USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 60812.28 - 60901.03

Weekly Summary

Number of posts this week: 18
Total word count this week: 26,495

On ship:

Nathan Everett meets with Kimberly Burton regarding some interesting things she discovered during his last physical. All throughout his life Nathan's been in perfect health, which is because one of his distant ancestors was an augmented human from the time of the Eugenics Wars. Nathan is worried that if it gets out, this will cause him to have to leave Starfleet, but since Nathan himself wasn't augmented (he merely inherited the augmented genes), Kimberly feels confident that all that will need to be done is the addition of the information to his official medical record.

Paul McAllister, latest addition to the Intelligence department, arrives aboard and heads to the cargo bays to pick up a container of his stuff. The two crewmen helping him seem rather disappointed at the fact that the container isn't loaded to the brim with weapons; instead, the only weapon in there is an ancient Terran handgun, given to Paul as a joke gift. Also among his belongings is a mechanical parrot, which is in sleep-mode until it's awoken by one of the crewmen. The cage is unlocked, so naturally...

Waiting in the brig (where she was beamed during the confrontation with Faylin McAlister), Ayanna Hinanat's thoughts drift back to an earlier time in her life, when her life was simpler and less complicated than it is now.

Man'darr Maivia returns home to his quarters, where Branwen tells him the news about the dormant Hydran retrovirus threatening to rewrite her DNA again. The two of them go to Sickbay to consult with Ben Maxwell again, who outlines the treatment plan for the both of them. Branwen is still concerned that the treatment will take too long and that it will interfere with her work, but agrees to go through with it if it means she'll finally be cured.

Later, Max calls up his old friend Roger Vernikoff, and the two get some time to catch up on things, including Max's reprimand, his new girlfriend, Roger's treatment at Johns Hopkins...and now, Max finally thinks some things may be turning out the way he wants them to. That night in his quarters, his thoughts once more turn to the conversation with Roger and all the memories it brought back up. Mulling over those thoughts, along with playing a favorite song on the guitar, allows Max to finally get some untroubled sleep.

Her daily life returning to more or less normal post-Games, T'risia takes the opportunity to engage in the Terran ritual of Desk Management. This involves decorating her cubicle with, among other things, a motivational poster featuring Mr. Spock, a holo of 8-ball Hunter, and a Jack Sparrow "action" figure.

Leronem Risdanach attempts to contact both Vulcan and Starfleet Medical about the flagged item in T'Pei's medical file, but is mostly stonewalled. Once he returns to his quarters that evening, he receives a message from his friend Solek, who sends along information about T'Pei's case, and how he expects that the mental blocks put in place by the Fullara she underwent 16 years ago are starting to wear off. Unfortunately, this doesn't exactly improve his mood.

Off ship:

Near the end of the Starfleet Games, the Best Marine Competition, organized by Colonel Arvelion, Sergeant Thral, and others, is scheduled to begin. The competition is a three day survival/endurance-style event; the pair of competitors who finishes with the highest number of points wins the competition.

In their souped-up warp sled, Allison and Victor arrive at the USS Zeus, where they are eventually allowed to land their shuttle. Panic meets them in the shuttlebay (along with a squad of Security officers) and asks them why they're here to see Captain von Ernst, especially because Victor should already know that she's missing. Victor admits that he did know Rebecca was missing, which makes Allison very mad. When Panic asks them again why they're here, Allison decides to screw the timeline and reveal just who she really is, causing Panic to immediately lock down the shuttlebay in order to minimize the possibility of a temporal clusterfuck. The three are beamed directly to Sickbay, where Panic has the ship's CMO do a complete workup on Allison. After some nervous stalling, the CMO declares that Allison is definitely Rebecca von Ernst's daughter, and that there is no way the Rebecca of now gave birth to her, because Rebecca at this point is still a virgin. Panic realizes the implications, but also realizes that right now, Allison is her only real chance to locate Rebecca.

Panic takes Allison and Victor to Rebecca's quarters, hoping that they will see something that has so far been missed, which may give them a clue who abducted Rebecca. After some poking around Allison realizes that something's not right about her mother's robe, which prompts her to go through retracing her mother's steps after she returned to her quarters that evening. This lands Allison on the sofa, where she picks up the broken, discarded padd from the floor, and it shocks her. That's not supposed to happen, so they start going through all the other padds from the 359 box, and notice that many (or all) of them have a lot of nonstandard components added into them.

Two days later, John Rhinestone arrives aboard Zeus, only to find that Allison and Krieghoff have already left. Panic tries to play dumb, telling Rhinestone that she had no reason to detain the pair as they weren't (and still aren't) on any list of fugitives. But, after Rhinestone continues to push her, Panic finally snaps, revealing the broken padd to him. (The mysterious device inside the broken padd is something Rebecca recognized from her days at 359...seeing it causes her to put some things together in her mind, and ultimately sparks her decision to leave the ship.) Rhinestone takes the padd back to his boss in Temporal Affairs and demands an explanation...and his boss tells him the story of Admiral Jurgen Hoth's plan to "behaviorally modify" some of the brightest (yet psychologically crippled) rising stars in Starfleet, in order to make them fit in more wherever they were assigned.

Aboard the Tangnagel Array, K'aa hallucinates a meeting with Susan Beauregard as he asphyxiates from Gloria Beauregard choking him. The Susan hallucination tells K'aa it wasn't his fault that she died, and asks K'aa to save her sister. K'aa regains consciousness in time to pull the Jaal head-thing off Gloria, giving Gloria a chance to move back and arm herself while K'aa struggles with the thing...but who will she choose to attack?

After being AWOL, Paul McAllister shows up in the office of an unnamed Admiral (who may be his Intel handler). The Admiral asks him why he went AWOL, and if he was reponsible for his father's death. Paul doesn't admit to it, but neither does he outright deny it, either. Disciplinary action must be taken against him, but since he has up until now been a fine officer, Paul is demoted in rank from Lieutenant to Ensign.



Logs

"Best Marine Competition" Part One

Various Characters and NPCs of the Marine Variety
===========================================

('Fort Zinderneuf'- Just Prior to the Conclusion of the Games)

Built far outside the normal arenas of the Starfleet Olympic Games specifically for the new 'Best Marine Competition' in the Span of 10 days by the Marines themselves, Fort Zinderneuf was named in homage to P.C. Wren's novel entitled 'Beau Geste', in part depicting life in one of the SFMC's historical antecedent units (and one of the few standing national military units left on Earth) the French Foreign Legion.

Along with thousands of their shipmates in Starfleet proper, 50 pairs of Starfleet Marines had volunteered to participate for unit honor. Rather than a somewhat militarized version of the classic Olympics games however, they were competing in the newest gimmick to promote fraternity in the Corps, the Best Marine Competition.

Credit had to be paid where credit was due. Thral had thrown himself into the project with gusto, along with volunteer advisors from some of the other represented Marine Units. In just 10 days they'd drawn up the courses, come up with basic rules and scoring procedures, and most importantly had melded a wealth of various traditions into a single, all encompassing barrage of events designed to gauge competitors' abilities across the full spectrum of physical activity commonplace in battle. Events drawing upon the collective military traditions of the Federation member worlds, as well as societies as diverse as Klingon, Romulan, Cardassian, and much to the Colonel's pleasant surprise, even Stagnorian. Thral released the events and general rules just 12 hours before the slated start of the competition, for the sake of fairness. It would end up being a 3 day start to finish event, providing precious little time for sleep or food (much as was the historical rule of war) with each event being accorded a certain weight in points. The duo with the most points when all was said and done would win.

For'kel scrolled through the events as the competitors sat down for the 'last meal', an aspect in the military histories of a number of species. The banquet, actually part of an informal 'event' between the culinary skills of various shipboard mess staff, had dozens of options, entrees, appetizers, and desserts from the traditions of every competitor's homeland and a few additional, popular menu items tossed on in the name of good taste.

"The Klingons have a ritual of eating and drinking as much as they possibly can before non-lethal competitions and award ceremonies." Leah, who agreed to be his 'partner' for the competition, whispered when she noticed Fork, rather uncharacteristically, wasn't paying much attention to the food.

"Good thing we're not Klingons... sounds rather painful."

"Well, as a matter of fact they often end up loosing their lunches in the process. They're really tough competitors."

The mental image that remark, as sanitized as it was, brought with it caused the Andorrian on her other side to become queasy, managing to stop spilling his guts only with the aid of a napkin and making a rush for the lavatory.

"Thank you Leah, that's exactly the kind of thing I want to hear right before I eat." For'kel smirked, handling things a bit better than his blue skinned neighbor.

"Just doing my part for morale, Colonel. Psychological operations and the like." Leah returned with equal sarcasm before scrolling through the same information. "Looks simple enough. Stick together, don't leave a teammate behind, complete the events, go home afterwards." She smiled sweetly, or at least sweetly in the way southerners being sarcastic smiled sweetly. "What could possibly be hard about it?"

"Exactly." The Stagnorian, a purveyor of fine sarcasm and familiar with many of his Aide de Camp's quirks replied. "Nothing difficult about three days straight in the field at all."

"At least it's slightly warmer than Alpha KS was." Leah half-feigned positivity. She was in fact grateful not to be chattering her teeth this go around.

The less enthused Colonel failed to see the silver lining. "Uh-huh. Well, tell me that when we're going through the night-time navigation course. Looks like they went with a jungle environment this go around." Fork helped himself to some food, a sweet Terran pork roll, a Bajoran pasta dish the name of which escaped him, an Andorrian chicken-noodle dish lightly sauteed with Cardassian Yamok sauce, and a side item composed of a Betazoid citrus and melon fruit salad.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, if I may have your attention." An elder man (made as obvious by his classical 'ladies and gentlemen' address rather than the more politically correct 'my fellow sentients' speech as his looks) called out from the head of the table, a crystal goblet in his hand. "It seems word of our get together has reached the absolute highest levels of Starfleet's Marine Corps. I have in my hand official correspondence from none other than Force General Eva Quinn herself." The white haired enlistee cleared his throat as he read the letter out loud.

"To all competing Marines... we at Mount Olympus... I mean Starfleet Command..." the General's joke got a warm reception in laughter "welcomed news of your gathering with a toast in your honor... okay we were drinking and figured the challenge was as good a reason as any to rationalize it, but the point remains that we wish you all, the Federation's finest, the best of luck. We have seen your courage, commitment, and stamina on the field of battle... your bravery and tenacity are legendary, and a fitting tribute to those generations of Marines that have preceded us. Words fail to express how proud we are of each and every Marine in green serving today. We, and the rest of the Federation, look forward to seeing the other skills that will undoubtedly shine from you in friendly competition... those of compassion, team work, and drive.

We have given consideration to the special request made by Colonel Arvelion for an award to recognize the best Marines in competition..." he stopped long enough to set eyes on the Colonel. Fork nodded, hoping to jab him into continuing, which he did without hesitation. "And after discussion, we agree such a commendation to be absolutely appropriate. The Colonel's proposal is hereby granted. In January 2241, in the first test of the Starfleet Marines and during the bloody Four Years War with the Klingon Empire, the 2nd, 8th, and 13th Marine Regiments were dispatched with all speed to the planet Sinbad IV. There, under the overcast of an imminent invasion, the Marines scarcely had time to establish proper defenses when 12 regiments of the Klingon Imperial Ground Forces landed. Out-numbered 5 to 1, the Marines fought with dogged determination and stubbornness, capturing or killing 30,000 hardened Klingon warriors in their first engagement. Two days before the final surrender, a Klingon General by the name of Ki'roz approached a Starfleet Lieutenant overseeing the transfer of Klingon wounded, and a Marine Captain who's company had been responsible for force protection. He then pulled his Mek'leth, his Bat'leth having been lost in a last attack on Marines of the 2nd Regiment, and offered it to the Marine as an indication of surrender. The young Marine looked at the grizzled warrior, hesitantly accepting the blade. Ki'roz then asked to be killed. The Starfleet Lieutenant, baffled by the request, asked why he wanted to die. Ki'roz replied, as Klingons do, that honor demanded it.

The Lieutenant didn't understand, but the Marine Captain did. He looked to the Lieutenant and put it simply. 'Klingons kill themselves rather than be captured. It is a matter of honor among warriors.' The Lieutenant, still confused, looked back to Ki'roz and asked 'Why, if you are going to die anyway, are you surrendering?' Ki'roz pointed to his men, formerly of the elite Black Saber Bear Shock regiment, before replying 'My men refuse to obey me. They quiver in fear of the Starfleet Marines'.

Therefore, in homage to those Marines who forged our destiny, I hereby authorize the presentation of two golden Klingon Mek'leths to the winners of the competition, certification of authenticity and replicator codes have been provided to Sergeant Thral. May the best Marines emerge victorious. Semper Fidelis, Force General Quinn, Commander in Chief- Starfleet Marines." The man stopped and put the PADD on the table, reaching for his glass, and held it up prominently. They all knew what was coming. "Semper Fi!"

"Do or die!" The officers in the room shouted back.

"Oohrah!" The enlistees echoed, and they all drank.

"Never figured you for the sentimental type, Colonel." Leah mused.

"Yeah, well..." he shrugged. "I guess I sometimes surprise people."

"Bad News"

Major Nathan Everett, Commander Air Group
Lieutenant Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer
===

Entering sickbay yet again, Nathan began wondering if there really
*was* something wrong with him. Normally, he tried to avoid the
place whenever possible, but last night he'd received a message from
Kimberly requesting that he meet her in her office the next
morning.

~~Maybe she just missed me,~~ he thought to himself with a smirk. He
flashed a smile at the nurse manning the reception desk and
walked on past, making his way up to the door to Kimberly's office and
pressing the little button that went 'chirp.'

"Major," she greeted him with a smile as the door opened, "come in.
How are you?"

"You tell me," Cowboy replied as he stepped inside and slid into the
chair across from Kimberly.

"Relax Major, you passed your last physical with flying colors," she
reassured him, "But there is something I'd like to discuss with
you."

"Oh, God," Nathan muttered quietly. "Listen," he continued, sighing,
"whatever Ah said to you last time we saw one another, Ah
didn't mean it. Ah apologize if Ah offended you, and--"

~ Geez, just like his mother, ~ she thought with a silent chuckle.
"Have a seat Nathan, that's not why I called." She said as she
waved to the chair opposite her.

"Oh," he said, blinking. "Sorry, Ah thought Ah..." He shook his head. "Okay.
So what's up, Doc?"

"I have to say though, that was almost exactly what your Mother said
when I spoke to her the other day, is there some sort of history of
angry women calling your mother to demand an apology?" She teased
gently.

Nathan answered her with a surprisingly bashful smile. "Well, not
since Ah got outta high school, but by this point expectin'
trouble's kinda become a habit fer me," he admitted. He settled into
the chair, then, allowing himself to relax after realizing that
whatever Kimberly had called him in for, it must not have been
something life-threatening.

Then he finally processed everything she'd said, and he quickly sat
upright again. "Wait, what the hell'd you speak to mah mother
about?" He demanded, his eyes widening in alarm.

"I contacted your mother because I had a few questions, and since she
was listed as your Doctor when you were younger I figured
she'd be the best person to speak to. Relax," she advised him again,
"we just need to have a chat about your results, you're fine."
~ Slightly better than fine actually. ~ She added silently.

"Alright," Nathan said slowly, a little confused. "What'd you wanna
talk about?"

Looking thoughtful for a moment she contemplated just how best to
break this to him, then with a slight sigh she decided she
couldn't really do any better than the way his mother had explained it
to her. "Tell me, how much do you know about the Eugenics
Wars on Earth?"

"Uh..." Nathan hesitated. It was kind of a weird question to suddenly
ask someone out of the blue. "Not much more'n what they teach
us in school." History had never really been Nathan's strong point. "Why?"

"Well, some things came to my attention when we did your physical a
while back, it was little things, but my curiosity was piqued,
and I had some time. Individually nothing seemed out of the ordinary,
but when I put everything together after a while something
didn't add up, so I checked your file, then called your mother." ~ I
hate this! ~ She bitched to herself, ~ How do you say
something like this without worrying the hell out of someone! ~

"Simply put Major, you're in great shape," she complimented him, "for
a Human though, too good." She added almost apologetically.

He frowned in confusion and scratched the back of his head. "Okay,
since when was there such a thing as bein' *too* healthy?" he
asked. "Oh, and thank you, by the way," he added with a playful grin.
"Ah'm glad you noticed."

"You're welcome," she returned with a similar grin. "The reason I
mention that and the Eugenics war though is that during your last
physical I noticed some oddities. When I looked a little deeper
that's when I noticed a pattern and called your mother. She was
the one who explained."

"Apparently you and she are descended from someone who was augmented
at that time. Your DNA, and by extension your physicality is
slightly above the norm Nathan." Blunt perhaps, but to the point, and
now it was out she could answer questions instead of tip-toe
around the subject.

Nathan stared across the desk at Kimberly for several long moments,
trying to comprehend what exactly she was telling him. Looking
back, it made a certain kind of sense; if it were true, of course.
He'd been in perfect health his entire life, and couldn't recall
a single time when he was seriously ill or suffering from any physical
ailments that weren't caused by external factors. He'd always
figured he was just lucky, that it was always the guy next to him who
happened to get hit instead.

He frowned, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the significance
of this revelation. "That doesn't make any sense, Doc," he
finally said, measuring his words carefully. "Ah'm not some kinda
superman. Starfleet never woulda taken me if Ah displayed signs
of genetic engineerin'."

"True," she agreed amiably, "and you're not a superman, just descended
from one. According to your mother one of your ancestors,
during the time of the Eugenics Wars was what was then called an
'augment', or as they came to be known, the genetic supermen."
Lifting a PADD from a pile at her feet she accessed his family tree as
it had been explained to her, "The gene's are there, but,
well diluted I guess will suffice for now, as people marry and pass on
'some' genetic traits to their children. With each
successive generation the augmentation is less and less. I wouldn't
have noticed it except I had a slow day, and had time to look
into your results." Offering Nathan the PADD she smiled, "You're no
more or less Human than me." She reassured him warmly.

"With the minor exception of the Augment blood in my veins," Nathan
muttered under his breath. He was starting to wish Kimberly
actually had called him down to tell him he had some life-threatening
illness. "So, what's this mean, Doc? Am Ah gonna have to
leave Starfleet 'cause of this?" His eyes widened and he looked around
before lowering his voice. "You haven't told anyone else,
have you?" he asked worriedly.

"At present, no. Though I will eventually have to I'm afraid." She
replied apologetically, it wasn't going to be easy either.
With the constant phobia against genetic augmentation there was no
telling what the reaction would be, though in his case he hadn't
had anything done, it was the way he was born. His mother though, she
had withheld the information.

"For now, just go about your daily routine, nothing has changed. I'll
ask some questions and speak to a few people, there's an
Admiral, Bennett I believe who oversees the genetics firewall, I'll
have to place a call to him." Smiling reassuringly she tried to
look confident. "Honestly Nathan, you've not 'been' augmented. It's
just part of your ancestry, and a small part at that, no one
has done anything wrong, except maybe fail to report it. Leave it
with me okay."

"Alright," Nathan allowed, taking the padd from Kimberly and looking
it over. "Why's anyone have to report it, anyway? Lahk you
said, nothin' illegal's happened, here. Can't we just keep a lid on
this? It's not gonna hurt anyone."

"True, it's not likely to hurt anyone, however there are some in the
fleet who would jump on this if it came to light and blow it
all out of proportion." Thinking of a few names that sprung readily
to mind she sighed, in many ways he was right, what would it
serve to announce this to the universe. "If I found it out though,
others can too, and there are some smart people in Starfleet
Medical," she reminded him gently. "The main problem isn't the fact
the augment genes are there, it's that it has gone unreported.
That is going to be the first hurdle, past that there shouldn't be too
many complaints." ~ I hope! ~ she added silently.

Nathan shook his head and looked over the information on the padd. He
was quiet for a few moments as he read, his eyebrows knotting together
in concern. "Jesus," he muttered. "This guy was a monster."

He looked back up at Kimberly, then, his eyes pleading. "Please, Doc,
don't tell anyone about this," he begged her. "Lahk you said,
there're people out there who'd turn this into a giant mess. If they
knew what Ah was, they'd do everything in their power to get
rid of me. Mah mother, too, once they realized she's just lahk me. Ah
can't let that happen to her."

"Do you trust me?" She asked simply. Needing the answer to that
question right now.

Nathan took a deep breath, hesitating to answer. He looked into
Kimberly's eyes, searching for any sign of betrayal in her, but all he
saw there was kindness, and concern. There was something else in her
eyes that he thought he could see, something that he hadn't really
noticed before. He wasn't sure what it was, but suddenly he felt safe
discussing this with her. "Yes. Ah trust you, Kimberly," he finally
said, unconsciously calling her by her name for the first time.

"Then trust me please. If I can, no one will know any different,
it'll just become part of your official file." Smiling reassuringly
she hoped she'd be able to keep to that. Fortunately she'd already
been speaking to various people on a related subject, Victor's lung,
so she knew the people to talk to and had read up a little on the law
concerning this. Theoretically as he had not 'undergone' any
enhancements no law had been broken, it was just a matter of
concealing it from Starfleet during his application. His mother
though was the one who would have to answer that question, though
considering whose genes they had inherited, she couldn't blame her for
keeping it quiet.

Nathan frowned, thinking it over for a moment. He was still a little
shell-shocked, and worried about how people would react if this did
get out. "Okay," he agreed with a short nod, his manner subdued.
"Thanks, Doc."

"Thank you." Glad he trusted her with this she resolved to get this
dealt with as quickly and as quietly as possible for him. "Is there
anything else I can do?" Kimberly asked.

He looked down at the padd again, and his frown deepened. "Ah should
probably get outta yer hair," he told Kimberly as he looked back up at
her. "Ah've taken up enough of yer time today."

"I'm always here if you want to talk Nathan," Kimberly offered
sincerely, "just promise me you're not going to worry too much about
this. I'm sorry I had to be the one to break it to you," she said
apologetically, "but I will help you sort it out as quietly as
possible."

"That means a lot to me, Doc," Nathan told Kimberly as he stood up.
"It really does. Thanks. And Ah'll do mah best not to let this whole
thing get to me." He forced himself to smile down at her, and then he
walked out of Kimberly's office. His fingers gripped the padd
containing his ancestor's information like a vice, almost as if he
were afraid that, were he to drop it, it would be picked up and read
by someone else.

As he left sickbay and stepped into the nearest turbolift, Nathan
looked down at the padd again, turning it over in his hands. The doors
hissed shut and the turbolift thrummed to life, and Nathan sagged back
against the wall. "Dammit," he sighed. "Why couldn't Ah've had a
flesh-eatin' virus or somethin'?"

MomQuest III : Warzone





In the Dark of night……….

on the edge of space……….

…….. a predator waited.

Its hide was of the thickest uranium alloy, and its fangs dripped with white hot phaser fire.

It breathed a hot breath of charged ion poisons, and in its belly an antimatter fire burned silently in anticipation of its next meal.

With invisible probes scanning the Darkness around her, the USS Zeus lay in ambush, ready to savage any who were so unfortunate as to happened by.

She was a hunter through and through……waiting .

It happened sooner rather than later.

=/\Bridge, Tactical. New contact. Bearing One-Five-Seven Mark Two-Three.

Red-shifting out of warp at the edge of the star system.

Classify contact as Delta Two. Inbound our position.=/\=

Commander Teresa (Panic) Church leaned over in her command chair and
stabbed the armrest. Was this the vanguard of the Hydran advance they
had been expecting for so long? "Tactical, bridge. What do you make of
her Smitty? Bad guys?"

=/\= Sorry boss. She's running a Starfleet IFF transponder, Ma'am.
Deceleration profile indicates a small craft, probably with some
shit-hot engine mods. Figure A souped-up runabout or a Warp Sled. =/\=

~Damn.~ "Copy that Smitty....start your track and keep me informed."

Releasing the button, Panic turned to her left and raised an eyebrow at
the dark haired woman lounging there. "What's the word Fear? We
expecting any visitors today?"

Life on the USS Zeus had taken some adjusting to following the

disappearance of its former Captain, one Rebecca von Ernst. Nominally

the captains handmaidens, Commanders Fear and Panic had shared the
executive duties of running the day to day ships operation and allowed

the redheaded terror to be concerned purely with matters of Hydran ass
and the kicking thereof.

With Rebecca gone however a more traditional command structure was
needed and given her scant seniority, Commander Church took over until
such time as Starfleet figured out what the hell to do with them. In the
meantime, she was satisfied to continue making life hell for the Hydran
forces in the Delta IV sector.

Satisfied to remain as XO, Fear merely shrugged at her former partners
inquiry. "Visitors? Ten light years behind enemy lines? Don't think Bob
Hope and the USO make it out this far."

Panic frowned, turning to study the newly installed main viewer screen.

The multiple tiny repeater screens that Rebecca had preferred for
reviewing her mathematical formulas were no longer necessary and as such
the bridge crew had reverted back to fleet standard.

"Tactical, Bridge....we got a make on that contact yet?"

As if on cue the viewer flickered on to reveal a small craft rapidly
decelerating down from transluminal speeds, the faint crackle of
Chernekov radiation sizzling across its navigation shields.

"Warp Sled." she mused, studying the image. Basically a big-engined
shuttle craft intended for high speed courier work, or VIP transport.

Frowning, Panic hoped it wasn't the latter. VIP's sucked.

=/\=Bridge, Tactical. Approaching the edge of weapons range....can I
kill it?=/\=

"Hold your horses Smitty...let's see what they have to say first."

=/\= Ummm....not to disagree ma'am but you did get the memo about what
the two guys in a shuttle and a nuclear bomb did to that starship last
year?=/\=

"Can it Smitty, or I'm coming down there to smack you around
personally."

Not for the first time Panic wished the custom designed Bridge of the Zeus had more chairs.

In addition to being customized purely for the use by Captain von Ernst,
the bridge of the USS Zeus had been laid out for operation by a bare
minimum of staff. Three officers....Fear, Panic, and von Ernst herself
had all that had been required to run things, with tactical operations
being the sole responsibility of the aforementioned captain.

Again, with her out of the picture, Combat operations had to be
transferred downstairs to the Tac Center, which made for annoying
communication delays that had yet to be worked out.

That and the fact that without her firm hand, the crew was beginning to act like a bunch
of smartass's

=/\= Communications…..yeah okay...=/\= The tactical officer sounded
almost disappointed. Well. Rebecca's crew had been chosen for their
aggressiveness after all.. =/\= Hailing now....you want me to
transfer it up to you?=/\=

Panic said yes, and before long she was staring at the grim faced visage
of a Starfleet officer flanked by a surly eyed blond curled up in a
shuttle seat next to him.

"Lt Victor Krieghoff." the man identified himself, "Acting Security
Chief USS Galaxy, requesting permission to come aboard."

The girl in the seat nudged him quickly with her elbow, at which he
added, "...uh...requesting a meeting with Captain von Ernst regarding
classified documents."

Panic's eyes narrowed, and without so much as a 'please stand by' she
cut off the speaker and rounded on Fear. "What the hell. Wasn't it
somebody from the Galaxy that have been trying to call the Captain all
week? Are these the same yahoos?"

Fear nodded and tapped out a few commands. "It was a girl that's been
calling us. Jimsdottir something or other. Computer...display service
record and holograph of crewman Jimsdottir, associated with United
Starship Galaxy current manifest.

Obligingly, the cheery faced image of young Allison popped up on screen
for quick comparison.

"Looks like her." Fear mused...." must be an old picture, she looks
older now. Computer display image of Lt Krieghoff, same ship."

Again the official Starfleet photo seemed to match their current
visitors.

Sound still muted, Panic watched the two figures shift uncomfortably on
screen, aware no doubt they were being scrutinized for possible
destruction.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++

"What's going on?" Allison whispered unnecessarily to Vic, watching as
the two muted women similarly whispered to each other on the shuttle's
tiny viewer. "Where's mom? Why isn't she on the bridge?"

"No one, not even your mother, spends *all* their time on the Bridge,"
Victor observed. The statement didn't answer the question, but it
sounded like it did, and that was enough for now. "I imagine that
they're deciding whether to tell us to turn around, come aboard, or
shoot us out of the sky."

"I recognize these ladies," Alli noted, "From the future....They were mom's bridge
crew, a bit older then, but same ladies. Fear and Panic. Nasty women."

"The minions of Mars, God of War." Victor smiled humorlessly. "I doubt
that they're any nicer now."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"This guy's the security chief right?" Panic asked rubbing her chin
thoughtfully as she studied the two figures silently chatting to each other,
"Wasn't that Starfleet Intelligence Brief that got sent out a few weeks
back CC'd to all Ship Captains and their Security Chiefs as well?"

Fear bobbed her head. "The one about the boss disappearing? Yup. So
what's this guy doing showing up asking to speak with her if he should
already know she's gone right?"

The two women considered each other for a moment. "Unless he's putting
on a show for blondie sitting next to him, something isn't kosher."

"Which begs the question....who the hell is Blondie?" Fear pulled up the
file on Jimsdottir again, "A simple Armory specialist? Halfway across
the quadrant in a high speed courier asking to speak with s mysteriously
missing Starship captain? After weeks of attempting to call her on
subspace?"

"She looks familiar somehow...I can't place her though." Panic finally
decided. "All right, do a level one scan on the sled...just in case she
is another nuclear trojan horse, and then bring her in the shuttlebay.
Have Mr. Hathaway and his Security teams standing by." She stood from
her chair...the one that had so recently been Rebecca's

"I'm going down there to see who the hell these people are."


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Allright....who the hell are you people?"

Backed up by the fifteen phaser rifles of a full Security platoon, Panic
stood hands on hips and studied the motley catch she had just snagged.

The male looked competent enough, scary almost in a way that made her want to leave the room….but there was something reassuring about her Security backup that kept Panic from living out
her nickname. Now that she saw the female in person, Panic was almost
completely convinced she'd seen her somewhere before. She looked
sick...weakened somehow, but possessing a fiery gaze that in some ways
rivaled Krieghoff's own.

"Where's Captain von Ernst?" the blond demanded, ignoring Panic's
questioning. "I need to speak with her."

The security platoon muttered silently to itself before Panic silenced
them with a glare. Rebecca's disappearance was still a highly guarded
Starfleet Secret....however, if this Krieghoff fellow was who he claimed
to be he should already be aware. Strange that his traveling companion
did not.

Choosing to deflect the issue back on him and watch their interactions,
Panic considered Krieghoff squarely. "Lieutenant Krieghoff....Chief of
Galaxy Security yes?"

"Acting Chief, yes," Victor nodded.

"Perhaps you can field that question then. Where is Captain Rebecca von
Ernst, Lieutenant?" She put enough of a hint on Victor's rank to imply
the query as an order.

Well there was nothing for it now but take the heat, since he'd been
standing in the kitchen since Allison came back. "I haven't got the
slightest idea where she is, Ma'am," he replied. Glancing to Allison, he
added quietly."I'm sorry, Allison." Turning back to Panic, he added,
"She's not here - we both know that after your message to the Fleet -
and I don't have any idea how or why she vanished out of her cabin. Not
yet, anyway."

Alli's head snapped over to look at Vic so fast, Panic could swear she got whiplash in the process.

"Gone?…." she tried to whisper aghast, unable to form the words withher jaw dropped to the floor.
"She's….you knew all along…."

Seventeen different emotions ran through the young woman at once, several of which made her slightly more scary than Victor for a few moments.

The processing sorted itself out soon however in the form of a thunderous smack across his jaw that literally echoed off the shuttle bay walls.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD, YOU KNEW!!???!!"

Victor accepted the slap without comment, knowing that he deserved it.
"I didn't tell you, because it wouldn't have done any good to tell you,
Alison," he replied. "If you'd know she was missing, you would have
panicked, and been so worked up by the time we got to this point that
I'd have needed to sedate you. I thought it was better this way - not
fairer, or kinder, but better."

This time a mere slap wouldn't do, and she cracked her knuckles across his jaw, unfortunately hurting herself more in the process than him.

"Who…..who are you?" she winced from pain, both physical and emotional. "Who the hell are YOU….to decide whats better or not where she's concerned?"

He stood there without flinching from her eyes. "Sometimes you have to make decisions that you don't like,
even if you know they're going to hurt people that you do. That's part
of the price of command; your mother would have understood that, your
father certainly would. Because you're their child, I think you will.
Maybe not today, but eventually."

"I'm not in your DAMN fleet Vic so don't give me that command decision crap!" Alli spat, the information causing Panic's eyebrows to rise in interest. ~~Not in the fleet? Then who was she?~~~

Victor offered no other excuse…..there was none she'd accept anyways, but before Allison could make a third attempt to deck him, Panic stepped in.

"This is all very interesting I'm sure." She interrupted.
"While I'm more than happy to let Blondie here kick your ass all over my
shuttle deck, I want some damn answers first."

Staring down both of her guests, she repeated her initial inquiry. "Who
the hell are you, and why the hell did you come halfway across the
quadrant to speak to a woman one of you.." her eyes flashed at Victor,
"...one of you already knew wasn't here?"

"We're who the records say we are," Victor replied quietly, eyes
checking Allison's reaction to make sure she didn't so something that he
couldn't get them out of. "And we want the same thing that you want - to
get Rebecca back."

Panic picked up on Victor's eye movement. Turning to face the young
woman fully, she still fought the unbearable feeling of familiarity. ~~~Rebecca…..not Captain von Ernst. They see this as a personal mission…not an official one.~~

"OK sweets....who are you? " she said at length, "How does a mere crewman manage to get her Department head to drive her all the way behind enemy lines? What's you fascination with the captain?"

Mind still reeling from the shock of Vic's betrayal, Allison glared at
the Commander. Spuff her and her stupid questions. Spuff Vic and his
precious timeline. "My name is Allison von Ernst..…" she began slowly. "Im here to find my….."

"STOP!" Panic held up a hand, as the familiar look finally fell into
place. She'd seen that same surly sarcastic look on her former captain
many times....but that was impossible. Wasn't it?

~~DAMN I hope I'm not right.~~

"Lieutenant Hathaway seal off the shuttlebay and have your team report
to debriefing." she snapped to her Security chief behind her. "No one is
to discuss anything they've seen here until I can get things cleared
up."

Turning to glare at Victor, Panic shook her head in disbelief. ~~Holy
Crap man....who the fuck did you bring on my starship?~~ her thoughts
fumed. "Call Dr. Javanshir and have him clear his examination room NOW!
We're doing a site to site directly to sickbay on my signal."

Looking down at The young woman who's angry expression was as familiar
as her own Panic frowned. "Before you say anything else missy we're
going to figure out exactly who you are."

"Kittens and Catnip; A (Clichéd Classic?) Film Noir Story"

Part 4: A Quick Ending.

Lt. JG Le'on Khatowren, Security Kitty

**********

USS Galaxy, Holodeck Five

In some old town in America in, say, the 1920s...

As I leave da Carmichael Mansion, I take out notebook and start reviewing vhat I haff seen so far. Thankfully, rain has stopped so pages do not get vet. I valk down the street vith no particular destination in mind… yet. It vas about then vhen big goon mutt (or vould dat be mutt goon?) steps out from de shadows and growls at me. I pause and look up at him...

And up, and up and up... dis is one tall dog, especially for normal dogs...

He cracks his knuckles, which sounds like he’s grounding up gravel in his hands, and looks down at me with dose sharp Doberman eyes of his. “You... Are three months late on your rent cat.”

Interesting, considering that I’m paid up through end of month. “Did you get check in the mail? I put it dere dis morning.”

“There was no check and there will be no more you if you don’t pay you flea ridden pest!” he says as he takes a swing at me.

I just look up at his massive fist the size of my body as it passes where my head would’ve been had I been my normal height. Maybe dere is something to be said for being short after all. I just sit there, point a claw at him and laugh. Dis just infuriates da mutt more and he swings a few more time, hitting nothing but air. By this time I’m rolling on the ground, holding my sides since dumb mutt can’t seem to figure out vhy he can’t hit me. All muscle and no brains.

And dat is when he decides to try out for de Indianapolis Colts kicking team. Next thing I know I am flying through air from him punting me like football. I finally land a few blocks away in snow bank from local ice company; vich is great. De shaved snow cushioned blow to my spine so now I can die of pneumonia. I crawl out of snow pile, shake off and continue on my way.

I end up at Saint Morris’ Cathedral in downtown. Since de Father Mally O’Tabby is on list of suspects, I decide to drop in for a visit. I find Father O’Tabby up at altar on his knees and praying. “Searching your soul, Father?” I ask.

He doesn’t even look up. “I am not worthy of being a Father...” he says pathetically.

“Well you certainly don’t have equipment to be Mother...” I remark.

“What?”

“Never Mind. Vhere vere you vehn Carmichael vas killed?” I ask, getting back on track. “And vhy does your name appear in many of his notes?”

“Carmichael came to me in a private matter. He said he’d sold his soul to the devil in order to get ahead in business. I thought it was a metaphor at first, but the more he talked, the more concerned I became. I had to think on what he said. That was two days ago. Today he turns up dead and I didn’t help the poor man out when he needed it the most.” He explains.

Before I even haff chance to ask more, irritating page comes over intercom. =A= Lieutenant Khatowren, you are being called to duty. Report to Security ASAP =A= Joy... So much for time off. Dis episode vas getting dull anyvays.

“Computer, End Program and Exit.” I say as I turn away from the holographic priest, who I leave looking very confused. Dis episode vas poorly written in my opinion. Late 20th century earth attempt by author of Davis trying to make a decent mystery story. He should’ve stuck to writing his comic strip instead. Lazy Orange Tabby Cat much better than dis train wreck of a program.

I pull out script from under trench coat as I get into corridor and toss it into nearest reclaimator chute. One could accuse me of destroying literature but one has to possess it first in order to destroy it. Ah vell... Maybe vork vill be better dan dis. And if anyone ever vonders, I tink dat de wife was having affair vith competitor, vanted hubby rubbed out, and landlord pulled da trigger. Or something like dat...

I must have word vith friend later on his choice of holoprograms...

THE END...?

“I Don't Get It”

or

“Clearing Customs, Part 1”

Ens. Paul McAllister

Crewman Abbot (NPC)

Crewman Hardy (NPC)

Soundtrack: “Closing Time” -- Semisonic

(“Closing time -- Open all the doors and let you out into the world”)

< A Cargo Bay, USS Galaxy>

“The reindeer were shit’n all over the place, ‘cause they were sick, Mama Claus was PMSing, the elves were on strike, and it was Christmas Eve,” repeated Abbot as he checked off another shipping crate as inventoried on his PADD. “So when the Angel knocked on Santa’s door with the tree and said ‘Here’s your Christmas Tree, where would you like me to put it?’” Abbot glanced expectantly at his partner Hardy.

“I still don’t get it,” said Hardy, bending over to pick up another container.

“It’s how the angel got on top of the Christmas tree.” The voice came from behind the pair of crewmen. Startled, Hardy dropped the container he had just picked up on Abbot’s foot.

“Damn it!” bellowed Abbot. Bending over to remove the offending container, he slammed his head into Hardy’s, who was also bending over to pick up what he had dropped.

“Crap! Oh, Merlin’s balls,” Abbot cried, rubbing his head and dancing about on one foot. Hardy, apparently unaffected by the cranial collision, began to hop up and down to better pat Abbot on the back in sympathy. Eventually, their mutual hopping turned them to face the voice of surprise.

Abbot and Hardy’s gaze took in the man the voice belonged to – first, from the deck up, the leather sandals and black socks, then pale legs like albino tree stumps to the kaki shorts, the loud blue, white and red Hawaiian shirt to, finally, the handle-bar moustache, eye-patch and black beret that completed Ensign Paul McAllister’s holiday ensemble.

Paul removed the much chewed and unlit cigar from the corner of his mouth. “Sorry about that, guys,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Abbot and Hardy had ceased their hopping. “And just who the hell might you be?” asked Abbot crossly. This refugee from Giligan’s Island had caused him some serious pain and he was in no mood for political correctness in greeting strangers.

“McAllister,” replied McAllister. “Paul McAllister. I understand some of my things have made it aboard and have to ‘clear customs,’ so to speak?” Paul handed a PADD to Abbot.

Abbot glanced at the PADD. “Ensign McAllister, Lot 86. Welcome aboard, sir. We just need to verify the contents. Hardy, go fetch Lot 86 for Mr. McAllister.”

Hardy’s face was blank. “Clearing customs? I don’t get it,” he said, taking the PADD and moving off to find McAllister’s shipment.

Paul glanced at Abbot and lowered his voice, “Command school candidate, eh?” Abbot chuckled.

“Hardy’s a burrito short of a combo plate, but he’s a good lad. And you, sir, if you don’t mind me asking, but did we pull you off of vacation?”

McAllister laughed. “Yes, Chief, I was just on holiday with some friends when I got buzzed to report to Galaxy ASAP. Call me McAllister – I never did go in for all that ‘sir’ stuff.” Paul extended his hand.

Abbot shook hands and said, “Not a Chief yet, Bud Abbot is my name. Crewman Abbot.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Paul as Crewman Hardy approached carrying a medium sized fleet shipping container with an anti-grav unit.

“Lot 86, right Bud?” asked Hardy. “Right you are, Stan,” replied Abbot. “Mr. McAllister, if you could just open this up, we can have you on your way in no time at all.”

McAllister placed his thumb on the container’s faceplate and waited for the biometrics to verify he was the owner of its contents. The latches sprung open, and Abbot and Hardy lifted off the lid. Inside the container were several smaller cases in a variety of sizes, all but one a uniform Starfleet gray in color. One case was black. The shipping case also contained a covered birdcage, and it was this that Abbot first noticed.

“Mr. McAllister, I’m sorry – they should have told you when this stuff was shipped that live animals, well, um, there’s no air in these containers once they’re sealed,” apologized Abbot. Crewman Hardy looked ready to cry at McAllister’s loss.

Paul grinned and reached into the case, pulling out the cage. “Not to worry, fellas. Polly’s a parrot that doesn’t need air.” McAllister proudly pulled off the cage cover to show his mechanical friend to the startled crewmen. Inside the cage, perched on a swing bar was a beautiful green and blue bird that looked exactly like a parrot.

“Polly’s a children’s toy, really,” explained McAllister. “She acts just like a real parrot, flies, poops, you know, all that parrot stuff. Careful, there!” he said to Hardy, who was poking his finger into the cage. “When she wakes, Polly’s in parrot mode – she doesn’t know she’s not a real bird. May bite your finger off.”

“I’ll keep her in the cage until I find my quarters,” Paul assured Abbot. “If she gets out, we’ll have a devil of a time chasing her down in a new environment.”

Abbot glanced from McAllister to Polly the Parrot and back again. He was beginning to wonder about this new officer. Mechanical birds? Abbot shook his head to clear his thoughts and returned to the PADD he was checking to verify McAllister’s belongings. Yep, there it was, one “Bird, mechanical, parrot, with cage.”

Hardy was pulling a long, rectangular case from the container. “Let me guess,” said Abbot. “Your bat’leth collection.”

“No,” puzzled McAllister. “I haven’t earned one of those yet, but maybe someday. That’s my trombone.” Paul opened the case and withdrew the slide, testing its action. “My stuff was beamed aboard, wasn’t it?” he asked Abbot.

“Yeah, it came up with a shipment of stem-bolts and whatnot for engineering,” replied Hardy. Paul looked surprised but Abbot just chuckled.

“He’s good at remembering stuff like that.”

“Damn,” muttered Paul. “It’ll take me a week to get the slide moisturized properly after a transport.”

“I don’t get it,” said Hardy. McAllister started to explain, then thought the better of it, all the while realizing that Abbot was becoming increasingly concerned for the safety of the new Ensign on a ship like Galaxy. Mechanical birds? Musical instruments? Where’s the fire power?

They opened and inventoried several of the remaining cases without comment, until coming to the small black case with optical locks. Abbot indicated that McAllister should open the case for inspection.

Paul gestured with his cigar. “Take another look at the manifest, Bud,” he said. “I can’t show the contents of that case to anyone without my department head’s approval, and I haven’t even met him yet.”

“Her,” remarked Abbot, checking the PADD.

“Beg pardon?” asked Paul.

“Lt. Bental’s on leave; you’d be reporting to Lt. Kyznetsova; she’s acting head spook on this boat,” explained Abbot.

“Is she cute?” asked McAllister.

“I’d rather not say, sir.” Abbot checked the black case off on the PADD. “The case checks out, Mr. McAllister; we don’t need to see the contents.”

Hardy was making cat noises at Polly the Parrot and tapping on her cage. “Careful, Hardy,” cautioned McAllister, “If you keep doing that she’s liable to wake up.” Hardy stopped tapping on the cage and turned his attention back to the black case. Apparently deaf to McAllister and Abbot’s conversation, he asked, “What’s in the case, sir?”

Paul grinned. “My secret identities.”

Meanwhile, Abbot was examining the last case to emerge from the shipping container. It opened to reveal a pistol of some sort. ‘Now this is more like it!’ thought Abbot. ‘I knew there had to be a weapon in this stuff somewhere – it’s the Galaxy, after all.’

McAllister picked up the pistol, placed a magazine into the butt of the handgun and racked the slide. “This is a Walther PPK. It’s a projectile weapon, an antique really. My teacher gave me this as a joke when I graduated from the academy, but it’s come in quite useful on several occasions.”

Abbot laughed. “James Bond’s gun?” he asked.

Paul grinned. “Exactly!”

“I don’t get it,” said Hardy.

“Definitely command school material,” replied McAllister.

Before Abbot could repeatedly explain the reference to the confused Hardy, Polly the Parrot woke. Noticing that her cage was open, and not recognizing where she was, Polly immediately took flight.

“Oh, shit,” exclaimed McAllister. “The damn bird’s out!”

"The Wild Wind Blew"

Consul Ayanna Hinanat
Judge

Lt. William Green NPC
Attorney

+++++++++++++++++++

Flashback

Ohio winters were the worst, even with climate control, the air over Cleveland held a certain animosity in it's breath for visitors, especially those in the legal field it appeared. She found herself wishing that she had brought the black leather gloves as she pulled her coat closer around her chest in an attempt to keep the laughing chilly wind away from her body. It was a wind that made a habit of sneaking up sleeves, creeping around bottoms of overcoats, and finally settling in a person's bones in a most evil fashion.

She didn't expect to see him again so soon after another round of 'beat our heads against the wall' discussions they have been having as of late. It was tiring. With each of them being both hard headed and stubborn, the question of where the relationship is heading was not close to being answered. He wanted to have things continue as they were. She, was not content for that. Two years of solid dating and growing close caused her to be anxious for the next step of engagement.

"Hello Ayanna."

"Will...." She let her voice trail as she froze. For some odd reason, he looked as best as she had ever seen him. Her heart jumped against her wish as she offered him a small hug and timid smile.

"I've accepted the assignment."

Hinanat nodded silently, letting her eyes trail down his wool trench coat that covered the dark blue suit. He did look good in blue. Damn.....she thought

"Well, heh...good luck." She muttered.

'Not fair.' Her mind spoke. 'It's really done....'

"You know...I understand your decision. Through it all, I just hope that we can still be friends. I know...I know it was so difficult for you. The case. It's still in mediation, and will be for another year."

"I see."

"She dropped a bombshell on me today. Her attorney did. She wants to reconcile."

"Oh..." Her voice fell flat.

"Don't get me wrong, that's the last thing in the world I would do. Where's she get the nerve? Now? After all these years and all the hurt, just out of the blue. You can't imagine how angered I was when I heard that."

She nodded. 'I can imagine. And as much as I see your words, your eyes tell another story.' Ayanna thought to herself.

"You might...get involved as a witness."

"K." Ayanna muttered. Inwardly, she cringed at the idea of being a witness. The last thing he wanted was a new judge being cross examined by an attorney. It opened up a whole bunch of potential conflict of interest.

"It wouldn't be because of my doing, the ex...it would be her idea."

"Understandable." She gave her best poker face laced with a tiny unmeasured smile. "Well, I'm sure they can find me if circumstances are favorable for me to make an appearance in court."

"I should go...."

A small nod yet again. Drawing her arms around herself, she watched him turn to go realizing that this would be the last time she would see his tall frame and her heart ached.

+++++++++++++Present Day USS Galaxy Brig++++++++++++++++

Why now of all places did that memory flash in her head, Hinanat had no clue. Perhaps it was due in part to a longing of those simply uncomplicated days where she knew who she was. Shoulders slumped with her chin resting on her knees, she closed her eyes and let the self medicating effects of pain relief wash over her. Unfortunately, the pain that was numbed was physical and not emotional.

"State of Denial"

With

PO2 Maxwell
1st Lt. London
Lt., j.g. Maivia

London/Maivia Quarters

"Dar!" The moment she came home Bran rushed into his arms and let the sobs that had been building up the whole afternoon rush out. For now he felt solid and safe and she needed a bit of old fashioned male protection.

"What is the matter?" Man'darr asked curiously as he held Branwen, wondering what had upset his wife this time.

Taking a deep breath, she told him what Max had told her as well as she remembered. "That is when I told him I wanted to talk to you first. I don't want to go back on the breather, Dar or turn green again. I have had it, I want to be healthy and get on with my life as if nothing has happened."

"Then you must take the medication as he has told you," he said simply.

"It doesn't bother you?" She asked looking up at him.

"You taking medication? No. You condition is not natural and you are not Capellan.

She nodded. "Sometimes it is hard for me what is okay and what isn't. So I like to check with you. I hate the fact that I might turn greener again and the breather." She shuddered.

"Well, then the sooner you take the medication, the better off you will be," he pointed out the obvious.

She managed a smile. "Will you go with me back to the doc?' She asked him.

Man'darr had always hated doctors and most likely always would, but he nodded anyways. "Yes, I will go with you."

Bran gave him a kiss."Thank you, love. Shall we go right now and get it over with?"

"Yes, I have the time," he replied, as he stepped towards the door.

***

Sickbay

A little later they were back in medical and Bran knocked on Max's door. "Max do you have time now? I have brought my husband with me. He needs to know as well what is going on and what it is going to mean for both of us."

"Sure, I can always get lunch afterward," Max smiled as his patient and her husband entered. "What specifically would you like to know so that I don't bore you with the minutiae of medical jargon, Man'darr?"

"Tell me how she will become better and how long it will take," he said to the point.

"Alright," Max replied. He could always expect a Capellan to cut through the crap. "A retrovirus has been developed to combat the foreign virus that was implanted in her. If it goes according to the simulations, she should be rid of the Hydran bioagent within two months." He paused to let it sink in before he continued.

"During this time, she will require regular monitoring, and diagnostic testing to ensure that the retrovirus is doing its job."

"Can't it be done quicker?" Bran asked. "And are you sure it is going to work this time?" She did not relish the thought of more time in the hospital and more medication in her body.

"No, it can't. And nothing is absolutely certain in medicine except for death, and even that comes at its own pace. The only way to be sure if this treatment will work is to see it through as simulations only give us the potential answer based on information we have at hand."

"Will I be able to work?" She tried not to look too nervous to hear the answer.

"There's no reason why you shouldn't be able to work," Max replied. "You may feel somewhat ill, but nothing beyond the expected side effects of the treatment. Which includes-" Max held up a hand before Branwen could even ask "-Mild to moderate nausea, chills, low grade fever, aches. Basically, it'll feel like the Terran flu."

She nodded. That should not interfere too much with her therapy work. She wasn't that sure about the marine job though, but Max did not need to know how much she was working. "And the breather? Will I be totally dependent on it? For how long? Will I turn green all the time? How am I going to explain that?"

"Maybe a week or so. We have to get you up to a therapeutic level and wait to see how it goes. But I think you'll be needing a small amount of methane in your daily breathing cocktail."

"I can't do without it? I am tough, Max." She told. "I really, really do not want to go back to the breather."

"It really doesn't matter how tough you are when you're suffocating, Branwen," Max reasoned.

"Can't I at least try? I will take all your other damned meds." Bran took a deep breath. "Back on the planet when I saw fellow prisoners they regarded me as a freak, something they could not place. I don't want my shipmates to look at me that way, or my patients. Everyone has a breaking point Max, I think this is mine."

Max's headache was coming back with a vengeance. There is no freaking reasoning with this woman! "Fine," he said finally, and reached for a PADD. After making several notations on it, he flipped it around and proffered it to his patient. "Sign this waiver and you can do use or not use the breather at your discretion."

She hesitated, a tear blinked in her eyes, then took a labored deep breath and signed. "Thank you, Max."

"Don't thank me until we know that this treatment is going to work. See one of the nurses for a fresh set of labs and be back here in twenty-three hours."

"We can't start right now?"

"No," was the simple reply.

"May I ask why?"

"Because I need the labs to compare against the simulations that we've run regarding your progression.

There's no negotiation here. Tomorrow is when you'll begin."

She looked at her husband. "Is this all alright with you, Dar?" Bran asked.

Man'darr nodded. "Yes, I suppose that will have to do," he said simply. He had always hated doctors, sickbays, and medicines. The distrust of medicine and doctors were so ingrained into the Capellan culture that he sometimes believed it was genetic.

"I will not let you down." She whispered. "I will not use the breather and I will try not to turn too green."

"Well, if that's settled, then we'll meet here tomorrow," Max said, standing to indicate that the meeting was over. He wanted to try and meet with Victory for a movie, but it didn't appear to be in the stars today.

Bran nodded. "Good enough. See you tomorrow, Max. And thanks again for putting up with me and helping me." She shot him a genuine smile.

"See ya." Max watched as they left, then sent a memo covering the entire meeting to Dr. Burton. He was going to cover his ass as far as this situation was concerned.

"Friends Across the Distance of Stars"

With

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP

Petty Officer 2nd Class, NCOIC EMRT

USS Galaxy

And special guest

Roger Vernikoff, PTS

Warrant Officer (WO1)

No assignment, Medical Leave

"So you got in trouble for that, eh," Roger was saying. "I'm not surprised. I would probably nail you too, given the circumstances."

"Gee, thanks for the support there, Roger," Max retorted, although he knew his old friend was right. After he went through the scenario surrounding his withholding of critical information that could have benefited Branwen London, he could see how it looked. And officers were not interested in the reasoning of enlisted rates.

"Hey, I'm usually on your side, Max. But you have to admit that choosing Intel over your primary job does cast a bad shadow on you."

"I suppose…" I could kill that man, Max thought to himself, referring to Saul Bental. In fact, Max was wholly unaware of how many people truly wanted the Dutch spymaster dead. "Anywho, how 's the treatment going? Any progress?"

"Well, my hands don't shake as much anymore and I've had fewer blackouts. I don't know if it was being on that forsaken station or if the treatment really is working." His time on Atlantis was interesting in itself, and Roger felt that his condition was aggravated by…whatever that station was about. He shook his head and smiled at his friend on the screen. "I gotta say, though, my prognosis has improved over the past year or so since being here at John Hopkins."

"Well, you're in the best place I think," Max laughed. John Hopkins was well known these days for their advanced research and treatments in trauma and neurological diseases in the humanoid body. They were the ones who gave him his first implants to bridge the horribly degraded nerves in his legs, as well as the replacements when the old ones gave out on the Miranda.

"I think I'll agree with that. I'd drink to it, too, but they've got me on a no-alcohol regiment here. They say it increases the neuropathy. "

Wagging a finger, Max chided his older friend. "Well, they're right. You aren't doing any favors for yourself if you did consume alcohol."

"Whatever, mother," replied the Physical Therapist with a finger gesture of his own. "So anyway, how's your love life? Still seeing Arelis?"

Max groaned. "That psychopath? No thanks, I skipped out before we had issues again. She did try to create some unnecessary drama between myself and my current…my current girlfriend." That was the first time Max referred to Victory as his girlfriend. He smiled inwardly at the memory of the last night they spent together when they fell asleep in each other's arms. Apparently the smile managed to sneak out and make a guest appearance on his face, because Roger was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Heh, now that's the Max in love that I remember!" His smile waned a bit as he took stock of his own status in life. At the not so young age of forty-eight, he realized that he spent half his life without being in a meaningful relationship. He then found himself a bit envious of his younger friend and said as much.

"Rog…" Max began but stopped at the raised hand.

"Nah, it's okay, kid. I chose to go the route I went in life, just as you have to choose yours. Don't worry, though. It's not too late for me to find that special someone, if I'm meant to have such a thing."

"There's someone for everyone. You told me that when Darla divorce me, remember?"

A smile of serenity crossed Vernikoff's features when he heard that. "You were a devastated man. Too young to be as devastated as you were. I only gave you the best pearl of wisdom I had at my disposal." After a pause, he added, "And I'm glad you kept that thought in mind. It worked out for you."

"Thanks, Rog," Max said as a solitary tear streaked out of one of his eyes unnoticed. Roger was the only real friend he had ever had over the years, and was there for four major events in his life that changed him: When he was at John Hopkins, when he got married, when his son was born, and when he had gotten divorced. Granted, he made new friends. But none were as close as the former hustler was to him. He just wished that he could at least once return the favor.

As if reading Max's mind, the older man nodded. "Don't worry, kid. Everything works out in its own way. You'll see. You're destined for great things, and you don't even know it. And I'll always be there to smack you upside your head when you miss a step."

"Thanks, old man," Max replied with a chuckle. Roger always knew how to make him feel better. "You're invaluable as a friend, you know that?"

"Tell anyone, and I'll gut ya like a fish," Roger warned with a mock scowl on his face.

Max nodded. "Your secret's always safe with me, buddy. Thanks."

"Take care of yourself, okay? I'll catch up with you next week or somethin'."

"You got it, Roger." The connection terminated without anything else was said. This was the way they had always communicated with each other for years. Max did miss the poker games with his friend, as they were always a source of debauchery and wild entertainment. Good times…

Looking at the chronometer, Max realized that he needed to get ready for his duty shift. As he passed a wall stand, he glanced at an old picture of the two of them on Earth. They were at some party having a blast, with a drink in each man's hand. Then Max looked at the picture that was next to it…of Victory in her pretty blue dress. His heart skipped a beat just thinking about her.
I think I did it right this time, old buddy, Max thought.

MomQuest IV : Identity


Starring:
Allison Von Ersnt (age 20)
Victor Krieghoff (spooky)
Commander Panic (skeptical)




USS ZEUS



Like most of the rest of the ship, the medical section of the USS Zeus
represented the very best in Federation technology. The fact that under
Captain Von Ernst's command, the Zeus had suffered a higher percentage
of ships casualties also indicated that the medical staff was some of
the most well practiced trauma surgeons and doctors in the fleet as
well.

Today, that staff was frankly perplexed.

Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Subraya Javanshir ran a trembling hand
through his oil black hair and considered the test results with a heavy
sigh. As a lad growing up in India, he had been partial to the old
Arthur Conan Doyle Detective novels which stipulated that once you
eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, no matter how unlikely had
to be the truth.

In these circumstances, the truth was highly unlikely.

"Well Doc?" Commander Teresa (Panic) Church asked from the back wall.
Her stern arms crossed tightly across her chest.

Javanshir's hesitation already answered her question, but she had to hear it for herself.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, The Physician stole a glance over at
the young blond woman sitting innocently on the biobed. Initially her
looming escort had spooked the doctor more than anything, but now with
the results in his hand, he was more leery of the girl herself.

"Ah yes." he began, finding his voice. "Well to start off with the young
lady is as she appears to be... a human female of around 20 years of
age. She shows evidence of recent bone and scar repair... no doubt under
the ministrations of my counterpart aboard the USS Galaxy... all
expertly done by the way." he gave a half smile.

"I'll be sure to pass that along," Victor observed dourly.

Panic's stern expression didn't change from its glower; Javanshir
was stalling.

"Of course however, your request for a level one DNA scan is of more
interest to you." he licked his lips nervously. Triggering the wall
display, he indicated the easily recognizable double helix formation of
human potential.

"No acute genetic problems." Javanshir noted, motioning with a small
laser pointer, "Again evidence of recent radiation exposure... all
repaired no doubt by Dr. Burton. " he indicated another section. "We see
here a prenatal disposition towards Diabetes and Lung Cancer later in life...all
repaired per usual obstetric screening processes... nothing out of the
order for a Federation citizen...."

"Parentage, Doctor." Panic prompted irritably. Allison's medical history
was not her concern.

"Parentage." Javanshir sighed. "Well no doubt your insistence on this exam is due to a suspicion on your part. I can confirm this. Her X chromosomes show definite markers in common with those we have on record for Captain von Ernst. " he studied the blond girl carefully. "Without getting too technical the markers are such that mere familial relations - sisters, cousins and such - are not possible. She's a daughter." he repeated it again as if to convince himself. "She's the Captain's Daughter."

Panic kept her arms crossed. The familiar expression on Allison's facehad confirmed it for her not a half hour before. A simple switch from blond to red hair... darken up the freckles a bit, and subtract 20 pounds and you'd have the spitting image of the infamous captain. "How?" She said simply.

Javanshir wasn't through sweating. "Well... Allison here claims to be...and I cannot disprove this, 20 years old. The Captain was thirty four...or is thirty four I should say." He shrugged letting those assembled do the math. "Modern contraceptives have pretty much eliminated teen pregnancies as such but technically it is possible the Captain gavebirth at age 14."

Panic frowned. "There's a 'but' coming Doctor." she prompted. Doctor Javanshir stood a bit taller, somewhat miffed. "I am Chief medical Officer aboard this vessel, Commander. It is my job to be quite
familiar with the health of the Captain. I've examined von Ernst no less than 6 times over the past two years, and I can say without equivocation that...." he paused a second, stealing a glance at Allison. "That
Captain Rebecca von Ernst never pregnant. In fact, she was a virgin."

There was complete silence in the sickbay except for the embarrassed cough of young Alli who had to quickly digest the fact that Mom was a literal stick in the mud.

While contemplating the romantic encounters of one's parents was never a happy thought for children, she had halfway assumed that Mom had.....jeez....not even once?

Victor, for most of his life scarcely more active than Rebecca appeared to have been, offered up a silent request to the Divine that Rebecca find someone that would bring her the happiness that he'd found with
Angelienia. Soon, for Allison's sake.

From her spot on the wall Panic stood silent for several long moments, watching the visitors from the Galaxy. Rebecca's daughter! her mind wheeled. A daughter from the future no less.

The possibilities danced in her head:

Forbidden knowledge of future events...

Investigations by the Temporal Division...

A court marshal and loss of rank...

Prison...

….and most importantly….her only real chance in locating the Captain.

"Allison von Ernst." she said instead. "Welcome aboard the Zeus. Would you like to see where your mother disappeared from?"

"Finally," Victor quietly.

MomQuest V : Crime Scene

Starring
Allison von Ernst
Lt. Victor Krieghoff
Comamnder Panic

**********
USS ZEUS





Neon Yellow Police tape barred the entranceway to Captain von Ernst's Quarters.

The small party consisting of Commander Panic, Allison, and Victor Krieghoff paused to consider the solemnness of the situation before the XO reached out to key in the security code. "We've kept the area locked of course." she explained. "After the Captain's disappearance our security team did its standard sweep…several sweeps actually before we boarded the place up." She sighed a bit and shrugged. "We've been out on the frontlines against the Hydrans that we haven't had time to get back to space dock to clean the place up."

At her touch, the door hissed open and the feeling was like unto breaking the entry way of some long lost Egyptian tomb, the investigators feeling not unlike grave robbers returning to the scene of the crime. Aboard a Starship, the Captains quarters were sacrosanct. This went doubly for the enigmatic von Ernst who was at best one of the more unstable persons ever to take the reins of a warship.

The room was in disarray, but to someone like Allison who grew up around her mother's messy ways this was not so unusual. Oddly enough, for somebody possessing such a remarkably organized and mathematical mind, Rebecca von Ernst was something of a slob. The sink was piled high with dishes waiting to be recycled into the replicator, and an investigation of the various tables and surfaces invariably revealed little peppermint rings from her ubiquitous mint frosties.

"We've already done a full DNA and Quantum scan of the room," Panic was explaining to Krieghoff as Allison idly ran her fingers over a smudged cocoa Mug. "Sensor trace record don't reveal any sort of transporter carrier wave during the disappearance timeframe, but our shields were down at the time so abduction is still our best theory.

"That only leaves a dozen ways I can think of for getting her out of here," Victor observed. "More if you factor in something like a Q being involved." He frowned, looking around the room. "It'd be easier if we knew who'd taken her, that would give us a list of possibilities to examine instead of running around trying to find a needle in a dark room. Who's on your suspect list for the abduction?"

Panic shrugged, "Who isn't? Captain von Ernst may not be much of a diplomat or scientist, but her application of advanced probability mathematics to tactical subroutines would be invaluable to anybody who could crack them." she paused and cast a sideways glance at Allison, "...or crack her."

Desperately ignoring the hushed voices of the others, Allison poked around the room taking note of the familiar and unfamiliar amongst its contents. The holo-pic of Mom and Grandma von Ernst sitting on the bedside table was familiar. It sat on the mantelpiece of their home back in Iceland, although part of Allison was amazed to think that grandma was still young in this day and age.

The general clutter was pure Mom however, although in her defense Rebecca had somewhat neatened up as she got older. Not so much here. Amidst the dishes and the various piles of clothing, the central table was piled high with scattered PADDS, several of which had slid carelessly to the floor. A large box stood nearby similarly filled to the rim with the little electronic devices. Running her finger lightly over the rim Alli selected one and examined its title: >>Thermonuclear Weapons and their Role in Crowd Control: The Klingon Perspective<<. The rest of the titles were equally as cheerful. "What are these?" she frowned, drawing the attention of Panic away from her talks with Victor.

"Those? Ah....homework." The XO replied walking over to examine the box. "At least that's what the Captain always called it. Her Homework. About twice a week the Tactical School at Wolf 359 sends us a whole crateful of the things for her review. Tactical summaries. Perspectives in Warfare. Military Bios....all that sort of stuff."

Panic shrugged. " I don't know how much of the stuff the captain actually read, but every week like clockwork, here comes another box. She indicated the packing label on the side. From Commodore Zaletta...Headmaster of the 359 school. Must have cost a pretty penny to ship all the way from across the Federation."

Turning back to Vic, Panic indicated a similar device laying on the floor shattered into several small pieces. "This is part of what supports our abduction theory." she pointed. "We figure the Captain was reading this PADD when whoever it was popped in and grabbed her. Somehow she dropped the device, or used it to ward them off and broke it."

Victor thought about that for a second. "Possibly," he allowed, "although I'd guess accident rather than combat damage; I don't recall Rebecca being good at applying her tactical skill on a personal level - it always seemed to work best applied on a meta-level. Unless, of course, she did it to leave us a message of some sort?"

Nodding absently Allison picked up a soft blue robe that had been tossed over the back of a chair. Mom had one of these at home, Starfleet class of '74 emblazoned on the breast. Lifting it to her face, Allison inhaled deeply, the lingering scent of her mothers hair stirring memories and emotions deep within her. How long had it been? How long since she'd seen her mother...her REAL mother back in Iceland in the 25th century and not some weird 24th century version of her. How long since she'd seen mom in one of her robes? Alli stopped for a moment, a sudden thought striking her.

She looked down at the robe in her hands and then up again sweeping the room as a whole. Something wasn't right. Tucking the blue cloth under her arm, she stomped her way across the carpet and flung open the bedroom closet. Uniforms.....sweatshirts....a dusty old green dress not worn for ages.....and a few empty hangars. Turning on her heel, Alli looked at Panic accusingly and held out the offending garment. "This is her robe." she declared suddenly as if that solved the mysteries of the universe.

Panic cocked her head to one side. "Yeah....I've seen her wear it before.....so what?"

"So......what the spuff is it doing here?"

Vic and Panic exchanged looks of confusion. Allison wasn't making any sense.

"Who knows?" The XO shrugged again. She wasn't the best of housekeepers...maybe she just forgot to put it back on the hangar....."

Alli was already shaking her head. "No no no. I don't mean why is it tossed across the chair, I mean why is it even here in the cabin......this is her favorite robe trust me on this."

Panic was still not following her. "It's here because this is where she kept her stuff….what the hell are you talking about?"

Sitting down in the recliner, Allison looked around the room as if with new eyes. If the robe was here....that meant......

"Okay," she began, "You guys said you're best theory is that mom got beamed off the ship somehow right from this cabin right?"

"Something like that." Panic admitted. "We don't have all the details, but we know for sure that after she left the bridge she came here, and had dinner….we pulled the replicator records.....probably started on her homework, and then ....poof."

"Poof indeed." Allison hugged the robe close to herself luxuriating in her mother's closeness. "And a shower right?"

"What?"

"I said and a shower too right. mom took a shower first thing when she came in?"

"I don't...." Panic began but Allison cut her off.

"I've lived with my mother for 16 years before I came back to this prehistoric hellhole." Alli stood hand on hip, "I know the first thing she does at the end of the day is hop in the shower and get snuggled up in her robe."

Panic glanced at Victor to see if he was making any sense of his compatriot. "Fine…we can pull the water usage records, but for the moment let's just assume she did take a bath…..I repeat, so what?"

"So....If she got beamed out of here against her will.....why is her robe still here? Why wasn't she wearing it?"

There was no answer forthcoming. This wasn't an angle considered by Panic and her investigators. "What you're proposing," she began.

"What I'm proposing is...she didn't get kidnapped you dinglberries." Alli sighed, "She left of her own volition."

Victor stopped to consider that. Could she have done so? Certainly. The better question was, why would she want to? He decided to let Panic field the questions for a moment while he mulled the idea over.

In truth it would have been dreadfully simple. Rebecca had all the Captains codes to the Zeus computer. She could have simply walked down the hallway to an empty transporter room and beamed off….. completely erasing every trace of sensor log, or internal camera shots with a simple verbal command.

She didn't need to be a computer expert….she was the Captain and could make the computer say whatever she wanted it to say. "Why?" Panic asked bluntly.

Feeling a bit smug that she'd figured out something nobody else had, Alli hopped out of the chair and retraced her steps to the door. "Let's find out." she said. "Let's pretend, I'm my mother. We'll go over her movements as closely as we can to try and reconstruct things. Can you pull up those records you were talking about?"

"Already doing it," Panic was downloading the time index files down to her portable device. "Okay the Captain logged off the bridge at 18:37 hours after we had finished off a Hydran Destroyer…at 18:41 the turbo lift logs indicate stopping at this deck and two minutes later the doors registered as being opened."

"Click…Honey I'm home!" Allison announced to the air, drawing strange looks from Vic and Panic, but ignoring them she began pantomiming walking from the door across the room. "Whew what a tough day I've had kicking Hydran butt." Alli bantered as she kicked her shoes off into a corner where a small pile of Rebecca sized boots sat waiting. "Can't wait to take a shower and get into my fluffy robe." Walking back across the room towards the small bathroom, she reached in and turned on the water. "Still with me Panic?"

"You're about 5 seconds off from the time the records show the water being turned on but keep going." Panic was fascinated by these new possibilities.

Nodding, Allison proceeded to get ready for a shower stripping off her top shirt revealing a thing white tee underneath.

"Clothes, Allison," Victor prompted. "There aren't any Ensigns here - but the principle is the same."

"Don't get all excited Vic." she smirked, "I'm not getting 'nekkid for you, just trying to keep a rhythm." She mimed the rest, removing an invisible uniform and sliding out of invisible pants, motioning as if tossing them onto a nearby couch. Opening the shower door, Allison mimicked getting herself scrubbed down, shaking out nonexistent water from her hair, and even throwing in an off-key shower ditty just to annoy Vic. She was still pissed at him for not telling her about mom going missing.

All the while Panic watched her little digital readout count down until…"And MARK….water is shut off at this time."

Alli obliged and proceeded to walk out of the bathroom.

"Wait….back up." Panic urged, "You forgot to dry off."

Blushing slightly, Alli hopped back, as the XO rewound the record to the appropriate moment. Grabbing a towel off the rack, the fully clothed and fully dry Alli spent the next few minutes toweling off until she felt like she covered all the spots. Throwing the blue robe over her shoulders and knotting it around her waist, she padded back across the room and tapped the replicator. "Computer…Peppermint milkshake." she commanded.

Panic frowned, "We turned off power to this unit as part of the investigation, but just pretend." she glanced down at the readout. "Replicator activated at 19:02...keep going you're still only 35 seconds off the mark."

Nodding, Alli mimed picking up the frosty and taking an initial cleansing slurp. "Computer…messages?"

Panic nodded. "There were three.. Two from her mom, and one love note from some guy named Hawksley. They took five minutes to run in their entirety."

As the nonexistent messages played, Alli took her nonexistent frosty to the couch to listen. At the five minute mark she took another 'sip' and set down the 'glass'. It was eerie to find an empty dessert glass already sitting on the coffee table, its contents curdled and old. The plot was seamless so far. The 'Homework' box was right at hand, so Allison reached out to select a PADD.

With a sigh Panic shook her head. "Unfortunately that's it." she announced. "There was no more running water or playing with the light switches on record. It wasn't until an hour later when we tried to call her that we figured something was up. She could have disappeared anytime thereafter."

"Maybe, but the question is why? What triggered her to leave all of the sudden after a nice snuggly bath?" Allison was frowning at the little shattered PADD on the floor. "You know this broken PADD is real close to where I'm sitting now. Maybe she didn't throw it at anybody, maybe she was just sitting her and dropped it?"

"Maybe."

"Not a big drop, I wonder why it broke so easily?" Alli murmured, reaching forward to examine the pieces. "Looks like the back was pried off and not put back on properly and….OUCH FRAZZIT!!!!" Alli jerked her hand back as one of the tiny silver components singed her badly where she touched it. "It freaking burned me!!" she cradled her fingers.

"Burned?" Victor stepped forward to examine Allison's hand, hoping that she hadn't seriously injured herself, all the while wondering why the padd had shorted out that way.

Panic cocked her head sideways frowning. "Odd….PADDS are not supposed to have any kind of real heavy duty power source….they're just storage devices really….how could this thing burn you?" Squatting down to poke at the pieces carefully she found a few items that didn't quite add up. "I'm no engineer," she said, "But this power pack here is waaaay too big for such a small device." Standing up she selected another Homework PADD and popped the back off it. "Same thing here….big time power supply, as well as a few components I don't recognize. "

"A bug?" Alli ventured. "Was somebody spying on mom?"

"They wouldn't need that kind of power for surveillance," Victor interjected, taking the padd from Panic and examining it as the engineer he'd been while living Chulak's life. "The whole point to devices like that is to blend in and not be noticed. This... this is something else. This part here looks like a microsensor array, and some of this..." he peered closer "...I think some of this looks like data storage. That's a power source, and this..." he indicated a part "...is something that I have no idea about. Whatever it is, it's not supposed to be here and it's not a passive listening device, it's designed to *do* something - and the only reason I can see to put it in a padd, is to do that something to the person holding the PADD." He looked up at Panic, and added in a cheerful tone that seemed oddly out of place, "You really don't know why this is here and what it is, do you? Think carefully - because I get angry when people lie to me... and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

"I don't know." Panic replied nervously, casting a suspicious glance at the packing label bearing the 359 School logo. "But I know where we can find out."

MomQuest VI : Rhinestone Returns

Starring
Commander Teresa 'Panic' Church
Agent John Rhinestone


USS ZEUS


"So for the record," Agent John Rhinestone tapped the small recording device on the table just to emphasize the point, "What you're saying here is that you just let them go?"

Commander Teresa 'Panic' Church leaned back heavily in her newly acquired Captains chair and considered the unpleasant little man with a critical glare.

"What I am saying here….for the record," she replied, " Is that I've already gone over this crap with you three times. How many different ways do you want me to tell you that they aren't here?"

The snow white decor of the Captains Ready room did nothing to dispel the dark mood of either person.

In fact from the moment that Rhinestones tiny police cutter had hailed the Zeus not 3 hours before, the air aboard had been heavy with tensions and distrust.

"You see Commander," The agent continued shaking his head, "That's the part I just don't understand…you freely admit that both fugitives, Lt. Krighoff and Crewman Jimsdottir were both here recently. Both here in your custody and within your power. And yet you let them go?"

"They were here." Panic answere wearily, "They fueled up….they left. And for the record." it was her turn to tap the little recorder, "Neither of them were classified as 'fugitives' at the time. In fact I still do not find any listing on the FedNet Wanted Persons web concerning peoples of their description."

Rhinestone frowned and waved the question away. "Now now Teresa we both know that in a matter as delicate as the disappearance of such a highly talented Starship Captain as Rebecca, that certain things cant go through the official channels. This is a war after all."

"First of all." Panic leaned forward sharply, "You will refer to the Captain by her proper rank or as von Ernst."

"Fine fine…."The agent began

"Second of all…" she ran him over, " You will refer to me as Commander or as Church….I'm not your buddy you little Time Bandit pecker, so show me some gawdamn respect!"

Rhinestone narrowed his eyes at the tall blond woman trying to decipher the mask of anger he saw there. ~~So this is how its going to be.~~~ he sighed ~~More frazzing problems.~~

It had taken the hapless Temporal Affairs agent nearly two days to sort out the mess back at Concorde Station and pick up Jimsdottir's trail. Indeed considering the phaser fire in a public spaceport and the explosions in the hangar bay, he'd been lucky he wasn't flying a desk on Breen somewhere by now.

Still it seemed that there was indeed some very high level interest in this case, and word had come down that John was to continue regardless of distractions.

'Extraordinary measures are authorized' was the exact phrase his supervisor had used. The fact that the man was sweating at the time had made Rhinestones blood run cold.

He grit his teeth. He had heard the rumors already that T-A was thinking of bringing in the Federation Marshal Service to run the case….probably assign it to that asshole Hux and his slutty partner.

Fortunately the darlings of Law Enforcement circles seemed to be tied up with their own manhunt somewhere, and there was still some reluctance to bring more scrutiny into this delicate case.

All of this spelled opportunity…and danger…for Rhinestone.

"So to sum up," he began again, "Two days ago you were hailed by Krieghoff and his partner, and they came aboard the Zeus?"

Panic merely watched him, denying nothing.

"They came aboard….refueling as you say….and then simply left?"

"Yes."

"In the middle of a war zone? We're lightyears behind enemy lines?"

"They got in all right." Panic replied. "So did you for that matter. My job is to harass the Hydran forces in the area…not guard every pissant shuttlecraft that happens by."

Rhinestone nodded, leaning back a bit and examining the white walls and carpet of the room. There was something sterile about the feel of the whole ship. White bulkheads. White floors. Soft lighting.

He focused on a bit of color on the wall behind Panic's head. A holograph of a smiling redheaded woman cradling a small furry dog in her arms.

"Nice picture." he commented, gathering times to organize his thoughts. "The Captain perhaps?"

Panic blinked, slightly thrown off track by the randomness. "The picture?" her eyes flicked behind her for a moment. "No…that's Captain von Ernst's mother back on earth, and her little daschund Miss Wiggles."

"Miss Wiggles?" Rhinestone smiled in spite of himself.

The XO sighed, "The Captains crazy about that little wiener dog." she explained. "Her mother visited the ship a few times and brought the little critter along. Peed on the warp core. Captain thought it was cute."

"I see….and this mother? Anybody bother to check if she knew what happened to von Ernst?"

Panic shook her head. "At the moment given security reasons Holli von Ernst is not aware of the disappearance of her daughter. Earth-Security did a satellite scan of the farm in Minnesota where she lives, and there was no sign of the Captain. Beyond that….." she shrugged.

Rhinestone nodded, taking down a little note to recheck into this mother, and possibly put some taps on her communications. It wasn't strictly legal in the Federation, but if the powers that be were as anxious as he was lead to believe there were ways around that.

"So why not take down the photograph since…."

"The captain is coming back!" Panic interrupted with a slap on the table. "Get that through your little Time Bandit skull Rhinestone!"

Taken a back a bit, the agent switched back to the mater at hand. "You've go strong feelings on this mater Commander…..that's why I cannot fathom how you let a pair like Krieghoff and Jimsdottir go."

"But…."

"No buts Commander!" It was Rhinestones turn to interrupt. "We have it as matter of record that Ms. Jimsdottir has been placing calls to this ship on a regular basis requesting to speak with von Ernst. Captain T'Vara of the Galaxy has been quite helpful in providing us with all sorts of details concerning these logs, including how you spoke with Jimsdottir yourself on several occasions in this regard."

He leaned back again and spread his arms, "And now….mere days after this same Jimsdottir and her partner shut their way out of a public Spaceport…endangering hundreds of civilians,…she shows up here….behind enemy lines….and just asks for fuel?"

He cocked his head to the side sarcastically. "Really. Tell me now Commander, are you going to claim that she never even once asked about the captain? That it was all a chance meeting?"

Panic merely glared, so the agent continued.

"Ever wonder why Temporal Affairs is on the case?" he asked. "What would you say If I told you that Ms. Jimsdottir is suspected of being a time traveler?"

He watched a surprised expression cross the XO's face……no wait, it wasn't surprise, but mere realization.
It was as if the Commander suddenly put two and two together.

"No….it wouldn't surprise you at all." he breathed. "What did she tell you? Come now Commander I can see it on your face, none of this is new to you,. She did ask about the Captain? Why are you protecting her?"

"Because she's the only one that can find her DAMNIT!" Panic finally spat. "If you Gestapo pricks would just get out of her way, she can find her."

"Gestapo?" Rhinestone frowned in surprise. "Why would you say something like that? What have I done to deserve this….I'm just trying to find von Ernst as well…why are you hindering me?"

Reaching into a desk drawer, Panic skidded a broken PADD across the desk into Rhinestones lap. "Because you sadistic bastard. Now we know what you did to her. We know why the Captain Disappeared. She wasn't kidnapped. She left on purpose. It was all your fault."

MomQuest VII: Flashback

Starring :

Captain Rebecca Von Ernst

Three Weeks Ago:

Delta IV had just fallen.

The Federation Task Force under Jean Luc Picard was sent reeling back from its defeat, withdrawing towards Andor in hopes of recouping their losses and preparing the next line of defense.

In their wake the famed Captain of the Enterprise needed a diversion, and so set a wolf loose in the fold.

Free of the moral constraints that normally plagues her compatriots the Captain of the USS ZEUS had become a major thorn in the side of the Hydran forces under Prince Thufi the XXXIV.

Well armed and one of the fastest ships in the known galaxy the Prometheus class Battlecruiser zipped back and forth across the Hydran supply routes, savaging merchants and warships alike, leaving naught but shattered remains for the intercepting forces that always arrived too little and too late.

In desperation Prince Thufi had scattered his lighter forces in a vain effort to pin down the location of the Zeus, finding himself hampered by the need to keep his heavies in orbit above Delta IV supporting the invasion.

As a result the Hydrans were fighting with one foot in a bucket, and the quicker Zeus made quick work of the lightweights unlucky enough to actually find her.

Today had been such a day.

The shattered hull of the most recent Hydran Destroyer was nothing more than a glowing ember, sizzling in the darkness, as the USS Zeus once again turned away in search of new prey.

Leaving the after battle bridge work to her handmaidens Fear and Panic, Captain Rebecca von Ernst barely paid heed to the hissing of her doors as she stepped across the threshold into her inner sanctum.

Home at last.

Thin shoulders drooped in weariness and her head hung low as the privacy allowed her to actually look as bad as she felt.

~~~Noodles but would these headaches ever stop?~~~ she sighed into the darkness.

Tiny hands raised to her temples in a vain effort to quell the raging inferno within, wishing that either the pain would stop or her brain would just go ahead and self destruct.

It was always like this after a battle. While the math flowed and the phaser fired there was peace and order in Rebecca's universe.

While bodies screamed and shipmates died there was a freedom from the pain and misery of being herself.

Zeus was the savage beast that fed upon the Hydran dead, and she was the cold iron soul that beat within its breast.

It was she that decided life and death, pain and agony with the merest whim of the equations dictates.

14 crewmates died today because the math said it was to be so.

The math was truth, and who was Rebecca to deny the foundations upon which the universe ran.

But it was over now and there was nothing but the memories in her head, and the starlight whizzing by the windows like brilliant needles of pain.

Banishing the ghosts of the departed dead to the darker corners of her mind, Rebecca sought the only solace she could find out her amongst the stars.
Kicking off her shoes into a corner, she padded her way over to the shower, twisting the nozzle to full hot and double bubble.

The QuaterMaster's supplies of Bubble Bath formula had dwindled to almost nothing during the Hydran wars, and as a result he had to prowl the black market for the good stuff to keep the captain happy.

Not that Rebecca was ever really happy. There were too many casualties. Too many faces that haunted her dreams and gibbered at her from the shadows.

They'd never leave her. She remembered them all. Why oh why did she bother memorizing the crew roster? Why did she look at the attached photos? Was it her own for of self imposed penance?

Was it morbid curiosity?

Who had she killed today? Where were they from, and who would be mourning them?

Steam rose from the shower, breaking the redhead from her reverie.

Loosening the zipper on the back of her neck, the tiny redhead slipped her uniform top off her fragile frame and relished the cool air washing over her bare skin.

Pale and dusted with freckles, Rebecca von Ernst was a thin-shouldered waif, an emaciated elf cursed with a deadly fire behind her watery brown eyes.

Frowning at nothing in particular she ,squirmed her hips out of her pants before kicking them as well into her ubiquitous pile of dirty clothes.

She examined herself naked in the mirror for a moment, sighing at the results.

At only 5 foot tall and a mere 95 pounds, Rebecca had always been a bit ashamed of her own appearance, feeling more like a 12 year old boy rather than a curvy woman.

Nice legs though…..Lysander always liked her legs. Not much else to write home about however.

Unfortunately fate had dealt poorly with the von Ernst women in the curves department, and not for the first time the Captain cursed her thin-boned genetics. Wouldn't it nice….just once…..nice to be really stacked?

The scandalous thought brought a bright blush to Rebecca's bare freckled skin, and with a rueful shake of her scarlet hair, she hopped into the bubbling goodness of her shower.

Still like mom always said….'Just think funny-face, when those amazons with the big-gazonga's are 80 years old and have their boobs down around their knees us von Ernsts will still be perky and cute.

Another blush. Rebecca was a modest girl, and Momma could be so embarrassing sometimes.

Working the mass of bubbles into her frizzy red hair, Rebecca luxuriated in the way its gentle pops and tingles soothed away some of her tensions, and even a bit of her headache.

It would never truly leave, but the shower helped.

15 minutes and a brisk towel rubdown later, the tiny captain shrouded herself in her favorite fluffy blue robe and softly made her way back across the room to the replicator.

It was Peppermint Milkshake time.

This was her reward for wrecking death and destruction upon the enemies of the Federation.

If Starfleet could only keep her stocked on mint frosties, she'd blaze a bloody path across the quadrant.

Nummy.

"Computer. Messages please."

>>YOU HAVE THREE MESSAGES. TWO ORIGINATING FROM von ERNST, HOLLI<<

~~Mom…yay~~

>>…ONE ORIGINATING FROM HAWKLEY, COMMANDER LYSANDER VAN DER PULS<<

~~Dork Brain….boo~~ Rebecca slumped into the couch, slouching deep into its cushiony softness.

"Okay Play them."

Mom's notes were pretty typical fare. The comings and goings from life back on the farm in Minnesota. It was winter now, and the winter frost had covered everything in a milky blanket. The elder von Ernst had concerns about her daughter health…was she eating enough….did she get the box of cookies she sent…and when was she going to get to be a grandmother?

Rebecca choked on her milkshake at that last one. ~~~Noodles mom….let me actually find a boyfriend before you start knitting booties~~

Not that Rebecca had been notoriously successful in the boyfriend department. She seemed to attract either the sadistic lesbian thugs, or the ultra weird Starfleet losers.

As evidenced by her next message:

>>>G'day Princess…Its your old chum Lysander calling to wish you a bloody wonderful day.<< the smug English accent made her toes curl in all the wrong ways.

>>>You know m'dear today is the fifth anniversary of that little dinner we had back on your dear mothers farm a while back. In case you forgot luv it was the one where I so charmingly asked you to be my bride see, and although at the time you saw fit to deny me, I am still hopeful. Although in all fairness I was pretty smegging endearing if I do say so myself and I have to ask myself why a cute little muffin like you could possible resist me.<<<

"Because you're a dork-brain." Rebecca answered, her mouth full of frosty.

>>>Now see here Princess, << the message continued. >>>We all the pretending. We both know you find me indescribably wonderful which is only natural when you consider how great I really am.<<

"I find you indescribably indescribable." Rebecca corrected as the message continued to drone.

I've done a bit good for myself since you left, working for Bhrode and all, its all top notch stuff, you'd be smegging impressed. Wet your pants you would yes indeedy. But you're tromping on my bloody heart here luv. I'm in desperation without you….I mean I've had other women sure, but you know how it is….I only have baby blues for you Princess. <<<

Rebecca rolled her eyes and scooped out a spoonful of icy mush. The thing about Lysander Van Der Puls Hawksley was that not only he have a girl in every port……he had a girl on every starboard as well. And even sometimes for every fore and aft too.

Poor shy Rebecca never understood why that last part of the joke always made others giggle.

>>So then….considering my clearly charming self, and your amazing cute little bottom…smegging wonderful legs by the way red the way they move and……..Ummmm probably shouldn't say that…computer delete last sentence….whew….bloody good thing she wouldn't hear that part. Smegging Princess ….Computer Continue recording. Ahem, Anyhow we're perfect for one another. So much so that I figured that next time you're in town…we could get together and…..<<<

Rebecca muted the rest of the message. Lysander got so annoying when he was in his whiny little girl mode. She also hated the fact that apparently he was unaware that the delete function on his computer had been broken for months. She had a drawer-full of embarrassing soft-core icky messages Hawksley though he'd erased before sending.

~~Noodleheaded pervert.~~

Leaning forward a bit on the couch with a sigh she pick up the first PADD off her list of Homework. Might as well get some work done.

"STRATEGIC BOMBING AS A DIPLOMATIC TOOL." she read off the title "Fun stuff."

Taking a sip of mint goodness, she clicked on the PADD, blue light illuminating her freckled face....halfway through the first paragraph the headache was already fading.

Unfortunately, harbinger of death though she may be….Rebecca was still one of the clumsiest persons in the known universe and in attempting to juggle her homework, her shake, and readjust her legs inside her robe, something had to give.


The PADD hit the floor with a bump, its poorly fastened back popping off with a clatter.

~~Noodle headed fumble fingers.......aw geez it broke.…~~ she sighed, setting her drink aside and reaching for the pieces.

ZAP!

The stinging burn to her delicate hands almost brought the redhead full out of her chair, the pain barely registering as she jerked her hand back.

~~~OWW NOODLES THAT'S HOT!!!!~~~ she scrunched her freckled nose in pain, almost missing the strange flashing device that tumbled out of one end of the PADD.

~~What's this.....?~~~ she leaned forward, a strand of wet red hair falling loose across her face. ~~Is this what I think it is?~~

She blanched as the memories came fluttering back, She'd seen this device before. Years ago. Back at the 359 Tactical School.

In seconds a wave of memories flooded out of the gates threatening to bowl the girl over. Her bare knees hit the floor hard, but the pain in her head overrode their protests.

She'd seen the device before….only in passing, but for someone cursed with a memory like Rebecca that was all she needed.

It was in the months just after the end of the Dominion Wars, and Starfleet was still reeling from the massive casualties incurred in winning that conflict. Starships could be rebuilt and replaced, but experienced captains were in short supply.

There were those with raw talent, like the skinny little Ensign von Ernst, but how to raise a stuttering little fool like her into a command chair? She spooked at her own shadow…threw up when nervous, and the notion of actual responsibility sent her into catatonic delirium.

Admiral Jurgen Hoth was out to change all that. Head of the new Wolf 359 Tactical School he was determined not to leave the Federation in a place of weakness.


<calculating......calculating….calculating> Squiggles of mathematical formulas danced before Rebecca's eyes over and over again transcribing possibilities and limiting variables of every event that ever happened to her in the last five years……

Five years……


<calculating......calculating….calculating>

Admiral Hoth….her mentor and champion. Pushing and prodding young Rebecca ever closer and closer to the captains chair.

The 359 School….Hoths brainchild. The center of Federation warplaning in the post Dominion Federation, and home of some of Rebecca's unhappiest moments.

Captain Brhode! The ramrod harass Captain of the USS GALAXY. Promoting Rebecca to full XO and thrusting her to the forefront of combat to take up her terrible mantle

And Finally Her piles and piles of never-ending Homework!

That's when the headaches started.
That's when her soul began to die.
That's when the death counts mounted.
That's when …Oh my lord…..that's when they did this to her.


~~~Oh Noodles they wouldn't dare...…~~~ the horror broke her from her trance, tearing her free like a premature child ripped bloodily from its mothers womb.

Ever.

~~~They wouldn't….how could they?~~~~

Her tears barely hit the carpet before she was up off her knees and shedding her robe, reaching for a clean uniform out of her closet.

She was moving without thinking, the ghosts in the shadows actually parting way before her newfound determination.

New symbols and figures whispered in her ears as she slipped it on, not even knowing where she was going as she made plans to leave…..running on autopilot….following the trail of integers and equations like a scattered field of breadcrumbs taking her from this witches lair.

She had to leave…..had to go…but where?

"Computer, Recognize von Ernst , Captain Rebecca Catherine." she called to the air, pulling her bangs free from her uniform collar.

>>WORKING<<

There was one idea…..one old ally that would help her. Or would he?

"Captains override priority One-Alpha-Bunny-Foo-Foo…Execute."

>>AKNOWLEDGED<<

She shook her head, clearing her mind.

"Delete and modify all internal sensors logs to remove all movements and visual images of Captain von Ernst. Power up Transporter bay 2 but do not record power shunting or transport logs. "

>>AKNOWLEDGED, TRANSPORTER AVAILABLE IN 2 MINUTES<<

"Right….Remove all record of these order from your log, erase all tactical data from computers and replace internal camera with blank screens got it?" Rebecca cast a last lonely look about the cabin, knowing she'd never see it again, "Noodles….." there wasn't time to collect anything.

If she stayed, she'd lose her nerve.

"Computer…..Zeus…" she called the ship properly by its name. her voice almost a whisper.

>>WORKING?<< Even the computer seemed to sense something amiss.

"Never mind." she snuffled, wiping the back of her sleeve across her nose. "Execute all commands…..I'm leaving now."

MomQuest VIII : Deep Magic




Present day 2385...

(Earth)
(Headquarters Temporal Affairs)

Agent John Rhinestone sent the broken PADD skittering across his supervisors desk nearly tumbling over the man's cup of hot joe in the process.

"Rhinestone…" the gruff mid-fifties investigator began angrily before he was cut off.

"What's in the PADD Chief?" Rhinestone stood resolute before the messy desk. "What the hell are you not telling me?"

Chief Albert Derringer, Security Wing of the Federation Temporal Affairs Division picked up the broken device and examined it with a weary frustration.

"John…You were supposed to be investigating that Jimsdottir girl on the Galaxy. Where'd you get this? "

"I got it aboard the Zeus." The agent replied simply, the calm on his face barely concealing the rage beneath. He hated being in the dark.

"The Zeus?" Derringer was frankly alarmed. "What were you doing there?"

"Jimsdottir went there!" he fairly pounded the desk, this time succeeding in upsetting a splash of coffee onto the blotter. "Your simple little investigation to a possible time traveling teenager has turned into some sort of top secret conspiracy! I repeat, what the hell are you not telling me Chief? You want results? You better let me in on the secret because it seems that everyone I run into knows a hell of a lot more than I do and its getting pretty damn frustrating playing catch up."

Leaning back in his squeaky roller chair, Derringer sighed and idly shook the PADD, noting the sound of a loose part rattling around inside. "Have a seat John." he breathed at last. "If you found this then we've gone way beyond Temporal Affairs in this mess. How many other people know about the PADD?"

Allowing himself to bend into a chair, Rhinestone was through sniping. "How many OTHER people? Chief…I don't know even know what it is. As for everybody else you can include Those freaky Commanders aboard the Zeus, Fear and Panic, their entire engineering and scientific staffs who took the thing apart, oh and by the way also Krieghoff and Jimsdottir no doubt."

Derringer gave the device one final rattle. "And von Ernst?" he asked almost timidly.

The agent gave him a stupid look. "Everyone seems to think that why she disappeared. Now what the fuck is it?"

Chief Derringer dropped the broken device on his desk, and slowly swiveled his chair to face the large Federation flag hung on the office wall behind him. So many secrets, SO many mysteries in a society that was supposed to be open, and it was his job to close them.

"Tell me John." he began softly, "What do you know about a man named Hoth?"


+++++++++++++++++++++++++
+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ten years ago….

YEAR 2375
(The final months of the Dominion War)

The three toned bosuns pipe rang out bringing the entire assembly to stiff attention.

"Attention on Deck! Admiral Jurgen Hoth arriving!"

Barely waiting for the thick airlock doors to part before him, the stern grey haired Chief of StarFleet Tactical Operations swept into the corridor of the half-completed starship.

"Damnit John, I thought I told you I wanted this visit to be off the record. Not some damn May Day Parade."

"Yes Admiral, I'm completely sorry sir." Young Dark Haired Commander John Zaletta winced at the criticism and dismissed the assembled company of construction workers and engineers with a furtive gesture. The ship was for from complete, and this had been the only welcoming party he'sd been able to recruit on such short notice. All to no success.
He'd been Hoth's personal assistant for over two years now and yet he still had trouble reading the Admiral's moods and expectations.

It stemmed largely from the fact that the tall German born officer was like a force of nature, at times subtle and calm, yet quickly able to whirl into hurricane strength and demolish all who stood beforehand and his irresistible ambitions.

"The tour then…..?" Zaletta half asked the question before Hoth motioned him impatiently.

"Yes yes the tour John…..That's the whole reason I'm here to see this new wonder ship of yours, but lets do with a little less pomp and circumstance and little more with the technical details okay? What are we calling her again?

Standing a bit prouder, Zaletta could not help be proud of the half-finished patchwork of metal around him.
"Her name is PROMETHEUS sir. The first of her class. We also just laid the keel of her sister ship the ZEUS last week across the harbor."

"Prometheus and Zeus?" Hoth scanned the bulkheads around him. "Going for the Greek legend thing John? Why are the walls and floor white?"

The dual question threw Zaletta for a moment. "Uh…yes sir, and as for the walls," he shrugged. "We have a Doctor Jebediah Quick consulting with us for the internal arrangement of the ship…I believe he was responsible. If you don't like it, I'm afraid the whole ship looks like this."

"No no…its fine….just a bit ghostly that's all, please continue with the tour."

The Admiral allowed himself to be lead all over the new Battlecruiser, taking express interest in the new quad Warp nacelles that simulations promised would be even faster than the new Intrepids coming off the line.

"She's fast John…real fast. " The Admiral mused, "That's going to be important. With fleet strength so drained by the War with the Dominion we need to cover more territory with less ships." he patted a snow-white Engineering console lovingly . "This is going to be a big help."

Phaser coils and Photon bays were also on the tour, completely state of the art.

"We're a bit behind on the torpedo bays." Zaletta admitted pointing out the disorganized clutter of construction equipment laying about.
"They're experimenting with something new called Quantum Torpedoes for the new SOVEREIGN class over at Utopia Planatia, and if things pan out like we expect them to, we're going to rip out the whole photon bay and replace them with the new design." He sighed. "The sister ship Zeus will go a little smoother since she'll be designed from the start with the new bays."

"Beautiful…..beautiful." was all the admiral muttered, lost in his own thoughts.

Fortunately the main observation lounge was nearly complete already, and it was to there that Hoth and his aide retreated for privacy after the tour.

There was still plastic covers on the furniture and chairs, but the two men made themselves comfortable, Hoth still deep in private thought, and young Zaletta waiting expectantly.

"Beautiful ship John." the Admiral said at last. " A real work of art inside and out. Top notch."

"Thank you sir."

"But ships are not the problem Commander." Hoth interrupted, "No sir, not the problem at all. We can knock these things together faster than ever these days, and with the shipyards all tooled up for the war effort we'll be back up to full strength within five years at least."

"But the war?"

"Its winding down John." Hoth smiled grimly. "Its not been officially announced yet, but things are looking up. With Martok now in charge of the Klingon Empire, and Betazed newly liberated, the way had been paved for a massive assault on Cardassia itself."

"But Admiral…" Zaletta protested, nervously glancing around the empty ships lounge. There weren't supposed to be any workers in this part of the ship but you never knew when spies….

"Now now," Hoth soothed. "Don't worry Commander, I'm not spilling any galactic secrets here. "The Dominion knows we're coming….you cant hide a fleet build up like this very easily. But what I'm trying to do is make a point."

The grey haired man grew quite serious. "How many have we lost? Hmmm? Eight years ago at Wolf 359 we lost 39 starships and 11,000 men in a single hour. In a single hour John!"

Zaletta nodded. It was a well known fact that Hoth's only son had perished at Wolf 359 and since that time the Admiral had been on a rampage to revamp the entire Starfleet into a more tactically forward thinking organization.

"Then two years ago the Borg came back in the Battle of Sector 001 and we lost what…another 30 starships? Another 10,000 dead? And that same year The Dominion Invades,"

Hoth sighed, idly flicking a speck of dust off the plastic covered table. "We thought our losses were bad before. Thousands of Starships gone….pfft. Just like that. And lives?"

Hoth shook his head unwilling to do the math. "Starfleet has been suffering its own private holocaust my friend. Half a million Starfleet officers? More maybe? How many will die when we take Cardassia?"

He patted the white table smoothly. "No John…we can certainly knock these ships together, but lives are irreplaceable….quite irreplaceable." He sat silently for a moment, lost in his memories.
"You know what they are starting to call me over at Starfleet Command John? Other than the usual whispered 'old sunovabitch' comments of course?"

"No sir." Zaletta smothered a smile.

"They're starting to call me the HAWK……starting to call you and everybody else who thinks like us the HAWKS….ha! You try and do something to help the land you love and you get branded a warmonger. How's that for justice?"

"Its quite unfair sir…" Zaletta began, but Hoth waved it aside.

"No no…I kinda like it. The Hawks huh? Guess that makes everybody else the Doves right?" Hoth seemed pleased with his joke. "But I keep getting distracted John, I'm trying to explain something here."

He tapped his finger forcing himself to pay attention. "We have new starships but nobody to fly them John." he said. "Sure the Academy is cranking out new recruits every day, so we're bottom heavy with a bunch of bleary eyed Ensigns, but there is no replacing the top tiers. No Captains or Commodores to replace those thousands we've lost in the war. Sure we can speed up some promotions of the mid ranks. Commanders and Lt Commanders, bumping them up to the big seat, but that's only going to take us so far right? "

Hoth leaned back "We need to mine the resources in our new recruits….sift the chaff so to speak and fast track the nuggets into where we need them."

Zaletta interrupted, "You're talking about your protégée program right sir? " he shook his head, "Sir…I know every admiral has one or two favorite pupils but…."

"Don't interrupt me Commander." Hoth snapped. "I'm not talking about promoting some lovely young thing to be my secretary or to carry my golf clubs, I'm looking for the raw talent out there…the real killers and geniuses that are destined to be the leaders of tomorrow anyways and giving them a good kick in the pants so that they get there sooner. Otherwise…."

He spread his arms to indicate the empty half complete starship around him. "Otherwise this technical wonder you've built me is just going to be a very pretty, very expensive drifting satellite with nobody to fly her."

Zaletta fumed silently. In truth he had been expecting to be named the new Captain of the Prometheus….or the Zeus at the very least when she was done, but it seemed that the Admiral had other plans.

"The 359 School is part of this of course…..you know bout the school right John?"

Of course he did. The Wolf 359 Tactical school was also nearing completion, and would serve as the new home of Starfleet Tactical training operations. Adrift in the starship graveyard of the Borg invasion, the School who's motto was "Never Again" had been a pet project of the Admiral ever since his son died there.

"Well the school will take us a certain ways but we have other obstacles to overcome as well. You remember that little skinny cadet that graduated last year?"

"Not Von Ernst." The dismayed protest escaped Zaletta's mouth before he thought. "I'm sorry sir but that kid is a disaster."

Hoth narrowed his eyes, "Please speak freely Commander…by all means."

Zaletta swallowed, "I'm sorry for my outburst sir, but you told me once you keep me here for my opinions and insights…..I know you've taken a fancy to the girl, but please. Her psych evals show borderline social paranoia, inability to relate to others, a dire fear of crowds, responsibility, and physically she'd scored dead last in her class. She's a bookworm!"

"And she also blew the Academy simulators out of the water Commander. Set new records in half a dozen combat scenarios, coming up with new solutions that even the computers hadn't thought of before. She kicked the computer ass…she kicked her classmates ass. Hell we even secretly ran her in a simulation against a few sitting Starfleet Captains. Bang. She beat them all."

Hoth chuckled at the memory. "Oh we had to hush that one up a bit….wouldn't do to have a mere cadet showing up a 20 year veteran right? She's got some sort of mathematical intuition they tell me….computes things like a computer, but differently so that her human reactions play a part." he shrugged in amusement. "I don't know how she does it John, but that's the kinda girl I want in the captains chairs of one of your pretty new ships when the next war breaks out. A real ass kicker."

Zaletta was horrified. "Sir….but her performance on the Kobiyashi Maru…"

"So what? Everybody fails that one."

"Admiral…with all due respect, but she didn't even try. She refused to cross the neutral zone to rescue the ship.. She faints in crowds….she threw up on a review board, and had been in mandatory psychological therapy since her sophomore year….She's a coward. You know aht she's doing now….she's opening and closing the Space doors way out on Starbase 108.…not even close to the front lines…"

"I know damnit, I put her there." Hoth snapped. "Think John….with the war going on we're losing a dozen ships a week….I don't want to risk my new white knight in the last months of a war that will soon be over anyways. I put her out there for safekeeping until I can get a chance to groom her in safety."

He swallowed. "I made that mistake already. Had a real good kid from India I thrust into the Tactical seat too soon. He performed wonderfully….won a dozen medals in as many weeks. Unfortunately they blew him out of the stars over Chin'toka." he shook his head. "No John…I'm not wasting my resources just yet."

"Im sorry sir, but that stil doesn't change the fact that von Ernst and a few others are absolute failures as officers….mousy little cowards afraid of their own shadows. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know Admiral."

Hoth sighed. Pausing for several long moments before rising from the plastic covered chairs.

He crossed the pristine snow-white carpets of the lounge and made his ways to the massive floor to ceiling view-portal that looked out across the shipyard.

Gleaming in the darkness , the bare metal skeleton of what would become the USS Zeus drifted silently, the welders torches sparkling silently in the night.

Without turning from the window he asked. "What if I told you John there was a way to give our new recruit's a little help? A little boost of confidence and focus? Something to take the edge off their nerves and let them do what they do best."

"That's what simulations are for sir. " Zaletta answered, "Put young officers in new situations while keeping them safe from harm….."

"No Commander." Hoth interrupted. "That's all well and good, and trust me I do intend to run our young Miss von Ernst through the wringer in that regard. However I fear you are right in some respects. Rebecca…as well as a few of our other young candidates don't have the intestinal fortitude to do what needs to be done. Training will help, perhaps in time molding them into efficient officers."

He turned from the window, "But Damnit John that's the whole point of all this….we don't have time to wait for these kids to grow up. We need Captains now! "

"A tutoring program maybe sir?" Zaletta wondered. "Pair your protégés up with an experienced Captain and…."

"In the works." Hoth admitted. "For example I'm transferring two of my darlings to Bob Price's ship the USS GALAXY for some mentoring. Von Ernst and Hawksley should be getting their orders by the time this war winds down in another month or so."

"The Galaxy?" Zaletta frowned. "She's a good ship sir, but Captain Price could be considered…well…considered as one of what you just called the DOVES. He'd be opposed to any radical militarization project like you describe."

"Nevertheless that's why he'd make a good teacher." the admiral replied. "Give our skittish Miss Von Ernst a boost of confidence before we turn her over to Brhode."

Zaletta was lucky he wasn't drinking anything at the time. "John Q Brhode?!!?" he almost choked, "The man's an animal. Pardon me sir but he's just as likely to shoot your precious new Ensigns out the airlock as train them to do anything."

"Maybe." Hoth chuckled, turning again to the window and touching the cool 'glass' with his fingertips. "Still John Q has his uses, and one of those is demanding very best form everyone under him. Sort of a purification by fire if you follow me."

"Additionally," he continued a bit sadly, "In the cases of our more fragile new officers….there are other considerations that need to be addressed. Some other tricks we can play to bring them along."

"Oh?" Zaletta sat up. "And what are those sir?"

"Tell me John." The admiral sighed. "What do you know about brainwashing?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"They fucking brainwashed her?" Agent Rhinestone almost came out of his seat in horror.

Chief Derringer attempted to sooth his distraught investigator. "Calm down son…calm down. Emotional modification is a more accurate term."

"But…"

"Now look." the Chief cut in, "I'm not defending what happened, but you wanted to know what the big stink was all about. Maybe you don't remember what it was like right after the war, but the fleet was in deep shit at the time. We were desperate."

"So what, they turned her into a zombie….how many others?" Rhinestone was livid.

"A dozen maybe….I don't know all the details really." Derringer admitted. "A group of new Academy graduates scattered across the Fleet each with a hidden talent…..tactics…science….engineering. Each blowing the tops off of the placement tests, and each with some sort of chronic psychological problem that kept them from fully manifesting their potential. I don't know about the others, but von Ernst was Hoth's darling and he wanted her in center seat."

Leaning back into his roller chair with a huff, the Chief motioned towards the broken PADD. "The devices were just meant to subtly take the edge off her nerves. Calm her down a bit, Allow her to function like a normal member of society." He shrugged. "Hell from what I've read it did the poor girl a lot of good too…..she was a wreck before. couldn't form a sentence without stuttering, impossible to work with groups, a total basket case that would have ended up in the Federation funny farm if the Hawks hadn't done what they did."

"And the others?"

"All productive members of the fleet. " Derringer nodded. "We got two or three full starship Captains out of the bunch…some incredible Engineers and some Science officers making some unbelievable strides in the weapons research departments. "

"Except for von Ernst." Rhinestone sank back into his chair. "She's the only one who figured it out and went off reservation. Why the hell is Temporal Affairs even involved in all this for chief?"

"Because frankly since Section 31 folded we're the most black department still out there." he replied. "Also because of Jimsdottir. She's a potential monkey wrench."

"I see. Where's Hoth now?"

"Dead." Derringer shook his head. "Assassinated a few years back….but Zaletta is a Commodore now, and running the 359 program in his stead. I'm presuming he's also the one running the PADD programs nowadays, but the HAWKS influence has expanded beyond just Hoth and his projects. This is vitally important to some very powerful portions of the Federation government and the Starfleet bureaucracy….that's why you've got to find these people."

Agent Rhinestone picked up the broken brainwashing device. Trembling at its hellish potential. There was one final question to be asked and he feared for his soul at its answer.

"And what do you want me to do when I do find Jimsdottir or von Ernst?"

Derringer frowned. "Don't ask stupid questions agent."

"Old Sins and Old Glory"

Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, Chief of Operations, USS Galaxy
Specialist Gloria Anna-mae Beauregard, Life Support

Tangnagel Array, Tycho Epsilon System
==============================

At first, he thought the sound was that of lightning rippling across
the vast skies of his home-world. The rhythmic thundering bore
painfully in his mind, heralding brief flashes painfully churned from
his memory.

Gloria Beauregard’s scream of rage.

Boom.

Jaal Jaxom’s look of shock and betrayal.

Boom.

Elaithin Jii, huddled over the badly burned corpse of his wife.

Boom.

Chris Daniels, outraged and angry, defending himself from both claw
and fang.

Boom.

Hazard Squad Five, all screaming as they experienced their individual,
private hells before him.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Strangely, the thundering ceased and he found himself lying in lush,
green grass against the thin trunk of a blossoming peach tree. At
once he noticed the colors more bright and vivid than in recent
months, and the delicious feeling of heat being infused to his
muscles. A quick glance to his hands confirmed it – gone thin, pale,
sickly things he had grown accustomed to. In their place, thick,
scales flexed over strong muscles and tendons, and each digit ended in
a sharp, black talon. He drew a deep lungful of air and savored the
sweet taste of flowering plant-life over the tongue that lay nestled
behind a wall of fangs. Among the complex tastes of peach, orchid,
rhododendron was the salty tinge of an adult human female of
menstruating age, currently in the infertile phase of her cycle.

“Thing is”, a decidedly feminine voice chimed from the other side of
the peach tree, “doesn’t matter if you’re in a field back home or on a
starship, there’s always weeds to deal with… one type or another.” As
K’aa craned his neck over his broad shoulders, the beaming face of the
late Susan Beauregard peered from behind the flowering tree. “How you
doin’, Th’Khiss?”

K’aa’s large, globular eyes widened, and his nictitating membranes
reflectively flickered to moisten the drying orbs. He stood quickly,
but took a fearful pace back from the smiling woman. A deep clicking
growl began to echo amongst the foliage, prompting the figure of Susan
Beauregard to break out into a burst of rich, genuine laughter.

“You’re dead!”

“Yes”, the woman said between gasps for breath. She leaned against
the thin three and wiped years of laughter from her eyes. “Yes, I
am. Heh. Still, if you and me are waggin’ chins I guess Death’s not
what it used t’be. How ARE you doin’ Th’Khiss?”, she asked again.

“Hrrrr… you tell me. Issss thissss the afterlife.”

“Nah. Your brain’s bein’ starved for oxygen and you’re halucinatin’.
Probably guilt fueled by meetin’ Gloria. Whadda ya think of ‘Old
Glory’, anyways?”

“Extremely affable, essspecially consssidering she’ss currently
ssstrangling the life out of me. Why ‘Old Glory’, Sussssan?”

“Just the way she’s been ever since she was a toddler”, the woman said
with a chuckle. “Three years old goin’ on thirty sayin’ how we
shouldn’t be swimmin’ in the pond after lunch. It wasn’t your fault,
you know..”

The last sentence seemed to hit the Gorn like a cold, Brikar fist.
“I’ve heard wordsss like that before, and it suggesssts that mammalsss
have an inferior senssse of conscience. If…. Hrrrr… your death
wassssn’t my fault Susssan, then whossse fault wassss it.”

“We humans got a phrase that kinda applies, Th’Khiss . ‘shit
happens’, Susan said with a grin. She paused to brush a strand of
hair from her vision, and the air of jocularity fell with the peach
blossoms. “It was my time. Your time may be here soon, but I don’t
think it’s here yet. Do me a favor, an’ we’ll call it quits.”

Despite the heat of the area, K’aa could feel the blood flowing in his
veins quickly turning to ice-water. “What boon would the dead want of
the living?”, he hissed.

Susan’s figure approached the Gorn, becoming less corporeal with every
step. “Save my sister, my friend”, she pleaded in a voice barely a
whisper.

“Please.

Boom.

Ba - Boom.

Ba - Boom.

Ba - Boom.

Hundreds of black spots danced in his vision as K’aa slowly opened his
eyes. The corridor was filled with the wet gurgling sound of Gloria’s
struggles for breath and the high-pitched gibbering of the crab-like
Jaal-thing. The creature had it’s long, slime-laden tongue securely
wrapped around the young woman’s throat and had climbed up her back
and latched onto her shoulder. Following his instincts, K’aa drew in
a large lungful of air as quietly as he could as he rose to a crouch.
He then threw himself at the thing with what claws and fangs he
possessed in his frail human body. His flat teeth bit into the
chitinous exoskeleton of a leg as each of his long, thin hands grasped
the sides of the Jaal-things head and his fingers sought out its
eyes. His left fingers were rewarded with the feeling of warm wet
jelly. The right met the brief resistance of a closing eyelid, but
the creature’s piercing, pain-addled scream truly began when he tore
the eyeball from the thing’s socket.

As the creature writhed in agony, it’s long, whip-like tongue
slackened enough for Gloria to break free from its grasp. Grasping
her throat, she gulped a lungful of air as she looked back at what
attacked her. K’aa’s head was snapping back as he tore one of the
thing’s crab-like legs from it s head, She clawed at her feet and
grasped the conduit she had choked her sister’s killer with and
wrapped it several times around her right palm. After a number of
wraps he ultra-high weight molecular poly gave her hand a gauntleted
appearance, and her balled fist an almost lethal quality.

When she looked up at the two combatants, a poem from her childhood
crossed her mind as she advanced.

~Eeenie, meanie, miney moe….~

"Cubicle"
by Ensign T'risia

The slim vulcan woman sat in her small cubicle in Security, dividing her time equally between handling the paperwork tasks that were provided to her by Mr. Krieghoff, and setting up the areas on her desk in a fashion that would be appropriate, given Terran ritual of Desk Management. She took a moment to regard a crewman's request for a gravity variance in their quarters to be applied, in order to make living conditions more habitable for their plant life. Seeing no obvious threat to security, she approved it tacitly, but pending the reciept of a form 407/b on her desk within 48 standard ship hours. Having completed that, she leaned over, and took one of her prepared items for the Desk.

The item was an inspirational poster, with a black border around it in the Terran custom for such posters. It had a photograph of the fabled Mr. Spock on it, looking at the bulkhead of a starship, presumably the Enterprise. The wall had been covered with some sort of graphitti, and his typically Vulcan expression looked mildly disapproving. The caption read, "Logic: Not nearly as prevalent as one would wish." Straightening up, she spent a good 2.47 minutes attaching it to the wall of her cubicle, ensuring that it was indeed straight upon the low wall.

Satisfied with her performance, she reviewed the next document in her workload. A series of complaints between junior officers about the noise in the corridors near their adjoining quarters. Loud music, arguments, and extraordinarily loud procreative activities, at unacceptable hours. For a moment, she considered policy on this matter, and the general reaction of the crew to her only friend, Mr. Krieghoff. activating her messaging system, she typed a brief message to both parties, explaining that she had reviewed their complaints, and found both parties to have legitimate claims. They could resolve the matter themselves, with 48 hours, or, if no resolution were possible, T'risia and Mr. Krieghoff would be available to moderate discussions, and come to an acceptable solution. As she hit send, she calculated a 92.47 percent probability that the parties involved would rather endure each other's antics, then deal with Mr. Krieghoff at all.

Having completed that, she reached into her cardboard box, by her feet, once again. Carefully, she took out a coffee mug, which she had replicated. The vulcan woman considered, logically, that she would need to start drinking coffee more often, since the artifact was intended to be used. It was emblazoned with a slogan like the ones Terrans who worshiped the Corporation God known as Hallmark endorsed. In green, bold letters, it said, "You do not have to be a Vulcan to work in Security, but it helps." With her computer like mind, and Obsessive Compulsive tendencies, she set it down very precisely on her desk.

As she pushed back her hair, behind the skull and crossbones emblazoned headband that contained her dark locks, she reviewed another document. Scheduling of training facilities for Security personell. Reviewing the document, she quickly found a few schedule conflicts, revised them, and approved the revised document. Mission accomplished.

Taking another item from the cardboard box at her feet, the emotionless woman removed a tiny figure. This so called "action figure" was paradoxical to her...as it performed very few actions at all. In fact, in order that the sculpture would be of higher quality, the tiny Terran had almost no joints or points of articulation, but was still called an "action figure." Raising an eyebrow at the oxymoronic concepts, she placed it carefuly near her control surfaces, so it would stand free of them, but still be clearly visible. The figure was the legendary Terran hero, Captain Jack Sparrow, who's rakish antics were surely a source of great amusement to those who indeed, had senses of humor.

Returning her attention to work, she took forth another PADD. As she scanned its contents, she was momentarily concerned. Apparently, a theft of some kind had occurred in Lt. Hunter's quarters. Lt. Hunter, ever the individualist, undertook much of the investigation herself, and many contacts were made to the office by those she interviewed. Eventually, Mr. Krieghoff had spoken with Lt. Hunter, but the case was marked, "ongoing."

Why had 8-ball not asked for her assistance?

T'risia was a capable investigator, after all. There must be some logical reason, and, thankfully, T'risia had no feelings to be hurt. She red flagged the item in records, and made sure to instruct the computer to immediately update her on any developments. This brought her to the next item in her box of Ritual Cubicle Items.

Carefully, she set a small holo of Lt. Hunter, standing and looking irate, occasionally shifting her weight. It was dressed in the black leather that she had worn on their date. T'risia did not smile, but for a moment, her emotionless features seemed to soften, just a bit.

Again, to work...an experiment being performed that might accidentally create evil Quantum Duplicates of the entire crew. Denied. Experiment in point singularity energy extraction, which, in the fine print, could destroy the ship. Denied. Experiment in time continuum slingshot trajectories that would allow the ship to enter the past, and replay portions of the Starfleet Games. Denied. Experiment in chemical engineering that would produce a clear gravy, with all the flavor of normal, brown gravy. Denied.

Taking the last two items in her box forth, she placed them on the desk near her Captain Jack figure. One was a baseball, given to her by Mr. Krieghoff. He had said that it was from the Starfleet Games final game, and had the players from the Galaxy sign it. Although she had been overwhelmed by the energy of the Terrans she was playing alongside, T'risia found the actual play of the game...interesting.

The final item, was her chess medal, from the Games. Chess, being a quiet game, had come and gone quietly, and her performance was as expected. Terrans put objects of their achievement on their desks, and thus, she had these two items.

A crewman stopped for a moment, outside her cubicle. He was tall, and dark haired, and smiled. "Decorating your cubicle, I see!"

She straightened the skull and crossbones pin on her jacket, by her combadge, and said, "Yes, obviously."

The Terran man was momentarily confused by the completely straightforward response, and said, "I didn't realize you liked pirates..."

With her usual grave expression on her pretty features, the slim Vulcan woman said, "Of course I like pirates. why would I have a pirate in my cubicle if I did not, in fact, like pirates? It would be highly illogical."

"Um...well, that is..." began the young man, as he silently tried to decide which security person was creepier...Krieghoff, who could probably kill you with his right eyebrow, or T'risia, who wasn't insane, apparently, but took everything to its most literal. He saw the poster, with its slogan about logic, and realized that was it. She liked Terrans, but was really a Vulcan fundamentalist at heart. It was unnerving.

"You should go about your duties, crewman," responded T'risia, "before I decide to have you swab the deck." She said 'swab the deck' awkwardly, as if trying it out for the first time, but her glittering green eyes showed that trying it out as an order would be even more interesting.

"Yes, ma'am!" said the young man, as he hurried off.

Perhaps a sports poster, thought T'risia....

"Chillaxin"

With

PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP
NCOIC EMRT
USS GALAXY

Crew Quarters of Maxwell

He strummed the electric guitar a few times before tuning a couple of the strings a bit more to get the effect he wanted. He was successful. After a few more plucks, he sat back and cradled the guitar on his lap, ready to play...but what was he going to play?

He waited for inspiration to hit him in some form, but couldn't find anything just yet. Then it hit him, like a ton of bricks (or the bulkhead that exploded and fell on him back on the Miranda). The conversation he had with Roger yesterday. At one point, he considered many of the ...

"Computer," he quickly said.

=/\=Working.=/\=

"From my music catalog, play 'Over Now' by Alice In Chains, drop the rhythm guitar and the vocals." After a few moments, the computer complied and the trumpet portion of the song began to play. Max timed himself, and when the trumpet finished playing the "Remembrance Day" tune, he muttered, "Good night." Then he began to play. He was immediately lost in the playing, thinking about his mistakes and errors in life. This is where he drew the strength to start singing.

Yeah, it's over now, but I can breathe somehow
When it's all worn out, I'd rather go without

You know its been on my mind
Could you stand right there
Look me straight in the eye and say
That's it's over now

We pay our debt sometime...

The somewhat haunting melody of the song carried his mind through many of the events that marked the turns his life took. His debilitating injury. Meeting Darla. Medical School. His divorce. Leaving Earth to gallivant around the galaxy as a "Mercenary" Medic. Joining Starfleet The death and resurrection of his sister. The dreams that have haunted him about the possible futures that await him.

Guess it's over now, I seem alive somehow
When it's out of sight, just wait and do your time

You know its been on my mind
Could I stand right here
Look me straight in the eye and say
That it's over now

We pay our debt sometime
Yeah, we pay our debt sometime

His fingers flew over the strings to add the rhythm to the rest of the track which poured out of the speakers of his quarters. He was coming up to the end of the song, and found that he didn't want to stop playing. But he also knew that to all good things...

He completed the compilation, and took a moment to compose himself. He suddenly found himself wishing that he had recorded that session. Given the acoustics in his quarters, the sound quality was good enough for a basic studio sound. "And who would want to listen to 20th Century Earth music," he thought wryly. He only knew of very few people who would enjoy it the way he did. One of whom, he realized, had not been around lately. He briefly wondered what Allison was up to, then gave up as quickly as he thought of it. It would have been nice to jam with her just one more time.

Looking at the chronometer, he realized that he needed to get some kind of sleep before his next duty shift started. Within moments, he was snoring like an un oiled chainsaw in the woods of Wisconsin. His dreams (for once) didn't trouble him with visions of paths that his future could take. Instead, he dreamt of he and Victory camping out in the Catskills.

OOC: This was original planned as McAllister's first post, but circumstances delayed and required some changes. This takes place prior to McAllister's arrival on the Galaxy. Hope you enjoy...

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

“Introducing Paul McAllister”

or

“Give Good Gadget”

Ens. Paul McAllister

Soundtrack: “Classical Gas” – Mason Williams

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mguzKze1sYo&feature=related

“I could have sworn I locked that door,” said the Admiral finding a large bald man seated in her favorite chair as she entered her private office.

The chair swiveled to reveal the man sported an eye patch over his right eye, a large black mustache, and was wearing the uniform of a Starfleet lieutenant, intelligence branch. He held an unlit cigar clenched in the fingers of his right hand; in his left, a small black box. With a large smile, he tossed the box in the Admiral’s direction.

“You give good gadget,” said Paul David McAllister.

Deftly catching the computerized lock pick, the Admiral placed her fists on her hips. “It’s also customary for mere lieutenants to stand when a flag officer enters the room,” she said with an answering smile.

“Ah, but I know your dirty little secret, Boss.”

“Which secret is that, Paulie?”

“That you’re the mysterious supplier of homemade gourmet jams and jellies during the holidays,” laughed Paul. He stood. “It’s good to see you again, Boss.”

The Admiral strode to her desk and picked up a PADD. Gesturing for McAllister to take a seat in front of the desk, she replied, “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“You’re AWOL, Paul,” she continued, taking her own seat behind the desk. Tossing the PADD to McAllister with a flip of her wrist, she said, “Captain Carmichael is demanding your head on a platter. Care to give me a reason not to give it to him?”

Paul chuckled. “Captain Alexander Carmichael is a sticklerprick who wakes every morning wondering what life would be like if he had received enough oxygen at birth.” Paul placed the PADD on the Admiral’s desk. Seeing that she was not remotely amused by his assessment of the USS Gameau’s commanding officer, he continued, “I had some business to take care of.”

“Your father’s death.” It was a statement and a question.

McAllister smile quickly disappeared behind his mustache. “Personal business, Admiral.”

“Agents being considered ‘persons of interest’ in a murder investigation makes this MY business, Lieutenant,” exclaimed the Admiral. Shaking her head with exasperation, she leaned back in her chair. “Paul, tell me you didn’t kill your father.”

As pregnant pauses go, the pause before McAllister’s reply could have borne triplets.

Finally, with a slight almost imperceptible nod of his head, Paul replied, “I did not personally blow up the esteemed Captain Peter McAllister’s shuttle. He deserved to die, but I didn’t kill him.”

The Admiral leaned forward, elbows on her desk, head in her hands. “Ah, Paulie. Why?”

McAllister’s answer was curt. “He left her to die.”

The Admiral’s tone softened. “Is Holley doing any better?”

Paul bowed his head. “No. Her mind is still gone. I can tell she’s in there somewhere, but nothing I do or say can convince her to come out.”

“How can you be so sure your father was at fault?”

“His recall order was bogus,” responded McAllister. “Even if true, he didn’t have to leave Mom and Holley; the family traveled with him all the time. He was forewarned. He used his wife and daughter as bait. He deserved to die. Can we move on, Boss?”

The Admiral regarded her agent. “Answer me true, Paulie – does this end with him?”

“I don’t know,” replied McAllister. “I’m sure others are involved, I just haven’t found them yet.”

“I was afraid that would be your answer. I know you’re no longer of interest in your father’s murder – a ruling of accidental causes due to pilot error is what the investigators are considering now. But I can’t put you back under – how can I trust you after this?”

McAllister adjusted his eye patch. “Boss, I understand your position. All I can promise is that I’ve not betrayed you and never will. That will have to do.”

The Admiral stared at her agent, and then shook her head. Resigned, she said, “Let’s get this over with.” She tapped a control on her desk. “Recording mode – disposition of administrative action considering the actions of Lieutenant Paul David McAllister, Starfleet Intelligence.”

Paul nodded to her and mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” He rose from his chair and came to attention.

The Admiral continued, “Lieutenant, you are charged with being absent without leave from your duties and responsibilities aboard the USS Gameau. Do you have anything to state in your defense?”

“No, Admiral,” McAllister responded.

“You do not deny being AWOL?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Very well. I find that you were in fact absent without leave as charged by your commanding officer. Considering your prior meritorious service to Starfleet, I am reducing you in rank from Lieutenant to Ensign. Do you wish to protest this administrative action at a general court?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Very well. You are dismissed.” She tapped the recorder off. As McAllister turned to leave, she added, “Paulie?” McAllister turned from the door.

“Don’t fuck up – I may not be able to save you again.”

McAllister nodded. “Boss?” he asked gently.

The Admiral raised her head.

“Who warned Dad the Borg were coming?” Not expecting an answer, or perhaps fearing the answer he might receive, McAllister turned and left.

OOC-Occurs two days after Process of Elimination, part 2

Leronem Risdanach and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Dr. Leronem Risdanach


Technology had its benefits, no doubt about it. As a doctor, Leronem was intimately aware of quite a few of them, and was grateful. Sometimes, though, he missed doors that you had to manually open and shut.


You could slam those doors.


He had stalked out of his office at the end of a double shift, shocking the hell out of the on duty nurse. The Efrosian was normally amiable, if gruff, and he and Hebren had a good working relationship, with the nurse often acting as a psychiatric consult on Leronem's cases. Today, however, the thoughts he had sent the Betazoid man when he had dared to wish him a good day had been...less than nice.


For the moment, though, he was too grouchy to care. Two days ago, he had contacted both the Vulcan Academy Hospital and Starfleet Medical. The former hadn't even deigned to respond, and the latter had been giving him the run-around all shift. The first response, 'from some first year cadet acting as a clerk, no doubt', Leronem thought bitterly, had politely told him that full-disclosure to patients was standard Starfleet procedure and that he was no doubt mistaken about the flag in T'Pei's file. Four hours of additional inquiries to ever higher ranking individuals had finally yielded the verdict that yes, the flag was valid and fully approved by Starfleet, but oh, no, they were so sorry sir, they had no idea why the file was flagged. Perhaps the Lieutenant's prior physicians would know. The Vulcans had simply asked them to flag it, and they did.


At that last bit, he'd had to bite back a number of snippy replies about what else they might be willing to do for the Vulcans if they asked.


And just to ice the cake, Doctor Burton had chosen today to take the day off, so her rank was no help in dealing with Starfleet. Apparently she had left with some Ensign from the Gorgon. Leronem couldn't care less whether or not the gossiping Beta shift nurses were right that the man was here to propose to the CMO because she was pregnant with his love child. All he knew was that he had been told that unless someone's life was about to end, Burton was not to be disturbed.


And, although the Efrosian doctor felt no small amount of urgency to solve the mystery, he certainly couldn't claim that T'Pei's life was about to end. Not anymore, at least.


Snatching up a small bag up from beside his bed, Leronem took off for deck 11. The worst thing about all of this was that it had been that Solek had not gotten back to him. The Vulcan was one of his oldest friends from the Vulcan Science Academy, and he couldn't even—Leronem stopped abruptly and shook his head. He was not going to think about work right now. The plan was to go have a long, hard swim, and let the physical activity cheer him up. Today was going to end on a good note, and work thoughts were not part of that plan.


Besides, the doctor thought as he slipped into the water, there was nothing more he could do for the moment. Tomorrow, he could ask Doctor Burton to intervene. Unless the man from the Gorgon was here to kill her to cover up the fact that he had cheated in the Zero G finals.


That was Beta shift's second favorite theory.


It was also the final straw which had sent Leronem scurrying into one of the labs to hide for the remainder of shift.


And now, well, he wasn't whistling a happy tune, but the swim had done the trick; his moved had improved from 'homicidal' to 'grumpy'. Smoothing his still damp mustache, Leronem padded about his cabin in his favorite old slippers, tidying up while he 'air-dried'.


"Computer. Fanalian toddy. Hot."


A blinking light caught his eye as he sat down with his drink. Leronem snagged his glasses and wrapped his robe around himself in case it was a live transmission.


It wasn't a live transmission. Solek's face appeared on the screen, and he was torn between happiness at seeing his old friend, and annoyance that even right before bed, he could not escape this damn case.


[Doctor Risdanach, it is gratifying to hear that you are well.]


Despite his bad mood, Leronem smiled, imagining the effort that went into Solek's platitude.


[I trust that my delay in responding has not caused you any inconvenience.]


Leronem snorted. Leave it to a Vulcan to apologize without actually doing it.


[It is most fortuitous that you wrote to me regarding your patient. After reviewing her files, I believe I may be able to offer you an explanation for her apparent memory loss. Sixteen years ago, T'Pei underwent the procedure known as the Fullara. As you are aware, the Fullara is intended to be a temporary measure rather than a permanent one. Your patient is no doubt in the process of regaining her memories.


A successful suppression time of sixteen years is unusually short, although not unprecedented. You mentioned unique circumstances—unfortunately, we have very little data regarding the interaction of the Fullara and the healing trance, for obvious reasons. Therefore, I cannot say if it should interfere. That, however, seems a reasonable hypothesis.]


Leronem frowed. Of course, it would be unethical to place a patient in harm's way, merely to determine what would happen when they tried to heal themselves. Still, surely there had been some other case where it had occurred naturally.


[There are numerous recorded cases of successful katric transfers following the Fullara. In this instance, I do not believe the cause of failure is neurological. I have included the notes of the physician who oversaw the Lieutenant's procedure. I trust they will assist you in your treatment.


You understand, I am sure, why the Lieutenant's medical file was treated in this manner, and why it is imperative that she remain uninformed of the entirety of this information, until and unless the knowledge becomes important for her well-being.]


The Vulcan man's face shifted into—not quite a smile, but certainly a friendlier look.


[T'Pei is fortunate to have you as her physician. Very few non-Vulcan doctors have the experience you do with our neuro-anatomy. I believe you are the ideal choice.


Please keep me apprised of any developments.


Peace and long life, Doctor.]


Fanalian Toddy pushed aside and forgotten, Leronem stared at the screen. T'Pei could regain the memories of...whatever the hell she had had suppressed...tomorrow, or years from now. He had no way of knowing when. And Solek had almost entirely dismissed her coma, which had led to this entire situation in the first place.


To Leronem, at least, death seemed like a serious enough side affect to be considered, at least briefly.


Headache returned, and synthehol cold, the Efrosian doctor stood decisively and moved to his bed. Clearly, he should have given up on the day hours ago; it had been a complete disaster from start to finish.


He idly hoped that Doctor Burton managed to avoid both maternity leave and assassins, at least for the moment. He needed to talk to her.