OOC: Not that anyone can tell what with all my posts regarding events on Alpha KS-128, but the Marines are actually back aboard the ship and participating in the games. Feel free anyone to drop by for a JP!
"Feels Like Home"
Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
=====================================
(Marine Country- On the way to Sickbay)
Leah was privy to many things as the unit's informal Aide de Camp. In addition to having her own little kiosk of sorts at the front of Marine Country, all communications heading to the Colonel not directly transmitted to him came through her first. That included things like arrival of supplies, many of which had come aboard the Galaxy if not directly replicated there in the days following their last battle. She also got reports of the arrival of replacement staff... and had become the first point of contact between graduated Marines and their new assignment save for those that the Colonel could make time to meet personally... something that tended to happen usually with new officers or senior Non-Comms only. Being an active commander meant engaging in the same training your Marines were, and good as he might be at handling responsibility, not even the Colonel could be in two places at once.
And then there were times like this. By Standard Operating Procedure during wartime, all guests coming into Marine Country had to be escorted in. Given the nature of the enemy, one who had demonstrated incredible skill for covert insertion and genetic manipulation, fairly intrusive medical examinations were required. This meant a full pre-shuttle flight medical evaluation including blood-work, a cleared escort to the shuttle, a second blood-analysis once 'on' the shuttle, continuous automated sensor re-evaluations while 'on' the shuttle, and one more complete work-up once aboard the Galaxy.
The name of today's guests were Le'lei and Koren Arvelion. Her promptness wasn't borne from anticipation... in fact she was rather dreading this tour. The Colonel was a rather private person, even for a guy. Almost to the point of being reclusive in fact. She doubted very much it was an inherent trait, and as her mother used to say 'the peach didn't fall far from the tree'.
=================================================
(Marine Country- On the way Back from Sickbay)
She was rather surprised, and pleasantly so! Far from being the silent automaton Leah had feared, Ms. Arvelion was actually very open. They discussed her shuttle ride, the weather on Al'Klei'sh, and reluctantly... everything she felt 'comfortable' disclosing about the operation of Alpha KS-128 and 129... less than the FNN had deemed worthy to report. Ms. Arvelion seemed to take it in stride though... either the woman considered her some blonde bimbo who didn't know what she was talking about, or she understood military matters to the extent that she knew better than to probe.
Leah hoped it was the latter.
The little boy in Le'Lei's arms watched Leah with a pair of the most beautiful color changing eyes she'd ever saw... drifting between brown, green, near blue, and back again. She wondered if it had something to do with his emotions, or if it was just the way the light seemed to catch off his iris'.
The boy shyly tucked himself against his grandmother's shoulder, averting his eyes bashfully. She couldn't help but smile... he was absolutely adorable. The family resemblance was a strong one for sure.
Grandmother... Leah was having difficulty with that particular concept. Le'lei didn't look a day over 30, let alone old enough to be a 'Grandmother'. 'Wow... I hope I look that young at 97.' She mused to herself, listening topically as the woman opposite her went on about, understandably, wanting to meet her son for the first time in nearly two years.
Inevitably, the conversation turned towards the Colonel. Personal information was a good thing to have for a variety of reasons... the ability of a favorite dessert to ease tensions after a really bad day for example was a prized one. Besides, as the Aide de Camp she was supposed to know these things, or so Leah believed anyway. It was his fault anyway, if he was more forthcoming with information this kind of peaceful interrogation behind his back wouldn't be necessary.
"So Misses Arvelion..."
"Please afidav, call me Le'lei."
"Le'lei..." Leah corrected herself with a graceful southern nod. "If I may ask, is your husband a conversationalist?"
"No afidav, he's a Chanian just like the rest of us."
Leah blinked at the seemingly irregular response. "Chanian?"
"Yes, Chanian." Le'lei smiled while she too dwelled, wondering how best to explain it as they walked. "Like for instance, some humans historically are muzzle-slim, some are chewish... some worship the puppet?"
"Pardon?" Leah's brow furrowed until that magical moment where everything seemed to make sense. "Oh! You mean muslim, jewish, and pope..." sweet Jesus, where did she begin in explaining just how 'wrong' that was? "... not quite how it works ma'am, but I'd meant conversationalist, not conversionalist."
"Oh!" Le'lei chuckled softly. "I apologize afidav, I meant no offense in mispronouncing. You humans with your fine distinctions in religious interpretation... as far as I know it's the same God in the end anyway. In either case yes, my husband, Cor'dat, is very talkative. So much so that at times it's virtually impossible to get him to stop yammering...only way to shut him up is with a kiss."
Leah laughed now. "Sounds romantic."
"I gave up on romance three decades ago my dear Private Owen, now my sole concern is effectiveness."
"Does it work?"
"Hasn't failed me yet." Le'lei smiled. "Though I have sometimes ended up with more than I originally... ummm... what is the term?"
"Bargained?" Leah could see where this was going.
"Yes, bargained for, thank you." Le'lei patted Koren's back. "In fact it was his refusal to quiet down about a disagreement that lead to For'kel's conception."
Leah blushed, they were getting a little further than she intended but a part of her, some gnawing aspect of femininity, wanted to know. "Really?"
"Well... I guess we were mutually at fault, I wasn't too quiet either." Le'lei smiled and winked.
'Go grandma!' Owen snickered internally. "That must have been some fight."
"Arguments come and go afidav, but a true lover will still be there in the morning." Ms. Arvelion offered, sharing some folksy wisdom. "When you marry, you will understand that it's much more important to have that security and stability throughout life, than to win any petty argument." Besides... sex was a great way to resolve debates.
Leah nodded, filing that little quote away later if she ever need repeat it to, say, play a prank and file it in an after action report before sending it out. "So, does Colonel Arvelion have a favorite dessert?"
"For'kel is just like any other man, afidav. Regardless of their species, they all have stomachs, and they all eat practically everything in sight. I guess if I had to choose a dessert he seems to enjoy the most, it would be anything with strawberries or chocolate... or chocolate covered strawberries."
"Strawberries? Really? That sounds kind of... girly."
"Well when he first introduced me to his wife, beautiful woman Berilyn was, she baked a layered cake with strawberry filling, and on the top were chocolate covered strawberries... granted any dessert your lover makes for you is that much sweeter, but it 'was' delicious. He's always enjoyed strawberries though, even back when he was a kid... oh did I tell you the story about his first year in school yet?"
Leah shook her head. If the Colonel's Mom wanted to keep chatting and spill the dirt she was more than willing to play accomplice.
"Well we were taking him home after his very first day... first 'argument' that Cor'dat and I had regarding him actually. It must have been, I don't know, 20 degrees that day but that's not important. We're in the car heading home and I ask him how his first day at school was. He said it was fine, and started going through the list of things he did. The introduction to the alphabet, reading, numbers and math, his colors... and then he started on play time."
Leah nodded.
Le'lei continued, fighting back a laugh with a warm smile in remembrance. "Well, I asked him what he did during play time. He said Mister De'vre, his teacher, had taught him how to share, and that he got an award star for being a good boy because he let the girls play with his balls. Naturally my husband tells him "that's good, very good! Never be afraid to let the girls play with your balls."
She almost hit the deck, Leah was laughing so hard. So hard that it felt like she was tearing up and on the verge of having difficulty breathing. She clutched her stomach, leaning up against the bulkhead for support. It was too good to be true... that was definitely something she was going to have to hold in reserve.
"So I hit Cor'dat's shoulder, but I was too busy trying not to laugh to actually do anything more than tap him. Good thing the car was driving, otherwise we may not have made it home. He was such a cute child, much like little Koren here."
"Absolutely adorable, I'm sure." Leah sighed, doing her best to quell the few laughs she still felt in the pit of her aching stomach.
"Da-da!" Koren called out like the good little early-alert canary he could be.
"Hey, buddy!" For'kel smiled broadly when he saw the trio coming down the corridor. Koren held out his arms for his father, his fingers making a grabbing motion until he could lock his little arms onto his daddy's shoulder. "I'm so glad to see you!" He and his mother exchanged kisses on the cheek and touched foreheads in greeting.
"Welcome to the Galaxy, Matir."
"Thank you For'kel." Le'lei grinned.
"I'll let you be now Colonel, everyone made it out alive."
"Thank you Leah." For'kel smiled.
"Oh, and by the way sir, you may want to be careful about what you share." Leah couldn't resist.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Fork smirked, watching his Aide walk away. When she didn't, or couldn't, answer he turned to his mother. "What did she mean by that?"
"Nothing sov'an (darling)." Le'lei shook her head and patted her son's cheek. "Sweet woman your Private Owen, very kind. In fact everyone aboard has been incredibly welcoming, and the ship is extremely impressive For'kel." She patted her son's shoulder "Would you give us a tour?"
"Seriously... what did she mean by that?"
"Don't be paranoid dear, it doesn't suit a Marine."
OOC happens before K'aa heads off for the array side-mission, and
naturally after the Bainbridge plot.
"Welcome Back Kitter"
Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, Chief of Operations
Lt. Le'on Khatrowen, Security Kitty
"Welcome back to the Galaxy, Lieutenant. Did you have a good trip?"
"Da, Comrade." Le'on said to the human that looked thin as a rail. He
briefly considered the prospect of seeing if even he could toss this
human. The man looked like he was a survivor of the human holocaust
during the mid 1900s. "Lieutenant Khatowren reporting for duty, as
ordered." He said, introducing himself.
"My name is... Jones, and I'm the Ops Manager filling in for Mister
Jamson", the thin man said with a broad, toothy smile. "We're a little
pressed for time, so I've had your billet and quarters pre-assigned
and ready for you to move in. Care to see them?"
"Da, so long as I am not stuck with lizard again." Le'on half
said/half muttered. He knew that K'aa was onboard the Galaxy and
wondered if the oversized lizard had ever gotten over Le'on chucking
him out of a holographic airlock. 'Heh. He had that one coming for
shoving me into da Cowboy's hind end.' He thought with a slight
Caitian chuckle. He had the image of K'aa flying end over end into
holographic space framed shortly after the incident.
"Lizard?", the Commander asked without changing his beaming
expression. "You've met Doctor Chaar, the ship's dentist then?"
"Nyet..." Le'on said, realizing that he spoke probably a little too
loud. "I have not met dentist. I was referring to Gorn I used to room
with." He said. "Out of curiosity, do I have roommate? Or by some
miracle has quarters finally been invented for someone my size that
does
not include cat castle and ball of yarn?"
The Ops officer's grin widened. "Well.. space has been limited as of
late, with the expansion of both the Aerospace group and the Marines.
You have two actually, but you should be relieved that neither is
known for their sense of humor - and there'll be nary a scratching
post
to be seen or catnip mousie to be seen. I promise, though I do
believe someone's left a bottle of ??????? ???? on the coffee
table."
"And some milk with it would make it perfect..." Le'on said, licking
his
chops as he anticipated making his favorite drink. When he noticed the
human looking at him, he gave an innocent little cough into his paw
and
continued on forward. He wasn't particularly thrilled at the prospect
of having two roommates, let alone ones who probably wouldn't be able
to
take a joke. Thoughts of Kaa back on the Miranda sprung into mind.
"Vhat about roommates? Who are dey?" he asked.
"Members of the Navigational project in some capacity... I forget
their actual role", the Commander said as he stopped at a door.
"They're currently 'on shift', but I'm certain you'll be seeing them
soon. Well... here we are, Lieutenant. Care to take a look?"
Le'on cautiously looked in, wondering if there was going to be an
extremely large lizard ready to pounce on him in a moments noticed. He
then saw a well stocked wet bar that was just his size. He licked his
lips as he saw this. It was almost too good to be true. "Vhen do
junior officers get a bar comrade?" he asked.
"You'll have to ask your roomates", the Operations officer said
smiling. "Certainly Ops hasn't outfitted the piece, or the libation
within."
"Roommates... Da..." Le'on said, stepping inside. He glanced around
again. "Then vhy do I not see other's belongings?" he asked,
scratching
his furry head with a single claw.
"I can't say that I know your roomates well - they have only
rudementary
contact with Operations at the best of times", the officer said
carefully with a step past the room's threshold. "They're not exactly
known for their materialistic nature. In fact, now that you mention
it,
I don't really remember them with anything 'personal' other than what
they have with them. You'll understand as soon as you meet them.
Anyways, I do have some other duties to attend to. Is your billet to
your liking Lieutenant?"
There was still a nagging sensation in the back of Le'on's head, but
the
Ops Human seemed sincere enough. He just shrugged and walked into the
room, shrugged off his pack and began to take in his surroundings. A
bit bigger than his quarters on the Bainbridge, but they'd work.
"Excellent", the Ops officer drawled ominously as he took a step back
into the corridor. "Computer: disable hologram and execute K'aa
protocol
'ek sheth ch'ouill'."
K'AA!? HOW!? Le'on's mind whirled as he saw the smiling human. Le'on
saw K'aa's name on the manifest, but had yet to see the Gorn anywhere.
The lousy lizard must've convinced this human to lull him into a false
sense of security or something. 'I'm gonna kill him AND his human...'
he thought. But just as the human smiled and finished the command, the
'room' disappeared and suddenly the suite was gone, and Le'on was
standing on forcefield over the Galaxy's whale tank. Forcefields over
door and vents as well. Damn... Deep down, Le'on knew this had to be
the holodeck...
But it was going to be just as wet regardless...
Le'on had instinctively gone to all fours, his claws out, making the
forcefields shimmer with the contact. He looked up at the human,
trying
to calculate just what kind of distance he needed to clear in order to
get back to the door relatively dry.
"My friend... you recall the Klingon adage that 'revenge is a dish
best
served cold'?", the thin man asked with a wide, manic smile on his
face.
"It's a corruption of a much older, more superior Gorn recipie.
'Revenge
is a dish best served warm... and wriggling.'"
Le'on's eyes narrowed. "You signed own death vish vith by siding vith
lizard..." Le'on growled. "Tell K'aa to do own dirty work from now on
and you von't get hurt, da?" he then had an afterthough. "And if you
haf pictures, I vill take my time sharpening claws on you bones..."
"An empty threat, Le'on. There's nothing you can do to this flesh that
the Hydrans have not already done." The thin human eased his smile
ever-so slightly, looking down at the diminuitive Cairian with a look
of
complete satisfaction. "Your little prank sending me through the
holodeck airlock on the Miranda took some living down, vermin. I'll
confess that your transfer to the Bainbridge was disappointing, as I
prefer my revenge fresher than most. Still, it really is... heh...
good
to see you. Here. Now."
Now Le'on was more confused... "Vhat are you talking about? You?
K'aa
is oversized lizard..."
"No", the Ops officer drawled, the cold, humorless smile back. "I
*am* K'aa... and revenge *will* be mine!"
Le'on vowed that he'd get to the bottom of this little mystery, as
soon
as he got out of the bottom of the oversized fish tank he was about to
be dunked in. "You do realize, of course, dis means war, da?" he
stood
up defiantly and crossed his arms. "Do your vorst. I can come up
with
better prank than simple holodeck..." he said with a slight smirk on
his
face.
"War is another Gorn recipie, one I look forward to tearing into
sooner than later. Did I forget to mention that the whale tank's
sanitary pumps have been undergoing service for the last few hours?
Seventy-two thousand kilograms produce a *very* large ammount of
waste, Le'on. I'd keep my mouth closed if I were you."
The kitty's smirk didn't last long as the forcefield disappeared,
sending Le'on into a freefall that ended with him splashing into the
tank. The humpbacks looked at the waterlogged feline with a curious
look in their large, intelligent eyes and their song echoed their
interest... and their amusement. Needless to say, the kitty swam as
fast as he could, all the while cursing the Gorn/Human for having no
sense of humor whatsoever. After all, it wasn't like Le'on blasted
him into an actual vacuum or kept him lingering long or anything...
Well... maybe he was upset at the pictures that Le'on had posted on
FedNet...
~Finally~, K'aa thought in triumph. ~A practical use for these
accursed cestaceans on a starship!~ The Ops Chief watched the
dripping wet Caitian emerge from the hazy salt water seemingly at hald
his usual diminutive volume as his soggy fur clung close to Le'on's
wiry frame. Above the constant flow of Russian obscenities, K'aa
could see the same cold, vendictive glare that he remembered from the
Miranda, and knew instinctively that while the battle had been won,
the war was far, far from over. The thought of the upcoming conflict
brought another unfamiliar smile to his lips.
"Welcome back, Le'on."
OOC: The start of the series I mentioned back in the summer. Law school got in the way, so I'm going to post it piece by piece until it's all out of my system. For those of you who have already contributed, I apologize for having to take liberty with your entries, but I've tried staying as true to your replies as possible. For those of you who would like a cameo (those of you who've already let me know I still have you on the list) please just let me know and I'll do my best to give everyone a part. Fair warning, it's going to be a very long running story.
Likewise the following prologue more accurately reflects what we know to be the history of things, so it should replace any previous prologue I tossed out there a while ago.
"The Eagle, Ensign, And Anchor" Prologue Part 1
Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
========================================
(Marine Country: USS Galaxy- January 1, 2386)
The official name was 'Operation Justice'.
For the millions of people who participated in it, it was known as The Christmas Offensive.
But history would always remember it under the more obvious campaign name...
THE LIBERATION OF CARDASSIA
For two years now the Triad had battered on the Allies. The Romulans had essentially been knocked out of the war by a surprise Hydran offensive before there even 'was' a war. The Klingons had been bruised by the combination of T'kith'kin and Breen assaults, while the Federation had to contend with the full fury of the Hydran Star Empire, as well as it's axis partners. For two years, save for a few sterling instances, the Triad had run the war. They picked the times and terms of engagements... they chose the tactics and strategies that had to be employed... they had the initiative at all times.
And after what everyone had witnessed in the war, he and other field officers had finally been able to convince the brass that these conditions were unacceptable.
By now Colonel For'kel Arvelion and his small but hard hitting force of Marines were veterans of the battle for Alpha KS-128 and the campaign to free Delta IV. They'd seen some of the most brutal fighting possible... the Hydrans 'really' didn't want to give up their hold on Delta IV.
But the fight for Cardassia promised to be even harder. Cardassia had always been one of the most fortified worlds in the Galaxy... even in the latter days of the Dominion War the prospects of a land invasion froze the blood of Starfleet's commanders. The Triad forces in Cardassian space had two full years to prepare for the oncoming assault. They weren't going to make things easy.
But the strategic situation was drastically different from where it was in 2384 and 2385. Fork and his unit had made contact with the Freed Cardassian forces in the Badlands, and the Galaxy had played a key role in helping organize a combined Allied attack in the area, isolating the massive Triad force in the Cardassian Union and essentially encircling them. The Romulans, thanks to some fine Diplomacy on behalf of Captains Picard and Elaithin had taken the time to reassemble their forces and take their revenge against the Hydrans, and the Klingons had struck an astounding victory against the T'Kith'kin in a deep raid that destroyed a hive-ship and soldier production center wholesale. Things were pretty bad for the Triad.
That didn't mean they were going to just give up though. They had some of their best trained, most experienced units in Cardassia, and had command of the Cardassian economy to fuel their occupation force. If they wanted Cardassia, if they really REALLY wanted Cardassia, it was going to have to be pried from the Triad's cold, dead hands.
The 188TH would be playing a small role in a much greater scheme.
"Attention on deck!" Leah called out, the Marines snapping to as their leader walked in.
"Ladies and gentleman, you've all seen the President's pre-recorded message so I'll make this brief. In ten days two fleets will make a concerted effort to eliminate all enemy forces in the Cardassian pocket, The combined battlegroup from the Badlands, consisting of Romulan, Cardassian, Federation, and Klingon units will attack along the X and Z vectors of the pocket, while a second Federation and Klingon force moves in from the Y vector to cut off any escape route. In support of this operation, the 188TH is being sent to link up with and help organize resistance forces already in place on Cardassia and on various key worlds. We will be at our targets in three days. You all have a general idea of what needs to be done, and specific assignments will be issued to you once you're at our destinations. Over six thousand ships and twenty million troops are going to be taking part in this operation. Remember your training, remember that you represent this unit and the Starfleet Marine Corps, and remember the ideals and reasons that brought you here. Questions?"
The Marines were dead silent.
"All right Marines, let's make history. Move out."
"Round Three"
Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO, USS Galaxy
Lt. Cmdr. Aron Vira, Chief Counselor, USS Gorgon
*****
Epsilon Four "Demeter"
Holodeck Complex
Quarterfinals of the marksmanship competition were well under way, but at the moment Iniara's mind was on something else entirely. This time, it was her turn to initiate contact with her strange acquaintance.
"Good afternoon, 'Commander," she began, sliding into a seat across from him.
Aron smiled slightly as he watched her sit. "Hello there." He paused for a moment before adding, "This is unexpected; I thought you didn't want anything more to do with me."
Ignoring his comment, Iniara continued. "I did a bit of research. You never told me you were favored to take the gold in this event."
"Well, you never asked," Aron replied with a shrug. He leaned back in his chair, considering where to go next. "I didn't think you would care either way. You're expected to make it to the finals now, too...do you feel threatened by me?"
Iniara's eyes narrowed slightly. "No."
"Didn't think so. Look, I'm up next...do you want to grab something to eat and chat a bit after we're both done? I know I promised not to bug you after last night, but, well...you initiated," he finished with a smirk.
Well, he had her there, Iniara thought. Plus, she found it pleasantly surprising that he was being much less annoying than he had been in their previous meetings. "Sure," she answered after a moment. "What could it hurt."
"Excellent. How about 1800 hours at the Kidaria Cafe? I've been meaning to check that place out."
"Sounds fine to me."
"Alright, I'll see you there." Pushing his chair back from the table Aron stood and turned towards the exit. "Oh, and good luck today."
Iniara nodded. "Thanks. You too."
*****
Epsilon Four "Demeter"
Kidaria Cafe
For some reason, Iniara found herself wanting to be the first to arrive. The feeling was a bit strange to her, since in their previous meetings she'd found Aron Vira to be annoying, too forthcoming for her tastes, and perhaps even a bit overbearing. But, his behavior earlier in the day had been much more agreeable, and so before, during and after her match with the young Security Lieutenant from the USS Mondial, Iniara had found herself wondering what version of the man was the real version, or even if any of the ones she'd seen yet were the real him. Maybe the cocky swagger and flirtatiousness was just a front. Wouldn't be the first time she'd met someone like that.
So, she'd decided to get to the cafe about fifteen minutes early, intending to use the extra time to find a suitable table, relax a bit, and maybe get a drink in her system before he arrived. Sure, the drinks were likely to be made with synthehol (like every other establishment on the planet, it seemed), but it was the thought that counted.
Unfortunately for her, it seemed Aron had the same idea.
"You're early," Iniara said as she approached the booth he'd claimed near the back of the narrow restaurant.
"So are you," Aron returned.
"Fair enough. How did you fare today, then?"
"No contest. You?"
Iniara shrugged slightly, settling herself onto the cushioned bench seat. The high walls of the booths offered a fair amount of privacy, of which she was glad, especially because she had no idea where this was going to go or who she might be likely to run into while she was here. "Same."
"Nice." Aron smiled slightly as their waiter approached at the perfect moment; the Betazoid had taken the liberty of ordering drinks for the both of them. Taking the round, globe-like glasses from the man, Aron passed one to his companion and then raised his own glass. "In that case, may I propose a toast...to an exciting conclusion to the competition."
Iniara automatically picked up her glass and clinked it against his. Bringing the glass to her lips, she sniffed the cool, reddish liquid experimentally, then looked back at Aron. "What is this?"
"It's red wine, specifically a Benzite Gamay-type produced in the northern latitudes of this planet," he answered, taking a sip from his own glass. "Try it."
"It smells fruity," she commented, tipping the glass back and letting a bit fall into her mouth. "Tastes fruity too."
Aron's slight smile grew into a wide, slightly sarcastic grin. "Well, imagine that."
"Not bad, though," Iniara added, setting the glass back on the table. She suddenly had the urge to consume some salty food to balance the sweetness of the wine. But, she reminded herself, first things first. For the moment, food could wait.
"Although...it wasn't wine we came here to talk about," she continued almost immediately.
"Very true," Aron replied with a slow nod. "What would you like to talk about, then? Where should we begin?"
Iniara didn't need to think about that for very long. "The beginning, of course."
TBC
"Nothing Really Matters"
Cmdr. Arel Smith (Mek)
Lt Commander Jan Hoffman Spengler (Chris)
****
USS Galaxy
Arel's quarters
****
Arel had always been hard on furniture.
It was something that she (and Maintenance) had learned to accept over
the years; furnishing a home was difficult when you had the
temperament of a Klingon. Tables, chairs, and sofas were no match
against pent-up anger and frustration and they never had the good
sense to move out of her way.
This was probably her tenth coffee table in the past three years, Arel
reflected as she stared down at the broken shards of glass and chunks
of wood.
At least she hadn't broken the computer again. Yet.
Arel stomped over to her computer, glass crunching under foot, and
threw herself down in the chair with a grunt. She probably should have
stayed a bit longer in Sickbay -damn that pthak Spengler - but
couldn't stand to hear that girl scream 'murderer' anymore. Arel
wasn't a murderer. A killer, yes, but never a murderer. At least by
Klingon standards, she amended. Klingons killed left and right and yet
no one cried 'murder' unless an assassin's qutluch was involved.
Assassins were murderers, lowlifes who killed for money. Without
honor. Arel was not that. She might kill Rebecca Von Ernst in the
future - although the idea of killing the skinny Von Ernst seemed
ridiculous - but Arel would never *murder* her.
Not that she could justify something she would do, what?, twenty years from now.
"Smegging time travel," Arel growled as she stabbed the commands into
her computer. She needed to talk to her son. That would calm her down.
She couldn't stay angry for long when Korvin was smiling at her.
The same recording she'd been hearing for a week started to play. "Hi,
you've reached House Ralok. Sorry, we're not able to come to the
viewer right now. We've gone fishing. Leave a message and we'll get
back to you soon. BEEP."
"How many fish do you need, Father," She said through gritted teeth.
"Call me back. Soon."
Arel left the computer unsmashed and stomped back over to her couch. A
shitty fight, a disqualification, an undignified shove off a biobed,
an accusation of murder, and now she couldn't even reach her family.
Maybe there was still some punching bags in the gym left to obliterate.
::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::
A thousand kilometers away on the planets surface, Jan Hoffman
Spengler gingerly reclined back into the wooden deck chair and applied
an icepack to the back of his head.
He hissed slightly at the stinging there, relishing the memory of its
origin yet wishing it wasn't quite so tender all the same. ~Mein Gott,
woman,~ he thought, ~~I do not know whether to kiss you or hunt you
down and kill you.~~~
Yesterdays' fencing match with Arel Smith had ended badly. She was
disqualified, but Spengler was the one who ended up getting his ass
kicked. Still....the beating he received on the mat was merely the
preliminaries for what he hoped would be an even more interesting
beating she would give him later that night in his hotel room.
Alas, it was not to be. She had walked with him all the way back to
the door, before suddenly deciding to return to her ship for 'medical
attention' As if a Klingon needed such trivialities.
~~Indecisive wench.~~ he shifted the icepack gently. ~~~I do so wish
she would make up her mind.~~~
Stretching slightly in the deckchair, the Prussian born officer
watched the sun set over the beach while he tried to decide if the
beating on the mat left him in any condition for something similar in
the bed.
~~I should pay more attention.~~~ he mused.
Spengler's ruminations were disturbed by the slightly painful trill of
his private comm that threatened to split his aching head. Fumbling
for the tiny device, he was about to sling it out into the surf when
he noted the return ID.
A devious smile crossed his thin lips. "Arel, Mein shones kind. What
kept you? Its been what? Almost six hours?"
"I want a rematch."
"A what my dear?" he asked, "I'm so sorry but my ears are still
ringing from where you hit me I am afraid."
"I want a rematch. No weapons this time - you can leave your frelling
ep-stick behind."
"You want to beat me up yet again?" The German raised his eyebrows
and watched the waves crashing into the beach while he considered.
"Ach…very well. I am on my hotel room patio overlooking the North
Beach. Surely you remember where that is?"
The was no reply except an angry CLICK terminating the connection.
Sighing slightly, Jan Hoffman tapped a new number into his Comm. "Ja,
Room Service? Das ist 206. A light dinner for two bitteschon."
::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::
Ten minutes later, Arel stood next to his chair. She frowned down at
him. "This won't be much of a fight."
Spengler made no move to even rise from the deck chair. "Ach
Fraulein. Fight this…fight that How dreadfully boring. Can you not
see this beautiful sunset you are missing?" he waved lazily towards
the horizon. "Besides, as I recall you already vented your
frustrations once upon me ja?…….What new evil have I concocted to
deserve your ire?"
She scowled and sat down on the lounge chair beside him. "You got up
this morning, didn't you? And I'm not apologizing. You deserve what
you got."
"Deserve?" he glanced at her over the top of the tiny round sunglasses
he wore. "You disqualified yourself my dear remember. All my moves
were quite legal touches I'm afraid. I merely goaded you into losing
your temper in battle that's all ja?"
He turned back to the sea and readjusted his bruised body painfully.
"How else would you fight a Klingon except to use her weaknesses
against her ja?"
The slight jingle of a dinner cart arriving in the room behind them
interrupted any reply. "Ah…." Hoffman clapped his hands once.
"Roomservice…just in time. Perhaps you could eat a bite and
then…….then tell me what is really bugging you so much this fine
evening Mein sternchen?"
Arel laughed. "Like you give a shit." She looked over the cart before
grabbing a dinner roll. "Not that I mind. You want to be an asshole,
fine. I just thought ..."
"You did not think." Jan cut her off. "Had you done so you would not
have lost your composure yes?"
"I *thought* it would have been nice to have a real fight," Arel said,
biting into her roll. "No prompting. No holding back ... and instead
you keep stabbing me in the damn foot. Insulting."
"It was a competition Nich wahr?" Jan looked over the selection,
choosing a light lemon fish. "If you desire a fight for its own sake
the holodeck would be a better setting ja? You agree to a match based
on defined rules and yet complain when those rules are used to
maximize an advantage. For shame girl. What you call insulting, I
call tactics."
"What you call tactics, I call bullshit."
He played with his fork a bit. Small bites were necessary given the
pain associated with chewing at the moment. "So tell me then, my
vulgar young girl. You came down to seek your so called no holds
barred revenge on me ja? Why is this? Why me and not some
holographic monster or unsuspecting combat dummy? Do you hate me
because I am right? You realize your error ja?"
"I don't hate you," Arel said. She poked at the fish with her fork and
then decided to try some of the stringy looking noddles instead. "I'd
call it an avid dislike."
"Merely dislike? So there's hope for me yet. Shall I ring up for an
extra set of pajamas?"
Arel grinned at that and then shook her head. "Not going to happen, Spengler."
"You think?" he teased. "Why ever not?"
"Because you're bored and I'm lonely. It's not a good combination."
"Sounds like a perfect excuse to me, my dear. Either way you get out
your frustrations tonight, and I retain the use of all my limbs in the
morning ja?"
"If you're lucky," She replied in a lighter tone than she felt.
He watched the play of emotions across her features. Klingons never
really believed in hiding their feelings. "So," he sighed at last.
"The choice remains. You tell me why you are really upset....we chit
chat about it for awhile like good little starfleet officers, you make
an appointment to see your ship's councilor afterwards, or...."
he paused and offered her a cream covered strawberry, "Or we dispense
with the chat and do something to get you out of your mood."
Arel took the strawberry and popped it into her mouth. While she
chewed, she considered her options - fighting, talking, sex - and
decided that none of them had much appeal.
"I haven't watched a sunset in awhile," Arel said finally. "If you
shut up, you can stay."
"In my own room? How boring." There was small laugh as he lay back into his own chair and closed his eyes.
Perhaps she'd be here when the sun came back up again....perhaps not.
In truth it really didnt matter to either one of them.
OOC- Occurs just after arriving to the games, one week after "It's all in my head". Sorry for the backpost! Karma decided I've been entirely too healthy for the past 2.5 decades, and so I got sick a few weeks ago (ugh) and am just now feeling up to writing
~Process of Elimination, part 1~
Lt. JG T'Pei
Dr. Leronem Risdanach, Cognitive Neuropsychologist/Psychotraumatologist (NPC)
At promptly 1000 hours, T'Pei passed through the doors to the medical wing for her second meeting with Dr. Risdanach. The Neuropsychologist was sitting amidst haphazardly stacked piles of PADDs, which threatened to slide off of the lab research desk at any moment.
"Ah, T'Pei. Right on time, of course." The man squinted up at her over the top of a pair of tinted spectacles which perched on the end of his nose as carelessly as the PADDs on the table. "I," he remarked casually, "have just been doing a bit of research on you."
Her eyes lingered on his glasses. With little to occupy herself during her enforced off-duty time, T'Pei had spent several hours the previous evening reading about Efrosians, and Risdanach in particular. The glasses were to shift his vision from the infrared into the visual spectrum shared by many humanoid species, including Vulcans. Even with them, though, his species were virtually colorblind.
"You received your degree in cognitive neuropsychology from the Vulcan Science Academy," she remarked, sitting in the chair that he gestured to.
The Efrosian nodded, and smiled faintly. "You did your research as well, I see. It did not seem relevant the other day, what with you being in such a hurry to leave, but I do have experience with Vulcan specific neurotrauma, Lieutenant."
"Indeed," T'Pei acknowledged expressionlessly, appraising his reading material from across the desk.
"And what manner of research have you been conducting, Doctor?"
"Here. Please read this." He pushed a PADD towards her and T'Pei saw it was an article, entitled "Comparative neurological trauma in Vulcans and Romulans: The effect of emotion." Interesting. T'Pei glanced at the author. It was by…Leronem Risdanach.
T'Pei raised an eyebrow. "You have been researching your own article?"
The older man chuckled and waved his hand over the prodigious amount of reading material, barely avoiding knocking over the most precarious of the piles. "I find it helpful to refresh my memory. The article is mostly regarding the efficacy of utilizing Vulcan mental control techniques with Romulan patients. But, section 3.2 describes the etiology of mental trauma in Vulcans. You should take a look at footnote 5, on deep meditative states."
T'Pei scrolled down to the section he had indicated.
"5. Although extremely rare, several cases of catastrophic failure of the kan-sorn (Vulcan healing trance) have been noted previously (cf. Mettil 2379 for an overview). In one case study, the cause was found to be damage to the 3H-D-aspartate high uptake system of the vagal afferent nerves (T'Fal et al 2372). In all other documented cases, however, no biochemical factors could be isolated, and the cause of the disruption remains unknown, with subsequent death of the patient, often before reaching any form of medical care."
Looking up after reading the footnote, she found the doctor watching her expectantly, repeatedly twirling the ends of one pure white eyebrow between two long fingers.
"It is possible that my condition was caused by a neurological imbalance of some sort," she concluded.
"I thought you would say that." Dropping the eyebrow, the Efrosian leaned forward intently. "That is certainly a sensible hypothesis, yes. Except that, as far as I can tell, that wasn't the cause. While you were unconscious, we ran every single neurological scan in our arsenal. Despite the fact that you stubbornly refused to wake up, they all came back normal. Every one." Standing, Risdanach walked to the far wall and called up several diagrams. "In addition, as you no doubt remember fondly, I ran a full battery of behavioral tests on you two days after you awoke—word recall, habitual memory, short and long term memory, and muscle control—and the results are all within the normal range for a healthy Vulcan of your age."
"I was not in a usual situation. Perhaps the imbalance was related to my partial dimensional realignment, and has since corrected itself."
"That is possible, and I'm not ruling it out, yet. My medical instincts tell me that it is unlikely, though. You were no longer phased when you attempted the katric transfer, nor were you when you attempted the healing trance. And—Vulcans in extreme duress, either physical or emotional, have successfully performed both of these actions before.
"And so, I have to look to other causes. Hence, rereading my article. And, when I read that footnote, I went back to the original articles and I found something—one other case in which a Vulcan failed to enter the healing trance, but somehow lived. Following the incident, the patient went clinically insane. He was found to have lost all emotional and mental control. Brain scans showed areas in which neural activity had simply ceased. The author speculated that the cause of the problem was prior—undiagnosed—damage to the psyche. The patient's reduced mental control rendered him unable to enter the trance, and the failed attempt caused further, irreparable damage. This explanation has been questioned, but Mettil is Denobulan, so Vulcan criticism is perhaps to be expected."
The Doctor looked across the small room at T'Pei. He knew what he was about to say would not be a comfortable topic of conversation for a Vulcan, but there was no way around it.
"Let me cut to the chase," he said. "Not to sound insensitive, but by all rights, you should be dead. I don't know what's wrong with you, but something is wrong, even if we haven't figured out what yet. And, if we eliminate a simple biochemical imbalance as the cause, then even without direct proof, it seems more and more likely to me that the cause is related to your psyche."
T'Pei had remained silent through this monologue, assimilating this information and methodically working through the ways in which it could apply to her. At this point, however, it was clear that it did not apply to her. She had not experienced any psychic trauma of this sort, and was certainly not clinically insane.
"Doctor, as my neurological scans showed none of the abnormalities that were found in the other case, proposing mental trauma is not a tenable..." she began, but Risdanach cut her off.
"I realize that there are differences, but we must not overlook the similarities between your case and his," he replied gruffly. "Look—I am not questioning your abilities, Lieutenant. And I'm not proposing that we hold hands and talk about your 'feelings'. I've worked with a lot of Vulcans, and I understand that methods that work with other species simply do not apply to you. What I would like to do is to use my considerable knowledge, along with your considerable training, to ascertain what the problem is, which means working my way through all of the possible explanations. Doesn't that seem like a logical plan to you?"
Taking a seat, the Efrosian gave T'Pei a very long, hard look. The Vulcan woman felt her training and upbringing collide sharply, the former demanding that she choose the logical, dispassionate course of action, the latter insisting, however illogically, that an outsider could not possibly understand the Vulcan mind as well as a Vulcan, and therefore could not be trusted to make wise decisions regarding it.
She had never before realized just how incompatible that upbringing was with everything else she believed in. 'Fascinating,' she thought. 'The logic of the individual can be lost by the group, effectively making the whole less than the sum of its parts.'
And so, T'Pei made the third most important medical decision she would ever make.
"Yes," she said simply, "We will explore all possible explanations."
"The Cat, the Fox, and the Hound"
Pilot Elrin "Vixen" Kit'ari - Saber 6
Lieutenant J.G. Le'on Khatowren – Security Kitty
With… Rufus the Hound
========================
"Come on Rufus, time to go home."
The beagle to whom Elrin was speaking looked up at him with those sad eyes only a canine puppy could manage and then started slowly trotting ahead of his vulpine master. For his part Elrin was the most relaxed he'd been in a very long time. His previous pet, also a beagle, had been lost in the chaos of the fall of Deep Space 5. Just last week though this new puppy had been delivered and they were getting along perfectly. They were on their way back to Elrin's quarters after a nice long walk in the arboretum.
Totally out of the blue Rufus started sniffing around and then seemed to get on edge for a moment. He didn't normally do this and Elrin was a bit concerned. A moment later a shrill bark brought Elrin's eyes to the source of the beagle's concern. The greatest enemy of canine kind since time immemorial;
A feline...
Le'on was grumbling to himself as he walked down the corridor. "One vould think that dey vould replicate quarters small enough for me one of deys days…" he mumbled in his typical thick Russian accent, ticked off that once again he got a 'normal' sized set of quarters. He was hoping to at least get single enlisted quarters to himself like he had briefly on the USS Bainbridge. Heck, he'd settle for a converted cargo container provided that he didn't get 'accidentally' transported off of the ship at the next cargo transfer point.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts, and in getting to Main Security to report for duty that he didn't hear the barking until it was almost too late. He turned and was surprised to see not one, but two canines
bearing down on him! The smaller of the two appeared to be on a leash that was trailing behind it as it darted down the corridor towards him. The larger of the two seemed to be chasing the smaller one. Either way, Le'on wanted to be anywhere but there. Stuck in the middle of a corridor crossroads, there was only one place to hide at in a hurry; up.
Le'on ran to the nearest corner and clawed his way straight up wall, sinking his claws into the bulkhead. It was one of the perks of being smaller and lighter; he could actually do this now. He would've never been able to get away with this when he was regular sized. Then again, if he were regular sized, he wouldn't have to climb the walls in the first place like he was being chased up a tree. He looked back down at the small canine that was now jumping up and yapping at him. Le'on flattened his ears and hissed back in response. 'Dogs…' he thought irritably. 'Dere should be a law…' The barking continued and
Le'on hissed at him again, really wanting this pest to go away. But then again… there was still that bigger one coming down the corridor…
"Rufus, heel." Elrin shouted at the beagle as he tugged back hard on his leash. Rufus barked one last time before he calmed down. Elrin was quite embarrassed by his dog's behavior, even more so when he realized what...or rather who the hound was chasing. He'd heard about the diminutive feline Lieutenant but never thought Rufus would have reacted like this. Offering his other hand to the feline, Elrin said calmly, "Sir...I'm sorry. Rufus...he's just a dog...I'm really really sorry. Can I help you down?"
Le'on stopped hissing long enough to contemplate the larger of the two dogs. No... wait... check that. A large Fox. Inwardly, Le'on grinned. A Fox that owns a hunting dog. Maybe there was some justice in the universe after all. Le'on checked to make sure that the beagle was in check before shaking his head and jumping down, landing on all fours before standing upright again. "Not necessary comrade..." he said."Being size of housecat means I get leaping and landing ability of one." His ear twitched irritably as he regarded the beagle on the leash. "One problem with my species is that we do not get along vell with members of the canines. Being two feet tall does not make things better either..."
Rufus, though no longer looking to make a snack out of the Lieutenant was still sneering at him as a Klingon would regard a Romulan. Elrin, though visibly relieved still had an embarrassed look on his face.
"Still, I'm sorry. Rufus is still just a puppy and it was all I could do to get him to not chase me. He still does from time to time if I forget to bathe. He's definately a hyper little guy that's for sure.
"Are not all mutts?" Le'on asked with a bit of a sneer towards the dog. He caught Elrin's disdainful look of the term 'mutt' and he sighed. "I apologize comrade, but I do not appreciate being the subject of canine fetish over and over again…" he explained. "It leaves one… what is the term? Jaded?"
"Trust me, I understand. When I was much younger the next door neighbor had another hound who, well, made my life unpleasant." , Elrin was clearly making an attempt to grin but Rufus' continued low growl twisted the look into a sneer directed at the hound. He then bent down and scooped up the animal so that he wasn't on eye level with Le'on.
Le'on gave a little cat-like chuckle at the image of a terran hunting hound chasing a fox that was nearly three times it's size. It seemed to ring of poetic justice that one was now owned by said fox. "I guess I should introduce self, no?" Le'on said. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Khatowren. People usually call by first name; Le'on" he said, starting the introductions.
"Oh, yes...Pilot Elrin Kit'ari. But down in fighter country they call me 'Vixen'. Don't ask its a rather long story." Elrin had a look in his eye for a moment as if he was pondering something then he decided to say it. "I don't mean to be rude but aren't you a little short to be in Starfleet? I mean, I thought Lieutennant Shivar was short but...well...um..."
Le'on's ears flattened back. He was sure that his height and active status in Starfleet was setting some sort of record back on Earth somewhere. Moreover, he hated being reminded of it. He gave out a bit of a growl as he answered. "Some in Starfleet like to think so, Comrade, but I vas not always like this."
"Oh?", Elrin seemed genuinely curious but Rufus clearly wasn't as he tried to squirm away.
"Q" Le'on spat out. "He is vone who is responsible for dis!" he said with obvious hatred. "And just because I vas defending my captain no less!"
Elrin looked quizzically for a moment wondering how a letter could make someone into a kitten but then it finally occured to the vulpine what he was talking about. "Ah, yes, him. Heard of him. I can see why you'd be upset with him."
"Da…" Le'on said. There really wasn't more to say on the matter. Was there?
"Well, anyway, I apologize again sir. I heard you're going to be on our baseball team...sounds intriguing. I was a pitcher in my academy days so I couldn't help but go out myself.", Elrin replied trying to change the subject
“Oh Joy…” Le’on said, wondering what else would be in store for him in this madhouse. First being dunked into a fish tank, then chased up a bulkhead, now he’s gotta play ball? “Dis is icing on cake… no?”
Starfleet Third Echelon: The Bainbridge Chronicles
Act I: “The Last Note of Freedom”
Scene 9: “Loose Ends”
Away Team:
Captain Gabriel McKibben, Commanding Officer
Lt. Commander Alexander Clayton, Executive Officer/Chief Operations Officer
Lt. Tarik, Third Officer/Chief Science & Communications Officer
Lt. Le’on Khatowren, Acting Assistant Chief Tactical & Security Officer
Lt. (JG) Sannek Cole, Chief Flight Control Officer
Lt. (JG) Valdis, Intelligence/Strategic Operations Officer
Lt. (JG) Edward Barents, Assistant Chief Engineer
Ensign Lawrence Odan, Engineer
Ensign Jessica Linnis, Assistant Chief Flight Control Officer
Ensign Tal’Essa Damant, Tactical/Security Officer
SCPO Lucas Miller, Master-at-Arms/Brig NCOIC
USS Bainbridge:
Lt. Commander Jeremiah Leger, Second Officer/Chief Tactical & Security Officer
**********
Planetside…
The torpedo skidded to a stop in the soft desert sand a half of kilometer from the away team. It then shuddered and a furry leg kicked open the door on the front of the torpedo. Le’on spilled out and clutched his head. “Oooohhh… Vhy am I alvays one to be picked for dis sort of ting?” he asked to no one in particular. He then shook his head to clear the cobwebs, vowed to get revenge on Leger for stuffing him in the torpedo, and then got to work.
He clambered back into the torpedo halfway and pulled out his equipment. After he was suited up and had the backpack full of explosives secured on his back, he started running across the sand dunes to where the away team was at.
The Captain was grinning by the time Le’on ran up. “Leave it to Leger to come up with new and interesting ways of getting equipment onto the ground.”
“Vas dis or land de ship sir…” Le’on said, handing the backpack over.
McKibben shrugged. “Alright, let’s get to work here people. “Miller, Damant, divvy up those explosives. Clayton, take your team down the tarmac and strap your explosives to the ships. I’ll take my team and we’ll get the conference room and the generator core. Take out any targets of opportunity along the way and be sure that no alarms are tripped.” He looked at each one in turn. “Le’on, you’re with my team. Rendezvous back at the shuttles in fifteen…. Mark.” McKibben said, marking his time piece. Everyone else did the same then broke up into the respective teams.
**********
Fifteen Minutes Later… Back at the shuttles.
“Alright… we’re onboard, let’s lift off…” Clayton said into his commbadge as he boarded his team on the shuttle. It was one of the smoothest ops that he’d ever done.
“Love to buddy, but receiving is hot” McKibben said from his shuttle. “Looks like Leger has his hands full up there.”
Clayton grunted. “Figures he gets action when we leave the ship.” He said, looking at the sensor readouts over Linnis’ shoulder.
“Well, let’s distract them a bit. Detonating now.” McKibben said, keying the sequence.
Off in the distance, over the horizon the tarmac and the entire complex went up in a massive fireball. “Lift off.” McKibben ordered. “We can hide in the ionosphere until the Bainbridge is clear of the battle.”
**********
Twenty Minutes Later… USS Bainbridge Shuttlebay.
McKibben tried to look pissed, but really couldn’t stop grinning as he saw Leger waiting for them. “I tell ya, I’m not off the ship for five minutes and you have to get into a firefight with my ship?” he said, looking at the damage control crew scurrying about.
Leger shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a popular guy.” He said as he stepped back to let a couple of the shuttlebay techs to rush by.
“So what’s the damage?” Clayton asked, walking up.
“Other than the major damage we suffered at the Convoy Ambush?” Leger asked.
“No…” McKibben said. “The OTHER damage. Are we compromised?”
“No sir.” Leger said. “The only ships that got close enough to get any kind of a look at us are now debris circling the planet, you all destroyed the complex on the planet, and the other ships in the system won’t detect the traces of the battle until we’re long gone seeing as how they’re on the opposite side of the star here.” He explained.
“And so we remain ghosts in the shell…” McKibben said with a smile. “Let’s get outta here then people and report back. I have a feeling that this war is just getting started.”
TBC…
Starfleet Third Echelon: The Bainbridge Chronicles
Act I: “The Last Note of Freedom”
Scene 10: “Requiem”
Lt. Commander Jeremiah Leger - Second Officer/Chief Tactical & Security Officer
Lt Junior Grade Valdis – Intelligence/Strategic Operations Officer
Ensign Jonathon Sophen – Science/Communications Officer
**********
USS Bainbridge: Deck 3, Security.
The interesting thing about being on a ship in Third Echelon is that the crew was run more like a Klingon Ship than it was a Federation Ship. While open challenge for position was prohibited, the crew was encouraged to air out its differences in shouting matches, and sometimes in open combat. That was usually the case in the security department. During the first few weeks out, Leger oversaw a few ‘honor duels’ but after that, everyone settled and started working together.
Usually, honor duels didn’t leave the department that they were in. Occasionally, they crossed departmental lines.
Like today…
The Bainbridge was heading back to Federation space. Field Repairs was completed and all they needed was a nice break and dock in order to complete the more extensive damage from their battles. All were looking forward to the upcoming Starfleet Games. It was debatable on weather or not they’d still be held with the increase in hostilities between the Triad and the Federation. The Bainbridge would find out once they got back into their own sector and could break cloak and radio silence.
Leger knew that he would have problems the moment Ensign Sophen walked through the doors to security. Sophen had been wanting to ‘talk’ to Leger for some time now, but duties interfered. Leger was at the Central Security Operations Console for security going over data and intelligence with Lieutenant Valdis when Sophen stormed in and slammed his hands down on the console opposite of Leger; his eyes burning with hatred.
“We need to talk…” he growled as he pulled off his commbadge and flung it aside. That right there was the universal sign of a challenge on the ship.
Leger glanced up at him and arched an eyebrow. He calmly removed his own badge and handed it to Valdis, who backed away. Other members of security and intel who were in the room were stopping what they were doing to watch. “So talk then…” Leger said calmly.
“You were on the bridge when the convoy was attacked. You were the one responsible for coordinating the rescue of the survivors. And you were the one who was directing where the searchers were going and where the transporter activity was going.” Sophen said.
“Yes, and now I’m wondering where this train of thought is going.” Leger said.
“My wife died on the Courageous. My wife died while yours lives and is onboard this ship you bastard!”
“My parents are happily married thankyouverymuch.” Leger said. “So there is no need to get too personal in this.” He straightened up. “But you believe that I intentionally left your wife in favor of my own and you think that I can’t be objective in my duties, yes?”
“Couldn’t have said it better…” Sophen growled.
“Need I remind you that I shot my own wife on the bridge in order to protect the ship?” Leger said, now taking out his phaser and tossing it aside to one of his security team. Phasers were frowned upon during challenges. Leger figured this one was going to get physical. “I think that should prove that I can remain objective. Besides, I looked over the records, your wife had already been killed before the life pods were even launched. I’m sorry for your loss, I really am, but-”
“RAAGH!” Sophon screamed, cutting him off, his face contorted in rage. He took a running leap right over the CSOC, using one of the chairs to vault him over.
Leger had been anticipating this move. He stepped back and grabbed Sophen by the collar and spun, flinging him backwards… right into his own officer. Sophen landed on Leger’s desk and rolled off, coming up on his feet where Leger’s seat was.
That’s not all that Leger had back there.
A bit of dark bruising appeared on Sophen’s ebony skin as he glanced up and saw Leger’s array of Klingon weapons on the wall, he reached up and grabbed Leger’s Mek’leth. Then he held it with a smile on his face and gestured ‘come on’ with his free hand.
Leger wasn’t impressed. He reached behind him, grabbed one of his D’ktaghs, opened it up and flung it. The Klingon Knife sailed into the office and imbedded itself into the wall right next to Sophen’s head. Sophen’s eyes went wide as he glanced at the still quivering dagger.
Leger pulled out his second D’ktagh, opened it, and flung it as well, this time it hit on the opposite side of Sophen’s head. Sophen grinned weakly and dropped the Mek’leth. He raised his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. He knew that Leger didn’t have to miss.
“I don’t want to have to talk about this again.” Leger said, wagging a finger in front of him. “Now get out.” Sophen nodded, retrieved his badge, and hustled out. The security team resumed their duties.
Valdis handed Leger back his phaser and commbadge and followed him back into his office. “You seem… popular…” she said, taking a seat in Leger’s office. “This is the third person you’ve had to explain yourself to.
“Yeah…” Leger said, starting to put his things back in order. “But the only one I had to fight was Sophen.” He put his own chair upright and sat in it. He sighed. “Its hard losing loved ones. A lot of people tend to think that they have a monopoly on grief when a loved one dies.”
“We Vulcans tend not to get emotional when a loved one dies. Emotion can get in the way.” Valdis said.
“I agree, especially in our line of work.” He said. He then noticed a slight change in her posture. Subtle, but it was there. “What is it?”
“I have been meaning to talk to you as well.” Valdis said. “But not about the recent mission.”
Leger could guess. “Pratnar Two?” he asked.
Valdis nodded. “It has been almost a year now. I have been… curious… as to why the Captain selected me for this crew based on your recommendation. I was… weak… when I was captured and was unable to formulate any means of escape. You come in and arrange a way for all of us to escape in a matter of days.”
“Valdis… I recommended you because despite that everything you and your sister went through, you managed to keep your wits about you and when the time came to act, you saw the chance, however slight it might’ve been, and stepped up.” Leger explained. “I just wish that your sister would’ve made it out as well.”
“That would’ve complicated things seeing as how you two mated while she was in Ponn Farr…” Valdis pointed out.
Leger shrugged. “It was logical what she did both in Ponn Far and in the sacrifice that she made. But we adapt and we move on. That’s all any of us can do in any given situation.” He said. “That is why those who have suffered much in the past have been selected for this crew; we have suffered, we have had setbacks, we have had losses, but we all still keep our heads held high. That is why Starfleet knows that we can do the job when it comes down to it.”
END OF ACT 1.
"Attacked"
Ensign Alexandra Lee
PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell
Alex, dressed in her black and gold outfit stood in the empty arena, staring at the glass-like calm waters of the pool that had only a few hours ago contained six athletes, each giving it their best to take home the prized Gold Medal--the very medal that Alex now wore around her neck. The silence seemed eerie and lonely to Alex in the large arena. Tommorow the Women's Four-hundred Meter Relays would start and she was slated at the anchor position, who traditionally, was the strongest swimmer on the team.
The shadow-clad figure watched from nearby, dressed in a Starfleet cloaking suit provided by his employers. His breathing was slow and controlled. He hated his mission, but his employers had paid him well to take care of this woman who had cost them large amounts of money in the games thus far. 'Its just a job,' he mentally told himself as he tried to ignore the woman's beauty and innocence. Who's only crime was being too good at her chosen sport. 'Its just a job,' he told himself again as he moved out of the shadows and towards his target.
The short, steel pipe materialized out of thin air as it left the confines of the suit and in one fluid motion struck Alex in the back of the head.
The blow forced Alex to the ground, as her head hit the concrete floor, knocking her unconcious upon impact.
"Good bye," he replied simply as he shoved Alex's body into the pool with his boot and shoved the pipe back into his suit as it vanished from sight and the figure moved quickly into the darkness from which he had arrived.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Of all the times he thought his presence would have been requested, he didn't think that it would be at the Games, and certainly not for assault. Upon materializing inside the arena, he quickly made his way to where the throng of security officers were waiting. There was a MedTech present providing first aid and maintaining inline head and spinal immobilization.
"What's the story," he asked as he knelt down by a water logged unconscious Ensign. She was bleeding from the back of the head - or had been. The MedTech was good enough to stop and seal the wound.
"She appears to have suffered a head injury and has also aspirated some of the water from the pool. I administered Tri-Ox to try and displace the water, but the antiseptic compound in the pool may be causing more damage than I can provide care for." Indeed, the compound used to keep swimming pools clean these days was lightyears ahead of what used to be used on Earth - Chlorine. But no matter how far science has gotten, nothing that isn't supposed to enter the lungs could be good for the humanoid body.
"You did good," Max reassured the Tech. He tapped his CommBadge to open up a link to the Galaxy. At the same time, he pulled his medical tricorder out of his side holster and scanned the victim. She looked familiar, but he couldn't put a name to the face.
=/\=Galaxy, Moreno.=/\= Max groaned inwardly, but didn't have time to entertain personal issues.
"Moreno, I need a mag-lev stretcher and a spineboard beamed down to my location, pronto. Also, alert the trauma team that i'll be beaming straight into Sickbay with an adult female-" he glanced at the tricorder again, which listed everything that was wrong with her, as well as her name "-named Alexandra Lee, an Ensign, assigned to the Galaxy. She is presenting with an epidural bleed, and possible atelectasis from aspirating antiseptic fluid found in swimming pools."
After a pause, Moreno acknowledged and closed the frequency. Max wanted to see if he could help his team as well as Security get some answers. Pulling a hypospray and a vial from another pouch, he administered a stimulant and waited - hoping - that it would take effect.
Alex moaned as she felt a sharp, throbbing pain in her head as well as finding it difficult to breathe as a deep cough was forced from her throat.
"Ensign," Max inquired, "can you hear me? My name's Max. I'm a Paramedic from the Galaxy. I need you to try and respond to me."
Alex opened her eyes. The images around her were blurry at first and upon blinking a few times, the images became clearer.
"Wh...What happened?" she asked weakly.
"I was hoping you could tell me. From the looks of it, you took a nasty blow to the head and tried to learn how to breathe underwater without gills. I need to get you back on board for treatment." He scanned her head again, then continued. "There is a bleed in the space between your skull and your brain. It's not terribly severe at the moment, but it will as more blood accumulates and the pressure against your brain increases. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Alex did her best to try and keep her focus on the man speaking to her gave a slight nod, which caused her immense pain.
"Yeah...don't know...what...happened. Felt a...sharp pain...and...and then....blackness. Why....why did...this...happen?" She wanted to close her eyes and drift off to sleep so badly, but she remembered from her basic medical course at the Academy, that was the last thing she should do at the moment.
The stretcher and spineboard finally materialized somewhere behind Max, along with another MedTech. Quickly, and with fluid expert motion, her neck was immobilized in a C-collar, her body placed on the long stiff composite board, and moved to the anti-grav stretcher waiting silently.
"I need you to do everything you can to focus on my voice and stay awake, Alex. Do you understand me?"
"Yeah," her voice still weak.
"Maxwell to Galaxy, emergency transport directly to Sickbay, Trauma level 1 patient." Within seconds, the transporter field appeared, the arena faded away to be replaced by the sterile atmosphere of Sickbay, and a team of trauma nurses and doctors who were waiting for them.
"Twenty-seven year old female," he began his report while everything suddenly went into motion, "blunt force trauma to the posterior head, positive epidural hematoma upon scan, positive LOC, positive aspiration of swimming pool water, treated on scene prior to arrival with Tri-Ox and in-line spinal immobilization, current vital signs are..." As Max spewed his litany, Ensign Lee was already moved to a surgical biobed and many hands began probing and prodding her head, checking her extremeties for neurological deficit.
The doctors moving about her was too much for her to focus on and instead she decided to focus on the Spartan ceiling above her, attempting to find something interesting about the plain bulkheads above her and to ignore the glare of the painful surgical lights. Everything soon became a blur as she forgot about the world around her. 'Who would attack me?' she wondered to herself despite the pain that such thinking brought. 'I have no enemies...surely Amy wasn't behind this.....was she?'
"What's that, Ensign?" Max had noticed that Lee was murmuring in her increasing stupor. "You know who did this?"
Through her clouded and painful thoughts, she had heard the man and she knew that Amy would never resort to attacking anyone. Pranks were one thing but to attack and try to kill someone was another thing entirely. "No....sorry," she replied, wanting the pain in her head to go away.
"Right," he replied, though not thoroughly convinced. When the surgical resident was ready she nodded at Max, who in turn prepped a hypo with an anesthetic. "Alright. We're going to put you under so that we can take care of that bleed in your skull." He glanced up at her vital signs, and inwardly thought that they were getting started none too soon. He applied the hypo and as is hissed its release of drug whispered, "Sweet dreams, Ensign. When this is all over, you'll feel a hell of a lot better."
OOC: This post is supposed to occur in the evening of the same day as "Good Morning Games". It refused to write itself until now, and after a few hours of squeezing words out onto the screen I can't help but feel that it's far inferior to what I wished it would have been, but I need to give up and move on. Bah!
"Between the Lines"
Captain T'Vara, CO, USS Galaxy
Captain Jesprit Dvora, CO, USS Orobourous
*****
Epsilon Four "Demeter"
Cafe August
"So, how was your meal?"
The momentary silence broken, T'Vara turned her head slightly, absentmindedly staring at a corner of the small square table as she considered the question for a brief moment. "The meal was excellent."
"Good," Jesprit commented with a slight smile. "My Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Valdez, recommended this place; it sounded like something you'd enjoy."
T'Vara nodded. While away from the ship the Vulcan captain rarely dined out, instead preferring to take meals privately in whatever lodging she was occupying at the time. But, on the few occasions she ventured out, this was the sort of establishment she would look for. Cafe August was small, containing no more than a dozen tables, and was nestled in a building located well off any frequently traveled streets within the main city on planet Demeter. The place was quiet, decorated simply in an earthy palette, and was elegant without being pretentious.
In addition to its favorable decor, the restaurant's menu was something T'Vara also found pleasing. Apparently, Cafe August's head chef, a well-groomed human man named Auguste Villanueva, was an expert at several styles of cuisine popular throughout the Federation. But instead of a traditional menu, the chef enjoyed greeting and getting to know each of his patrons when they arrived, learning their culinary preferences and using that to prepare each person a custom meal. And he would prepare anything a diner asked for, so long as the dish did not call for meat or meat products of any kind.
Like most Vulcans, T'Vara was a strict vegetarian. She often found it strange that even in the peaceful and generally enlightened culture of Earth in the 24th century, many humans (and other races for that matter) still enjoyed consuming animal flesh as food. In her younger days T'Vara had found the practice somewhat odd and almost repulsive; after all, one could obtain all required nutrition from plant material alone, so the complex and often messy process of preparing animals to be consumed seemed like an illogical waste of time and resources. Now that she was older, T'Vara still considered the behavior strange, but had learned to accept it along with the other odd behaviors often exhibited by humans and the other more emotional, less disciplined races.
So, given her feelings on the particular subject, she naturally found the existence of a vegetarian restaurant run by humans and with a human head chef most satisfying. Although...the fact that Jesprit Dvora had volunteered this particular place was a bit...unexpected.
"I trust your meal was also to your liking?" T'Vara continued after a moment, her knowledge of protocol and social decorum clearly directing the course of the conversation thus far.
"It was," Jesprit replied with a nod. The Trill woman had initially been unsure that she'd made the right call with this restaurant; after all, she enjoyed the taste and texture of a juicy, well-prepared steak as much as the next carnivore (well, technically omnivore, but close enough). But, she'd wanted to do something nice for T'Vara; choosing a restaurant that the Vulcan woman was likely to enjoy seemed like a good start. Plus, she figured, one of Dvora's earlier hosts had also been a vegetarian, so there were always those memories to rely upon should the prospect of...salad...and...salad...only...become too much to bear.
Thankfully, she hadn't needed to rely on such tactics. Realizing one of his patrons was not accustomed to meatless cuisine, Chef Villanueva had decided to keep it simple with Jesprit's dishes. Perhaps wanting to show her what sorts of flavors could be experienced without the need to go overboard on exotic ingredients or complicated methods of preparation he had decided to go with several strightforward Terran dishes. The dish he called simply "orange tofu" had been excellent; the bright, citrusy sauce provided a perfect complement to the crispy outside and soft, silky interior of the golden brown cubes that composed the dish. That had been accompanied by a seaweed salad made from several varieties native to planet Demeter, and a small bowl of a lightly salted pod-thing called "edamame" (which she'd later learned was the same thing that was used to make the tofu), and finally followed by red bean ice cream. Jesprit knew of many red beans, some of which were salty, others of which were spicy, and still others of which were deadly to certain species, but she had never had any of them as flavoring for ice cream. Perhaps she would have to try that again someday.
Figuring that she should probably elaborate (after all, she was definitely the more talkative one of the pair), she added, "I...never thought vegetarian food could be so tasty. It's a shame it took me this long to realize that."
"Indeed," T'Vara replied simply. She'd never considered the taste of food to be anything more than a side concern, since taste rarely affected a food's nutritive benefits. But, it was illogical to assume that Jesprit felt the same way; in fact, her opinion on food was probably as different from T'Vara's as was her opinion on many other matters.
T'Vara considered that for a moment. Over the years that she had known Jesprit, T'Vara had come to learn that they were very different indeed. On one side T'Vara was a very typical Vulcan: very subdued and restrained at every moment of the day. And while Jesprit was capable of a comparable level of restraint, she was still an emotional creature and as such was occasionally influenced or even controlled by those emotions. T'Vara spent a great deal of time studying ancient Vulcan history, Jesprit was fascinated by modern cross-cultural fusion; T'Vara enjoyed classical music, while Jesprit spent her evenings listening to Klingon opera. In the center chair, T'Vara preferred to take a hands-off approach, usually letting her subordinates find their own way and guiding them only when the need arose, but Jesprit kept a close watch over her crew, by some accounts almost micro-managing them. They were even quite different physically: T'Vara was tall and statuesque with tanned skin, dark eyes, and dark hair cut short, but Jesprit was at least a head shorter and had pale, milky white skin with spots that were barely dark enough to be seen, long snowy white hair and silvery grey eyes, and had a medium build that was just on the edge of being called stocky.
"So, T'Vara, how are you finding your new command thus far?"
That was another difference between them-- T'Vara found long silences comfortable, but Jesprit often felt the need to fill them with conversation. She'd often communicated that particular preference to Jesprit, usually wordlessly, but the Trill woman occasionally seemed unable to contain her need to keep a conversation alive.
And yet, for all their differences, T'Vara felt a certain kinship towards the younger woman. Over the years they had known each other she had been unable to quantify the reaction or even adequately put it into words, and that confused her a bit, but it did not change the fact that the reaction existed. Curious.
"Galaxy presents a unique set of...challenges," T'Vara answered truthfully. "Although, without challenge there can be no growth."
"Very true." Jesprit fiddled with a stray piece of hair from the long, rope-like ponytail that cascaded down her neck and onto her shoulder. After a moment, she realized what she was doing and let go of the hair, pushing the ponytail behind her and folding her hands on the edge of the table. Vexing habit that was; it had been a nearly constant habit of Dvora's fifth host, Beran, who'd spent most of his adult life bald because he couldn't stop pulling his hair out one strand at a time. Jesprit had yet to get that bad, but she hoped someday she would overcome the compulsive need to tug at her hair.
"It's good to hear that you're...ah, enjoying Galaxy, then," the Trill added.
"The posting is favorable," T'Vara agreed with a single nod of her head.
Jesprit opened her mouth to say something, but instead decided to remain silent. Over the years she had tried to force herself to do so, especially since as a young woman she had been a chatterbox, always rambling on about something or other (or nothing at all), and that tendency hadn't really gone away once Jesprit Tolana had become Jesprit Dvora nearly forty years ago. Now...now that she was well into her sixth decade of life, Jesprit felt like she was almost ready to embrace the beauty of silence. To turn her thoughts inward and reflect upon them, or to silently observe the world beyond the tip of her nose, or simply to spend some time with the one person in the galaxy around whom she felt the most comfortable.
But, 'almost' wasn't quite there, and so before she consciously realized it, Jesprit found herself disturbing the comfortable blanket of silence that had nearly settled on the pair. T'Vara was watching something off in the distance through the picture window, but her attention returned to the room once she felt Jesprit's hand resting lightly on hers. "It's good to see you again, T'Vara," Jesprit murmured, smiling softly.
T'Vara's reaction was immediate, and exactly the same as it had been in the fifteen or so years since they'd first met. The Vulcan woman slid her hand back, then placed it on Jesprit's, the tips of the long, slender digits wrapping around the Trill's smaller hand. "It is," she replied in an equally quiet voice.
"Still can't get used to those cold Trill hands, huh," Jesprit commented, amusement clear in her voice.
"That is correct."
Jesprit smiled again and followed T'Vara's gaze back out into the garden beyond the window. This time, she was happy to let the silence return.
OOC: Occurs immediately after "Round Three". Also, I'm taking some liberties with Betazoid naming conventions, the calendar year, and probably some other things that I don't even realize, so if I contradict something that's already been established by another writer out there, I apologize.
"Do-Over"
Lt. Cmdr. Tarin Iniara, XO, USS Galaxy
Lt. Cmdr. Aron Vira, Chief Counselor, USS Gorgon
*****
Epsilon Four "Demeter"
Kidaria Cafe
"What would you like to talk about, then? Where should we begin?"
Iniara didn't need to think about that for very long. "The beginning, of course."
"The beginning?" Aron asked, a look of surprise on his face. "Well, if you must know...I was born Aron Tresteleyan Astora Merin'tevira of the Third House of Betazed, eldest child of Rellas and Reitan Merin'tevira. My birthdate is the third of Juran in the year 6505, or June 19, 2346 if you prefer the Terran equivalent, and I hail from the Areth Bel'nara region." Pausing, he leaned back into his seat and gestured with one hand toward Iniara. "Your turn."
"Iniara Alistrynia Teramynan Mellife--wait, that wasn't what I meant." She frowned, surprised that she'd made it that far before catching herself. Sure, that sort of formal introduction style had been drilled into her as a child, as it no doubt had with Aron as well, but she wasn't ready or even willing to divulge that sort of personal information. After all, that was who she'd been long ago...she was a very different person now. She sighed. "What I meant by 'the beginning' was...well, why me? Why'd you randomly strike up a conversation with me in the qualifiers?"
Aron was speechless for a moment, leaving Iniara to wonder if he was simply thinking, or if he was trying to poke around in her mind again. After a long stretch of silence, he finally replied with a single word. "Honestly?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Um, because I find you attractive and I want to get to know you better?" He ran a hand over his head, fluffing up the short brown hair in one spot. "Look, I said as much yesterday, and I'll say it again today, and I promise you it's not the alcohol talking, because even though this is real wine I haven't had nearly enough of it to impair my judgment. Is it that hard for you to believe?"
Iniara shrugged noncommittally. "It's just that...well...the last man who told me something similar ended up being probably the worst thing that ever happened to me." In her mind, memories of a time long ago came floating unbidden to the surface. "Have you...do you know what the term 'comfort woman' meant during the Cardassian occupation of Bajor?"
"I do." Aron paused as he thought about that; Iniara could almost see the wheels turning inside his head. A split second later his posture fell slightly as he continued, "Well, I certainly didn't mean to dredge up such painful memories for you. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea..." He trailed off, shifting in his seat, already preparing to leave. "I should probably go."
"No, wait," Iniara blurted out, one hand moving to catch his arm before he could slide away. "*I'm* sorry, Aron; I shouldn't have brought that up. Please stay."
Aron paused in mid-motion, looking back down at her. While his gut instinct told him to just cut his losses and go, and that this woman had too much emotional baggage for his tastes, something in her expression made him want to stay. True, there was a deep loneliness behind those cold grey eyes of hers, and that wasn't something he was much in the mood to deal with right now, or ever for that matter. But the more he looked at her, and the more he got a feel for the emotions that were seeping out of her, the more he realized it hadn't yet become that wasting kind of loneliness, the kind that got people into destructive, codependent relationships simply because they were so desperate to be needed that they would latch onto anyone, no matter how harmful that might be. She wasn't looking to start some sort of poisonous emotional thing, he figured; she just wanted someone to talk to, someone who wasn't looking for anything more than interesting conversation with an interesting person, with no strings attached unless those strings were mutually agreed upon by both parties.
He supposed he could deal with that. After all, spending day after day on the Gorgon dealing with the varied emotional issues of the ship's crew sometimes made him feel exactly the same way. "Alright," he said, lowering himself back onto the seat.
A relieved smile crossed Iniara's face. She was silent for a long moment, unable to decide what to say, but eventually began tentatively, "Maybe we should just start over."
"That sounds like a good idea." He held out a hand across the table. "Hi. I'm Aron, and I'm here competing in the marksmanship tournament."
Iniara took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "Really? What an amazing coincidence; I'm participating in the same event! Oh, I'm Iniara by the way. Nice to meet you."
"A pleasure to meet you too, Iniara. So, what ship are you with..."
"Performance Issues"
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ USS Galaxy - Deck 12 - Sickbay ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was odd, Victor reflected, to be walking into Sickbay and not being there
to see an injured individual, drop off an injured individual, provide
security for an injured individual, arrest an injured individual, or, most
commonly, to need medical care himself.
The stares were all the same, of course, and the questioning glances from
the Vulcan staffers who all knew that they'd wind up dealing with Victor if
he needed medical assistance. And the reactions from the patients, that too
never changed.
The reason for the visit, that had generated the oddity, was decidedly
outside his experience though. He was going to - he *wanted to* -
participate in a group activity with the crew. One that required teamwork,
and camaraderie, and all the things he'd never had as himself and wasn't
sure how to translate from his life as Chulak. But to do that, to even be
able to try out for the baseball team, he needed to do one thing first.
He had to get a waiver for his lung.
Lungs were normal; everyone - or almost everyone - had them. They breathed
with them all the time without thinking about it.
But, like so many other things about him, one of *his* lungs wasn't normal.
It was, in point of fact, illegal.
It had been a present, or an apology, or both from Attendant K'vala after
he'd helped her break up a Klingon weapon smuggling operation several years
back. He'd needed a new one because he'd been stabbed through the old one -
by the same Attendant K'vala - in the middle of an argument that had become
a fight, right before he'd become the only person he knew that had
personally killed a planet.
Whatever the reason she'd done it, he'd woken up in possession of one better
than new, modified to extremely illegal levels of oxygen processing and
storage ability. He never really got tired from physical exertion now, and
could, if he wanted to, hold his breath for thirteen or fourteen minutes.
Both traits illegal in the extreme according to Federation statutes, and
both traits that could, conceivably, keep him from participating in the only
non-combat team activity that he'd ever wanted to be a part of as himself.
"Dr. Burton?" he paused in her doorway, out of range. "Do you have a
moment?"
Looking up from her desk, a place she was finding herself more and more
frequenting lately to her disgust, she eyed Mr. Krieghoff with a certain
amount of confusion, to the best of her knowledge he wasn't due in for a
check-up otherwise she would have had Doctor Kio on standby, and there
weren't any casualties in sickbay that required his attention (here either
because of him, or from his department). Sliding her PADD aside she nodded
and indicated the chair opposite her desk, it was perhaps a little too close
for comfort, but he was Chief of Security at the moment and that did mean a
certain level of courtesy had to be maintained. "Of course, come in. How
can I help?"
"I've got a problem; a medical related one," Victor began. "It's keeping me
from performing physically in an activity that I find I want to participate
in a great deal."
Raising one eyebrow ever so slightly Kimberly tried not to jump to a
conclusion on that, she was a Doctor and assumptions were a bad way to
start, but all she could think of right now was that if 'Little Victor' was
having problems, just how cranky would this make 'Big Victor?'
Picking up her tricorder she turned on the privacy screen in her office as
she stood, there were already enough stories and comments regarding the
Chief of Security floating around the ship and she had no intention of
adding fuel to the fire. ~ Goddess, I can only imagine what 'this' crew
would say! ~
"Okay," choosing her words carefully she unclipped the scanner as she
advanced on him, "so tell me what happens when you ah, have trouble...
performing your physical activity?"
"I won't be winning any medals," Victor observed. "Not to mention the
embarrassment of the whole situation. I mean really, who has problems like
this? Besides me, that is?" He doubted that occurrences of illicit internal
organs were that high in Starfleet to begin with, and that even fewer of
that already small number were trying to compete in the Starfleet Games.
"I doubt your alone Lieutenant, trust me." Holding the scanner out at arms
length she ran it over him a few times then backed off to read the results,
"Give me a second to call up your file, ok?" Doing just that, she compared
her scans with his file, frowning as she read.
In Victor's experience, when doctors made faces while looking at your
bioscans that usually meant a long stay in Sickbay was coming soon - and he
didn't have time for that. "Is something wrong?" If his lung was doing
something weird he'd have to seriously consider cutting it out again.
Probably while Angelienia was away on a patrol, so she wouldn't be
distressed by all the blood.
"No, actually Lieuten... Victor," she corrected herself after a thought;
they were the same rank after all, and both senior officers, why was she
being so formal. "If you don't mind that is?"
"Why would I mind?" he replied with a smile. "You've seen me often enough
that titles seem a bit formal."
"Okay then... Well perhaps you could let me know exactly what the problem
is and we'll go from there?" The scans looked fine, a few variations on his
last physical but nothing out of the ordinary.
"Simply put, I can't perform, at least, not without assistance from you."
~ Not without dinner and flowers first that's for certain! ~ The thought
jumped into her mind unbidden and she instantly shied away from 'that'
mental image!... Thinking carefully for a moment she returned to her chair
and sat. This was starting to be one of those surreal conversations that
happened occasionally aboard ship she realized. A variety of questions
popped into her mind, scans, tests, though her initial scans showed no
problems... ~ Perhaps it's psychological? ~ She mused.
~ Hang on... Slow down girl! ~ The back of her mind warned her, waving
several large red flags. "So, how can I help you perform?" She asked
bluntly after a moments thought, they could beat around the bush so to speak
for the next hour or more, but the thought of spending that long in close
proximity to Victor was not what she had intended for today.
"I'm not certain," Victor admitted. "Perhaps some sort of medication, and a
waiver or other notice in my medical records? You've got to understand that
I've spent most of my life not really thinking about things like this, so I
don't know what the right protocol to get me in the game would be." And he
wanted to be in the game, he realized. He wanted to play baseball, to do
something as a part of the ship's participation in the games.
~ A waiver??? ~ She thought, now confused, ~ How would a waiver...??? ~
"Okay, Victor, what are we talking about here?" She asked, utterly confused
now.
"I don't really know," he admitted. "I thought you might have some ideas. I
obviously can't compete with regards to anything to do with stamina, but I
thought that perhaps you might be able to write an acceptable waiver that
would allow me to just stand there, or perhaps some medication to suppress
things?" He looked at her for a second, registered his confusion, and added,
"Stand there and bat? Like in baseball?"
~ Baseball... Waiver... Ahhhh... And the penny drops! ~ She admitted to
herself after a moments thought, "Riiiight... You want to compete in the
upcoming games..." ~ 'That' conversation could have gone so very badly
wrong! ~ she realized suddenly... "And you're concerned your lung will mean
you'll be disqualified on medical grounds. Hmmm..."
"I think that 'positive' is a better word than 'concerned' there," Victor
nodded, "but yes. Because I'm still I legal limbo regarding it, there's not
a *legally mandated* reason why I can't compete, but I'd obviously need to
compete in an event or events where the fact that I never get tired due to
strenuous exertion and can hold my breath for thirteen-fourteen minutes
wouldn't impact the event. So," he shook his head, "the only event I'm
interested in competing in, is, of course, one where running is an issue."
Sitting back Kimberly frowned as she thought through various options
quickly, she was by no means a legal expert, though she had taken the
required classes at the academy along with the usual required reading. She
could testify as to the exact nature of his lung with no problems, but as to
this...
"Okay," she decided after a moment, "leave this with me, I'll have to speak
with the event organizers and work something out. I can't recall any
specific legalities or such right now, or indeed if there even are any, but
we'll work something out... If I recall baseball correctly, the only
activity you would be at a distinct advantage in would be the running while
batting, correct?" she asked tentatively, twenty first century sports
weren't her forte really.
"After batting," Victor corrected. "You run after you bat and successfully
hit the ball. The batting part I can do - that's standing still, no unfair
advantage there - but the running. I could sprint full-out around the bases
and not be breathing hard when I was done. And that *is* unfair."
"Well perhaps the simple solution would be for you to bat, but someone else
to run for you? I could medicate you to reduce your lung efficiency, but
that would also impair your normal lung," she cautioned with a note of
concern, "and I would rather not do that unnecessarily."
"If they'll let me have someone else run for me, then that would be better
than using medication, yes," he agreed. He paused and then added with a
smile, "Plus the performance enhancer screening would read the medication
and give someone a stoke trying to figure out why I was *degrading* my
performance."
Chuckling she had to agree, it might even be a first in professional
sporting events, voluntarily degrading your own performance just to
participate, well, maybe not but anyway, "Okay, leave it with me and I'll
discuss it with the organizers, I'll get back to you as soon as I've an
answer for you, okay?"
"Fair enough - and thank you." He stood to leave. "I find that I truly
*want* to play in the Games, Doctor. With the crew, not alone, outside of
it. I hope that you find a way to make that happen for me."
"I'll do my best Victor, I promise." Waving in the general vicinity of the
door she smiled, "Now scoot and let me get back to work, I'll try and get
back to you by the end of the day."
"Good enough," he nodded. "And thank you. If you ever need help of the sort
that I provide, my door is always open."
Smiling as she watched her staff skirt out of his way as he left Kimberly
chuckled to herself and shook her head ruefully, perhaps for the first time
since she had set eyes on him she'd been able to sit in the same room and
feel, well, if not relaxed at least not overly anxious. 'If only you didn't
look like Russo Lieutenant.' She muttered softly.
Humming to herself she placed a call to the games organisers, with so many
different species participating in the games this shouldn't be difficult she
reasoned. 'That' conversation could have been terribly embarrassing to say
the least, she realised with a laugh, and gone wrong in so many ways.
"Coping"
1st Lt. Branwen London - Maivia
Lt. JG Man'darr Maivia
Bran was moaning in her sleep and without waking up managed to hit her
husband full in the face as she started to claw around. "Get off me!!
No!!!!" She moaned, still without waking up.
Man'darr instantly sat up, attempting to gain his composure after the strike
to the face. Was there an intruder? Was Branwen being attacked? his mind
raced feverishly to make sense of the situation and to counter attack as
quickly as possible. He then noticed nobody else in the room and noticed
Branwen still screaming for somone to get off of her. Grabbing her arm
firmly, he managed to keep her somewhat still. "Branwen! Wake up," he
called to her.
She screamed louder and opened her eyes wide, hyperventilating. As Max had
predicted under pressure her skin turned slightly green still. Crying she
clung to Dar, unable to speak.
"What is wrong?" Man'darr asked, still attempting to get used to Branwen
turning slightly green. Sometimes it had helped him to think that she was
part Orion.
"It's…. when I dream…. I can't hide from what happened in my dreams." She
clung to him. "The nightmares are really bad some nights."
"I am sorry that you are having bad dreams...but they are just
that...dreams. They're not real and they can't hurt you. Perhaps you need
to take some time off."
"No! I just got back to work. I don't think not working is going to help."
She said. "I just need to talk about it. I am talking to Captain Dallas."
She looked at him. "I wasn't sure if you can talk about it. I know it was
tough for you as well, so I didn't want to bother you."
"Yes, it was tough, but you should know that you can talk to me as I am your
husband, your lover, and your friend."
"We are still finding each other again." She said honestly. "For me it is
important to know how far I can trust you." Bran looked at him. "You hurt my
confidence in you, as I did yours. It's making me more careful and it will
be a way before that will go away."
"I've told you that you can trust me. I am a man of my word. Never doubt
that, Branwen," Man'darr replied in a firm tone. It...is true that our
confidence each other was damaged by us, but I have forgiven you and
admitted that I was wrong in the things that I said. If you cannot let that
go in the past, then we have no future together."
"I am not saying that I cannot let go. I am saying that it will not happen
overnight. And it is still difficult for me that I can't talk about my kids
to you. I know, I am going to respect that but it still hurts to have to
hide their photo's." she held him close letting him know that she needed
him.
Man'darr sighed. "Well, if you cannot talk to me about these dreams, then
there is no way for us to move forward," he said staying on the subject. He
did not want to move one the subject of those things she called her
children.
"Dar, don't push." She said. "Just be here and hold me when I need it. Let
me talk when I need it,and if that involves the kids just listen okay? You
don't have to say anything, and I will try not to talk about them, but
sometimes I might need to. We need to find a balance between us."
"I thought we had found the balance. I have tried to be as...understanding
as I possibly could but you need to put alot more trust into me than you
do. At the moment, you seem to trust Lt. Krieghoff more than me. Would you
rather he be your husband than me?" Man'darr was frustrated with Branwen at
her constant mistrust of him. He was surprised she let him even sleep in
the same bed with her.
"Victor?" She blinked. "you are jealous of Victor?" Bran had to laugh. "He
is like a big brother to me. I could never see him romantically, the
thought!" She turned towards her husband. "Dar, you asked me to kill myself
or the babies when you found out I was pregnant. Something like that isn't
forgotten overnight. Trust will take time to build again. Right now part of
me is still afraid I will do somethng wrong and you will hurt me again. Do
you understand what I am saying?"
"And you have insulted me on more than one occasion," Man'darr pointed out.
"Yet, I am willing to forgive you. You won't talk to me about what is
bothering you, yet we share the same bed. Is this simplt some kind of act
for you. For us to pretend to husband and wife so you can feel better about
yourself by telling yourself that you are trying when you, in fact, are
doing nothing."
Bran groaned and burried her head in her hands. "Dar please! I need you to
hold me and tell me everything will be alright. I don't want to fight
tonight."
Man'darr let out a heavy sigh. He didn't like it when Branwen avoided the
issues such as she was doing now. "Very well," he took Branwen into his
arms.
"Thank you, Dar." She whispered, finally feeling safe. "Tomorrow we will
talk, I promise."
****
The next morning, Man'darr was finishing replicating breakfast for Branwen
and himself. "Breakfast is ready," he called over to Branwen.
"Thank you." She smiled and came over to him to give him a kiss. "And thank
you for being so nice last night."
I am trying my best to make our marriage work, but you need to face the
facts about the situation and that I may never be able to come to terms with
a few things. And as your husband, you need to start trusting me
completely. I have never lied to you and nor will I ever lie to you. You
should know that by now."
"I know that love." She said. "But you have to understand how frightening
the situation is for me. Not knowing when I am going to anger you again."
She paused. "How do you feel about marriage counseling? I think it would be
a good idea for us."
"More counseling? I'm sick and tired of counseling. Tired of being judged
by everyone on this damn ship. As long as you don't personally insult me,
and keep those things you call your children out of my sight, you will not
anger me," Man'darr stated simply.
"Since when have you ever gone to counseling? And marriage counseling is
different from individual counseling. How am I going to know that something
I say or do is not going to insult you again. And how do you think it makes
me feel to have you call my children things!"
"I was forced to attend counseling sessions while I was awaiting trial at a
detention center. The only difference between marriage counseling and
individual counseling is that two people are attending the session instead
of one. If you are so afraid about offending me, try learning about my
people and my culture. I may have been raised on Earth, but my father and
mother raised me and my sister in the Capellan ways and taught us about our
people. I have been more than leniant and tolerated things any other
Capellan would not." Man'darr replied, trying to keep his anger at bay. He
wondered if this marriage would survive. If he had to answer that question
now, he would say no. 'By the god of war, we haven't even had sex since
we've returned back aboard the Galaxy,' Man'darr thought, as he finished
setting the food out.
"I am reading up on your culture!" She said. "But you told me you were
raised human. I have been trying to include your heritage. And I understand
you are not happy about these kids. Nobody is asking you to be, I just don't
want you calling them things and scaring me. You are scaring me now, Dar.'
Bran was close to breaking down.
"I experienced some human cultures while growing up on Earth, yes, but my
father and mother did their best to instill Capellan Traditions into me so
that I would know the ways of my people. How am I scaring you? Because we
are having an argument? If you are that scared of me, then perhaps its best
I leave. I have done nothing to cause you to be afraid of me since
returning. This is turning into an empty marriage, Branwen." Man'darr was
beginning to wish he had passed away on New Texas then to have a wife who
was afraid of him constantly.
"Dar please, please." The tears were falling again and she hated that about
herself. "I am not back to normal yet. I have to go to therapy because I am
not and my body is not back either. Maybe that makes me behave different
then I used to. I am only asking for a little love and patience."
"I have given you both but you aren't making it easy. I love you, Branwen,
but you have got to trust me more than anyone else abord this ship and that
especially goes for your friend, Lt. Krieghoff. I should be the first
person you come to when something is bothering you."
She blinked. "What are you saying? Are you really jealous of Victor? He is
my friend, Dar. I can talk to him about the kids. He is godfather to my
son."
"And I am your husband!" Man'darr snapped. "If it has nothing to do with
those things you call your children, then you come to me! How can we expect
to make this marriage work if talk to everyone else on this damn ship about
your problems except me!"
She cringed away from him. Suddenly she saw her hydrans captors in front of
her as he started to shout at her. Trying to get away she tripped over a
chair and fell flat on her face.
The anger instantly subsided at the sight of seeing Branwen fall as he
rushed next to her. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah." She said dazed, not even noticing that she had a nosebleed. Bran was
very close to tears.
"You have a bit of a nose bleed but other than that you appear alright. I
am sorry, Branwen," he said sincerely as he helped her to sit up and grabbed
a nearby napkin for her nose.
"I know." Bran wiped away the first tears. "I love you, Dar. I really love
you, I am just not myself yet and it is hard."
Man'darr wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him before
letting out a sigh. "I know...I will try to be more understanding due to
your situation."
"I will try too. I don't want it to be onesided from any of us." She tried
to smile but was still trembling too much.
"Why are you still trembling?" he asked as he held her closer to him. "I
will not hurt you, Branwen."
"I know. It is not you. It's the adrelaline of the shock of falling, and not
being completely well yet. Give me a minute and it will pass."
Man'darr continued to hold his wife close to him, feeling her slowly calming
down. "Why don't you sit down at the table," he suggested. "Before the
food gets cold."
"That sounds like really good idea." She let him help her up. "We will get
through this together, you know." Bran said with conviction looking at him.
"I know."
OOC: Kudos to anyone who recognizes the reference...without googling the rhyme! :p
"Zagreus"
*****
Epsilon 11K "Zagreus"
Mining Station 12
Subterranean Level 5
Zagreus sits inside your head,
Zagreus lives among the dead,
Zagreus sees you in your bed and eats you when you're sleeping...
I'm not sure why that rhyme is going through my head.
I'm not even sure where it's from, but I know I've heard it before. Somewhere. Maybe.
Oh wait, now I know where it's from. No, not where...why.
This stupid moon. This stupid little moon spinning way out in this stupid system. Stupid mostly dead rock. Stupid Zagreus.
He sits inside your head, you know.
And he lives among the dead.
I'm not sure if there will be some dead here for him to live among. I suppose that depends on whether or not any of these Fleeties get in my way.
I hope not. Death is a pain. Death gets noticed. Death causes questions to be raised.
Questions my employer would not like.
I'm not even sure who that is, really. But they promised me a lot of money for a minimal amount of work. Half now, half when the job is done. Simple job. Simple job on stupid Zagreus.
He sees me in my bed.
I hope he doesn't see me here, or at least if he does, he's nice enough to leave me alone and let me do my work.
Simple work. All they want me to do is tinker. Tinker, tinker. A little push here, a subtle nudge there, and suddenly this event turns out completely different. Apparently that's a good thing. Someone tried to explain it to me when we were coming out here, something about something called "long odds". I didn't understand it. I don't do odds. I do tinker.
I tinker very well.
I'm not sure what this event is, but I don't suppose that matters either. All I know is that I'm in an unused mining station, and it's dark, and there's Fleeties stalking around the hallways trying to get to something. Or do something. Maybe it has something to do with the computer system. I don't know. They gave me a datachip and told me I had to put it in a computer, and that it was half now, half when the job is done. Simple, simple. Just like Zagreus.
Ah, here we are. Level five, section three, junction 3-B1. The access panel pops off quietly. I bend down, easily seeing inside the dark compartment with the nifty night vision goggles they gave me, and slide the little yellow datachip into an empty slot. They said it would take thirty seconds for the program to run. I guess I should have brought a watch. Oh well. I can count it just as easily.
One-mississippi. Two-mississippi. Three-mississippi.
This isn't so bad.
Eight-mississippi. Nine-mississippi.
Somewhere in the walls, I think I can hear a faint buzzing sound. It sounds more like fzzt fzzt bzzzz fzzt fzzt bzzzz and I don't know what it is but I bet it has something to do with that little yellow datachip.
Fzzt fzzt bzzzz. Twenty-mississippi. Twentyone-mississippi. Twentytwo-mississippi. Fzzt fzzt bzzzz. In my head. Just like Zagreus. He's in my head, among the dead, he sees my bed, and eeeeats me when I'm sleeeeeeping.
Although I hope not.
I count to thirty-five just to make sure before I pull out the chip and stuff it deep in my pocket. The access panel pops back into place just as easily and then I'm off. I'm still not sure why I haven't seen any Fleeties. Maybe they're in a different part of the complex. This is the bottom level, after all.
Back to the ladder at the end of the hall and then it's scramble scramble scramble up up up back to the surface. Five floors of ladder and I'm breathing a little heavy, but not too bad. Besides, it's all done now. I can rest soon. I find the door I used to get in, a small access hatch that I think was used as a service entrance back when this was a mining station. Or maybe this was where the little carts went outside with the stuff. They mined the stuff, and then they put it in the carts, and then they took it out of here. I bet that's it, because the door is too short to be a normal person-sized door. But it's perfect for a little cart.
Oh wait, that's it, that explains the repulsor tracks embedded into the ground here. I wonder what it would be like to ride a mine cart out of this place. I always loved when they did that in the movies.
Again the door pops open easily, although this one's louder than the access panel in the wall five floors down. It makes me a little nervous, but I suppose it doesn't matter because I'm almost out of here. Plus, the cold of the moon stabs at me immediately and that really makes it hard to think about anything other than leaving leaving leaving now.
It's daytime on this side of the moon, which means that it's about minus twenty, since that's all the way far off sun can muster on this stupid rock. I've got thermal gear on, which will keep me warm for a little bit, and if I don't move around too much the really thin atmosphere won't become a problem. Really thin. Hard to breathe. And cold. This must be what it's like on Mount Everest back on Earth.
Hm, maybe I'll take my money and go back to Earth. Half now, half when the job is done. And the job is almost done.
I fish another little thing out of my pocket and push the red button on the front. A light blinks three times and then goes out. They said this was what I would use to call for pickup. For the first time I'm really nervous-- what if it doesn't work? I hope it does work.
Above me in the sky it looks like a shooting star is streaking through the sky. I know it's really called a meteor and not a shooting star, but--
And then the familiar tingle of a transporter beam sweeps over my skin and I breathe a sigh of relief.
On board the ship it's warm, much warmer than it had been on the planet, and I shed the thermal jacket. There's a few people standing around me in the transporter room, but they're all hiding in the shadows so I can't really make out much. Maybe they're afraid of Zagreus too. After all, he eats you when you're sleeeeeping.
One of the figures moves out of the shadow towards me. It's covered in a pretty formless cloak, the hood pulled far forward, but the height and the way it moves tells me that 'it' is a 'she'. I wonder what she looks like under all that fabric. She's probably gorgeous. Women in these secret sneaky things always are.
"Here," I say, pulling out the datachip and handing it to her along with the communicator thing.
"Keep them." Her voice is a rich, melodic contralto.
I bob my head and put the objects back in my pocket. I'm not sure what I'll do with them, but maybe I'll find some use for them. I wonder if Zagreus would like them.
"Half now, half when the job is done?" I ask.
"Is the job done, Mr. Zagreus?"
"Yep yep." Why did she call me Zagreus? That's his name, the man who lives in my head and lives with the dead. My name's--
"Good," she says. The fabric of her cloak rustles and a hand emerges. But instead of a fistful of latinum or something like that, there's a phaser in her pale greenish hand. It looks old. But that doesn't matter, old can still be deadly.
"Hey, what..." But before I can protest much more, there's a blinding flash of red light and it feels like someone's pushed a high power line right into my chest and then--
Although her face is concealed in shadow from the oversized cloak hood, the woman sneers as she watches him fall lifelessly to the deck. Shifting her attention immediately she turns to one of the other shadowed figures. "Contact the Operative. Inform him that 'capture the flag' has been improved." It wasn't the real name of the event, but that was a pretty good descriptor of it. Come to think of it she didn't know the real name of the event. Not that it mattered.
"Yes, boss." The other figure steps forward, the light revealing him as a middle-aged, well built Orion man. Behind him, the two other figures in the room move back into the light before moving towards the transporter bay's exit, no doubt to attend to some other important matters in their 'mission'.
The woman turns, her cloak swishing lightly with the motion, and follows the other two Orions out into the hallway. "And get rid of that garbage!"
"Final Match Surprises"
2nd Lt Cora Dobryin - SFMC
2nd Platoon Leader
188th Marines Detachment - USS Galaxy
=====================================
Cora¹s first few rounds of sparring had gone ok, some better than others but
she found herself in a unique position now. Initially her scores had led her
to the top position contending for the Silver medal. She returned from
watching some events, dinner and some shopping to find an important note
waiting for her.
Sitting in her room she read the message one last time. It caught her by
total surprise. Now she had to prepare to spar the match of her life. Not
only that but the name of Cora¹s new opponent held a deeper meaning for her.
Lt Dobryin it has come to our attention you¹re the next in line for moving
up to the Gold medal match. Circumstances have caused the athlete above you
to be disqualified from further competition. Due to cheating and other
unruly behavior all equipment and uniforms will be closely inspected upon
arrival at the venue.
Your match starts at 1100 hours sharp please arrive no later than 2 hours
before your start time. Good luck and congratulations on some good
competition so far Lieutenant.
The next morning Cora arrived as scheduled at her venue. She changed into
her Gi, put on her sparring gear then warmed up. When her name as called
Cora headed for the designated ring. Today it was about a different sort of
honor. Not the kind that could be forged in a martial arts tournament but
the kind that could only come from serving in real combat together.
Shane Zahara had been a good friend but she¹s also saved his life at one
point. The two girls completed the usual tradition of bowing into the ring,
the judges, to each other and finally touching gloved fists as a handshake.
Cora took her place behind the line and Shane took his. For this particular
division there was no distinction between men or women it was a unique
opportunity that truly tested a martial artist¹s skills.
As the match started Cora managed to score the first few points with a well
placed roundhouse kick to Shane¹s torso. He tried to counter but Cora
blocked the first attempt his second only resulted in a punch landing on the
side of her helmet. They continued without either scoring further points.
Each of them moved about the ring with a sense of ease until eventually Cora
managed to land two more strikes with her hands. Both hit Shane¹s helmet in
quick succession, the first a backhand followed by a ridge hand. The
combination could be quiet powerful if timed just right.
The pair continued to exchange hits until Cora managed to get five points
ahead of her opponent. Just as the match was called and Dobryin declared the
winner, two unseen shots rang out. One tagged a referee and the other hit
Cora. Even though it was an energy weapon it still hurt. However more than
one person wanted to know how the weapon had gotten past all the Starfleet
Olympic security in the first place.
"O Captain! My Captain!"
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton
Shiarrael i'Rhehiv'je Terrh'vnau
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! Heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Very, very nearly, Kimberly mused as she worked he way through her memo's.
Her mind lately had been on Captain M'Kantu, even now since his departure
the paperwork was still flowing in, requests from various medical centres
for follow up information, a few congratulatory notes, and even one or two
denunciations for playing god and taking wholly unnecessary risks with a
patients life.
And now if there wasn't enough to do already ~ Games? Now we have games. ~
She'd only glanced at the note earlier, thinking it was just another
reminder of the up coming event, though now they were actually participating
the memos were coming in thick and fast. ~ WooHoo. ~ she silently muttered,
which was about as much enthusiasm as she could muster right about now.
Mentally shrugging she realized the crew could use a little R'n'R, and this
would be a nice break. Granted their last mission hadn't exactly been stress
free for some, but at least it hadn't been a non stop bout of bowel
clenching terror like others either.
And the ship was still in one piece.
Flagging the note for all medical staff she scheduled a quick staff meeting
to discuss the event. They were expected to help out with medical cover as
she had anticipated, plus there were a few on the staff that wanted to go
and participate, smiling suddenly at the thought she scanned the list of
events again, a rather long and impressive one at that and flagged her name
against the trials once she found the sport she was looking for, "Frell it!"
She muttered with a grin, "I'm allowed to have some fun as well." She'd
been practising after all, so why not.
Leaning back in her chair she relaxed for a moment, letting her mind wander
as she watched the comings and goings in sickbay outside. Her grin had faded
as she had come to the realization that she had been stalling lately. She
had initially had every intention of calling, of talking and keeping in
touch, but it was only recently she'd come to realize why she had dragged
her feet.
Guilt, she felt guilty. Not for the injury, no, that had been beyond her
control, and the Hydrans infiltration had been done in such an unexpected
way you almost had to admire their plan. Something that was no doubt keeping
Security and Intel up at nights until they found a counter measure against
it. No her guilt was that she hadn't been able to finish the job, to fix
what had been broken. Every doctor knew they had limits, but it was never
nice to be reminded of it.
"Computer," she announced suddenly, sitting up straighter, "open a channel
to Starfleet Medical, Earth. Susruta Ward."
<= Working =>
Replicating a coffee while she waited she perched on her desk after she had
recovered it instead of sitting. As the screen changed she stood a little
straighter as a young Terran nurse appeared before her.
"Susruta Ward, Ensign Dayton. How can I help you?"
"Ensign," she greeted him with a smile, "I'd like to speak with Captain
M'Kantu please, I believe he's recently been transferred to your ward?"
"I'm sorry Ma'am," sounding somewhat apologetic the Ensign shook his head,
"I've orders only to put through family and listed friends, or 'senior'
officers," his tone making it clear she wasn't senior enough.
"I understand Ensign, if you could ask though please, I'm Lieutenant Burton,
CMO of the USS Galaxy, the Captains physician," she added. Even though at
present she wasn't, her name was listed on his case notes at least as 'an'
attending physician for his case.
Looking down briefly the nurse scanned something quickly then nodded, "If
you could hold please."
The wait went on until Kimberly was thinking that she'd been dropped and
would have to call back, when, finally, the hospital's 'hold pattern'
vanished and a familiar face filled the screen. Not Daren M'Kantu's familiar
features, but those of his part-Romulan daughter, Shiarrael. "Doctor," she
said with a crisp nod, her clothing still the same vaguely militaristic cut
that Kimberly remembered. "Father is finishing his physical therapy right
now - it should be." she looked off-screen for a second - "no more than
three or four minutes, if that's acceptable after your long wait?"
"Not a problem." She'd been expecting a longer wait to be put through
actually. "How are you? We've not had a chance to speak since before you
all left for Earth."
"Good." The young woman paused, and then added, "I know that I said this
before, Doctor, but. thank you. Father is all that I have, and you gave him
back to me." She paused, and then added very carefully, "I am. in your
debt."
Smiling Kimberly shook her head gently, "No Shiarrael, you're not in my
debt. A lot of people helped the Captain; I just did my job, the job he
needed me to do."
The younger woman frowned. "Perhaps I am not making myself clear, Doctor. or
perhaps the language is different here? I am trying to tell you that I
formally acknowledge the debt that my family and I owe you, and which you
may call in for repayment at some point in the future. I know that the
concept is present in Federation culture, but not what the proper language
is."
Mulling that one over for a second Kimberly exhaled softly and nodded, "I
understand Shiarrael, and thank you. I will remember." She promised
sincerely. It was something she could discuss with the Captain at a later
date she decided, not something she needed to worry about for now. "I'm just
glad he's alive and doing well... I hope he's doing well?" She asked.
"He is," she nodded, her eyes agreeing with the words. "He can use his hands
well now - he cooks food in the middle of the night to remind them how to
work again - but he does not walk yet. And he does not sleep much or well.
She does not either."
~ Understandable ~ She mused silently. "I had no idea he could cook," she
admitted, "I'll know who to ask for lessons once he returns," Kimberly
suggested with a smile. "It sounds like he's making progress though, which
is good. Hopefully walking will come with a little more time."
"It will come." The girl's words were a statement and not an agreement. "He
will not let it *not* come, because he is my father and will settle for
nothing less."
"Good. He needs to keep that determination; I seriously doubt he'll ever
give up, but pester him, and challenge him to do a little more each time
Shiarrael. Don't push him too hard but nudge him from time to time. He
doesn't need you to help him do things, but to help him help himself. Does
that make sense?" If the skipper was still aboard it would be the sort of
thing she'd be doing daily herself, and she was fairly sure that staff there
would be as well, but there was no harm in making sure his daughter was
doing the same.
"Yes," she replied with a crisp nod. "She said something similar to that,
earlier as well." Her head swiveled to one side. "They are back early,
Doctor; one moment." She moved off-screen and there was a murmur of voices
for a moment, followed by Daren M'Kantu appearing on screen. The smoothness
of his gliding arrival and the height of the girl standing next to him told
Kimberly that he was in a chair, and the perspiration on his forehead and
the rolled towel draped over his neck agreed with the physical therapy she'd
been told he was at.
"No more than five minutes, Father," Shiarrael admonished him. "Then you
must spend time in the vortex pool."
"Hello, Kimberly," Daren said with a smile. He glanced at Shiarrael, and
added, "Never let anyone tell you that the greatest tyrants aren't those
that base their tyranny on love."
The half-Romulan girl blinked, flushed slightly, and shifted position
uncomfortably at the words, but didn't depart.
"Five minutes," Daren agreed.
"Very good, Father," she said, still a touch uncomfortably, and started to
withdraw. "I will be at the door if you need anything."
Daren nodded, watched her move off, and then turned back to the screen. "How
are you doing?" He asked in a voice that was, if not quite his old, familiar
one, was certainly a good imitation of it.
"I'm well Sir, thank you. Though that's my question really." She added with
a smile, one though that didn't extend to her eyes. "I'm sorry it's taken a
while to call Captain. How are you getting on there?"
"Slowly," he admitted. "I suppose that, irrationally, I expected to just
stand up and start walking again in a few days, but that obviously isn't the
case. I'll get there though."
"That's good to hear, it's not quite the same without you on the bridge. I'm
not sure Captain T'Vara quite knows what to make of some of us here." She
added impishly, "we're a diverse bunch as you well know."
"I do seem to recall something like that, yes," he agreed. "It was rarely
dull in the Big Chair on Galaxy. Truth be told, I miss it. My current
chair," he waved a hand at it, "isn't nearly so interesting, I'm afraid. But
there are benefits to even that, since I get to spend more time with family
- and that's never bad."
"No, that's never bad," she agreed softly, thinking of her own family for a
second, some she hadn't seen in person since graduation. "What have the
staff there told you about your prognosis? From our initial scans here we
were hopeful you could make an almost complete recovery, have they said
anything different?"
"No," he returned. "But then they're all still trying not to say anything in
the way that doctors and bureaucrats do, for fear they'll jinx the whole
process. Frankly, I expect that most people that the procedure would benefit
would just be thanking Allah for as much recovery as I have currently, and
most of the staff here seem to be thinking along those lines." He gestured
apologetically. "Allah will, I hope, forgive me for being greedy and wanting
more even if the therapists here are still uncertain that I'll receive it."
"I would hope Allah would agree with you, I know I certainly do." She
agreed sincerely. "We all hoped here you'd be walking soon after the
procedure. As you said there are people out there who could benefit from
this, so the better you get, the more chance they'll approve the procedure
for future use I hope."
"I'm certainly doing my best for them," Daren agreed. "Although I can't
claim that it's entirely for their benefit."
"Understood Sir, and agreed. For now all that's important is that you get
better soon. We... Well I certainly miss you Sir." She admitted honestly.
He smiled, this time unmistakably genuinely. "I miss the Galaxy too,
Kimberly - more than one might think given the stress of commanding her."
His smile faded. "But I have to caution you that my returning to her is.
unlikely. Once I get myself back into shape, there will be command fitness
tests, psychological screenings, and all the rest to go through before I'm
certified for command again. Some of that will be foreshortened because of
the War - perhaps most or even all of it - but the likelihood that I'll be
reassigned to Galaxy is very small. T'Vara's a good commander; it's probably
in everyone's interests to stop thinking of her as a stop-gap and accept her
as the new, permanent CO of the ship."
He was right of course, and that was the bitch of it. It was going to take
time, and when he did get better, would he want to return then, things might
change. And if he did want to return, would command and the politicians let
him? There were people who agreed and supported him of course, but then
there were also those who were probably pleased at his enforced absence from
the centre seat. As she had thought when he'd been injured, all it would
take was a word on the right ear and he could find himself desk-bound.
Possibly for a long time.
"Perhaps you're right Sir, but that isn't going to stop us from hoping,
we're only Human after all... well, you know what I mean," she added with a
grin. Considering a fair percentage of the crew weren't human, hell,
weren't even humanoid in a few cases, but the sentiment was there.
"It's nice to know that I'm remembered so fondly," he returned. "I suspect
that the sentiment isn't shared by everyone, though. It couldn't be, things
being what they were."
"Well Sir, you know what they say, you can't please all the people all the
time. If only it were possible though." She added wistfully.
"I'm afraid that isn't possible outside of Paradise, Kimberly. And I'm in no
great hurry to reach it and see," Daren responded. "But."
"Father.," Shiarrael's voice spoke up from off screen. "Four minutes."
"The voice of loving tyranny speaks, and I must obey," he agreed. "Kimberly,
it's been a pleasure. The next time you call, try the number for the
Tanzania compound - I'm going there as soon as they agree to it."
"I will Sir, it's good to talk to you again, and good to see you getting on
well." She added warmly. "Take care, and I'll talk to you soon."
"I'll be looking forward to it," he replied warmly. "Give my best to Iniara
and the rest, and tell them that they don't have to be strangers. "
"I will Sir. Be well." She added as the comm line was closed. Sitting
back she thought for a moment, he was probably right to be honest, they had
to be realistic, even if he were certified fit for duty it was going to take
quite a while for him to get even there, and then there was no certainty he
would be posted back here.
Only time would tell really.
"Business Before Pleasure And Pleasure Denied"
Captain Karyn Dallas, RN
Fleet Chief Counselor
USS Galaxy
Lt. Gary Lincoln
NPC Chief Counselor (played by Chris)
USS Milan
Lt. Junior Grade Elizabeth Dosea
NPC Chief Counselor (played by Chris)
USS Beijing
Lt. Lira Jaxo
NPC Chief Counselor (played by me)
USS Helios
Private First Class Leah Owen- SFMC
Aide de Camp/Infantryman (played by Chris)
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
USS Galaxy - A
***Karyn's Office, Counseling Department, USS Galaxy-A***
Karyn closed the comm link to the women's gymnastics competition and instructed the computer to record the events for later viewing. She loved all types of gymnastics, and when she'd learned the Galaxy was going to the Games, she couldn't wait to view the events live. As much as she had accomplished despite her limitations, and as much as she tried to make her challenges a non-issue, she couldn't help but be envious of the competitors who moved around the floor and showcased their sense of balance with ease.
It was a simple thing to maintain one's sense of physical balance, at least for most people anyway. For Karyn, someone who had trouble just standing upright without assistance, the competitors on the balance beam were truly magical to her, and when she watched, it was with a child's sense of wonder as she imagined what it would be like to fly, land on two feet, and then be greeted with roaring applause.
Truth be told, she could only take the Games in small doses. Although officially, the Games were to celebrate brains and braun, it was the events that show-cased braun that seemed to generate most attention. Events like that made Karyn feel the most excluded and inferior, though she would never share that with anyone. Dallas was anything but a whiner, after all.
So it was with some relief that she had this staff meeting with some of her Chief Counselors from the Fleet. She tried to speak with all of the Chief Counselors at least once per month to discuss the issues they and their crews were facing, as well as provide emotional support to counselors on the front lines. Now, more than ever, her corner of the Starfleet mission needed attention, but tended to be overlooked in favor of general medicine concerns.
It was a position that provided its own unique challenges. Meeting in smaller groups helped to quell a lot of the egos in the room, or at least that was the idea.
"Hello all," Karyn began, as she established the final comm link to the team. "I hope all of you are well."
Gary chuckled, sipping from his cup. "About as well as can be expected I guess. We lost another counselor to Starbase 285."
Dosea nodded in agreement. "Things are already tight as they are. We're already understaffed, and I can't seem to keep them from taking more and more counselors. I get new Ensigns straight out of the Academy and their practicals, green as can be, and just as soon as they actually get settled in they're taken."
Karyn nodded grimly. It was a lament she'd heard over and over, and something she'd said to the brass repeatedly. "I hear you both, and I want you to know it's something I continue to stress to the powers that be. Unfortunately, we seem to be burning out faster and there aren't a lot of cadets choosing this path of late. Not many people want to face the aftermath of war, they'd just rather kick ass. Have you had any success with group therapy?"
"It's limited." Gary shrugged. "There isn't much we can go into in a group setting without violating confidentiality."
"Aside from perhaps getting initial impressions, I haven't found group therapy to be all that effective." Dosea echoed. "It's good for spot issues... the loss of a known crewmember, or the death of a high-ranking superior, but in terms of rehabilitating someone? We can't get that done in a group."
"It doesn't mesh well with the macho culture of Starfleet, ma'am. No one wants to be in counseling to begin with, and talking to a group just magnifies those feelings," Lira Jaxo, a Bajoran from the USS Helios replied.
"Confidentiality was always going to be an issue," Karyn agreed. "which is why it's not going to be the only modality we use following critical incidents. Everyone should still get one individual session to address specific needs. That said, I need you guys to continue to work with the group idea. Contrary to popular belief, this is not just to make our lives easier. If that were their priority, I would have stopped screaming about sending crews into combat for the third and fourth times with no R&R six months ago." Karyn smiled when she saw the group smile. "These groups aren't just giving you headaches. They're going to build cohesion for your crew. Once they get past the bullshit, the real work will start. It's inevitable."
"The trick is hanging on until then." Gary noted and folded his hands. "I just don't see how we're going to be able to. Not every ship has a counselor to begin with, and those that are lucky enough to have a counselor, let alone a counseling department, are finding themselves swamped."
Dallas nodded. "All the more reason to have frank discussions about the warning signs people should look out for following difficult events. Not everyone needs counseling following such events, and if they're told what's normal and how to deal before something happens, it can cut down on our workload without cutting back on care. Have you all had those discussions?"
They all looked at each other before turning back to Karyn and nodding unanimously. "On the Milan it's part of SOP to educate new crewmembers on the basic warning signs."
"Same on the Beijing."
"I'd send out periodic updates for the entire crew, especially following stressful events. Mandatory recreation periods are also something to consider, even if time in the lounge is all that can be managed. People are going to talk to other trusted people about the tough stuff. Those people may not be us, but that's okay. Informal observations in the lounge, as long as you're not too intrusive area good way to take the crew's temperature. Also, inform the bar and wait staff of those warning signs too. If they continue to see someone downing even synthehol, it's worth a look."
"Wasn't aware downing synthehol was suddenly illegal." Gary teased while making notation to begin doing just that. "We may also want to get access to medical histories. A lot of the more psychological problems may be the results of physical injury."
"If your CMO is following protocol, you should be getting the daily logs of who's coming in for treatment already. Obviously, you're to keep such information confidential and only act on the information you think might suggest emotional difficulties. You make an excellent point, Gary. Are you finding your CMO receptive to keeping you in the loop?"
"My CMO tends to think confidential information means that you don't share it with anyone else unless absolutely necessary. She'll bring up things when she notices them, but as for specific treatment for say, head trauma... it's a no go."
"I've converted mine," Jaxo replied with a grin. "He sends me the daillies now because he got tired of me coming by and using their terminals to get it myself." She shrugged. "He kept saying he was too busy, so I helped him."
Karyn tried to hide her grin. Officially, she was not supposed to endorse stepping on toes, but it was what it was. "Gary, engage your CMO again. Remind her that you're on the same side, and that no person can do it all. In reviewing the data for your warning signs, you're helping her care for the crew. Between the three of us, we all know the GPs barely have enough time to assess people's physical needs, and if need be, show her the regs that allow for the sharing of info. Do it as a last resort though."
"What about those ships without a counselor?" Dosea looked around. "Especially a lot of the smaller ships, have no accomodations for a single counselor, let alone a counseling staff. There are a couple of Defiant Class ships in the fleet that are too small to even fathom a counselor on board."
"We're crafting regs right now that outline guidelines for the training of medical staff to fill those roles," Karyn answered. "I imagine there's going to be some resistance there, but we can't afford to overlook the mental health of the crew, especially given the climate right now. Suicide rates are up, and that's not good for anybody's mission objectives."
There were quiet nods of agreement among the gathered staff.
Gary finally broke the silence."So, does this mean our standing orders remain to do more with less?"
Karyn chuckled. "At least give me credit for the delicate way I presented it?"
There were a few laughs and chuckles. Gary nodded before taking a sip of his drink. "I'll try, but I doubt my CMO is going to budge. She's almost as difficult to deal with as the Marines are."
Karyn's eyes widened. "It's been my experience that even the Marines are receptive to regs. But seriously, talk softly. Your medical teams are feeling the strain too and they care about the crew just as fiercely. Work with that common ground and acknowledge their concerns. Use your chain of command as a last resort, but use it if you have to. We're not a self-indulgent luxury, we're part of the team, and sometimes that's forgotten."
There was another period of silence as those words were mulled over.
"Okay... I guess this means we're dismissed?" Doesia asked.
"Any questions?" Karyn asked.
There were none. Everything seemed pretty much straight forward.
"Good deal," Karyn replied. "I'll have private meetings with you next week, but in the meantime, I'm a comm away. Dismissed."
***
Dallas closed the commlink and decided she was tired of being holed up in her office. She elected to sit in the lobby and review what she'd missed of the gymnastics competition in the company of others. That way, she'd be caught up in time to go to the start of the all around competition live later in the day.
Replicating some popcorn, she smiled as she anticipated seeing the intense rivalry between the teams play out. The USS China team always seemed to come out on top, but this year, it looked like the USS America team had a fighting chance, as long as they didn't give precious tenths away. There were rumblings that the China team members had used under-handed tactics to eliminate the competition, but so far, there was no proof.
She played the recording, making sure to start exactly where she had left off.
Leah, the Colonel's right-hand woman, had just gotten through with her round in the archery competition. She'd done well... actually she'd done 'very' well, and made it to the final rounds which would be held the day after. She was even in medal contention, 4th out of the top 5, all of whom were within striking distance of the gold. Granted, in her case it would require a major fuck-up by the pack leader, but it was within the realm of possibility.
So, happy (and sore) from her performance, she took
back to handling the unit's Administrative work. She'd actually gone looking for the Colonel after Lieutenant London had dispatched the Psychological Review of the 188TH, but he was no where to be found.
She walked into the lounge, and chuckled when she saw someone watching the gymnastics event. She'd considered gymnastics, but although she had the physical ability Leah lacked the actual knowledge of the event to even be considered for the Galaxy's team, let alone compete. "Wait until you see the freestyle floor competition, I can't believe the America's crew came back from that far behind." The PFC sat down on the edge of the table. "It was an incredible show."
Karyn, mid crunch on a kernel, turned her head slowly toward the voice. "I taped this."
"And it's a good thing you did too, ma'am. You might have a valuable piece of history there. I can't believe Crewman Waikes managed to stick that landing in the free style with a fractured wrist 'and' strained calf. That fall she took must've hurt!"
Karyn didn't consider herself a violent person, but in that moment, popcorn kernel in hand, she considered chucking it in the eager woman's direction. All joviality and childlike anticipation melted in an instant. "I taped it an hour ago."
"I know, I was there!" Leah grinned almost proudly, pointing to a spec on the screen. "That's the Lurian guy I was sitting next to. Nice man, but he just wouldn't stay quiet. Guess they cut me off, eh? Oh well."
"I taped it an hour ago because I had a work thing and couldn't watch it live," Dallas deadpanned, as if the Marine hadn't spoken. Mentally, she counted down the time in her head. *Three...two...one.*
"Oh? Oh!" Leah blushed heavily, having figured this wasn't the first time she was watching... the thought of watching something for the first time an hour later hadn't occurred to her with the multitude of other things running through her mind. Words couldn't express the embarrassment she felt. 'Way to uphold the fine tradition of dumb blondes, Leah.' She thought to herself mentally, the sudden onset of a hint of southern accent the result. "Ah'm sorry ma'am, I figured you'd've seen it by now. Ah'm really, 'really' sorry." She offered the PADD in her hand. "Uh... these are the post-action psychological reports of the Marines ma'am. Originally the Colonel's copy, but since one is s'posed ta be delivered to ya anyway, I guess we'll just switch off on tha copies."
Dallas accepted the PADD without taking her eyes off Leah and smiled sweetly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you, Private, thank you very much."
"Reconciliation"
PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell
PO3 Victory
For the umpteenth time, Max took a deep breath and attempted to press the door annunciator. He was still trying to organize his thoughts, what he was going to say to the one person on the ship who meant the world to him. For the past eight minutes now, he had attempted about fifteen times to ring the damned doorbell and lost his nerve. What exactly could he say to her? What was he going to say about Zamora? That was a loose end that he didn't get a chance to tie up. It was just as well, as he had heard through the grapevine that there were issues with her that he would rather not deal with right now.
Okay, this time you've got to do it, he convinced himself. Taking another deep breath to steady himself, he finally made contact with the annunciator and waited.
Looking up at the door as the chime sounded Victory slowly stood up. She had been lounging on her couch, reading one of her favorite books, Fellowship of the Ring, which luckly the computer had on record and had been able to replicate. She wondered who could be calling at her place at this sort of time. Setting her book down she straightended the hem of the knee length blue dress she was currently wearing.
"Who is it?" she asked as she came to a stop a couple of feet from the door.
"Hey, Vic," he greeted. He almost shuffled like a teenager at the doorstep of his prom date. "Can I come in?"
"Max?" she took a half step away from the door. A sudden dread welled up inside her. Not that she was afraid of him. More she was afraid of him breaking her heart even more so than it already was.
"Yep, just plain old Max," he replied. He waited a moment, imagining that she probably felt something similar to what he was feeling, and added, "I know you're still mad at me, but could you open the door? I look kind of stupid just standing in the corridor here."
"Um... Okay, come in" she managed after a long moment and went back to the couch and picked up her book, cradling it against her chest as she watched the door.
When the door finally revealed the inner sanctum of Victory, Max waited a moment before slowly stepping inside. "Thanks," he said to her. She always seemed to look so pretty in her off duty attire, Max thought to himself. Out loud he said, "Don't worry, I'm not here to pillage and burn your village." The fact that she stood a significant distance away from him was not unnoticed.
"What did you want?" Victory asked, watching him from where she stood, hugging her book to her as if it were some piece of protective armor. She was not sure what she should do now that Max was standing in her cabin. She could still see the pain in his eyes, echoing the pain she felt in her heart and knew she would have had tears welling up in her own if she could.
Her room was full of pottet plants of all sorts which she had aquired from the botanical section, giving the small cabin a very organic feel, a stark contrast to her own inorganic nature. Other than the plants there was little else in the way of normal decorations. The usual supplied paintings had all been taken down, several books were scattered across the small coffee table and couch and a picture frame with 2 file photographs of a pair of people Max didn't recognize rest on Victory's small desk next to a few odd looking electronic tools.
"Well," Max started but trailed off. All he could do for the moment was to gaze upon the vision before him. C'mon, don't screw this up, douchebag, a voice warned from within. Knocked out of his reverie, he continued. "Well, I'm here to apologize, and to ask if we could start over again." There, that wasn't so freaking hard was it? the voice cajoled. Max wasn't sure if it was the Little Good Guy on a bender or The Little Bad Dude taking the opportunity to kick him when he wasn't looking.
Victory didn't know how to respond and stood in silence for a moment, a million things going through her mind. "Okay.." she was finally able to manage. "Start over?" she said next and looked down at the floor. "I...I would like that...." she whispered. "But how can I know I can trust you?" she looked back up at him. Wanting everything to be okay and to have a fresh start at things. But she also knew that she could not just forget what had happened already.
"I just..." she stopped and hugged her book even tighter to herself. When she spoke again her voice was very quiet."I need to know I can trust you, Max. I can't have my heart broken again...I don't have much left anymore" she looked into his eyes, searching for some form of answer in them.
A couple of steps were taken to close the distance a little between them. "I want you to be able to trust me, but I also know that it's going to take time. Hence, why I'm saying we should start over." He proffered his right hand towards her. "Hi. My name is Max." He wore a reassuring smile and his eyes were glistening with tears that were being held back in a fierce battle of emotions.
She hesitated for a long moment, not sure what to do... Victory could see the iminent tears in his eyes. "I..." she closed her eyes for a brief moment. She could not just forget what had happened. But also she could see something in his eyes that told her he was trying.... "I...I'm Victory..." she replied quietly, and gently placed her hand in his.
The proffered hand was pumped gently a couple of times. "I wanted to know if you would be so kind as to join me for a cup of coffee in the lounge? At your convenience, of course."
Again a hesitation as she collected herself. "I, uhm, don't have anything going on right now" she said and glanced at the old tattered book still cradled against her chest. "I was just reading..." she offered a very little, almost shy smile
"Well," Max offered, "Maybe you can tell me what you were reading about over that aforementioned cup of coffee?" The cuteness factor just increased exponentially with that smile, he thought to himself. "Pretty please?"
"Um, alright" Victory replied as she was lead out of her cabin by Max. "Which lounge did you want to go to? Can it be one of the quieter ones?"
"Anywhere you want, Vic," Max replied happily.
"I think there's one on deck 14 that doesnt get very busy. Lets go there" she said and started towards the turbo lift, this time leading Max since he was still holding onto her hand. As soon as they were inside and the doors closed she rest her back against the lift car wall. "So, um I guess if we are starting over...I should ask what sort of stuff you like..." she offered a hint of a smile again
"Well," Max started off with a smile, "I like long walks on the beach, barbecuing, hard rock music, learning new things..." He turned to face Victory, now, looking straight into her eyes. "I also like being in the company of good people, especially redheads who can forgive stupid idiots such as myself who are all too human and make mistakes."
Victory blushed. "I... well..." she looked down at her feet for a moment and took a breath. "I guess I saw...see something in your eyes..." she looked up at him. "Something that shows you mean what you are saying..." she paused again. "I hope so anyways..."
"I do," he said softly. "I really do, Vic."
The lift traveled in reletive silence as the two of them watched each other. The humm of the lift car moving along it's tube the only noise until it coasted to a stop. Victory pushed herself away from the car wall as the doors hissed open. "We should get going. I think I want a French Silk pie" she announced and held her hand out for Max. "How about you?"
"I think I'll go for tira misu with my coffee," Max replied, taking her hand into his.
"Tira misu?" Victory asked, raising one crimson eyebrow in a very Vulcan fashion, the lenses of her glasses glinting in the artificial light of the corridor as they walked.
Max stopped in his tracks and gave Victory a look that would make a Klingon blink. "You've...never had tira misu?"
Victory put a finger to her lip. "Um...no I donno what it is" she said, apprehensivly.
"Why you poor deprived child. I must educate you to the wonder that is-" dramatic pause "-tira misu!" He hurried her down the corridor into the lounge.
"Wah!" Victory held onto her book for dear life as she was rushed into the lounge. "Um, this must be something good!" she managed as she was guided to the nearest available replicator.
"Oh, this is actually to die for," Max crowed, immediately ordering two tira misus. "While these are replicated," he continued as he picked up the freshly materialized delicacies, "They will give you an idea for the real thing."
Victory followed Max to a table near the windows that dominated the far wall...her eyes fixed on the plates of dessert he carried. While she did not need to eat what so ever her makers had designed her with the ability to eat in small proportions. There were a good many reasons for this, foremost to keep up appearences if needed, but also to test for poison or other substances. Luckily a proper sense of taste had been built in as well and she loved to eat whenever she could get a chance. Any food that was taken in would be processed and convereted into useful materiels for use by her internal systems.
"Um that looks pretty good" she said as she slipped into a chair, eyeing the decadent slices that inhabited the pair of plates. She breathed in, closing her eyes for a moment. "Coffee...cream...lots of sugar and chocolate?" she asked, opening her eyes again.
"Uh-huh," Max replied, his eyebrows waggling up and down. "Go ahead, try it. I promise you're gonna love it."
Victory picked up the fork that had come with the slice Max had placed in front of her. She sectioned off a piece and brought it up to her mouth. The aroma filled her nostrils as she popped the bit of cake into her mouth. "Wow, that is pretty good" she said after a long moment of silence and smiled as she went for another piece. "It's too bad I can't have more than just whats on this plate...otherwise I think I'd replicate some more"
"I know, it's good stuff," he commented. "I would eat it every day, if I could. But then that would ruin the level of regard that I have for this, and make it just another desert." A pause. "I take that back; tira misu could never become just another desert!" Max proclaimed with a healthy laugh.
"Uhuh" she said as she finished the last bite of her slice, than rest her elbows on the table and her chin in her upturned palms. "So I guess I should look up how to make this...tira misu then?" Victory asked. "Since fresh made is always better than replicated" she stick her tongue out.
"Um..." He looked around to make sure that no one was within earshot. "I know how to make it from scratch," he confided with a whisper. Max didn't like too many people to know that he actually knew how to make a slew of desserts. A grillmaster, and a candyman.
Victory smiled. "Well thats conveniant...I like too cook too" she said and rest her elbows on the table. "Not that I need to eat or anything... But I love the taste of food..maybe because I don't need it and can only ingest small amounts at a time" she shrugged. "So I can make the dinner and you can make the dessert?"
"That sounds like a plan to me," Max replied. "I've got a slew of recipes that my uncle had mailed to me not to long ago. He still holds out hope that I can learn how to properly prepare a gourmet meal." Max laughed at the thought. Truthfully, if he put forth a good effort, he might actually be able to pull that off.
She flopped back in her chair, setting her book down finally and looked at the empty plate for a moment. "It's probably good I can't eat much though...who know what would happen to my slim figure if I wasnt mostly machine?" she asked, glancing back at Max. "I'd probably blow up like a balloon!"
"Don't worry, I'd give you a good workout." Then he froze and lightened up a few shades. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like-"`
"It's okay" Victory cut him off. "Anyways, I don't think you'd be able to keep up with me for long anyways" she said, with a bit of an evil grin.
"That......that sounds like a challenge," Max finally said.
"A challenge?" she replied, placing her hands on Max's. "What sort of challenge are you thinking?" she grinned
"I think we should adjourn to another location to figure that part out," he offered.
"Oh? You have something in mind?" she asked as she got up and brushed her blue dress straight. "Or somewhere to go?"
"Both," Max replied with a mischievous grin. He offered his hand to her as he watched her stand.
She took his hand in hers as they left the lounge, everything bad that had happened between them had slipped from her mind for now.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(are we assuming they have gone back to Max's quarters?)
The lights were dimmed and soft music filled their air. Victory and Max were curled up on his couch. Victory's slippers were discrded on the floor a few feet away and her bare toes wiggled and curled as they kissed.
Holding her close in his muscular arms, Max whispered, "We can wait, you know."
Victory looked up into Max's eyes. "Hmmm, are you sure?" she asked as she rest her chin on his breastbone, her arms were curled under him, hands gently grasping onto his shoulders.
"Absolutely, I'm sure," he replied. It had been a long time since he spent any quality time with someone the way he was with her right now. And he honestly did not want to ruin it. "I don't want you to feel rushed."
She smiled sheepishly, her cheeks blushing, hesitating a little "To tell you the truth, I've never done this with anyone before"
"Even more reason not to rush into anything. Besides, this is nice just the way it is right now," he added before engaging the redhead in another passionate kiss.
After a long moment their lips parted and Victory rest her head on his chest again. "Can you tell me more about you?" she asked softly. "I mean more than what I know already...that you like Tira misu and can kiss really well..." she smiled. "And maybe what made you like me?" she asked after another long hesitation. "Most people I have known have been put off by a few things about me...."
"Well," Max answered, unconsciously scratching the stubble threatening to grow back on his scalp, "you also know that I fall under the spell of redheads rather easily." He smiled at her expression and continued. "I'm kind of a dick from time to time. Sometimes I mean to be, sometimes it's unconscious. But I believe that I act with the best intentions in mind...even though things don't always turn out the way I want them to.
"One thing I can say with absolute certainty about why I like you is that I am without a doubt happy with you. I've even seen possible futures with you. Happy futures. Together." Then he wore a quizzical expression as something she had said before struck him. "What things about you would put people off? Are you really a man?"
Victory blinked. "A man....oh...you found out my secret?" she said with a deadpan tone. Than smiled after just a long enough pause. "Um no I am not a man. But well, some people were creeped out by the red eyes, or the fact that I can see through things if I wanted too..." she trailed off. "Or that I am not a real person...well at least physically" she went on, holding up her hand, which came apart in several places, opening to reviel some of the inner workings along with what looked like sockets for some formes of attachments or cables, possibly for maintinence of the delicate servos and joints.
She looked into Max's eyes. "That doesn't creep you out at least a bit?" she asked as her hand locked back together. "I mean that I am mostly artificial...And what sort of futures have you seen? Have you been time traveling and not telling me?"
Max simply raised an eyebrow at her hand opening up. It didn't phase him in one bit, and in fact raised questions of scientific interest that he might ask her at another time. Instead, he placed his palm against her chest and spoke. "It doesn't creep me out at all. While your body is mostly artificial, you have a soul. I can sense that you are inherently and apparently a good person. You want to be happy, you don't play games, and keep things simple. That in itself is all the more reason for me to have the feelings I do for you.
"As for what I've seen...well..." He didn't know how best to explain some of the dreams that he had been having. He understood the concept of possibilities based on decisions made leading to many different directions in life. "Let's just say that I don't do the time travel thing, but I have a strong belief that if we stick together, we'll be very happy."
"Thank you" Victory whispered as she buried her face against Max's chest and hugged him tightly.
"Anything for you, Vic..." he replied as he held her even tighter against him.
She closed her eyes and her breathing began to slow. "Max..would it be ok if I took a nap for a little while?" she asked, her voice quiet. "I havn't gotten much sleep lately and this is pretty comfy..."
"That sounds like a great idea, I think I'll join you." Within minutes, both were deep in slumber, both visages bearing smiles of deep contentment.
"Spoils of War"
Starring Prince Thufi XXXIV
Aboard the Dreadnought R'lyeh
In orbit above Delta IV
"Bjortle-Mok My Prince."
Munching quietly on a meat-biscuit, Prince Thufi XXXIV looked up with annoyance at the glowing Mok-Djamin board. His Base Towers were left
vulnerable by the latest move, and combined with the earlier loss of his crystal and 2nd Sperpent, his ability to get out of this mess was
severely limited.
"Bjortle-Mok." he acknowledged with a slight dipping of his eyestalks. Vice-Commander Glig may have been one of the younger officers aboard the
R'lyeh, but the 'pod played a mean game of Mok-Djamin.
Fortunately his tactical abilities extended to fleet starfighter operations as well, making him a valuable addition to the Prince's staff.
Considering the bleak situation on the playing board, Thufi toyed with the ide of going out in one final blaze of glory just to end this slow
painful defeat, but decided that such was not the right message to send his subordinates.
Touching his Radial Crystal, he moved it and his 2nd Lancer to the inner circle. Bold enough to get the youngsters attention, but not to the
extent that any could accuse him of carelessness.
"I see that starfighter losses have not decreased Vice Commander." Thufi remarked innocently. Perhaps mentioning the tender subject would
distract the
young officer.
"Indeed my Prince." Glig's eyes never left the board. "Deltan Partisan groups seem to be well supplied with surface to air missiles...man
portable and easily concealed."
He tipped his Nova indicating a new defensive stance and also brought up his own lancer to block the threatening Crystal. "with you permission
I'd like to restrict low altitude operations until a suitable counter is found. In the meantime perhaps naval artillery could suffice?"
Thufi grunted at the new board orientation. He was facing a second Bjortle-Mok in two turns unless he could extricate himself now. "Orbital
Bombardment in lieu of close air support?" he inquired. "Are the rebels so well equipped?"
Vice Commander Glig shrugged with three shoulders. "Its their planet my Prince. They outnumber us 14 billion to just under 200 thousand.
Command of the high ground is all we have.
Thufi nodded with a glorp. It was an age old problem in the realm of interstellar warfare. Fantasy-shows and popular entertainment
aside.....the reality of the situation was that conquering a planet was a very very difficult task.
Prince Thufi's fleet had been in orbit above Delta IV for just over 2 Hlorps now, and despite having obliterated the majority of orbital
stations and fleet repair yards, the population below was still defiantly resistant.
There was no way....not even if every transport int he hydran fleet was used....that Thufi could transfer in enough troops to counter the
native
population of 14 billion.
Instead he would have to settle for the seizing of key government and industrial centers and mercilessly bombarding from orbit any attempts to
dislodge the occupation force.
For the moment things were at a stalemate.
Deltan partisans struck at ever opportunity, but the majority of the time such efforts would be seen and obliterated by Thufi's phalanx of
Destroyers in low orbit.
"Very well.....confine your fighters to the upper atmosphere for now...check with Commander H'laraish to see if he needs their support in the
outer solar system as well for picket duty."
"Picket duty?" Glig's tone indicated disappointment. It would mean long boring hours in the cockpit for his poor crews. "Are the Federation
raiding parties continuing?"
Thufi shrugged, retreating his crystal back to the outer ring. ther was really no other option. "The majority of Federation forces have
retreated to defensive positions around Andor. We did have a particularly annoying Battlecruiser acting as rear guard for awhile, but theres
been no sightings for almost 2 rotations. Still....blockade runners have continued to be reported, and your fighters would be valuable in
chasing them down."
Glig drooped his eyestalks. That pretty much amounted to an order. His crews would have probably preferred facing the danger of partisan
missles as opposed to such mind-numbing duty. "I'll see to it at once my Prince."
Perhaps it wasnt such a good idea to embarrass his superior at Mok Djamin after all.
The sudden hissing of an opening airlock interrupted any further discussion as a pair of armored tripods entered flanking an tall figure
between them.
"Forgive the interruption my liege," one of the guards blorgled, " but you wanted to speak with the captive as soon as he was aboard."
"Indeed." Thifi sighed, relieved at the excuse to let the game drop. "Bring him forward." he motioned.
A quick shove of a rifle butt in the small of the captives back propelled him to his knees in front of the reclining Hydran.
The figure was bipedal, and wearing a clear bubble-type helmet to filter out the natural methane environment of the R'lyeh.
"Treat him with respect my podling," Thufi borked an order. "We are civilized, not like our barbarian enemies and we will behave accordingly."
The captive was slowly regaining his footing, stretching painfully on his two legs, a sight that frankly nauseated the tripodal Hydrans.
How was it these humanoids didnt simply topple over?
How did they maintain their balance on only two tiny peg-legs?
Thufi shook his craggy head to clear the thought, and tapped his translation pendant.
"Biped." he commanded. "Do you understand me biped?"
The captive made a jerking motion with its head, a movement which the translator interpreted as <affirmative>.
"Good. I am Prince Thufi XXIV of Hydrax. I command the Dreadnought R'lyeh and Her majesties Forces above the world of Delta. Do you have an
identifier?"
Another jerk of the head, and the helmeted figure replied in a tiny voice. "Colonel Tal N'mon. Regional director 10th Deltan Militia on the
Northern continent. I have been asked to convey my Governments protests at the actions of your troops. Civilian casualties...."
"Civilian casualties are a fact of life in all conflicts Colonel. " Thufi interrupted with a wave of three hands. "Your innocent civilians are
shooting down my starfighters."
The Deltan made a shrugging motion. "Your starfighters are invading my planet." he said simply. "Surely you do not expect us to lay down
quietly?"
"Indeed." Thufi gorped, turning back for a moment to the gameboard, ignoring the alien. "I am curious Colonel. Intelligence estimates of your
world had profiled your species as one of the more 'passive' peoples of the Federation. You have a reputation as 'Breeders...not
Warriors'...Am I using the expression correctly?"
"Lovers...not fighters." The Deltan almost grinned behind his filter helmet. "Perhaps that is our reputation, but one might say that the more
passionate a race, the more dearly they will defend that which they love."
Thufi grunted. "Well said Colonel. Well said indeed. One would almost mistake your race for civilized."
He cut off any reply, and continued. "I too am civilized Colonel. I have no wish to reduce your planet to ash. We Hydrans are peace loving
people and we seek to end this conflict as quickly as possible. I make you a bargain. You will remain here, not as my prisoner, but as my
liaison to your planet. Rather than bombard your people out of existence, Im sure we can negotiate withdrawal of forces from key areas yes?"
The Deltan made another facial expression that the translator could not identify. "Negotiate a withdrawal? You wish me to be a traitor to my
people Your highness?"
Thufi grigged. "Of course not sir. I fully expect your people to continue to shoot down my fighters, and I will continue to bombard those
sites from orbit. However there are more...whats the term....humanitarian concerns. Evacuation of wounded? Exchange of prisoners?"
The silence from the Deltan already indicated Thufi had made his point.
The hissing of the airlock again pierced the lull, and the guards reappeared this time lugging a very large crate between them.
"Spoils of war my liege." the first announced with a wide frork on his face. "Or first echelon troops located this cache in a urban food
depot. "They're routed it to you with the compliments of Ground commander Grorgg."
"Indeed?" Thufi stood as the large crate was placed on the game table with a thump. "What is it this time...Klingon Aphrodisiacs?"
Inside the crate were several smaller paper cylinders that sparkled with light sheen of frost. "They are cold....preservatives perhaps?"
The guards shrugged. "Foodstuffs My Lord. You are supposed to eat it."
Opening a cylinder revealed a swirled paste-like substance that steamed slightly from the temperature differential. Thufi dipped a single
talon deep into the frosty mush and lifted a dollop to his mouth.
All three eyes widened at once. "Surprising." he managed to say in awe.
Lifting the cylinder free he examined the alien scribblings on the side, but was quite unable to decipher the markings. He tried another scoop
of mush. "Very unexpectedly good."
Motioning to the Deltan to come closer, Thufi indicated the cylinders. "Colonel...if you please. I do not read Deltan...what does it say
here?"
A strange expression crossed the aliens face. A raised eyebrow. "The writing isn't Deltan...but Human your Highness....its an import item we get from from Earth."
"Oh...earth. what does it say here?"
"Rocky Road." The Deltan managed to rely without laughing. The Hydrans were all digging their great claws deep into the frosty treat, smacking
their maws with delight.
"Amazing." Thufi managed around a mouthful of cream. "We should have conquered you a long time ago."
"Recovering"
Ensign Alexandra Lee
Alex blinked a few times as her sight cleared upon opening her eyes. The pain in her head had subsided and she was breathing alot easier dispite some soreness. Looking around, she saw she was still in the Galaxy's Sickbay, resting on a bio-bed and a figure next to her on the bio bed. She smiled at her long-time friend, Ryan. "Hey Ryan," her voice was rasp from being dry. "Mind fetching me some water?"
Ryan returned the smile. "Of course."
Ryan returned with a glass of water shortly as Lee moved to sit up. The room seemd to spin for a moment as she closed her eyes and opened them, as the room stopped spinning. She took the water and downed it in one gulp. The cool liquid was a god-sent to her throat as she placed the empty glass onto a nearby table. "So, what are you doing here?"
"I heard about the attack and I wanted to come and see how you're doing. I can't understand why someone would attack you."
"I can think of only one reason...they wanted me out of the Games."
"Do you have any idea who 'they' might be? At the moment, it seems Security doesn't have a clue to who was behind the attack." He hated to see Alex in this condition and now she was out of the games due to her injuries.
Alex shook her head. "No."
Ryan sighed. "Alex, I really want you to quit Starfleet and come with me to Risa to help in in the Atmospheric Control Upgrades. Starfleet is simply too dangerous. They can't even protect you at their own Games. It shows a real lack of concern and care that Starfleet has for its members. Why people willing risk their lives for an organization that seems to care little for them is beyond me."
Alex glared up at Ryan. "Thats enough, Ryan. I've chosen my path in life and that path is Starfleet. Starfleet Officers and NCOs have taken an Oath to defend Starfleet and the Federation...with our lives if need be. If you can't be happy for me as a Starfleet Officer, then...then I suppose its best you not be a part of my life, Ryan." Alex hated to say the last part but she meant it--she had worked too hard to be where she was today to simply throw it all awaya to simply be a civilian engineer. Especially in the time of war--Starfleet needed everyone.
"You're serious?"
"Yes I am."
Ryan let out a long sigh and grabbed his coat. "I'll never stop caring about you, Alex," he said as he headed out of sickbay.
Alex watched her childhood friend leave, fighting back tears. She wanted to go after him, but knew better. Their lives had gone down two completely different paths. Her eyes then caught a familiar figure entering the Sickbay and heading straight for her bed.
"What are you doing here, Amy?" Alex asked curiously.
"My friend is injured in an attack and you expect me not to visit?"
Alex grinned. "Thanks. Alex...be honest with me. Do you know who attacked me?"
Amy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "No, why do you...wait, do you think I had something to do with it?" Amy was angry now. "Alex, I may be a prankster but I would never stoop to attacking a competitor just to win. You should know that."
Alex nodded. "I know you wouldn't. I just wanted to see if you had heard anything."
Amy was relieved that her friend and former Academy Roommate did not suspect her in the attack...though she wanted to eagerly find out who did and make sure justice was served. "No, not yet, but I'll see what I can dig up."
"Thanks. So, how did you do in the Relay?"
"My team came in first and the Galaxy's came in third. But you don't need to worry about the games, just getting better. So, was that Ryan you were talking to?"
Alex took a deep breath despite the soreness in her chest. "Yeah...he tried to get me to leave Starfleet and join him. But we're in the middle of a war...I can't and won't leave when my ship and starfleet needs me the most...so he's...gone."
Amy sat down next to Alex and placed a reassuring hand on her leg. "I'm so sorry, Alex...but there will be other men...just give it time and remember to keep your eyes open. You're bound to meet someone. But until then, I want you to get well."
Alex smiled in return. "Thanks, I will."
Returning the smile, Amy patted Alex's leg. "Good. Well, I need to get back to the Games. Hope to see you again before we leave and I'll do what I can to help out the Investigation if I can. Later."
"Later." Alex watched as her friend headed for the exit. She laid back down on the biobed and sighed as she began to think about the recent happenings.
"Reviews"
K Jordan Elaithin
Director, Clandestine Operations
Starfleet Intelligence
---
10 Forward
---
Needless to say, the 10-forward lounge of a Galaxy-class starship was
unique. The Miranda had a lounge as well, one much larger and with a
better selection -- perhaps because of the nature of the mission,
perhaps because of the nature of the Captain, who could say. Jordan
Elaithin had been in the lounges of many other vessels, many other
classes, from the smallest supply ships to the largest heavy cruisers
in the Fleet. But. That said, there was nothing quite like a Galaxy-
class 10-forward.
She sat in the back, in the corner against the windows, having scared
away a couple of Engineering ensigns who had other plans for such
public privacy.
Sometimes, it was useful being feared. They didn't know exactly who
she was, they didn't have to. The looks she received from other
people in the room who thought they might know were more than enough.
Her position was a cliche -- in the corner, back to a wall, able to
view the whole room -- but it was a logical one, and one part of her
training she always fell back on. She could override it, be normal,
sit out in the open, or at a bar, back to the world, but she had to be
comfortable to do so, or she had to be deep cover, the kind that
required nothing but total awareness of normalcy.
Jordan sipped the tea and tried to concentrate on the padd in front of
her -- the list from the acting chief of Galaxy intelligence, the
cyborg from the past with bizarre futuristic technologies. Or some
such. She wondered, idly, when it was that she stopped finding things
like that strange, when she accepted this as a reality. Once upon a
time, she was normal, or so she liked to think. At least, once upon a
time she had the appearance of normal. That ended around the age of
eight or so. At least, that was the ending she could consciously
recall. It was completely shot to hell by the age of fourteen, that
was sure...
Some of the names raised mental flags for various reasons, but only a
couple because of anything that might relate to Eve/Valentina's
kidnapping. The story of the escape was brutal, but Jordan had seen
worse: back when the Section 31 battle was coming to a climax. She
momentarily flashed to the incidences in the Clandestine Operations
headquarters, back before she understood who she was working for, back
when she believed her husband to be in the very position she was
unwittingly serving.
The Director cleared her throat and paged through another collapse on
the list.
Being honest, this was not what bothered her. This was routine; this
was the type of extraordinary that was completely run-of-the-mill for
someone in her line of work. This list was little more than she
expected, and while she wasn't sure if that was because of reality or
purposeful omission, it was as it was.
No. What bothered her had a very specific name.
K'aa.
He was back on his feet. A replacement heart beat in his chest. The
one that had been pounding there at the time of their reunion had
given out due to, as the doctor reported, a whole host of factors.
Malnutrition, stress, the realities of the torture, and then, of
course, the procedure he'd undergone -- whatever that was, exactly --
could not have been very good for a being's physical health. She'd
read the files, asked all the questions allowed a raking officer with
Need to Know -- though many she had fell within the bounds of doctor-
patient privilege, and there was no chance that K'aa would sign that
away for the likes of her.
Though the whole truth was, the Galaxy operations chief wasn't the one
she worried about. He would be fine -- he was receiving some of the
best medical care in the Galaxy. A little heart trouble was certainly
manageable for the 24th century Federation.
No, being honest, she was most worried about herself. Because, for
far longer than a split moment, she was convinced K'aa's state was of
her doing.
She remembered the sensation back on that planet she'd long before
tried to put out of her memory -- even in the space before they
returned, she and her husband, when she destroyed Jii's doppleganger
and half the building in the process. Well... Oracle had, anyway.
That feeling, that avenging angel power remained fixed in her mind, a
sensation that part of her craved, but that she knew had to be
controlled. She couldn't go around obliterating everyone that looked
at them wrong. She couldn't be this horrible being, this back from
the dead evil that needed to be returned to where it came from. She
needed to be here, she had things she needed to do, tasks to complete,
a second chance to take full advantage of. She couldn't spend that
time being hunted by religious zealots and bounty hunters and people
convince the Blood of the Oracle would cure the Universe's Ills or
unleash the secrets to everlasting life or some such nonsense. She
couldn't be bringing attention to herself -- she operated as she did
because she had the trust of people in high places, the trust of
people whose opinions mattered. Obliterating people, turning personal
vendettas into dust, was not a way to maintain that trust. The
maintain her cover.
She'd never expected to be living a cover as herself.
It was why she'd all but disappeared, why she holed up in her Miranda
sanctuary for the past year, recovering from the incident. Getting
control, learning about this entity that shared her consciousness,
that gave her messages, that guided her, and Jii, where they needed to
be because of some other-worldly cosmic joke.
It all made half-human robots from the past with futuristic technology
look run of the mill.
And with all that in mind, she was concerned that she had affected
K'aa through more than the stress of her appearance. She was
concerned that Oracle had reached out and done what she did best. The
energy had been there, gripped around her own heart, boiling in the
veins underneath her skin, chilling the back of her eyes, settling
heavily in the space in the back of her brain. Jordan knew that she
was not responsible for the attack, the heart failure that brought
down the formerly lizard-shaped Gorn. That was coming anyway, it was
just a matter of time. But did something speed it along? When he got
so close, when he got so threatening, did something click? Was there
instinct involved? Unfelt? Unknown?
"We didn't do it," she murmured aloud under her breath, hearing the
shift in her own voice, feeing it the way someone felt the mask. "No
need to worry."
But there was. If life in intelligence had taught Jordan anything, it
was that all have the capacity for great evil -- even the best of all,
company which she knew that she, and the Oracle, could not be placed in.
We have to accept we're not as evil as you want us to be, Oracle's
haunting whisper rang through her mind, traveling on the voices of the
others from around 10 Forward. When you accept who we are, the fear
can end.
No. In this case, fear is healthy.
We have too much to do.
"Oh feck," Jordan said, suddenly, realization breaking into the
deepest thoughts and she slammed the padd down on the table a little
too loudly -- loudly enough to solicit careful glances from people who
didn't actually want to be looking but were too curious not to.
"Arel's going to kill me."
"Better Homes and Gossip"
Cmdr. Arel Smith
Samantha Widdlestein, npc
****
USS Galaxy
Arel's quarters
****
Samantha scrunched up her nose. "So you two, like, just watched the
sunset together?"
She'd come to Arel's quarters to give her friend the daily gossip - a
large portion of which had been about Arel and the villainous Spengler
- and procrastinate on her stifling paper for Alpha Quadrant History.
As usual, the security officer had rolled her eyes at the "important
news" but had allowed Samantha to stay as long as she didn't interfere
with Arel's calisthenics. Now she was lying on Arel's bed, flipping
through notes for her next commentator gig and watching her friend's
katas.
Arel moved easily into her stance. "Yeah."
Sometimes she worried about Arel. The woman had a history of picking
the wrong guy and this Spengler sounded ten times worse than James
Mitchell.
"That's weird, 'Rel," Sam replied. "Watching a sunset together is like
this totally romantic thing but hearing you tell it is like some
existentialist allegory for life. With threats of violence."
She shrugged. "We ate some food too."
The teenager harrumphed. "Do you like him?"
Arel exhaled, moved into the next position. "Not in the way that you
mean, Sam. And that's all I have to say about it."
Samantha recognized Arel's 'there's many places to hide your dead body
on this ship' tone and decided to table the discussion for later. "No
comment on the Jaal Jaxom hook-up either?"
Arel didn't even bother to glare at the girl. "What else?"
"Hmmm .. you already heard about the attack on Ensign Lee, right? ...
Oh! There's a new hottie in Tactical."
"Not interested."
"Someone told T'risia that neon green crocs were *the* fashion 'must
have' for a Terran memorabilia collection," Sam said with a grin. "I'm
expecting pictures any day now."
Arel looked puzzled. "Isn't that an animal?"
Samantha almost sighed. Sometimes her cleverness was lost on the
little people. Maybe she should have told T'risia about the leg
warmers instead? "Brian and Andrus have moved in together. I'm helping
decorate their quarters."
"It would be nice if Suder would find my Bajoran prophecy sometime
this millennium," Arel said with a scowl.
"He's a bit preoccupied. You have to give them some time to adjust to
living together."
"Pfft."
"Be nice. They're in looooove," Sam crooned.
Arel stopped mid strike. "Decorate how?"
Samantha didn't miss a beat. "Furniture, paint job, the works. I'm a
bit stuck on the bathroom's decor though. Trying to find the right
balance between masculine and feminine is a real bitch, especially
when you're trying to find matching towels."
Arel looked thoughtful. "How much do you charge?"
Samantha jumped up to her feet and started jumping and clapping. "Oh,
I have SO many ideas for this place! Okay, first we'll need to get rid
of this bed cover. I mean, are you trying to say frustrated warrior
woman? And that bookcase is waaay too garage sale ..."
"Not my room, Sam," Arel interrupted. "Stop pouting; it's not as
adorable as you think it is. I want to do something to Korvin's room
..."
Samantha started clapping again. "I can do that!" She leaped off the
bed, grabbed Arel's hand, and ran towards the other bedroom.
"This is going to be so much fun! What did you have in mind? A bed
shaped like a starfighter? Walls painted in red with a bat'leth trim?
I can do anything you'd like."
"I want something ... nature-ish," Arel said. "You know, trees and
shit. He likes the outdoors."
"Woodsy," Sam said, mentally throwing out the red and silver palette
she'd been imagining. "I can order a tree themed, flame resistant
wallpaper. Oh, and wooden bunk beds, maybe with some kind of leafy
canopy! Change the carpet to a dark brown. And some stuffed jungle
animals ... "
Arel nodded. "That all sounds great. When can you start?"
"Now!" Samantha shrieked, deciding that her boring paper would just
have to wait. Korvin needed her!
She looked amused. "I'm going to finish up my warm-up. Let me know if
you need anything."
"What are your thoughts on a snake cage?"
"Profoundly unenthusiastic."
"Gotcha. Go exercise. I've got everything under control."
Shaking her head and wondering if she'd just initiated the apocalypse,
Arel left Samantha to her work.
"History Unfolding" Part Four
'Dunnich Circle, Napiers Point, and Other Places of Interest' (Section A)
Colonel For'kel Arvelion- SFMC
Commanding Officer
188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment
With Various Passing Mentions
=================================================
(Triad War Memorial- Alpha KS-128, 2426)
The Bajoran news anchor swiveled in his seat just as the commercial break ended, staring straight ahead at the holo-recorder currently running. He wore an immaculate Bolian silk suit over a Terran 'New York' style dress shirt complete with a hand-made tie-dyed chess-board tie handmade by 'T'Risia of Vulcan', the newest rave in fashion design.
"Finally tonight, before we say good night, FNN is proud to present it's final part of our series entitled 'Heroes of our Time', in homage to the millions of veterans who stood for the Federation during it's darkest time, we bring you this last installment. Priya Deri reports."
The Bajoran man in the comfortable studio settings of the FNN central news room is replaced by a woman who, given her red hair and bright green eyes, one would never have thought of as a full-blooded Betazoid prior to the 'Disaster' as it was known on the planet. She is wearing heavy winter clothing, her backdrop a frozen waste land with differences in terrain almost hidden by the white sheet of newly fallen snow. The only sign of civilization are the people walking behind her, and the massive memorial which is the center of attention, just below the bluffs. Her red hair nearly eclipses her eyes until she pulls back the hood and shakes her hair free. She stares into the recorder, fiddling with her microphone clip until it sits just right on her coat lapel. "Good evening ladies and gentleman from the system known plainly to cartographers as Alpha KS-128. Normally this is a desolate, empty world, devoid of life save for a small observation post in the facility that, decades ago was fondly called 'the Alamo' and served as a home of one sort or another for the hundreds of veterans behind me. Above us is the famed Napiers Point where modern tacticians and strategists believe the battle for this system, and indeed the larger War as a whole, began shifting in favor of the allies. To our west is Dunnich's circle, where the very same Federation flag raised on that spot that the Starfleet Marines of the 188TH Marine Detachment planted it 41 years ago today. Every other day of the year there is nothing here, but one day every year, as it has been since the close of the bloodiest war in Federation history, the veterans of that faithful day, regardless of the uniform they wore, gather to remember the ones unfortunate enough not to be able to commiserate with them. It is among this mass of Hydran, Breen, Starfleet, and Marine veterans that I was fortunate enough to meet the subject of this interview.
His parents named him For'kel Arvelion, but to the Marines under his command he was known simply as 'The Colonel'. Before he entered the political arena of diplomacy , before the ground breaking mutual defense pacts that would pave the way for the Cardassians and Klingons to join the United Federation of Planets, and even before becoming known as the man who hunted down the infamous Crell Moset, he was here. On this frozen tundra, in command of the 188TH Starfleet Marines detachment, then known as 'The Furies'.
You undoubtedly know the names of the people he served with, for they are also indelibly inked into the archives of history, many of those we've already covered... among the elite of Starfleet. Names like Jean-Luc Picard, Elaithin Jii, Jordan Elaithin, Premier Man'darr Maivia of Capella, T'vara of Vulcan, Victor Krieghoff, the infamous Rebecca Von Ernst, Consul Ayanna Hinanat who's famed diplomatic touch paved the way for a treaty of association between Vulcan and Romulus, and many others who have left their own imprints on our society. All of them are remembered, one way or another, to this very day as members of the Federation's Greatest Generation.
Although weathered by experience, one would never guess Mr. Arvelion to be older than 30 years by his face and energy level. In fact he is 71 years old, born in 2355 and the son of colonists. A widower twice over, Mr. Arvelion has fathered three children, lives on a ranch on his homeworld of Al'Klei'sh, and retains the rank of Commandant in the Defense Forces of his native Confederacy, most often found training new recruits. Today however he's returned to pay respects to the departed, and to keep tabs on the Marines he still considers family.
One didn't need to be telepathic to witness how deep the emotions ran, having come back to this place. He wore his emotions rather plainly... Betazoids have adopted a phraseology regarding masks, those images of people as they wish to appear... I didn't detect any masks with Mr. Arvelion. There were questions he didn't want to answer, such as why it was he left the Marine Corps, but he stated as much. Most questions he readily responded to. I asked the good Colonel what it was like that day... the last day before the Triad saw their best invasion route into the Federation's core worlds cut off completely. This, is what he had to say...
====================================================================
(13:51 hours, Day 2- The Battle of Alpha KS-128)
"Courtesy of Staff Sergeant Drax, sir." Leah handed over three power clips for his rifle, recently recharged. "You'll be happy to know everyone's restocked."
"Good, let's hope it's enough." For'kel muttered with only passing interest, staring through his binoculars at one big... 'something'. "Where's Lieutenant Dobryin?"
"Leading the defense of Dunnich's Circle, sir." Leah replied simply, her blue-green eyes focusing intently on the horizon after her reply. "I don't remember those bluffs being 'that' flat."
"Probably because they weren't." The Colonel replied back before handing over the binoculars so she could view it for herself. "Everything relies on controlling that circle. It's the only place anywhere near us suitable for an L-Z, and although we're good on supplies for now that has a habit of changing."
"Jesus, what 'is' that?" Leah replied back.
"I don't know." For'kel replied honestly. "I 'thought' it was an artillery platform or launch pad of some kind, but the fighter groups did a pretty good job of catching the Hydrans on the ground, and the ones that did get in the air have been too busy trying to survive for them to be in a position to bother us, let alone land." The Stagnorian sighed, between the exhaustion, frustration, and getting shot at this mission of waiting around for their eventual annihilation was beginning to 'really' suck... more than being surrounded and out numbered always did. "It's power consumption is off the chart."
"A replicator maybe? Industrial type?" Leah handed back the viewers. "Or a cannon?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of shield generator." Fork bit his lower lip. "I sent Lieutenant Ward and his ARCs ahead to scout it out. Haven't heard from them in..."
And just as fate would have it, the call came in.
"Alpha zero-one, we are under fire! I need immediate fire support at our location, priority one, danger close! Reference map Bravo Delta one-one-seven, grid coordinates zero-one-three-four; one-six-nine-five. Make it count!"
"Roger, shot on the way."
"Lieutenant, what's your situation?" Fork took a knee, doing his best to drown out the multitude of other noises around him.
"We're surrounded sir, the cliff is at our..." The radio seemed to cut off for a bit, the sound of phaser fire and the tell tale (to the Colonel) sound of hissing T'Kith'kin soldiers screeching as they were cut down. It was only the sound of Ward's breathing that let him know someone was actually still on the other end. "Sorry about that sir, the cliff is at our backs. We don't have an available escape route... it looks like we stumbled on some kind of T'Kith'kin landing zone. We're up to our necks in bugs, here!"
"Can you Evac?"
"Negative sir, I have three Marines down. It's just me and the Sergeant still fighting."
"Are they alive?"
"Yes sir."
Yellow bolts streaked across the sky, causing several explosions visible in the distance on the heights.
The conversation with Ward had cut Fork deeply. His instinct was to rush ahead and save his Marines, but the fact that they were anticipating a major assault on Dunnich's circle prevented that. As a combatant commander, For'kel always wanted to be the first one in. It was part of his mindset... war was a damned dirty thing that was best to get over with as quickly and efficiently as possible to save as many lives as you could... and he wasn't the type that let someone else do his fighting for him
That being said, he also was no Q or omnipotent war god. He couldn't be everywhere, all the time. One of the tricks he learned in rising through the ranks was that the truly good commanders didn't 'need' to be everywhere all the time... they saw to it that the Marines under them were suitably trained and skilled to recognize what needed to be done, and to do it. Fork had that kind of faith in his Marines... and as much as he wanted to be with them, like a father giving away his daughter, he needed to let go.
"Sergeant Elba, get your squad over here! Owen, Ugahlo, Kurita up front!"
The Marines hustled over.
"We have ARC's cut off at Napier's Point, here." For'kel took his field knife and drew a diagram in the snow. "This is the cliff, and any possible escape route is cut off by apparent T'Kith'kin forces." He drew the arch between the makeshift demarcation lines of the bluffs. "They can't repel down, too many wounded... and we are 'not' leaving any one up there. I want you 8 to fight your way to them, and get the hell out of dodge; I do 'not' care how you do it, just get it done. Leah, right before you guys bug-out, I want you to drop a marker as close to the T'Kith'kin as possible. I'm going to call in an airstrike and kill everything alive on those heights once you're out, understand?"
"Oohrah, sir!" The Risian Sergeant snapped, answering for all of the Marines under her command.
"Good, go!" Fork dismissed them. "Godspeed." The Colonel's attention then turned to the sound of approaching vehicles from the North East. They were making their attack on the circle it seemed.
===============================================================
Ava barely had time to take a breath after their last attack before being engaged again. The Black Sheep's mission had been to attack a Hydran fighter base near the Triad command center... sufficing to say the amount of ground based Flak and defenses they came up with, even when using the terrain to avoid detection and deny the enemy solid firing arcs was immense. They'd been forced to engage from a further distance than initially hoped for, meaning they only destroyed about 85% of the base and the fighter compliment on the ground... it wasn't the total elimination they had been hoping for.
And the 15% that survived was being a bitch.
"Get low, high-speed!" She heard over the integrated comm-link. Ava followed her flight lead, diving for the dirt as fast as the Peregrine II allowed. They were nearly out of ordinance, if they didn't lose their pursuers quick this was going to be a very bad day.
The Hydrans let rip with their gatling phasers... a weapon that was practically impossible to completely evade. Their small, powerful fighters handled speed well. They could outrun their Federation counterparts on Alpha KS-128 any day of the week.
Of course, all that speed could be a disadvantage this low to the ground in a 'very' relief heavy terrain.
Ava did her best, but she took several hits. Fortunately the old bird under her could handle a beating. "My shields are down to 44%."
"Hold it... hold it..." the leader's voice came back. "Now!"
The two fighters did their dance. It was a favored escape tactic of the Black Sheep, developed over their months of deployment. Vent highly ionized drive plasma in the face of their faster opponents, pull up and take a hard turn opposite your position. If you were the fighter on the left such as Ava was now, you pulled up above the terrain and went into a hard vertical right. Between the interference from the drive plasma, and the hard maneuvers, you typically managed to break any sensor lock an opponent had on you and got a second or two of vital stealth to make an escape.
Then again, you could also do what they did this time around. Wait until you were in front of a really big mountain, betting your enemy was suffering from target fixation, and then make the hard turn.
Sure enough, two sleek Hydran fighters rammed right into the stalwart mountain, their explosions triggering an avalanche of snow and flaming fighter components.
"Jesus." Her flight lead muttered, having looked over his system displays. "Let's break off and head home for rearming. I'll phone ahead."
=========================================================
Damn, Napier's point was a lot higher than it looked like from the distance.
"They've got all the pathways locked down." Sergeant Elba licked her lips from inside the confines of her helmet. The visor had zoomed in on the detected life signs, the HUD lighting them up as known hostiles. "Damn... they have to have at least two or three dozen troops on either side."
"How're we doing this?" Ugahlo asked openly. "We can't just go in guns blazing... they'll shoot us eventually, and I'm too pretty to die!"
Everyone shook their collective heads at the African native.
"I think I have an idea." Leah finally volunteered.
They saw her looking up, the eyes of the rest of the rescue squad immediately following.
"LAUGH-ALYMPICS"
Part 2
DODGEBALL
PREVIOUSLY: Upon beaming down to the Olympic Village...I mean the Starship Games Villiage, our hero Leo Streely found himself nose to nose with his French nemesis...St. Croix!! A challenge was thrown down and accepted where as Leo and St. Croix would face off in 3 events to determine not only personal supremacy but also win ownership of the priceless velvet Ferengi mating paintings that both men had been disputing for years.
Advancing into the finals, Leo found himself the victim of French Shenanigans! On the way to the arena, Leo's leg was struck by a cowardly assassin wielding what appeared to be a loaf of incredibly stale French Bread!
Things look grim......
Leo Streely laid upon the doctors table, surrounded by his closest friends, his neon pink spandex pant leg rolled up exposing a particularly nasty looking welt on the side of this right knee.
The blue and black blotches of the bruise looked like angry thunderclouds rolling across a pasty hairless skyline of flesh.
"Looks painful." Jack Callahan said, squatting down to take a closer look. At his side, Logan Zamora squatted down as well, mimicking his bodyguard. The young man was growing particularly fond of the scruffy Security Officer and when asked if he wanted to go on a field trip to the games, he jumped at the chance.
"The doctor could fix it with a regenerator in seconds." Raven Darkstar rumbled from where he was looming over in the corner next to the perplexed looking event physician. The Navigation Chief's minor wounds had almost all healed. He finally even had the sling removed from his arm and while it wasn't yet anywhere strong enough again for hand to hand combat, he was thankfully able to cross his arms over his chest to emphasis his cynicism.
"No.....It's over.....call my mother.....tell her I tried..." Leo gasped, flailing his arms about like a fish out of water, bringing forth a small giggle from Logan who was wearing the headband Leo gave him that said "Big Hoss" in bold emerald letters.
He jumped a little when the public address clicked on with a squawk.
::: "Under rule thirty one dash two, Leo Streely has 15 minutes to return to the ring. If Leo is unable to return, then St. Croix is awarded first place by default." :::
"OH NO!!! YOU SEE!!! IM DOOMED!! DOOMED DOOMED DOOMED!!" Leo said trying to lift his leg but feeling pain he flopped back down, this time with the back of his hand on his head. "ITS BROKEN! SHATTERED!! JUST LIKE MY DREAMS!!!"
The exasperated El Aurian doctor - still not understanding why Leo was refusing medical care - simply closed his med pack and removed his gloves.
"I'll inform the judges. You did well out there young man. A Silver Medal is something special. I have never seen anyone dodging balls like you."
Leo stared at him.
"Is that some kind of a gay wise crack?"
"What's a wise crack?" Logan asked.
"I'll tell ya when your a little older, kid." Callahan said.
"Damn it!" Leo said slamming his fist down on the table.
"Leo, forget it. you were great! I couldn't be prouder. It was just bad luck!" Ensign Shakes, Leo's ever present bard said.
"Yeah! You would have won if they hadn't cheated." Logan added.
Leo managed a weak smile.
For the children.
"Thanks guys. Can you just leave me alone for a minute?"
"We'll be outside." Shakes said with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
As his entourage slowly filed out of the locker room, Leo reached out and grabbed the arm of the last man to leave.
"Raven...Raven ol' buddy...." he gasped, still wincing in pain. "Do you...Do you think I had a chance at winning?" he asked.
"Leo, it is just a game. Children on the GALAXY play it during gym class. The teachers say it is not about winning and loosing."
"Spoken like a man who has never played dodge ball. Besides, what do teachers know. At one point they were teaching that the universe was flat. That's not what I'm saying." Streely said.
Dark star paused.
He tensed the way people do before the moment of penetration during a colonoscopy.
What he was about to say was about equally as pleasant to him.
"Yes, Leo you had a good chance."
"Well can you fix my leg? I mean with that thing you do?"
"First of all, there is no need to play anymore. You proved point. Second, as I said, the doctor could fix this in seconds. You are being melodramatic."
"WHAT?!?! What point? That I can take a beating? Every time I see that guy he's gonna know that he got the best of me. I'll never have balance that way. Not with him. Not with Ali. Not with me."
"Who or what is Ali?"
"NEVER MIND ALI, OK?!?! IM HAVING A MOMENT HERE!!! NOW ARE YA GONNA HELP ME OR NOT?!?!"
Darkstar shook his head.
"Close your eyes." he directed, then let our a very long sigh.
Slowly he began to rub his hands together until finally he slapped Leo across the face.
"OWWW!!! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!?!"
"For being stupid. I will be back with the doctor. You are almost out of time."
===== BACK IN THE ARENA =======
"All right ladies and gentle beings! This is the moment we've all been waiting for. the pres..." The ring announcer started before he was interrupted by Ensign Shakes who had just raced from the dressing room.
He whispered into the announcer's ear and suddenly the man with the microphone's face lit up.
"Leo Streely's gonna play!?!?? LEO STREELY IS GONNA PLAY!!!! Now isn't this what its all about folks! You know it!" he said as Leo limped out to the arena glaring across the line at his arch rival St. Croix who was all but ready to accept the gold medal.
"All right! The big event! The final match to determine who will emerge victor and winner of the men's solo dodge ball event! To my right...Leo Streely of the GALAXY...versus St. Croix of the COBRA KAI."
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