that's something I normally would agree on without a second thought.
But it would also mean giving up this chance we have to retrieve valuable
information on this ship." Without loosing any more time Michael lay down on
the ground on his side so that he could easily reach the gap at the base of
the console. "Can you tell the distance between us and that beast?"

"Roughly...forty meters fore of us and slowly closing. It's movement
pattern infers that it might be checking us out from a distance," Max
advised. "I'm only offering a guess based on its movement," Max added.

~Way too close for my taste.~ Michael felt his heart starting to beat
faster. He had no desire to come face to face with the large alien predator.
"Alright...Okay..."

~Try to relax. You've been in worse situations before.~ A few seconds passed
as he pushed away feelings of upcoming anxiety. "Let me see if I can get
this fixed within 15 minutes. That should leave us with about 5 minutes to
try and access relevant information and download it into a Tricorder
buffer."

"We need to get what we can get and then move to higher ground. I don't want
any of us to become snacks for the locals." Jaal looked around the room
again with some uncertainty showing on his features, "Besides, it's not like
we can't come back with bigger phasers."

"That might not be a bad idea," Max said, still watching the slowly closing
contact on his tricorder. It suddenly occurred to him: "That roar might
have been a call to its buddies. We might have more company than we wanted
very shortly."

A muffled groan escaped Micheal's lips as he feverishly tried to reconnect
the few small sized power conduits of the console to the EPS grid. "I really
wished you hadn't said that. It doesn't make me feel more at ease, you
know."

"Whoops," Max replied with a slight smirk but also acknowledged his own
fear. A change on the tricorder wiped the smirk off the Medic's face.
"Thirty-four meters and altitude is changing...decending." It would seem
the lifeform was crawling through an access space or jeffries tube to get to
them, now.

Riley didn't want to admit she was a bit of a coward. Something about being
on a ghost ship freaked her out. Moving just a bit behind the team but
hurrying to catch up with them. She suddenly screamed as she tried to put
some distance between herself and the thing that caused her to freak out.
Along the way she stumbled and twisted her ankle pretty badly. Doing her
best to keep moving as she fought through the pain. It wasn't easy but Riley
really didn't have a choice.

Seeing Riley's panic, Max threw away rank and shouted sternly, "Ensign,
stand fast!" They couldn't have a panic and people running every which way.

He was right, Riley had to shake it off. She felt as if something more
was wrong
than just a sprained ankle but she tossed that though aside to focus on duty.

=/\=Krieghoff to all Away Team members.=/\= The sudden incoming message
sounded like thunder as their combadges transmitted it, making the Acting
Security Chief's voice sound more menacing than usual. =/\=Be advised that
there has been an Away Team fatality due to action by the local predator
life-form. Said fatality occurred from well-executed ambush in open terrain
when the individual was separated from the rest of their team by no more
than five meters. No general recall is announced at this time, but all Away
Teams are instructed to tighten their perimeters and exercise extreme
caution. If surrounded, or under attack, then beam out at the first
opportunity. Krieghoff out.=/\=

~Well, #$*(%!! <some barbaric words>, and this mission started out so nice.
Can't we have a 'normal' mission for once?~ The last connection was made
after Michael fused two of the waveguides together. In his haste he burned
two fingers of his left hand. "Ah, shit, that hurts!" Like a child he put
the two fingers in his mouth, just for a few moments.

He got up to his two feet and looked down at the console. "Right, this
better works or else we've come for nothing." He tapped on a square looking
area on the console and waited.

Nothing...

~Hide and Seek, Part 1~ (partial overlap with "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Denobulan")

Ensign Relsta


Sometime in the middle of the night, Relsta fell through the tree.


With a painful whump, Denobulan suddenly found herself on the ground, surrounded by the tree trunk. It was a completely surreal experience. The inner rings of the trunk floated like shadows in her vision, superimposed on a background of the area outside of the tree.


Gingerly getting to her feet and passing out of the trunk, she turned back to the tree, and cautiously extended her hand. It passed through the bark, but Relsta couldn't even feel it. This was new. She hadn't been able to do that before. It was as if her eyes and her body had fought and were no longer speaking to one another.


Relsta felt a shiver run through her facial ridges. She could no longer deny it—something horrible had happened to her back by the river.


'No,' she mentally corrected. 'Whatever it was, it's still happening. I'm still changing.'


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


10 hours before


Rapidly pushing aside her prior disappointment about snakes (or more precisely, the lack thereof), Relsta strode briskly back towards Artim. The Miran Lieutenant was standing with his arms crossed, staring into the river worriedly. As she approached him, he turned and looked behind her, as if he was concerned she had been followed.


"Ensign, did you receive the Lieutenant's message?"


Relsta covered her ears, thinking that her boss was impressively loud for someone so small.


"Yes, I did. Sir, why are you yelling?" Artim didn't respond, hitting his commbadge with a frustrated look on his face. Relsta looked down, ashamed. He was clearly still upset over the wet stick debacle; he wouldn't even look at her. "Sir, I just want to say again how sorry—"


But he interrupted her apology. "Shivar to Relsta. Please answer, Ensign."


Relsta stepped back as if slapped. Was he that angry that he was playing games with her? "What? I...I'm right here." No answer. "Are you feeling all right, Sir?"


Relsta touched his shoulder and felt every muscle in his body tense. Later, alone in the tree, the Denobulan would wonder if he had sensed the pack approaching, or if just for a moment, he had felt her hand.


That was later though. Because at that moment, all hell break loose.


Relsta's memories weren't fluid. It was like they were sensory snapshots—hearing the creature snarl as it leapt, seeing Artim fire at it, feeling herself sprinting towards him as he slipped, reaching for his hand, but she just couldn't quite...


Then she was flying through the brush, hearing the creatures crashing after her. Relsta could feel the energy of adrenaline fading, trading places with the panic that rose in her throat, choking her. She knew she could not keep up this pace for much longer.


'They're going to catch up soon,' she thought. 'I have to hide.'


The nearest tree was too far away, outside of the undergrowth. She wouldn't make it without them noticing her. Somehow, though, she had just enough of a lead that she was not in their immediate line of sight. Relsta dropped and rolled into the dense brush. It wouldn't fool the creatures for long, but it might buy her enough time to find a weapon. Lying on her stomach, the Denobulan woman inched forward towards a rock outcropping at the edge of a small clearing.


Edging around the rocks, Relsta's breath caught as she came face to face with her own mortality, one meter in front of her. The creature's head turned in a slow arc to face her, and terrified blue met cold black as Denobulan and monster locked gazes. Opening its maw, it gave a guttural snarl, but then, it broke eye contact and backed away. Relsta willed herself not to panic, but it was becoming harder and harder not to give into instinct. It was playing with her, she told herself; trying to get her to run so it could catch her mid leap and rip her apart.

Except...the creature was not behaving like it had caught its prey.

It was pacing now, looking back at the spot where Relsta crouched, as if it knew she was there, but couldn't quite find her. It kept shifting its gaze to a spot just to her side, in a way that was disturbingly similar to Artim's earlier action, as if it was communicating with something behind her. Every physical and emotional nerve screamed with the pain of staying frozen. How long would it wait?

More importantly, how long could she?

"Saying Grace, Part Three: Meat is Murder"

Lt. 8-ball Hunter


When she'd been a little girl, 8-ball's best friend in the whole world had been a perky little girl named Ilia. Their friendship was . . . surprising . . . to say the least. Ilia came from a family that dripped with Aryan perfection. They were all tall, willowy, and blond; they lived off nuts and fruits and yoga exercises. Ilia herself refused to walk. Instead, she skipped wherever she went.

They were all insanely happy people, and 8-ball had no idea how she came to befriend such useless guppies.

8-ball and Ilia's unlikely friendship came to an end one summer day when Ilia decided that she could no longer be friends with someone who was barbaric enough to eat meat. She actually said the word "barbaric" too--precocious little snot that she was. 8-ball had been torn; she loved meat with a passion, and she couldn't believe that Ilia would stake their friendship on it.

To avenge this wrongdoing, 8-ball rubbed raw hamburger all over Ilia's bedspread and clothes and left pieces of ripped up bologna hidden in her jeans pockets.

Now, 8-ball knew that this was probably not the most mature way she could have handled her reaction. She also knew that this blond family that she'd been thinking of, this normal, happy figment of her imagination . . . it was probably based on Ilia's family, the whole disgusting lot of vegetarians.

At the age of 7, 8-ball had decided that she would never become a vegetarian.

Now, watching the scene before her, she realized she might have to change her mind.

*

(30 Minutes Ago)

Fingers quickly clamped over 8-ball's mouth as she shrieked at the unwelcome touch to her shoulder. 8-ball struggled blindly until she heard a man's voice saying, "Hey, calm down, it's okay," and 8-ball turned to face her attacker.

The man in front of her wasn't attacking her, nor was he one of the scary invisible people running around on the ship. Instead, he was another Starfleet officer that looked vaguely familiar to her. It took 8-ball a second to pin him down as the guy who used to walk in on her naked all the time. It didn't seem to matter the circumstances, where she was, if her quarters were locked or not . . .somehow, this asshole always managed to . . . albeit accidentally . . . walk in on her half-clothed.

The guy looked down at her and shook his head with a wry expression. "Even on a ghost ship of the damned," he said, "and I still find you with half your uniform ripped off."

8-ball threw her arms around him and kissed him.

*

Fifteen minutes later, they were walking carefully through the corridors, swapping stories on what they'd been up to for the last year and the last few hours. 8-ball related a few tales about the joys of going crazy, and the lieutenant (Walker, he said) told her how he'd come to disappear, exploring one of the decks on his own. He didn't know that he'd gone invisible until he ran into an ensign that completely ignored him. "I put my hand right through hers," Walker said, shuddering a little. "It was intensely creepy. If you haven't tried it yet, don't."

8-ball didn't respond to this. Instead, she had stopped in the middle of the corridor to stare at him. "You were doing what?" she asked him. "Exploring this ship by yourself?"

Walker shrugged. "Yeah," he said. "We figured we'd cover more ground that way." He looked back at 8-ball, who was staring at him in disbelief. "What? I know I'm not a Bridge Officer or anything, but hell, I'm not a redshirt."

8-ball shook her head. "That yellow uniform," she told him dryly, "will not save you on this boat."

"Yeah?" he asked her. "And what will?"

"God," she said. "If he likes you, anyway."

Walker smiled blandly as he looked around the ship. "Given the givens," he said dryly, "I think we can rule that out as a possibility."

8-ball shrugged. "Well," she said. "You're still alive.

And then the screaming started again.

Walker closed his eyes. "For the moment," he replied.

*

On the way to track down the source of all of this screaming, 8-ball ran into an ensign . . . well, ran through an ensign. 8-ball shuddered as the ensign continued on her merry way. "You're right," she said to Walker. "That's creepy. I don't like it."

Walker did not appear to be paying attention. At least, not to her words. Instead, he was staring at her chest. 8-ball sighed in annoyance. "Okay," she said flatly, "I know the uniform's in less than perfect shape right now, but really? You've seen me in a lot less. At least I'm wearing a bra this time."

Walker didn't respond, so 8-ball looked down to see what was so fascinating about her tits (other than the obvious, of course).She looked down just in time to see her comm bage disappear, beam away, presumably to the great Galaxy in the sky.

"You assholes," she snapped. "You're supposed to beam me up to."

Walker looked up. "8-ball," he said.

8-ball ignored him. "I mean, really, is it so hard--"

"8-ball, shut up!" 8-ball looked up in time to see four of the monstermen coming around the corner, and then she was pulled back unceremoniously, into the wall behind her.

8-ball gasped as cold seemed to shiver down her body. She could see nothing all around her, although she could feel Walker's hand on her arm. Carefully, she leaned forward and peeked her head through the wall, watching the scene unfold before her.

Oh God, she thought.

The four . . . savages, she thought, she had no other word for them . . . had dragged someone behind them on the floor . . . Ensign Valens, she realized. 8-ball knew Ensign Valens a little. She was an engineer, had a thing for dolphins and writing holo novels. She was exactly the tall, blonde, kind of woman that would have been welcomed at Ilia's table.

Somewhere in the galaxy, far, far away, Ensign Valens family was sitting down for a nice, home-cooked meal. They ate at a dining table with plates and silverware. They said grace over their supper.

Here, there was no grace. There was no dining table to eat off of. The silverware was human fingers. The meal, Valens herself.

The savages were ripping into her stomach, even as she screamed, and scooping up pieces of her insides, slurping them down, licking their fingers. Valens screamed and screamed . . . until she finally stopped screaming, her eyes fixed on some mark up on the ceiling. 8-ball pulled her head back into the wall.

She didn't want to see anything anymore. Darkness sounded pretty okay to her.

After awhile, she wasn't sure how long, she felt Walker step forward, and then he pulled her through, out of the wall and back into the corridor. The cannibals were gone. So was Ensign Valens body. They must have taken it with her, leaving only blood behind.

8-ball remembered the man who had first attacked her. He'd had blood on his mouth.

8-ball scrambled a feet away and threw up. She heard Walker nearby, doing the same.

After a few minutes, 8-ball stood up and unsteadily backpeddled towards the wall. She closed her eyes and convulsively swallowed. "I think," she said, "I might have just given up meat."

Walker laughed from somewhere around her, though the laughter sounded suspiciously choked with tears.

Walker's comm badge went off. 8-ball didn't hear all the details. She just heard the total recall back to the Galaxy.

Everyone was leaving them behind.

8-ball opened her eyes to look at Walker. They stared at each other silently for a long time.

"Walker?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"What's your first name?"

Walker smiled a little at her. "John," he said quietly.

8-ball nodded at that. "Johnny Walker, we are so fucked."

"Chesty Confessions"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
JAG

Chief Petty Officer
Jack Callahan
The Bodyguard

Location: Personal Quarters

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

9 at night. Routine had set in even if her nerves had not settled. Sweet Child of Mine by Guns and Roses lifted through the environment. Too bad if Jack did not like it, or even if he did, it didn't matter. The music was pipped through the bathroom, where Olivia attempted to shower off all the pent up rage, sadness, and uncertain fear she felt building up inside of her. Her biggest desire was that Fay would make her appearance so she could get it over with and get back to a somewhat normal existence. If that was possible. She viewed several years of counseling ahead of her, something that she didn't agree with at all.

Stepping from the shower and wrapping a towel around her that barely covered, she exited the bathroom. Glancing up, Lia viewed Jack with a certain gleam in her reddened eyes.

"What?"

Jack leaned against the bulkhead, his fingers hooked into his belt. He was missing the aggravating grin he seemed to always wear and despite her state of undress, the security veteran's eyes remained locked squarely on hers.

"Why don't you tell me." he said.

"Nothing....everything's fine." She stated tight lipped.

"Horse shit, Zamora. I talked to Logan."

"So what Jack? Seriously. In the 'big picture' of things....so what.? There's nothing you could have done. Technology doesn't permit you to walk through a video on to the other side and fight the bad guys.....it was my problem. You couldn't be the hero on this one...so just drop it." Ophelia spat.

"What video? What the hell are you talking about? Did Faylin send you something?"

She stated nothing, ignoring the hell out of him while rolling her eyes. Sashaying to the door of her bedroom, she offered him nothing but two aggravated raised eyebrows.

"Aww cut the crap, honey!" Jack said "You can't even see the big picture from your seat cause you're looking at a very small screen. You wanna grow up a minute and tell me what...."

And that's what did it. She turned, fully engulfed in stomping her feet back inside her bedroom to make a point. Turning, she spoke.

"A live feed you moron! My mom, she had my mom and hurt her. But it's done now, Okay?"

The stunned irritation he felt was plainly evident on Jack's face. He pointed a finger at her.

"I told you from day one that anything you hold back may be a problem for you or your son. It's my job to keep you both safe, when something like this happens, no matter how little you tell me or I'll have to go drag counselor T'Reev to mind meld it outta ya every hour."

"I'd like to see you try it big boy. Since you got here, all you've done is sit on your ass, smoke your cigars, teach my son poker and pout like a baby when things don't go your way. I still have nothing solid that proves that you are a bodyguard other than your impressive chest! So.....shove it and leave me alone!" Lia turned violently from him and started to head to her bedroom for some alone time.

Jack stormed after her and slipped his foot in the bedroom door before it closed activating the safety sensor causing it to open up again. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around and drew her close to him.

"HEY!" She struggled against him, placing both hands on his shoulder attempting to shove him back.

"Shut. Up." he said, still gently holding on to her shoulder.

"Did you see how easy it was for me to do that? Two seconds and I'm in your room and you have no time to do anything about it. If I was McAllister, you would be dead right now." he said then fished into his pocket and handed her what appeared to be an isolinear chip.

"I had a friend in engineering whip this up. Plug it into your bedroom door control and set the voice activated code word. It will override the safety when you shout the codeword and slide the door shut a little faster then normal. Anyone trying to get in is in for a surprise and it gives you time to hit you're com badge and beam out. Make sure you tell Logan about it. Not bad for someone who just ...what was it...pouts like a baby."

"Big deal. One thing." Ophelia smarted off.

"What ever. I have to go let Krieghoff know about this video. Two things to keep in mind, darlin. First is that regardless of what you think, keeping you and Logan safe is my priority. Right now McAllister isn't aboard, so I have the luxury of keeping things a little looser then regulation. Believe me when it comes time to get serious, I'll be serious." he said then turned to walk out of her room.

"Serious? God, I hope not!" She bellowed with her hands talking as well.

"I swear, I've never met a more incompet............"

Jack bent over and picked up Lia's towel off the floor. In all her fury, she had not even noticed that she had let it fall from her still damp body.

"You're chest is kinda impressive too." he said with his irritating grin. He flipped the towel to her and left the room without a second glance back.

"You son of a bitch!" Zamora barked, throwing the towel after him. She stood there steaming, arms crossed at her chest. Breathing for a moment, she glanced down at her naked body before sighing, finally walking over to the bed to wrap herself in her robe. It was shaping up to be another long, hot day in Hell.

"Humanity"

Starring Ens. Saiyk.

Sometimes mistakes get made.

Sometimes things dont work out as one would have originally hoped for.

Certainly for young Saiyk of Vulcan, life could have turned of different than it actually had.

There were definate alternatives to hiss career in Starfleet.

Alternatives to his posting to he USS Galaxy, and subsequent assignement to a planetary away mission.

Logic aside, much of the universe was a jumble of chaotic interactions and random chance.

Turn left and you gain millions....

Turn right and woe befalls you...

Even in the 24th century being in the right place at the right time speaks for a lot of what eventually

befalls you.

For Saiyk it was random chance...or perhaps a sense of curiosity that brought him to this.

Venturing a little further down the ancient street than was perhaps strictly necessary, all triggered by

a seemingly interesting artifact caught out of the corner of his eye.

Curiosity...a natural Vulcan trait...had the reputation of killing the cat.


Vulcans as a rule dont admit to hopes and ambitions. They would prefer that one beleive their actions

are governed by logic and well thought out plans.

Not necessarily true.

Curiosity...random chance...whatever you wanted to call it.

It was only as the 6 inch fangs pierced deep into his olive skin, ripping out huge chunks of bloody flesh that young Saiyk considered the unfairness of it all.

Certainly there was a logic in perpetuating the food cycle of the local wildlife, but even the most stoic Vulcan might have second thoughts when it was he who was on the menu.

Saiyk fell almost silently in the middle of the street....an emerald pool of his life forming rapidly around him in the dust.

There was regret...an un-vulcan like emotion, but it was undeniable that there were things in his life he would have liked to see.

He liked volcanoes...there was so much still to learn.

As he died, his killer stepped into view....jaws dripping green as it prepared for a second bite.

Then something curious happened.

The beast swallowed the bit of Saiyk it already had in its mouth and a startled expression passed its 'face'

Rearing back into sudden spasms the beast foamed great bubbles at its mouth and squealtched a gurgling choke.

~~Interesting.~~ Saiyks dying mind mused, ~~I'm poisonous.~~

As the world faded, he wondered if that was what humans meant by a joke.

"Gunboat Diplomacy"

Featuring the Marine Side Mission to System AS-128
Starring PC:
Col. Forkel Arvelion (Chris)

And
NPC's:
Capt Nasav USS Vigilant (Chris)

Capt von Ernst USS Zeus (other Chris)

Prince Thufi XXXIV RHS R'lyeh (other Chris)

The Hydran Gunboat is an interesting design.

Purpose built it was somewhat of a contradiction to the usual Hydran

philosophy of ships being both beautiful and functional.

As the name implied, it was all Gun and Engine. The basic form was 8000 tons of pale

blue armor wrapped around the biggest Fusion cannon one could conceivably mount

on such a tiny ship, and powered by two oversized sublight impellers behind.

Almost an afterthought, a tiny cramped bridge sat atop the huge weapons

port with barely a twin gatling phaser in a 360 turret for point defense.

Not strictly Warp capable except for short hops, the Gunboat was towed into

battle much as the smaller fighters were aboard their carriers. However that

said, the gunboat was a vast improvement over mere fighters. First and

foremost...in the eyes of the crew at least...was the armor. The life of a

fighter pilot is measured in seconds. If you get hit....you die. Simple as that.

Gunboats at least could take two....maybe three full hits from a Capital

ship before being reduced to slag.

Chance enough to retreat to fight another day. Add into this, high sublight

speed and maneuverability, not to mention the large bore fusion cannon that

gave the craft its name and you have a fast cheap gun that could give even the

biggest ships headaches.

Prince Thufi commanded an even dozen of the deadly craft. As the bulk of his

battlegroup hovered high over the pole of the As-128 system obscured by

debris from the Oort cloud, his gunboat flotilla ventured much closer.

As fast as, and as difficult to detect as fighters, they were nonetheless large

enough to boast a more powerful sensor suite making them handy scouts.

"New contact my Prince." announced the Signals Officer with a confident

blork. "Spikes in sub-spatial radiation indicates multiple ships approaching at

High Warp."

Lazily stroking the glowing controls of his huge command couch, Prince

Thufi XXXIV dialed up the magnification of the gaseous holo-tank that dominated

the center of the R'LYEH's Flag Bridge.

"Analysis." he clicked. "Is it them?"

"Aye-firmative My Prince," was the reply. "Spectrum Filters indicate a

Federation-Origin Miltary Warp Churn. Estimate speed in excess of HyperFactor

Delta"

"Very well....they're ahead of schedule. Divert 6 of the gunboats and two

fast Destroyers to the system center as we discussed...hit and run tactics once they're

sublight."

"We're not going to engage the Main fleet?" another nearby War Officer inquired with a

quizzical Bleek.

"Not yet." Thufi drooped his eye stalks in concentration. "They'll be

dropping off ground Forces as a first order of business. We'll catch their

transports in the Gravity shallows were they cant maneuver as well. Kill the

transports and the usefulness of their Capital ships will be negated."

It was a plan that worked mostly.

The Starfleet Task Force shifted to Impulse on the fringes of the system,

deploying the lighter ships into a forward screen while the heavies came in at

a slower crawl escorting the troop transports.

The Task Force was Cruiser centric with USS Zeus, and USS Langley, an Akira class as the key players.

The Saber class Jakarta ran escort for the latter while the aptly named USS Speedwell was the Intrepid class Fast Cruiser.

Rounding out the force was the Norway class USS Sa'forz….an all-Bolian crewed vessel and the old Excelsior class USS Kaf'ek.

Somewhat alone ,the Defiant class USS Vigilant served as the only member of the lightweight screen for the cruisers.

Aboard the Zeus, Rebecca von Ernst was sitting cross-legged in her oversized

chair literally chomping at the bit. She wasn't the most patient person

with joint-fleet operations, preferring to run the Zeus as her own personal

butt-kicker. Unfortunately since she was carrying part of the ground forces

herself...she was obliged to let the lighter ships go in and have all the fun.

It was slow methodical business clearing out the system…. 16 hours of scouting and investigating

False sensor leads passed before the task force anchored itself in the gravity shallows around

the primary habitable planet.

All seemed to be going well despite the irritating slowness.

The Troop Transports had already begun to drop shields and open their shuttle doors to disembark

Marines, which lead Rebecca to almost assume things were gonna work out....

That is until the flotilla of Gunboats appeared right in her midst.

"Cool beans." she sighed in relief even as her headache settled in.

"Something to do....."

Thufi's scout force of Two Hydran fast Destroyers....little more than oversized gunboats themselves

zipped into the shallows flanked on both sides by a total of six smaller

craft.

Ignoring a general engagement , the Destroyers stood off and launched

their long range Hellbores en masse into the slow moving Federation ships,

hopefully disrupting the Starfleet formation even if little damage was caused.

The holes thus opened allowed the six gunboats, their sublight impellers

screaming, to streak in and loose their Overloaded Fusion Cannons at point blank

range into the transports.

"You see." Rebecca gestured towards an imploding freighter where almost 200

Marines died in a flash of icy light. "This is why I hate fleet operations.

Everybody gets in my way. I could like totally do the mashed potatoes on

these squirts, but oh no...I have to be all noble and protective and stuff.

Foozle-sticks!"

She chewed her bottom lip a moment. "Recall the fighter screen and the Vigilant back to engage

the raiders...Place the Zeus between the transports and those gunboats....ram

them if you have to, I don't care...and tell For'kel and his bozos to get

the noodles off my boat!"

She grimaced, "I want Zeus out of this gravity well as soon as they're gone!"

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

(Zeus' Shuttle Hangar)

"Colonel, now's the time to go." Fear's voice cut in over the standard unit

chatter, the Marine tactical communication system having prioritized it

ahead of the normal chatter.

"We're going." Fork shot back as he helped the rear ramp to the hopper up.

The initial teams had already materialized on the planet, it was just a

matter of getting the modern day equivalent to the historical 'higgins boats' out

of the way. "Gear up, emergency launch."

"Launching." The Marine pilot at the hoppers controls replied, and not even

a full half a second later the hopper was hovering, it's landing gear up,

and it's propulsion systems slinging it full speed for the planet. They were

followed in close formation by Hopper 2...

And those two Hoppers formed up almost immediately upon departure with one

of several Hopper 'squadrons' numbering between 12 and 16 craft each. The

attack variant hoppers patrolled the outside of the Hopper formations

protectively, using their longer-range mini-torpedo armaments and phaser turrets to

blanket any approaching nemesis in a hail of fire equivalent to 2 heavily armed

SFFC fighters.

Inside the squared and staggered formations were the Hoppers

being used as transports and freight haulers, their lighter armament being

networked with the other support Hoppers and channeled en-masse on any

unsuspecting enemy who threatened the formation. They were spread far enough away to

guarantee that no more than one hopper was lost at a time, but close enough

to help friends in need, should they require it.

About half of the fighter complement launched from the large flight-deck of

the Akira class USS Langley and broke off in 4-ship formations to harry the

attacking enemy ships. The other 12 fighters formed up with the Marine Squadrons

to provide escort. Armed shuttles and runabouts were the last to launch,

their regular Starfleet crews doing their best to harass or otherwise discourage

the small raiding group from making another pass.

The shore-based fighter squadrons also launched, staying within the planet's

atmosphere and using it's magnetic poles to conceal their presence. Any of

the hoppers that made it that far would be protected, at all costs.

Fork sat back in his seat, and like the rest of his Marines waited, the

awesome light show outside simultaneously trance inducing, and terrifying.

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

(Bridge- USS Vigilant)

Watching the transport get hit really got on Nasav's nerves.

The Defiant Class starship was, in many ways, the ying to the Hydran

gunship's yang. Extremely over-powered and over-gunned for a ship it's size, the

Class was initially condemned as a failure, but the crucible of the Dominion

War and subsequent events had proven to even the old hand Explorers of

Starfleet Command that a dedicated combat capability was necessary. (This process

likely helped along by the onrush of Dominion War Veterans into decision making

positions.)

Also an extraordinarily nimble and fast design, the Defiant was an almost

ugly ship in comparison to the beautiful and graceful lines of Hydran designs.

It was boxy, stocky, and metallic white rather than the pale blue of it's

Hydran equivalent. None the less, it had the advantage of being battle tested

and proven, and could bring upon a target a firepower nearly equivalent to

two original run Galaxy class starships, and her heavy shielding, armor,

maneuverability, and slender and small size made her a difficult target at best.

She was most definitely a purpose built design... that purpose being war.

While the other ships entered a protective formation around the Landing

Ships, the Vigilant and the Saber class 'Jakarta' broke off from the fleet for a

little vengeance against the attacking Hydrans. Nasav watched as his little

ship brought it's massive guns to bear on what had been determined to be the

lead ship in the Hydran formation based on the level of communiqué being

directed to and from it. A holographic red-box appeared around the image of the

ship as the view-screen switched to tactical mode, and in the corner specific

data regarding the target in question played out.

Trissa went over the readings she was receiving. "They're trying to shake

us."

"Keep on target." Na'sav replied with clinical coldness. "Fire at will,

Azer."

The Binar team worked together, Azer handling the Vigilant's weapons while

Izer communicated with the Jakarta's tactical department. The result was a

fantastically coordinated assault on the suspected lead Hydran ship. The pair

of dual phaser pulse cannons, twin forward quantum torpedo tubes, and it's

forward facing ventral and dorsal type 10 phaser banks unleashed the full fury

of the Vigilant's vengeance upon it's target. Combined with the added

firepower of the Jakarta in the form of a pair of quick phaser strikes and a

quartet of torpedoes, it was no wonder why the fast destroyer was ripped asunder,

and it's pieces left to plunge harmlessly into the planet's atmosphere,

causing a hell of a light show as they were engulfed in angry fire and vaporized by

re-entry.

"Remain within 5 million kilometers of the fleet, we may need to be in two

places at once and I don't want to get caught flat-footed." Na'sav instructed

the helm, watching his pair of tactical officers fire beams from the

Vigilant's starboard nacelle phaser bank, and 2 of it's 3 ventral-aft phaser banks

and pelt one of the gun-ships being pursued by a fighter sortie.

"And let's watch our six, those ships might be itching to come back straight at us."

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

Free of its Dropships, Zeus climbed hard for high orbit.

Trapped between the gunboats above, and the planetary atmosphere below, Rebecca's maneuvering options had been reduced to a handful of quadratic equations.

Fortunately her own lightweights (the Vigilant and the fighters for example) were serving as trailblazers, clearing a path towards open space and the freedom to maneuver.

Despite her status as Task Force Commander, Fleet operations were not the tiny redhead's forte'.

The Mathematical functions she based her tactics upon were more useful from a singleship's point of view, and so rather than fumble around giving too many orders, she allowed her underlings a great deal of latitude.

So long as they stayed out of her way in her own butt-kicking all was well.

The Hydran raid was already fading, being horribly outgunned by the Federation Heavies, it had been more of a hit and run tactic that despite the fact of having lost two gunboats and crippling a Fast Destroyer, had left three Federation Transports burning in space and hulled an unwary USS Kaf'ek.

Recalling her perimeter scouts to cut off the Hydran withdrawal, Rebecca almost stopped to wonder how many Federation Marines had been lost before even setting foot on the ground....

...almost.

Instead her attentions were drawn when the second half of Prince Thufi's strategy made itself apparent.

"Noodles..." she puffed a bit of red hair from her eyes in frustration.

Distracted by the lightweights her fleet had failed to take note of the new set of incoming signals until they

dropped out of warp literally on her doorstep.

Two dreadnoughts, venerable old Azathoth flanked by the new flagship R'lyeh, and a host of cruisers of the main Hydran Battle Line supported by almost half a thousand fighters emerged into a rough semicircle trapping the Federation task Force between them and the planet below.

Prince Thufi closed his trap....

"Now..." he blorbled in anticipation as R'lyeh cut in her sublight impellers not a dozen kalgaams from a

scrambling Federation Battlecruiser, the USS Langley.

"All ships open fire."

"Flat Lined Floater"

Lee Ross Critchlow
Detective Upper New York State, United States

Faylin McAlister

Location: Lake Placid, Adirondacks, Upper New York State

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

It took a special person to do his job. As a 'older' detective, he choose Lake Placid because *nothing* serious ever happened here. Up until now that is. As a veteran, Lee Critchlow had witnessed his share of crime. Of all, homicides were the most difficult to deal with due to the classification of the crime itself.

The evening air was crisp with late summer humidity. Every now and then, a light teasing early fall breeze would swirl around, reminding the vacationers that vacation opportunities where coming to a close. He arrived, coaxing his pot belly to follow him out of the Ford he was issued. Stroking his gray goatee gave him little, if no comfort as he was escorted to the scene.

Here he stood, as the harsh floodlights bathed him and the crime scene and he had to sigh. Taking a sip of his coffee, he surveyed the scene unfolding before him with frustrated apathy. Swarms of small town crime scene investigators hurried around much like chickens with their heads detached from their body. It was a resort town, and once word of the bloated body reached the vacationers, the little town would suffer until the memory of the 'floater' became a ghost.

His balding head turned sharply to the left as he picked up the sounds of the gurney wheels attempting to swallow the rough ground below them. They finally came to rest in front of him for a quick investigation. There was a time, where the young woman would be considered beautiful. Not so much anymore he was afraid. Pale body and blue lips whispered at him, challenging him in their silence to find her killer and let her after life rest in peace. With sad eyes, he nodded to the old coroner and turned away with respect as the harsh sound of the zipper sealed away the body in a morose black bag.

The life lost always struck him. At this stage of the game, nothing was certain except he was responsible in attempting to identify the woman. It would mean waiting until night became morning for the lab. It meant, another afternoon informing family, and yet another gift to his wife to make up for his absence at the family Sunday dinner he always promised he would attend. Such was his life.

If fate smiled kindly on him, the crime would be solved and someone would be charged. Unfortunately and as of late, the case would go unsolved and be grossly stuffed into a database of cold cases awaiting much needed funds and time to solve them in proper fashion.

----------------Adirondack Scenic Railroad-Lake Placid Train Depot Station------------------------

The wooden bench was somewhat uncomfortable, yet offered a wonderful view of across the lake. The blue and red lights made her giggle a little. She always did enjoy watching her work being discovered. It was so because she willed it so. The less weight you put around the middle of a body, the quicker they float to the surface. This was merely a kill for fun and she knew she would only be able to use the woman's identity for a few days. Yet, wasn't that the fun part of it all?

'They found her quick, the crafty bastards....' She muttered to herself. Cassandra Burns had been such an easy kill, not much of a struggle in that one's soul.

She brought up the black worn bag she had 'borrowed' from the farm to the bench and rested it beside her. Opening it she moved Cassy's picture, identification, credit cards, checkbook, and other information to the 'Discovered' manila folder.

"Next...." She whispered as she pulled a sealed plastic bag of information out of the 'Undiscovered' folder. Studying the information for a moment, she smiled that crafty, yet dark smile.

"Hello Mister Steven Johnston."

Fay took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Slowly, and with much unexplained pain she morphed into Steven Johnston. Opening her eyes, she felt a trickle of blood caress the inside corners of both her eyes. Something was wrong, something that she could not figure out was starting to prohibit her from morphing. It hurt and it never used to. Her first thought was that the Breen had not been completely honest with her on what they had did. She didn't put it past them.

Standing, she took in the sight across the lake once more. It filled her with a wonderful sense of erotic euphoria as the lights continued to flash. She wondered how long it would take people to find the various resting spots of Mister Steven Johnston. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, McAlister started to whistle as she tilted her head and looked upwards into the tree line as a lone foot sat upon a tree branch waiting patiently to be discovered.

"THE QUICK PROJECT"

Dr. Quick swept into the Branwen Project Headquarters like a gust of wind.

Indeed the courier shuttle had barely skittered to a stop before the wild haired scientist was already offloaded and stomping his way determined up the hallway.

It was only after a half hour of said determined stomping that he decided it was best to stop and ask for directions.

"Yes Doctor, welcome to the 'Facility'." nodded a smiling female officer he happened along. "We've been expecting you for quite some time now. Would you like me to take you to your sleeping quarters?"

"A tempting offer my dear." Quick shook his shaggy head, "But romantic liaisons will have to wait for later. There's work to be done....take me to see the patient."

"Of course Doctor….if you just follow me this way."

Quick whistled a merry tune as he followed his guide until a random movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

"Whoa…dude…did I just see Karyn Dallas wheel her self on by?"

"Captain Dallas? Yes sir…I believe she is a part of the project. Do you know her sir?"

"Yah." Quick was looking eager down the hallway where the vision of beauty had disappeared, "Totally dated her in grad school…she was one freaky chick. Did I ever tell you about the time with the chocolate pudding and the……."

=======

Branwen could barely be seen in the shrouded Methane tank through the observation window, and Quick studied her curiously.

"Dude....She's green." he stated with some surprise.

"Yes doctor." One of the technicians nodded. "Part of the genetic manipulation apparently."

Quick was not to be dissuaded. "Yes...but she's really, really green!"

"Uh....yes sir...as I said."

"No...but really green....like in....green!"

"Uh......is that a problem Doctor?"

The tall scientist considered Bran's green-ness for long moments, his mind a whirling.

"I don't have anything that goes with green."

==========

A close review of the patients chart was next in order. Labwork, chemistries and DNA analysis were all carefully scrutinized.

"I see she's a Presbyterian." Quick noted "Has anybody checked her for Demon possession?"

The lab tech's exchanged confused glances.

Quick heaved a sigh. "I thought not. Ladies....the first rule is always to eliminate demon possession as an alternative. Remember from your basic Schooling the acronym D.D.J.P.N. right?"

"Uh sir?" neither of the techs had heard that mnemonic.

"Hello..." Quick thumped them both on the head. "Demons, Drugs, or Just Plain Nuts....the holy trinity of Diagnostic procedures."

He gestured towards the Observation window..."Once we eliminate the Price of Darkness as Prime Suspect we can determine if young Miss London is merely a pot-head or thinks she's Napoleon Bonaparte."

"Ummmm...Mrs. Doctor."

"No no...I'm a Mr. Doctor....although just plain Doctor will do....I'm not formal."

"No..." the tech shook her head in confusion. "Its Mrs. London....not Miss London....she's married."

Quick looked pleased. "Oh really? Where is the proud Papa?"

"What?"

"The Father of the Babies....he must be proud to see his firstborn alien monstrosities being born."

"Ewww....ick...He's not the father! She was impregnated by a Hydran Genetics Lab....didn't you read the briefing?"

"Not impregnated by the husband?" Quick looked in at Bran. "Adultress….." he observed.

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

A few hours, and several Hail Mary's later and Quick had reluctantly ruled out the spiritual as a root cause of Bran's problems. Tucking away his ever ready bottle of holy water, he was also forced to eliminate marijuana. A notorious Doobie brother himself, Quick knew all the classic signs....none of which were present.

Too bad. He was hoping to score a stash off Bran as he had quite left his own behind on Earth.

Taking out her chart and a big red sharpie-marker he scrawled "JUST PLAIN NUTS" in big letters on the cover.

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

"So in conclusion...." he dictated for his tiny tape recorder, "The patient must be considered to be clinically Goofy according to all available empirical data. We shall continue from this standpoint as we seek to cure her of said loonieness for the good of all the Federation and the furtherment of the War Effort."

He paused and looked down at his notes.

"Oh yeah....incidentally she's also totally pregnant with little squishy critters...whats up with that?"

Lt. JG Artim Shivar - Chief of Life Sciences

"Up A River"

=====================
<<Somewhere in the Jungle>>

If there was one commonality about all the planets in the galaxy that supported animal life it was that there was always some troublesome, curious, and often adorable little critter running about. They were usually birds or rodents and sometimes reptiles. But they were always there. They also tended to get themselves in over their heads.

On this particular planet said creature was a small yellow bird slightly bigger then a terran hummingbird. Quite adorable really. And it just so happened that two of their number had found something rather interesting that had washed up on the bank of the river just under their tree. And does a curious little bird do to something interesting? Naturally they peck at it.

"OW!"

The sound startled the poor little bird and it fluttered off into the tree, eyeing the strange thing it had apparently just awakened warily. The thing however wasn't a predator or something that meant the poor creature harm. It was Artim Shivar. And he was in quite a predicament.

"What the...where the..." Artim said as he started looking around, his vision still blurred from the impact that had sent him into the water. It took him a moment to gather himself and pull himself fully out of the water. Once he had though he realized he wasn't in the same place where he'd started. That and he was sopping wet and his pack seemed alot lighter then he'd remembered.

"Relsta! Ulrich! Are you OK!", Artim yelled as loud as he could. The words came out a bit slurred but it shouldn't matter. They should hear him. Right?

There was no answer.

Artim tapped his commbadge "Shivar to Relsta".

Nothing.

"Shivar to Galaxy", Artim's tone was beginning to get desperate.

Nothing except the quizzical chirp of the bird who'd awakened him.

"Shivar to ANYONE!"

Nothing. It wasn't working. Then again between the jungle canopy, his unexpected swim, and the seeming chaos that was erupting when the...whatever they were attacked it wasn't horribly surprising noone was responding.

Must stay calm...must...hold out. Dammit. The last word came to mind when his hand touched his forehead and pulled away dripping with blood. He had a head wound to start with, probably a concussion, and his left leg was aching like all hell.

OK, you can do this. You always come prepared.

Steadying himself, Artim managed to stand and stumble over to the tree where the two birds were watching him intently. He unshouldered his pack and started digging around for his medkit.

It should be right there...oh no...no no no.

Aside from a couple of ration packs, one of his emergncy canteens, a blanket, and two flares the pack was empty. His tricorder, medkit, phaser, gone. Most of his survival gear was either gone or ruined. His head was still dripping blood and he had no way of getting in touch with the ship.

It was at that point the realization came to Artim. He was alone in the jungle with only two nervous birds to look after him.

He was on his own. Again.

"Dealing with Prophets"

Cmdr. Arel Smith
USS Galaxy

Director Jordan Elaithin
Starfleet Intelligence

***

She walked past doors and hallways, through fields of wheat, and
almost ignored a man in a white room who claimed she was dead – she
did have to stop to snort at that one - before she finally came to
rest in space, hovering above two very familiar planets.

It wasn't any of these things that made Arel realize she was dreaming,
however. It was the long flowing white dress that she was wearing. In
the real world, she would screw a Ferengi before dressing in such a
ridiculous outfit. Probably.

Arel looked over at the woman on her left and scowled. "What is this bullshit?"

"Don't ask me Arel," Jordan Elaithin replied, a bemused expression on
her face. Her body was sheathed in ethereal ribbons of blue-purple
light, not unlike what made up the Bajoran wormhole -- the Celestial
Temple. "This is your dream. I am just here as a guide."

"You're a medication induced pain in the ass," Arel retorted.

Jordan sighed, though Arel's response could not have been too
surprising; they had known each other for some time, and Jordan
Elaithin -- whether real or imaginary -- would have expected something
along these lines. It was how Arel dealt with things: snippy
comments, sarcasm, anger, all so she could hide her caring nature.

"Fine," Jordan said, "have it your way."

She moved in space, the ribbons of light swirling with her as though
she was under water, and she looked at Arel Smith with eyes that
flashed blue.

"Do you remember, over a year ago now, when what I told you encouraged
you to leave Miranda?" she asked. "To take that XO position?"

"Sure," Arel replied, kicking stars out of her way. "I took it and
then almost got blown up. Thanks for the tip."

"Ah, but you *almost* got blown up," she pointed out, "you survived
and now have a most excellent battle story to tell, don't you? I'd
have thought that a Klingon Warrior would thank--"

"Look, what do you want from me, Jordan? I left Miranda, as far I can
tell the universe is still in one piece ... so go away and let
recuperate without all this crap."

"You did and it is and I'm very proud of you. But you didn't honestly
think that would get you out of your end purpose, did you?" Jordan
raised an eyebrow. "Let me tell you something about fate, Arel – it
always finds a way to find you. I would know. And by taking my
advice you put yourself on a certain path. You can't exactly quit
now. What would Kahless say?"

Arel crossed her arms. "You must be really bored. Go make babies with
Jii or something."

A devilish smile raised on her phantom friend's lips. "Oh, we're
working on it," she replied. "But that's neither here nor there.
Let's talk about your children for a moment."

"Quit snorting moonbeams, Jordan. I have a *child* not children."

"At the moment. A lot of things can happen, very quickly," Jordan replied.

"Yeah," the security officer said, unimpressed. "I think there's a
better chance of me and that Ferengi. There's no way Mitchell's
getting anywhere near my pants after the way he's been ignoring me."

"You know and I know that the moment the two of you see each other
again, there will be pissed-off foreplay until you think no one's
paying attention anymore. Then, you will be horizontal faster than
you can tear each other's clothing off," Jordan answered, her tone
almost bored with the pathetic and too obvious denials from the woman
floating in space next to her.

"Isn't going to happen," Arel said in a flat voice. "So shut up before
I kill you."

Jordan yawned exaggeratedly. "You've tried to kill me at least twice,
Arel, might as well go for a third. I doubt it will work out any
better for you."

"Only once, you smegging pthak," the security officer muttered.

Jordan winced. The term 'smeg' in any form would, forever and always,
solicit uncomfortable and infuriating memories from her time on board
the Galaxy. If she never heard it again...

"I seem to remember twice. And you've threatened me more than two
dozen times beyond that, so let's call me right, how's that?" Jordan
asked, offering a grin. "But Arel, try to focus back a moment. We
don't have too much longer before you wake up, and besides that, I
have a hundred other things I need to do beyond trying to convince you
of something you can't do anything to stop. The how and the when don't
really matter, though you will have *children.* And both of them,
Korvin and -- well, that's yet to be decided -- will have crucial
roles to play in the years to come. Their actions will reshape the
universe as we know it."

Arel frowned down at the planets. "I'm a crap mother as it is, Kit.
How am I supposed to raise *two* saviors?"

"First -- I wouldn't call you a crap mother. Emotionally stunted,
maybe. Without a doubt your offspring will require enormous amounts
of therapy. Second -- who said anything about saviors? They could be
proverbial anti-Christs for all you know -- destiny is destiny,"
Jordan said, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a bemused smirk. "And
third -- I imagine you just stand back, try not to kill them, and hope
for the best. That's what I do, anyway. Of course. My children are
perfect little angels."

Arel had to laugh at that one. "So are you ever going to visit one of
these days or what?"

"One of these days. I might yet find some reason to visit the old ship."

Arel looked behind her. She could see the Galaxy speeding past and
knew that it was time to return.

"Looks like that's your ride," Jordan said. "Perfect timing; the
twins are just about to wake up."

"Hey," Arel said. "I don't suppose I get any further hints about
what's to come?"

"You like to read, don't you?" Jordan replied with a large smirk. "I'd
start there."

"I just like looking at the pictures!" Arel called as the woman faded
into the backdrop. She crossed her arms at Jordan's fading laughter.
She was just starting to wonder if she could conjure up weapons in her
dream when she woke up to the blinding lights of Sickbay.

"Bitch," Arel muttered.

"Quick on his Feet"

(Totally inspired by Eric's trashing review....thanks dude!)





Somewhere in the depths of the top secret Facility a scientist pondered.

Somewhere deep in the bowls of what was known as the Branwen Project, one of the foremost minds in the Federation was hard at work

depsite the lateness of th hour.

Locked in the innermost lab and surrounded by a team of highly skilled technicians, Dr. Jebediah Quick studied the complex

helix-like construction before him.

If only he could unlock the secrets of its delicate balance...if only he could figure out how it was constructed, he would be able

to reverse the process.

One had to be careful however...one false move in a critical helix such as this and the whole thing could spell disaster.

Holding his breath, as the team of nervous technicians looked on, the lanky Doctor removed one of the critical building blocks.

No change.

He glanced over at Lt Branwen laying alone in her methane filled chamber.

Did she realize the stakes?

Was she aware of the consequences?

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Dr. Quick dared to continue...no matter the risk.

The other members of the team had scoffed at him.

Foolishness...they had cried....a waste of time and effort!

But Dr. Quick was no fool.

Considering his options carefully he made to remove one more offending bit of matter.....

DISASTER!!!

In a clatter of collapsing building blocks the whole helix disintegrated back into its root origins!

"JENGA!" The lab technician raised his fists in triumph as the wooden blocks fell. "Thats two out of three Doc...pay up!"


Such was the mood in the primary research lab of the BRANWEN PROJECT.

The work schedule was pretty much over for the day, and while the other scientists had already retired to bed, Dr. Quick remained

behind for an informal session of watching over the patient, and loosing his shirt with the assembled techs.

"Dude....totally bogus. The blocks are flawed." he muttered examining one of the offending pieces of wood closely, "Its the govenrment man....sticking it to us again.."

"Whatever Doc...pay up."

It had been a busy day. Alternating between smoke breaks, meditation time, and some impromtu redecorating of the physicians lounge, Doctor Quick had managed to decompile the genetic structure of the human/hydran hybrid.

Several key base-pair indicators were still undefined, and the specifics of cellular metabolism still needes to be worked out but the facility computers were already chewing on that problem.

There were however other issues on his mind.

"The question of course is motive." Quick had been quick to point out.

(no pun intended)

"Why would the Hydran military dudes spend so much time and effort to breed little hybrid 'squishies'?

(Doctor Quick had taken to referring to the babies as 'Squishies #1-3')

"Biological weapons." postualted one scientist, " a need to develope a weapon effective against humans." An idea to which Quick merely waved his hand away.

"Why?" he asked. "Dude...Its already easy enough to kill humans. Chlorine gas...VX....nerve toxins....extremes of heat and cold....heck, their own atmosphere of methane can kill us real easy." Quick stopped to light up a rolled cigarette. "Duede...over the last 300 years wee humans have already done all the necessary research in how to kill ourselves so that the hydrans didnt need to spend so much effort repeating it.....they just needed a library card."

"What about super soldiers...shock troops?" another scientist asked.

Quick dismissed that too. "When? The war has been going on for a year and is bound to peter out before too long....those litte

squishies will barely be in thier little three legged diapers by the time the peace accords are signed. They show no traces of

genetic growth acceleration, so their not planning on pulling a Shinzon on us."

"Colonists?"

"Again why?... Branwen breathes Methane now...and so do the squishies. Maybe if they had left her alone and had them adapt to

breath oxygen it's be totally feasable...but instead all we have are light pink squshies that are gonna pop out of her hoo-hoo instead of hatching...or however they do it."

Quick took a long drag, considering Branwen as he held it in.

Poor Green Branwen.

"Its not easy being Green ." he quoted the great Prophet Kermit.

"No dudes...I think we have a project, just for the sake of doing a project....kind of like the government building a bridge to

nowhere just because it has funds appropriated. Its a conspiracy man."

He stabbed out his joint....er....cigarrette and sat badck down at the Jenga Table.

The techs muttered to themselves, one of them eventually changing the subject. "Doc...dont mean to be rude, but there has been

some talk...."

"Lay it on me dude."

"Well.....people have been saying that you are being disrespectful to the patient....that you are not showing proper reverence to

the project.....but most of all we talked to Captain Karyn Dallas and she totally denies ever having dated you!"

Quick smiled and waved away the dispute. "Totally dude....I read your vibes, and all is chillin....It was like in an alternate reality ya know? Tad a little mishap in Home Economics and I totally got sucked into another dimension. Dallas was like my Barbarian Princess chick." he lit up another joint. "Hey...you dudes Want to hear about the time when I was on the USS Galaxy and I totally got turned into a pile of worms while we were exploring a haunted spaceship?"

"Crushing at the Core"
Faylin McAlister

Location: Shuttle to Volunteer Station on Planet 128

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

Sitting demurely had never been a problem for her as she offered a sweet smile to the gentleman beside her. Johnston had been discovered, go figure. A good side wind through the trees and body parts where dropping everywhere. It made her smile again. The thought of some scared kid screaming at his mother as he got hit with a decapitated head was just too funny to Faylin.

Turning back to her reading, she was interrupted.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

"Yes?" Faylin responded.

"The corner of your left eye....it's...." His concern was evident as he pointed to her left eye.

"Oh, that...." McAlister extracted a tissue from her shoulder bag and dabbed the corner. Holding the tissue back, she noticed the blood was flowing much more easier. It was the first thing that disturbed her in a long time. "I just had eye surgery and the doctor said there might be a little residual bleeding. It's nothing really."

"Oh, okay" He offered a shy smile before turning his attention back to his wife.

She sighed as the shuttle set itself gently down. Almost there, she thought to herself as she stood and exited the shuttle. Her new identity was one of almost a child, a woman of barely eighteen years of age. Long blond hair, innocent large doe shaped ice blue eyes and a body that would easily rock the world of any Marine. Glancing down at her chest, she scowled. Closing her eyes and bringing up the tissue to catch the blood, Faylin made her B cups good sized D knockers. Attention to detail was really important at this point.

Following the rather large inexpensive signs, McAlister found herself standing before a worn out looking brick building. One final large banner pronounced, "Join The Core Today. Make Something Happen Dudes!'

"Cheesy!" She muttered to herself. The volunteer core, the 'elite' *cough* group of eager men and women that got caught up in the 'glamor' of war and couldn't wait to help Starfleet out. Saps. Total saps every last one of them. She thought as she placed her left hand on her hip and with the other hand shielded her eyes from the warming sun.

"The things I get myself into..." She thought as she entered the makeshift building.

One oblong table, a few ratty chairs and one male that caught her attention just for the sheer fact that he didn't exactly look competent enough to tie his own shoe. His sandy blond hair bobbed as he raised his blue eyes to catch her gaze.

"Dudette! Welcome to the *core*!" His head bobbed again, causing Fay to just fake a bubble gum smile. When he stood up to extend his hand, McAlister inwardly grimaced. He had surfer written all over him.

"Name's Crush. I'm the head honcho behind the sign-age out side. Did ya like it?"

"Oh, it was...knarly...." Fay responded.

"Cool...cool....So, here to sign up?"

"Yes....."

"You...have major thrill issues, don't ya?"

"If you only knew." She responded in jest.

He slid the padd across the table, motioning to it. "Cha need to fill this out.....then...poof...you go into training for a few weeks and then we will get cha out in the 'action'" He chuckled before taking a sip of his...what looked like strawberry smoothie. Noticing her eying it, Crush broke out into a big pot head grin. "Want one? I can whip one out in the back...all natural....good for the bod." He paused. "Not that you need it....you are just....freaking radical!!"

"Well, thanks I think. I'm going to go...fill this out....over there...way over there."

"Go for it girlie."

She offered a slight, confused look before turning to find a seat. Locating one, she filled out the information, all lies of course, and handed it back to him.

"Ahhhh, so Lilly's the name. Nice to meet ya Lilly." He flipped through the information, bobbing his head and saying 'cool' repeatably. "Everything seems to be in order....so welcome! Tell me, what do you do well for starters...."

A slight flash of interest of the dark kind entered her eyes. "I want to be on the front lines...if possible. I have experience with various weapons, and am fluent in hand to hand combat if needed. The information....it states that."

"Cha...I read where it said that you were a civilian cop for a while. That'l work. It's tough, the training. That's why I'm here. Almost stepped on a live land mine and I flunked....Totally not cool."

'I wish you would have stepped on it.' Fay thought to herself. "That's too bad."

"Okay, here's some more information. We have housing out back, it's not much, but it will work until you train. Other than that, every thing's cool. Oh, there will be Starfleet Marine's that pop in and out of here from time to time, don't let them scare ya or nothing...they are really just harmless jellyfish in the big ocean of life."

"Gotcha. Tell me, do you know if the Galaxy marines are around?"

"Man are they. Those dudes totally rock! They are out doing their thing.....crushing on the bad guys...ya know. Cha....so totally..."

"Good....very good." She responded quietly.

"Through those doors....." He spat through a slurpie straw.

"First Meals, Last Call"
Ensign T'risia
Security, USS Galaxy

Having done her best to move her large collection into her quarters onboard the Galaxy, the slender, attractive Vulcan woman took a moment to meditate. Having not yet checked in to her own division, Security, she did not, as yet, have shifts or tasks to perform. In some ways, that was beneficial to her, as it would allow her some moments to explore the ship, and its crew compliment. According to records, the manifest was quite diverse, as opposed to the often Terran dominated starship crews, although a large contingent of Terrans was still certainly present on board. If there were not such a presence, she would not be interested in the posting.

She stood, adjusting her green headband, and smoothing her flowing green Vulcan style tunic over her form. Her "happy head" badge was still firmly affixed, and in the detached way of Vulcans, its placement was satisfactory to her. With no further preparations, T'risia exited her quarters.

And discovered, rapidly, that although she required nourishment, she had no idea where she should go.

"Computer," she began in her serious toned Vulcan fashion, "Where does the crew commonly take nourishment on board? In a social setting?" A part of the goal, after all, was to familiarize herself with the Crew.

The machine made its chirping noise, indicating a finished process, and replied, "That would be the Ten Forward Lounge."

T'risia nodded her head once, despite the fact that the computer could not see her, an illogical habit that she chastised herself for. "And this lounge is located where?"

The computer responded once more, as a male terran crewman stopped nearby, to look at her. "Deck Ten," was the simultaneous response of both sandy haired male, and silicon driven AI.

"Thank you," replied T'risia, arguably to both, but focusing her glance on the black and gold garbed person before her. He was certainly Terran, and she believed somewhat attractive by Terran standards, comparing him to the extensive collection of Terran teen publications she had committed to memory.

He began to speak, his voice a bit higher than expected, somewhat dashing the appearance. "I'm Ensign Walker, I'll show you the way. I was kind of surprised that you didn't know where it was."

T'risia raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh? Why would I know the location of the ship's lounge? I am obviously just arrived."

"But, you're a Vulcan..."

"So?" T'risia's face showed no change, but she had encountered this fascinating impression of Vulcans before.

"You mean you didn't memorize the floor plan before arriving? Wouldn't that have been logical, what with spending your tour here?"

As the entered a lift together, T'risia turned, and noted the crewman's considerable height over her. She believed that Terran women were fond of tall men. "Logical? So, with multiple applications in for postings, I should have memorized the floor plans of all of those ships, while only being assigned to one, eventually? Would not the waste of my time in other areas be illogical?" Her piercing green eyes pinned his stare with an inquisitive look, although her expression was emotionless.

"Um...yeah, I guess so..." The young man looked a bit uncomfortable.

"But you undoubtedly believed so because of the legends surrounding Vulcan's Spock."

Scratching his head, Walker added, "Um...well, yeah. Spock knew all kinds of things like that..."

T'risia nodded her head. "Indeed he did, But, alas, I am no Mr. Spock."

Ensign Walker looked over her shape, and said, close to inappropriately, "No ma'am, you are definitely not!" She let the comment pass, as her deduction was that it was primarily to indicate a desire to mate with her at a later time. Terrans did that, to her experience.

"However," T'risia said, "I know two things that you yourself, and Mr. Spock are both ignorant of."

"Oh? What's that?" rejoindered the cocky young man.

"One. We have arrived." With that, the lift door whooshed open. As she exited, she added, over her shoulder, "Two. My name and crew assignment."

"Do You Have That In Pink?"

USS GALAXY

MAIN ARMORY

"Boring."

FLIP

"Hideous."

FLIP

"Hel-lo can you pick a worse combination?"

Young Allison von Ernst sat in the Help window of the Main Armory and flipped another page in her fashion Magazine.

The main problem with being stuck 20 years in the past is that everything on sale was horribly out of date.

I mean...Ugh...It was like something her mom would wear.

Suppressing a horrified shudder, Alli took another lick of her sucker and idly traced her aluminum fingernails across the counter.

With most of the Marines transferred off the ship, and most of Security down on the planet down on the planet getting eaten by the local wildlife, things were kinda quiet for once in the Armory.

Earlier there had been somebody stopping by to check out a pack of photon grenades for show n tell but other than that it was a slow day.

That is until SHE walked in the door.

The expression on her face said it all, and said that she meant business in the most privative way.

There was something to be said for a lawyer with a pissed off look.

Perking up, her magazine forgotten for a moment Alli gave her best 'customer service' smile. "Hi...Welcome to McARmory's...would you like to try a family sized phaser value pack today?"

Ophelia leaned against the half door frame before leaning in. "Krieghoff sent me."

God, that was turning out to be her motto as of late. "I need something that would wipe the red ass off of a baboon at close range. Tell me, do you have anything like that available?".

"Wipe the red ass off a……like huh?" Allison totally didn't understand the question being somewhat familiar with the biological nature of Baboons and their ass's.

"Is that like, you need some disinfectant 'wipies', or you totally need to check out a bazooka kinda thing?" she asked for clarification. "Because not so good with the monkey poo thing, but for superior firepower…I'm your girl."

Lia held up her right fist. "Bad, nasty bitch McAlister...."

She held up her left fist. "Firepower...."

She slammed her two fists together and smiled someone evilly and almost like McAlister. "Problem solved."

"Oooooo…Faylin." Allison's voice hushed to conspiratorial tones and she quite forgot her fashion magazine.

Leaning a bit more outside the little service window, Allison studied the petite lawyer carefully from head to foot.

It was a shame really, she thought with a repressed shudder. Cute gal…nice figure…even if she did have a grandma's tastes in clothing.

Years ago…long ago in the future when Allison was just a little girl, Uncle Victor used to tell her the most horrible bedtime stories.

Momma of course never approved, but young Alli listened with bone chilling silence as 'Unca Vic' told her of the dreaded Faylin Incident aboard the Galaxy, and the deadly trail of bodies it left behind.

(Victor had some odd ideas about what made appropriate bedtime stories for kids, but at least Alli was too scared to dare leave her bed during the night.)

Faylin. the dreaded shapeshifting slime monster was coming to reality straight from Alli's past.

She gave Lia a pitying look. So this must be the fair heroine from her stories….too bad about what was going to happen to her.

"Land mines!" Alli announced suddenly, shaking herself from her reverie. "Lots and lots of land mines."

The girl began stacking family packs of the tiny explosive devices on top of her desk. "What totally you need my unfortunate girlfriend, is lots and lots of land mines."

"Are those the cute little ones that when someone steps on them, a cluster ball flies up and explodes in their face?" Ophelia sighed blissfully. "I've seen those in action.....they are just.....dreamy." Her face softened as the wishful scene of Fay walking on to one of those suckers played in her mind.

Alli had a blank look on her face," Um...no they are kinda bargain basement brand. You step on them and they just blow your leg off....nothing fancy...sorry. Want some?"

Ophelia shook her head. "Oh! I read recently that the Fleet has this bodysuit that fits underneath the uniforms that dissipates phaser fire when someone wears it. Sort of like a bullet proof vest...but an outfit.... Do you have that?"

Holding up a finger Alli explained. "No...but I totally have like the next best thing." She rummaged around under the counter a bit before producing a rather large stuffed with lacy tissue paper.

"You'll totally have to forgive the wrappings....I kinda spruced it up, but what you have here is the latest in 'over-the-uniform' bodywear."

Reading off the card: "Congratulations on you purchase of a Hawksley Enyterprises Buff-o-Matic Bodysleeve BodyArmor system. We here at Buff-o-matic take great pride in providing the lastest in personal body armor that is both functional and stylish. Keep in mind that while able to deflect phaser fire and ballistics in most cases under lab conditions, the Buff-o-matic is 100% environmentally friendly...part of our 'Green' line of personal combat products."

Flipping the card back over her shoulder, Alli pulled the garment from the crinkling tissue paper. A hideous ensemble of greens and grays, the Buff-o-Matic resembled nothing so much as a teenage boys fantasy of a skintight female bodysuit complete with armored boobs and an iron plated 'thong'

Biting her lip, Alli frowned. "On second thought...Maybe you better wear this under the uniform after all...even if it does make you seem....uh...perkier."

Lia pursed her lips attempting to hide a smile. "Honey, believe me.....I'll wear anything under my uniform if it helps the girl's appear more awake." She snickered. "Then of course, I could just wear it around my quarters and see if it draws any interest from the live in bodyguard....just for kicks."

"The Bodyguard...."Alli's voice trailed off. She remembered from Victors bedtime story the heroic Bodyguard...a handsome Kevin Costner type, all noble and brave. "How romantic...." she sighed.

"Riiiighhhhhhhtttttt....." Ophelia smiled, but then when caught by Alli's eyebrows she cleared her throat. So what if he was hot, lived with her, and got on her last nerve? Huh...sounded like he qualified for a husband instead of a bodyguard. She sucked her coffee, realizing too late that it went down the wrong pipe. Turning red, Lia coughed out loud for several quick moments.

Shaking her self awake, Alli had to remind herself that this wasn't a bedtime story...it was real life, and she had to help this poor oddly-dressed lady. "Okay lady....we know she's gonna get in the room eventually right?" Alli ticked off an item on her finger, "Land mines will only go so far, and tend to have a nasty habit of killing everyone else in the room too, so go sparingly. Next we need something in the line of a personal side weapon."

Digging under the counter again she came up with a massive hollow tube covered with blinking lights and diodes. "The KillStick 9000 Collapsable Photon Bazooka!" she announced with a grin. "Point singularity power source, and folds down to easy wallet size.....plus..." she smiled. "It comes in pink."

Her jaw dropped open slightly as she viewed the bubble gum pink weapon. Reaching across the table, she took the phaser, turned it around and was peering down the obviously wrong end. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to wear the green and black cat suit, then carry around a pink bazooka?"

Alli shrugged. "Like consider it a repellent. Your attacker will die from laughter....or not." she lazily twirled her gum around on her finger, still musing about the 'dreamy' bodyguard.

"Perhaps." Lia flatly replied. "Well, thank you for...all this. I feel somewhat more safe. Now if I can just get Jack to stop leaving the seat up, I'll be set. See you around...hopefully."

"Take Me Out To The Ball Game"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora

JAG

PO3 Jack

Bodyguard

Location: Ophelia's Personal Quarters

==============
It was a tad bit humorous to see the large Klingon holding hands with Logan. But, that was the deal. If he wanted to sleep over at Travis's place, he had to be guarded. Lia felt a little sorry for the security guy, for she was positive that it was not what he expected to be doing on his duty shift.

"Bye Mom!!!"

"Be good Logan...don't wear him out too much..."

"Mom!"

The security officer rolled his eyes as he exited which made Ophelia show a rare smile. Turning to Jack, she propped her hands on her hips.

"I need out......wanna go somewhere with me? I have a holodeck on reserve......"

A flash of surprise registered ever so quickly on Callahan's face.

If Lia had blinked she may have missed it and as fast as it appeared, whatever surprise he had felt was gone and the cock sure slightly arrogant Jack was back.

"That's part of the job description, sunshine." Jack said. "Besides, I could use a little fresh air myself."

"Okay. I need to go change. I stopped by the armory and a cute little girl gave me a bullet proof suit of sorts. I'll be right back."

"Now you're thinking straight." Jack said watching her head into her apartment.

"Don't forget the buckles go in the back!" he called out remembering that the bulky vest's straps could sometimes irritate the elbows if they were worn backwards.

After a few moments of waiting, the security officer's impatience grew.

"Dames." he muttered wedging a cigar in his mouth as he paced.

He was patting himself down looking for his lighter when Ophelia returned, sporting the phaser proof gray and dark green cat suit. It was a little tight in some spots, which made her wiggle just a tad. "It's really something...innit?"

Jack's mouth hung open just enough that his cigar tumbled from his lips. He juggled it a little as if it were red hot skipping it from hand to hand before it finally escaped his grasp and landed on the floor. Knowing how the Galaxy cleaning crew would give him grief - again - for ruining the cream colored carpet with yet another cigar, he knelt down and retrieved it.

From his knees, he found himself afforded a closer view of the phaser proof suit Lia had apparently sprayed on.

His gaze lingered a couple seconds longer then he intended.

"Yeah, it's something all right." he said getting to his feet trying his damndest to be nonchalant about the whole scene.

"I have no clue why they made them so freaking tight....it doesn't make any sense at all." She lowered her gaze, arching her eyebrows as she viewed his expression. "To top it all off, I have to wear this thing under my uniform. Seriously...and this?" Her hand drew over the top of the back of the thong impression. This...had to be a guy's idea. What the hell is the point? If I'm in the mood to wear a thong, I certainly am not going to have any extra fabric attached to it. I'm going to go finish getting dressed."

"Dressed. Yeah. Dressed is good. Dressed is...you know. Good." Jack babbled as Lia pivoted and walked back into the apartment.

Jack followed her back inside and immediately went over to the replicator.

"Water. Ice cold." he ordered and when it materialized he took one long sip and then dipped his fingers in the water, rubbed his hands together and wiped his face.

"Okay..." She came out of the bedroom yet again. "What? Your like a dear in headlights..."

"It's just...very warm in here. He said tugging at his collar. I probably need to have engineering check on the thermostat setting." Jack said.

"They take forever to respond. It's a really busy department." Lia responded before shifting again. "This thing is not going to work.....it's actually feeling like I'm wearing a string thong....uggg" She wiggled some more, not really catching the drift that it was making Jack uncomfortable while she was perverting his mind with images unhealthy to a bodyguard.

"We better get going before Streely steals your holodeck time. He's been gobbling up holodeck allowances lately and nobody knows why. I don't think anyone wants to even ask to be honest." Callahan said shifting the subject. "What's a girl like you do to unwind in the holodeck?" he asked.

"Streely...pfft....bend low and show him some cleavage and the boy's eating out of your hand. The beach....a replication of the one in Spain near my house so you might want to replicate a swimsuit."

"Spain. Nice. Spain is very beautiful." he said, hoping that he won't have to get in the water or admit that he couldn't swim.

"I hope you were not planning on getting wet, I just plop my butt down with a good paperback novel and sunbath."

"Don't worry about me. Im a highly trained professional."

-----------holodeck--------------

"I love this place." Lia muttered before walking a short distance to her perfect spot. Turning, she arched an eyebrow. "You did bring something to change into..right?"

"I'm fine." Jack said unzipping his duty jacket and wiped the sweat from his brow.

They had walked what seemed like a mile in the sweltering sun only to find a spot that looked to him like every other square mile of sand that the two had passed.

"Good. Oh, hey...do you think it's safe enough in here to take this thing off?" She peeled back her uniform, revealing the dreaded cat suit.

"Im sure that if it weren't, the holodeck safety protocols would..."

"Perfect." Reaching back behind her back, she yanked the zipper down. Literally stretching the fabric, she shimmied out of it and dropped it on the warm sand.

Jack's squinted eyes snapped wide open taking in every inch of Ophilia's suddenly nude form.

Trying not to let his admiration for her curves show and to keep his mind from wandering, he coolly walked past her and picked up the cat suit.

He shook it a little.

"I better hang this up somewhere. You don't want to get sand.." he said turning to see Lia had found her spot as she reclined in the sand.

"That's fine...." Lia closed her eyes and wiggled into the sand. "It's a great defoliant....the sand that is." Sitting up in a half manner, she shielded her eyes and asked him a question as she swept her hand over herself. "This...doesn't bother you does it?"

"NO!!.. I mean.. In my line of work, I have pretty much seen it all." Jack said, then quickly added "I mean, you know..I'm completely comfortable around nudity. The whole European thing is no big deal. See?"

He pulled off his jacket and settled down in the sand next to her.

"European's are half nude.....I prefer to do things not so half assed. So to speak." She caught his profile, not wanting to turn her head completely around due to that smug look she knew he was waiting to shoot her way.

Jack meanwhile was doing his best to keep from being mesmerized by the way the sun seemed to glow off Lia's nakedness. Sure he had seen her undressed once before when she had been arguing with him, but to see her like this in this setting was something else.

Must be the heat - he thought to himself, wishing he had thought to bring a change of clothes.

"I'd be more impressed if you were completely naked, but then....for all I know you might be the self conscious type of male." She retorted as she studied the clouds. Half of her hoped that he would go full Monty just for the simple fact that she was curious.

"Self conscious?! I'm not self conscious. I'm just worried about sunburn. Might keep me from moving fast if I had to." he said

"We can't have that. I've heard that Starfleet uniforms are not kind to sunburned buns."

Unable to stand the heat anymore he pulled off his shirt and relished in how much cooler he felt without his stuffy starfleet tunic. He reached across Lia and tossed his shirt next to her clothes, careful not to brush against her.

He paused for a moment, hovering over her.

"This doesn't bother YOU does it? he asked with a challenging grin.

"Why would it?" Looking down at his chest, she noticed a stray gray hair. Saying nothing, she reached up smiling slightly as she quickly grabbed the gray follicle and yanked hard.

"AHH! DAMN IT!!!" he said holding his hand against his chect and looking at it half expecting to see blood.

"Very funny, lady. Ha. Ha."

"Baby......." She muttered as she leaned over and stuck her nose in her book. "Get back to me after you've had your balls waxed, and we'll talk."

Jack leaned over to whisper in her ear and smelling her perfume found his pulse picking up a bit.

"Been there. Done that. Twice. On Risa."

With a satisfied smile he laid back with his hands behind his head and closed his eyes just enough that he could admire Lia without her noticing.

He would have to go and do that. She fussed inwardly. Clearing her throat, she attempted to gain her concentration back before posing a question to him. "So....uh...."

"You say something?" Jack asked whimsically.

"Would it be against Starfleet protocol to....um......"

He pushed himself up on his elbows - much the same way she had earlier.

"You mean....." he said nodding his head and raising his eyebrows."You know."

"Yeah...that. Well, would it?" She bit her bottom lip, attempting to hide her true intension with a somewhat innocent glance.

"Well, I guess that would depend on..you know.."

"Krieghoff? I don't think he'd mind." She retorted. "I mean...you were ordered to protect me....and....it just makes sense that you and I should....."

"Some people might think...the stress of the situation..." Jack asked moving closer to her. "Kinda takes control of people."

"True." She stated simply with an overly sly grin.

"Zamora...are you ..trying to seduce me?"
"Are you able to be seduced Callahan? Cause.....for all I know you might bat for the other team."

Jack was close enough to her body that he could see the slight flush of goosebumps on her skin where his breath hit her arm.

"Don't worry about me, sunshine. I know how to swing a bat and run the bases."

To punctuate his point, he took his finger and with a feather touch, he traced the outline of a small diamond around her belly button, lingering in just the right places.

She shivered slightly before regaining her composure and her will. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she practically yanked him downwards. "Batter up....."

 

"Rough Landing" Part One

Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Sprinkled Liberally With NPCS
=============================================

(Alpha KS-128: 'The Mission')

"It's really quite a simple operation, especially now with the somewhat greater proliferation of bio-nemetic gel." Mike Powell, the squadron's flight surgeon tried explaining in as professional a tone as one could expect from a doctor who wasn't only in the midst of feeding on a dry turkey and wheat bread sandwhich, but who's license was nearly revoked and his practice shut down for bordering on the genetic-engineering side of cosmetic reconstructive surgery a little too much. "What we would do is simply obtain a sample of sub-cutaneous parenchyma which could easily be gathered through a less than invasive surgical procedure utilizing a simple laser scalpel and a dermal regenerator under light, local anesthesia. Then we would use holographic projections to estimate the desirable final volume, as well as the volume of expansion required to obtain the best results possible. That done, it would be a simple matter of growing and sculpting your tissue expander, before implanting it in sub-pectoral pockets while you're under general anesthesia. I prefer using the domestic-natural tissue procedure because it mitigates an immunological reaction, however the Nazis on the Medical Ethics sub-committee do have a bit of a problem dispensing bio-nemetic gel. We could obtain the supply underground, or we 'could' consider an inert composition, such as generic silicone." He gave a dismissive wave, rubbing his graying head right afterwards as he 'inspected' her with a set of eyes one might expect to see on a sculptor staring at a blank, untouched marble stone. "We could aim for a little larger cup size, and more projection... what do you think?"

Ava blinked before staring down at her chest.

Granted she wasn't the most... well endowed... woman in the Quadrant, hell she wasn't the most well endowed woman on this tundra world, that honor belonged to the Crewman who was 'mysteriously' promoted by Lieutenant Commander Hagewood in Base Operations to his personal yeoman... despite the fact she was a trained artilleryman, and despite the fact people of his rank were most usually not considered of high-enough station to warrant a personal assistant. That aside, she really didn't see anything wrong with the size, or shape, she was given by divine grace. The whole idea threatened to bring an embarrassing blush to her face... the fact it was even a topic of conversation made her stomach a little more recognizant of the fact that 'sloppy joes' was not a meal one wanted to be eating when a gag came along.

The trick was, how did you say "leave me alone you sleezy, dirty old bastard and go haunt someone else for a bit" to a man who stood a fair chance of being the doctor who's hands your life rested in some day diplomatically enough so as to not end up another statistic?

Avalina Rel'an was not the kind of person one thought of when considering the stereotypes of what a fighter pilot was supposed to be. Far from the brash, outgoing, charismatic, macho 'killer' type governed by passions and intent on doing everything on the fly, she was reserved, often deliberate, shy (almost timid), had a 'little' more experience at the age of 36, and was something of a soft spoken intellectual. She had two doctoral level degrees, one in Astronautical Engineering with a specialty in starship design she brought with her to this quadrant, and one she earned while on Earth in Political Science and Diplomacy from the Geneva School of Diplomacy and International Relations. She was fairly tall for your average pilot at just under six feet tall... and when she wasn't in a cockpit she was utterly terrified of heights. Even when it came to using a ladder she had to make a conscious effort to 'not' look down, and take her time with each step.

Go figure, a fighter pilot scared of heights. She fit in perfectly with the 'Black Sheep' Squadron.

The squadron, like the volunteer group itself, had been established out of desperation. The ability of Starfleet to recruit willing volunteers during a war was well known to be best described as 'hampered'... most notably by the fact that they didn't have a compulsory service obligation to fall back on, they were an all volunteer force.

But with every war, there are people who pop up wanting to fight, either for the adventure or because of idealism, whether their people were directly involved or not. Likewise, there was always the group of people who, for one reason or another, wanted to serve but wanted to do so without too many questions being asked regarding their pasts. The good doctor was one of the latter... Ava, if she fell under any category, could be considered something of an idealist.

She was the middle daughter of the Confederate Ambassador to the United Federation of Planets (something she kept hidden for a multitude of reasons), and a medical doctor... third of five daughters and fourth of seven children.

Were she not here, she could be back in the Beta Quadrant on Ket'ale, the planet that was colonized by a first waive of Stagnorian settlers circa 2350, the place she was born, and the only planet she could remotely consider to be 'home'. She could see herself on the warm beaches taking in the sun, or on one of her long nature hikes, swimming in crystal clear, cold springs on a hot summer's day... or even back on Earth if it came down to it, with it's incredible institutions of arts. The Confederacy operated a domicile compound for it's diplomatic staff in the Crimea, and that was a region that was absolutely 'gorgeous' this time of year. And Paris... the fabled city of lights with all it's museums and concert halls... how many days did she simply forget to go home while ambling from cafe to museum to theatrical production and back again? Prophets that was an amazing planet...

She could be making a difference in another capacity, with a respectable job as a starship design specialist somewhere, or opt to follow her father's foot-steps into diplomacy. She would even be happy staying in her apartment and practicing her piano or harp playing, or ball-room dance routine. Reading a good book, adding to her collection of self-authored poetry and short stories, sampling the various martial arts styles, learning Romulan, or perfecting her painting or pottery techniques.

Sufficing to say, the romantic notion of running away and joining the heroic struggle of the forces of good against the encroaching night promised by evil had lost some of it's luster over the... damn she forgot how many months... she'd been stuck on this half-frozen wasteland, getting drenched in plasma flow sludge up to the shoulder, struggling to defrost and optimize outdated, antiquated equipment for combat against an enemy with a vastly superior advantage in quality and quantity, and turning down the thinly veiled advances of a mad doctor nearly twice 'her' age.

Still, despite the millions of other options and potentialities out there, some part of her told her 'this' was where she 'needed' to be... right here, and right now.

Besides, in the doctor's defense, he was an equal opportunity dirt bag. He'd approached several other women in the unit about cosmetic surgery... including a 6'3 full blooded Klingonette... she had to give him respect for that one, he was gutsy if nothing else.

And it was at that point that she realized the doctor was still looking at her with hopeful eyes, waiting for a response.

"Oh... umm..." she took a sip of her now luke-warm at best vanilla bean tea, one of the few luxuries she managed to bring with her, while pondering a response. She might not have been up to the task of winning a Miss Universe pageant, hell she found it excruciatingly difficult just to garner 'any' interest from the opposite sex, but honestly Ava didn't think there was anything so egregious that she 'had' to change herself. She also doubted so shallow an adjustment would change her string of un-luck in those regards either. "Would you give me a while to think about it?"

A reasonable reply... buying time was an art that she learned well, if passively, from her father.

"Oh... absolutely!" Mike, sensing hope where there was none perked up. "I do have to head to the clinic in a minute, but if you 'were' to consider a new size, do you think a D would be preferable? Maybe a double D... bigger is always better!"

As docile and even-tempered as she normally was, Ava felt like she was going to have to kill this guy before she ever got any peace. "I..."

Her stammering was all the extra time she needed though. At that point, the alarms went off and every fighter tech, pilot, and every other person with something to do on a red alert scrambled for their stations. She scarcely managed an apologetic smile before she was gone.
===================================================

(Marine Hopper)

The Hopper rocked violently as a trio of Hydran dart-like fighters made another attack run on the formation. Like a porcupine, the quills of the formation in the form of defensive phaser fire stuck out, scathing the last of the fighters enough that it broke in a different direction. The other two however reformed ahead of the hoppers, and were preparing to delve deep into the formation for a prolonged strafing run.

Salvos from gatling style phasers ripped into the formation, and were followed by well aimed micro-torpedo hits. The crews of the hoppers tried performing what 'very' limited maneuvers they could to avoid the hits (or at least spread them out), but they couldn't do much when clustered together in tight formations.

The Marines they were carrying could do even less. Strapped to their benches in the back of the sub-light landing craft, they were pretty much at the mercy of the hopper's controllers and the enemy gunners trying to down them. The inertial dampeners on a hopper weren't quite as powerful as those on full shuttles, let alone runabouts or starships, because of the simple fact that Hoppers were not intended for pro-longed warp capabilities. At best you burst ahead at warp to get into a system and proceeded at impulse from there to the target destination, at which point you switched over to thrusters for atmospheric flight and cruised upwards of Mach 15 to the landing zone.

That's the way it was 'supposed' to work, anyhow... but it really wasn't going as planned. The enemy fighters were having a field day. Occasionally a lucky fleeter in one of the Federation's more advanced fighter designs might get a paint on a target and blow it to hell... but the 'air' battle as it was seemed to be decidedly in the enemy's favor.

The hopper trembled under the weight of a couple of Hydran rounds. It was a hard enough hit that the gunner's station was knocked out by a ruptured conduit, sending a plume of plasma hot enough that the fabric of the chair, the carpet, and the uniform of the downed Marine Corporal were all set ablaze in angry, orange flame.

Fork immediately un-strapped his harness from the bulkhead, and jumped off the bench in an instant. He grabbed the plasma fire extinguisher from the nearby locker, screaming "Cabin fire!" on the top of his lungs to alert the pilots in the cockpit of the situation their internal sensors were probably warning of already... a practice continued in the event damage to the internal sensors ever rendered them inoperative.

While Colonel Arvelion doused the flames engulfing the gunner and his station, the doc unhooked himself from his station and tended to his wounded comrade. PFC Owen was the next one to shirk the safety harness, doing so when it became apparent that the doc needed a second pair of hands to help in treating the wounded.

"Wing commander to all Marine Hoppers, our escort is being diverted back to the battle in space. You're on your own for now boys, good luck."

Fork felt like telling the son of a bitch that his joke wasn't all that funny when he saw on the partially operative gunner's console a whole lot of green icons suddenly peel off. That left a whole lot of reds closing in on them... and he was only looking at 2/3 the screen.

Today was one of those days that was going to suck.

"Computer, transfer gun station to manual control, emergency override." He looked over to Leah who had done all she could to help the doc. "Owen, get in the ventral station." As he made the order, Fork sat down in the fricasseed seat. He hit a control, and a smaller, all manual station descended from the ceiling.

"Why does 'she' have to get in the ball turret?" one of the Privates (who likely had a crush on her given his concern) cried out.

"She's skinnier!" Fork shouted back, his eyes now focused solely on the inbound holographic projections. This was going to be a scene right out of a bad science fiction movie relic he was sure.

In came a swarm of Hydran fighters. As far as the airwing of the enemy fleet went, it seemed to be an all Hydran effort. Fork locked on each target (even 'manual' control was far from truly manual in the modern time.) And spat angry yellow beams back. Their shots were joined by their comrades. The wall of phaser flak did a bit to disperse the enemy formation, but none-the-less one 'hell' of a merge occurred in the upper atmosphere if Alpha KS-128.
==============================================

(Peregrine II-A Fighter)

"Lead to all Black Sheep, we have contacts in the upper atmosphere. Prepare to engage in 15 seconds. Remember your lessons, no major fuck ups out there, capeesh? Ava keep an eye on my six-low babe, you know how those sneaky bastards like popping up from behind."

"Acknowledged." Ava replied succinctly, having become a little anesthetized to the whole 'babe' thing. It was just the way the guy spoke, and she'd come to realize he had no alternative meaning behind it. "Entering maximum range..." she waited for the eerily pleasant (and persistent) tone of the sensor's indicating they had a lock on. "I've got lock."

Similar messages came in short order over the squadron's network, and their integrated computer systems guaranteed they were each targeting separate, hostile craft. Ava's was on the far-edge of the bowl, undoubtedly prepping to form up with wing-mates and take another run at the hoppers. She thumbed the targeting icon to prove a lock, and armed one of the six photon torpedoes in their single shot launchers. Photon torpedoes were normally an anti-shipping weapon, being far more powerful than necessary for anti-fighter warfare. However these torpedoes had been specially modified, regular type VI's altered to allow far more maneuverability, far more speed and agility, and because of those changes far more effectiveness against fast and nimble fighters. The warheads had to be reduced in maximum-yield, but they still retained the ability to destroy an opposing fighter in one hit, and now you didn't have to worry about the dangerous 'pluming' effect which could damage your own craft in these kinds of inter-twined engagements.

She watched her torpedo streak forward, one of just under three-dozen, riding an arching path straight for the intended target... her eyes fixated on the brief flash of fire and explosive eruption that laid to rest the enemy fighter and it's pilot in the vacuum of space. She prayed it occurred as quickly as it appeared to, that way the pilot inside was spared any suffering.

This kind of fighting was certainly much different from the unmanned assault fighters her people used from the safety of their capital vessels... putting one's own life on the line to take another's made it almost surreal.

She didn't have time to think about her first kill (she had multiple assists, but no kills) when the defensive systems in the fighter indicated she was being locked on.

"Ava, split-S at full throttle, I've got you covered."

She nodded and followed through the maneuver. Her leader cut power, exploiting the Peregrine's advantage in atmosphere performance (where one needed to worry about lift) over their Hydran adversaries who's fighters were much more adept at stellar combat. Hydran superiority in space is what made the squadron stick to avoiding them outside the atmosphere.

While she inverted and dove, a pair of Hydran fighters in pursuit, the boss cut power to his engines back momentarily and dove, coming up with behind the Hydran and his wingman. The wingman was cut down easily in the conventional way of phasers and micro-torpedoes blazing... and the sudden spook of his lookout gone caused the Hydran leader to veer hard right in an attempt to prevent the same though.

Ava saw that coming though, and cut power while making a hard turn 'into' the Hydran. The result was that she was now directly behind the Hydran who's engines had to be kept up just to prevent gravity from having a major effect, Her panel lit up with targeting information, and as if automatically her fingers keyed firing commands, dusting a second enemy fighter on the day. Both surviving pilots raced back to the engagement where both sides were mauling each other badly.

"d00d, u r like so luk-e." She read on her comm console, her fact contorting questioningly. Why the hell couldn't Gamor the mute Nausican type in standard?

"Rough Landing" Part Two

For'kel Arvelion
NPCs
====================================================

(Marine Hopper)

Fork was glad to see the Federation fighters arrive out of nowhere to render some much needed assistance, but he didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief. Every time they shooed away an attacker or in cooperation with the other Hoppers gunned one down, it seemed like two others would pop up in different areas and make a run on their slowly declining formations.

To the right a hopper exploded, a hail of Hydran fire crushing it. He only hoped the Marines aboard managed to activate their emergency transporters before the explosion. To Fork's count, it was the sixth hopper that the Marines of the Task Force had lost since launching. Add to the loss of the transports, and a good deal of people weren't going to actually see the combat they were preparing for.

The blackness of space was gone, replaced by the multi-blue and golden hue of an evening sky and the stark colors of a near tundra like environment below. They were all of twenty seconds from their destination.

And then all hell broke loose. The hopper was hit a number of times, one of the atmosphere stabilization wings sawed clean off by a Hydran gatling, which sent the craft into an unrecoverable spin.

"Mayday Mayday, this is Hopper Alpha one, we are going down approximately 10 kilometers south of the landing zone. Emergency transporters are unresponsive..."

Fork fired off what he could from the turret, but the Hydrans gave up chasing them after a second or so. Weapons energy was rerouted to structural integrity and inertial dampening, he could hear the sound of supportive forcefields going up to harden the fuselage against a crash. He managed to pull Owen out of the turret, but they didn't quite make it back to their seats before the rustling of pine-tree branches, screeching and awning of stressed metals, and the inevitable 'crash' echoed throughout the craft, bouncing everyone inside around like they were pinballs.

Fuck, and Kimberly 'just' finished patching him up too.
==================================================

Leah's eyes fluttered open, and she let escape a sucking kind of yelp as she tried moving. It took a second or two, but after a thorough test of all her digits and extremities, she was certain she was alive and didn't have much more than a whole lot of bumps and bruises... she was in way too much pain 'not' to be alive.

"... repeat we have made contact with enemy forces and are under fire. I need gunship support at reference coordinates Delta Echo two-one-seven-eight by Delta Foxtrot one-one-eight-two ASAP."

"Roger that Colonel, we're inbound. ETA five minutes."

Fork tapped his combadge to indicate an end to the open radio link while Leah forced herself to her somewhat unsteady feet and grabbed her rifle. The sounds of 'pings', 'hisses', and 'pops' outside indicating to her that they were most definitely under small arms fire. She stepped around the doc and a group of patients which now made a quartet, making her way towards the only Marines she saw fighting... the two pilots and the Colonel half using the hopper for cover while they returned incoming shots.

It was almost like she was watching everything unfold on a holo-drama in which the brave soldiers of the Federation, facing the enemy head on despite their overwhelming numbers, laughing equally hard in the face of death and defeat. She swore she could even make out points where she heard the dramatic music pitching in, giving everything a rather surreal appearance to it. The fact was that there was no violin's or trumpets or orchestra, however she might have imagined it. The only thing close to music was the steady percussion of hot Hydran shots drum-beating the hull of their downed hopper, the hum of Starfleet phasers repaying the favor, and the chaotic chorus of voices calling out.

"Owen, take E'raz here..." he thumbed one of the pilots. "And get that dorsal phaser cannon online, we have to hold them off!"

She watched the Colonel duck behind the launch-ramp door as she heard several hissing pings on it's other side. It wasn't until she felt the Lurian's big hand on her shoulder that she was actually able to process the orders she was given.

Fork didn't have time to check up on her progress. He had several squads of Marines fanned out on all sides of the hopper in a defensive cordon, and an enemy that was determined to test every possible root of attack. They were in a desperate race to gain fire-superiority in all directions before the Triad group managed to bring it's numbers to bear. He armed a grenade and threw it at a Breen crew attempting to establish a heavy disruptor pit. There was a very audible 'ping' as it struck the gunner's helmet before falling down. The distance was far enough that the time before explosion had lapsed before the grenade hit the ground. It exploded waist high, ripping the Breen and their gun to shreds.

"Nice throw." One of the pilots muttered as he fired a few shots from his type II. There wasn't time to reply, a universally feared sound silencing everyone in momentary terror.

Errrrrroooooaaaaaaawwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrr.....

Thousands of bolts of bright violet energy beams riddled the hopper from end to end, forcing everyone to hit the deck. A Hydran APC rolled up, a squad of troops alongside of it, and a gunner mercilessly pouring fire from it's gatling gun on the Marine positions around the hopper.

"IFV!" a private confirmed.

"Man down!" Leah shouted from inside the hopper.

"Medic!" became a near universal call as it seemed that someone was hit in just about every group of Marines.

"Shit, our Iso's aren't even making a dent sir."

Fork tapped his combadge. "All Iso's target that IFV, aim for their anti-grav generators." He looked over his shoulder to the sergeant after a couple of well aimed blasts downrange. "Get your squad ready to move. Once that IFV is dead in the water I want your men to hit their left flank through that tree-line, understand?"

"Yes sir." The gritty old trooper nodded before making his way back to his guys.

"Three minutes for gun-ships!" the Comm NCO yelled out.

Fork gave his remaining troops a signal to keep firing while he ran into the hopper. The iso-magnetic disintegrators might be able to paralyze that IFV, but they weren't going to stop that gatling gun. For that they needed something heavier.

The Colonel ran back inside the hopper, and immediately went for it's internal weapons stores bay. Below the port targeting sensor node was the micro-torpedo firing chamber. The target feed and initiation sequencers were damaged beyond repair, but the torpedoes themselves were still good. He pried out the access hatch, and hauled up one of the 35 kilo weapons to the deck.

The explosion outside told him that the Iso's had done their job and crippled the IFV, though the continuing 'rrrrraaaawwwwwwww' was an indicator it's annoying gun was still quite active

"Gun up, sir." Leah called out before beginning to fire at the enemy troops who prematurely thought the battle was theirs and rushed forward.

Fork hefted the torpedo outside, and setting it on a free rock went to work reprogramming it. He manually over-rode the safeties, used his tricorder to provide the coordinates, and prayed to every Prophet, deity, or God in the universe that this worked. "Everyone get clear! Get clear!" And on that last warning, he hit the remote trigger.

The torpedo lanced straight up, leading all to wonder if it wasn't some kind of a dud, before it made that beautiful, welcomed arc and slammed straight back down on the crippled IFV, destroying it and killing not only it's crew, but a number of Breen and Hydran soldiers that were unfortunate enough to have hid next to it for cover. Now the battle pitched to the side of the Marines, and it was time for the Triad troops to face the fear of utter annihilation.

The Sergeant saw it happen, and once the Colonel gave him the order he and his men ran for the exposed enemy flank. They opened up firing, but not soon later the squad was in retreat.

Fork knew why, he could hear it even before the pair of vehicles burst through the tree-line, cutting over a great number of trees in the process. The green, heavily armored hulls of a pair of Breen disruptor tanks.

The battle had flip-flopped once more.

He also already knew where their heavily armed turrets were pointing. "Everyone out of the Hopper, now!"

The doc managed to pull one patient, Leah another, before the hopper's body was practically destroyed by a pair of heavy disruptor blasts, showering most of the Marines in shrapnel, snow, and dirt. The concussive force of the blast threw everyone... getting tossed around like a rag doll was really starting to become an annoyance.

The sound of the turrets moving came to a stop, and it was rather obvious they were getting ready for another volley when, as fate would have it, the tide of the battle once more ebbed for the Marines. Their long awaited gun-ship support had arrived in the form of two Hopper gun-ship variants that, freed from having to deal with Hydran fighters, began eradicating the Triad troops, starting with their tanks and working out.

Fork covered Leah and the wounded Bajoran Marine she was holding onto as the turret from one of the tanks was blown clean off it's hull, and crashed dangerously close to them. Fortunately it landed harmlessly against the remains of the hopper, being propped up and sparing them.

"You two okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." She muttered, doing her best to try and catch her breath.

"Good, let's get the hell out of here." He let go of her and got to his feet, helping her move their injured comrade from harm's way.

The firing of the hoppers soon drew to an end.

"Two, do you see anything else?"

"Negative, we've got them all, there's nothing down there. Bravo-two to Alpha-one, Colonel what's your status?"

"We're okay, we have casualties but we're okay." He never thought he'd be that happy to hear some Hopper pilot's voice. "How much room do you guys have aboard?"

The hopper gun-ships were much smaller than normal hoppers, free from the bulky module attachments which served to carry ground troops, they were essentially well shielded, heavily armed, and well armored work-pods. They weren't going to be able to carry the forty-plus Marines a transport hopper could.

"We can take about six litters each Colonel. Give us your worst off and we'll get them back to base."

"Have Kurita and Doc D'nal go with them." Fork gave the order to his nearest sergeant. "Only those we can't treat ourselves."

"Yes sir."

Fork tapped his combadge. "Land when you're ready to pick-up pilots, and thanks for the save."

"Roger that Colonel, but you should know we won't be able to comeback. I can't guarantee we'll have hoppers available to pick you up, either."

For'kel picked up his rifle to make sure it was still in operable condition. "Well, looks like we're walking then."

"Here's hoping it's uneventful, sir."

"Temper Tantrum"

Lt. 8-ball Hunter


8-ball's appreciation for adventures was rapidly declining.

She'd got the sales pitch, of course, same as any other kid thinking about life in the Academy. There were two ways to sell Starfleet, depending on the temperament of the customer: you could sell duty and honor and advancement--creating a better future for the next generation--or you could sell action and adventure and excitement--a job where you were kickin ass and taking names.

8-ball hadn't bought into either of these pitches. She'd been looking for a bed and three square meals a day; she didn't want anything to do with space battles or medals or glory. But she couldn't always say the same for her shipmates, even the good, sensible ones like Saul. Of course, Saul was a spy, and spies by nature seemed particularly inclined to like all manner of dangerous, stupid things, but still. She had a clear memory in her mind of Saul on an archaelogical dig, his face split into a wide grin, his eyes practically sparkling with boyish enthusiasm.

She'd nearly been dismemebered by an alien stone god on that little adventure.

She was so done with this.

She'd had it up to here with adventures. She was sick and tired of the insanity . . . err, the "excitement" . . . that came from every single Galaxy away mission. She'd dealt with the terrorist attacks on Trill; she'd had her share of dead children, bodysnatching aliens, and other people's memories. She'd had half-naked fights with Andorian women; she'd screwed a Klingon and lived to tell the tale. All she wanted now was some godamned peace and quiet!

Instead, she got cannibals. Cannibals. CANNIBALS!

"Uh, are you okay?" Johnny Walker asked. "Your eye's, like, twitching a little."

8-ball glared at him.

"Do I look okay?" she hissed. "We're going to be eaten alive! We're going to be eaten alive on some spooky ass ship surrounded by a bunch of alien monkey creatures that throw shit at people! We're invisible and worse, we're, we're phased out, or something, so that when we inevitably do get chomped to bits and our guts are made into appetizers, nobody will find what's left of our bodies--we'll just sit here, rotting invisibily away. And, and I'm tired and my feet really hurt, and I, I broke a nail, see--I broke a godamned nail--and I'm sick of this bullshit always happening to me; I'm sick of it; its not fair!"

8-ball then proceeded to have the quietest temper tantrum in the history of man--while her voice never raised above a whisper, tears poured down her face and her fists beat against Walker's chest and she even stomped her foot once or twice . . . as quietly as possible, which sort of defeated the purpose, but 8-ball was trying not to die any sooner than she had to.

She was still righteously pissed off at the whole universe, though.

Walker held her through the worst of it, and when she finally seemed to calm down, he took her by the shoulders. "You good?" he asked her warily, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

She almost had another breakdown at that. Am I good . . . Jesus . . .

Instead, she swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I am." She refused to apologize, though; she was perfectly entitled to her godamn little freak-out.

"Good," Walker said evenly. "Does that mean it's my turn now?"

8-ball looked at him for a minute and then started to laugh. "Asshole," she said amiably. "Come on. Let's find a way out of here before we get made into stew or something."

She poked her head out of the empty quarters that they were hiding in and carefully made her way out to the main corridor. Walker stood where he was, frowning a little.

"Did it sound like I was kidding?" he grumbled.