USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 60809.21 - 60809.27

Logs

"I'm What?"

Consul Ayanna Hinanat
Judge

Location: Galaxy Medical Bay

================================
Somethings got to her, other things did not. This was one of those life 'things' that disturbed the woman's level of calmness. Squirming a tad in the plastic regulation Starfleet seat, Ayanna's eyes cruised the small office that she had been escorted to wait in. Frames decorated the wall, boasting of the doctor's grand medical achievements. It, she assumed, was to comfort the person awaiting his presence and attempt to persuade the person that the doctor did indeed know what he was talking about. Excusing her thoughts, she was not comforted by such impressive degrees. The mass amount of proof could mean that he lacked any common sense.

"Consul Hinanat?"

~God in Heaven.~ Ayanna mused to herself as he entered. He looked fresh from the junior prom. Instantly, she felt rather old.

"Yes Doctor?"

He waved the padd back and forth with a rather curious grin cemented on his young features. "I have your results from the DNA testing."

Coming around to the side of his desk, he sat in his leather chair that looked overly fluffy to a bottom that had been sitting in a hard plastic seat. Ayanna's butt was green with envy. Wiggling a tad to attempt to quiet her butt from protesting about the current plastic seat, she offered a tight and anxious smile.

"It appears, that Consul......"

~There's that damned teenage grin again.~ She thought as she looked at him leaning over the top of his desk. ~What the hell?~ She continued to think as she viewed his actions towards her. It was as if he was offering himself on top of his desk. She coughed, attempting to clear the thought of a young naked doctor with nothing but a stethoscope around his neck. He was so not her type. Hinanat coughed again.

"Are you okay?" His concern for her was overwhelming to the point of being humorous.

"I'm fine...really. Now...about the results..."

"Ah....yes...the results. But first, would you like something to drink?"

"No! Thank you doctor. Please...the results..." Hinanat whined a little, wanting to finally solve the mystery of what half of her was.

"You....my dear, dear judge...."

~Oh my God in Heaven again...~ Ayanna thought, getting somewhat aggravated at this point.

"Are......half.....Deltan!" The doctor catapulted himself back into his seat that rolled to the back of the wall behind his desk and placed his hands back behind his head. "Fascinating...."

She arched an eyebrow. It had sounded like he just said she was half Deltan and almost sounded like he had an orgasm while doing it. Weird.

"Deltan...." Ayanna whispered.

"Deltan...." He responded with a waggle of his eyebrows and a cocky smile.

"Heh...." She paused. "Now what?"

"Well, being that your only half Deltan, we don't need to worry about giving you a pheromone depressor unless you find that you are....getting too much attention from the general population. Then, if you are at *any* point uncomfortable, come back and we will give you the depressor. I, personally, can give you the shot."

"I bet you can." She muttered as her thoughts swirled.

"Now, your species, the non Betazoid half, can have 'mind-meld anethesia' abilities. Have you attempted that?"

Now, she was getting pissed. "How would I have attempted that, I just found out two seconds ago that I might have that ability!"

"Yes...well. What about telepathy or empathy?"

"I am a freaking Betazoid! What do you think?" Her voice raised a slight tone as she paused to take a breath. "I'm sorry...."

"It's fine Consul. Might I suggest more testing to find out exactly the range of your telepathy, empathy, and mild meld anesthesia abilities? It would take a day or two....but we have the facilities and it would be required by Starfleet considering we are aware of your exact genetic makeup."

"That's fine. You will need to contact my assistant, Ensign Dooley. She arranges all my duty related responsibilities."

He made a note of it. "Got it. Now, do you have any questions for me?"

"Not at this time." She responded quietly.

"Consul, may I just say that your genetic makeup.....Betazoid and Deltan....is just...."

~Did he just swoon?~ Ayanna asked herself.

"Is....just...wow...."

Her face grew stoic. "Is that a medical opinion?"

He smiled in a rather goofy manner and she used that as a signal that she should depart.

"Thank you doctor. Good day...."

"Ousted Liasions"

Captain T'Vara
Commanding Officer

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
JAG

Consul Ayanna Hinanat
Judge

Location: Deck 1, Captain's Ready Room

=================
Okay, so she admitted somewhere within the deep recesses of her mind that sleeping with Jack was not a good idea. It was more like a momentary brain fart that resulted in a sudden lack of judgment. It was Krieghoff's fault. That was it. He put them together, he must have known Jack's temperament....his arms...the shape of his......... Zamora violently shook her head clearing the naughty thoughts. She had more than enough stress to concern herself with. This was especially so since being called to the Captain's ready room.

It was easy to get that guilty feeling over something, and the knowing was the worse part of it all. Pressing the chime, Lia clasped her hands behind her back avoiding the stares from the various crew members. She knew she looked like crap...but who wouldn't with a psychopath blazing a trail to your door?

There was a momentary pause before the expected voice called out, "Enter."

As always, T'Vara sat behind the room's sweeping desk, making Zamora, like so many others who came to this office, wonder if the rumors were true and that the captain's rear end really was glued to that chair. That would certainly explain why so few people reported seeing the woman on any deck other than Deck 1.

"Please be seated," T'Vara said as the doors closed behind the JAG. She resisted the urge to raise a questioning eyebrow at the younger woman; after all, Lieutenant Zamora was under a considerable amount of stress, and it was not unexpected that such stress would begin to wear on her, both physically and mentally. It was only logical; but still, that did not make the haggard look of the normally perfectly polished officer any less disappointing.

Although...it did make T'Vara's decision in this matter significantly easier. After all, that too was only logical.

"Lieutenant Zamora." The captain nodded, then as expected dove right into the heart of the matter. "According to the most recent reports I have received, the entity known as Faylin McAlister remains at large, and it is still believed that she will try to board this ship in order to take your life, and possibly that of your son as well. Federation Marshals have been dispatched in an attempt to track her down, but as of yet they are no closer to catching her."

"I'm aware of the situation at hand Captain." Zamora offered in a short, yet respectful manner. "I have been in contact with the Marshal myself. Rest assured that things are under control."

She paused, studying the stoic woman in front of her. Interesting was the only descriptive term that came to mind in reference to the officer. It was not much, but at the time it's overly simplistic ideal was the only one that presented itself in her mind. Her glance fell to the side, noticing the woman that was sitting in a simple slingback chair. Ophelia nodded at Ayanna, wondering in part why the judge would be present at such a meeting.

The overly green eyes of the Betazoid scanned the Chief of the department with more than a passing glance. The interest in her involvement was more than minimal as Ophelia was about to find out. Tilting her head slightly to the side, Ayanna picked up on some extremely troubling emotions considering the situation that Zamora found herself in. Confidence bordering on arrogance was not what Ayanna expected. Yet there they were, laid wide open with a strength that confused her.

T'Vara nodded once; a predictable response from the young JAG. "I have no doubts as to the skill of the Federation Marshal Service and this ship's own Security department; one way or another, McAlister will be caught. However, until such time as she is caught, the woman's current status, and even her mere existence, adds a significant degree of uncertainty to your current situation, Lieutenant Zamora. The effect this has had on your physical, mental, and emotional well-being is no secret. Therefore, until the situation is resolved, I am placing you on administrative leave. Consul Hinanat will assume command of the Liaison department until your return."

Lia knew better, and bit her tongue. "Yes, Sir."

Ayanna straightened her posture rigidly. Something was incredibly off, so much so that she could not help but to tilt her head to the side with concerned eyes as she studied the former Chief of what was now Ayanna's department.

The judge spoke with a softness that conveyed trust even if she did not feel it from the woman. "I will need all your files transmitted over to my office within the hour."

"Okay." Zamora managed to whisper.

Very efficient, T'Vara thought; at least that much could still be expected from Lieutenant Zamora...and apparently she could expect the same level of efficiency from Consul Hinanat as well. "Very well, then," the captain continued, breaking the silence between the two women. "If there are no further concerns regarding this matter..."

"None Captain." Hinanat responded firmly with an air of sudden superiority to her voice.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, Consul," T'Vara finished, an air of finality to her words. "Dismissed."

"Redemption Redefined"

Lt. JG Ophelia Zamora
Misplaced JAG

Faylin McAlister

Consul Ayanna Hinanat
Judge

======================
It was a feeling of dread. Small at first, it gnawed at Zamora until she acknowledged it. They were coming for her. In the back of her mind, she knew it was just a matter of time. Revenge had sucked all the demand for righteous judgment out of her very core. It had turned her into some being she did not recognize. She had become the very person she despised minus the blood shed so to speak.

Her involvement with the Breen had been her demise. She knew it. Zamora realized harshly at that point that she had become McAlister incarnated.

Jumping at the fist beating on her door, her eyes grew wide with acknowledgment.

"Security! Lt. Junior Grade Ophealia Zamora, you are required to open the door!"

Logan's head raised with knitted eyebrows as he held his gaze steady against his mother.

"I'm sorry Logan." She whispered to her son as the doors slid open.

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

"Geesh." Ayanna muttered as her eyes scanned the charges that were detailed on the padd before her. Her newest case was against one of the Galaxy's own. One of her colleagues and from the initial looks of it, it was going to get messy.

Coercion with a known enemy of Starfleet. Misuse of Starfleet communication. Entrapment. And the list went on and on. Zamora was in for the fight of her life....again.

Sighing, Hinanat leaned back and closed her eyes. She took a moment to organize her thoughts concerning the situation at hand.

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

Fay glanced over at her traveling partner. His goggles hid the eyes that concentrated on the path before him.

The escape had been wild, but that was a requirement with McAlister around. As she sat, bleeding and in pain, her thoughts sat heavily on one word.

'Redemption'

Her eyes wondered from the back of his shaved head, to the curve of his broad shoulders, to the middle of his back. The black shirt he wore was caked with blood, likely not his own when she recalled his fierce ability to fight.

Forcing her eyelids close in a feeble attempt to rest, Fay whispered...

"Thank you Baile."

"Fast Forward"

Part 1: The Frustrated Lieutenant, the Workaholic Engineer, the Tired Captain

*****
Some time after the crash

Brian Cheng exhaled slowly and deeply as he stared out the single tiny window in his quarters. One of the graduates of the first "real" class of the Federation's Starfleet Academy, the young Lieutenant from Sacramento had been overjoyed when, less than half a decade later, he'd been promoted a second time and assigned to the Aiolos project as one of its navigation officers. And then, he'd been surprised when after months of training simulations and drills onboard the ship, Captain Levesque himself had selected Brian as the bridge navigator during the NX-19's historic first flight. To him, it seemed like his career had nowhere to go but up, up, up.

"Fuck." The muttered word echoed softly around the tiny room he shared with a Lieutenant from Engineering, the metal of the wall protesting ever so slightly as he thumped a half-curled fist against it. Yesterday there had been nowhere to go but up, up, up. Now, with their ship damaged beyond repair and crashed on an alien planet with little to no hope of rescue, Brian's career, and indeed his life as a whole, was set to go down, down down.

Grumbling to himself, the Lieutenant finally turned away from the window, leaving behind the strange, though oddly fascinating view of the kilometers-long swath of destruction the Aiolos had caused as it skidded to a halt on the planet's surface. Looking to the past wasn't what he should be doing, Brian reminded himself. He might be stuck on this planet, but that didn't mean he had to give up. No, his life was far from over. Even if he never made it home, never made it out of here, he would find a way to keep going up. He would make a name for himself. He would make a difference.

*****
Several hours later

"I think we've got it all, sir."

Jessa Greentree looked up from the sparking remains of a (mostly) still-functioning console. Still tied into the ship, the console had been operating on reserve power for some time, but at least it worked and it allowed her to get through the computations she would need much faster than a handheld computer.

"Are you sure?" she questioned, pausing only briefly to push a sweaty strand of hair out of her eyes. Of course they had to be "lucky" enough to land on a hot planet...couldn't have picked one that would have been a little more hospitable, especially to a northern girl such as herself. "Don't *think* you have it all, Wes. We need to be absolutely, positively certain," she continued, "because I don't want to be explaining to the captain why we have to come back down here when we find out someone didn't pack enough magnetic couplers or phase inducers."

"I understand, sir. Myself and Petty Officer Wilkinson triple-checked the numbers. We should have everything we need to get the array up and running outside the ship."

"Good," Jessa commented, though she was already back to staring at the console. The numbers were there, the calculations were sound...at last, she felt confident that they would be able to get at least partial power from what remained of the warp engine's crystal array. They wouldn't be able to go to warp with it (not that they would want to, of course), but they would certainly be able to generate more power than they could with just the few mobile generators that had been installed on the ship already. Thank goodness for the versatility of isobirithium, she mused. If she ever got back to Earth, she'd have to thank Admiral Williams for having the balls to use such untested technology in the field. Then again, it was this untested technology that got them stranded here in the first place, so maybe she would just gut-punch him instead. She couldn't quite decide...but if her intuition told her anything, she'd have a long time to make that decision.

"Alright," she said at last, grabbing a small flip-top computer and transferring her data to it. "Pack it up. I want to be out of here in one hour."

*****
Several days later

"Well, we made it."

JP Levesque dropped heavily onto the ground beside his XO, folding his legs beneath him as he tried not to slouch too far over. "At least, we made it this far."

"That we did." Trailing a finger lazily into the slow water at the edge of the river they'd just crossed, Andy Kalogeropoulos looked over his shoulder at the captain, who by now was starting to look rather grizzled since, like everyone else, he hadn't shaved in at least a week. "I sure hope this was the right move, JP."

"Me too," JP answered, though it wasn't immediately clear if his words contained more confidence than doubt, or perhaps equal parts of both. "I think so, though. The ship's a complete wreck; we couldn't stay there. With luck on our side, and assuming Jessa and her boys get the engine remainders up and running, we'll be able to make some of these ruins livable."

"I wonder where they came from," Andy replied. "The ruins, I mean. T'Mar says they're old, like not *really* old, just old...but that there's no evidence of the people that built them other than what they left behind. And we should get moving soon."

"Interesting..." JP's voice trailed off as he looked away, back towards the bridge they had just crossed. It was a massive thing, made of carefully fitted blocks of carved stone that had gracefully weathered the years. Not having more than an elementary understanding of archaeology or even simple geology, there was no way he'd ever be able to guess the age of these structures. They could be a hundred years old, or a thousand, or even ten thousand. But, in the back of his mind, something told him to go with the second option. ~It's always the middle choice,~ someone with a pretty big cynical streak had told him once. Who had that been? Oh yes, that's right: Andy. That Greek bastard was quite the cynic; probably why they got along so well, now that he thought about it.

"Thousand years old," he continued abruptly, half smiling.

"What?"

"I'm guessing the ruins are a thousand years old, Andy." Then, mustering as much of a smile as he could, he added, "Want to put some money on it?"

Andy couldn't help but snicker. "Hah. Right. Did I mention we should get moving?"

"Yes, mother, you did." Slowly pushing himself into a standing position, JP looked back at the bridge once more before turning north again. "Yep, just a little further..."

"Fast Forward"

Part 2: Success at Last, Enter the Migraine, Visit to the Doc

*****
Several more days later

"We did it!"

Jessa Greentree clapped her hands together loudly, resisting the urge to jump up and down in front of what was left of her department. "Yessss!"

Predictably, something within the bizarre configuration of equipment shorted, causing a small spray of sparks to eject from the side of the makeshift engine casing. "No no no baby," Jessa soothed, demeanor switching instantly as she placed a hand on the smooth metal. "Just a little indigestion, eh? That's a good girl..."

Beside her, Wes Coral snickered softly as the sparks slowed and finally ceased. "And people always told me I was crazy for thinking these things were alive. Nothing this complex is 'just a machine'."

"Agreed, Wes." Jessa smiled and looked down at a section of the engine that was still missing its outer cover. Within the silvery metal enclosure, a complex series of crystal arrays pulsed and glowed a soft pink color as the injectors pushed raw tritium and antitritium fuel into the isobirithium crystals.

Jess frowned. "Are those supposed to glow pink?" she asked.

"I don't know," Wes replied, mirroring her frown and moving to get a better look. "I mean, I know they give off some visible light, but I always thought it was white..."

"Hrm. Well, let's keep an eye on it." She paused, cocked her head to the side, and continued, "Figuratively, of course. At least we should be able to run a forcefield generator off this power...see if that will keep those red bastards out. Speaking of...did T'Mar ever figure out why our phase pistols don't work on them?"

Wes shrugged. The 'red beasts' as they were now called had been responsible for nearly a dozen deaths in the past week, three of which had been in the pursuit of killing one so they could study it. "She and Doctor Voras should be autopsying the dead one soon, if they haven't already started."

"Good. Let's hope they find something..."

*****
Several weeks later

"Hey, Amber..."

The young lieutenant whirled around, formerly resilient golden curls slapping against her cheek in a dirty mat. "What!"

"Hey, it's OK," Brian Cheng soothed, taking a reflexive step back and holding his hands up before him.

Amber's expression softened once she saw who it was. "Sorry Brian," she replied, offering him a weak smile. "I'm a little on edge recently, it seems. It's just..."

"The headaches?" he offered softly.

She nodded. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"A lot of people are getting them lately, and they're getting worse and worse. Doc thinks it's something on the planet, obviously, but he hasn't figured it out yet."

"Oh."

"You should go see him, Am."

"Uh huh."

"I mean it. Doc can't help if he doesn't know you're hurting."

*****
A day or so later

"Doc....Doc, make it stop...please..." Amber croaked weakly as she writhed around on the swept dirt floor of the doctor's makeshift 'clinic'. One hand was held tightly over her eyes, shutting out any light; the other was hovering over her mouth, in case she had the sudden urge to vomit again. "The light...so bright..."

"I am trying, Lieutenant Halberstam," Doctor Voras replied in his perpetually calm voice. He tried not to think about how unnerving the whole situation was, now that over half the crew was reporting strange symptoms ranging from mild dizziness and disorientation to standard headaches to crippling migraines. He tried not to think about the disappointment over the fact that he still hadn't been able to pinpoint the cause, or even distill down a list of common symptoms. And most of all, he tried not to think about the fact that he now *felt*. Or about how he felt about that.

Feelings weren't normal, not for him. Not for any Vulcan of his age, not for one who had completed the kahs-wan as a mere child and performed the final ritual of the kolinahr before his fortieth birthday. So for him to now feel concern, or worry...well, it had him concerned...and worried.

"Doc..."

"A moment, please Lieutenant," he replied, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He moved his hand from the side of her neck to reposition two fingers just behind her ear, searching for the correct spot, and applying gentle pressure when he found it. In response she groaned, one leg swishing back and forth as the pain gripped her again. That had him worried; of the dozens of crewmen he'd treated over the past several days, she was the first to respond negatively to the traditional Vulcan forms of acupressure.

Sighing softly, the doctor released her and took a step back. There was nothing more he could do now; nothing he could do but sedate her, that is. He hated to use another unit of pseudomorphine, especially when the supply was dwindling so quickly, but otherwise the woman would have no release from the pain that held her prisoner within her own body. "I shall return," he told her, then added almost unnecessarily, "please remain here."

Pushing his way through the makeshift door (which was nothing more than a bedsheet hung over the open doorway from the thin trunk of a sapling tree), Voras dashed across the dirt street into the hut he'd been using as a storeroom. The pseudomorphine stores were stacked near the door; he quickly grabbed a vial and a fresh hypospray, then moved back across the street, pushing the ampule into the hypospray's base just in time to swipe the bedsheet-door aside.

She was gone.

"Lieutenant Halberstam?" Voras asked the empty room. He took a few tentative steps toward the spot on the floor where she'd been lying only a moment ago. "Lieutenant Halberstam, where are you?"

On the floor, Amber stopped squirming long enough to remove the hand from her eyes and squint up at the doctor. "Hey Doc? I'm right here..." she told him.

Frowning, Voras crossed the room to the only window, poking his head outside to look for any signs of the missing woman. "Lieutenant?"

"Wake up, Doc...down here."

Moving back into the house he turned and looked at the spot on the floor once more. In her state she could barely function, much less walk; where could she have gone? He moved back towards where she had been, squatting and placing a hand experimentally on the soft dirt of the floor.

"Okay, good!" Amber commented as Voras began to move back towards her. Maybe he was having problems of his own? As he squatted down she reached weakly up to move her matted hair away from her neck, anticipating the sweet rush of soothing drugs into her system.

"Eagggggh!" she shrieked, watching in horror as he put his hand on-- no, through!-- her stomach! "Doc, what the hell!" she yelled, no longer caring that the sudden burst of sound caused multicolored explosions in her vision and a skull-splitting feeling in her temples. His hand...went right through her! And she didn't even feel it! "What the fuck is going on!"

At that moment Voras' head twitched to the right, his superior hearing picking up the faintest trace of...something? Had that been someone yelling? Standing, he moved once more to the house's entrance, absentmindedly grasping the bedsheet with one hand, tugging at it until the sapling gave enough to pull it down. It had been someone yelling, right? Lieutenant Halberstam perhaps?

In a daze he stepped out into the street, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the light, before moving away, towards the center of town. "Lieutenant Halberstam?" he asked to nothing in particular. "Amber? Am?"

"From Hell"

Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, Ops Manager

USS Galaxy, Deck 5
================

In living with humans for over a decade, Th’Khiss K’aa had come to the
conclusion that the species was obsessed with their own mortality.
Humans bred like Tellarites while they lived, and their savage and
blood-stained past was littered with a multitude of religious wars
spanning many centuries.

Polythiest against Monothiest.

Christian against Muslim.

Christian against Hindu.

Hindu against Muslim.

Muslim against Buddhist.

Christian against Christian.

Muslim against Muslim.

Still, a common theme threaded the various factions together as they
did for every sentient race that dabbled with organized religion – the
uncertainty of the afterlife, and the consequence of a faith’s
relative impiety. Some had human souls wander endless underworld
plains as shades of their former selves, and others thought the soul
would be born anew as a new creature purged of the sins of its former
life.

K’aa’s favorite myth, however, was of a hellish inferno in which the
souls of the wicked were endlessly burned for their transgressions.
Now, trapped in a human body, the former Gorn could understand how
some humans would associate excessive heat with endless suffering,
Wiping the sweat from his brow after his twelfth lap around Deck 5,
he imagined that the human hell must also involve a significant amount
of jogging as well.

The exercise had not come easily to K’aa. The Gorn either sprinted or
walked, there was no intermediate pace and it took him hours and an
embarrassing inquiry to a holodeck trainer to get the rhythm right,
but the experience was far, far from pleasant. After two laps he
started to sweat, starting as the sensation of tiny pin-pricks in his
scalp and small trickles of perspiration running down his neck and
back. Droplets trickled annoyingly into his music-earpiece, under his
arms, and uncomfortably down every crevice the male human form
possessed. After six every joint below his waist hurt with the
unfamiliar impact on the deck-plating, At twelve his calf muscles
threatened to cramp and his thighs ached with the continuous,
repetitive motion. Still it was only pain, and as a Gorn – even as a
human – he had experienced far, far worse; it was the frustration that
this amount of physical activity was all he was cleared for, and the
indignity of not being planet-side where members of the Galaxy’s crew
had gone missing.

Tactical, Sciences, and Security all hummed with activity as efforts
were made to locate the list crewmen, and while Ops moved to support
such efforts, the tasks left to K’aa were more of delegation rather
than participation. Personnel were assigned, work orders were
competed, inventory was consumed and re-ordered, and the small,
trivial battles of Operations were won, but there was no sense
victory, and glory didn’t remotely enter into the experience.

~Much like jogging~, K’aa reflected as sweat beaded on the thin hair
of his eyebrows and trickled down past his ears. Mundane, repetitive
battles with little sense of true accomplishment, and a progress so
slow the Ops Chief often likened it to the human image of hell – and
endless, unbearable torment. Hell certainly must have an
administration of sorts.

Lap fifteen brought a slight smile to K’aa’s sanguine face as he
thought of ‘little victories’, remembering that in a small way he had
achieved personal progress. The troll assigned to his case had
finally approved moving away from the exclusive oatmeal diet he had
been forced to eat since arriving on the Galaxy. Lentils sounded much
more appealing, and he wondered what sort of creature they were and
what they tasted like raw. The all-oats diet was as ignoble for a
predator as it was bland, and the small morsels he was allowed to try
outside that regimen reminded him that homo-sapiens had only ten-
thousand taste-buds to the Gorn seventy-thousand.

If humanity had a grace that set it apart from the other sweaty
mammals of the Alpha Quadrant, it was their superlative hearing.
While not as sensitive to the high frequencies as the Vulcans, or to
the low as his own people, human hearing had settled amazingly to a
balanced range that allowed the development of unparalleled music.
When they weren’t busy killing themselves, human cultures managed to
produce a variety of music K’aa felt was unrivalled among the stars,
yet largely taken for granted by humanity as a whole. Mozart’s piano
concertos, the glorious 9th from Beethoven, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons,
Hendrix’s deft solo riffs, and the steady back-beat of the early-works
of one called ‘the King’ amazed him, and the powerful music combined
with the constant exercise almost distracted him from his situation.

When K’aa stopped and struggled for breath, the music from his
personal player stopped as well, leaving him panting for breath, with
a dull but intense pain across his chest. He bent down and grasped
his knees as small black dots clouded his vision, and his legs
trembled as they slowly recovered from their efforts. With time his
temper couldn’t accept, the vision cleared, the trembling stopped, and
the pain in his chest ebbed slightly, but the copious sweat and the
accompanying sour stink of his new humanity was inescapable, as was
his hunger for the hunt.

Cooling down K’aa walked slowly back to his quarters, wondering if the
Terran Lentil was a herd animal, or whether it was a solitary creature
that hunted for prey of its own. Bovine? Rodent? Primate?
Cestacean?

Extreme disappointment awaited.

"Ghosts" Part Two- Prisoner Perspective

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

( CWO3 Cassandra Alice Parker- Day 128 of imprisonment)

After more than four months as a prisoner, and more than two months on this hell hole, I can honestly say I no longer fear hell. Not one bit... pick a hell from any religion that has one, and a long sentence there would be much more welcomed than another day in this frigid hell. At least most hells were warm.

We were kept in different blocks, not unlike how I imagine penal colonies back in the Federation were arranged. There were more than seven levels to our hell, with the bottom levels... 'the pits'... reserved for particularly troublesome prisoners. In my early days here, I got 'real' familiar with them. The only thing worse than being a long term resident of this here human sized ant-colony of the damned was being stuck in iso a good 50 meters or so below the planet's surface. No light, no air, not even the benefits of a sound to keep you company. After my fourth tour, I had no burning desire to return there. I'm ashamed to say just how disturbed I was... crying fits that didn't stop for days afterwards, chronic depression, anxiety attacks that still visit... now that you're here you'll find out soon enough. Stick with me bucko, I'll try and keep you as safe as possible... but I can't make any guarantees here.

I was born in a small city back on Earth... Sand Springs Oklahoma. There was a population of about 20,000 people there; the city itself having originally been founded by a local philanthropist named Charles Paige who envisioned the place as a utopian community for widows and orphans; a complete, self-sustaining community with convenient access to downtown Tulsa. Other than Mr. Page who was an oilman, we had a few other prominent citizens... Sam Harris who was an actor and singer, a basketball player for some team from New York called the Harlem Globetrotters, an author and game designer by the name of Neal Halliford whom the city's first holo-arcade was named after, and Thomas Williston, one of the authors of the United Earth Government's constitution. Pretty slick, eh?

Hmph, the strong and silent type, huh? Well there isn't a whole lot more to do around here.

I went to Limestone Elementary when I was a child, Clyde Boyd Middle School after that. Didn't really go the traditional education track though... I was accepted into the Central Fine Arts Academy instead. Actually I didn't do that badly... teachers said I had a real gift for sculpture. Greco-Roman marble statues, you know... the kind with no arms? Yeah... final project was a hand-sculpted miniature of Michelangelo's David...

Hey, I 'was' a teenager.

Anyway, remember these facts. I know it seems pointless to you right now... you're what; right out of the academy? Really, you've been in the fleet 'that' long? How many battles?

None... okay that's why. But trust me when I say this is important stuff; you may very well be tested on this later, got it? I can't explain why right now, but trust me on it.

So... since you seem so eager to get a grasp of what's going on, that there is Centurion Kruttal, was part of the Romulan Tal Shava before the battle of Romulus, and he's probably the longest 'surviving' prisoner here. The woman next to him is his wife.

Well no, not really. Listen newbie... things don't work here like they do back in Starfleet. It's constantly freezing, with the sub-terranian caverns being 'just' warm enough for survival. There's a constant fight for space in the cabins above ground, there's not enough food, and if you want water your only option usually is to hope it's snowed enough the night before that you can melt some. The only way to get anything... more food, or basic medicines, or what have you, is to trade for it. She's what I've heard a couple of people refer to as a 'prison bride'... they're not married. They'll likely never be married, and I distinctly remember her... nevermind, you're going to figure it out sooner or later you don't need me running my mouth and disturbing you any more. Sufficing to say, things happen. Right now you're still fresh, fairly well rested, fairly well nourished, healthy... you're too proud to worry about the basics right now. I hope for your sake you stay that way long enough for help to come... that way you won't need to know what real desperation is like.

Yeah... a lot of people have done things around here they're not really... proud of. Damn it's cold.

So, where were you assigned? What'd you do?

Operations officer on the Langley... Akira class you say? Nice.

Me? I'm a Nurse Practitioner, Starfleet reserves actually. I was assigned to the USS Jarvik, an Olympia class hospital ship. Named for the designer of the first successful artificial heart on Earth and all. We were on a humanitarian mission inside Cardassian space... got caught behind enemy lines when the Triad swooped in on the Cardassian Union. The 8TH Order tried making a stand at Ikali Prime, one of the major Cardassian worlds between the Triad and Cardassia Prime. It wasn't much, but they put up a hell of a fight... a damned good fight... the Captain had us establish a hospital on the planet to treat the wounded. At this point the Cardassians were fighting to give their transports time to evacuate the civilian population. The fighting was brutal, casualties were high... we got an order to evacuate. The 2nd Battalion was going to keep us... us being the Starfleet contingent on the planet... enough time to get out of dodge so that at least 'we' would be safe.

But... but I looked around at what was happening, at all the injured and the dying... I don't know, I guess I felt I was needed there. I stayed behind. Heh, probably the last good deed I'll ever do.

Hmmm? Oh, no I'm not scared... 'no' I am 'not' crying, just got something in my eyes, damn it. The damn powdered snow-ice stuff that's all around, and all...

What was that?

Yeah I did hear it too, don't worry about it newbie.

No, I'm serious! Remember when I said things don't work here like they do on the outside?

Easy! I can stand here because I know better, and if you were smart you'd...

Hey, wait a damn minute!

"How Ella Got Her Groove Back" – Part Three

Lt. Ella Grey

****

Orbital Casino
Nuevo Monaco System

The bad thing about having Corran in her head was that he knew her
now, knew what would motivate her, and knew that his suggestion would
appeal to her more theatrical side. It would be unexpected; bold, yet
another reinvention of herself, and Ella had to admit that she was
always a fan of a statement.

Too bad she thought she might throw up.

Ella took a gulpful of air and then tried to concentrate on normal
breaths so she wouldn't pass out. It would be over quickly, she told
herself. Less than five minutes even! Yes, she thought. Yes. That was
right, true, reasonable, and logical …and completely failed to stop
her stomach from flip-flopping or her hands from wringing each other.

At least her palms weren't sweaty, Ella noted.

"Nervous?"

She looked up the pair in front of her, a middle aged woman wearing a
green 'How to Kill a Borg" t-shirt and a Klingon male wearing an
impressive frown. Ella gave a wan smile. "Is it that obvious?"

The woman's mouth dropped open slightly (while the Klingon only
blinked) but she recovered quickly. "Only because I've been doing this
awhile. You've never done this before?"

"Not for a long time," Ella admitted. And if it hadn't been for the
suggestion of my evil ex-boyfriend, likely never again.

"Want to know the secret?"

"Picture everyone naked?" Ella asked. "Next time don't pass on the Pan
Galactic Gargle Blaster?"

The woman smiled. "Just have fun with it. It's not the end of the
world if you're not a hit; it's more about the rush you get when the
nerves fall away and you are up there being confident, having fun …
oh, it's my turn! Good luck!"

"Have fun," Ella replied. She thought that it had been good advice.
After all, this wasn't a life and death situation – and Ella should
know, having lived through alien experiments and Mirusan death traps
to name a few.

"She is in error," The Klingon growled.

She instantly felt her new found confidence waver.

"You must face this like all warriors face battle," He continued. "The
fear is in your mind. Harden your spine and claim your victory. It is
this way in which you will defeat your enemy."

Ella tried to smile. "Thank you."

He nodded curtly and then narrowed his eyes at her. "Your voice is not
pleasant."

"Oh," Ella replied and brushed a finger tip over her vocal patch. "Yeah."

The Klingon waited a beat and then asked why picturing someone naked
would help with stage fright. She spent a few pointless minutes trying
to explain the concept – after which they both agreed alcohol would
work better – before it was his turn to go. He stomped away
purposefully.

Then there was one, she thought.

She took another gulpful of air and then told herself to knock it off.
She could do this; she could stride onto that stage and do this small,
stupid thing and move forward with her life. She could reclaim a piece
of herself.

And possibly, afterwards, she could track down Corran and throttle him
a bit as a reward.

Ella smiled a little, took another deep breath, and then peeled off
the vocal patch. It almost seemed to resist separating from her skin
or maybe that was just her imagination.

She heard the event coordinator call her name and stole another quick
lungful before moving to climb the three short steps and move across
the stage to the microphone.

She waved her hello to the small audience.

She waited for her music to start.

She cleared her throat and then began to sing.

"Marshal Inbound"











"Federation Starship, this is Federal Transport 6 with you at three five zero. Requesting initials for ILS approach over."

Silence and crackles of interstellar space.

"Federation Starship. Transport 6 with you at three five zero, requesting vectors, do you read?"

Nothing.

"Gawddamnit Starship, I have your Fleet transponder loud and clear, so you damn well better be reading me. This is Deputy Marshal Daughtery on Federal business and with wounded aboard, respond please!"

Daughtery clenched her black leather flight gloves tightly over the flight stick of the ancient Police Cutter. Fast and maneuverable the shuttle sized craft was nevertheless a relic from decades past. More evidence of how Starfleet received the lions share of the Federation budget leaving the smaller agencies to make do with the dregs.

Gnawing angrily on the butt of her cigarette the blond glanced over at the passenger seat where her partner, and mentor for the past three years lay bleeding.

Bin Hux, Senior Marshal and Legendary Lawman…..critically injured.

In spite of herself, Mel reached out reassuringly to touch the big man's shoulder.

"Mel…" he gasped suddenly causing her to jump.

"Yeah boss?"

"Watch the fucking road….." he muttered before slumping back asleep. Normally sedatives didn't affect Angosians, but the Marines back on 128 said they had loaded him up with enough juice to knock out a whole platoon.

As she chewed her cigarette, Mel throught back to how the Corpsmen back on 128 had stabilized her partner, after gently pulling him out from the wall that that bitch chameloid had imbedded him in.

Lots of surface scratches and bruises, but most worrisome was a 6 inch length of plumbing pipe that had merrily impaled itself in the Marshal's midsection.

"His Liver…..or what passes for one on an Angosian." the young asian medic had told her…..a Man named Kurita. "Normally we could stabilize the object and evac, but ……." he gestured useless to his medical tricorder….the device was completely blank.

Mel had nodded at once understanding. Angosian super soldiers were completely invisible to modern sensor scans, and as a small drawback, that included medical devices.

"We don't have the facilities to do a manual surgery without diagnostic sensors." Kurita explained helplessly. "Its just simply not something we're set up to do in the field. This man needs to get to a Starbase medical facility….or a starship at minimum."

While they mulled the possibilities, the Marines had considered evacuating Hux to the nearby M*A*S*H* unit before a sudden Hydran counterattack had punched through the lines throwing everything into chaos.

Laser light sparkled overhead, and explosions rocked the compound as incoming mortars indicated the punch was coming directly this way.

Left to her own devices as the Marines ran for the trenches., Mel had slung the big Angosian over her own shoulder and with much effort, and artillery exploding all around her, strapped him in the Police cutter and made a run for orbit.

Things there were not much better.

The remainders of the two powerful fleets under the commands of von Ernst and Prince Thufi were scattered across the star system in an attempt to bring the other to submission.

Anytime one fleet or the other attempted to approach the planet in order to interefere with events there, it suffered a terrible long range barrage from their opposition……thus leaving events in orbit at a dangerous draw.

At first wanting to evac Hux to the Federation flotilla under Captain von Ernst , Mel found herself blocked by the Hydran fleet and its flock of gunboats.

In the end it had been quicker and safer to make a high warp run for the next closest Starship in the sector.....the USS Galaxy itself.

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

"Damnit starship, if you don't give me a vector I am gonna run this fucking ship right through your gawdamn shuttle bay doors and personally kick the asses of every single........."

"POLICE CUTTER THIS IS UNITED STARSHIP GALAXY ON TWO POINT EIGHT." the crackling of the radio cut off the rest of Mel's tirade. "WE HAVE YOU AT THREE FIVE ZERO APPROACHING THE OUTER MARKER. REDUCE SPEED TO WARP 4.5 FOR STARSYSTEM ENTRY AND STAND BY FOR PERIMETER CLEARANCE."

Half a billion miles away, the men and women of the Galaxy CIC studied the approaching dot with grave faces. Ever since the incident with the Vered Nuclear terrorists, they took a very cautious view of any approaching craft, no matter how small.

"Police Cutter, " the On duty Flight Control Operator keyed his mic carefully. "Please recycle your transponder and identify yourself for clearance. Remain outside the 2 AU marker or risk being fired upon, over."

The sputtering of vulgarities and comments about his parentage that came over the speakers caused even his watch supervisor, a stoic Vulcan to raise both eyebrows.

"She certainly sounds human." he intoned.

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

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

Getting a grip on her outburst, Mel replied through gritted teeth, almost snapping off her cig. "ID as Federation Deputy Marshal Melissa A. Daughtery, Badge number 1115, on official duty out of Resaki Station by way of System AS-128 carrying wounded from the same."

~~Asshole.~~~ she added mentally

"ROGER THAT MARSHAL....WAIT ONE."

There was along pause during which only the whine of the engines could be heard….and was Hux snoring?

"ATTENTION CRAFT….YOU CLAIM TO HAVE WOUNDED ABOARD….OUR SCANS INDICATE ONLY ONE…REPEAT ONE PASSENGER OF HUMAN ORIGIN…CONFIRM."

Mel sighed a bit. This was a problem she had expected. Sometimes Hux's invisibility was a pain in the ass. "Look Galaxy," she grated, gesturing with her ciggarette, "Pull up my bio, you'll see me assigned as partner to a Marshal Bin Hux….He's Angosian….that should explain everything."

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

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

A Billion miles away, things were getting tense in the Galaxy CIC. CTO Daniels had already been paged to the center and was watching his crew grimly from the background.

At the screen, the flight control officer was already cycling through the Federation Database pulling up a mugshot of a pretty blond staring sullenly at the camera

~~~Cute~~~ he mused as he scanned for the required information.

"Craft…I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but Angosians are listed as type N sentients….no outstanding powers or abilities….."

"CHECK THE FRAKKING SUBSECTION ON MILITARY EXPERIMENTS YOU ASSHOLE!!!" the crackling voice interrupted him.

"Um….oh…ok" he read, "Invisibility to sensors huh…interesting….and awfully convenient. Wait one please."

The Flight officer twisted to look back over his shoulder at his superiors. This was one that needed to be bumped up the chain.

Daniels was in overall command, but he stood silent instead watching the Vulcan Officer of the Day, testing to see what decision his man would make. It was always good to test the youngsters.

A logical solution was quickly reached.

Smiling, the Flight officer turned back to his mic. Open before him was the classified section of Marshal Daughtery's file. "Okay Marshal….we're back, but we're gonna have to establish your bonafides…..says here that you got into a bit of trouble at the Federal Agency Academy…..care to elaborate? Also you transferred in from another School…where was that?"

"DAMNIT YOU BUREAUCRATIC PRICK WE DONT HAVE TIME TO PLAY 20 QUESTIONS!"

came the barking reply.

"Look lady.…" the FCO's smile faded. "This is a time of War….We got a rogue shapeshifter on the loose and I don't know you from Jack, so unless you can give me a quick answer to where you went to school, you're Momma's maiden name, and the current address of you Father, I'm blowing you out of the fucking stars."

A long pause during which the vulgarities could almost be heard from across the star system.

"I WAS A FUCKING STUDENT AT THE NEW YORK SCHOOL OF FUCKING BALLET.....MAIDEN NAME IS MOTHER GAWDDAMN ANDER-FUCKING-SON.....MY COCKSUCKING DAD IS A FUCKING INMATE AT THE DAMN PENAL FUCKING SYTEMS ON FUCKING MARS, YOU GOT ANY MORE DUMB ASS QUESTIONS??"

The Flight controller stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it around a bit to clear it. Geeez....he didnt think a Ballerina could talk like that. "Just one Marshal…..you're a Ballerina right? What's the Second Arabesque Position?"

"WHAT?"

"YOu heard me…you could be a chameloid and tortured all that other info out of the real Marshal…but I doubt it would have gone into random trivia, so what s the Second fucking Arabesque Position?"

"DAMN IT….WHEN I GET ABOARD IM KICKING YOUR ASS MISTER…..THE SECOND ARABESQUES IS FOR ADVANCED DANCERS….SAME ARM AND LEG ARE EXTENDED ABOVE 90 DEGREES AND HEAD IS TILTED OVER THE EXTENDED ARM….WANNA KNOW WHEN I HAD MY LAST PERIOD?"

"Negative Marshal….please turn to two seven zero for the initials…enjoy the ride…Galaxy out."

He turned back around to scan the compartment, but Daniels had already slipped out.

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

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

The Medical team was already waiting in the main shuttle bay when Dauhgtery landed, and after some quick astonishment that their medical tricorders didn't function, they whisked Hux off to surgery…this was gonna be an old school blind procedure.

Mel was left behind, standing tall in the long black trench coat of her office, a silver Marshal's star at her left breast.

"Ma'am." the Security escort offered, "I'll show you to guest quarters….."
"No." Mel fished for a cigarette, "Take me to Victor Krieghoff, I have a warrant for the arrest of Ophelia Zamora"

"Fast Forward"

Part 3: Three Rats in a Cave, The Dragon Emerges

*****
Several more weeks later

"Don't know if we should be doing this..."

"It's right over here. Don't worry, we take a quick look n' then leave."

Gesturing with the torch, Vesta Milanis led her two companions deeper into the cave. The young Armory rating was the only one of the trio still fully in uniform, and the only one carrying any sort of weapon. Being a rating she wasn't allowed to carry any of the few Starfleet weapons left, but she had a long, decidedly nonstandard knife tucked into her right boot and lashed to her leg with a strip of cord.

"What you say you found?" one of the other women, Crewman Salome Bayoumi, asked as she carefully stepped along the uneven ground.

"Really neat painting. Cave art or something. Come, come. Thress, come."

Behind the two humans, Petty Officer Athresta brought up the rear. The only Andorian aboard the Aiolos, the technician had initially found it a bit difficult to fit in with the crew, and had been quite worried when they'd been stranded on this planet. But, after the initial chaos following the crash, things had settled down enough that Athresta felt like she was starting to find her place in the group. Of course, it certainly helped that whatever had affected much of the rest of the crew so badly seemed to have the opposite effect on her: instead of crippling headaches or anything negative, the Andorian felt a powerful euphoric effect, with occasional periods of heightened sensory input and hallucinations similar to the effects of most psychotropic drugs.

At the moment she was in one of those phases. Even in the near-black darkness of the cave she could see a vibrant spectrum of iridescent colors: pinks and blues and yellows and greens slithering and sliding along the walls like an orgy of snakes...coiling, twisting, fusing, splitting... And the sounds! The drip-drip-dripping of a tiny trickle of water from somewhere deeper in the cave bounced around in her brain, echoing in concert with the slap-slap-slapping of their booted feet on the smooth stone floor of the cave, the uneven crackle of Petty Officer Milanis' torch providing a bright, staccato accompaniment that was rounded out by the sound of breathing whooshing in her ears. If she spent the rest of her life like this, she might not do much, but at least she would be well entertained. Crackle crackle crackle! Hee hee hee!

"Thress, what?"

It took a moment for Athresta to realize Salome (or had it been Vesta?) had said something. Athresta let out a quiet giggle, wiping one hand lazily across her cheek as she tried to cover her mouth. "Funneeee. Colorssssss," she half-breathed, using her free hand to swipe randomly at the cool air. The motion disturbed the flame, swirling smoke in uneven circles toward the ceiling. "Moooooke." She followed the trail with one thin finger, tracing its path toward the low ceiling. "Moooooke....taaaaail."

Salome and Vesta followed her gaze upward. "Oh," Salome said, catching sight of the end of what appeared to be a long, coiled, scaled...tail. "Bootiful, yah?"

"See, ladies? Told you it was worth it," Vesta agreed as she used the torch to follow the tail deeper into the cave, the flickering light exposing more and more of the huge beast painted onto the ceiling. It had long, silvery claws, curling horns, and a plume of ruby red feathers on its head and back was still distinct even though the work was clearly old and the paint had probably faded significantly over the years.

"Looks like...dragon?" Salome asked, reaching a hand up and waving it around as she tried to touch it.

"Petteee," Thress breathed, mimicking the motion. As she was at least a head taller than the two much shorter humans, the Andorian had no trouble reaching the ceiling. Thin blue fingers contacted the rough stone, then passed right through it. Thress giggled slightly, still enjoying the sensation of most everything being not quite tangible anymore. "Gate...biguuu...daggonnn..."

"Yeah, great big dragon," Vesta echoed, chuckling slightly. "Wonder who made it."

But before any of them could speculate, a light rustling noise came from deeper within the cave. Vesta and Salome quickly fell silent, whirling around and searching for the source of the noise. "What was that?" Salome whispered.

"Not sure," Vesta answered, automatically shifting the torch to her left hand so she could draw her knife.

"Daggonnnn!" Thress squealed, giggling when she heard the sound begin to bounce and echo off the walls. Then, she took off into the darkness.

"Thress, wait!" Vesta shouted in vain. Lowering the knife for a moment she looked at Salome, frowned, then looked back into the darkness.

"We follow?" Salome asked.

"Yeah. Guess so."

*****
Several months later

"Found! Catinn Levess, found da rats!"

Levess perked up at the sudden report, although the voice had come from much deeper in the cave and there was no way he could see who it was in the blackness. "Where?" he shouted back.

In response, quick, slapping steps moved his way. After a moment the bouncing light of a small torch appeared around a bend, the light growing stronger with each passing second. Eventually, the thin form of Wilk appeared out of the darkness. The young rating bowed automatically, then stole a glance at the three other men staring at him, officers all. He suddenly felt very small.

"Catinn, sirs, in darkness. Down, down," he told them, making a diving motion with his free hand.

"Show," one of the officers barked, waving a hand back towards the darkness.

"See, see!" Wilk nodded, then turned and beckoned over his shoulder. "Come, come!"

Slowly, the quartet followed the young man's lead, carefully making their way through the twisting passages of the cave. After what seemed like an eternity Wilk stopped abruptly, holding his arm out. "Here. Down, down."

Slowly Levess moved forward, feeling ahead with a bare toe. When he stuck his foot out and came up with nothing, he stopped and peered down into the darkness.

"Down, down," Wilk repeated. "Down wiss dag'n."

One of the other men-- Kall, Wilk thought-- grunted. "Dag'n. Ha. Dag'n not real."

"Paddon, sir....dag'n ees real. Ver-real." Wilk bobbed his head respectfully, then addressed Levess. "Catinn, pemiss?" he asked, holding his torch over the edge.

Levess nodded and pointed a finger into the darkness. "Down."

As the torch spiraled down the five or so meters into a roughly circular pit with steeply angled walls, the five stared eagerly over the edge, their eyes widening when the light brought three bodies into view. The remains of the three women glowed eerily in the low light, their broken, dessicated bodies telling their story to anyone who could read it. Of course, the constant exposure to whatever it was on this planet had continued to degrade their mental faculties until the five in the cave, and everyone else for that matter, were no longer capable of much complex thought. Naturally, being unable to conclude that the three missing ratings had likely fallen in the darkness, they clung to the most plausible explanation any of them had come up with yet.

"Dag'n?"

"Dag'n ees real?"

"Ver-real?"

"Ees dag'n! Dag'n!"

The chorus of "Dag'n! Dag'n! Dag'n!" echoed loudly off the cave walls, filling the room for several seconds, until it was joined by a much louder, shriller sound. The men's mouths closed in unison and so suddenly that the clacking of five sets of jaws echoed for a second, before once again being drowned out by the screeching, unearthly sound. Except now it was even louder.

Levess froze, his men automatically following his lead. Cautiously they peered into the pit, the blood in their veins running cold as something appeared in the darkness. Something long and thin, with glossy red scales, spiraling horns on its head, and a vivid plume of feathers forming a long triangle down the back of its head and back, tapering to a point just ahead of where its tail began. It practically sauntered out of a previously unnoticed hole in the pit wall on four muscular legs tipped with long, silvery claws that caught the torch light and reflected it against the cave walls.

And it looked hungry.

Moving towards the decomposing corpses, the creature stopped to sniff one before realizing that it had an audience. Rearing up on its hind legs it screeched at the intruders, clawing at the smooth stone walls as it tried to reach the men. Predictably the men tried to clamor away from the thing, but in their haste to cram five bodies into a tunnel wide enough for maybe two, limbs got tangled, smooth stone failed to provide secure footing, and gravity took hold of one, pulling him into the waiting embrace of the creature.

The rest ran, fleeing the screams of Wilk as claws and teeth tore into soft flesh. Mercifully, the screams of the man and the screeches of the creature ended quickly.

"Fast Forward"

Part 4: The Challenge, The Next Generation

*****
Several years later

Ang exhaled slowly, sliding his long knife against a small whetstone. Beside him, a woman waited, her legs curled under her as she sat on the soft dirt floor, watching him work. After several minutes he stopped, the room falling once more into silence as the rhythmic sssshk-sssshk sound of blade against stone faded away.

"Certain?" the woman asked after a long pause.

Ang grunted and looked down at her. "Certain, Conca-Am." His voice was quiet, serious. Am tilted her head up, looking deep into his black eyes, realizing that now, after many years, he was finally serious. At last, he was going to challenge the Ka'tin for leadership of the Kahru.

She smiled, the expression brightening her dirty face. "Good, Ang-Sur. Up, up, up."

"Up, up, up," Ang repeated. After another moment he stood, sliding his knife into its scabbard and then offering a hand to Am. When she stood, he placed surprisingly clean hands on her shoulders, looking deep into her green eyes, before wrapping his hands around the thick torc encircling his neck, flexing the elaborately twisted metal.

"Conca-Am no moar," he said as he removed the piece of jewelry and placed it around Am's much thinner neck. "Now Am-Sur."

Momentarily speechless, Am reached a hand up, fingering the thick metal, fingers lingering slightly over the chunks of glowing pink crystal held at regular intervals along its surface. Not since Levess-Ka'tin had risen to power had there been a female Sur. Am was the wife of a Sur, a Sur-no-Conca, and that gave her certain rights over other women, especially since Ang-Sur was one of Levess-Ka'tin's most trusted Surs. But for her to be showing the rank of her husband, to be wearing his torc, was practically sacrilege. On any other day she would have questioned her husband's sanity, perhaps wondered if he was displeased with her and wished to see her torn to shreds by the Kahru for such a display of hubris, for that is certainly what would happen were she to walk outside in such a state.

But today was different. Today, her husband would challenge for leadership of the Kahru, and as his wife she would now take his place as Ka'tin-no-Is-Sur, right hand of the Ka'tin. "Ang-Kat'in," she whispered, brushing a light kiss against his cheek. "Ang-Ka'tin caim desstin now."

"See." Then, exhaling deeply, he moved to the entrance of their small home, tossing aside the curtain and striding to the center of the street. The Ka'tin's house sat at the head of this street; he knew his voice would carry. Taking a deep breath, he drew his knife and shouted, "Levess-Ka'tin!"

Nearby, several gathered women gasped, quickly making themselves scarce. No one but the family of the Ka'tin used his common name; such a transgression was certain to raise his ire. And it did, for several seconds later the aging figure of Levess emerged from his own, much larger, home. Except for the almost ludicrously thick torc around his own neck the Ka'tin was clad only in a loose pair of dark blue pants: all that was left of the uniform he had once worn as a Starfleet officer. His broad, well-tanned torso was bare, revealing a number of scars, many of which Ang knew had been inflicted over the years by other members of the Kahru. All challengers for leadership, all of whom had ultimately fallen under the Ka'tin's blade.

Until now, he thought, his grip tightening on his freshly sharpened weapon. "Levess-Ka'tin!" he shouted again, spitting in the dirt at his feet: the traditional method to signal a desire for combat. "Challenge! Now!"

Levess merely grinned, a thin line of spittle falling from his lips as he nonchalantly returned the gesture. Behind him, one of his many wives emerged, carrying a knife that closely matched Ang's own. "What...took long, Ang? Wissh dea-thu now?"

"See, Levess. Yurs."

*****
Several decades later

The interior of the hut was dark and quiet, save for the low light and occasional crackle coming from the fire pit at its center. Strange shadows flickered along the angled walls as the fire danced lazily in its home.

Opposite the hut's single door a figure slept, its slow, rhythmic breathing barely audible above the soft crackle of the fire. At the figure's side sat a young woman, the fire's flickering light magnifying the worry lines in her otherwise youthful face as she watched the figure sleep.

After a long moment the door was pushed quietly open, and a third person stepped inside. This one was tall, with broad shoulders and thick fur garments that made the it look more like a burly man than a beautiful woman-- the eldest child of the Ka'tin.

Recognizing her elder sister's form in the low light, the younger woman bent down, placing a hand on the sleeping figure's shoulder, shaking him gently. "Wake wake, Ang-Ka'tin," she said in a low voice. "Chan-Sur here. Wake wake, bake bake."

The figure stirred, and slowly a thin arm appeared, pushing back heavy fur blankets to reveal the withered form of an old man. Ang rolled slowly over, cloudy eyes squinting in the low light as he struggled to focus on his eldest child's stern face. "Closer," he rasped at last, beckoning her forward with an arthritic hand.

Chan moved forward, settling herself on the floor next to her younger sister and reaching forward to help her aging father into a sitting position. Once he was settled, the old man looked at each one and smiled. "Chan-Sur. Conca-Tam. Time has come."

The two women nodded in understanding. For years Ang had ruled the Kahru in name only; as he had grown steadily older and more frail the duties of the role had been increasingly fulfilled by his children, Chan in particular. In addition to being his voice in the Council of Surs, Chan had also been the one to accept all challenges to Ang's position as Ka'tin. Thus far, Chan had never lost a battle. If there was an ideal successor to Ang, it was her.

And yet, Ang had his doubts. He was one of the few remaining members of the Kahru who had not been born on this planet. Although the effects of this planet had dulled his senses and turned his mind to mush, deep in the back of his brain he still held fleeting memories of much younger days: the home he had left when he took to the stars, service to a federation of planets, long days and nights spent working with the crew of the ship that had brought them here. All those who had come here still kept the hope alive that one day, the call to the stars they had left behind would reach friendly ears, and that they would be taken away from this place. But his children, and the children of all those he had served with, knew only this place. All their memories were of this planet, and the meager existence the several hundred Kahru eked out from year to year. They would never hope for contact, never dream of a rescue, because in their minds this is where they were born and this is where they belonged.

But was this really supposed to be the way of things?

Ang had ruled the Kahru for dozens of years, and during his reign the community had more than doubled in size. They had built new roads and new buildings. The combination of healing plants that had over the years gone from here-but-not to simply here, along with the skill of Vor-Sur and his wife Conca-Mar, had dramatically increased life expectancy and decreased mortality rates from what they had been when they first arrived on this planet. Yet, even those improvements had caused certain drawbacks over the years. As the population boomed, the basic necessities of life became scarcer and scarcer. Competition increased, leading to more killings of Concas by Rats, Rats by Surs, and the formation of a new, lower class that bore no title and existed only to serve the whims of the titled Kahru. Dissident groups split away from the main community, some moving north, some west, even some returning south to the wreckage that had brought them here so long ago. Some even declared themselves Ka'tin of these new splinter groups. And now, in the poorest areas of their world, there was even talk of Kahru eating Kahru. Cannibalism.

Ang was still Ka'tin, still leader of his people, but he had long ago ceased to wield the power to change such things. His children would have that power. But would they choose to use it? Or would they simply carry on in the same direction, now that the old generation was dying out, leaving the new generation free to shape things as they saw fit?

No matter which path they chose, Ang was all but powerless to stop it. Soon, he would be dead, and would take his place at the feet of the Great Dragon forever. No matter what his children did with their new found power, he would not be around to see it.

"Time has come, Chan-Sur," he repeated, placing a hand on his eldest daughter's shoulder.

"See. Ang-Sur. Challenge," she said in a low, almost reluctant voice. Hesitating slightly she turned her head and spat into the fire, the moisture sizzling briefly on a hot coal.

"Assep, Chan-Sur," Ang responded, then repeated the gesture. He looked into his daughter's face, then said with surprising strength, "Kahru yurs now. Rule well."

"See." Then, moving a hand to cradle his head she eased him back to the ground. He looked at her for one last moment before closing his eyes: the end was here. Chan bent forward slightly, placing her other hand over his nose and mouth, covering them tightly. The resultant struggle was brief as the aged leader fought against the grip of his much stronger daughter, and a moment later he was gone.

Sliding the narrow torc from her neck Chan replaced it with the much thicker one her father had worn up until his death, then looked at her youngest sister.

"Chan-Ka'tin," Tam acknowledged with a seated bow.

Chan stood, then waved a hand at the still form of their father. "Pepare fees-tu."

"See," Tam agreed, looking at the withered body. It wouldn't yield much meat, and what there was would be stringy and tough, but it was better than nothing. "Fees-tu."

"Sons of Capella" Pt. 5


1st Lt. Man'darr Maivia
Admiral Leonard James Akaar (NPC)
Various other NPCs...


"Civilize the mind but make savage the body." - Chairman Mao


The thick, humid air burned with the smell of rotting flesh. Nearby, a small stream ran red, washing away the blood that soaked the nearby soil. Sounds of phaser fire being exchanged resounded throughout the area and screams that could only belong to a Hydran as it exhaled its last breath as its body was impaled by a large sword. On the other end of the sword stood a tired, Man'darr, fueled only by rage--rage that came from his hatred of the Hydrans and what they had done to Branwen--fueled by a rage that could only come from somone who had nothing left. Blood of his own from open and crudely bandaged wounds as well as the Hydran blood soaked his uniform. With some effort, he withdrew the sword just as another Hydran rushed him. With a swift motion, the blade cleanly sliced its way through the Hydran's arm as Man'darr stepped to the side with a fluid motion brought the sword back around as the Hydran screamed. The blade again sliced cleanly, decapitating the Hydran. A disruptor blast caught him in the back, sending Man'darr sprawling to the ground as pain erupted through his body and soon the phaser fire, screams of the surrounding battle began to fade. His surroundings began to blur as his mind flashed back several months ago.

***

Man'darr stood behind the line of Marines with crossed arms, as they fired off shots in the phaser range aboard the USS Geronimo His transfer paperwork to be transferred over to Starfleet Security had not yet gone through and been approved.

The Alert Klaxons soon pierced the sounds of the phaser range. "Cease fire!" Man'darr ordered. =/\=Captain McTaggert to all departments, ready for battle. This is not a drill. Captain McTaggert, out.=/\= came a female's voice.

"You heard the captain, head to staging deck," Man'darr ordered. The assembled Marines instantly moved out as the detachment CO entered, making his way directly towards Man'darr.

Coming to a halt before the much large officer, the bolian known as Marine Captain Trex waited as the last Marine left the firing range before speaking. Lieutenant, we've recieved reports from New Texas. The Hydrans were able to launch a surprise attack at that location while using a diversion attack near Risa. The Hydrans are six hours from New Texas. We estimate their fleet consists of four Royal Cruisers, six Frigates with two Royal Battleships. We are only five hours from New Texas at the moment. We'll have only an hour to get those colonists evacuated."

"Will we have any backup?"

"Yes, but not much, the only other ships in the immediate area are the USS Constitution, USS Chesapeake, and the USS Crazy Horse, but the will arrive at about the same time as the Hydran Strike Force. We must hold out, lieutenant. If the Hydrans gain control of New Texas, they'll be in easy striking distance of Andor, Risa, Earth, as well as Vulcan."

"I understand," Man'darr said simply.

"Once there, we will place transport inhibitors and sensor scramblers around the populated areas to prevent any Hydran Troops from beaming directly down to those positions. The city of New Houston will take the longest to evacuate and that is where we will make our stand on the ground. Our goal is to force the Hydrans into a ground conflict until reinforcements can arrive. Also, you should know that the Capellans are committing five-hundred warriors to the fight. I only wish it was more."

"Do not underestimate the Capellans, sir. One Capellan Warrior is equal to any ten Hydrans."

"I hope you are right, Lieutenant Maivia," Trex replied. He had never seen a Capellan in combat, nor have many people for that matter. Capellans usually kept to themselves, even during the Dominion War, they did not commit any troops. As a Protectorate System, the Capellans were given Federation Aid and support in return for use of their system, which at one time was contested between the Federation and the Klingon Empire which in the end caused a small but very bloody war known as the Capellan-Klingon War to erupt. He did indeed hoped the Capellans lived up to their expectations.


****

"Incoming!" Warned Captain Trex. The explosion sent sevral Marines into the air as if they were nothing more than rag dolls. "Fall back towards the city! Lieutenant Maivia, give the Capellans the word!"

Man'darr grinned as he slapped his comm badge. =/\=You have the go ahead.=/\=

To At'karr, hidden by several buildings of New Houston, the words were music to his ears as his eyes bore into the advancing Hydran Company, watching them as a predator watched its prey just before the kill. He, along with the five-hundred Capellans nearby were thirsty and only the blood of the Hydrans before them would quinch that thirst. His heart raced, pounding heavily in his chest at the excitement of combat. No, all of the Federation and the Hydrans would know the fighting prowess of the Capellan Warrior. A loud, roar erupted from his lungs, followed by those of the the Capellans around him as the charged out from their places, aimed at the Hydrans.

The cry caused the Hydrans to turn their attention to the five-hundred massive soldiers rushing towards them. Their cries, even deafening the sound of phaser and disruptor fire. The sight surprised and even frightened the younger hydran soldiers. "Shift fire to the..." the Hydran Officer's order was silenced as a three-bladed disc known to the Capellans a Kligat severed the officer's head, allowing the last sight the officer to see was his own headless body as it fell to the ground. Several other Hydrans fell in similar fashion due to silent, yet leathal Kligats being hurled by the Capellans. Before the Hydrans had time to react, the five-hundred Capellans seemed to instantly over run the Hydrans as they fell to the Capellan's swords--limbs being removed as if they weren't there to begin with. It was indeed a grisly sight to the nearby Marines who watched the slaughter.

Marine Captain Trex was indeed impressed as he witnessed one Capellan literally man-handled a Hydran as his lefted the Hydran and slammed him to the ground follwed immedately by sword into the Hydran's chest. "I didn't think anyone could do that to a Hydran," Trex whispered to himself.

More explosions rang out as nearby Hydran artillery opened fire, obliterating one building as it crumbled to the ground, sending nearby Marines scrambling for their lives. "Let those artillery have it!" Man'darr ordered.

Two nearby Marines with photon launchers let loose their projectiles. The projectiles instantly locked onto the Hydran Artillery units and homed in. The resulting explosions ripped the Artillery weapons to pieces, along with their crews.

***

Far above New Texas raged another battle, just as fierce as the one below. On board the Akira Class USS Geronimo, fires burned across the ship. Taking another direct hit sent several of the bridge crew into the air as multiple consoles exploded at once from the feedback theough the EPS Relays. "Captain, weapons are offline and shields are down! One more hit and we're done for!" the badly injured Chief Tactical Officer reported. The bridge was litered with bodies of the dead.

"What about Warp Engines?" Captain McTaggert asked.

"We can only obtain Warp Factor One," reported the helm officer.

"Set a course for the nearest Royal Hydran Cruiser and engage," she ordered. The finality of the order was instantly felt among those who heard it. "Its been an honor serving with you all."

The helm officer closed his eyes as he pressed the button to engage the warp engines. A millisecond later, the USS Geronimo ripped into the Hydran Battleship at 299,792,458 meters per second. The result was devastating as the Hydran vessel instantly broke in half before exploding entirely.

"Dear god," Captain Van Osterlich remarked in disbelief, standing from his Command chair aboard the USS Constitution, at the sight of the Geronimo ramming the Hydran Battleship. "Continue to fire all weapons at the remaining Hydran Battleship." The ship rocked hard from the onslaught of Fusion Cannons.

***

Hours later, on the surface, the battle had raged into one of the fiercest and bloddiest battles in recent memory as Hydrans and Starfleet Marines and personnel raged melee and hand to hand combat against one another. Anger fueled Man'darr--anger at what he had been through--anger at what the Hydrans had done to Branwen. His Capellan sword swung mercilessly, seeming removing limbs and impaling Hydrans with each fluid swing of the massive blade. Every moment seemed to bring death to a Hydran or Marine with neither side willing to back down--neither side affording to back down.

***

Presently, they were being overunned now by the Hydrans within New Houston as Man'darr fought throught the pain and the blackness throwing his sword at the Hydran who had shot him from behind and in the process fell into the entrance of a nearby building. The blade found its mark, ripping into the Hydran's chest. Collapsing onto the ground, he found his muscles unable to lift his own weight from exhaustion. He tapped his commbadge and spoke through a hoarse voice as he heard other Hydrans nearby. "Lieutenant Maivia to any Federation vessels." He wondered how the battle in space had gone. Were there any Federation ship left--had any survived?

What seemed like an eternity to Man'darr, came a response. =/\=This is Captain Osterlich of the Constitution, lieutenant, we read you.=/\=

=/\=Request fire support on New Houston...use my location...We are over runned by Hydran Forces.=/\=

There was a moment of silence as Captain Osterlich considered the request. Hydrans had gained the upperhand on the ground. In space, they had managed to hold the Hydrans at a stalemate. Reinforcements were enroute and would arrive within the half-hour. He knew he had to act. =/\=Acknowledged, lieutenant. God speed, son. Captain Osterlich, out.=/\= "Tactical, lock onto the coordinates of New Houston....and fire one torpedo," he ordered, knowing he did not have the time to take orbit and use the more precise phasers.

A single torpedo streaked towards the planet as the Constitution continued its fight.

On the surface, the sky grew a bright orange as the torpedo impacted in the middle of New Houston and exploded. Blackness instantly overcame Man'darr as the building around him collapsed and Hydrans were instantly vaporized. Other buildings were similarly destroyed, leveling the city in a massive wave of heat and energy.

"Fabulous People"

---
Gus
Resident Chimney and All-Around Grimy Bastard
(NPC ? Chris H.)

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

Bunch of dopey NPCs courtesy of Aet
---
===Somewhere in the Mountain Hovel===

Exactly 47 minutes had passed since Ra was half-carted, half-shoveled
through the entrance of the rebel command post/bowl under heavy
terrain. She and the not so jolly three of her makeshift team were
frozen to the extent that even now Ra had drips of icy water spearing
down her neck from her slowly thawing hair and the rest of the techies
looked just as overjoyed about their current state of being as she was.

She thought it somewhat ungrateful that she wasn't beyond herself with
glee that after pummeling through the atmosphere at shattering speeds
she had stepped out of the wreck of the hopper with only minor scars
and her biggest issue had been a roughly 36 km hike through the
idiotic mine-riddled tundra. It had gotten dark after the first 10 km
and unbearably cold after another 4, or at least so it seemed to her.
Starfleet hadn't put much thought into providing SFFC techies with
fool proof cold weather gear apparently, since, well, fighter mechs
weren't supposed to be cavorting through local equivalents of Siberia
at any given time. The Betazoid was considering writing some kind of a
stern note to Starfleet Command about that. No amount of budget cuts
were worthy of her parched and currently still blueish ears.

Anyway, the guilt would have to be dealt with later. At the time being
they were told they had work to do after the catastrophic events of
the day and the substantial loss of aerial firepower.

Kebs ruffled a hand through his hair as Ra furrowed her brows
somewhere 20 cm below, crossing her arms and considering the sight
before her. They'd just been jockeyed through the uninventive
corridors of the base to what seemed to be an impersonation of a
fighter bay, which seemed to also double for a garbage dump. The shear
amount of crap littered about was mind-boggling. "Are those their
fighters or?"

"I think they just went out and collected all the wrecks," Kebs
observed, peering with slight queasiness at half of a blue arm that
had melded into the top of a hatch, lying upside down some feet away
from them.
Ra scratched her head, the expression of confusion exchanging itself
for measured uneasiness. "Well, if this is what they left us to work
with we're certainly going to need a raise." It was little to make her
feel better when she noted a collection of slightly rattled but still
relatively upright birds in the far left corner. All in all it wasn't
a very convincing sight of Starfleet or any kind of allied superiority
in the region. The truth in Ra's musings echoed off the faces of
Denovo and Esh, who had gathered around a particularly maimed piece of
rear thruster plating that sported a rather inspiring burn pattern.

"Awww, shit." A mechanic mumbled when he saw the detached arm.
"Fucking coroner party can't even collect all the pieces to the
fucking puzzle... shit." He repeated again before plucking a
hand-phaser from one of the security guards and cutting the
offending appendage free from it's plastered-on perch. The arm fell
with a sickly 'splat' sound, the kind you got when you threw a hefty
steak on the grill, though there was a distinct 'ping' sound
included... probably from it being all tough and frozen and stuff.

"'ere, take this shit to the Coroner and tell 'er to be more thorough
next time." It was then that Gus noticed the onlookers, and
plucking a cigarette from a personalized silver case he stared right
back. "Who's you and whatcha want? I'm on a deadline."

Behind them teams were roving around the wrecks, removing whatever
components were deemed 'salvageable', or sufficiently repairable that
it could in some way be used for something. Planks of polymetalic
plates were piled high, bearing scorch marks from the low-orbit slug
fest earlier that day. There were pieces of Rogue fighters, the
newer types that the task force had brought with them, and of the
older Peregrines used primarily by the planetary squadron. The
atmospheric purifiers were having a tough job coping with the smell
of burning metal, optical cable, and in some instances cockpits which
smelled like burning flesh. All together, definitely wouldn't want
to waste your vacation here.

Esh and Denovo shied back a bit as the mentally unstable twit started
flashing around a phaser. Ra just shared a flustered look with Kebs
and squeezed some icy water out of her ratty ponytail. All in all the
Galaxy techs paid 'Gus' some polite attention while waiting for the
lunacy to stop. There was a common feeling being shared by the damp
crew that this was not an option in this particular facility, the
notion being reaffirmed as a pleasantly dull grimy Bolian techie
skittered past them with the severed arm.

Ra's nose was clogged with the massive reeking stench in the bay,
especially aggressive since her sinuses had been as open as subway
tunnels after the trek through the arctic. Blinking away a small tear
that wanted to well up as a byproduct of the stink assault, the
Betazoid straightened up a bit in order to address the current wacko
in question.

"We're here with the Marine force, we're SFFC technicians from the USS
Galaxy-A. Apparently you guys have a slight problem with putting all
the right things in their rightful places." She nudged at a pile of
what used to be Rogues in the far left corner. "I'm Staff Technician
Rheay Olin, or Ra, and apparently I'm responsible for the lot behind
me," she uttered, reaching out her still somewhat blueish hand to Gus.

Gus took a drag on his cigarette, staring at Ra in consideration of
what he'd just been told. Most people might have been insulted, but
there was always the odd guy out who liked those who 'told it like it
was'. Still, what was she like 18 or something? God damned midget
woman... how the hell was it that Starfleet saw it fit to send the
smallest people as technicians and make the fucking walking buildings
into pilots? After striking the end of spent ashes off his smoke he
nodded and shook her hand. "All right, welcome to the flight bay.
You'll find it difficult to 'put things in their rightful places' when
you ain't got the right things to start with, but whatever. We're
getting a four ship flight ready for patrol, got any experience with
munitions?"

Ra shrugged loosely, biting her lower lip as the smoke of Gus's
cigarette hit her nose like a bouquet of spring daisies. It had been
about 18 hours since her last drag and it took all her self-control to
keep from falling all over the grimy technician and grabbing his
cigarette.

"I'm fair with them though I'm more of a structural
engineer/propulsion tech. If you could just shove us in respective
corners and give us something to do that perhaps helps you guys and
looks good on a report, that'd be just dandy." She offered a meek
smile, gulping down a silly shiver as another tricklet of cold dew
rolled down her neck. Work first, personal needs later, apparently.

"Right." Gus looked around before gesturing to one of the ships being
readied. "One of her hard point modules was damaged in the last
scrape and needs to be replaced. We've got about a half dozen Rogue
IVs in need of overhauls and checks, and about another dozen craft
with some kind of propulsion damage. There are mechanics working on
most of them already, they'll tell you what they need your help with."
He noticed the way she was acting... one smoker could always tell
another by the way they inhaled deeply when around some tobacco.
Deciding to be a bit charitable today, the grimy bastard flipped open
his cigarette case and offered her one. "Looks like you haven't had
one in ages babe, take one."

Esh and Denovo had made like a pair of well-behaved underlings at the
mention of dead Rogues and rolled off on a search for something other
to do than note burnt appendages on hulls. Kebs had wandered off on a
whole different kind of path, which seemed to beeline towards a
particularly scrumptious redheaded human somewhere amidst the piles of
crap. All that and Gus's gesture of good will went to make Ra a fairly
thankful Betazoid as she snagged one of the crude-looking cigarettes
from the man's case and rolled it between her slim fingers. "Much
obliged, I was just about to offer myself in trade out of
desperation." She sighed with a half-smile, motioning Gus for a light
as she set the newly found treasure on her lips.

"Damn... looks like I shoulda held out a little longer then." Gus
smirked before pulling a zippo from his chest pocket and rendering the
needed light. "Seriously though, nobody thought to put a good
cigarette pattern into the replicators, so we're pretty much limited
to what we brought with us. I'm
lucky... had them drop off a delivery before we got caught in the war
zone." Taking a heavy and long pull, he felt like a new man again.
"You'll find out soon enough who you need to know to get what.
There's a strong black market here."

It was just after she had managed to inhale her first deep lungful
when the bay doors behind her whooshed open and the clattering of
impossibly high heels cut into the steady grumble of the makeshift
fighter pit. Ra barely had the chance to glance over her shoulder when
she was met with the sight of the aforementioned blue arm dangling in
front of her face, scorched tissue waving back and forth menacingly.
Somewhere underneath the carnage an agitated voice started jumbling
sentences in the general direction of Gus, which Ra could comprehend
very little of. She just frowned slightly, took a small step back to
stand roughly beside Gus and continued to mechanically huff on her
smoke while observing the odd scene.

"..andforthelasttimeyoudon'tletunsanitizedpitheadsintomygallery.." The
floating arm, which turned out to be propped up by an impossibly tiny
Latina, continued hovering dangerously close to face level for Gus and
Ra and the speck of a woman seemed nowhere near calming down.

"..youhavenorightmakinganycommentsabouthtequalityofmyworkand.." the
little woman heaved heroically, taking a single breath since entering
and continuing on her tirade, almost oblivious to either Ra's or Gus's
presence. The Betazoid nudged Gus softly with her elbow, pointing at
the woman who could have very well weighed as much as the Andorian arm
she was holding up. "Should I start backing away slowly?" she uttered
just below the other female's voice, the barely noticeable gentle
whirr in her accent making the wall of text almost bearable.

"That's the coroner... craziest fucking chick you'll ever run across
in this Galaxy I'd wager." Gus took another draw before flicking the
ashes off. "Hey lady, what'd I fucking tell you about coming down
here and startin' shit with my guys? We got a fucking job to do here,
and it don't include babysitting some half crazed psychopathic butcher
with a medical degree." There, he was confident that would be enough
to make the Spanish lady slink back to her corner of sickbay known as
the 'meat locker'.

Ra shied back a step further as the miniscule speck of a demon
narrowed her eyes and lips and seemed just about ready to pop. She
slammed the severed limb in Gus's lap with a sickening plop and
snarled ever so lightly. "We'll gather the trash when we see fit,
Technician. You know very well where you're supposed to store
unclaimed body parts and that place is not on my office desk." She
huffed again and whirled about, stomping out of the bay with the
erratic clicking of scarily high heels following her.

Ra frowned, exhaling a lungful of smoke. There was something awfully
familiar about that particular brand of Medical psycho. "So, you guys
actually have some kind of a bin for 'unclaimed body parts'?"

Okay, maybe this mission wasn't ?that- awful.

"Slippage"

Consul Ayanna Hinanat

Judge

AND

Introducing…
Flight Officer Gryphon "Samurai" Stone

Location: Shuttle Bay

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

The pilot known as "Samurai" peered down at the rank insignia he was wearing and a small frown creased on an otherwise enthusiastic face.

"Back to a Butter Bar," he mused while considering what course of events found him here aboard a new vessel - the USS Galaxy, and with a "new" rank. Bright eyes glazed slightly as thoughts drifted to the woman that nearly took his wings.

"Women, can't live with 'em, can't scramble their signatures in the transporter room." He was still fretting about his luck with women when his reverie was ended by a mousy shuttle pilot whose name is not committed to memory yet.

"Women!" said the pilot with a nasally high pitched sound in his voice. "Come let's go look all 'Piloty' and stuff there are strange women in the flight bay!" He didn't even wait for Samurai's response before scurrying over to another part of the large bay.

Samurai blinked strongly a few times trying to redirect his focus. The words "…strange women" were still sounding off like with a buzzing thrum in his head. A smile started to form as he thought, ' To that guy, I bet all women that aren't smudged with some kind of engineering lubricant are strange.' He didn't even think to straighten his uniform before heading in the direction recently traversed by the erstwhile messenger. After rounding the belly of an adjacent shuttlecraft, Samurai wished he had.

Charlotte quietly led her department Chief to the shuttle bay. It was the overall, general tour that she gave those new arrivals in the Liaison department. However, with her new boss at her side, the young woman did her best to point out various spots of interest on the Galaxy.

"This...is the shuttle bay. Other than the usual shuttles, the Galaxy houses some of our fighters in this area as well."

"Interesting." Ayanna stated with a simple soft smile. She took a moment to flip her long black hair over her shoulder as she surveyed the scene around her. Granted, this area really was not her 'thing', but out of respect for her assistant, she listened and attempted to learn something new about the ship that she would call home.

Brilliant green eyes meet his emerald orbs. The duration of the connection was scarcely measurable in units of time, but when Chaos Theory is applied to the moment, the coupling spawned at least one galaxy in an alternate dimension and was the final piece of energy needed to make a far off star, known only by a number, achieve Supernova. The normally serene pilot momentarily lost the involuntary ability to breathe and had to make a conscious effort to sip some oxygen in through his slightly gaping mouth and into hungry lungs. With two firm tugs, he pulled his uniform taunt and tried to not look absurd.

Samurai searched his mental database for just the right smile and felt confident that the one retrieved was appropriate. He assumed a "commanding" pose while positioning himself in a more noticeable place on deck.

"First week on the ship and things are already looking good!" He thought down deep inside where things are less visible, or so Samurai hoped.

"Pardon me Ensign Dooley. If these fighters are stored in the bay, one can assume that they are rarely used." Ayanna quipped as her eyes scanned the various nose art on the ships.

"One can assume that, yes Consul."

Her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied the two pilots located to the right of her. The overly cocky pilot stance was physically visible in each of them. Her mind registered the true feelings of insecurity and doubt which caused a slight curvaceous smile to appear on her lips.

"Well, if the ships are rarely used, wouldn't it be easy to conclude that the pilots that fly them are rarely used as well?" Ayanna questioned out loud.

The ensign grinned out right. "It would....Ma'am...depend on one's definition of the word 'used'."

Ayanna's creases in her lips deepened while the mischievous grin in her eyes danced with abandonment. Crossing the bay the short distance to the men, Hinanat approached the men with the grace, style, and utter orneriness that her mother had blessed her with..

"Gentlemen. My name is Consul Ayanna Hinanat. It's a pleasure to meet you..." Her right hand outstretched, presenting perfectly manicured nails. As she shook each of their hands, her silver slave bracelet jangled with a teasing manner.

Samurai studied carefully the two women as they made their way towards his location. The Ensign didn't really capture his attention with nearly the same wantonness as the one with the sensually exotic eyes and soft full lips.

Shifting weight to his left foot the fighter pilot started briskly rubbing the fingers of his right hand together to add warmth to the lightly callused hand. Experience had shown Samurai that men respected strong firm grips, but women liked to feel more comfortable.

With a calculating look, Samurai was scrutinizing her every move. She moved with a sassiness that appeared genuine but perhaps a little inexperienced. He surmised that she was just as green to this ship and the 'ways of the universe' as he was. There was a glimmer of something else behind those mesmerizing eyes. His first thought was to delve deeper, but he was hearing familiar claxons beating out warning spikes in his brain.

"Here comes trouble," Samurai whispered under his breath.

The pilot whose was Wright, Burton or something similar brushed against Samurai's shoulder as he moved to greet the two approaching women. "P-p-pleased to meet you Ensign, and Consul Hinanat. I am…" Clearly flustered he gave his name and proceeded to introduce the Starfighter, "… and this is Gryp…"

"Samurai, the name is Pilot Samurai. Welcome to the little part of the ship I like to call, Home." The warm handshake greeting was followed by a broad sweeping arm gesture that indicated the expanse of the flight bay. Even though his body swiveled with the gesture, eye contact with the young Consul never disengaged.

It was immediately clear to him that she was very conscientious about her appearance and about setting the right impression, but was she high maintenance or just thoroughly attentive to detail. His interest was piqued and the claxons were getting louder and harder to pay heed to.

Leaning back slightly on her heels, Ayanna arched a single solitary eyebrow as his sweeping gesture. "Uh huh. And how exactly long have you called the Galaxy home Mr......Samurai?"

"Long enough to get lost a half dozen times, and my male ego won't let me ask the computer for directions of course," he replied with a boyish grin. "But not long enough find someone to show me around," Samurai continued almost wincing at the end of the sentence as he hoped the words weren't to forward or obvious.

"I see. Approximately the same amount of time I have been here. It's hard to call it home, considering my length of time aboard. However, to each their own.." Reaching up, she fingered the amulet that she wore around her neck.

Her gesture to the amulet she wore made him realize he was still holding the radiant Consul's hand. It took a moderate level of effort to release it, but after it is relinquished, Samurai's eyes shift slightly off to the right as he asked, "Consul, please forgive this poor pilot's indiscretion, but what specifically do you Consul?"

"I'm a judge. Not as fancy a position as a pilot...but it will do."

A small shiver ran down his spine at the word, 'Judge.' The recent stint in a Starfleet courtroom was all to fresh in his brain. Immediately, a small defensive mental barrier began to form as he mentally questioned the purpose of the Consul's visit. "The Law you say, perhaps I have been here long enough to set a precedent after all."

"Perhaps." Her gaze drifted over to her assistant, who she noticed, was taking the whole scene in with a look of mild amusement etched on her features.

"Ma'am, we should continue our tour. Time is pressing and you..." Charlotte glanced down at her padd before continuing with her spiel. "Have an appointment in an hour."

"Ah yes, thank you." The appointment was the testing of her abilities concerning the outcome of her DNA test she submitted less than a week ago. In an hour, Ayanna would find out what her true abilities were, she was excited to learn the truth. The woman's head turned slightly, taking in the pilots with a rather smug expression. It was a blessing at times being an empath, at least in some strength. "Gentlemen. Let's hope I don't see you in my office for duty related issues any time soon."

Seeing her again, duty related or not, was exactly what Samurai was hoping for. He utilized a calm under fire emotional state in an effort to combat the warning lights still signaling trouble in his head.

With a courteous, yet diplomatic nod, Ayanna pivoted on her right foot much in a military style.. She left the men to their own thoughts, which led to trouble because the judge was anything but overly graceful. The shuttle bay, being newly scrubbed, had a small spot of cleaning gel left right where her foot turned. Realizing that she was going to look anything but graceful and demur, Ayanna flailed her arms as she started to slip and whelped out for help much akin to a puppy having its paw stepped on.

There are those times when time seems to move in slow motion. For a fighter pilot of any renown these pinnacle moments of opportunity demand quick decisive action.

An explosive surge from a series of leg muscles sends the starfighter in motion even before the cry for help reached his ears.

Samurai ducked his head under the flailing right arm of Consul Hinanat while his own left arm wrapped around her upper back. In the same fluid motion he used his right arm to scoop up both of the Galaxy's new Legal Magistrates legs, just as one was kicking up in the air in the middle of a less then elegant fall.

An exotic scent fills his nostrils and mind with a series of images that come and pass so swiftly he can't even say what they were or even remember that they existed at all, but sometime later when in the depths of R.E.M. sleep he will recall just bits and pieces.

He placed the beautiful young judge back onto the flight deck as carefully as adrenaline thrumming arms would allow. An "I didn't see anything," boyish grin lit up his face as he stepped back and assumed a business as usual pose.

Blushing crimson, Hinanat tugged on her uniform as she avoided his gaze at all cost. Glancing up quickly, she smiled timidly before thanking him with her eyes.

Her eyes rendered him mute with just the one glance. The feeling of gratitude was conveyed on their surface but that was just the superficial layer; underneath there was more. Samurai couldn't detect the heartbeat but he was sure he had a finger on the pulse of it. She was looking for something or possibly someone.

The feeling left as swiftly as it had come to him. Erased by her diffident smile that was as unadulterated as it was alluring.

His next move surprised him possibly more then it did Consul Hinanat; So much in fact that we would continue to wonder what evoked such an occurrence for several moments after.

Here among the torpedoes and metal birds of prey he was always Samurai. A Warrior, while outside of this bay he was just a man. At this one captured moment in time he was neither he just was.

"Stone, my name is Gryphon Stone, and you are welcome to call on me anytime."

"Well, Gryphon…." She for once, was at a loss for words. "Perhaps I will do that sometime." Clearing her throat, Ayanna didn't know what to think at the moment. Her brain was attempting to come up with something 'professional' to say, but all it was coming up with was 'duhhhh….' Resigning to another nod, she excused herself and attempted to walk away in a dignified, yet hurried manner.

"Out To Lunch"

Lt. Victor Krieghoff
Crewman Allison von Ernst

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 38
Armory

"Armory," Victor said into the empty lift car.

As the doors closed and the car started underway, he was suddenly struck by the thought that he didn't spend much time in the Armory, which was odd. His family had made guns for over half a millennia, masterworks of engineering that were still requested and sought after today. They'd branched out into the manufacture of precision weapons parts a century or two back, and made some of the best custom components for phasers, disruptors, and the like now as well.

And still he wasn't in the Armory all that often.

He was a gunsmith himself – not a master, not by the family's standards – but a damned good one for all of that. He could do more than just tune and clean weapons; he could make them from scratch; shaping and molding raw materials into components that became systems that became weapons that were as much a work of art as they were an instrument of death.

And still he wasn't in the Armory all that often.

Why was that, he wondered. It wasn't that it was something that he feared, so it had to be avoidance. What was he avoiding…?

Ah.

His rifle.

He was avoiding his rifle.

He was avoiding his rifle, and the knowledge that it was sitting in the Armory, unused, still in the case that he'd brought it aboard in. The case that he'd only opened for cleaning and sporadic target practice since being assigned to the Galaxy. The case that should have been opened a dozen times or more by now so that he could use the rifle for the purpose it had be made, the one that he had made it for.

He was avoiding his rifle, and the shameful acknowledgement that he'd left it languishing in its case for years now, neglecting it, never letting it perform the task he'd made it for twelve years ago.

Victor paused at the doors to the Armory, smiled and started forward, his step oddly lighter and more purposeful.

That wasn't going to be true after today.

****

"It's not your rifle," said Allison von Ernst with a barely stifled yawn. The cute young girl from Iceland was sitting in her customary service window in the ship's Armory struggling to keep herself awake with nothing but an Emory board and a 20 year old fashion magazine to keep her amused.

"Not my…? Of course it's my rifle," Victor returned, frowning.

"Hel-lo....Open hailing frequencies Uncle Vic...." she replied flipping a page, "Like they say south of the Border.....Eees nacho rifle."

Yelling at your subordinates was bad, Victor knew that. Especially when they were one of the few subordinates that didn't run when you walked up to them in the first place. Still…. No, that wasn't going to solve anything. No yelling. "Would you explain why it isn't?" he asked, adding a "Please?" on the end as an afterthought.

Allison sighed against the total unfairness of the universe in general and reached under the desk to pull out a thick dust covered log book. Work work work…..why was life so unfair to her of all people. Blowing away the gathered particles of ages past (Nobody had cleaned under the Armory counter for quite some time) she flipped back to the desired entry. "Okay..." she said tracing down the handwritten listings with an aluminum fingernail, "You said you checked it in here back in May of 84, right?"

Victor nodded. "Yes, that's right." What had she done to her fingernails? Were they weapon implants of some sort? He knew that some Green Orions treated or replaced their nails for that reason, but he couldn't reconcile that idea with Allison.

"Uh-huh...." Alli scanned the notes making little 'uh-huh and 'I see' and 'oh dear' noises. When Vic leaned over the counter to see what was amiss, she slapped his hand and clutched the book to her perky chest. "Ummm....Hel-lo Mr. Grabby hands. Like totally official Armory business right?"

Victor raised an eyebrow and looked down at his hand. "I'm Chief of Security right now," he reminded Allison. "That makes this my Armory, officially."

"Chief of Security?" Alli repeated, thinking that probably trumped her measly Seaman second class rating by a mile. "Oh....well piffle then." Reversing the book so Victor could read it he identified his own scribbled entry where he checked in his rifle.

"Now ya see here under notes?" Alli tapped her silver nail, "You totally entered it in under a Form AX-29B...Return of Assigned Equipment. What you should have done was Fill in an AB-46 ...That's Alpha Bravo...not Alpha X-ray." she informed him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.....people over thirty were so dense sometimes. "You totally signed your rifle over to Starfleet dude."

A sense of unease ran through Victor. Had he really don that? Had he given away his rifle? "It's mine," he insisted, "not Starfleet's."

Alli rolled her eyes and shook her finger. "No no..." she corrected. "The rifle belongs to the taxpayers of the United Federation of Planets....a donation for which we are mightily grateful."

She paused looking at the pained look of Victors face. "Um....but I suppose I could rent it out to you on a temporary basis if you pass a background check first." she offered.

"Background check?" He stared at her, trying to decide if this was an elaborate practical joke or a bad dream. "What kind of a background check?" Had he really just asked that? Why did he always seem to find things so oddly out of control when Allison was around, anyway?

"A character assessment." Alli bubbled merrily, digging into a new stack of forms. She liked filling out paperwork. "Just a standard formality to make sure your not up to no good, and can be depended upon to return the taxpayers property in good working condition."

Selecting the proper carbon paper pad she produced a pen from behind her ear and prepared to make the first tic mark. "So." she half giggled. "Do you know anybody that could vouch for your good nature as a fine upstanding member of society? Non family members of course?"

"On the Galaxy?" Victor asked, distractedly. He'd given his rifle to Starfleet? "That aren't family? Maybe... five that aren't Vulcans? Six if you can count yourself. But Branwen London is off-ship at some research facility, so she's out, and Corran Rex is off-ship doing something so he's out, and Ella Grey's off-ship so she's out. That leaves Lieutenant Kynetsova, Lieutenant O'Rourke, possibly you, and a smattering of Vulcans."

"Right right...." Alli doodled in the answers careful to press hard enough for the carbon paper and also pausing to make little bubble-hearts on top of the i's. "I suppose I could see my way into giving you a good letter of reference, but I'd have to clear it with my shift supervisor…..conflict of interest don't ya know." She scanned further down the form. "Also for what purpose will you be requiring the aforementioned weapon of mass destruction so selflessly donated by the aforementioned citizens of the Federation?"

"To kill the local wolf-equivilent pack predators in the event that they interfere with the rescue operations, since phasers aren't going to work on them effectively." Victor explained.

Alli suddenly looked sick, turning several shaded paler than her already light skin. "Puppy Dogs? " she said, voice quivering? "You're gonna shoot little wolf puppy dogs?"

"No," Victor reiterated. "The local wolf-equivalent predators, not dogs. They're not canines, not little, and possibly not even mammals."

"Dont give me that." Alli cut off his explanation. "I dont care about a few people getting nibbled upon. The poor thing was probably just trying to feed its family....Hel-lo its like the whole Circle of Life thing! Didn't you watch the Lion King?"

"The Lion King?" Victor thought about that for a moment. Had he ever seen a Lion King? He'd shot lions - five of them - but he didn't think that they had been 'kings' except in the 'king of beasts' sense. "No, I don't think so. Is it a genetically-modified species?"

"Whatever." Alli replied, crossing her arms across her chest in a huff. "If ya don't understand the Disney classics then we have no frame of reference…..Its people like you who shot Bambi's mom!"

"Who?"

Allison threw up her hands in disgust. What were they teaching these Barbarians back here in the 24th Century? "Bambi! Hel-Lo like Bambi and little Bunny Foo Foo hopping through the forest."

She made little antler signs with her hands. "A Deer….Momma gets phasered in the first reel leaving poor little Bambi all alone and an orphan in the woods? Didn't you ever go to Disney Planet as a kid?"

"Bambi is a... deer? A herbivore?" Victor shook his head. "No. I've never shot a herbivore in my life. I only hunt things that can, and are, hunting me back. If they don't have at lest an equal chance to kill me, then there's no point to it."

Alli made a stupid face, "Equal chances? What are you computing betting odds on taking out Thumper? What the heck for?"

"Because if they don't hunt me back, if there isn't at least an equal chance of them killing me, then it doesn't.... matter," Victor explained awkwardly. "It's pointless. I hunt to prove that I'm alive, and the only way to do that is to hunt something that's hunting me back, something that is trying to kill me at the same time I'm trying to kill it. Then it matters, then it counts, then... then if I'm the one alive I know that that the Universe isn't done with me yet. That I..." he shrugged awkwardly. "That I matter."

Leaning out of her little service window, Allison grabbed Victor's arm and delivered a nasty pinch, using her aluminum nails to good effect, producing a surprised 'Ouch' and a jump.

Gotta news flash for ya bucko." She announced as he rubbed his injured arm. "You're alive. Leave the Call of the wild out of it you puppy dog hater!"

With that she slammed down the little metal cage across her window and hung up a sign. ON LUNCH BREAK. COME BACK LATER

Victor stared at the sign, wondering yet again what it was that made most conversations with Allison seem to go in directions that he'd never intended... and why he seemed determined to try and maintain a connection with her despite that. Finally, quietly, he asked the closed window, "Was it something I said?"

"Preparations And Annoyances"

With

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP

Petty Officer 2nd Class, NCOIC EMRT

USS Galaxy

And a couple of annoying nameless NPC's

 

In the equipment service bay, there was a bustle of activity. Between people from Tactical, to the worker bees of Engineering to the minions of Sciences, equipment was being upgraded, manipulated, adjusted, and modified. Among all that equipment was a set of exo-gear known as Hazard suits, one of which belonged to Max.

After much debate and one notable tantrum, Max finally agreed that his weapons cache buffer should be the one to get removed to accommodate the additional power pack for his suit's modifications. This meant that he would have to hand carry a phaser rifle the entire time. While it didn't bother him at all to be armed, he knew that he wouldn't be able to just discard it back into his suit in order for him to perform some other task. Like carrying someone if he had to.

When they were all done and gave the go ahead, Max donned his suit and went through a thorough systems check, including testing the modified sensor system to see how much power his suit would drain from it. There was nowhere to recharge, so they all would have to act quickly, otherwise he was wearing two million credits of fancy light armor.

"Shields up," he commanded, and a briefly visible field appeared around him before dissipating to the invisible spectrum. His suit's systems confirmed that the shields were operating at optimum levels. While the shields would would protect him from energy weapons (to an extent), they would provide little or no protection from sharp penetrating intrusions such as claws, and teeth for example. That's where his suit's light but durable armor would come in. He had enough protection to help him get away from the planet's predators, or so he hoped.

An engineering tech explained to him that the armor would stand up to an initial attack, but with the information they had from Sciences, repeated strikes would eventually penetrate the armor. And Max didn't need to be reminded of the fact that phasers would be ineffective against the beasts' natural shielding unless he set his phaser rifle on an overload setting. Which would ultimately prove very dangerous if not fatal to himself and those around him.

"Thanks, you guys are awesome," Max said to the work team in parting, his armored boots clanking on the deck as he left for the shuttle bay. He would ride down where they would then drop the team he was on into the designated search area.

Victory was still heavily on his mind, and he wanted to call on her to see how she was doing, but figured it was best to wait until after the mission was done to devote his full attention to her. Plus, he didn't want to worry her, even though he was sure that she was still pissed at him. And he still had to talk to Ophelia about what's going on (or not going on) between them. He liked the JAG, but felt a longing in his heart for the short redhead whom he'd already been through life and death with on DS5.

The turbolift didn't take long to arrive, and Max walked in to find three crewmen engaged in a heated discussion. It only took a second to figure out what they were talking about.

"Yeah, well they say that Krieghoff can smack you so hard, your grandkids wouldn't be able to taste anything..." a red shirt was saying. Max rolled his eyes and prayed for a quick ride to his destination. There had been a recent mania regarding the mythos of Victor Krieghoff on board, and while Max found it mildly amusing initially, it was quickly getting old. There was even a message board with all kinds of 'facts' on the ship's Intranet.

"Well I heard that when Krieghoff says 'three', that means you have three seconds before he takes your soul," retorted a teal shirt, one of the Medical lab rats that Max recognized. The red shirt and the gold shirt from Ops nodded solemnly as they absorbed that tidbit of knowledge.

Why is this freaking ride taking so long, Max thought to himself as he resisted the urge to begin tapping his right foot in annoyance. But he would not be spared the next, and even more outrageous 'factoid' to come from the gold shirt.

"Krieghoff can take out an entire Marine platoon just by pointing his finger at them." The others nodded gravely as they listened.

"Oh, spare me," Max groaned, as the turbolift mercifully stopped and opened its doors. He stepped out, leaving three befuddled crewmen in his wake.

"What was his problem," Lab Rat asked. The door closed before any further comment could be made.

The Joe and Chris mini epic!!

"COME ON BABY LIGHT MY FIRE"

Joe wrote some….

Chris wrote some…..
Hilarity ensued…..





USS GALAXY

Little Billy Madison was a sick child. Barely nine years old and stricken from birth with a rare and deadly strain of Venusian Fever, life for little Billy had been one of pain, misery and a thousand needle sticks from a thousand doctors attempting to extend his life.

It was all in vain of course. The needles, the doctors, DNA transplants….all in vain.

Nobody survived Venusian Fever….nobody.

Current Starfleet Medical statistics put the chances of a patient reaching his or her 5th birthday as one in a hundred.

Chances of reaching ten years old as one in ten thousand.

But little Billy Madison was a fighter….a real trooper. He had grit his teeth, and endured the tests. Endured the poking and prodding. Endured loosing all his hair, and three digits from his left hand all in the name of reaching one unattainable goal.

He knew he was going to die.

A horrible concept for a child to understand, but he knew it all the same.

But he had his goal….a goal to go out with a fight.

He wanted to reach ten years old.

Why?

To have two 'numbers'

As any child 9 and under can tell you, it is a magical mystery to have one's age expressed in two 'numbers'. Five is nice. Seven is a great time, and nine…as Billy was, was the pinnacle of the single digit world so far as age went.

But Ten! Having a 'One' and a 'Zero' beside your name. That was the sign that you were truly growing up.

And today was Billy Madison's 10th Birthday Party.

Grimacing with pain from the caustic drug running through his tiny system, young Billy allowed himself to be wheeled to the observation Deck of the USS Galaxy.

His Mommy was an Astrophysicist assigned to the ship, and having somehow arranged to have the day off from her evil boss 'Feathers', she had rented out the entire Deck for the biggest birthday party in front of the biggest windows on the entire ship.

Streamers and ribbons were everywhere. A holographic clown twisted balloons into funny shaped aliens off in a corner, and above it all a huge HAPPY 10th BIRTHDAY BILLY banner hung over it all.

But the real centerpiece was the Cake. Four layers of Chocolate and Ice Cream goodness, topped with a little plastic starship and best of all……..ten candles!

Huddled in the tiny wheelchair that was his entire world now, Little Billy counted the candles lovingly…one by one. 1.….2.…3.…4.…5...6...7.….8.…9.….and his favorite….10!!

He was very weak today…..barely able to stick out a finger and lick off a bit of frosting. But at the same time he felt he could climb mountains.

Around him his friends cheered! Yay Billy! Yay Billy!

Around him Doctors and Nurses who knew him so well Cheered. Atta Boy Billy. Way to Go!!!

Even various members of the crew cheered…inspired by his life long struggle! Good Job Billy! Honorary member of the Crew Billy!!

In the enter his mom stood….his beautiful mom. I love you kiddo….you're my sweetie pie.

Every person in the room knew Billy would never make it to eleven…..never. He'd be lucky to survive the week……everyone knew it.

But that didn't matter right now…..all that mattered was Little Billy Madison….and his ten birthday candles.

Lovingly…her face aglow with pride and sadness, his mother struck the box of matches and lovingly lit each and every candle….treating each as if they were made of gold.

Each candle represented a year of struggle and hardship and tears in her life. She wouldn't trade them for the world.

The lights dimmed and the only glow was from those golden ten candles and the stars outside.

Happy Birthday to you…….

Happy Birthday to you…….

Happy Birthday Dear Billy…..

Happy Birthday to you……

Face glowing…half from fever….half from love Little Billy Madison took a deep breath. He'd been practicing this with the Respiratory Therapists all week…saving up enough lung power to blow out his candles.

A deep deep breath….deeper than he ever took in his entire life…….Probably the last breath he might ever take…..

Holding it for the barest second he looked at his lovely candles.

The candles with their dancing flames.

The Open flames that suddenly and without warning fizzled and disappeared in a shower of blue transporter sparkles taking the cake along with them……

=/\= THE BENEFIT OF RECREATIONAL SMOKING AS A TOOL FOR RELAXATION……=/\=

The droning computer voice of Tarin Iniara cut across the shocked crowd like a knife in their collective back.

=/\ =……SUCH ACTS CAN BE CONSIDRED A DETRIMENT TO THE WELL-BEING OF THE SHIP'S COMMUNITY AS A WHOLE. ADDITIONALY, SMOKING PRODUCES WASTE PRODUCT……=/\=

The crowd was aghast….

NO CAKE!!

Instead of blowing out candles, Little Billy coughed up blood……the strain had been too great….the big breath…and the broken heart.

"I didn't turn 10 Mommy….he wheezed….I didn't blow out the candles so I didn't turn 10.….."

And as the light faded from his eyes, just as his one true wish faded from his Birthday Party….he knew he had failed.
He was only 9.……..and that was the end of it all.

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

Ensign Anna Trumbell had never been comfortable around crowds.

Her childhood was full of the typically traumatic memories of always being picked last in gym class and the snickering that always seemed to follow whenever she took that long, lonely walk to the team that never really wanted her to begin with.

Don't even ask her how Dodge ball scarred her for life.

When other girls went to homecoming dances and proms on the arms of football heroes, Anna was ridiculed and picked on as she often sat dateless in a folding chair next to the punch bowl time after time.

Her school guidance counselor had suggested Star Fleet Academy as the career path that could give her the acceptance she had been craving, but four years of life in a girls dorm filled with Klingon hybrids, aggressive instructors and one embarrassing community shower experience after another had tarnished that dream.

It wasn't until she graduated (147th in her class, with little to no honors) and found herself assigned to the USS GALAXY did things start to look up. Counselor Jolas had meticulously built up the young woman's confidence by encouraging her to explore her issues creatively.

It was at that point, Anna discovered her extraordinary knack and skill for being a mime.

She practiced and practiced for month after month, turning her repressed pain and embarrassment into artistic brilliance. Now, on the cusp of finally putting it all behind her, Anna stood in full mime regalia about to take the stage in the 10-4 Lounge before a crowd of 30 fellow crewmen and exercise her personal demons.

She took a deep centering breath and was about to walk onto the stage when Jolas, a motherly smile upon her aged face noticed a small string hanging from Anna's costume.

"Wait a minute, luv." she said pulling out a small lighter and touching the flame to the thread. It slowly began to smolder away. "Go show them what you've got!"

Anna walked onto the stage then felt a sudden chill. Looking down she saw with horror that her shirt had vanished, leaving her breasts exposed to the now raucous crowd.

=/\= THE BENEFIT OF RECREATIONAL SMOKING AS A TOOL FOR RELAXATION……=/\= the computer screeched as the crowd howled with laughter.

Tears welled in her eyes and a barely contained fury welled up inside until finally Anna screamed, thus ending the promising career of what could have been the greatest mime of the century and setting her recovery back in the blink of a transporter.


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

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

It had all been going so well for Lieutenant Mathers…..Everything had been planned perfectly.

The Wine chilling in the silver ice bucket.

The meticulously seasoned fish, cooked to the point of where it simply melted off your fork.

The music…..oh how he planned the music to the point of recording and rerecording romantic play lists until he could hear them in his dreams.

All very appropriate however….when proposing to the girl of those dreams.

Kneeling in the holodeck 'grass' and looking up at her eyes, his heart ached.

It had been perfect…the prefect dinner followed by the perfect proposal, and with the perfect ring.

A Betelgeusian Diamond….quite rare and irreplaceable, it held nothing to the beauty that was her sweet face.

"Gillian my love…" he stammered nervously holding out the ring, "Will you….will you….."

She leaned forward, candlelight dancing in her green eyes……..wait….that wasn't candlelight.

A transporter?

In a swirling blue glow, the entire table….the candles, the wonderful fish, and the cunningly arranged napkins disappeared into transporter limbo.

So unfortunately did the sparkling diamond that he had inadvertently held too close to the open flames.

Gone!!!!

The moment ruined……

=/\= THE BENEFIT OF RECREATIONAL SMOKING AS A TOOL FOR RELAXATION……=/\= droned the announcement.

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

"Feeding time, my little ones!" Dr. Noah Uncton announced, making his way through a lab that looked more like an interstellar pet shop then anything else. There were countless alien creatures and critters lining various cages and glass tanks, each one slithering, fluttering, hissing, chirping, clicking and barking their days away under the watchful eye of the ship's most eccentric xenobiologist.

In fact, the general consensus of opinion was that the man was more comfortable here in his "ark" then he was interacting with the crew themselves - especially when it came to feeding his menagerie. With an almost loving care he stopped and fed each animal working his way through almost thirty cages.

Into the Denelbian sand viper's tank went a hand full of crickets who's chirping promptly ceased when the snake discharged its electrical stun blast.

A thick wad of cabbage went into the Celisian gerbil's tube. Dr. Uncton opened the lid with the utmost caution as last time the critter flew out it had taken nearly four days to corral it back inside.

After stopping to drop hunks of tofu into the Vegetarian Piranha's tank, he moved over to his pride and joy....the jewel of his collection......a miniature dragon from Berengina VII, a distant genetic relative of the dragon seen by Spock decades ago. Study had shown that miniature dragons lay one egg every 50 years. To find one is like finding a 4 leafed clover. To raise one from infancy as Dr. Uncton had was considered by most in the field to be a miracle.

The creature cooed seeing Noah bearing treats.

The sound of the dragons voice seemed to reverberate through the air and when it hit the doctor's bald scalp.

Blonde hair seemed to suddenly spring forth from Noah's head growing to roughly an inch or two.

The xenobiologist laughed. "Wonderful, my pet. Another month and with your help, we will have discovered the cure for baldness. Imagine Picard and Sisko both with full heads of thick lush hair! You and I will have done what men have strived to do for centuries."

He leaned forward and offered the dragon a few slices of apple. It grabbed them with its paw and swallowed them greedily.

Dr. Uncton watched it as it rubbed its green belly and then burped.

A small spout of flame shot out of it's lip then....the dragon vanished.

=/\= THE BENEFIT OF RECREATIONAL SMOKING AS A TOOL FOR RELAXATION……=/\= the computer spouted.

Panic set in as the doctor began to look all over his laboratory until his gaze drifted to the view port where he saw his prized specimen floating through the blackness of space.

The doctor screamed waving his fist in the air.

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

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

The Family Barbecue had been planned for weeks.

The entire arboretum had been rented out from a very cautious Ensign Sandoval who only relented when the Patterson's promised not to step on any rare flowers.

Mommy Patterson was spreading the picnic blanket, arranging the little Tupperware Cups just so.

Johnny and Sally Patterson ran in little excited circles over the family outing, while happy RooFus Patterson the family Puppy yapped at their heels.

The most lovable of families indeed.

At the head of it all was Daddy Patterson, attired in his KISS THE COOK grilling apron, he spread out the various burgers and weiners ready for the fire……

Fire?

In a twinkling it was all gone....the weiners...the barbecue pit everything.

=/\ =……SUCH ACTS CAN BE CONSIDRED A DETRIMENT TO THE WELL-BEING OF THE SHIP'S COMMUNITY AS A WHOLE. ADDITIONALY, SMOKING PRODUCES WASTE PRODUCT……=/\=

"This is all you're fault!" spat mommy Patterson! "I want a Divorce!!!"

"Johnny Hit me." cried Sally Patterson. "I'm changing my name to Cinnamon Buns and running away with Leo Streely!"

Little Rufus Patterson the dog growled menacingly and began foaming at the mouth…..he's have to be shot later by security.

"You touched me in my sleep!!" accused Johnny Patterson, "I'm dropping out of 5th grade and going to art school!"

"Oh by the way….." added in Mommy Patterson, "They're the mailman's kids!"

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

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

Mary Poppins let out a deep rocky sigh and settled deeper into the comfortable salon chair at Madame FiFi's.

Bing was working away as usual with her power grinder, and the Horta felt the stress and anxiety of the day melt away with each little chip and pebble the beautician sanded away from her hide.

~~Living with a teenager is getting stressful.~~~ the Horta mused reaching for one of her traditional 'adult beverages' that she liked to enjoy while 'getting beautiful'

"Bing, Luv…A top off here if you don't mind." she asked through her electronic translator while shaking the empty martini glass. (Pyrex actually)

"Oh yah…sure sure." the Fillipino lady nodded, "I get you new one right now…Ok Ok?"

Donning huge heat resistant gloves, and reaching into the handy under counter furnace, Bing pulled out a huge glower ewer of golden slag. "Just get this from Georogy Department. Morten Aruminum with read srag in it…..good stuff see see?"

~~Geology Department……Molten Aluminum with Lead Slag….~~~ Mary translated inher head lazily. Bing still had problems with her 'l's

In a hissing froth, the glowing metal was decanted into Mary's glass, and little cobalt 'salt' was frosted around the rim….the kind of touch that made FiFi's such a class establishment.

~~~Ah yes…this is the good life…..~~~ Mary sighed lifting her pseudopod to take a sip.

"Bloody Hell ?!?" The Horta sat straight upright jut in time see Mommy's Little Helper vanish in a flash.

=/\= THE BENEFIT OF RECREATIONAL SMOKING….=/\=

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

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

The angry mob outside the Captain's quarters could only be contained, barely by the sudden arrival of Victor Krieghoff and six of his burliest men in Yellow.

It was an honest to goodness mob straight out of the middle ages, complete with pitchforks and angry torches……..at least there were torches until the anti smoking security program whisked them away into puffs of nothingness.

"You're stinking program ruined my date!" cried one man, while another yelled. "It was the perfect evening…and you ruined it!! Ruined it I say!!!"

"Do you know how much those Djarum's cost? Yelled another.

"I'm bloody well going into DT's here." accused an angry Horta, "Some of us like our bloody drinks a bit on the fiery side…."

At the center of this maelstrom stood Captain T'vara. Strong and resolute, her high cut features a mask of defiance as she stood her ground in front of her cabin door."

"Starfleet regulations on health and safety exist for the benefit of us all." she replied in her calm clipped voice. "Miscalculations with your human bonding rituals notwithstanding, I have no intention of revoking said regulations merely for 'societal' purposes that do not fall under the uniform code of military justice."

Her dark eyes pierced the pitchfork waving crowd, almost a dare. "We make sacrifices aboard ship, you and I. This is expected and demanded of us. And we will comply….all of us. "

"What about my precious Billy?" cried a mother, "All he wanted to do was have his tenth Birthday cake….he wanted to blow out his candles and turn ten years old."

"High Sugar intake is contradictory with the treatment of Venusian Fever madam." T'vara replied. "I would have words with your Doctor for recommending such a article of dubious nutritional content to be present at your offsprings ceremony. " her eyes flashed coldly, "Besides…having reviewed your medical records I note that your child was not born until 2230 hours…that is to say…he would not have reached his tenth year until later tonight anyway and as such the presence or absence of 'cake' would have had little bearing on his demise at age 9."

Her point made, Captain T'vara turned her back on the crowd and reentered the spacious captain's cabin.

She had been in the midst of preparing for her evening meditations when the mob arrived, but for now she would leave them to the attentions of the new Security Chief and return to her contemplations.

Seating herself cross-legged upon the stark bare floor, T'vara gathered her flowing robes about her.

"Nothing that does not exist…is real." she intoned the ancient proverb, centering her thoughts.

Gently, with practiced grace she reached forward to trigger the ancient incense bowl, shivering slightly as its powerful spices rolled over her senses.

"Infinite Diversity…in Infinite….what the hell?"

To T'vara's mild surprise the aforementioned incense burner faded away into a sparkle of blue light.

=/\= THE BENEFIT OF RECREATIONAL SMOKING AS A TOOL FOR RELAXATION……=/\=

"Computer silence recitation of regulations." she breathed.

Karma it seemed….was alive and well on the USS Galaxy.

UNFORGIVEN Part 2


"Formalities"


OOC:Ever get those posts where it doesnt work for you? I just couldn't get this right so I'm done tweeking it. I want it out there so I can move on.


With the hastily assembled Star Fleet Security Council.


Previously: A Bolian freighter came upon a battered escape pod. Inside the craft were 3 brutalized Federation citizens. Starfleet Intelligence was able to discern that the deceased were being held at what was believed to be a Breen run prison camp on the former Federation colony world of Corvallis.

They were also able to identify one of the victims as Admiral Bhrode's son.

An emergency meeting of the Security Counsel was called.


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

"Take time to deliberate, but when the time for action arrives, stop thinking and go on." - Andrew Jackson

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


"So we are all in agreement that we have to take some sort of military action against the Breen on Corvallis." Fleet Admiral Victor Murdock (COMMANDER IN CHIEF OF STARFLEET) seated at the head of the table announced with a smile that was starting to wear thin.


Like most seated at the large ebon table, Murdock had been awakened from a sound sleep when the crisis broke and he was running on nothing but his outrage and multiple cups of hastily made coffee drained one after another the past few hours while the assembled poured over exhaustive reviews of briefings and slides detailing Star fleet Intelligence's discoveries regarding their former colony, followed by a sometimes heated debate over what sort of response the fleet should take - if any.


"The question now on the table is what exactly do we do?"


To his left, Admiral Robert Saddler was predictably the first person to stand.


"We could send in the Fleet. I believe the 5th and the 12th could be diverted from current assignments." Saddler (CHIEF OF STRATIGIC OPS) said. "DeMercereau is familiar with the system and could have her ships rendezvous with the "Fighting Fifth" within the next 48 hours." he said, showing the lightning fast hawkish thinking that made him ideal in his role as Chief of Strategic Operations.


It had been a longstanding inside joke amongst members of his department that he could tell you the location of any ship in the fleet at any given time.


"We have to keep in mind that there are thousands of Federation citizens being held there. If the Breen see us coming, they are liable to begin slaughtering them as fast as they can pull a trigger on their phasers." Marta Batanides (CHIEF OF STARFLEET INTELLIGENCE) said, assuming the traditional yet unofficial role of devil's advocate.


"She's got a point. The logistic planning of such a strike could take weeks. Word undoubtedly would leak out to the Triad. You know as well as I do that its also only a matter of time until the media gets a hold of this. I don't even want to talk about what a nightmare that's going to be if we haven't attempted something by then." Murdock said.


"What about the Marines?" countered Saddler. "We could slip them in covertly. Planning would be minimal. By the time the Breen knew we were there it would be too late."


All heads turned to the image on the view screen of General Marcus Hammond, the acknowledged number two man in the Star Fleet Marine chain of command.


The gray haired General just frowned.


"We don't know how many of the enemy are encamped there. Some sort of atmospheric generator has turned the goddamn planet into an ice burg. With an unknown number of hostiles on unfamiliar and possibly changing terrain the success failure ratio is..." he paused doing the calculations in his head. "Nearly 4 to one not in our favor."


It was Admiral M'ral (Chief of Starfleet Security) who finally broke the silence.


"Perrrhaps we need to starrrrt thinking of what is...... acceptable collateral damage." the Catain purred.


Marta slammed her drinking glass atop the table so forcefully that water actually spilled.


"Collateral damage?!?! We are talking about the acceptable deaths of our own people, here!"


"People are dying every day. There's a war going on. Sometimes you have to be prepared to make sacrifices for the greater good. It's not pretty but it is what it is." General Hammond said.


"If I may be so bold..." Admiral Robert Price (CHIEF OF STARFLEET OPERATIONS) asked.


"Come now Bob, we expect nothing less from you then brutal honesty." Murdock told the former Captain of the GALAXY, making a mental note to thank the Australian for his impeccable timing.


"Fair dunkim, mate." Price said "I think we fiare all avoiding the obvious here. Once Admiral Bhrode is told of the death of his son, all hell is going to break loose, quite literally. Regardless of what we decide to do here."


A hush fell across the assembled.


"What if he doesn't find out?" M'Ral asked provocatively.


Marta paled and drew a breath to respond but Price beat her to it.


"Wouldn't you want to know that one of your cubs had been murdered?"


"I'm not talking about neverrr telling him, just delaying it until we have things in place." the Catain replied with a ruffling of her brown fur.


"And when he found out that we knew and didn't tell him? You know what a storm that is gonna create?" Marta asked.


"Bhrode is a loose cannon. He's predictibally unpredictable. There has to be another way." Vice Admiral Resnik (Deputy SECRETARY OF COMMUNICATION) said.


Resnik had never made a secret of his disdain for the war. Nor was this the first time that he had taken a stance against Admiral Bhrode.


"At the risk of sounding like the old man himself, we need a cannon right now. The Breen have crossed a line. They have taken from us. They have taken from Bhrode." Price said, pausing for effect before continuing.


"For all his faults, the man's a tactical genius who sat underneath Hoth's learning tree for decades. His unconventional thinking is ideal for a situation like this. For more then one reason. Once the public finds out about this they are going to want a violent responce. That man is synonomyous with violence. Moral in the public with this war has been faltering. What better then a grieving war hero to galvanize the public with a resounding victory."


"And if he looses?" Resnik asked.


"Bhrode has never lost. He's our best chance and everyone at this table knows it. There's no down side." General Hammond said.


"Plus, no matter what we say or do, he's going to do his own thing regardless. Might as well stay out of his way and do what we can to support him." Price said. "This seems to be a very cut and dried descision."


"Agreed. We will set sail for the K-19 research and developement station. We'll take a replacement security compliment to leave behind when Brhode makes his move. The 5th and the 12th will act in support of the Admiral if they can keep up with him and the Marines will fall in as needed." Murdock said.


"That's a lot fo firepower to stack up." Marta said.


"You haven't seen anything till you see Bhrode in full shock and awe mode." General Hammond said with a note of admiration in his voice.


"We give him as much support as we can. This is a must for us. We're not only going to bring our men and women home, we'll send a message to the enemy." Murdock said.


"Speaking of messages, any volonteers to be the one to break the news to to John?" asked Price.

"A Stitch in Time... "

Consul Ayanna Hinanat
Judge

Flight Officer Gryphon "Samurai" Stone

Location: Office of Judge
===============================================================


"Open top middle drawer...."

Hananat waited the second she thought it would take for the computerized desk to respond. Nothing...

"Open....top middle drawer."

Nothing.

"Huh......open top middle drawer....please...."

Nothing.

"I order you, as a judge of Starfleet, to open the top middle drawer...."

Nothing.

Picking up her gavel with a smirk, she beat twice on the desk's surface.

Nothing.

Tapping her fingernail on the surface of the desk, her eyes shifted right, then left. With that same finger, she gently tugged at the top of the drawer. It slid open in a taunting manner.

Okay....so no electronic desk for the only judge on board? That, was something that was going to have to be corrected and as soon as possible. Back to business.

Flipping her stylus up, it slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor underneath the desk. Bending over, she retrieved her stylus, but hit her head on the drawer she had 'forgotten' to slide back in. Steel meeting flesh fought, and flesh lost.

"Sweet Jeebus!" Ayanna bellowed as she grasped her head... The pain was sharp, then nodded off to a throbbing, then to just a gentle whisper of normal... Sighing, her eyebrows knotted as she brought her hand down and noticed the blood.

-----------Meanwhile in Sickbay-------------

"So what unit did you say you were with again, soldier?" Gryphon asked of the tightly muscled corporal with nasty welt on his right vastus medialis muscle.

In a terse tone the soldier responded, "Cpl. Vosak, 2nd Platoon, 1st Squad, Fire Team Bravo, Sir."

"Okay, and you said you just returned from a shore leave, is that correct?"

"Affirmative."

It was agonizing having to treat Marines, Gryphon thought. They never gave any details that weren't directly asked for so, he had to painstakingly ask each detail one laborious question at a time. "And where specifically did this shore leave occur? Planet? Climate Zone? Exposure to flora... fauna... um plants and animals?"

And so the triage questioning droned on. It turned out the corporal had been bitten by a nasty indigenous "chigger-like" insect. The bite wouldn't be crippling to the part Vulcan, part Romulan Marine, but it would be painful considering the location along the inner thigh.

Gryphon sent Vosak to the nurse to acquire a balm for the itching. During his captivity by the Cardassians, Gryphon had treated many Romulans and a few Vulcans, neither made very good patients, slapping the stripes of a Marine on a shoulder surely hadn't made that situation change much he realized .

After verifying with the Chief Medical Technician that he was no longer immediately needed for service, Gryphon sat down with his padd to take some notes on some of the treatments he'd seen performed on this shift, but his thoughts often returned to the bright eyed Consul he'd met just the other day in the Flight Bay.

With the corner turn accomplished, Ayanna searched the sickbay. Her eyes stopped short of a familiar form.

"Moonlighting as a doctor now?" She vocalized. Holding the spare uniform shirt up to her head in a feeble attempt to stop the blood, Ayanna found her right index finger and thumb pressed up against her right temple... Touching her temples assisted in subduing the annoying pain that she felt.

For a moment Gryphon couldn't respond. He reflexively reached out to touch something solid – something real.

Countless times while flying he had been able to visualize targets by force of will alone. When he pushed his will to its extreme he had seen things that seemingly weren't there, often before sensors had detected them. This had always been his "bleeding edge", but he had never done this outside of a cockpit – until that moment.

~Oh what the hell~ he thought.

"Consul Hinanat?"

She glanced left, then right, then caught him with a smile. "Yep...."

He smiled as he should have known she hadn't been willed into existence. Gryphon enjoyed an active imagination but even he wasn't that gifted to have produced something as artfully flawless as the lovely young woman before him. The soothing sweet tone of her one word response confirmed what he already realized.

"I'm not a doctor, heck I'm not even a registered nurse. I'm more of a medical hobbyist," he replied with a chuckle as he set his padd down on nearby exam table and moved closer. He felt his pulse quicken in his fingers; a reaction normally reserved for flying.

"So what happened, loose grip on the gavel or did someone not agree with a verdict?"

"I had an argument with my steel desk. Unfortunately for my head, the desk made one very valid point in our argument and I now find myself seeking medical assistance." Her eyes wondered over the sick bay, making a mental note of the people in the area. Turning her attention back to Gryphon, she offered a simplistic, yet realistic smile.

That smile. As a youth Gryphon heard an ancient tale of a woman whose face had launched a thousand ships. He never thought such a thing as likely but here was a smile that would launch this starfighter's ship any where she needed it to go.... He studied the way her lips curved and spread with every word – beauty in fluid audible motion.

"Whereas I do not presume to know an iota of human medicine I must admit I haven't a clue as to why you are touching your temple like that."

"Oh....." Taking down her fingers from her temple, she winced somewhat before placing them back at the same spot. "It helps with the pain. Mind anesthesia...."

She was a perplexing as she was captivating he thought as he inquired, "Mind Anesthesia?"

"Yes. My mother is a Betazoid. She believed in holistic medicine and the power of healing of the mind by touch. She taught me how to combine mental energy and positive thought and meld them to be a pain reliever of sorts. I believed that until very recently when I discovered that I'm part....well.....let's just say that I have the ability to block pain with my mind."

"Very interesting, I can see where that could be useful. I am part dazed and the other part confused so that means I'm winging it most of the time," he waited to see the effect his little play on words had on her. The goal he desired was to produce another vibrant smile.

She arched her eyebrows at his pun. "As long as you don't *fly* into trouble with the doctors, I'm sure you'll be fine." She could dish it out, just as well as any fly boy this side of the universe. Hinanat inwardly racked up a point on her side of the score board, evening the game.

Gryphon motioned for another medical specialist to come over and have a look at Consul Hinanat's wound. He was sure it was superficial and that he was capable of treating it, but he knew enough about Starfleet regulations to know when he required assistance..

That.....particular medical specialist was the exact same young doctor that she talked to previously. A pleading within her eyes spoke volumes as she looked at Gryphon.

"Why consul.....what do we have here?" His cooing voice was aggravating as she held her head.

As he leaned forward to examine her, she caught a whiff of the spicy humus that he had ingested at a previous time. Burping slightly, he offered her a 'pardon' for his airy indiscretion before speaking.

"Aw....you cut yourself. Come....over here and lay down..." He walked ahead of her, patting the biobed with a manner that was a little too loving for her opinion.

"That's okay.. I'll just sit...here." Within a nanosecond, Ayanna plopped herself down in a plastic chair and grabbed the edges of it with her hands which turned her knuckles white despite the sudden arrival of nagging pain. She wasn't moving...no way...no how.

"Alrighty....if you are comfortable."

'I'd be comfortable with you somewhere else.' She violently thought as he tended to her wound.

"There...all better....if there is anything else you......"

"I'll let you know! Thank you Doctor...again." Such pleasantry, despite the fact that she felt like a large glob of bile moved up into her throat at his overly sappy reactions to her.

"I see you are all squared away, Consul. Now I'm sure the good doctor, informed you that you might possibly have a concussion and therefore you will need an escort back to your quarters… You know for safety." He was pretty sure that no such concussion existed nor was any advice given but he was willing it from somewhere deep in his brain to be true.

"Uh.......He didn't mention it....but you know how doctors are....being all 'busy' and stuff." Her thumb flew out in his direction to make a point on her statement. However, it came off more like her wanting to hitchhike around the ship. She would just need 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' to finish the picture.

'Boy, that sounded gravely intelligent Ayanna..' The woman thought to herself. 'He's *got* to be really impressed with you....'

Hinanat continued to inwardly chastise herself before his words registered.

"Oh....well.....are you volunteering to be my escort?"

'Damn it!' She bellowed at herself. For a moment, she did wonder if she had a concussion with her musings.

"Careful Consul another outburst like that and I might have to hold you in contempt" he bantered back, now that he was aware that she could serve it as well receive it.

Without allowing for the words to fully sink in he continued the retort, "and yes, your honor, your astute powers of perception deduced my means and my motive. I would like to move that it would be a great injustice if you were disinclined to accept my offer of escort. Pro Bono of course." He grinned rather broadly with his hopefully impressive verbal display.

Gryphon surmised that if one were keeping score, he'd be currently winning..

"Hey Gryphon?"

"Yes, Ayanna?"

"Stick with flying....okay?" Hinanat tilted her head to the side before continuing. "I'll accept your offer of assisting me back to my quarters, but you should be aware that I have a panther as a pet."

"I'll assume that is not a metaphor for your catty demeanor," he replied still in the mood for playful banter before the look in her eyes told him she was serious.

The unknown entity that had once coined the phrase about a look saying a thousand words should have spent a minute gazing at Ayanna's eyes. Her deep green orbs could fill a library.

"Wow, a panther you say, and what do you call him? Her?"

"Aramis.... I adopted while vacationing on Risa. He's genetically engineered size wise to fall between a domesticated cat and a dog... golden retriever size. Fortunately, he's small for his particular genetics... that's why he's able to be with me on a Starship."

"I appreciate the information. My offer was to escort you to your room, but you offering me information about what I might find within your quarters, I find ingratiating," he hoped the playful smile that accompanied this comment was proof enough for her that he was only teasing her - slightly.

Gryphon looked over to the Medical Officer on duty to see if he was still needed within sick bay, and the sly smile and nod assured him that he was free to go. He took a moment to prep his area and return it to the clean and orderly state he had found it in originally.

"Are you ready to go Consul?:

"Yes."

"A Stitch In Time - 2"

Consul Ayanna Hinanat

Judge

Flight Officer Gyrhpon Stone

 

Location: Ayanna's Personal Quarters

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

The small banter continued throughout the lone corridors until the two emerged at the sight of her quarters. Turning to face him, Ayanna spoke.

"Well, this is it...Do you have time to come in?"

His heart stopped for a moment.. Yes, of course, he'd visualized being asked this for at least the last few days, and every time in his mind he responded with an affirmative of some sort, but now was the actual point of reckoning. A point of no return as it were.

He searched his thoughts for something suave, smooth or even proper to say in response, but every second he lingered on the appropriate response felt like an hour.

Gryphon tried to adeptly disguise a grimace over his inability to respond to such a simple and surely innocent request, and when he opened his mouth to speak there was no elegant witticism, no air of confidence, there was just… a Gryphonism (a work coined by his brother Jared to describe his younger brothers gift with women).

"uh… sure?"

~ Oh god, did I just say that with a question mark at the end? ~ he inquired inwardly of himself, and even his inner voice sounded deflated.

He hated the word 'sure', for it was one of the most useless words in the history of language. Whoever conceived the word had meant it to be an affirmation but it fell far short of being affirming in any way. The word was just a smidge above an, 'uh huh,' and a dash below an 'okay,' and to decorate that word with a question mark practically relegated the insignificant word do an insult..

Gryphon was mentally kicking his own ass as he prayed that the vivacious judge didn't rescind the offer, because he was an idiot.

'Cute... he is not sure.' Ayanna thought to herself as she punched her access code into the door panel. "Come on in... I don't bite… but my cat might."

"Thank you Consul, it would be my sincere pleasure," he responded sounding like a child's robot with its gears wound too tight. Giving himself a mental shakedown he strained to relax.

"That is I'd love to come in, not be bitten by you… or your cat."

Gryphon moved past Ayanna as he entered her quarters. While passing the Magistrate the scent of her filled his mind with exotic thoughts and sensual urges... For many this experience would be thrilling and welcome, but to the young fighter pilot it was exhilarating and terrifying.

The muscles in his lower back tightened and the fingernails of his left hand dug deep enough into his palm to leave marks, but thankfully not enough to draw blood. His first steps were tenuous but he traveled one laborious step at a time.

What concerned him most was trying to not appear so rigid and unsure of himself. 'Fake it till you make it,' he said to himself.

Even as his back tightened to painful levels he asked, "so where's this pet of yours?"

"Airy..." Hinanat cooed softly as she searched her quarters with her eyes.

Out of the darkness, a rather small panther came jutting out from behind her couch. All white, with striking blue eyes, Aramis came to the side of his mistress while giving the new comer a through once over. Deciding that the being was not threatening, the white cat walked around Ayanna's legs before departing for his favorite spot on her maroon colored sofa.

"That's Aramis. Harmless... really. Computer, increase illumination 20 percent."

With the command, the dim lights raised her surroundings revealing perfection. Hinanat preferred to keep her quarters cool temperature wise, but she decorated them with a warmness that was just her style. She surrounded herself with nature and it was evident by the burgundies and forest green colors that swirled around the room displayed by furniture and art that hung quietly on her wall..

Her favorite song, the theme from the romantic movie, 'The Notebook' cycled through her living environment.. It was restful and welcoming, yet she knew as she glanced over at her guest that he was a small bit uncomfortable with his surroundings or with her.

"This... is where I call home. A little more inviting than a flight deck?" She ribbed him obviously as she walked over to the far corner of the room and illuminated her glass cabinet of crystal starships.

Gryphon's eyes lit up as he saw the marvelous wonders that were lit up in her display case. He swiftly crossed the room with fluid agility to stand beside her. The lights glistening off the figurines sparkled in his bright eyes while he stared with the rapt attention of small child.

"These are beautiful Ayanna," he proclaimed. Gryphon engaged her eyes and barely held back the urge to say "but they are so greatly diminished when compared to the beauty that radiates from within you." A lump caught in his throat as he wondered if she could "feel" what he nearly said.

A slight recognition of emotion registered within her head while a blush of crimson exhibited on her cheeks. She always had been terrible at hiding her reactions to someone's emotional states when she wanted to pick them up mentally. With Gryphon, so far, he held himself back from expressing his true feelings. It was a normal reaction, especially with human beings.

A large majority of them worried about what the other person would think of their true thoughts and feelings. In this way, Ayanna felt very blessed to be half Betazoid...and half Deltan. Both races were known for their freedom of thought and emotion.

He was no longer clenching his fist so tightly but he did need to put some space between her curvaceous body and his own before he spontaneously combusted.

Briskly crossing the room he came to stand before an interesting piece of art and inquired of the Consul as to its origin.

"I recognize this piece… but I can't place it exactly."

"Really?" She walked closer to the painting, quietly ordering the computer to raise the lighting a small amount more.

The picture revealed itself more with the slight illumination. It was a photo of Ayanna. She was resting on her side, her hand gently laying over the curve of her hip. As the photo continued, it stopped just short of the curve of her upper breast, leaving just the right amount absent so that the imagination of the person viewing it was in full stride.

"I've always found the curvature in women to be intoxicating.. Each flowing line escorts the eye, and with it the spirit, with a tender hand along a course both soft and sublime."

Gryphon was thankful he was commenting about the art without having to look at Ayanna directly and wondered if she knew he was truly speaking of her and not the photos on the wall. To a man who spent countless hours in simulators – Real was always better even when he was uncomfortable.

"It was taken a while back. Gifts from a dear photographer that I had in Lebanon. To me, the female form is the most amazing creation.. It is the most erotic, can evoke feelings of passion with just a slip of a view of soft skin, and can enrapture a man to the point of driving him insane." Her eyelids dipped slowly before ordering the rest of her wall to illuminate. Each photo exhibited Ayanna in a different pose, highlighting various portions of her body.

It was only under full illumination that he realized that these weren't photos of some unknown model. The phenomenal images were of Ayanna in all her aesthetic glory.. Within him a visceral struggle arose between his desire to look away from the rawly magnificent femininity, which was always a source of inadequacy for him, and his undeniable attraction to the lustful imagery.

"Now, Gyrphon...some say that this display is pornographic. Some say, that it is art in its most raw form. I'm curious..." Hinanat turned towards him, lowering her chin and looked at him with eyes a blaze. "What do you think? Is it art?"

With a Herculean effort he resisted the urge to engage her burning gaze, as he knew exactly what the result would be. To let the power of her eyes pleasurably scar him could only yield a compliment with a lackluster effect. He knew enough about his mannerisms to know that. So, only by mentally stapling his eyes on something else – anything else – was he able to respond to her inquiry.

"Truly, Consul, it is art. Indubitably so. To deny it as such would be an insult to the words Grace, Divinity and ultimately Beauty itself," he replied swallowing hard enough to make it audible. The tension in his lower back had returned fully strong and he knew he'd be sore there for the next couple of days.

His right arm moved slightly and, with horror, he realized that he had nearly raised his hand so that his fingers might trace the delicate curve from waist to hip in the photo, a marvelous trek of sensuality that only women possess.

It was too late to staple his eyes onto something less, treacherous, so he did the next best thing he could think of at the moment.

"I'm a little thirsty; may I please have a very cold glass of … water?"

"There's nothing wrong with touching the photography. If art imitates life, and your desire is to experience life, you are fully able to touch and experience the meaning behind the photograph. I'll return shortly with your water...."

He wanted to sigh in relief and scream in fear at the same time. She had sensed he wanted to touch… the photograph, even though he had refrained from doing so. The pace of his breathing increased by a degree or two, as he wished he could just overcome his mental roadblocks over situations like this. The prospect of this amazing woman helping him to do just that was intriguing.

True to her word, Ayanna returned. He interested her more than in just a physical sense. However, at this point, she felt the urges rise up in her. Sighing, she knew from past experience that she would have to make her retreat soon or it would only end in misunderstanding. In a way, she felt sorry for him because she knew now that as she heightened her desire for him physically, her pheromones would gain in strength and attack him with violence that only chemistry can create.

Her eyes darted from the glass to his face, for she studied every inch and detail with the desire to store it away for the time that they were not together. Inwardly, Ayanna felt her breathing accelerate as she quenched the sudden desire to show him how a Deltan, even if she was just a half Deltan, used their gifts of sensuality. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and told herself that now was not the time. He was human, and she knew the complications that would arise if she took that risk of contact with him.

Gryphon saw the way she was looking at him. He was familiar with that look, after all he was Jared Stone's brother wasn't he? Just the notion of her looking at him like she was explosively flattering to Gryphon, and he couldn't help but smile. It would be hours later before he realized that, not only had he smiled, but it felt natural and right. It would be that sobering thought that would keep him up late for a few days to come.

As she handed him the drink the soft skin of her hand lightly grazed against his own and he could feel a rush come over him. Like a levee bursting from an unexpected flood. Gryphon had touched her once before, but that occurrence came with the clamor of warning bells; this time it hit with the intensity of fluid electricity. It nearly caused him to drop the glass, but starfighter reflexes allowed him to maintain his grip and thereby his dignity.

The glass met his lips and soon the cold rush of the water was coursing down his throat, with a refreshing blast. His only hope was that it would cool his nerves as well.

"Thank you, Consul… Ayanna. I've been on my feet since just after oh-dark-thirty, mind if I have a seat on your couch, or will Aramis object to my intrusion?"

"descendre le canapé s'il vous plaît"

The cat, looking up lazily from his spot on the sofa, stretched, and slowly removed himself. Hinanat smiled.

"He only understands French."

Walking over, she placed herself gently on the sofa and patted the place next to her.

"There ya go."

Always good at taking instruction, Gryphon moved over to the place she indicated, set his drink down on a nearby table and turned to face her.

Not sure where to start the small talk he asked, "so tell me a little more about yourself, Consul. You will find that I am attentive."

"I feel that you are, very much so." Hinanat responded.

"I'm just a plain old human from a plain old lineage, nothing near as exotic as a half Betazoid, half Deltan. I don't even really know what means, so what can you tell me, Ayanna?"

"There's not much to tell I'm afraid....."

"Not much you say? I'm not convinced. So, please Magistrate... convince me."

"I'm the illegitimate daughter of a trade merchant and a physician of natural sciences. My mother is a holistic doctor that creates healing potions based on empathy. My father...I don't know much about other than his name and what he does for a living. I was raised for the most part on Deep Space Four before joining the academy and ending up in an internship program initiated by Starfleet to bring back circuit court judges. I'm addicted to coffee, have three tattoos. One is a vine of lilies that creeps up my back and the other is a gold dragon that wraps around my upper right thigh and a matching dragon arm band on my left upper arm. I practice white magic, believe that I am a Goddess that holds my strength of my soul in my eyes, and have an overly high sex drive." She paused to take a drink of her water before continuing.

"So, does that answer your question?"

"That it does and about a dozen after that," he replied with the hope that he hadn't offended her.

He noticed the glisten that remained on her lips from the refreshment. Gryphon couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to touch the soft fullness of those lips in all their succulent curvyness. The thought made him shake his head a little; surprised by the feeling of need it inspired.

The pause in the conversation widened and he struggled internally with what to say next. This was an all too familar position for Gryphon. He could get close enough to almost taste a person, and then wallow in the indecision of what to do next. He felt compelled to say more, do something, but knew his nerve was eroding.

His bright eyes searched hers for some sign of... something.

With instinct, she bit her bottom lip with abandonment and turned her head down. Looking at her lap, Ayanna picked off a piece of invisible lint then looked upwards. Leaning forward slightly, she parted her lips a minuscule fraction.

The Universe continued to function outside of this room, but to Gryphon Stone this was the Big Crunch. All that mattered anywhere was happening right here, right now.

His eyes at first met hers with a spark, then intertwined themselves around each spoke radiating from her pupils and started a dance uniquely their own. As they swirled and melded together as one, he moved closer.

Her left arm was draped elegantly across the back of the soft plush sofa. She sat facing him with her left leg bent; the foot tucked under her other soft lean leg. Refusing to break eye contact, he mentally traced the smoothness of her right arm down to the hand the currently rested in her lap.

He unconsciously mirrored her pose but was close enough for his right hand to rest lightly on her left forearm, their knees nearly touching.

As their eyes continued their revelry he longed to take her fully into his capable arms, and his thoughts became reality as she slid closer into him. The sound of her body moving across the couch could only be described as a sizzle.

She was close enough take in her scent – her fragrant aura. He drew a deep breath in slowly, soundlessly through his nose on a direct course to the pleasure center in his rapidly firing brain.

The Universe Crunched some more and now existed only as this one sofa, with no past to define it; a fleeting present to hold it and the prospect of an unrestricted future to set it ablaze with erotic energies.

Without waiting for a cue he wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her firmly but not swiftly to him. Her head contacted his tightly muscled chest and was cushioned by the soft strands of her long dark hair. The essence of her smell filled his mind with seductively indescribable images; feelings both soft and sexually charged. Each one arriving and fleeing so fast as to be ungraspable with physical expression, but replete with physical pleasure flowing in undulating waves to furthest reaches his body could allow or endure.

Now both of her femininely muscled legs were on the couch and she let herself fully collapse into him; giving him the trust one gives a person when they fall backwards with eyes closed, simply knowing they will be caught – and held.

He leaned back while still holding her, a maneuver that naturally pulled more of her on to him then resumed an upright position, with her head now upon his left shoulder.

Eyelids closed just a moment ago open revealing deep island pools of green, and they are fixed on only one thing – him.

The Universe Crunched again.

The touch of breath that has escaped between her slightly parted lips and has traversed the short distance to his is light and sweet. He longed from deep within his slowly rising chest to taste their sweet redness. But stayed the powerful urge a moment longer.

He burned with the fire of passion the image of her eyes into his brain with such a force such that he could still see them when at last their mouths connected and his own lids are fastened shut. The he could divert all power from the sense of vision to the divine pleasure of the tactile convergence. Her lips to his.

Eyelids slip shut.

The Universe Crunched. The expanse of it, mere inches now.

If there is such a thing as Dark Matter and Dark Energy then its inverse must exist and is evident as his mouth moved closer to hers. Drawn together by the attraction of White Matter to White Matter – tethered with invisible tendrils of White Energy.

The Universe made its final Crunch and…

BANG!!

Convergence, the sensual-primal bond that is the precursor to all things occurred, and all the possibilities of physics, both quantum and non, are reset. All the eventualities are made possible when the chemical taste of these two magnificent entities mixed.

For the first few instants of this connection there are no words, and all the words that will ever be, to describe it. Time does not exist yet so the duration of the embrace cannot be measured, but its effects will ripple outward for all that will ever live to wonder about, until the end of days.

Then without provocation or external stimuli it ended.

"Damn, that's how that kiss should have gone instead of what actually happened," Gryphon thought as he abashedly made his way back to his own quarters.

-----------Back in Ayanna's Quarters-------------

"Lights, decrease 20 percent." Light darkness enveloped her as she stared at a spot of nothing on the opposite wall.

Aramis noted the change in his mistress, and knew that she needed comfort. Hoping up on the sofa, he curled his body next to her hip. His warmth transcended to her in a small attempt to make her feel better. Not knowing exactly what just happened, he did know that she was not herself. That in and of itself caused his protective nature to surface. Looking up, he placed his head on her thigh conveying his cat like sympathy.

The long sigh escaped her, exiting into the air above. Confusion filled her with a morose fashion. Her thoughts, usually so intact and organized, ran around her head with uncertainty and screaming for order. Knowing what really happened, and what she wanted to happen were two separate tragedies. It had happened before, the underlying passion mixed with the uncertainty. Yet now, she knew that she had a name for the complexity that surrounded her in certain situations.

She thought about what she was. The possibilities swirled around her as to what exactly occurred. Was it her...her true self? Was it the chemical attraction from the pheromones she emitted? Was it feelings she felt projected onto him that caused what happened? Did he feel that way truly, or was it her imagination?

The nagging question that kept highlighting itself against her brain was...

'Will I ever be understood?'

 

“Initiation”

Flight Officer - Gryphon “Samurai” Stone

Saber Two Flight:
Pilot Sanoe - "Sunshine" Nani – NPC
Flight Officer - Ember "Orphan" Lansky - PNPC
Pilot Korr - "Nomad" Shadin - NPC

Location: Deck 5 – Shuttle/ Fighter Bay

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

Soundtrack: Oh Yeah – Yellow (Remember Ferris Bueller’s Day Of – OOOH yeaah!)

0600

The air was cold and a little dry in the bay noted Samurai as he stepped through the bulkhead door. His uniform still felt a little a little stiff. He’d just received word the previous day about his demotion being overturned and had to rush out and get modifications before greeting his Flight.

He gave himself a “once over” look from stem to stern to ensure he was adhering to all Starfleet Regulations. He never was one for formalities and he hoped his flight weren’t sticklers for the prim and proper either.

All appeared in order as he checked his clipboard for no particular reason since he had pretty much committed to memory the files of the three pilots under his command.

This was more of a meet and greet anyway.

“Two Flight on Deck!” called out the Pilot known as “Sunshine”.

It was stunningly evident how she got the call sign. She was tall for a starfighter; Standing at least six feet two inches. The skin of her face was darkly tanned and framed by the brightest golden hair Samurai could ever recall seeing. A sparkling white smile graced her high cheek boned face. To the Two Flight Lead, she looked like a perfectly grown sunflower in human form.

To the right of Sunshine stood FO Ember “Orphan” Lansky. Though not as statuesque as Sunshine she looked significantly more formidable. He short cropped Auburn hair was pulled back tightly into a small pony tail. Intense blue eyes scanned him for signs of weakness he suspected.

Finally he considered the last member of Saber Two Flight.

Pilot Korr "Nomad" Shadin. Samurai cleared his throat to grab Nomad’s attention as he seemed more interested in that dark space behind his eyelids then meeting the new XO. Korr opened his eyes and when he smiled his ruggedly handsome looks reminded Samurai of his brother Jared.

“At ease people!” Samurai issued in a ‘command’ voice that sounded so accustomed to issuing orders that any passerby might have actually believed he enjoyed doing so – which he didn’t.

~Wow I sound like my dad~ he thought, not sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“First let me introduce myself, my name is Flight Officer Gryphon, call sign “Samurai”, Stone. Within in the confines of this Bay; while on sorties, hops or simulations you will address me in this order of preference: Samurai, XO, or Two Flight – Preceding Saber is optional.”

He paused giving them each a look over. Sunshine wore a beaming smile, Orphan’s eyes still bored into him with no bullshit intensity, and he felt pretty sure that Nomad was performing a long closed mouth yawn.

“What you will not call me, in the previously mentioned locations, is Gryphon, or Stone or FO Stone or pretty much anything else not listed in my last statement.”

Again he paused letting the impact sink into the flight.

“Now for the other orders of business I’d like to address today. First, I’d like to inform the pilot that put the inflatable companion doll into my flight suit; that not only do I not have a preference for blue women; I rather enjoy a partner that can push back when I apply the after burners, if you know what I mean. I ask that they keep that in mind when requisitioning me a co-pilot next time.”

Impossibly the smile on Sunshine’s face got bigger. Her rapid succession of suppressed giggles made her large tightly contained breast nearly vibrate.

“Next, I regret to inform the pilot that put whatever they filled my cockpit with that I will not be doing my test flight today. Furthermore, since I will not doing said flight, I will not grant them the pleasure of me even finding out what it was they put in there. I can guess it’s either the standard packing foam peanuts or a more inventive choice of butter bars.. As you can see, he offered while pointing at his restored rank, and returning Orphan’s burning stare, “I switched to margarine.”

He watched as the 5’ 6” pilot fought against hope to contain a smile inevitably, she gave up the farm, and grinned.

“And lastly, I’m not sure how you found out my precise measurements, but the artist that Michelangelo’d the belly of my bird with a 8 foot long surprisingly good likeness of my own personal heat seeking missile; should have known that I ‘dress right’ so therefore they will have to remove said masterpiece before the ladies all get the wrong idea.”

Nomad’s shit-eating grin, confirmed that even though it had taken a good hour to paint and would take another two more to make it go away – it had been worth it.

“I have two very simple rules when you fly with me, so listen up and listen good. I expect you to Kiss Ass and chew bubble gum,” he said while patting every pocket on his flight suit before he continued, ‘and it looks like I’m all out of bubble gum.”

At this they all laughed.

“Now that we’re all having such a good time, I’d like to inform you that some ‘shuttle-pukes’, challenged us to a game of volleyball later tonight. I already agreed to their challenge, and I have the same rules for volleyball as

I do for flying. Is that clear?”

“CRYSTAL!” they replied in unison.

“Next briefing at eleven-hundred hours – Mess Hall.. Flight Dismissed!”

He executed a crisp about face and proceeded out of the bay wearing a huge grin.

“David and Goliath”

Flight Officer Gryphon “Samurai” Stone

Pilot Sanoe "Sunshine" Nani - NPC

Location: Combat Simulation Training Room
====================================================================

=/\= Saber 5 to Saber 1. =/\=

No response.

=/\= Saber 5 to Saber 1, come in Saber 1. Request hop specs Songbird,
you got your ears on? =/\=

Static.

“Great, Com is out, how am I supposed to know this hops (mission)
parameters,” thought Samurai. He checked the scanner to locate the
rest of Saber squadron.

He was totally cold nose - no readout whatsoever.

Samurai quickly ran a basic diagnostics to find out just what systems
were still available to him.

----------------------------------------------------------------
| Life Support: 100% |
| Phasers: 100% |
| Torpedoes: 100% |
| Shields: 100% |
| Impulse Engines: 100% |
----------------------------------------------------------------

That was the good news, now for the bad.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
| Short Range Comm: 0% |
| Long Range Comm: 0% |
| Long Range Sensors: 0% |
| Lateral Sensors: 0% |
| Nav Sensors: 0% |
| Probes: 0% |
| Passive Sensors: 0% |
| Neutrino Sensor: 0% |
| ECM: 0% |
| Fire Suppression: 0% |
| Main Comp: 15% |
| Nav Comp: 0% |
| Reserve Life Supp: 0% |
| Tractor Beam: 50% |
----------------------------------------------------------------

So this is what an “anomaly” was Samurai thought. It was supposed to
be just a ‘routine’ investigation. When the Galaxy’s sensors failed to
penetrate anomaly – 24671, Saber squadron was sent in to check things
out.

The main issue was how to investigate anything without sensors or
computers. It was positively pre-industrial – visual and verbal
description to a padd only.

‘I guess this is just to see if we can fly around and not crash into
each other,” he thought then chastised himself for letting himself
think of this as a simulation. To this starfighter it was always the
real deal and he executed every sim as such –Even when his CO was off
ship as she was currently.

He stared intently outside the cockpit viewing area trying to take in
the skinny and record anything out of order. The first few moments
offered nothing then he caught a glint of something bearing
approximately 0 - 3 - 5 mark 9 - 0.

“It’s probably just ‘Nomad’ or ‘Orphan’,” he thought while adjusting
changing the angles just to be sure. Samurai felt it was best to keep
a healthy amount of space between them due to the fact that they were
all flying blind in this lovely anomalous bit of space.

Despite the course correction, the “glint” got bigger and a little bit
too quickly. Samurai instinctively called out to the computer.

“Computer, identify target, approaching Saber 5.”

No response.

“Charlie Foxtrot!” he bellowed over his “rookie” mistake for by
getting lost in the bubble. He engaged his impulse burners to maximum.
His Starfighter shook violently for a moment as he realized he’d just
missed being scratched out by a torpedo.

He didn’t take time to question the situation; he just seamlessly
slipped into “the zone.” The Starfighters aboard the Galaxy were one
man so there was no co-pilot to worry about being ill prepared, but an
extra pair of eyes would have been a blessing indeed.

Taking a long slow deep breath in through the nose and out the mouth
Samurai swiveled his head while cranking on the stick to the left in
an attempt to create an intercept vector based on the “bogeys”
expected flight trajectory.

Back at ASTA his fellow cadets accused him having an astrogation
computer built into his brain due to his uncanny ability to calculate
complex trajectories and vectors from visual data alone. True to form
he came up behind the Jem’Hadar attack fighter that recently had the
audacity to fire upon him.

The ship was easily 5 times larger then his own; significantly better
armed; but considerably less maneuverable. This last factor was what
Samurai was counting on; that and the hope that its systems were as
inhibited as his own.

He slipped deeper into his ‘fighter trance’. It was an effort of will
to sense the space around him; to move outside his Starfighter and
take in the battle scene at large. Surely this Jem’Hadar fighter
wasn’t alone. He knew from battle tactics gleaned during the Dominion
Wars that these attack ships weren’t extremely powerful, but they made
up for lack of armament with sheer numbers. Samurai sent a wordless
prayer to his fellow pilots.

To his port side he saw a familiar flash of metal - It was “Sunshine”,
his wingman coming on full burn with phasers blazing.

Samurai didn’t wait to RSVP before joining the party as he opened fire
on the enemy ship targeting weapons first, as best as sight location
would allow.

This model of enemy craft did have stern mounted weaponry that could
shoot aft and this was immediately evident as return fire came at
them, forcing Sunshine to drop hard - nose down to avoid a hit.

Gryphon smiled because upon further inspection it was clear that the
enemy had no sensors or computer weaponry guidance either as the enemy
ship continued to fire from its rear cannons in random strafing
patterns. Without waiting for the Gods of Chance to play havoc on him,
Samurai disabled the rear cannon of the attack ship with a well placed
phaser shot.

The Jem’Hadar pilot of this particular vessel was good. His attempts
to throw Samurai were skillful, but ultimately fruitless. Every jink
was easily traced by the more agile Federation vessel with its equally
able stick man.

One particularly scary moment occurred when Samurai was nearly rammed
right out of existence by another Jem’Hadar attack ship whose vector
he crossed while he pursued his original target. Only his lightning
fast reflexes enabled him to get his “boards out” (speed brake) and
spin out of harms way with just a few feet to spare. He didn’t have
time to wonder how the scenario would have went down had both vessels
had full sensors, but he suspected the Galaxy record for shortest time
on vessel for a Flight Officer would have be shattered.

A bead of sweat rolled off his brow, slid down his right cheek and
landed unceremoniously in his lap. He reengaged the original target
already in its death throes due to his sustained phaser fire and
intimately placed torpedoes.

“Boo Yah!” he roared as he chalked upon another ‘confirmed kill’ with
a one finger tick mark gesture in the air. The celebration was cut
short with a loud explosion and bone jarring shake.

“What the…” Samurai proclaimed to no one, as he struggled to regain
control of his Starfighter currently in a flat spin.

‘The other Jem’Hadar attack ship,’ he groaned amidst the sparks and
smells of ozone rapidly occupying his cockpit.

Without the computer he couldn’t fully diagnose the extent of the
damage beyond the basic percentage operable, but the red lights
flashing next to Life Support, and Phasers were a hint that things
could be better. Samurai grabbed the stick and wrestled with the
vessel for control. Man vs. machine, an age old struggle that after a
few terse moments was won by an average looking man from large rock
named Earth.

He was thankful that the basic diagnostics component of the computer
was operational due to its separate “black box” containment field, but
he was less thankful when he viewed the simple monochrome readout:

----------------------------------------------
| Life Support: 0% |
| Phasers: 0% |
| Torpedoes: 100% |
| Shields: 50% |
| Impulse Engines: 25% |
| Tractor Beam 50% |
| All else: 0% |
----------------------------------------------

His plight was further delegated to critical as he could see the
Jem’Hadar attack ship off to his starboard coming about to complete
his destruction. It was the object bearing approximately 2 – 9 – 5,
mark 9 – 0 – 0 that found Gryhpon searching for a condition other then
critical. It was a Jem’Hadar battle cruiser casually drifting through
the anomaly like a bloated mosquito full of its share of blood.
Catastrophic or Fatal were words another fly boy might use, but not
this Flight Officer.

The glint in his eye when combined with the devilish grin that spread
across his face, made him look either criminally insane or sexually
satiated. The word that came to Samurai was Opportunity, but he had to
act swiftly.

The enemy attack ship had just completed its turn and was about to
eradicate the Starfighter with a phaser barrage when it was hit with
two photon torpedoes to its bow mounted cannons, rendering them
inoperable. The Vorta captain of the attack ship only wished that the
Federation pilot could hear his mocking laugh as he told his own pilot
to assume ramming speed; it was a chilling laugh indeed.

Samurai brushed the sweat from above his upper lip with the back of
his left hand as he watched the attack ship bear down him at full
impulse. He knew his next maneuver would take expert timing and a huge
measure of luck. Nearly all of his systems were lights out, and to any
observer it would appear that he was crippled; that his last volley of
missiles had been nothing more then a meager and ineffective last
breathy gasp.

- Translated text-
“Sir, it looks to be dead in space.”

- Translated text-
“Yes, and we’re about to make sure of that,” replied the Vorta
Captain, just as the unexpected happened.

Just a few hundred yards from being rammed the Federation Starfighter
exploded violently causing the Jem’Hadar pilot to veer sharply to one
side to avoid taking any damage. Three seconds later the view cleared
and there was nothing to be seen of the former vessel. This evoked a
crooked grin on the Vorta’s face as he gave the command to his pilot,
“take us back to the Cruiser. That was the last of them. We need to
warn them that there is a Galaxy Class ship near and we are too
depleted engage it”

“Holy hell, it worked…” Samurai whispered even though there was no one
to hear him. He mused to himself, “I might actually pull this off.”

Just moments prior to impact he had detonated one of his photon
torpedoes a few hundred yards away from the approaching attack ship
and in the blinding flash rolled under and nuzzled his vessel right up
to the belly and stern of the attack ship. Then he engaged his tractor
beam to hold the Starfighter high and tight. Considering that the
Cruiser was “above” his current location the intent was to remain
“invisible”.

A feeling akin to glee started to ease itself into Samurai’s bones as
he realized that the Jem’Hadar, attack ship was heading in a vector
toward the cruiser.

So far his luck had been immaculate and yet he knew he’d need to avail
the Lords of Chance one more time if his plan were to work as
intended.

He gazed down at the small cylindrical metallic object in his left
hand. The little green light at its crest confirmed that it was
charged and active, but would it actually work was yet to be seen. The
item commonly referred to as a pilot’s best friend was an Emergency
Transporter Beacon. Back at the flight academy his instructor told him
that pressing the little button on the side could transport a person
even from the depths of hell to safety in an instant. The only
condition required was that its homing transponder was operable and in
relatively close proximity.

Samurai hoped he would survive this mission to tell his instructor
that there was another condition regarding its successful operation.
Something not in the fine print. *will work function in all
anomalies*.

The cruiser grew larger and larger as attack ship and its “leech” drew
closer. He didn’t realize he was taking small sips of air in rapid
succession through pale strained lips.

A few agonizing moments later the Flight Officer saw the mouth of the
launch bay engulf his vessel and he knew it was now or never.

He closed his eyes.

“Good bye Father, I’m going to see mom and Jared now,” he offered in
silent prayer as he initiated his last two actions: “Auto Destruct –
Confirm: Yes” and “Launch all Torpedoes – Confirm: Yes” while
simultaneously pressing his Emergency Transporter Beacon with his
other gloved hand.

Bright light forced Samurai to close his eyes abruptly. He was still
breathing hard and brilliant beads of sweat propagated his still
youthful face as he felt the firm clenching grips of his Flight mates
pulling him forcefully from his seat.

“Samurai that was Sierra Hotel (shit hot) you did it!!”

“Did what? Did I die?” he huffed still letting his eyes dilate to
their appropriate diameter in response to the change in light.

“Sorry Flight Officer, but you’re gonna have to accept our offer of
buying you a round or six in ten forward. Because not only did you
succeed in the mission, you exceeded parameters.”

“So, I didn’t die?”

Laughter filled the simulation room.

“No sir, your ETB worked as expected and your kamikaze blast, although
not sufficient to destroy their capital ship, made such a nice display
that they could see it clearly from the Galaxy, which in over 500 runs
of this simulation marks a first. Congratulations!”

“So how many tickets for that?” he inquired referring to the centuries
old system of marking where a pilot is on the “totem pole.”

Roudy laughter and cheering bled down the hall as the members or Saber
Two Flight headed down to enjoy some leisure time.

"Ghosts" Part Three

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

(Prison Camp- Approximately 3 Hours after Part Two)

The sun is incredibly bright, a situation you've last experienced in the dead of winter back where you come from. It cuts through the window like a dagger aimed specifically at your eyes. The layers of ice on the outside of the transparent aluminum window seemed only to serve as a magnifier, focusing the beam in a concentrated form directly into your face.

It hurts. 'Everything' hurts, or so you soon come to realize. At first there is delayed reaction as you try to push yourself up, discovering your body isn't quite yet prepared for the neurological exercise of controlling multiple limbs simultaneously. Instead, being the rational Starfleet officer that four years of some of the most rigorous training in the Quadrant made you into, you opt to move the one appendage that seemed easiest, your left arm, over your face... having the effect of drastically reducing the burning sensation in your retinas caused by the sun and thus killing two proverbial birds with one proverbial stone.

Nice thinking there, sailor!

About the one sense of yours that is anywhere 'near' alert is your hearing. There is most definitely an argument going on... and you try to keep your eyes open long enough to actually 'see' the parties involved, though you get nothing more than short, blurry glimpses of shadows.

"Get the 'hell' out, Kruttal!" One shadow screamed at the other.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way, Cassie." The other shadow lanced an appendage out, apparently clutching the face of the first. "You have used to me as an associate, but several of my clients have expressed an... 'interest'... in you. I suggest you tread softly, my dear."

There was a momentary pause, leaving you to wonder if one of the shadows hadn't either scared the other to death, or outright killed the other one.

"You can tell your 'clients' to follow you on your way 'out', Kruttal, or I swear 'my' priorities in treating people will change." The first shadow swatted the 2nd's arm away rather forcefully. "I've dealt with worse than you can bring."

"I highly doubt that, dear Cassandra." The shadow sneered and stormed off.

And you, promptly, pass out upon hearing the slamming of a door.

After an undetermined amount of time simply trying to figure out whether or not you were alive (you eventually determine you are, given the level of pain you're experiencing... you didn't do anything 'that' bad at the open-bar bachelor party you were at just a few days ago to warrant 'this' kind of hell after all) you finally manage to get around to testing your vocal cords... the result being a low, crackled groan.

"Wow, look who's finally awake." A voice you recognize, though are too incognizant to place, calls to you.

You fight to open your eyes again, rolling a full turn... just enough to escape the natural laser show of a high-noon sun. Gentle footfalls approach, the type that might be mistaken for the airy footprints of an angel of lore. Your blurry vision slowly but surely clarifies as you fixate on the divine interloper...

The matted and disheveled golden locks of that chatty chick you ran into when they chucked you into this barnyard for sentient beings. Wonder-fucking-full. Maybe you were in hell, or perhaps the Hydrans were trying to eliminate you and sent her in to talk you to death. Speaking of a war crime...

"What happened?" you manage to utter, or some derivative there of, as you struggle to get some kind of hold on the situation.

"You did exactly what I told you 'not' to do." She scolds in a gentle fashion. With her help you manage to prop yourself up to a sitting position against one of the wooden and therma-crete walls of the one room cabin. "You're lucky to be alive."

You turn your head to reply, but are rather abruptly cut off.

"Try not to move. It'll make this go much faster."

She reaches into a bag of some kind and produces rather alien looking equipment, nothing that you can readily identify as Starfleet issue. Even what you assume is the scanning device looks strange. "What's that?" you murmur.

"A gift from one of the guards." Cassie says with unusual conciseness, starting to tend to a number of injuries you'd apparently received for some reason you don't quite remember yet. "The bag is supposedly some kind of high-end Breen accessory. One of the guards filled it up with medical equipment and gave it to me because I 'reminded' him of his sister, personality wise." She stops momentarily to check the sensor before looking back up at you. "Weird, eh?"

You flinch when she gets to a particularly painful cut, although it's more of instinct than of reaction. Her touch is soft and light enough to avoid worsening the situation. "I thought you said to avoid the guards?"

"Usually yeah, but only about 99% of them are evil." She replies, the humming of the devices in her hands no longer as irritatingly loud as they once were. You're not nearly hurting as much as you used to.

"What happened?" You ask.

"You really don't want to know." She responds.

"Yes, yes I do." You persist.

She sighs with frustration, her bottom lip quivering to the extent that her frail looking frame soon followed when she bit down on it. "We heard a scream... you went to go find out what it was... you found Dwazina, one of the prisoners, being..." as she came to the juncture it was obvious to you that the thoughts the word evoked were far too visceral to be uttered. She gulped, her quivering worsening into full out trembling, and her eyes welling with tears that she swatted at with overly slender fingers. "Raped. She has a husband, a legitimate husband, who's very ill. She made a deal with a guy to help her get some medication... I won't go into the terms in detail but sufficing to say she believed it to be a 1 on 1 arrangement, he thought it a 3 on 1..."

The sick feeling in the back of your throat threatened to overwhelm, until the heavy door to the cabin swung open, cooling down your urge to be ill with a nice, frosty breeze. A child bursts in. He looks even smaller than he would be at the age of 8, a little terran boy with reddish hair that had dirty ends, and bright freckles. He could easily be mistaken for a 4 year old, given his malnourished state. Despite it all though, he managed to stay alive in the middle of this cruel state of affairs, his eyes lit up in the defiance of youth. "Miss Cassandra?" The little boy endeavored in a light Irish accent. He hadn't exactly reached that age where he realized adults should be called by their last names when such pre-fixes were attached, but he did the best he could. "You gotta come quick, Daddy says Dwazina needs help."

"Okay baby, I'll be right there." Cassie says as she dries her eyes as quickly as possible against what's left of the tattered sleeves of her uniform. When she looks back to you. she gives a fairly quick, sullen smile before throwing her ill-gotten gear into the gift bag. "You'll be all right babe, we were lucky this time. Feel up to walking?"

"Sure." You reply instinctively. Years of security training told you when you were needed after all, and it certainly seemed like this was one of those times. Besides, it wasn't like you had a whole lot of other things to worry about doing right now. Besides, as your memory starts gearing up and churning out memories of how you ended up injured, it became obvious that sticking together was all for the best.

The objectively quick trip from the cabin you were just in seemed to take forever as you were forced to scale a tuft of newly fallen snow. It didn't snow often in this frozen wasteland... ironically the weather patterns tended to make it too cold to snow. During the 'summer' it did though, and they were right smack in the local equivalent of early-mid August.

When you finally get to the cabin in question, the sight horrifies you to a point that fear penetrates to your very soul. A Betazoid woman, her blouse half-torn open, cradling what looked to be a Klingon skeleton that was just too stubborn to allow major organs like skin to melt away. By what miracle the man is alive is any one's guess.

"Cassie, the medicine isn't working, his fever..." the crying, disheveled (putting it mildly) woman muttered nearly incoherently in between heavy, frightened sobs. Her ghastly thin hands caressing the unnaturally pale skin of the Klingon man.

"All right darling, let me see it." She checks the vial, only immediately to growl in disgust. "Son of a bitch diluted it... watered it down. How many injections did you give him Dwa?"

"Just the one, like always."

"Give me the other vials."

Dwa passed on two other vials, which Cassie immediately breaks the seal on.

"What are you doing?" You ask, your limited knowledge of medication as passed onto you in the required first-aid classes taken at the academy telling you it is 'never' a good idea to administer medication once the seal had been broken.

"He's too cheap to have watered it down with anything 'but' water." Cassie explains, prepping three empty vials from her bag. "With the seals broken, the water will freeze. Once that's done, we can pour the actual medicine into another vial, re-concentrate it."

"But the medicine..." you start before being cut off.

"Is Acetasynphine, it has a much lower freezing point than water. It'll be fine." Cassie replies.

Traditionally the Klingon, were he a human patient on Earth about two centuries ago would've been prescribed Acetaminophine with Codeine to reduce his fever. That medication had addictive qualities however, qualities that eventually lead (during the Medical technology revolution of the 21st and 22nd centuries) to the development of Acetasynphine, a more potent, less addictive medication that specialized in reducing fevers and decongesting the respiratory system. At least that was what she was babbling to you while you waited. It was easy to recognize the chat session as a way of distraction. A way of coping with stress and nervousness...

So you try the same on Dwa, hoping to ease the burden on her while they waited. She tells you everything you ask her to, though obviously too distressed to fully think. You find out she was indeed Betazoid, but born on Alpha Centauri. She was a Science officer on her ship, an astrophysicist to be specific, and came across her husband while her ship was working with the Klingons in the Cardassian occupation forces following the Dominion War. She tells you about how her away team was under fire by a squad of Jem H'adar soldiers who hadn't been told the war was over, how transporting up was impossible, how the Klingon force stole them away, and he followed by stealing her heart. There was a traditional Klingon ceremony for their wedding, which was a year after they'd originally met. No children as of yet, but they had been hopeful... 'before' being captured.

And even in being captured, he defended her to his practical death. He had been badly injured when their ship was evacuated, and the conditions on the planet made those injuries worse. She descended into tears again, leaving you at a loss for words.

"Please, please Cassie you have to help him!" She turns back to your de facto companion, whom after more than an hour was just now finally satisfied with the quality of the medication to administer a second injection.

"You have to help him Cassie, he can't die now." She went on, smacking the tears from her eyes in a frenzied fashion, even as you try your best to console her. "I love him, I need him... he's my hero."

"I know darling." Cassie gave a small, reassuring smile before taking her hand... and unconsciously taking yours as well. "I think we all need our heroes."