“This Time, It’s Personal”

Colonel Branwen London, commanding USS Trafalgar

Commander Man'darr Maivia, XO USS Liberty

Commander Xavier Otis, XO USS Trafalgar (NPC written by Chris H.)

Lieutenant Commander McDowell, Chief Engineer USS Trafalgar

Lieutenant Colonel Wayne “Biggs” Duke, Marine Force CO, USS Trafalgar (NPC written by Betred)

Lieutenant Adams (NPC)

<Sector 001, near the end of the battles>

<USS Trafalgar>

Heavily damaged, the Pulsar Class USS Liberty had been caught off guard by the more powerful and armored USS Trafalgar. The engines had been taken out with the first volley and the weapon systems with the second. Man'darr and the crew of the Liberty were locked into close quarters combat with Marines from the Trafalgar as the vessel loomed over the broken Liberty like a predator relishing the moment before the kill. Fires raged across the ship with the decks littered with bodies of the deceased.

Lieutenant Adams stood at the Tactical Station, with a grin on her face. Her dirty-blond hair was worn up in regulation standard. She had executed Colonel London's plans to perfection and had taken the Liberty by surprise and disabled it in two quick volleys, and now the ship would surely be theirs for the taking and Colonel London would be commended for taking a new vessel for their side as a trophy. And of course there would likely be prisoners. She had sent a command for Detention cells to be readied, as well as Interrogation Cells One and Two. She hoped to witness the colonel interrogate a prisoner as rumor had it, she was very good at doing so,
especially male prisoners.

Colonel Branwen London had wanted to join the marines herself. It had taken her XO a lot of harsh words to talk her out of it. The colonel was pretty gung ho, but a captain should be on the bridge of her ship and not leading an assault into an enemy vessel. She now sat on that bridge waiting impatiently from word of her marine CO to hear that the situation on the Liberty was under control.

<USS Liberty>

Lt. Colonel Wayne "Biggs" Duke spat tobacco juice on the deck. Damn, he hated boarding parties - too many ways for his grunts to buy one. All the frackin nooks and crannies were ambushes waiting to happen. Damn and hell!

"Gunny!" Biggs shouted. Biggs almost always shouted - too much time in the artillery. "Give me a frackin sitrep!" Gunny Smith's voice murmured in Bigg's ear, reporting the results of the assault team’s advance over the comm bud in his ear. Biggs waved over one of his butter-bars and explained what he wanted done.

=/\= Trafalgar, Biggs. Got the last resisters pinned for the moment. I need a tactical beam out of a squad or two to get in behind them. Ten for transport, transmitting coordinates, out.=/\= Biggs spit on the deck again. Frackin idiots don't realize it's over. Damn, hell and shit!

"You heard the man." Branwen ordered. "XO you are in charge of making sure the prisoners are contained and stored safely in the brig." She could exhale now. The situation was under control and Duke seemed to be in one piece.

"Yes ma'am." The Bajoran officer kicked himself into second gear and headed for the turbolift. "Bridge to security, I need three security teams to transporter room two." He stepped into the turbolift, on his way to oversee the beam-over of prisoners.

Lieutenant Adams relayed the command to the transporter room as the colonel's nod towards her.

The troops were instantly transported to a better position, behind the remaining fighters.

Commander Man'darr Maivia saw his Captain fall to the deck dead from behind. They were now fighting on both sides. Not wanting his crew to die, he did what long ago he would never have done, he dropped his rifle and raised his hands, motioning for the rest to do the same before placing his hands behind his head. "We...surrender," he announced.

"About bloody damn time," said Biggs, striding towards the Commander. "Gunny! Secure the area. Have someone collect their com badges and check for weapons." Turning to the larger man now in front of him, Biggs spat on the deck before adding, "I am Lieutenant Colonel Duke, USS Trafalgar. I accept your surrender, but I need you to know this - the rules of war have gotten
damn hinky here of late - so you or your men do something stupid and I'll have you all shot. Play nice, and I'll do my frackin best to see you are all treated in the manner befitting warriors. You OK with that?"

"Yes," he replied.

"On the ground, Commander." The 2nd Lieutenant leading the squad ordered, allowing the use of the rank out of respect for the man who 'technically' outranked him. "Hands where we can see them."

Man'darr did as the man said, getting down on his knees and keeping his hands placed behind his head as the rest of the survivors did the same as the Marines moved in and began to place titanium shackles on the prisoner's wrists behind their back.

Biggs waited until all the shackles were in place and Gunny Smith reported the area secure. Nodding in satisfaction, he tapped his badge: =/\=Trafalgar, Biggs. This ship is ours. Tag the bracelets and transport prisoners at your convienence. Col. London, you want a salvage team or
should I just blow this bucket?=/\=

"Negative. We want salvage rights." London said. "So I will send over teams. “And you get your ass back on this ship, Duke." The colonel never called him by his nickname.

=/\= Wilco; Biggs out.=/\= Turning away from the prisoners, Biggs shouted, "Nokumora!" A small statured marine captain came towards Biggs on the run.

"Hai, Biggs-san?"

"Hello to you too, Sneeky, and get this lot loaded. Boss Lady want to see me." Duke paused to light a victory cigar. After a couple of puffs, he inhaled deeply. "Damn, I love the smell of burning tobacco in the morning!" He tapped his badge. =/\=Trafalgar, Biggs. Get my ass back on aboard.=/\=

Back on the Trafalgar Lieutenant Commander McDowell turned away from the Main Engineering station. "Captain, we've sustained considerable damage to our port Nacelle, main Impulse Engine, and lateral Phaser Array. I estimate we need about five to six hours for repairs."

"Just what we don't need.' Bran growled. "Make it happen in five tops, McDowell."

"Yes, ma'am." McDowell shook his head ever so slightly. If he didn’t count in Branwen's tendency to shorten the repairtime then he would be in trouble a lot of the time.

Lt. Adams monitored the transport of the Marine CO back aboard the Trafalgar, before returning her attention to the prisoners being transported aboard the ship, directly into the detention cells upon the transporter scans confirming no weapons were hidden on the prisoners. "Transport of
the prisoners, complete, ma'am," she announced to Colonel London.

"Thank you, Adams. Alright I want Duke and the XO in my ready room for a debriefing as soon as possible." She sat back in her chair. Fighting gave her a great deal of satisfaction. At one time Branwen London had been a gentle soul, even a bit naïve, but those years were far behind her now.

"Aye, ma'am," Adams responded tapping a few commands into the console. =/\=Lt. Adams to Lt. Colonel Duke, and XO. Colonel London wishes to see both of you in her ready room immediately," she said after the comm lines were opened to the two officers.

=/\=Enroute. Gotta take a leak first,=/\ responded Biggs. There where times he wanted to tell Branwen to keep her panties on -- and, there where times he didn't. Biggs finished up quickly and made his way to Col. London’s ready room.
=================================================================

(Presuming a Time skip)

Commander Xavier Otis (XO for short) made his way from the security center to the Captain's ready room. The whole concept of a hybrid Fleet/Marines ship was special in of itself, but surprisingly it seemed to be panning out. The Colonel knew what she was doing, and he had few, if any complaints, from the Fleet personnel aboard to deal with.

The crew of the Liberty had been brought aboard per the Colonel's orders. There were the normal grumblings and crew difficulties associated with 'firing on your own', a practice that had become far too common in the territory of the former Federation as resource supplies dwindled and various factions fought out long standing feuds against each other. Ironically, XO knew,
via private and confidential chats with his commanding officer, that the hunt for the Liberty which had taken them so many weeks was conducted largely because of the latter. Rather than the typical Hawk versus Dove, or Tier I versus Tier II world disputes, this was... well... personal for lack of a better term.

VERY personal.

The turbolift dropped him off on the bridge and he waved the officer on duty off as he made his way to the Ready Room. Seeing as how it looked like nobody else showed up yet he gave the CO his usual, casual smile. "Well ma'am, the surviving members of the Liberty crew are onboard and all are accounted for except three... but the ship's internal logs showed they were in a compartment that was depressurized and exposed to space courtesy of a torpedo hit."

He handed her the PADD. "Other than the badly wounded who are in sickbay under guard, the survivors are in holding cells in the brig. I've locked down that area of the ship, and Marine and Security teams are posted in and around the area."

She nodded. "Good job, Xavier, we will make sure that the wounded are well cared for." Bran did not so much blame the common soldiers and sailors for chosing the wrong side. Many of them hardly had a choice or didn't much know about politics and just followed their friends or a trusted officers. It was the officers that she did blame, they should know better. "Tell me, did we take him alive?"

Duke walked into the room in time to here the Colonel's question. "We got him, Col. He's a bit battered, but very much alive." Duke puffed on his cigar. "What's our next move?"

"I'd like to take a few away teams over to the Liberty." Xavier after a nod to the entering Colonel responded. "The ship has taken a beating, but there are still salvageable components to it, components we're going to need to effect our own repairs. Likewise they've still well stocked with torpedo casings, warheads, pulse phaser power cells... not to mention the likely equipment available in their Armory. Then there's always the medical supplies and like equipment to consider. Given how quickly we captured the Liberty, I doubt anyone had time to plant any traps. There's also the possibility of convincing some of the Liberty's crew to join us... trained manpower is a rare comodity."

"Beggin the Colonel's pardon," Duke jumped in before London could respond. "I like the XO's idea -- we're runnin low on heavy weapons parts and ammo -- but if ya go, XO, I want you to take one of my demo teams with ya. Those young'uns may not have had the time to plant any NEW traps, but that don't mean they ain't got some already in place. Maybe one of special weapons squads, too, eh?" Biggs hated putting his people in harm's way, especially under a 'Fleeter, but the XO wasn't a bad sort, and the potential gain was well worth the risk. No balls, no blue chips.

"I think that's a good idea." Xavier concurred. "No one better than Marines to point out and grab what Marines need after all. We can bring over engineers and operations personnel once the ship has been determined to be secured."

“Good idea. The ship has been damaged and we are always short on spare parts.” She turned on them. “Gentlemen and you of you want to be present when I interrogate the captured enemy officers?” She knew that both would be uncomfortable with the idea. So she hoped they would stay out of it and Bran could do it her way.

Biggs glanced over at XO and saw the man returning his sideways glance. Biggs had given his word to Man’darr that he wouldn’t be mistreated, but he knew Col. London had a personal stake in the matter and understood her point of view. He wasn’t sure of XO’s position vis-à-vis Man’darr the child killer, so he kept silent, hoping he could convince the Colonel to follow some of the few rules of war the remained nowadays.

Xavier could see the look of doubt in Biggs' eyes. It was one he shared... somehow he had the feeling there was going to be an 'accident', or several, during the interrogation. "As Executive Officer Colonel, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't point out that, for your security if nothing else, it would be advisable to have at least one other person in the room at all times." Not that it had to be either of them, but someone should stay there, less rumors of what happened poped up.

Biggs nodded. "I agree -- I know you don't like it, but it's for your own good. Colonel." The look he gave Branwen was private, and he hoped she'd understand why he wasn't backing her on this one.

The colonel gave both men a look that was not friendly. “I am glad you are both so worried about my health, gentlemen. I can assure you I haven’t entered my dotage yet and may I remind you that I am an excellent interrogator known to get results.” She always stayed just within the laws, and thankfully they were not as strict as they used to be. Losing a child had killed a lot of compassion inside the once gentle woman.

Biggs nodded his acceptance of the colonel’s wishes, hoping he could convince her of prudence later, when they met privately.

She looked over at Xavier. Xavier, for his part, stood his ground. "Sorry Colonel, if you're looking for my vote of approval I can't give it. I won't stop you, but I'm voicing my objection."

Biggs admired XO for standing his ground; he just hoped the man wouldn’t be buried beneath it.

Bran nodded. “I will take one or two people with me if that truly makes you happy gentlemen.” She knew well enough that there were those amongst her crew who looked up to her and would follow her to hell and back if she asked them. And… most important would keep their mouths shut about it afterwards.

Biggs nodded again, once more catching XO's eye. As London turned back towards her desk, he mouthed the word "Later," hoping XO would understand he desired a private conversation with him, hopfully before the Colonel decided to begin interrogations. Out loud, he said, "If that be all, Colonel, I need to see to my men. Any word on our next target?"

“Of course.” She agreed crisply. “Not yet, I expect to get new orders from central command any moment now. Anything else, gentlemen?” She looked at both of them.

"Not on my end, Colonel. I'll have salvage teams outfitted and aboard the liberty in ten minutes." Commander Otis gave a respectful nod before following the Colonel out.

Bigss was waiting at the turbolift. "Can I speak with ya a minute?" he asked, as XO approached.

Xavier looked around to make sure there was nobody in earshot. "Computer, disable audio features to security recordings, voiceprint authorization." It took a second for the computer, slowed by battle damage, to confirm the request. "What's on your mind, Colonel?"

The Marine CO nodded in appreaciation of the XO's caution. "First, I owe you an apology," Biggs began. "I should have had the balls to have your back in there with the boss and I chickened out -- so, I'm sorry; should have stood with you instead of stayed quiet. Second, I'd like to hear your ideas for keeping Bran - I mean the Colonel London's ass out of hot water
over this Man'Darr."

"It was a tough call, I don't blame you for staying quiet. A part of me wants to flush the guy out the nearest air-lock too, but then what the hell was the point of capturing his ship?" He keyed commands into the turbolift since the audio had been disabled. "As for keeping her out of hot water... I don't think we can Colonel. When someone's that fanatical, it's almost impossible to stop them. It's really in her hands, now."

"I was afraid you'd say that," responded Biggs. "I can try to put some of my people in the area when she goes to talk to him," Biggs almost choked on the ephinism, "but I'm not sure how effective that will be in keeping this Mann'darr alive and the Colonel out of hack. Damn! I should have capped his ass on the Liberty, you can't torture the dead."

Xavier smirked. The lift came to it's stop. There was definitely a grim humor, irony really, in the fact that the Colonel's observation was so astute. "No, I don't suppose you can. If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure the worst thing for him is being captured. Capellans hate to surrender."

Biggs nodded. "Caught me by surprise, that one did. Well, thanks for understand'n XO. I got some ideas that may tone the Colonel down, but like you say, her ass is in her own hands on this one." The tubolift doors opend. "Catch ya later for a drink?"

"Sounds good to me." XO grinned. "Real stuff, synthol is too expensive these days."

“Mother and Daughter”

Colonel Branwen London, commanding USS Trafalgar
Rowena London (NPC written by Betred)


<USS Trafalgar>

"Rowena, can I come in?" Bran hesitated on the threshold to her daughter's
room. As with all other junior officers, she shared with three others.
Rowena was fresh out of the naval academy. Because her mum was a marine she
had chosen naval to make it on her own. Bran respected her daughter a great
deal, being half Hydran and showing it life in the academy without the
protection of her mother and Aunt Shanna had not been easy.

Rowena's muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "Come on in."
When her mother entered, Bran found her daughter engrossed in the exploits
of Guitar Hero 8000.

She smiled; Ro was such a normal child in most ways. “Ro, I thought you
would like to know that we captured Mavia today. He is in custody.”

The shaking and loud music came to an abrupt halt as her mother's words sunk
in. The man who had killed her brother had been caught. After a moment's
silence, a childlike voice asked, "What are you going to do to him?"

“He will be punished, dear. I promise you that Daffydd will be avenged.”
Bran softened her visage, something she did with very few people these days
and walked towards her daughter. They had been twins and close as most twins
were. Gently she placed a hand on Ro’s shoulder.

Ro still had not moved. She accepted her mother's touch without feeling or
acknowledgement. In a dull, almost flat voice, she said, “I want him to
die."

“I know baby, I know. He will suffer for what he did, that I promise you.”
Federation justice had toughened up a lot the last couple of years.

Ro broke away, spinning on her heel to confront her mother. "I don't want
justice -- I want him gone!" she screamed. Her breath came in gasps and a
green tinge was creeping up her face from her neck.

“Darling. It is difficult.” She thought of her other children. Man’darr was
their father and did she want to kill him herself. If it wasn’t for them,
yeah, she would. “He will be dealt with harshly. Nobody likes the murderer
of a child, Ro. He will be punished.” She sat next to her daughter.
“Breathe slowly otherwise you know you will need the breather.”

Ro was taking deep, rasping breaths, trying to heed her mother's advice.
Still, the memory of her brother's death haunted her, the image in her mind
and the feeling in her heart when he had been ripped away. She gasped, and
after a coughing exhale, doubled over and began to twitch uncontrollably,
unable to get breathable air into her lungs.

Bran ran for the breather and placed it over her daughter’s nose and mouth.
Then she held the child and whispered encouraging words into her ears. She
was glad Ro could not see the tears of anguish in her eyes. Whatever action
she took now it was bound to hurt some of her children. Again she cursed
Man’darr for the action he had taken two years previously in killing her
son.

As the methane enriched gas entered her lungs, Ro's twitching eased and
finally came to a stop. Cradled in her mother's arms, her body began to
relax. Soon the attack would be over.

The colonel stroked her hair gently. “I am sorry I cannot make it all
better, cariad. I wish I could.”
Ro snuggled against her mother. "I'm sorry Mama, I tried to control it, I
really tried." She sounded close to tears.

“I know sweetheart, I know. It is a lot to take in. Remember that he will be
punished now. We don’t need to do it ourselves, cariad.” Bran wished she
could make it all better like she had been when Ro was still a little girl.
The trips she took to see her kids had never lasted long enough.

"Will you get in trouble, Mama?" Ro asked

“Not if I don’t kill him.” She said softly. “And I am going to try not too.”
But she was not altogether sure what she would do if she came face to face
with her former husband. “I want you to promise me that you will stay away
from him.”

Ro did not immediately reply. After a pause, she responded, "Yes, Mama."

“Thank you.” She exhaled. That was one thing less to worry about. Bran
kissed her eldest daughter on the top of her head.

“That gives me a lot of relief, my dear. I need to know that you are safe,
even if you are no longer a child.” She smiled.

Ro bit back her reply; she didn't like lying to her mother, which is why she
did not specifically promise not to see Man'darr. But she did want to meet
the monster the murdered her brother; she wanted to meet him very much.

“Try to get some rest, baby. I will check on you tomorrow.” Another kiss and
Bran came to her feet.

Bran moved towards the door, but then suddenly Ro jumped to her feet and ran
to her mother giving her a strong embrace.

It took the colonel aback. Rowena had never been that affectionate with her.
In fact it had taken a lot of time before she saw her as her mum and not
Bran’s older sister Shanna who had mostly raised the girls. “It’s going to
be alright, baby, it will be.”

"I know it will Mama," replied Ro. Then, with a sly smile, she asked, "Are
you going to go see Col. Duke tonight?"

“Yes I am,” she said honestly. “Do you mind that I spend time with him?”

Ro smiled at her mom. "No, I think Biggs is good for you. You're at lot
less morose since you started sleeping with him."

Her mother blinked. “Excuse me?” Of course, Rowena was an adult by hybrid
standards, but she had never had a discussion like this with her daughter.

Rowena laughed at her mother's puzzled expression. Parents were so clueless
at times. "Come on, Mom," she chortled. "You've been sporting that hicky
on your neck for a week now."

Her hand went to her neck as a reflex and she had the grace to blush. “How
did you know it was Duke? I thought we were succeeding in keeping our
romance secret.”

"Geez, Mom, everyone knows. You go gaga every time you see him and when
he's off the ship you're hyper as a loon until you know he's safe." Ro
wondered just how adults managed.

“I do not go gaga, young lady!” But Bran blushed deeper. “I really thought
we were discreet.” She mumbled, “Have to talk to Duke.” This was really
awkward.

Ro noticed her mother's embarrassment. She gave her a quick hug. "Don't
worry about it, Mom. Most of the crew is happy for you. You're in a much
better mood when you're getting laid."

“I, I just don’t know what to say,” Branwen said laughing. She hugged Rowena
back. “Take care child; don’t let me worry too much about you.”

Ro smiled as she watched her mother down the corridor. She returned to her
room, and rooting about in her dresser drawer found her Fleet issued phaser
one. Tucking it into her bra, she left her room, headed for the Trafalgar’s
brig. She was sure she could sweet talk her way past the guards on
Man’darr’s cell.

"Dream A Little Dream of Me"

Commander John Walker


He never dreamed about the past, or at least, not the past as it had actually happened. Instead, he dreamt in scenes and snips, in figments and fragments and alternate endings. Monsters he had met combined with foes he had never fought and provided him with new horrors in which to dwell, brighter, bloodier remakes when the old fears lost their color. Even his ghosts had ghosts, and they all came for him in his dreams, chasing him down tunnels and alleys and back to the waking world, which failed to be an improvement.

He was back in the camp on Betazed. He knew this the way he knew his name was John, and the fact that the terrain looked absolutely nothing like Betazed only bothered him remotely. He knew, in a vague sort of way, that the camps had not smelled so strongly of cow shit, that this stench belonged somewhere else, back on Earth, in a little place called Coalinga. He had (unfortunately) lived there for a time in his youth, in that middle part of California that nobody really knew existed. This smell did not belong on Betazed, this godamned awful reek.

However, such inconsistencies were merely trivialities, minor problems that John simply did not have time for, and yes, if the Breen were bizzarely using poetry as a means to torture their prisoners . . . well, that made sense, on some level. Everyone knew that Breen poetry was excruciating.

Anyway, John was waiting to be executed, so maybe he had bigger things to worry about.

He was sitting on the ground, arms behind him, tied to a post in the middle of the camp. The Breen guards would be coming back to finish the job . . . he could not remember, exactly, why they had left. But they were coming back, he knew that . . . maybe they were killing the rest of the escapees. Yes, that was it. They were saving him for last.

They had already killed Mercedes, tearing her arms off like splitting a hunk of bread. They would come for him and do the same and he'd never see his little girl again.

"On the bright side," 8-ball said, "you won't have to smell this cow shit anymore."

John blinked and glanced up to see 8-ball standing in front of him. This was a problem, of course, because she was dead, had been dead, in fact, for some time. Dead people did not belong on Betazed, at least, not when they were talking. Then again, 8-ball did not look dead, so maybe she wasn't after all.

Her dark hair was long and in her face and her uniform was only partially zipped up. "You're a little naked there," John said, as if that had been something unusual for 8-ball to be. 8-ball found that pretty amusing too. "You're about to die," she said. "You deserve a good view."

8-ball sat down next to him, so that they were shoulder to shoulder. "You bring me to the loveliest places, Johnny Walker. Maybe we could go back to the ship of cannibals next."

John smiled. "You know, you're really the only person who ever called me that. You got the whole ship calling me that. But before and afterwards, it was just John." After 8-ball died . . . because she did die. He knew that, of course he did. She'd never been here at the camps. She'd never lived to see the Federation fall.

She'd been lucky.

"Lucky," 8-ball said dryly, one eyebrow raised at him. "Not exactly how I'd describe it. Not the way I wanted my life to end." She rested her head, then, on his shoulder, and he could see as she closed her eyes. "It's hard, being dead," she told him. "So much harder than you'd imagine."

"At least it's quiet," John said.

"No," 8-ball said. "It's not."

Then she was up and sitting on his legs and her hands were over his ears and all he could hear was screaming everyone screaming screaming screaming screaming and burning.

8-ball's hands suddenly caught fire and her fingertips started blackening, sausages on the barbecue. John could feel his ears burn and blacken as well, starting to melt off like little lumps of candlewax. He writhed; he tried to pull away, but now 8-ball's flesh seemed to be fused with his flesh.

"That's Hell," 8-ball whispered, and now she did look dead, 12 years dead. Now she looked black and green and rotting and he could smell her; he smelled her oozing. "Hell is sound and Hell is smell and Hell is the taste of human decay. Hell is where you're going; it's where we're all going, because it's where we all belong."

8-ball released him, tore her hands through his head, and kicked him backwards on the ground. John screamed, in too much pain to move or even speak. He could see the Breen soldiers coming for him now, coming for him as 8-ball watched, and he tried to put up his arms, to protect himself from them. But there was nothing he could do. They chopped off both arms with a single stroke, and as John lay there, curling in on himself, the two Breen guards raised their swords over their heads, and recited:

"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!"

In his pain and bloodloss and possible delirium, John could understand why the Breen used poetry to torture, because Really? The Raven? Isn't that kind of cliche? What about something like Emily Dickinson or for Godsake, Dr. Seuss?

And then the Breen cut off his head.

But being dead wasn't as easy as you'd imagine, and as his head rolled to a stop, John could still hear the screaming, still feel the flames, still smell the stench of cooked flesh and cow shit.

And 8-ball layed down in front of his decapitated head, gently brushed his bloody hair out of his eyes.

"Because I could not stop for Death," she said, "he kindly stopped for me."

****

"Delgado to Walker. Delgado to Commander Walker, come in."

John startled awake, hit his comm badge before he was really aware of anything. "Walker here," he said, his throat thick with sleep and something else . . . what was that? Oh, yes, tears.

Mercedes always said that she had stopped crying a decade ago, had lost the capacity to, in this war of theirs, but John had never been able to say the same. And he was alive and no longer on Betazed and 8-ball was still dead, so didn't that merit some tears? He had lost his best friend. He wasn't in Hell, but she was right.

That's where he was headed.

Mercedes must have been able to hear it, to know he'd been dreaming, but she didn't ask, not like she once might have. "I need you on the Bridge," she said, and that was it. Message over. John rolled himself out of bed, reminding himself that it had been a dream, it had all been a dream, but God knew where Mercedes would be taking them now, and he couldn't know for sure that it wouldn't be somewhere worse. John rubbed his hands over his face and tried not to think about it, getting dressed as quietly as he could. He didn't want to wake Kaylee. He hoped she was dreaming of something sweeter.

She stirred anyway, though. You didn't live long in this universe if you were a heavy sleeper. "Dad?" she asked, sitting halfway up in bed. She turned on the light and squinted at him.

"It's okay," John said, though it never was when he said that. "I just got called to the Bridge. Go back to sleep, sweetie."

"You sure?" Kaylee asked, knowing something was wrong but already halfway back to sleep.

John smiled. "Yeah," he said. He crossed the room to her bed, tucked the covers tighter around her.

"I was dreaming about Mom," Kaylee said.

"Yeah," John said. "Me too."

“I Have Always Been Here”

Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence
Miranda Burton – Civilian
Aurora – KittyKat AI
And Guests

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Warp Shuttle KittyKat – Feron ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stirring in bed Rafael sat up slowly, his head was pounding from what had to have been the worst nights sleep in a long time. Rubbing his face he looked out the large windows at the rear of the room. The landing bay outside, like the ship, was dark and silent, apt really considering the day.

“You should take better care of yourself.” A faint voice cautioned him from the recesses of the dark room.

Sighing Rafael shook his head, “I do ok.” He replied, still tired and groggy.

“Trust me, I know ok, and you’re not.” From the darkness in the corner of the room Rafael watched as a faint shape became more distinct. Smiling at his wife as she sat beside him he looked into the face that he recalled so vividly. So many years together and he still found himself drawn to the mismatched eyes that he loved so much.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, struggling to clear the cobwebs of the plant from his mind. It was getting harder and harder to wake quickly in the morning.

“I’ve always been here.” She answered, raising a hand to his face. At the gossamer like touch Rafael felt an almost imperceptible warmth as her fingers traced his cheek, “and I always will be.”

Reassured by her touch Rafael smiled, “Things will be better soon,” he promised. “I’m getting closer.”

“I know, promise me you’ll be careful though. And promise me you’ll take care of Miranda.” Though she was right next to him Rafael found himself straining to hear her, she always had spoken so softly, especially these last few years.

“I will, I promise.” Every time she asked the same, every time he had to reassure her. She was always the worrier. “Miranda can look after herself pretty good. I’ll keep watch over her though, I promise.”

“She’s still just a child Raf.. Remember.” Kimberly cautioned him gently, “don’t ask too much of her, she’s not me.”

“I know love.” So much he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to know. But every time they met recently she wouldn’t answer, or he couldn’t get the words out.

It wasn’t fair!

Hearing a noise behind them Rafael turned as the door to their cabin opened, in the doorway, smiling as always was young Danner. “Dad,” the young boy asked with a mischievous grin, “can we play today please?”

“Sure, Danner. I’ll be out in a moment.” Turning back to his wife Rafael’s smile faded as he saw the empty bed beside him. Scanning the room he blinked in confusion as he looked around, finding himself alone in the darkness. No Kimberly, no Danner. Staggering forward he headed for the cockpit; someone was there he realised, hearing noises and voices, perhaps they’d slipped passed him?

“Where’s your brother?” Rafael asked as he spotted Miranda, tools in hand fixing something in the forward half of the little ship. Tired, confused and still groggy he looked around.

“Dad?” Miranda asked in confusion as she turned to face him. A mixture of emotions crossed her face as she watched him enter the compartment. Sorrow, regret, compassion. Pain.

“He.. he’s dead Dad.” She reminded him gently, the emotions on her face mirrored in her voice, “He, died. With Mom and Ceridwen.”

Looking at Miranda with some confusion Rafael sat at the table behind the cockpit. Shaking his head he looked even more confused. “I..”

“Are you still using that plant crud!” Miranda asked sharply, cutting him off, her voice rising angrily.

“That’s none of your..” He started, resting his head in his hands. ~ Tired. So tired. ~ He realised.

“Oh for feths sake father!” She burst out, “you ‘Promised’ me!” Throwing the spanner in her hand at him as her anger exploded it caromed off the table and into the darkness beyond. “That crap is ‘killing’ you. Look at you! You can’t even ‘think’ straight right now.” Nearly in tears she stormed over to him and grabbed his face. Twisting his head so he was looking at her she stared into his eyes. The dilated pupils, bloodshot sclera and totally vacant expression told her all she needed. “Gods ‘DAMN’ you!” She burst out vehemently, letting go of his face she clenched her fist and without even thinking swung her arm with as much force as she could muster. Even as her fist connected with the side of his face she realised the total futility of hitting him.

Watching her father fall from the chair and onto the floor she stood over him, breathing heavily, an almost nova like anger flaring in her mind as she watched him shake his head and roll onto his back. “Feel better?” He asked groggily.

Tears streaming unchecked down her face now she tried with all the control she could muster to slow her breathing to a point where she could talk without gasping. In the end though, all she could say, all she wanted to say, was “Fuck you! You, ‘bastard’!”

Leaving him there she ran aft to the small cabin that was hers. Securing the lock once she was inside the door she collapsed to the floor against the door and cried.

There just wasn’t anything else she could do.

Still lying on the floor, Rafael waited for the room to stop spinning before he sat up. Using the table as an anchor he dragged himself to his feet and paused a moment to regain some semblance of control.

“You deserved that you know!” Aurora said in a snide tone.

“Probably.” Rafael conceded simply as he thumped the replicator into life. Glad he’d got the parts to fix it he ordered a large strong coffee. Sipping it carefully he staggered over to a medkit on the wall and dug through it for a hypo and a stim shot.

Lowering himself into the pilots’ seat he let the caffeine and the stims do their work for a moment as he gingerly felt the growing bruise that was forming around his left eye. Aurora had a point, so did Mira, but there were more important things to do right now.

“I miss you Kim.” He muttered, staring out the windows. Just a dream? So vivid though. Touching his cheek where her wraith like fingers had caressed him he closed his eyes.

Now was not the time!

Opening his eyes he brought his console to life and scanned the data packet he’d prepared, double checking it again to make sure he’d got it right. Satisfied he took another gulp of coffee, “Aurora, is there an old comm relay in range that’s still working?” Bringing up a map of relays he looked at the growing number of red flags, lack of regular maintenance was making it harder and harder to talk to people over long distances.

“Relay four two three one is responding,” she announced after a moment, “who are we calling?”

Calling up a list of ident codes he had stored, a growing list, so many names to keep track of and not get confused. Tapping one he added it to the hail Aurora was preparing. “That’s who.” He decided simply.

“Got it. I’ll see if the relays stretch that far.” Going silent Aurora worked, and on his screen Rafael watched the comm indicator testing relay after relay, slowly making its way across space.

In times gone by this would have been nearly instantaneous, but now, with the necessity of checking relays, accessing them, re-routing around dead or hijacked relays it was time consuming. Three cups of coffee and nearly an hour passed, giving him time to wake up and clear his head, before the screen before him lit up, showing him a face he hadn’t seen in person now for many years.

“Hello old friend.” He greeted her simply.

“Shocking the Natives”

Colonel Branwen London, commanding USS Trafalgar
Lt. Colonel Wayne “Biggs” Duke (NPC – written by Betred)



“Duke honey, you were certainly playing tough guy again today." Colonel
London smiled when they were finally alone at the end of the day. "Did you
enjoy your time in the playing field?"

"Damn it, Bran," responded "Biggs" Duke, "you know better than that. We
should have never had to take the field -- that anal oriface ex of yours got
some of my grunts killed today! He should have convinced his cap'n to wave
the white flag when Trfalgar nailed his ass. How could you fall for such an
idjet?"

“You know as well as I that nobody forces a commanding officer to do
anything.” She stopped in her tracks. “Hell I am not defending him; my days
of doing that ended when he killed Daffydd.” Hatred overtook her eyes as she
thought back to the day her husband had killed her half Hydran son. The son
that she had loved so much. “He will pay for our soldiers that died
needlesly.”

Biggs visage softened. "Bran, I know this one is personal," he said
softly. "I understand that. Hell, I'd probably feel the same way. But you
can't take this out on his men. What you do with Man'darr is your own
affair -- but I gave a warrior's promise the men would be treated fairly."

“And I have no problem with that. Altough I want the officers interrogated
as well. If they can give us information that saves lives on our side, it is
worth it. But him,” her eyes narrowed. “That bastard murdered my boy.”

"I agree on interrogations -- it's standard when done by the book. As for
'that bastard' -- let's just court-martial his ass. Do it up right. And
legal." Biggs crossed over to where Bran was standing, eminating waves of
hate. He grabbed her by her arms and gave a small shake. "Do it legal,
then when this is all over, they can't take you away from me."

It was a rough and passionate kiss, delevered with little finesse from a man
who didn't believe in bullshiting around.

She grabbed him and kissed him back, equally passionate. “What would you do
without me, handsome?” But in effect Duke was the one who had saved her
from a life totally devoted to rage and revenge. He had made her want to
believe in something else again.

"I’d probably be shagging the LT in tactical that wants to be you," Duke
replied, his voice heavy with lust. Crushing his lips to hers, he swept her
into his arms and walked over the the couch. Dropping her on the soft
cushions, he placed his fists on his hips and leered down at her. "Are you
gonna unzip that uniform, Marine, or am I going have to rip the shirt off
your back?!"

“Forcefull are we? All that adrenaline from the assault that has nowhere to
go.” To tease him she began to unzip ever so slowly. “Let’s see how much
control you have left.”

It was rare for Duke not to be in control, at least when not in the field
were anything could happen and often did -- but when Bran put her heart into
a tease, it was even money he'd break before she did. He sat on the arm of
the couch and resolved to actually see how far she would go this time before
he gave in.

Her eyes captured his and didn’t let go anymore. The teasing in them was
unmistakable as milimeter for milimeter the zipper came down and still she
was carefull to keep the material over her breasts knowing full well it
would drive him mad.

It was driving him mad. Not so much the slow opening of her uniform blouse,
or the promise of what lie underneath, but the mischievous, mad glint in her
eyes. Bran's mood swings always amazed him; how a woman so full of hate
could be so cheerfully playful with those she trusted -- but winning that
trust was a bitch. Duke crossed his legs and fished in a pocket for a
cigar.

“Ah ah, distractions are not allowed.” Quick as a cat she snatched the cigar
from him and to taunt him put it in her own mouth. “No cigar, baby. You got
the real deal right in front of you.”

Bran had opened enough of her shirt that her sudden movement in snatching
his cigar exposed her body to him. With a husky chuckle, he reached inside
her shirt and gently fondled what he found there. Nuzzleing her neck, he
whispered in her ear, taunting her,"Darlin, if you're the real deal, what
you doing sucking on a cigar?"

“Practicing,” she said with a straight face. “And hoping you will get a move
on, sugar. For a marine you can be a bit slow at times.”

Duke bit her earlobe. "Last time, you didn’t mind the practice!" He kissed
her where he had bit her, then the side of her neck, then her throat, always
a bite then a kiss as he gently worked his way down. He started to unbuckle
her pants.

“Don’t stop, lover,” She said huskily. “I like it a bit rough, seems like
you have been practicing as well.” He was inventive that was for sure.

Duke was too busy with his mouth to reply with words. Following directions
like a good Marine, he grabbed the waistband of her trousers and pulled them
roughly past her hips. Nibbling on the skin below her navel, his eyes
widened at the sight of the lacy thong she was wearing under her otherwise
regulation uniform.

Supporting her light weight with one hand, he used the other to grasp the
thong and rip it free of her body. He dropped it on her stomach. "That's
not regulation attire, Marine!" Quickly flipping Bran over exposing her now
bare ass, he added, "You need dicipline!." He gave her exposed cheeks a
hearty slap.

“Aw, colonel, have mercy,” she pouted. “I was out of underwear this morning.
In fact if you rip this you will have to buy me new ones. Or do you want me
to wear nothing under my uniform tomorrow?” She giggled.

Duke slapped her ass again, a little harder. First one cheek, then the
other, until they both had a nice rosey hue. Then he slipped his hand
between her legs.

Bran moaned hoping he would not stop now, after a day like this one she
could use some distraction.

Working with him a bit more she crawled into his lap giving him better
access and then began to nuzzle Duke’s neck. “Tough guy,” she whispered.
“Show you what you can do, tiger.”

Duke was forced to remove his hand from between her legs when Bran climbed
into his lap. So, he concentrated on caressing and squeezing her pert
breasts with their large nipples with one hand while he worked to get his
own pants down. Finally, when he had freed himself, he lifted her hips with
both hands.

"Ready?"

“Absolutely, tiger! Her voice turned husky and much more Welsh. “Remember
cariad, no need to be too gentle.” She raked her fingers over his neck
stopping this close to drawing blood.

Duke dropped the petite woman, letting her stradle him. He groaned at the
feel of her. Reaching up, he ripped the shirt from her back, completely
exposing her breasts and the scars on her back from previous torture at the
hands of her father so many years ago.

She gasped and raked her fingers her fingers through his hair, not gently.
“Faster, lover!” She groaned. “Please faster!” Bran began work on his tunic
so her fingernails would have a larger target area.

Duke stopped long enough to kiss her roughly on the neck. "Not this time,
babe," he said. "My turn to tease." He slowed his pace. While teasing her
with the fingers of one hand, he lightly traced the scars on her back with
the other, knowing that their edges were hyper-sensitive.

Bran had managed to get him out of his jacket by now and grabbed one of his
nipples to twist. “Hey, who is in command here?” she demanded huskily. Her
other fingers started to rake his back. Duke would not feel very comfortable
in a tight uniform tomorrow.

Duke wasn't about to accede to Bran's desires so easily this time. Lifting
her up off him he gently dropped her on the deck were she rolled onto her
hands and knees. He wasn't a bit concerned about how ridicules he looked,
standing in front of his naked and sweating commanding officer with his
pants down around his ankles.

“What, marine? Couldn’t take anymore?” She grinned up at him. “Poor boy,”
she whispered and drew back from him a little teasing. She knew darn well
that he hadn’t finished yet and still wanted her.

"I can take all you got -- can you?" taunted Duke. He grabbed Bran by the
hair and forced her face into his crotch.

“Hell, marine!” She elbowed him in the guts, being just being nice enough
not to do it a little lower. With a sweeping kick she knocked Duke’s legs
out from under him and then switched positions so she was sitting on top of
him seconds later.” I told you the first day you came in here that I do not
do submissive anymore. You don’t force me to do anything, not even in play!”
Her face was intense, and her eyes. The eyes of someone who had seen one
horror too much.

'Damn mood changes,' thought Duke, smarting not so much from the elbow to
the gut as from Bran's weight on his crotch. Before she could start
pounding the snot out of him, he grabbed her up into a bear hug, held her
tight, and whispered into her ear, "It's all right, Branwen, I'll keep you
safe."

Those simple words got to the colonel and suddenly the woman began to
tremble under his hands. “I don’t need someone to look after me, Duke. I am
perfectly capable of doing that on my own.”

Still holding her close, Duke replied, "Then why is the tuff as nails
colonel starting to shake like a leaf?" Before Bran could get mad, he
added, "Darlin, all of us need someone. It's just the way we're built.
You keep me safe 'cause I know deep down you care, and I try to do the same
for you. There's nothing wrong with that."

Duke bent his head to give his lover, this time, a gentle kiss.

“Don’t ever betray me, Duke. I couldn’t take it if you betrayed me too.”
Nestled in his arms right now it indeed felt safe.

Duke stroked her long blond hair, every now and then kissing her gently.
After her trembling subsided, he decided he needed to do something about the
fact a beautiful naked woman was sitting in his lap, almost crushing his
erection. He wasn't completely sure Bran would want to continue their love
play, but knew that she had not finished either before her the anger
engulfed her.

He reached attentively for Bran's breast while putting more passion into his
kisses.

Now she was ready for some heavy lovemaking. Eager, her lips and tongue
answered his.

Duke moaned when she touched him, glad Bran wanted to continue. He kissed
her deeply as he ran his hands down her back to and around her firm ass,
casually lifting her leg a bit to gain access to the area between her legs.

She gave him ready access and bucked against him, holding on tight as she
nibbled on his ear. “Harder, love, harder!” He was big for her but she
liked a little bit of pain. And right now she needed something to forget
that other pain. “Faster love, harder!” She moaned when he gave her the
chance. “Don’t be afraid I will break.”

They continued to love each other furiously, until each of them was spent.

"Motherly Love"

Elrin "Fox" Kit'ari

with

Marina Jessup - Ebon Hawks "Nest Mother"

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

<<SS Ebon Hawk, Bridge>>

Home, wherever it happened to be at the time, is always a great sight to behold even if its not where you want it to be.

That was the old proverb that the priests of Brandis preached back on Kit'sara. Many thought it was a confused rambling since Brandis' clergy were known for being somewhat eccentric. However it had been something Elrin had been living by for the past forty years since that fateful day when his parents were taken from him and all hopes of going home were seemingly dashed. It was what had kept him sane all this time and these days sanity seemed harder to come by. Now, home was Xellos IV and it was something to behold. And that is why Elrin was entering the Bridge.

"There you are Fox! I was beginning to think you weren't coming. We're through the minefield and are preparing for final approach.And did you comb your tail? Boss already said he wants to see you." Upon his arrival Elrin was greeted by the scratchy voice of Marina Jessup, or "Mother M" as the Hawks called her. She was an older betazoid woman who took care of the Ebon Hawks' cooking, cleaning, laundry, logistics, bedtime stories, and shuttling them around from place to place. Thus,she was kind of like their mother and she definatly acted like it.

"Yes Mother M." Elrin said as he presented his tail for inspection. "How long until we land."

As she inspected the tail she whipped out a small pick from under the console and started straightening some areas that had fluffed out. "Some day you'll learn to do this right. Honestly, didn't your mum teach you? And we'll land in about 20 minutes."

"Yeah, she did, but we don't judge others on their tails so it wasn't ever that big of a deal." Elrin replied in an exasperated tone

"Whatever dearie. I don't want ya going to see the boss with a frizzed out tail. Is that some fuzz on your pants?", She half gasped as she grabbed a small piece of orange fur of his pant leg.

"Mother M, I've know Vic alot longer then you have and I assure you, he understands that I have fur and the problems it creates. I think we've been through enough that he's not going to care if I got fur on my pants. Elrin responded as he plopped into the co-piolt's seat.

"Huh? I thought you just met him a few years ago. Ya knew him before that?", Mother M sounded genuinely surprised. She prided her self on knowing everything about the Hawks including Falco's favorite brand of hair tonic.

"My first posting in Starfleet. Well, the first that lasted more then a month. IT was on the Galaxy. I was a green pilot back then..."

"Ya served on the Galaxy! My last husband served on the Galaxy, at least I think it was the Galaxy...its hard to remember. Might have been the one before that. But anyway,that's where ya met ol Grimmy?", Mother M liekd to call Victor 'Grimmy' in reference to the 'Grim Reaper' of Terran myth.

"Yeah. He was in security back then and wasn't quite as creepy as he is these days. We were both much younger then." , Elrin said, his tone indicating he didn't wanted to change the subject. Of course, with Mother M you didn't need to say or even hint at wanting to change the subject. She was Betazoid after all.

"Sorry dearie, didn't know talking about back then still made ya yippy. Was a tough time for all of us. I'll leave ya be about it. Anyway, make sure your cap's on straight. Your ears keep getting it all crooked. And your belt buckle! Heavens, when was the last time you polished it! Anyway, we're gonna land in a moment, guess there isn't time. Oh dear! I forgot to put Peppy's cape in the refresher! Can you set it down Fox, I gotta run!"

"Yes mother."

"Harbinger"

SOL SYSTEM

Somewhere, out in the outermost reaches on the edge of the Solar system a silversharp blur of light crossed against the darkness.

Folding in upon itself in a manner never envisioned by Einstein or Newton, the impossibility of Warp space twisted around the great man

of war like a tunnel of light and radiation. A hungry predator screaming in the ultimate silence of space and time..

"Faster….go faster." came the incessant urging from the elfin figure sitting atop the great Center seat. "Push it to the limits!"

Creaking and groaning the hull plating of the great dreadnought fairly quivered beneath the captains feet.
Normally on so large a ship, the stresses of warp space were well nigh undetectable, but now its nervous crew wondered briefly if the armored beast would even hold together under such speeds.

The Captain could barely contain her fidgeting...Was it anticipation of the slaughter to come?

Was it warning of impending doom from the vibrating bulkheads? Was she pushing the ship too far at last?

"Faster!" she ignored the warnings, "Half the fleet is already engaged!"

There were those below decks that could swear they almost heard the old ship screaming….howling perhaps would be a better term. A rabid

beast baying its hunting cry, eagerly on the scent of its chosen prey.

Starships....this beast ate starships.

Howling and quivering the beast drew nigh upon the old system of Sector 001. The birthplace of humanity ad all its hopes and

dreams,but now a mere wasteland adrift in the stars.

A place of slaughter.

"Drop warp…now! Vectors to low Earth orbit as follows...."

It emerged just inside the orbit of the moon whose once bright cities were now long cold and dark...a vacuum filled collection of ruins

now inhabited by the frozen corpses of a million dead citizens.

As the ship decelerated, an explosion of Cherenkov Radiation showered the battlefield as the vast energy expenditures of warp-space were

quickly shunted aside in favor of reality and a world of 3 dimensions.

From the midst of this starburst the predator emerged already vectoring towards its first victim.

Its name was SHIVA.

And its heart was that of Death!

Admiral Rebecca von Ernst at age 50 was like unto a living skeleton.

Always thin even at the best of times, years of constant warfare had melted away her smooth curves into an emaciated pixie with sunken

cheeks and sharp ribs.

Flickering rapidly, her brown eyes flashed mercilessly across the mind-blistering mathematical equations that scrolled across the tiny

displays that replaced the standard holographic bridge viewscreen.

This is how she preferred to view life…reality and all its mysteries stripped of there vestments into the true language of numbers and

decimals.

Possibilities became mere playthings for her to interpret and destroy, as the maneuvering parameters of entire fleets were reduced to infinite columns of numbers waiting for her to manipulate.

Thin fingers stabbed at armrest controls, and howling still, Great SHIVA spun itself into the general melee in low Earth orbit.

The Hawk and Dove fleets still clawed at each other desperately, but now with Rebecca's arrival shards of phaser fire stabbed forth and great broadsides of Quark Torpedoes chewed shield and hull alike, as the Dreadnought easily muscled its way past the lesser beasts in her presence.

Pawns...they were all pawns for her.

One brave Dove starship came about in a blocking maneuver, but was brushed aside in a simple quadratic equation of possibilities.

The crew of the Shiva had never seen the 'Boss' in such a fury. Normally their waif like commander was an emotionless mystery of internal pain, but now…with the operation falling apart, she became livid.

It was supposed to have been a simple snatch and grab. A single starship droping a armored squad on to Earth to recover a package. Intervening fate had dictated however that a passing Dove scout had picked up the ship, and dispatched its own calls for reinforcements.

Things….as they often did in the 25th century,….rapidly got out of hand.

Great twisting wreckage dotted the skies in low orbit, new hulks still burning with plasma flames joined the long dead hulks from

previous battles.

Even now shattered starships rained down into the upper atmosphere tracing great streaks of fire across the sky, their final swan song of brilliance before darkness came.

Earth was the graveyard of the Federation dream, and it was somehow appropriate that more than any other system this is where starships came to die.

The snatch and grab by a single squad had likewise escalated into an all out land campaign with the damnable Doves dropping a Battalions of Dragoons on the Hawk position.

Somewhere below in the ruins of what was once the technological center of the free galaxy, men and women lived and died amongst the rubble as they grappled with metal ogres and paid the final price for Rebecca's ambition.

14,736.....thats how many ghosts danced in Rebecca's head...and those were just the ones under her command. Her enemies had suffered similar fates in far greater numbers.

The last transmission intercepted from below indicated that the 'package' in which von Ersnt had been so interested had been compromised. Lost as it were to the Dove commader….Elaithin Jii.

This was a folly Rebecca would not suffer.

"Kill them….kill them all." she seethed through a clenched jaw. "All batteries open fire and kill anything in low orbit!"

SHIVA sprang in response, white hot phaser fire stabbing deep into the Dove fleet skinning starships whole of their duranium skin, and feasting upon their fragile innards.

"Status report on the retrieval team?" von Ersnt spat, ordering the great ship into another stomach churning spiral. "Have they gotten her back?"

The news was not good.

"Package was acquired at 1600 ma'am, " came the quavering reply, "However Dove Forces overran the drop zone and Prestons squad was forced to fall back to the Academy grounds....unfortunately..."

"Unfortunately what?" Rebecca spun on the officer, red hair flashing in a deadly semicircle.

"Dragoons ma'am." The word said it all. The officer shook his head. "We had reports that Admiral Elaithin himself landed on the

planet and took possession of the...uh...target. His shuttle lifted off a few moments ago and is making for high orbit."

"Already gone to warp." came another report from across the bridge. "Miranda beamed the whole shuttle aboard once it cleared the

scattering effect of the lower atmosphere." a shrug. "Im afraid she can outrun us..."

There were times Rebecca missed her old mount the ZEUS. In her prime, Zeus could have caught anything in known space.

"Track her." Rebecca spat, starring sullenly at the image of fragile earth hanging in space before her.

Earth...the birthplace of all her horrors had robbed Rebecca again.

~~They took my Daughter!!~~ she seethed.

"Burn it." she hissed staring at the planet. "Burn the whole fucking place! Wipe it off the face of the Universe!!"

“Allah Help Us”

Captain Daren M’Kantu, CO USS Galaxy-E [Akira-Class]

Commander Cutter Kara’nin, XO USS Galaxy-E [Akira-Class]

Commander Karyn Dallas, CMO USS Galaxy-E [Akira-Class]

Lieutenant Shiarrael M’Kantu, Chief of Security, USS Galaxy-E [Akira-Class]

Others as needed

****

USS Galaxy [Akira-Class]

Deck 1

Bridge

“Entering Earth System, sir.”

Daren M’Kantu nodded from his command chair, taking a breath and letting old memories go. It took longer than it used to these day. There were so many more of them.

Earth was dying, had been dying since the first battle that had split Starfleet down the middle when the Federation collapsed. He doubted that anything short of an intervention by the Q could halt the planet’s death now.

Tanzania was gone now, only a memory. No more trees, no more grass, no lions… nothing. Just ashes. Always there were ashes.

June was gone too, these last four years, gone as surely as she’d been standing there at home when the soil was burned away by the blast wave that had swept the jungle away like Allah wielding a broom. She was in a better place now, one where the skies were still blue and the water still flowed and birds remembered how to sing. He knew that to be true in the bottom of his soul.

He glanced to his side, at the slim, beautiful woman his daughter had become, considered the severe, intent expression on her face as she watched the Bridge for signs of betrayal or a threat against him, and offered up a prayer to Allah that she find another path, one that didn’t lead down the one his feet had been set on so many years ago while recuperating on Earth after his neck had been broken. When the galaxy had gone mad.

Lost somewhere in that madness was the Galaxy-D, his old ship. Nobody really knew what had happened to her. Like the Terran submarines of old who’d fought their war beneath the waves incommunicado, after one mission she just never reported in during her assigned check point. Some thought that she’d been destroyed. Others felt that she was still alive somewhere with her crew fighting to get back home, perhaps stranded in a spatial version of Earth’s fabled Bermuda Triangle. Her fate remained one of the mysteries of the universe.

Now, there was a new ship with that name, the Galaxy-E, renamed and redesignated at his request. A new ship that flew as proudly as the old one, even if with a different mission. She was a ship of war, not exploration, and he was a warrior again, because there was nothing else left for him to do. You opposed evil, you fought the darkness, you strove for the light…

…even if that meant that you had to oppose friends and colleagues to do so.

He stood, facing his task squarely, as Allah would prefer. “Tactical, get the information on the plot as fast as you can. Let’s see who answered the call – on both sides. Tell Dr. Dallas that casualties will be coming in soon.” He glanced at his daughter again, meeting her gaze and nodding, and then turned to his XO. “Time to go to war again, Mr. Kara’nin.”

Daren had known the avian for over twenty years now. He was eighty-two, and while he had gone old and gray long ago, his current first officer still looked like a kid, barely a day over twenty-five, thirty at the oldest. His hair still strikingly midnight blue, his skin still taught and spotless. At this point, even his daughter looked older than the Fruna'lin who sat to his side. He found it unnerving, to have everything in the universe change so dramatically, to have everything grow so dark and ugly, and yet Cutter remained seemingly untouched, essentially as young as he was when they first met.

But Daren knew that the surface merely hid the truth. Cutter had changed as much as he had, and had developed some interesting new skills over the years as well.

Cutter slowly let out a measured breath. "I have that sinking feeling in my stomach," he said, his face slightly wrenched up.

Daren shifted his gaze away for moment. He had that same feeling. The feeling that something bad was about to happen, the physical pain of anticipation and dread. He frequently had this feeling before a battle, though Cutter was much too self-absorbed to ever acknowledge that the feeling was anything other than unique to him and to him alone. Although, to be fair, in hindsight, Cutter's were always warranted. His were not.

Cutter's sinking feelings were never something he wanted to hear.

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

In sickbay, Karyn crossed herself and kissed the little gold cross as she watched the battle from a small viewscreen in the main ward. She absently played with the cross around her neck--a tangible reminder of the faith and hope for peace that she had tried to hang onto for all these years. Dallas would never admit it aloud--she did value her sanity after all--but deep down, she felt herself losing hope. Dallas didn't know exactly when it started, but with each battle and each new round of casualties she felt her optimism being chipped away a bit more.

If she really thought about it, she supposed her agreement to join M'Kantu on his warship was the beginning of the end. She'd told herself at the time it was her duty to stand behind her former commanding officer, and she knew her heart would belong to the USS Galaxy until the day she died, but this was a Galaxy she hardly recognized.

The war had brought change upon them all, and Karyn was no exception. Throughout her long auburn locks, there were quite a few streaks of gray, and she sported wrinkles under her eyes and at the corners of her mouth so it appeared as though she were perpetually frowning.

But perhaps the greatest change was her position. *Doctor* Karyn Dallas had been reborn in the war's image. Counselors were a luxury most ships couldn't afford, but even in the era of sacrificing personnel to make room for more armament, doctors were in high demand. A doctor with command and counseling experience was an even greater asset. As much as she valued peace, in the end, her loyalty to Starfleet and the Galaxy had won out.

Karyn had become a prisoner of her own conflicted emotions. Were it not so sad, she might have found the irony amusing.

A nurse interrupted her reverie and handed her a PADD. Placing her thumb against it to offer her approval of its contents, she then tapped her combadge. "Sickbay to Bridge, Captain, sickbay is ready and standing by."

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

"Take us in, along the ecliptic, at a heading of 135," M'Kantu ordered.

Cutter stood as the ship started to move, his wings tensely pulled against his back as he eyed the large tactical schematic display on the side of the bridge. "No," he said suddenly, after several moments of travel, "Go around the other side of Venus."

Daren glanced at Cutter for only a second, before nodding to the Helm. “Do it.”

The Akira that bore the name of a larger, older vessel shifted course and swooped around to approach what was building up to be the largest battle fought over Earth since the initial schism had shattered Starfleet and left its members at war with themselves from a different heading than initially entered.

“Launchers online, sir,” reported Tactical.

“Good,” M’Kantu nodded, studying the plot as he always did during battles, the rest of the Bridge fading to nothingness at the fringes of is concentration. At moments like these, it was as if the voices of his Bridge crew were coming to him out of thin air, so totally did he focus on the battle display. “Well have plenty of business for them soon enough – it looks like everyone with a ship left to command in this part of the galaxy is coming in for this one.”

As the icons on the plot multiplied, and the system reset the scale to be able to continue to display them all, Daren found himself wondering who was answering the call on either side, which ones of his friends would be here… and how many he would be forced to kill before this madness was all over.

“Messages coming in from the other fleet elements, sir,” the young – they were all young to Daren now, no matter how old they really were - comm officer spoke up. “Nothing significant yet; mostly just welcomes, offers to fight alongside us, and a few requests for help.”

“Get those requests for aid processed and on the plot,” Daren answered. “And then transfer the offers to join up for the fight to Tactical.” He paused, peered at the plot, and smiled as Allah’s grace was extended to his ship for another day. “Good call, Number One. There's a group of cruisers hiding in the sensor shadow of Venus. They were waiting to surprise us, but now we'll get to surprise them. Designate them Alpha One, Two, and Three, Tactical, and give them a standard spread as soon as we come to bear.”

The Galaxy curved around the still-burning atmosphere of Venus - the fires that had been ignited by the crash of ships onto her surface years before showing no signs of abating – and her launchers swiveled to bear on the selected firing arcs. Originally conceived of as a carrier, the Akira Class that Daren had taken as his ship had been modified under his suggestion when he’d seen the way the war was going to flow. Instead of the large shuttlebays, almost useless in an era when fighters were too expensive in men and materials to maintain in mass battles, the Galaxy mounted magazine after magazine of photon torpedoes and twice the number of rapid-fire launchers that she’d been laid down to carry. Her broadside was nothing short of terrifying now, like one of the Spanish galleons that sailed the seas of Earth centuries ago, and the stand-off capacity of the torpedoes gave her a far greater survivability than her wooden predecessors had possessed.

As soon as the firing solutions computed, there was a moment’s silence – and then the sky lit up with a cloud of torpedoes as the launchers all fired off a single round in rapid succession, the torpedoes hugging the curve of the planet, using it’s gravity to slingshot themselves into their targets and the fire in its atmosphere to hide their existence until it was too late.

Like thunderbolts from Allah, the torpedoes slammed into the rear shields of the three ships, ten strong for each of the vessels. The shields held for the first few impacts, then flared under the next few, and finally collapsed, leaving each of the individual vessels helpless before the remaining five torpedoes assigned to it. Hull plating vaporized, atmosphere vented, and the cruisers bucked and shuddered under the impact.

Alpha Two, stricken by the loss of a nacelle, spun free of the formation and started to spiral down into Venus’ atmosphere, more fuel for the flames that burned there. As her escape pods spewed out like blood from the wounds that had killed her, the cruiser’s companions – themselves crippled – both lashed out with phasers in Galaxy’s direction and started to turn, Alpha One to zenith and Alpha Three to nadir.

Daren stumbled to his right a step or two as the weapon strikes jostled the ship. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Cutter had managed to stay put during the hit, the avian's hand still gripping the bridge railing for support, and silently he wished the avian's warnings could come a little sooner.

"Forty million kilometers to our starboard," Cutter said, pointing to the display board, "Two ships. One is identifying as a hospital ship, the Osler. The other is approaching quite rapidly. Strafing run?"

“Yes,” Daren studies the plot. “The vectors are right; they’re going to strafe her.” He considered his options. “Helm, turn us to an intercept course – I’m not watching a hospital ship get shot apart today – or any other day.””

"Who does the Osler identify with?" Cutter asked.

"Does it matter?" Daren asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow.

But the response was anything but rhetoric. "Yes," Cutter said flatly, the one word answer communicating precisely that he was just as willing to help destroy the ship as save it.

“She’s one of ours, sir,” Tactical spoke up. “Commander reads as Benedict Maxwell.” The Tactical Officer added, “Didn’t he serve on the Galaxy before? The Galaxy-D, I mean?”

“He did,” Daren nodded. “Give the two cruisers a parting gift from us, and then get a solution for the ship making a run on the Ostler – fire when ready.”

As the Galaxy heeled over, phaser fire from Alpha One and Three rocking her and sending a shower of sparks from an Engineering panel, a spread of torpedoes arced out from her rear launchers, another five apiece for the two cruisers. Alpha One took hers in triphammer succession on the dorsal side of her primary hull, the first few bringing down her shields and the rest slamming into the hull before releasing their energy in a series of blasts that shook the cruiser to her core and sent her skewing off to the side, gaping black holes blasted into the white surface of her primary hull. Alpha Three, moving in mirror opposition to her sister ship, took her salvo ventrally, the first few torpedoes overloading her shields and the rest boring into her Secondary Hull as they exploded, damaging something deep within the ship that caused her to lose motive power and start to drift, the primary lighting across her hull going dark.

“Once we reach a good range, give them something to think about besides the Ostler,” Daren observed, eyes checking the rest of the plot. “And someone figure out where all these ships are coming from – it looks like the Fleet Review back in ’82 out there.”

As Galaxy slipped into long range, an initial volley of torpedoes fired off at the attacking ship, just enough to damage her shields and draw her attention away from the Ostler. As they flashed against the vessel’s shields, the Hawk vessel turned and shifted position to meet the Galaxy’s advance, allowing the Ostler to move off to safety.

Suddenly, Cutter reached up and grabbed Daren's shoulder. Immediately after, the bridge suffered from another rocking blow, but Cutter held him steady. "They're dropping fighters," the avian said, and a split second later, the contact signals of dozens of smaller crafts appeared on the screen.

Daren nodded. The problem with stripping out all the fighter bays and replacing them with torpedo launchers was that if the enemy used fighters on you, you had none to use for defense. And fighters were really hard to hit with torpedoes. "Load flak torpedoes," he ordered, "Try to frighten away the fighters but concentrate fire on the carrier ship." If they could scare away the mother, the kids would run, too.

"The 181st Wing," Cutter announced, reading the decrypted electronic signatures.

“Everett's wing,” Daren observed. “They’ll be good, then – not green. Shift main phaser power to the point defense units – they’ll need it if the fighters get too close.”

"We should get out of here," Cutter said. "Everett knows you, and he knows we don't have a lot of defenses against fighters."

"They've broken through our suppression line," some one on the bridge called out.

"He's gotten quicker," Cutter responded, leaving M'Kantu's side to run up to the tactical arch.

“The man’s not stupid,” Daren noted. “Misguided, but not stupid. Helm come to Two Seven Three and get us out of here. Tactical, do something violent to the carrier please, we need her to pull Everett’s ships back to provide cover.”

As the Galaxy reversed course, turning away from the carrier and accepting the incoming phaser fire from it on her port shields, her torpedo launchers began to fire, sending out a spread of twenty torpedoes that arced through the cloud of approaching fighters towards their mothership. Even before the first of them had impacted, the 181st was reversing course, their commander choosing to let the Galaxy go in the interests of protecting the carrier that was rocking under the barrage of torpedo fire, her shields already failing after only a third of the torpedoes had found their targets.

"We're getting reports of pirates near Mar -- wait, we're receiving signals from Admirals Eliathin and Picard. They're over Earth, requesting support," Cutter announced, offering a destination. Then, gravely, "Von Ernst is here."

Daren digested that news and responded with the only words that seemed likely to have any effect on the situation, “Allah help us.”

“Pillow Talk and Family Troubles”

Colonel Branwen London, commanding USS Trafalgar
Lt. Colonel Wayne “Biggs” Duke, USS Trafalgar (NPC – written by Betred)
Rowena London [NPC written by Betred]

(Occurs immediately after “Shocking the Natives”)

<CO’s Quarters, USS Trafalgar>

They had moved from the floor to her bed and in doing, found themselves once
more aroused. After a no less passionate but somewhat gentler bout, Bran
and Biggs lay in the bed holding one another and actually relaxing.

“Bran,” said Biggs, “we need to talk.”

“I don’t want to.” She said softly, knowing very well what he might bring
up.

"I know you don't, baby doll, but we've got to get this thing with your ex
out of the way of our future," countered Biggs. He hugged her closer,
relishing her warmth against him. "We do have a future, don't we?" he
asked.

“Yes.” She murmured softly. “I would like that very much. Duke, I never
thought I would find love again after…. But he killed my son, my baby. I
know Daffydd looked nearly grown-up but he was only fifteen.”

"And that is a fact known and witnessed by more than a few people. Murder
is still a crime, even for Hawks. Keep your hands off of him, dear. Avoid
even a hint of a conflict of interest. Court-martial his ass. Hell, even
put one of the Liberty 's officers on the panel. Do everything you can to
make it legal and let a proper court punish him for his crime. Then, we can
be together without you being in the cell next to him on war crimes
charges." Duke kissed her softly. "I don't want to lose you -- you're too
cuddly," he murmured, trying to take the edge off his words and make yet
another point for his argument.

She smiled holding him close. “You know I want him to stand trial and be
judged. But I don’t know what I will do when I see him again. And I am also
afraid that if I don’t act that Ro will. I can’t allow her to do something
foolish, she is so young.”

Duke coughed. "I, um, well damn it I wanted you both to be safe so, I uhh,
I ordered some of my boys to keep an eye on her. You're not gonna hit me
again, are you?"

“No need to worry about her today. She gave me her word that she would not
do anything.” Bran fell silent. “And yet, I don’t feel comfortable about it
either.” She put her head on his shoulder. “She knows about us, you know.”

Duke caressed the parts of her he could reach. "It was bound to happen.
She seem mad about it?"

“No, that was the strange part.” Bran chuckled. “She seemed happy. Ro said
that you are good for my moods. She also said that she thinks the whole crew
knows.”

Duke laughed. "It doesn't matter the size of the ship, the gossip chain is
often faster and more reliable than the comm relays. As long as you don't
treat me any different officially than you do any other officer, it may even
help morale. And -- you're changin the subject." Duke became serious. "I
care for you. If something happens between you and the ex, they will take
you away from me. But I should be a minor concern for you -- you've got
your kids to think about."

“His and my kids. God I am glad they are safely with Victor.” She sighed. “I
would not want them to see this. The eldest are old enough to understand.
Duke, I would love to tell you that I won’t harm him, but the truth is that
I don’t know what I will do when I see him again. And this is something I
have to do myself. Do you understand that?”

"I understand that you have to confront him," responded Duke. "But others
can handle the interrogation just as effectively as you." Any reply on
Bran's part was cut off by the whistling hail of an incoming
communication.

=/\=Col. Duke, this is Gunny Smith.=/\=

"Damn," muttered Duke, disentangling himself from Branwen's embrace.
Tapping his badge laying on her nightstand, he responded =/\=Duke here.
What is it Gunny?=/\=

=/\=The young lady is here, sir. Orders?=/\=

=/\=Hold her. Enroute in 3 mikes. Duke out.=/\= Turning to face his lover,
Duke answered the inquiry of her raised eyebrow. "That was one of my more
trusted non-coms; I posted him near the brig to keep an eye peeled -- and
the young lady he's talking about is Rowena."

Branwen swore like a trooper. “She promised! Silly girl. Can you bring her
here so we can talk in private?” She was starting to get dressed already.

Duke listened to Bran's swearing enviously. Damn, she could really belt it
out. He also appreciated the view of a naked Branwen moving about in the
chill of her quarters. He tossed a pillow at Bran to get her attention; it
rebounded off her bare ass. "Bran, slow down. It'll take me a minute to
get down there and bring Ro back up -- go grab a shower; it's OK if I smell
a bit stinky, but you don't want to do the mom thing smelling like sex."

“Oh Christ.” She groaned. “You are so right. Her knowing and her smelling
are two different things. I will hit that shower. Oh and don’t hold back on
the riot act while you are at it.”

Duke chuckled. "I'll do my best." He finished pulling on his uniform and
caught Bran headed into the shower. Just for luck, he grabbed her and gave
her a passionate kiss. "That ought to give you something to remember me
by."

“I don’t think ten minutes will make me forget you, love. Although I am a
little preoccupied with my daughter right now.” But he did manage to help
her feel better. Duke had a gift for that.

Duke patted Bran on her bare butt and left to retrieve her way-ward
daughter.

With a smile she stepped into the shower. And then it hit her. Ro had gone
there with the intention of killing Man’darr and she was no match for her
ex-husband. Maivia was very good at one thing and that was killing. If Duke
had not been so careful she could have lost both of her eldest children. The
thought made her tremble under the hot water. Stupid girl!

Biggs found Gunny Smith and Rowena in the Brig office area. Gunny assured
his commander that the child had not made it as far as the Brig, but that
this seemed to be the best place to hold her until Duke could arrive. He
handed Biggs the phaser he had taken off Ro.

Biggs looked at the phaser, and then looked at Ro seated arrogantly in the
corner. He pointed the phaser at the young woman and her eyes grew wide
with fear. Duke pressed the trigger; nothing happened. Tossing the phaser
back at its owner, he said, “You forgot about the safety protocols. Ship
issued weapons are disabled on board the Trafalgar except in alert
situations.”

Ro caught the phaser and placed it back in her bra. Despite thinking she
was about to be shot by her mother’s boyfriend, her attitude had not
improved. “You can’t do anything to me, so you might as well let me go,”
she said.

Duke did not have children of his own, but he had dealt with plenty of
snotty-nosed recruits in his career. Without taking his eyes of Rowena, he
held out his hand to Gunny Smith. The gunny obliged by placing a pair of
hand-cuffs into his open palm. Biggs tossed these to Ro. “Put those on.”

“I will not!” screamed Rowena. “You can’t make me; you’re not my father!”

Biggs snickered. “That’s a good thing – you just came after the closest
thing you’ve got to a father with a phaser in your bra.”

“HE KILLED MY BROTHER!” Rowena shouted. It was good that she had been
given a breathing treatment before setting out after Man’darr or her
agitation would have surely brought on an attack.

Duke nodded. “That he did. And it hurts like hell. You think the pain
will never go away – and then it does, to be replaced by a hollow empty
place right here,” Biggs thumped his chest. “Then that empty place gets so
big, you feel like you’d rather have the pain back. Guess what, girly.
That’s just the way of it; life sucks, then you die. You gonna come with me
to see Mama, or do I have to drag you by your hair?”

Rowena had was curled up into a ball in her chair, sobbing. Tears of fear,
of frustration, and of anger at her loss rolled down her cheeks and dripped
onto the deck. Biggs walked over to her and was surprised when Ro grabbed
his legs and hugged him tightly, now sobbing on him.

Snotty-nosed recruits didn’t normally cry and sob on their commander. Biggs
was at a loss. He looked over at Gunny, who shrugged his shoulders. Duke
attempted what he hoped were comforting pats to Ro’s back. He reached down
and helped her stand. “Come on, girl. Let’s go see Mama.”

Ro leaned against him as they walked to the turbo-lift.

Mama meanwhile was pacing a hole in the carpet waiting for Duke and Rowena
to come back. When the door finally opened she shot at the door. “Rowena,
what the hell, you gave me your word!”

Rowena cringed into Biggs at seeing her mother run at her in anger. He gave
a bear hug, taking the opportunity to whisper in the child's ear, "Buck up
girl, you knew this would happen. Come see me later if you want to talk it
out."

Duke pleaded with Branwen, "She's pretty shook up, Bran. Be careful." With
that, he let go of Rowena and ducked back out the door to safety. Shaking
his head and saying a grateful prayer that he had no children of his own --
or at least none that had caught up with him yet, Biggs headed for his own
quarters -- maybe after cleaning up he could still catch the XO for that
drink.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?” She tried to stay calm.

Rowena bravely faced her mother, her lower lip trembling as a tear escaped
the corner of one eye. Without conscience thought, she resorted to
the tried and true explanation used everywhere by all races of children.

"I don't know!"

“Don’t think those tears are going to work with me.” Bran yelled. “You gave
me your word, Rowena. I treated you as an adult and trusted you. Should I
start treating you as a child again?” Physically they might age quicker then
humans but looking at the girl in front of her Branwen doubted the 17 year
old was really so grown-up.

Ro honestly did not understand her mother's reaction. She had only set out
to do what Mama couldn't -- if her mother got caught killing Man'darr,
they'd have to hurt her too. Didn't she understand?

"Mama, I did it for you!" Rowena sobbed.

The colonel blinked, unable to say anything for a while. Instead she opened
her arms and drew Rowena to her and hugged the girl tight. “Silly girl. Do
you think I want you to go to jail? They would punish you, sweetie.” Maybe
she would have to contact her sister Shanna. After all she was the one who
really raised Rowena.

"You could go to jail too!" Ro's voice was muffled with her face pressed
into Bran's chest. Then it dawned on her -- if she killed Man'darr, she
would probably get caught; geez, she hadn’t event made to the Brig this
time. If her Mom killed her brother's murderer, it might take longer, but
she would get caught too. Either way, she would be without her mother, a
woman she was just starting to get to know and love.

"I don't know what to do," Ro hiccupped.

“Let me handle it sweetheart. Like I told you we will make sure that he
faces justice. Nobody likes a child killer and he will not have an easy time
in jail. His punishment will last much longer then if we just killed him.”

Ro still wasn't convinced. There were too many beings like Man’darr getting
away with their crimes these days. She desperately wanted to do something,
anything that would fill the void in her heart left by her brother's
murder. But perhaps, this was not the time.

There was always tomorrow.

"Undercover"

Professor Ayanna Streely

Jake Rourke NPC

====================================
If there was one thing Ayanna knew how to do, it was to be discreet. Silk met flesh as the fabric wrapped around only the essentials, protecting her as armor from being completely exposed. She felt comfort for the first time this week. Unfortunately, it would be the last arrangement they could manage this week. Her left hand came up, ducking out from underneath the covers to find itself slowly coming to rest on his chest. This was just enough motion to make him started. She had gotten used to it now, the way he would jump up when he thought he heard a noise...it was all part of the past that intertwined between them.

At times, part of her felt bad for stepping out on Leo. But other times....she didn't feel so guilty. It was a crap shoot. The institution of marriage was not all it was cracked up to be, that was a fact known throughout the ages. Open marriages, however, had their advantages and she was positive her husband was off somewhere attempting in vain to seduce some of the college girls.

"Hey sweetheart." That groggy voice as he turned to his left side to face her made it's appearance yet again and caused her to smile before shooing a few strands of long hair away from her face.

"Mmm, hi."

"So, is it out of your system?" He slightly teased her.

She raised herself up onto her elbows offering him arched eyebrows and more as the sheet slipped down to her waist. "My system? Your system more like it."

Smiling, the gentleman raised his toned, yet not overly muscled arms up and tucked his hands under his head. Shooting her a sideways glance, he spoke.

"Anything new?"

"No. Nothing. I'm still wanting to see if she discloses the information we need somewhat voluntarily, hence the reason for her living with me. But honestly, I highly doubt she has anything. There's not much she could have done wrapped up all pretty in a penal colony for the past seventeen years."

Rourke sighed slowly, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "There has to be something. She's self professed which side she's on and after her personal entanglement in the McAlister fiasco..." He paused, sucking in another breath. "I *know* she knows something. We have proof she's...what she is...it's just catching her doing something."

Streely smirked, returning the sideways glance he gave her earlier. "Then what? Seriously Jake. Put Zamora away for another twenty years....while I continue to be a mother to Logan that she never was? With the Universe the way it currently is...pardon my French...but what the fuck difference would it make?"

"Not much. But we must uphold justice." His chest puffed out slightly, causing the urge to pluck out one of his chest hairs just due to his pompous statement to rear it's ugly head.

"Ug..Justice my ass." Blinking, she rolled herself up to a sitting position. "I'll let you know as soon as I know anything. I have to get to a class."

"Uh huh." Was all he offered as he turned his head, watching her as she dressed. She was a deeply complex woman, and within the years that they had known each other, he never attempted to figure her out. "It's imperative we get proof."

"I know...I know." Ayanna muttered as she slipped her dress pants over her waist. Located slightly above the lower curve of her back rested a tattooed dove. It's wings outstretched, it signified her alliance. An alliance that would be tested very soon.

“…Resort to Violence.”

Star Captain Le’on Khatowren,

Commanding Officer; ICS Days of Thunder.

==========

Combat Information Center

ICS Days of Thunder, Cattusian Flagship.

Approaching Earth (Before Boss Hawk shows up)

“She is coming huh?” Le’on cursed under his breath in his native Cattusian. “Figures…”

“INCOMING INCOMING!” the tactical officer yelled. “Torpedo barrage!”

“BRACE FOR IMPACT!” Le’on yelled as he became one with his command chair. Suddenly, the whole ship literally flipped as multiple torpedoes impacted onto the underside of the Days of Thunder as well as other ships in his task force.

“CIC, this is Engineering,” the call came in over the intercom. “You mind not hitting ever single freaking piece of debris up there?”

“I’ll try to accommodate comrade engineer.” Le’on said as he tried to accommodate his stomach from losing its lunch. “Status?” he said with an air of calm that he really wished that he actually had.

“Shields down to 60 percent, comrade captain. Ablative armoring down to 80 percent. We have fires on multiple decks from EPS overloads, dispatching damage control crews” the engineer reported.

“Keep me apprised.” Le’on was glad that his crew knew what to do and didn’t need him to approve every single decision. “CIC out.” He then turned to his XO. “Who and what was that?”

“Tag showing a Galaxy Three Refit. USS Righteous-A.” Salem responded. “She has the jump on us.”

A couple of lights flared on the tactical screen and then disappeared. Le’on’s flotilla just lost two more ships under the massive guns of the Righteous. He was down to six ships. “Come about, full torpedoes and phasers on all ships on the Righteous. Keep close to her and keep hammering her. At the same time, keep heading towards Earth, we must make contact with the Dove Fleet.”

“It looks like the USS Pegasus is directing the action around Earth.” Salem commented as he gripped the tactical table as the ship shuttered again from a glancing hit. His eyes darted to a damage MSD above the table. “We can’t take much more of this.”

In the meantime, the Cattusian task force was doing its best to bring down their second behemoth of the day. They had the element of surprise with the Vesuvius. The three Mirandas were nothing more than scrapped hulls with guns mounted and therefore were easy prey. But now they were in the thick of it with the Righteous. Le’on was beginning to wonder if they could even survive the day.

They would even if he had to make a deal with the Christian Devil himself.

Sparks flew across the CIC as the ship got hit again. “High Energy Turn!” he howled suddenly. “Full speed to Earth now!”

“But-“

“NOW DAMMIT!”

Salem threw himself into his own chair at the last possible second as the ship literally spun on a dime and darted back towards Earth suddenly. Le’on figured that was probably happening all over the ship with no time to prepare for the HET maneuver. Salem glanced at the tactical display once the danger had passed. “Well, that got his attention. Now what.”

“Break out the Hazard Suits to all crew.” Le’on said. “Things might be getting interesting here real quick.”

“Sir, we have the Pegaus on communications.”

“About damn time…”

“Home Field Advantage?”

Star Captain Le’on Khatowren,

Commanding Officer; ICS Days of Thunder.

Like a dark evil cloud, Twelve Hundred came down,

on him and twenty nine more…

-Big and Rich, The 8th of November

==========

Bridge, Galaxy III Class USS Righteous NCC-42451-A

Captain Qaylan Furlong looked at the battle unfolding in the Sol system with pride. With Captain Van Ernst here now, the Dove Faction would be routed in no time at all, much like he was routing this so-called pigmy caitian task force now. Another one of their Defiants went up in a ball of flames but still the rest of them fought on with a fury that one couldn’t help but admire. “It is almost like they do not care for casualties…” he observed. “What allies they would’ve made for us had they only sided with us instead of the Doves. What a waste…”

“Sir…” his operations officer said, turning in his seat to look at the captain. “I’ve been reading some strange readings from the Cattusians every time they lose a ship.”

“Strange how?”

“Its almost like energy transfers of some sort sir… I can’t really make it out with all the interference around.”

Furlong cursed. He really needed to get the sensors back up to peak performance one of these days. The Hawk Fleet had only sprung for weapons, armor, and shielding recently though in anticipation of this battle though and left other systems short.

The ship lurched from an impact from the aft. “Rear shields down!” tactical cried out. “One of their Defiants rammed us! But it looks like it took out that Saber as well with the explosion. Reading secondary explosions behind it.” The tactical officer grinned. “Guess they got a little too close there…”

Furlong nodded. “Good, that damn Saber was a pain in the ass… Literally it seems.” That left only three more Defiants that were swarming around his ship. “I grow tired of this…” he said amid his ship rocking from phaser impacts. Finish them off.” In short order, almost too short, the last three were blowing up in the wake of his ship. “Alright, get us clear of the battle and begin repairs.”

“Sir…” Communications said. “Engineering is calling again. This time its priority.”

“What the hell does he want now?” Furlong sighed. “Alright…” he pressed the button on his command chair. “Engineering, what crisis do you have this time?” he asked. His Chief Engineer wasn’t happy unless he was complaining about something.

“—OMEONE PICK UP GODDAMMIT! IT’S RAINING FUCKING CATS DOWN HERE!” the Chief Engineer was yelling amid phaser fire, screaming, and what sounded like angry yowls and hissing in the background.

“Phaser fire down in the engineering hull sir.” Tactical reported a moment too late.

“Yes I got that, thank you.” He said, shooting his tactical officer an ugly glance. “Clarke, what the hell is going on down there?” Furlong demanded.

“CATS! THEY’RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE! GET SEC- AAAAAH!” The Chief Engineer then cried out in pain and anguish.

“Clarke?” Furlong asked, suddenly having a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “CLARKE!? Answer me!”

A thickly accented Russian voice came over the intercom just then. “He will have to call you back, comrade. He has, how you say? Cat got his tongue?” Then the line went dead.

==========

Moments before… CIC onboard the ICS Days of Thunder

“Here is what we do.” Le’on was explaining real quickly to his gathered senior officers and his ship COs listening in. “As soon as it looks like we’re going to lose a ship, beam them aboard the Thunder. Line them up in the corridors and get them ready for a boarding action. We take one ship and ram it right up their tailpipe to punch a hole in the Righteous’ shields. The Thunder will cloak and drop some matter/antimatter mix to make it look like we were destroyed too and cloak at the same time to confuse their sensors.”

“Surely they’ll figure that out thought, won’t they?” Salem asked.

“Sure, but by the time they do, we’re already invading their ship.” Le’on pointed out some data on the tactical screen. “They’re sensors are not the greatest in the world as seen by their lousy shooting.”

“Won’t we trip their intruder alert sensors when we beam in?” his Tactical Officer asked.

“Da, if we beam in though.” Le’on said. “We however will be cutting our way in through the hull here.” He said, pointing out a major hole in the secondary hull that was nearby upper engineering. “And as we’re going in, everyone else on surviving ships will beam onto the Thunder and then pour in through the hull. We should have their main engineering secured within minutes.”

“That’s so crazy it might actually work…” Salem said. “Let’s do this then.”

“Execute orders then people. I’ll see you on the Righteous” Le’on said, signing off the comm. channel that showed his CO’s grinning faces.

Over the next couple of minutes, he oversaw the operation as he ‘lost’ ships. The corridors were filling with anxious cats that were all ready and willing to sink their claws into the enemy. “Remember, we will be fighting in lower gravity than that of our motherland.” Le’on said. “You all know what to do in such situation.” He said. All over the ship he could hear them all chuckling and sharpening their claws on the bulkheads in anticipation. It was a pleasant sound.

“The Paw is in position sir.” Salem announced, walking over to him. “Your phaser rifle.” He said, handing the weapon over to him.

“Thanks,” Le’on said, slinging it over his shoulder and putting it behind him. “Let’s do this. Tell the Paw to set the course to ram them and to come on over. Prepare to drop the explosive and cloak.”

Salem nodded as he issued the orders. A few moments later, the Defiant that was leading them in blew up on the aft shields of the larger Galaxy Class ship, effectively dropping their shields. The Days of Thunder dropped its own charge and cloaked, flying through the debris and landing on the backside of the Righteous. The Righteous was still shuddering from the initial impact. Le’on prayed that it was enough to mask their arrival. He checked his displays and saw that his ship’s landing struts were down and locked onto the Righteous and that his crews were already boring holes into the ship’s hull. His other three ships were keeping them occupied by continuing to shoot at the good shields that were still remaining. As one ship was about to beam their crew over for the party, they’d discreetly move aft in order to beam through the non-existent aft shields and then blow up under the guise of being a kill for the Righteous.

Sure, it was waste of nine starships, but considering that they’d killed four and were capturing a fifth all of which out massed his fleet three to one, that was a good trade in his book.

“Oversee the crew transfers” Le’on said, getting up. “I’m going down.”

“You’re leading the assault!?” Salem asked, shocked.

“Of course, I know this class of ship like back of my paw.” Le’on said. “I have the home field advantage.”

“The Hawks might argue the same.”

Le’on shrugged. “Sure, but Hawks can’t fit into ventilation ducts like we can, now can they?”

==========

Moments after that… Main Engineering, USS Righteous

One thing that Le’on was proud of was that his race registered as normal housepets on Federation Sensors. Since the Cattusians had remained neutral up to now, Intel said that the Hawks (and the Doves for that matter) wouldn’t even register them on sensor readings until after they’d been reprogrammed. That time was too little to late for the Righteous and he seriously doubted that if it came down to it, he’d get away with this little trick again in the future.

Ah well, he’d have fun with it now.

Now, he silently led his people down the Jefferies tubes; everyone moving fast in the lighter gravity and on all fours. He paused just outside the door that would give them access to the heart of the ship. He pressed a paw to his headset and waited for the meows to let him know that the others were all in place. Once he heard them, he motioned with his paws.

3…

2…

1…

And then they were piling through the doors at the same time the other three teams were pouring in from the opposite side of engineering, through the ventilation duct in the ceiling, and through the floorboards near the matter/antimatter injectors. With ferocious howls, the Cattusians sprung onto the hapless engineers, taking the taller humanoids down with slashing claws and really big bites with really sharp fangs. Those engineers that managed to survive the first wave whipped out their phasers and started firing at anything that moved. But the Cattusians were leaping high off of the deck, rebounding off of the bulkheads, and attacking without mercy or remorse.

Le’on noticed one running. “Get him! Over at the MSD!” he called out. “He’s calling the bridge!” He ran over and had about ten of his crewmembers right behind him.

The engineer was yelling into the panel. “THEY’RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE! GET SEC- AAAAAH!” He screamed in pain as Le’on pounced onto his back and sunk his claws in. He went down under a moving sea of fur and fangs as they all ripped him apart.

Le’on’s ears picked up the calling over the intercom of the bridge demanding an answer. He saw that one of his crew was busy ripping the downed engineer’s throat out while another had the guy’s tongue in his paw and was looking at it curiously. Le’on pressed the intercom button. “He will have to call you back, comrade. He has, how you say? Cat got his tongue?” He said as he then cut the connection. And his heart… and his spleen… he mentally noted at the newly dissected human. He looked around at the carnage. His people were eager, that’s for sure. He hopped up onto the central command table in the middle of engineering and addressed his people. “Seal off engineering and purge the bridge’s command codes from the central computer! Get to work so we can move on from here!” he called out. “Then get moving via the Jefferies tubes. I want Paw Crew to take security. Talon Crew go for Computer Core. Thunder Crew and Claw Crew will go with me to Bridge. Fang Crew and Eye Crew stay here with Engineering. Everyone else spread out and take out any crew you find. MOVE!” The masses of cats looked up at him briefly as he spoke and then scurried off to do his bidding.

Today engineering, this evening the rest of the ship…

"Strange Directions"

Free Republic of Mars
Unaligned

--

"Erza..."

The usually exclamatory word was little more than an echoing hush, but it reverberated through the the Martainn Executive Cabinet's large assembly room and effectively ended the discussion taking place.

Each cabinet member turned their head toward the data enclave, thirteen sets of eyes resting on the lieutenant of the planetary guard stationed there. In this era, they had to be prepared, they had to be apprised of the sector's ever-changing status.

"Lieutenant?" the vice president of the executive cabinet prompted, her voice tinted with edgy confidence, the sign of a veteran who had seen more things than she'd been prepared for at the time and who struggled to force what hadn't killed her to make her stronger.

The lieutenant looked up, first meeting the eyes of the woman, before coasting over the faces of the other leaders in the room.

"The DRADIS is hot as Foss's cave, ma'am, and the comm channels are warping."

"The lubo bardzies are at it again," the president said with a sigh, shaking his head. "We received notifications of upcoming aggression from both sides, it's not a surprise."

"No sir," the lieutenant said. "But Mr. President -- I... this t'ant the usual skirmish with a coupla minor sotl; I'm reading half the fleets or more..." His voice trailed off. "Hev... I just caught the Miranda's signature and the... the Shiva is coming into range. Galaxy, too."

They all exchanged glances before eventually settling toward the foot of the table.

Paige Sullivan, the twenty-orbits-old (nearly 38 earth years equivalent) vice president of the Free Republic of Mars, set her jaw as the chilling effects of the ship name coasted over her, the memories of her time spent on the USS Galaxy-D blurring her vision and clouding her mind.

Yes, life can sometimes take you in strange directions.

Somewhere along the way, a scattered and naive girl with a mind for computers became a diplomatic strong-arm in protection of her home planet. After all, as some important person once said, in uncertain times you can wait for the sky to fall or you can become the person the times require. Or some such gipe

Once upon a time, Mars was the rabble-rousing hellion of the internal Federation. They were always discontent, often raising up ideas of political reformation or, on occasion, full-out revolutionary revolt. Most Martians, unlike a comparable bulk of their Terran counterparts, were part of a highly political and reactionary culture, from their music and entertainment to their educational programs. They lived, breathed, thought Martian political and cultural history and were highly tuned into the differences between theirs and the Earth culture that saw them not as a unique and independent people but rather as a colony, an off-shoot, an extension.

Coming of age in the latter decades of the mid-24th century, the sitting members of the Martian cabinet saw the Federation embracing corruption over solid founding principles and they came to believe it was Mars' responsibility to call attention to this; their colony should once again be a beacon for individual rights, responsibilities and thought.

And so, Mars was not a part of this. They left it all behind a few years before the Federation's inevitable implosion, and like Vulcan, they declared themselves neutral and stayed beyond the fray -- though they'd more or less successfully avoided any civil unrest within their ranks. Mars demanded sovereign courtesy primarily in the form of notification to any activity around their space, and they had defenses set up to compel it. Although either side could likely pulverize them, the armed and trained citizenry and layers of cloaked spacial defenses ensured that such an attempt would take just enough effort and resourced to discourage any such endeavor.

Additionally, Mars provided a reliable refuge for wounded regardless of allegiance all with the understanding that no violence would occur on Martian soil. The planetary government would not, under any circumstance, harbor soldiers on either side beyond medical necessity and would not, under any circumstance, release a wounded individual to certain death or captivity. They would offer safe harbor to civilian refugees as long as they were able to provide evidence of their neutrality. The rules, treaties and understanding were complicated and, often, morally ambiguous, but they were all necessary.

It was a careful, delicate balance, one that the vice president helped maintain.

It was true that Mars hadn't always been this way. The planetary delegate to the Federation Assembly had once been a hawk -- and not simply a hawk, but one of the movement's most influential political leaders. This was not something they, as a people, were proud of, though once his involvement in the Federation's internal political factions became widely-known in the early 2390s, the councilor was deposed with quick and violent action (perhaps regretfully so).

It wasn't that they agreed with the dove side of the argument. There were times for peace and there were times for war. Martians understood that as well as anyone. The problem, as the bulk of the current assembly saw, was that the hawks believed shooting first was always the best course of action while the doves were convinced that discussion should first be had. These were simplified versions of each argument, perhaps, but the root of it all was this: the debate, agony and deadlock over the best course to avoid or confront an impending war with the Triad.

Deadlock that assured War came, accompanied by its constant companions: Death, Destruction and Misery.

Paige Sullivan couldn't remember the whole chain of events that brought her to this point. Looking back, she could identify the start of it -- her Galaxy cruise -- but she barely recognized that girl anymore. She remembered graduating in the middle of 2385, accepting her official assignment on the ship. Paige was a promising young operations officer, one that though far from perfect worked to improve and slowly began to grow and mature into a departmental leader. She remembered going blissfully about the first few years, when the Triad war was on a separate front, when her experience with it was nothing more than small skirmishes by comparison to what was coming.

Then all hell broke lose. And by the time the Triad War reached its brief Eye-of-the-Storm lull -- in 2393 -- she was a battle-scarred full-lieutenant with several years of gritty front-lines in-the-trenches warfare under her belt. She was done. She resigned her commission against protests and went home to Mars, which was experiencing the true beginning of their anti-Federation political revolution. The councilor had just been assassinated and when she stepped planet-side, she was welcomed as a hero for reasons she still didn't fathom.

It was bizarre, still, the types of actions civilians found worth of heroic recognition. Usually, they were the same actions you wanted nothing more than to erase from your memories.

It wasn't a far distance from that to this. Her ascent into politics was so seamlessly smooth she didn't see it happening until she was there. Roped into the Martian independence movement she became one of the more passionate members and was brought into the upper echelons. She became good friends -- and then some -- with party leader Vritan Tarses, and their effort culminated into Mars declaring independence from the Federation in 2396. While they signed individual non-aggression pacts with most of the free planets within the Federation, and an alliance treaty with the UFP itself, Mars stubbornly refused to take part in the squabling. They stood by and watched as the government collapsed and sent the remaining planets into dissaray.

Maybe they should have done something differently. Maybe there was some action they could have take to change things. But in the end, those lines of thought were about as useful as counting stars.

Paige felt President Tarses' presence just behind her as she called the data up on the large display screen that made up the far wall of the room.

"Is the Sagan Satelite field back up and running?" she questioned, looking toward the lieutenant.

"Yes ma'am. They finished tests early yesterday."

"Must have missed the memo. Put that feed up here, live," she said, stepping backward and into the president, who put a hand discreetly on her back to steady her. Their relationship was the worse kept secret in the government, but they all tried to keep appearances anyway.

The image flickered, before flaring with static and then coming back in crisp, brilliant definition, bringing the chaos occurring in the next orbit over into the room with them. The Martian governing body watched soundlessly as the giant ships beat the ever loving hell out of one another, leaving little more than twisted metal and quickly extinguished flame in their wake.

The memories seared in her brain, the past adding the sound-effects that echoed in her ears. Paige tried to keep the adrenaline from bubbling to the surface, but part of her was wondering where her battle station was while another part simply wanted to hide under the table and wait it out, her earbuds piping music to aide her mental escape.

"Vard y-a," one of the directors breathed. "What're they doing?"

They watched breathlessly as the Shiva trembled, powering up. Paige grabbed the control padd from the table and zoomed in, fingers flying over the commands to pull up long-range scans.

"Paige," Tarses' voice whispered. "Is that soulless heunda doing what I think she is?"

Wordlessly, Paige entwined her fingers with his, gaze affixed to the horror taking place.

Yes. Strange directions indeed.

"Black Ship on a Red Tide"

Lord Th'Khiss K'aa, Dominar of the Red Crest
Lord Slessh, Dominar of the BlackCrest

Bridge, GDF Slessh
==============

As the Slees'tak-class warship easily evaded the fore-firing batteries
of the Gorn battle-cruiser’s disruptors and plasma torpedoes, Lord
Slessh muttered an ancient, hiss laden curse and renewed his bitter
hatred for Th’Khiss K’aa.

The small ship that bore Shessh’s own name was graceful beyond words,
dancing easily between weapon bursts and around the slower, clumsier
cruisers of the Gorn fleet like a moth hovering over torchlight. Her
enhanced ECM and ECCM made her own firepower deadly accurate while
befuddling the targeting systems that tried to acquire her weapons
lock. Most importantly, while her claws and fangs may not be as large
as the typical Gorn cruiser they were by no means ineffective, and
what they lacked in power they more than made up in versatility.
Slessh’s junior officers hissed with special delight when they
deployed the Lyran Expanding Sphere Generator and grazed the weaker
flanking shields of their opponent. When the battle-cruiser’s shield
crackled violently, then collapsed altogether, the Tactical Officer
behind him roared with excitement as he beamed the first boarding
party over.

Every system worked flawlessly, and K’aa’s ‘advisors’ were most
competent in instructing Black Crest elite the tactical knowledge to
make her perform. His younger Gorn warriors now possessed a battle-
lust that Slessh hadn’t seen in decades, and he cursed the Lord of the
Red Crest for inspiring it.

Slessh had spent the week putting the ship through her paces, engaging
her against every ship design the Gorn Defence Force had in space, and
found the performance of his own ships sorely lacking, and while the
hardware was indeed impressive, it was the quiet discipline and
extreme knowledge of K’aa’s Red Crest warriors that was proving more
alarming to the Gorn leader. Subtley, without the roar of challenge
or the slaying of enemies, a change had happened within the Gorn
military caste. In place of the traditional and often bloodthirsty
rivalry between caste Crests, an eager co-operation was developing as
news of the new ships, and the new tactical and strategic knowledge
behind them, spread like the bright blood from a fresh kill.

It had taken three hours of delicate combat, but by allowing his
junior officers a free hand the GDF Slessh had finally succeeded in
taking over the GDF Rath’kon, a cruiser with a veteran crew much
decorated for their service along the Romulan frontier. The howls of
the Shessh’s crew rang in the old warrior’s ears and echoed coldly in
his soul. The change had happened, and he had missed it. When the
cheer had ended, all eyes on the bridge slowly turned to Slessh and
awaited the Black Crest leader’s next order.

As silence settled on the small bridge, Slessh inhaled deeply and
tasted the bittersweet mixture of pride and discontent from his
officers. He couldn’t isolate one, but periodically a low-frequency
rumble came from a warrior’s chest – sign of impatience an
unmistakable breach of military discipline. The Lord of the Black
Crest bared his fangs and let forth a growling, guttural command.

“K’aa. Now.”

****
Iud'kaath Fortress, S'sgarnon Prime, Eastern Continent
========================================

“He won’t like it.”

“He will. Watch.”

“Th’Khiss… look at him! He doesssn’t like it.:

“Oox’cuu, he hasssn’t tried it yet.”

Dangling a thin strip of fish over the maw of the hatchling in his
lap, Th;Khiss K’aa’s throat-bag swelled with pride as his son greedily
snatched the food and swallowed it whole. “You ssssee? You should
try it yourssself, beloved. Once it’ssss gone, there will be no
more.”

Oox’cuu stood up from hovering over her husband and child and gingerly
picked up a fish from a nearby platter with two long, sharp talons.
She studied the silvery scales and the clear, glass-like eyes before
grasping it in a massive scaled fist and tearing the head off with her
fangs. Like her youngest son, she swallowed the flesh whole but only
after savoring the fish’s taste with her tongue.

“You like it! Admit it!”

Not wanting to give her husband the satisfaction of being right in her
own home, Oox’cuu continued to tear at the fish, savoring the savory
taste of the meat and the sweet hints of the rich fat. Finishing, she
nodded as she washed the scales of her hands in a basin of warm
water. “Alright. It wasss good. What isss it?”

“Sssalmon”, Th’Khiss offered while feeding another thin strip to his
hatchling. “Pacific Sssockeye, I believe. Probably the lassst of
itsss kind, unfortunately.” He lapsed into a reflective silence as he
fed pink-red morsels of fish to I’vaun, his youngest of seventeen.
Born with underdeveloped lungs, the child in days gone past would have
been abandoned because of his inherent weakness. His parents had
rejected the tradition, and were rewarded with the development of a
bright and inquisitive hatchling that threatened to eat them into the
crafters caste.

“Do you misss it? Earth? The Federation?”

Oox’cuu’s husband looked up, but didn’t respond immediately, instead
looking out the fortress’ window and out onto the violet dunes of the
Eastern Continent. “I misss what it wasss… not what it hasss become”,
he said at last. “I misss the potential it had. The
posssibilitiesss! What it hassss become…. sickensss me.”

Since returning from the Federation, Th’Khiss K’aa had approached life
with a singular drive and determination. His first act had been the
effective removal of his father in single combat, something that had
proved all too easy for the witnesses assembled. The younger K’aa
hadn’t so much as defeated his father as humiliated him before tearing
the older Gorn’s throat out with his fangs. The combat technique –
Terran Judo – had never been seen by his people, and the concept of
bending to a charge was alien to their traditional ways. It wasn’t
the last alien concept he would introduce.

Over the next decade, Th’Khiss changed the Red Crest from a
traditionalist warrior-society to a modern warfare unit, infusing them
with military doctrine, theory and tactics from dozens of different
civilizations. Alien weapons specialists were brought in to the Red
Crest’s ship-works, and half of the Gorn military machine was ruddered
to a new direction. The effort hadn’t gone without bloodshed, but if
anything could be said about him it was that K’aa was efficient in
everything he set his mind to.

Another alien concept he introduced, or reminded the Gorn of, was
mercy. Mercy was the Gorn’s first lesson when encountering the
Federation when they destroyed the Terran colony on Cestus III, and in
his own victories K’aa was as merciful as the Enterprise’s captain had
been over a century ago. Those who would submit were granted
leniency, and surprisingly those who were spared often grew to be his
most stalwart supporters.

It was that mercy that had made Oox’cuu believe that Th’Khiss’ genes
were worthy of continuing along life’s path. Amongst his peers, with
his alien concepts, mathematical projections, and cold efficiency K’aa
promised to grant sacred life with progeny of singular talents, and in
this the ruling-caste matriarch had not been disappointed – her
hatchlings were a level of pride she had thought possible. As for her
husband, she had been blessed with a male that also delighted in her
hatchlings, reveling in their development and education and bonding
with them on a level that drew both scorn and envy from other elements
in the warrior caste.

Falling into her own contemplative silence, Oox’cuu barely noticed the
flashing red alarm on the consol behind her husband and child. She
knew what it was, and what it meant, and fear began to flow through
her veins.

“Slesssh is coming.”

“I know.”

“Mathematical projection?”

“That… and a tracking device. And the divided loyaltiesss of his
Tactical Officer.”

K’aa stood and threw young I’vaun two meters in the air before gently
catching him causing the hatchling to squeal in delight. With a
talon, he caressed the infant’s eye-scales before setting him to
scamper on the floor. “I will… deal with him. I will not be long.”

Oox’cuu stepped before her husband and blocked his way out. Almost
half a meter taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier, it would
take even K’aa more than significant effort to get by her. Th’Khiss
made no move towards violence, merely inflating his throat-bag and
croaking in satisfaction. “Do not worry, beloved”, he hissed,
caressing the thick scales under her ear,

“My return isss a mathematical certainty.”

“Bring a disssruptor, my u‘cae, and make it an actual one. Slessh
isss a formidable warrior.”

“But thisss isss not about war, my u‘cau”, he hissed softly in her ear
as he waddled by.

“Thisss isss about the future.”

"Saviors and Satans"

With

Benedict "Max" Maxwell, MD
Lt. Commander, CO
USS Osler, NCC-77109

Bridge

"No response," T'Qing replied.

"Not surprising, they usually don't start calling until their entrails are falling outta their guts," Porter piped up with his usual cynicism.

"That's enough, people," Max warned. "Let's stay focused. We don't know how they'll react to another ship-" he broke off as the tactical display showed one of the Hawk (red) ships bearing down on his. "Shields up! Weapons cold, I repeat, weapons cold. We don't want them to think we're involved with any one's side."

"They are weapons hot, sir!" alerted T'Qing hands deftly racing across her board to raise the Osler's shields. "We will not last long once they begin firing on us."

Max considered the information he was getting, along with probable escape routes when another surprise made itself known on the screen. A new ship appeared, and the IFF transponder identified it as the USS Galaxy-E. M'Kantu's ship. Almost immediately it fired on their attacker and the Hawk ship turned away towards the newcomers. Max wasn't letting an opportunity to slip away slip by.

"Send a message to Captain M'Kantu and company. Commander Osler sends his regards and a case of pure, natural Vulcan grown Arabian Coffee when time permits. Conn, get us out of range of the firefight. We'll come back in when things have quieted down a bit."

Playing neutral was indeed a tight line to walk, but some people didn't care which side you were on. You were either with them or against them. Sitting back down in his chair (he harldy realized that he had already jumped out of his chair), he noted that another IFF transponder had appeared on the screen. This time he stood up very slowly, as he felt the blood drain from his skin.

Lt. Jameel el Sahiir, his Second Officer and Ops Chief had turned just in time to see his Skipper look like death warmed and refrozen over. "Skipper?"

Max wouldn't respond, at least not yet. A dizzying array of emotions ran through him at the speed of light: Fear, hate, confusion, clarity, loathing, and finally he made a decision. "That bitch."

"Sir?" el Sahiir asked, completely ignorant of the Skipper's meaning. "Is something wrong?"

"That bitch is here," he said simply, softly. Then more forcefully, "THAT BITCH IS HERE!" spittle ran from his mouth like a geyser spewing super heated water from it's lips. This brought curious glances from everyone on the bridge, except for Porter. The Master Chief had been around Max long enough to know exactly what was going on.

"Conn," Max said after he steadied himself on one of the arms of his command chair.

"Sir?" Porter replied, hoping that his boss wouldn't say what he was going to say.

"Get us out of here. Fast." Then he added, "She's not killing any more of my friends and family today." Porter let out a very deep breath, glad that Max hadn't succumbed to the slow burning fire that had been revenge. Rebecca von Ernst was not going to get hers today, either, he mused.

Aloud, he asked, "Course, sir?"

"Outer system will be fine, Master Chief. Maximum IMPulse and in the opposite direction, if you please." As the Osler came about and accelerated, Max excused himself to his Ready Room, and as soon as the door closed the bridge staff was a-buzz.

"What's up with that?" asked el Sahiir. "Never seen the Skipper like that before.

"That's because you haven't been around here long enough, Lieutenant," Porter replied, then fell silent again.

T'Qing, however would not so easily be swayed. "Would you care to enlighten us, Master Chief Porter?"

Porter was silent a while longer then finally "enlightened" his bridgemates. "The ship that had been the reason for our hasty, ah, belongs to one Rebecca von Ernst. And Max's mother was on Earth at the time." The bridge fell so silent that if an electron farted and excused itself, you would hear it. No one else spoke for a moment before Sahiid said, "The 'Great Satan' herself shows herself, eh?" No one responded to him either, but he felt the burning stare of Lt. Doralex, who had already taken the Skipper's chair to guide the Osler out of harm's way.

For his own part, the Master Chief felt a pang of pain for his boss, who had reclused himself in the Ready Room, probably puking his guts up. If only he knew how right he was.

"If I'm free, it's because I'm always running."

Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila - Fleet Intelligence
Miranda Burton - Civilian (Slave)
Aurora - KittyKat AI

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Warp Shuttle KittyKat ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Looking at the closed door Rafael raised a hand, but paused before knocking.
She was still pissed at him, that much was oh so obvious. Under normal
circumstances all the doors aboard were left open so the heaters could warm
the whole ship. When she got pissed at him though the door shut, and stayed
shut until she was good and ready. Last time it had taken two days for her
to open the door.

Leaving her to sort herself out he walked away. There was no sense in
forcing the issue, she had a point, but trying to make her talk about what's
on her mind would only result in a massive argument and screaming on her
part.

~ I don't need 'that' right now. ~ He decided. Heading forward he checked
their course, "Aurora, increase speed to warp seven point four." He
ordered. They had the fuel right now, so there was no reason to crawl along
really, the less time they spent in one area the better!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sat in her small room Miranda stared at her reflection. There were no
answers there though. He'd promised to stop using the plant, he'd promised
months ago. Yet here he was still away with the fairies when ever he
touched the stuff. And it was killing him!

Sniffing she sat back on her bed and rested against the cold wall, feeling
the chill creep through her jacket after a moment she pulled a blanket
around herself. The ship 'always' got cold when he ran at high warp.

In all honesty, she could partly understand why he ran away, there were
times when she didn't want to remember either. Not long after she'd watched
her mother and siblings killed she'd stolen some of his plant when he was
asleep a few times. The difference was, she could stop, he didn't want to!

For some time she just sat there, light years away, lost in thought. Past,
present and possible futures crossed her mind as she let her mind drift
aimlessly. She had her own vices, but his could kill him! And that was the
issue here really.

Picking up her bag she emptied the contents carelessly onto her bunk, other
than a few mementoes stored carefully under her bed this was the sum total
of her life. A few clothes, weapons and some odds and ends. Not much
really. Picking up the package that had been a gift after a private pit
fight she contemplated it carefully. The woman, an up hiver on Feron who
had far more money than sense, had suggested she sell it.

"The hell with it!" She muttered, needing to do 'something' right now and
calm down before she made 'any' decision. If she went outside now they'd
fight again, and she had no desire to be the one to actually 'kill' her
father, no matter how much he pissed her off.

The one thing she could say in his defence though, no matter how much she
got pissed at him, no matter how stupid he was, and no matter how many times
she took a swing at him, he'd never once laid so much as a finger on her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Looking up from the table Rafael heard a door open somewhere aft. The sound
of movement told him she was 'finally' ready to talk.

Three and a half days since she'd decked him, a new record for her. Getting
up he set another place at the table and waited for her before he ate.

It wasn't long before she walked into the forward compartment, at first he
thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, or maybe the light was on the
fritz, but on a second glance he realised it wasn't him, it was her.

Declining to comment on the startling change he indicated the setting
opposite him as he sat, and though he had yet to say anything he couldn't
stop looking. ~ Why! ~ He muttered silently with more than a little
confusion. ~ And how? ~ He knew for a fact he had nothing aboard she could
have used to do 'that'!

Her hair, once the same reddish brown as her mothers had previously been
quite long, reaching almost the small of her back, which she normally kept
tied in a bunch. She'd cut it though, and quite severely so it was just now
above her shoulders. Though that wasn't what had caught his eye to start
with, it was the colour. Her hair, and eyebrows he realised, were a uniform
pale lavender that really didn't suit her in his opinion. ~ Where'd she get
it? Why waste the time? And the money! ~

Sometimes the mental processes of the double X side of the gene pool were a
total mystery to him.

Accepting her silence for now he ladled out some of the stew he'd made and
slid the bowl over to her. Watching her eat slowly he began to eat himself;
sure she'd say something, soon. In some ways she was 'just' like her
mother. When there was something on her mind she couldn't stay silent for
long.

Both sat in silence, eating slowly for what seemed like an eternity.
Suddenly though she pushed her bowl aside and stood. "Aurora." Miranda
snapped, "full stop."

"Confirmed. Dropping out of warp." Aurora replied instantly. Outside the
streaks of light shrank to pinpoints and in an instant the ship was drifting
gently at impulse.

"What the frell are you doing?" Rafael demanded, holding onto the table for
some support as the inertial dampners, as usual, hiccupped during the rapid
downshift. "We've a deadline to make!"

"You mean 'you've' a deadline." Miranda countered as she walked forward,
"You seem to forget Dad, the KittyKat is mine. Mom left her to me!
Aurora," she said as she reached the command console, "please remind my
father which of us is the master of this ship."

"Never mind Aurora." Rafael muttered with a note of resignation, she loved
to remind him of that. Aurora would obey her first and him second, always.
It was the way Kimberly had wanted it.

Watching the two of them from her holo projector, or at least giving the
appearance she was watching Aurora remained silent. The arguments between
the two of them were growing more and more frequent, and her programming
just wasn't up to family counselling any more, they needed more than
therapy, they needed a miracle!

"So, what's it to be father?" Miranda asked as she sat in the pilots'
chair. She wasn't looking at him, but her tone said it all really.
Something else she'd inherited from her mother.

"We've had this conversation so many times now. So now I'm making it
simple," there was a note of finality in her voice, and a steely tone. "You
keep using that crap and I'm just going to end up burying you on some
passing rock, and I'll be damned if I bury you as well." Looking over her
shoulder at him she watched his face, "I've already had to bury Mom,
Ceridwen and Danner," she said with a tremor in her voice, "and I'll be
'fucked' if I bury you as well. So you can get the fuck off my ship!" She
announced. And from her tone, there was no arguing, no debating. It was
literally her way, or the airlock. Staring at her for a moment he found
though he was the one who turned away, unable to look into her eyes for more
than a second.

Ever since he'd found her, curled up near the three graves she'd dug with
her hands he'd never been able to look her in the eyes when she spoke of
that day. Though she had no better idea than he 'who' had ordered the hit,
of the two of them she was the one who had actually had to live through it,
and remember it.

"Your call Dad. You can stay, but if you do you can clean up and dump that
crud. Or you can take it with you when you leave. I want to find out who
killed Mom as much as you, but I've had enough." And there it was, the
ultimatum.

Moving to stand behind her chair he sighed, there wasn't really any way he
could win this he realised almost instantly.

She was right. And he was wrong.

That was the crux of it really, and no amount of parental force could change
that.

It was a righteous pain in the mivonks really when your own daughter could
argue you into a corner using your own flaws so easily against you.

"Aurora, you know the plant Miranda is talking about." He asked after a
lengthy silence. It was unnecessarily really, she'd been the one to tell
him about it after he'd asked her. "The one in my quarters, and the two in
the cargo bay."

"Of course."

"Lock on with the transporters please, and disperse them." He asked slowly.

"Gladly!" Aurora replied with what seemed an unhealthy amount of relish for
an AI.

Watching the transport cycle start, and almost as quickly end Miranda
nodded. "It's a start," she agreed. Looking at her father she bit her lip,
"you just gotta prove to me now you can 'stay' off it."

"Understood." There was so much he could say, so much he should say. But
right now probably wasn't the best of times.

"Oh, and Dad." Miranda muttered as he turned away. Turning back to face
her he wondered just what else she could complain about. Watching her reach
under her seat he blinked as she pulled out some decidedly feminine
underwear.

Holding the bra and other underwear out to him she raised an eyebrow
questioningly. "I noticed these just now, and I know for a fact they're not
mine. Is there something you want to tell me?"

Hesitating, he looked at the clothing. Telling her about the Trill girl
wasn't a problem really, they'd both done far worse, and she 'knew' he'd
been planning on getting the girl to come along with him anyway. But
something in her tone confused him.

Setting the shuttle in motion again Miranda shifted them to warp and let
Aurora take the helm. Standing she pocketed the items, they were good
quality, no sense in wasting them. Smirking at her father as she walked
past him, "I mean come on Dad, hot pink is just 'so' not your colour!"

"Damn right!" Aurora agreed sarcastically right before deactivating her
hologram.

"Message In A Bottle?"

Captain Jaal Jaxom
USS Panther

Lieutenant Mark
Operations
USS Miranda

==On The Miranda==

Lieutenant Mark had just closed down his terminal. The coded message
was on it's way and hopefully it would reach it's intended recipient.
He was reasonably sure the message would get through as he managed to
squeak it out just before the Miranda went into warp.

Since the fall of the Federation, Mark made himself a little more
useful to what was left of Starfleet by completing on-ship training
courses in engineering and operations. Now, instead of being a
counselor, he was an operations officer.

Although, sometimes, he managed to provide some impromptu counseling
for the depressed amongst the crew.

The door swished open then, startling him.

Did they find out about his covert activities?

Surely they hadn't. He was using the most unorthodox method possible
for sending out the encrypted newsgrams.

It was a simple text message sent out with the normal ship to ship
communications.

Anyone could read it and none would be the wiser.

==Leaving The Sol System, USS Panther==

The Captain of the Panther retreated to his ready room as his ship
silently streaked from the Sol system.

He was joined in his ready room by the ship's CMO. She was a full
Betazoid by the name of Mesta.

Before their conversation could begin, the quiet of the captain's
sanctuary was broken by a call from the Panther's first officer.
"Captain," the Andorian called, "We're receiving a message from Mother
and some disturbing energy patterns on long range."

Jaal frowned at Mesta. Shaking his head slowly from side to side he
asked her rhetorically, "What else can go wrong today?"

"I feel your frustration… I'm afraid there is little I can do about it
now," she replied flicking a bit of her long black tresses from her
face.

Captain Jaxom went back onto the bridge followed by Mesta. Once at the
tactical console next to his XO he asked, "What've we got?"

The Andorian commander, Sojor, punched series of keys that decoded the
highly encrypted message.

A familiar voice was heard from the console's small speaker. "Greetings dear."

Jaal rolled his eyes and decided he would make up the code names on
his own from now on. The message continued…

"The twins got to acting up today…"

That meant Elaithin's and Von Ernst's ship's went after each other again.

"They were split up without hurting each other…"

That meant the Miranda got away without being fired on. A rare thing,
it seemed, when being in the same planetary system as the Shiva these
days.

"…the little spat was, apparently, over a new toy. That's all I have
time for now. Talk to you soon Sweetheart."

Jaal's eyes narrowed. "New toy?" he asked Sojor.

"That brings us to the long range sensor findings," the XO said,
"We've gotten word both sides had landing parties. Something Von Ernst
was after was picked up by Elaithin and she's pissed off enough about
to bomb Earth again from orbit... and she's bombing the hell out of it
too. We're too far away to gain any other details."

"An illogical action, if I may add," the Panther's Vulcan tactical
officer chimed in, "All she'll be doing is re-arranging the rubble."

"In many ways she's still a child. One that never fully matured,"
Mesta added. She earned a dual degree from the Academy back in the
day. Before the war she was a counselor. Now, she served what was left
of Starfleet as a physical doctor. "That much I remember from reading
her file."

"With the ability to throw one helluva temper tantrum," Jaal added
with failed sarcasm. Nothing really seemed funny anymore. "I want to
know what was so important."

"A new kind of weapon?" Sojor asked.

"Doubtful," Tupuk countered as he re-asserted control over his
tactical station, "There's nothing left on Earth to research and build
one with."

The Panther's senior staff nodded to each other in agreement.

"Are you still on speaking terms with Elaithin?" Mesta asked, "You
could just ask the admiral, couldn't you?"

Jaal shook his head ever so slightly, "I'm not sure. If we were, I
don't think he'd just tell me anyway." The Trill's head shook a
measure more vigorously, "We've got other fish to fry at the moment.
However," he held his finger up, "we 'may' come back after the meeting
for some reconnaissance."

The Panther's captain headed back to his ready room to brood.

==Ready Room, A While Later==

Mesta entered from the corridor, not the bridge. Even though Starfleet
really wasn't 'Starfleet' anymore, Mesta and Jaal still felt the need
for a great degree of discretion in their relationship.

"I can feel your mood all the way down to sickbay today," she greeted
him as he spun in his chair to face her. "I sense you're very troubled
by these latest developments… moreso than usual."

Jaal's expression lightened a tad, "You sensed that did you? All the
way from sickbay?"

Mesta's concerned, soft features broke out into a smile as she rounded
his desk to sit in his lap. "I am glad to see you haven't lost your
sense of humor though."

"I can't," Jaal told her, "If I did, I'd go nuts."

"You're not nuts already?" She asked only half-playfully, "You're
trying to fight this war on your own and you think you are, by some
miracle, still sane?"

Jaal wrapped his arms around her pulling her close, "But that's the
beauty of it." He pecked her cheek with a kiss, "Soon, very soon, we
won't be alone... at least I don't think we will."

"Really?" she asked, "You've heard from your emissaries?"

"I've heard from one," he confirmed, "Preliminary reports are promising."

OOC Note: This post is set slightly before the battle over Earth began, hence the sensor readings mentioned. Oh, and as to the title, pun very much intended.

"A Little Conversation"

Commodore Artim Shivar - CO, LNWV Resolved

with

Shipmaster Calladavar Nibbletoe - CO, GEEEDFV Glittergold

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

<<Captain's Mess, LNWV Resolved, 1936 hours>>

Though he hadn't had all that much personal experience with the Erdans himself the stories he'd heard from some of his colleagues had made Artim very nervous about this evening. As he'd been reminded countless times it was the custom of the diminutive creatures that were often compared to the gnomes of some Terran fantasy literature that on the second night of any joint venture that the captain of an Erdan vessel dine with the leader of the expedition. In this case, that obligation fell to Artim. From what he'd heard, Erdan meals were often an adventure of sorts. While the Erdans were said to be excellent cooks and the purveyors of spirits that could make even the most hearty Klingon pass out just from smelling them, their penchant for practical jokes could make things go south in a hurry.

"Commodore, the Glittergold is requesting permission..." the voice of Lieutennant Kwan on the bridge was interrupted by a sudden flash of light and the sudden appearance of what could only be described as a grand feast, complete with a red silk tablecloth, out of nowhere on the table in front of him. "to...transport."

"Seems they already had the coordinates Miss Kwan. Now where is that pipsqueak Cal. It appears he sent his food but didn't bother to come himself.", Artim sounded frustrated though the food did smell delicious.

"Sir? We detected the transport of an individual from the Glittergold along with the cargo...perhaps you should check under the table." , she answered as she clearly stifled a giggle.

Artim frowned as he lifted the tablecloth and peered cautiously under the table. There pressed firmly against the floor as if trying to blend in to the carpet was the meter long form of an Erdan clad in a gaudy dress uniform. When he realized he was noticed he looked up at Artim with a defeated look on his face.

"Drats. You caught me. I was so hoping you'd get up and call for security or something so I could surprise you...but...I failed"

"You forgot something crucial about me and my communications officer Cal." The Erdan had instructed him that it was improper for a superior to address him in a formal way, "We've been kids for four hundred years. We've had more practice at this." Artim's frown turned to a smile as he offered the Erdan a hand up. The Erdan captain accepted and Artim pulled him out from under the table.

"Well, I may have failed in my attempt to prove my worth through humor but hopefully my cooking will be more then adequete. Come come, I hope you're hungry. I made it all myself!", Cal waddled over to the middle of the table and started rearragning the food on the table and started serving out what looked like some sort of salad.

Artim got a quizzical look on his face as the Erdan worked and then eventually let it slip, "What do you mean prove your worth through humor?"

Undistracted Cal continued serving out the meal, "Oh, yes, I guess noone told you. You see, whenever one of us is transfered to a new job it is custom to conduct a humerous demonstration on our new superior. A way of demonstrating our worth. You see, in Erdan culture..."

"What we call a prank is a high artform. I've read the breifing papers. Interesting culture." Artim seemed to be losing interest but then the plate Cal had been preparing was set in front of him. There were some sort of greens that resembled terran spinach topped with some odd looking purple things and some sort of dressing. He took a bite and nodded in a satisfied manner. "Pretty good."

"You think that's good wait until we get to the main course...."

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

Over the next hour and a half Artim enjoyed one of the best meals of his life. Even though Artim had never heard of most of the ingredients and wouldn't have ordered two-thirds of the items were this a a restaurant the culinary experience was quite pleasurable. Even though some of his humor was a bit annoying Cal was a decent guest as well though the alcohol he'd brought was certainly helping with his jokes. If it hadn't been for the anti-intoxicants the doctor had insisted on giving him Artim would likely be off in some sort of drunken stupor by now.

"...and then the badger said 'No, he's my minion!' Get it!" , the punchline of the Erdan's joke was the only thing Artim really heard but it was enough to get him to chuckle a bit.

"Good one. Anyway, I was wondering something Cal, have you ever been to Earth?", Artim seemed genuinely curious.

Cal thought for a moment and then replied, "Earth, no. Heard its a nice place and all. Alot like Erda in climate and some really neat furry critters! No the only planet outside the league I've been to was, what do they call it, Vulcan. Wholly depressing planet. Used my best material the whole trip and not even a giggle. Not even a giggle! How can a whole culture survive without laughing? Was quite a mind-boggling place. You ever been?"

"Went to school there about ninty years ago. And you're right, wholly depressing place.", Artim fealt best to leave it there since he didn't really beleive the statement. Actually at that point in his life a place where supressing one's emotions came naturally was just what he needed. Back then he'd even tried to learn the technique Vulcans used to surpess emotions with little luck.

"Well what can you tell me about Earth then sir? Is it as amazing as we've been told? When was the last time you were back? Do they have badgers?", Cal asked in the manner of an excited child going to the zoo for the first time.

"Well, it does have badgers. And I havent been back in fifteen years or so. Then it was an amazing place but I've been told its very different now. The war...the wars I'm told have taken their toll on the planet. I'm sure its not going to be as I remember it.", for the first time in the evening Artim's voice shifted into a rather somber tone. It was true he hadn't been back to Earth since the collapse. What he'd heard about and seen of Earth from the press was a very different Earth then the one he remembered. War had ravaged the planet and alot of the splendor and majesty of the Federation's capital world had fallen into ruin. Or so the media would have one beleive. Artim sincerely hoped the stories were overstated.

Cal got a rather dejected look on his face for a moment and then was all smiles again. It seemed nothing kept an Erdan down for long, "Well, I wanna go see your badgers. And I've heard about this Earth food...what's it called again...a cheesesteak. You know what that is?"

Artim's frown was also replaced by a smile. How could anyone who lived in Philadelphia NOT know what a cheesteak is "Cal my friend, trust me, if its still there, I know JUST the spot to get one."

Cal though appeared not to be listening and had one hand to his ear. "What was that Eck?....Really?....Hang on, the commodore is right here. Why don't you patch it through to my hyperprojectometer." The Erdan reached into his jacket and pulled out a small device no bigger than the end of a spoon and placed it on a clear spot on the table. Clicking it on what looked like a tactical display appeared over the table. After Cal moved the cake Artim could clearly make out that the display was showing long range sensor readings of Sector 001.

"Sorry to bring business into our meal Commodore but I just got an urgent communication from the ship. Since our long-range sensors are the best in the galaxy we were conducting some scans of the Earth sector and, well, as you can see there appears to be an unusual number of warships converging on the planet. Including...."

"Shiva. Heard of her. Von Earnst's ship. What the hell is she up to?", Artim replied as he took in the data

"Well, no idea commodore, but that's ALOT of firepower headed towards Earth. Invasion perhaps?", Cal suggested

Artim shook his head, "Possibly, but I don't think even she has the nerve for that. And there aren't enough troop transports. Fleet composition suggests a raid of some sort."

"Should we turn back? Our ships wouldn't last long if the Hawks fired on us."

"They won't neither will the Doves. They could definately use this convoy. No, we press on. But keep me apprised Cal. We go on to Earth no matter what. Got that, no matter what!"

“The pitter-patter of tiny feet in combat boots”

Star Captain Le’on Khatowren,

Currently in between Ships at the moment…

==========

Corridors, Galaxy III Class USS Righteous NCC-42451-A

The Master Chief Petty Officer led the security team down the corridors and near break neck speed with the tricorder out in front of him, furiously scanning for anything that might be a feline on the ship. So far his team had rounded up five Terran house cats, three Risan felinises, a small Klingon Targ, and one cheetah that a crewmember had domesticated, but still had yet to catch any real Cattusians. The damn cats were infiltrating his ship and there wasn’t much they could do about it. The horde of kitties seemed to move as one and once they conquered an area, they sealed it off and disappeared into the woodwork it seemed.

A hand fell on his shoulder. “Master Chief, wait up.” One of his men said urgently. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what crewman?” he asked, and then his face fell as he too heard it; the sound of rampaging cats. The pitter-patter of hundreds of tiny, angry, feet in multiple pairs of combat boots.

All of which were coming from behind him.

He whirled in time to see the masses of cats storming down the corridor on all fours with ugly looks on all of their cute little faces. The Master Chief didn’t think but merely told his men to run as fast as they could. The cats caught Johnson first and swarmed him. He went down under the sea of moving fur and fangs. Nichols was the next to go down as he then developed a nasty allergic reaction and doubled over in a coughing fit as his asthma from his cat allergy kicked into high gear. Breathing soon wasn’t a problem for him as the cats tore him apart shortly thereafter.

The damnable thing of it all was that no matter where they shot at and how many of them they shot, the wave of cats just came on coming. Soon it was him and Jones side by side at a dead end, hopelessly firing their phasers into the moving wall of kitties before they too were consumed both figuratively and literally…

==========

Ventilation Ducts – outside the Main Bridge.

“They’re just cats dammit!” Le’on could hear the Captain yelling at the top of his lungs. “How hard is it to track and shoot a freaking cat?”

“You might find out soon sir.” The operations officer was now saying. “They’re now in position to access the turbolifts to the bridge ever since they took over the Central Computer.”

“Is the bridge locked down?”

“As well as it’s going to be.”

Le’on chuckled. “Let’s shatter that little fantasy, shall we boys?” he asked his cohorts. They’d taken a nice little trip up the Jefferies Tubes, accessed the same ship’s ventilation system that Le’on was famous for taking a trip down on the USS Galaxy, and gotten right outside the bridge. Now he and his second team were ready to spring into action. He meowed once into his headset and received the confirmation back. He then held up his claws to everyone and counted down once again.

When he signaled, four wall panels on the bridge busted open and they all poured out; each one sprinting all out for a predetermined location on the bridge. Le’on himself went for the captain as he jumped onto a startled crewman nearby and launched himself across the room.

“HOLY SHIT!” the captain cried out in terror as he watched his beloved bridge become infested with the fur covered four legged terrors. Le’on then landed square on his chest with claws out. His claws went straight into his fragile skin as he and the captain landed hard on the deck. With a single follow-up swipe, he then cleanly ripped out the human’s throat, causing the red blood to splash off to one side.

“Captain, you are hereby relieved of command.” He said in triumph as the captain died beneath him. He regarded the man’s larynx in his claw. “From the Motherland with love comrade.” He said disdainfully as he threw the bloody organ to the deck.

It was a bloody melee full of angry meows, hissing, and screaming as the Cattusians finally took the bridge. Le’on was proud of his people in the whole takeover of the ship. They now controlled all of the major control points of the ship. Le’on hopped into the command chair and brought up the Dove Fleet communications. “This is Star Captain Khatowren, we now have control of the USS Righteous. We are withdrawing the ship from the battle area.” He said briefly over the broadband comm. channel before cutting it off. He turned to his people who were now busy reconfiguring all the stations so that they could operate the ship. Lock down all control points on the ship. Any surviving Starfleet personnel, isolate them in whatever sections they are in and shut down power to any control panels that are there. Send strike teams to disarm and escort them down to the brigs.” He ordered. Many nodded as they carried out his orders.

He then opened up a single comm. channel to the Days of Thunder. “Commander Spellman, we now have the ship. Detach at your leisure and fall into formation with us.”

“Of course Comrade Captain.” Salem responded. “Are you able to handle something that big?” he asked with a wry grin on his face.

“Funny…” Le’on grumbled, but had a grin on his face nonetheless. “Comedians are going out of business all over the galaxy and here you are trying to be funny…”

“Lord Order and Master Chaosss”

Iud'kaath Fortress, S'sgarnon Prime, Eastern Continent
========================================

“Where issss he?”

Shessh’s bellowed words echoed against the ancient sandstone walls of
the ancient Iud'kaath Fortress, and the hissing spite bounced back at
him from the weathered parapets. He and his bodyguard beamed down
from their ship as the brightest of S’sgarnon’s suns set towards the
East, and darker shadows crossed the paler ones cast from the dim-red
northern star, Red crest banners snapped in the warm, western winds
but otherwise no other sounds came from the battlements.

“WHERE ISSSS HE?”

At the far end of the large courtyard, an ornately carved door opened
and, predictably, the Lord of the Red Crest emerged. Unlike Slessh,
who bore the traditional armor and weapons of his warrior caste, K’aa
wore simple osmium-thread greaves and tunic, and carried nothing other
than a small hand-held computer. In silence, he crossed the dust-
choked courtyard as Shessh paced and snarled.

K’aa stopped ten feet from his adversary and, surprisingly, offered
the older warrior a low bow from the waist – a gesture of significant
and profound respect. Shessh was surprised, but too caught up in his
own rage to care.

“You gutlesss worm”, he hissed. “You Romulan! Did you think you could
ussssurp my leaderssship with giftssss and sssly wordsss? I am
Slesssh, egg, and I have ssslain more enemiesss than you have lived in
cyclessss. You will not assssume control of the Black Cressst without
bloodshed battle, K’aa! Prepare yoursssself!”, he roared and with a
scaled, calloused thumb, activated the shielded monofilament blades of
his pole-arm. “I will feassst on your entrailsss before the ssssecond
sssun setssss! “

“I do not ssseek the leadership of the Black Cressst, Lord Slessh”,
K’aa hissed softly. “I will not lead them into the battle ahead,
knowing that you could inssspire them far better than I.”

“I find your wordsss unconvincing, egg”, Shessh growled. “Face me.
At leassst your father would have had the scalessss do deal with me
honorably!”

“My father wasss a shortsighted fool, bound too blindly to tradition
to consssinder the well-being of hisss people”, K’aa countered as he
started to slowly circle the Black Crest leader. “You yoursssself
have at leassst made sssome progresss from tradition – otherwisssse
you would have committed sssuicide after your failed coup againssst
the ruling casssste.”

Slesssh had sought to become the first Emperor in over ten thousand
during the Dominion Wars, and had failed only because of the
interference of the Enterprise E and her crew. His own troops had
threatened to dismember him before Captain Picard challenged them to
spare his life – mercy was what was needed to mend the cultural rifts
of the Gorn people, he had said – not further bloodshed.

Still, the unpleasant reminder of his past failure didn’t seem to
affect Slessh’s current state of mind. “We sssspeak of YOUR ambition
now, ssstripling!”, he bellowed, and flecks of flam . “You have
compromisssed my authority with my own warriorsss! I will NOT
tolerate thissss insssult!”

“I meant no dissshonor or disressspect, Lord Slessh”, K’aa said over
his shoulder, continuing his slow and deliberate orbit over the fine
dust. “The Black Cressst issss a vital part of our culture’sss
identity. Your leadership againssst the Klingonsss and the Rihansssu
are legendary – you possessss a daring I cannot begin to calculate.
We need that boldnessss.”

Slowly the full meaning of K’aa’s words sounded through the fog of the
older Gorn’s rage, and his eyes flickered in the dry air. “I am… a
mathematical variable to you??”

“A ssssignificant one”, the Red Crest dominar hissed. “When the
Dominion War erupted, no-one expected the coup. When Gowron sssought
to expand his empire, he didn’t expect the pre-emptive ssstrike. When
Tomolok sssought to sssubvert our alliencesss, no-one expected
ingeniousss counter-diplomacy. No one. You are the part of the
chaosss in an orderly universsse, and we need that chaosss. *I* need
that unpredictability!”

“For what endsss?”, Slessh growled. “I will NOT be a pawn to the Red
Cresst!”

“And no pawn will you be”, K’aa said as he finished his circle. “I
need sssomeone to wield the weapon I have forged, and protect our
people from the coming ssstorm. I have reviewed the permutatonsss a
thousssand timesss, and without a chaotic variable of sssignificant
magnitude…”

“You ssspeak like a scientissst”, Slesssh spat. “SHOW me what you
mean! Prove to me your planssss are not to seize power for
yourssself!”

“Very well”, K’aa hissed happily, and released the stud of the dead-
man switch in his right palm. The courtyard glowed bright emerald for
only a second before the shadows of S’sgarnon’s second sun began to
set unobserved.

“Collateral Damage”

Various and Soon Forgotten NPCs

Soundtrack: “Adagio for Strings” – Samuel Barber

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lV3SHBFyDZM

<Sector 001 – Earth>

In Earth orbit, the starship Shiva rained down quantum fire on the birthplace of humanity. Some tried to interfere and died for presuming to limit the rage of the goddess of destruction. Others fled, hoping they could find a way to preserve the remains of the once great civilization of man. Many laughed, and joined in the feast of destruction, hungry for the little tidbits of glory that war provided. Many more simply died, the burden of life to heavy at the sunset of humanity.

In the once shining capital of the United Federation of Planets, on a cobblestone alley between a bakery and an old antique watch restoration shop, a seed carried in the excrement of some long forgotten and now suddenly extinct avian had fallen, taken root, and with the occasional rains and touched by the sun, and managed to grow amidst the refuse of modern man. The flower, its yellow petals stretched heavenward during the day seemed to proclaim that despite the misfortunate of its supposedly more intelligent mammalian brethren, the earth would survive and thrive once more.

A bolt of Shiva’s random fire exploded the ancient cobblestones and vaporized the flower. There was no protest. No exclamation of sorrow.

In San Francisco, the once proud home of the once great Starfleet, a young mother lay in an abandoned building whose doors were once emblazoned with the symbol of enterprise. There was no glass in the windows to reflect the hot wind of war. No door to the room where she had just given birth. Just bare floor and scattered trash. The young mother did not know the name of her new child, did not know its gender. She had died giving the child life. The child cried out to the heavens as all newborns do, announcing its presence on this world, daring, boastful, hungry, tired.

Quantum fire exploded on the grounds of the once proud Starfleet Academy. Shiva claimed mother and child, living and dead, as her own and moved on without a care.

William Rasmussen was a survivor. A veteran of several wars, he kept his own council and planned ahead to the day that promises of the Federation became empty. It was difficult, but he could live of the land – he had only himself to feed, his family long since taken by war and strife. Rasmussen stood atop his rock on the mountain he called his own and watched Shiva rain down fire on the rubble of cities already destroyed. A random blast of destruction triggered a fault line, igniting the slumbering planet and urging it to participate in its own demise. Rasmussen’s mountain was swallowed by tons for fiery rock and gray and black ash. William Rasmussen, like billions of others, wasn’t a survivor after all.

In a field of dry grass, a horse galloped, its mane clotted with dirt and blood. Shiva scooped a great crater from the ground, and in an instant, the proud stallion was no longer the last of its kind.

And so it continues ---

“And when he opened the fourth seal…and behold, a pale horse, and he that sat upon him, his name was Death; and hell followed with him.”

"Ship of the Damned"




Time (Sometime in the future, just after Chris' MISSION INTRO:FINEM RESPICE II)


Featuring Admiral Irene De Mercereau, an NPC from the GALAXY legend and lore.



Location: The space above Earth, where a heated battle between 'HAWK' and 'DOVE' forces rage on.



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

"They've got us surrounded again. The poor bastards." - Creighton Abrams


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


A lengthy and bloody conflict with the overwhelming numbers of the Triad forces has battered and broken the once powerful United Federation of Planets. In the wake of these devastating losses, some of the splintered remnants of what had once been a shining beacon of peace and unity find themselves fighting for mere survival.


In the space high above Earth itself, the STARFLEET HAWKS launched a bold and daring attack on the home planet of the same organization they once professed to honor.


As the hours pass, it becomes apparent that the rapidly mobilized DOVE forces are growing more successful defending themselves.


Nestled safely near the dark side of the moon, Admiral Irene De Mercereau watched as the remnant of her 12th fleet help battle back the relentless HAWK forces.


The once famed 'Sword of the Federation' quietly watched the engagement unfold from the bridge of the aging USS Henderson. She was proud of the abilities of the men and women who flew under her flag, yet as she watched them soaring through space, phasers firing as if they were part of a well choreographed symphony of burning steel and lives lost, she felt her heart nearly break.


Regardless of which side of the apparent civil war she stood upon, everyone on the field of battle was a brother or a sister and she felt each loss as if it were one of her own crew.


"Hawks are pushing through the southern hemisphere." Commander Flier, Irene's tactical officer announced, pointing to the holographic bulge in the Earth's defenses on the screen before him.


"Hail the BORDEAUX and the MERLOT. Have them come about and hit the bastards in the flanks." Irene ordered. "Advise them to be cautious. Despite the fact that they're vastly outnumbered, these HAWKS are cagey. We can't afford to loose the day to overconfidence."


The USS Henderson shuddered under a barrage of phaser fire from a group of fighters that had strayed too close. Red lights lit up across the Ops officer's control panel, illustrating the growing damage to the ship while giving the Bolian woman operating it a purple hue.


Photon torpedoes streaked out, sending the enemy scrambling into the a web of nearby DOVE phaser fire.


"Engineering to Bridge....I don't know what the hell is going on out there, but we can't take any more shots like that without loosing shields entirely."


"Acknowledged, Mr. Franklin. Just do your best." the Admiral replied as more red blips appeared on the tactical screen.


"HAWKS coming out of warp! They're targeting the MERLOT. Her shields are down to 13%." Flier said looking up from his readouts. "We're going to loose her, Irene. They're gonna push through."


De Mercereau knew that her orders were to remain outside the field of battle with the other command ships and to help move the pieces across the board.


She also knew that she never was any good at playing games.


"Give me full power to aft shields! Helm, take us in as close as you can get. And Mr. Flier..." she said taking her place in the command chair, "...fire at will!"


With a sudden lurch, the aged starship leapt forward, dodging phaser volleys and returning the favor in kind. Hawk forces were caught unaware by the sudden appearance of Mercereau's flagship which to this point appeared to be yet another derelict craft hovering in high orbit.


Moments later, the line restored and a grateful Merlot providing cover, the USS Henderson maneuvered over to her previous station, and had just about nestled into the moons shadow again when Commander Flier registered another contact coming out of warp.


Irene studied the image on the screen as Flier worked to identify the craft hanging quietly outside of the raging battle.


Like most of the fleets former ships, the newcomer was battered and well worn beyond her years, but long forgotten technology seemed to have been used to make some modifications to the craft making her space worthy again.


And that third Nacell looked awfully familiar.


"I don't believe it." Flier announced. "Its the USS GALAXY - D."


"Impossible! The ship vanished years ago." Irene uttered, recalling the controversy of the USS GALAXY - D being ordered to protect the K-19 research station only to vanish with all hands - Including her protege' Captain Pennington when the Hydrans overran the sector.


"DeMercereau to GALAXY. We are damn thrilled to see you."


The view screen flickered and as the Galaxy's bridge appeared, Irene's face went ashen with horror.


"EVASIVE MAN...." she called out before the GALAXY fired its pulse cannon sending a powerful blast of chaotic energy into the Admiral's vessel.


The ships deck plates buckled and screamed as Irene called for the shielding to be evenly distributed again, an order lost in the whine of the USS Galaxy's second and third pulse cannon blasts before she finally succumbed and exploded.


With a lethal grace, the former federation flagship eased into the moon's shadows hiding it from the immediate line of fire of the warring factions.


Facing the surface of the shadow covered side of the moon, the USS GALAXY's phaser banks began relentlessly attacking the planet's crater covered crust.

"A Cat, Pirate, and a Dove"

Captain Alexandra Lee

Captain T'risia

Captain Le'on

Captain T'risia sat in her Big Chair, her eyes watching the main viewer of the Pearl, as her craft flew cloaked, in close formation behind the larger Dove faction craft, the Pegasus. She was impressed by the sheer nerve of the Captain, Ms. Lee, as she made a head on approach to the USS Rome, a Galaxy class vessel. The plan that they had collaborated upon was simple...the Pegasus would make this direct attack, until forced to break off, bringing the cloaked Pearl in close, for a follow up attack. Full of the Strum und Drang that Terrans loved....and made obvious by the punishment that the Pegasus' shields were taking.

"Adjust our relative facing, helm," she called out to the young crewman there. "I want the bow to be angled twenty percent downward incline, relative to the Ecliptic of the Rome." All starfleet vessels tended to attack on an eccliptic, similar to naval vessels, a matter that she wished to exploit.

"Um...do you want me to leave position from behind the Pegasus? Arrr?"

"No, Helm...simply adjust our relative facing. Maintain course and position behind our allies. Use maneuvering thrusters. Mr. Walker, put the tractor beam on standby."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," called the distinguished gentleman at tactical. He did not need to remind T'risia that the system could not be brought online until the cloak was dropped, for lack of power.

Full power had been routed to the forward shields as the Pegasus continued to rock from the onslaught of weapons fire from the Rome. "Helm, break off hard...now!"

The Pegasus pulled away as it continued to lash out with phasers against the Rome, added with a volley of three torpedoes set to detonate only a few meters from the Rome's Shields that would effectively 'blind' the ship as the sensors would be temporarily overloaded for no more than one second...more than enough time for the Pearl to deliver its attack.

Still angled slightly downward, the Black Pearl continued to coast toward the Rome in space, driven more by its own momentum at this point than any intentional firing of the impulse drive. As Lucas Walker expertly deactivated the craft's sophisticated cloaking device, T'risia leaned slightly forward in her seat, studying the viewscreen. "Now would be the time to reel the fish in. Tractor on my mark....Arrr," said the eccentric Vulcan woman.

Quickly, her helmsman responded. "Activate station keeping thrust?"

T'risia's head shook in a sharp negative. "Nay. We can't tow such a whale, or keep it from swimming where it pleases. Maintain tractor beam and go to full impulse, at our current angle relative to the eccliptic of the enemy." Already, the shield were being hammered by the Galaxy class ship's ventral array, battered but holding.

"Aye, Cap'n!" The Vulcan woman's idea was simple, yet effective. Two ships joined by a tractor beam were held together in space, as if, in fact, they were one ship. By enacting a relative vertical dive, the Pearl was rapidly drawn upward, and toward the Galaxy class ship, while the unexpected move would cause the Rome to pitch forward and relative down, exposing its underpowered rear shields to any ship, at say, its initial relative height before its unexpected dive.

Like the Pegasus happened to be.

The much smaller Black Pearl, of course, was drawn toward the USS Rome at an alarming pace. "Cut the line, Mr. Walker," ordered T'risia as the ship loomed dangerously close on the viewer. "Helm, execute a flat spin with maneuvering, bring us around 180 degrees, and use the momentum from our motion to clear the ship." The Vulcan woman described the complex action as if it were a driving lesson of sorts, calmly and cool.

As the Pegasus pulled away, it opened fire with its aft phasers and torpedoes. The Rome was delivering as much punishment as possible with its phasers and torpedoes. Protecting its hull was a solid three feet of Ablative armor

As The Pegasus banked hard and pitched up in a 45 degree angle, its weapons lashed out at the Sovereign Class USS Rome as weapons from the decloaking Black Pearl struck the ship as well.

"Captain, we're being hailed by a ship recognized as the ICS Days of Thunder," the communications officer announced from one of the rear bridge consoles.

Alex nodded. "This is Captain Alexandra Lee of the USS Pegasus. What can we do for you?"

The Cattusian task force had finally broken through to Earth after a long, hard fought battle that was not over yet. "This is Star Captain Le'on Khatowren of the ICS Days of Thunder. My government has opted to side with the Dove Faction and so we are here to render assistance as a gesture of good faith." He said simply while busying himself at the tactical display issuing orders to his ever dwindling fleet. The ship shuddered from the impact of multiple phaser shots from the USS Rome and he responded in kind by having his Saber Class Starship lash out with more torpedoes.

"We could use some help in taking care of the Rome...she's heavily armed, even for a Galaxy Class."

Le'on checked his tactical screen. "I can split off a couple of ships to assist you with the Rome. We have a Galaxy on our tails, the USS Righteous behind us trying to, how you say, pinch us?" he said as his ship shuttered under the impact of more phaser fire. He then spoke into his fleet communications channel. "Talon, Claw, break off and assist Pegasus, all others fall into formation and follow." He glanced at Alex on his auxiliary monitor. "I will get back to you soon comrade..." and then he cut the channel.

Meanwhile, onboard the Black Pearl, T'risia pointed with her cane at the viewscreen. "Fire torpedoes! Arr...!" The brisk command was said in haste, since it would be only moments before the Rome righted herself, and the Galaxy class vessel began to respond effectively with her aft weapons array. As the heavily loaded torpedoes streaked to the weaker aft shield, the unexpected tractor/levering maneuver having revealed them, Mr. Lucas Walker called out from Tactical.

"Cap'n...multiple contacts en route. We haven't added the new boats to the IFF tags yet, arr...!"

T'risia studied the board a moment as the torpedoes careened home, dropping the rear shields of the Rome. "Hit, Cap'n! Er...Arrr!" shouted the newly minted helmsman.

The Vulcan woman arched her brow in response, an completely reasonable response. "Report, Mr. Walker. Arrr," she said in her dry voice, adjusting her tricornered hat.

"Minor damage to her superstructure. Her shield grid looks pretty bad, though. From our position, we could drop the shields and loot one of her computer cores."

"Proceed," nodded the woman in the Big Chair, as she noted some lights upon the tactical array becoming more bright. "Lower the shields, helm, evasive tactics, arrr."

The helmsman's hands began to fly over the console, attempting to determine which direction to direct the Pearl, as at the moment, it was his discretion. "Evasive?"

The small starship rocked more violently than before, as the Rome's aft weapons array sprang to life, and a phaser blast raked the ablative armor surface of the Defiant class vessel. Chips of the matte black ablative plates scattered into space, as the inertial dampeners compensated, making the crew rock. Although the net force of the beam had been dispersed, technology was only so good.

Mr. Walker's dignified mein was more agitated than usual, to be sure. The human was not, after all, of Vulcan teaching. "Cap'n, we have a hull breach below decks. It has been pressurized, but the ablative armor on the ventral surface is seriously depleted!"

T'risia did not look nervous. She never did, after all. The dark haired woman turned in her chair. "Do we have the core? Arr?"

"Confirmed. Secondary computer core looted, Cap'n! Arrr!"

She nodded. Cores from three craft...it might be enough, when correlated. "Raise shields then. Full impulse to evasive...it is getting very busy in these waters, gentlemen. Let us cloak, and depart. Arrr."

"We're green on shields and impulse," Lucas announced as the ship began to dodge, no longer relying solely on ablative armor. "The cloak is offline for the moment, however. Broken EPS conduit on the dorsal surface."

T'risia leaned backward in her command chair, her green eyes considering things beyond her. "arrr."

"The Black Pearl is making a run out of the system, captain," the tactical officer of the Pegasus announced.

"Typical Pirates," Alex commented. "Torpedoes, full spread at the Rome. Lets finish her off."

The Pegasus launched a volley of eight torpedoes at the Rome. The large Galaxy Class vessel seemed to shake visibly from the impact with several explosions on the hull from forming breaches.

As the Pegasus came about she unleashed another volley of Phaser and torpedo fire. The phasers finally bore a hole through the shields, allowing the torpedoes to pass by and find their intended marks as they bore into the armor and hull of the Rome's connecting hull between the primary and secondary hulls, which was sometimes referred to as the 'neck' on a Galaxy Class Vessel, and detonated. The resulting explosion reached the stored torpedoes, causing them to detonate as well as debris from the explosion ruptured into the torpedoes' detonation chambers and warheads. The secondary explosion, literally ripped the Rome in half. As the two damaged hulls drifted apart, the warp core in the secondary hull went critical, destroying the hull and its shockwave, destroying the saucer section.

"That did it, captain!" the tactical officer announced cheerfully, and then his cheerfullness disappeared almost instantly. "Captain, theres a large incoming vessel, identified as 'The Boss', and shes coming right at us at full speed!"

"Evasive maneuvers. Target the ship and fire! Route all availiable power to shields," Alexandra commanded.

“And I shall rain down fire from the heavens to smite thee…”

The Messenger

==========

Outside Grand Junction, Colorado…

The sun had risen over the Scorched Earth once again, giving the skies its now familiar reddish hue. The Messenger slept briefly last night, falling into the familiar nightmares of the past before waking up in a sheen of sweat and continuing on. His nightmares seemed to plague him more and more these days, which only spurred him on to do the Church’s work with zealous fervor. After a brief breakfast of hardened bread and water and his morning prayers, he continued westward. The battle still raged in the space overhead, but he paid it no mind even if it did seem to be intensifying.

By the time noon had rolled around, he was within sight of the small town of Grand Junction which lies relatively near the old Colorado-Utah boarder. It was about then when the distinctive sound of a couple of women screaming made it to his ears. He looked off into the distance to where the sound came from and his eyes narrowed behind his shades.

Slaver Gang… and a decent sized one at that…

He broke into an all out run so that he could intercept them. If it was one thing that he hated more than the so-called Starfleet Death Squads it was the Slaver Gangs that had popped up. They were ugly brutes of men that went around terrorizing towns in order to kidnap women and children to sell on the galactic black market. The Messenger knew he was being sent west for a reason. This was more than likely one of those reasons.

It took him all of about ten minutes to get ahead of them on the main road that led in and out of Grand Junction, if one could call anything ‘grand’ on this planet anymore. If anything, the town barely survived like many towns nowadays. He’d been there quite often and had come to know some of the townsfolk. He’d be damned if he’d let this gang get away without retribution of some sorts. The gang was heading back east, probably to whatever hellhole of a hideout they called home. He now was the only thing standing between them and their getaway.

The Messenger stood their defiantly with his arms crossed and waited for their rabble of a gang to pull up on their hoverbikes. The leader (he presumed as he was the biggest, ugliest, and was on the lead bike) looked him up and down as he stopped his bike and got off. “What the frak do you want, punk?” he spat out.

“You have sinned against the Lord Almighty and against His children.” The Messenger said calmly. He pointed to the ground. “Fall to your knees and repent now and thus your life shall be spared.”

The gang leader threw back his head and laughed. “You got balls boy. But I ain’t geeting on my knees for anyone. Quite the opposite in fact.” He jerked a pudgy thumb over his shoulder. “Only people gettin on their knees around here will be the ladies we got in the back. If yer a good boy and get out of our way, we might be nice and let you have one of them.”

“You’ll be giving me all of them and you’re not going to make a fuss out of it.” The Messenger said.

“Or else what?” the gang leader sneered. “You gonna call on ‘God’ to smite us?”

It was then that a bright red beam struck the earth squarely on the gang leader, vaporizing him, his bike, and about three members of his gang. The Messenger felt the heat from the phaser blast wash over him. He was quite safe where he was at, but he swore that his hair and eyebrows were probably singed from being that close. Any closer and he would’ve spontaneously combusted along with the gang members. He looked up to the sky. “Woah… How ironic is THAT!?” he commented. Someone in orbit was starting to do planetary bombardment. He did not have much time if they were targeting population centers. That one blast was probably a stray shot, but he could work with it.

He looked at the remaining members of the gang; who were all sitting there on their hoverbikes with stupefied looks on their faces. “Any other comments from the peanut gallery? Are you going to fry in hell with your leader, or repent now and be saved?” he asked, stepping around the smoldering crater in the ground.

At once, every single gang member threw down their weapons and fell to their knees with their hands folded before them and their heads bowed down in prayer. They all started confessing to sins ranging from being the second gunman on the grassy knoll when President Bacco was assassinated at New Texas to being a bad person for forgetting to write home to their mothers that eventually led to their lives of crime. The Messenger felt their sincerity so he blessed them all, led them all in a group prayer, gave them communion, and then recruited them into his service.

“Get those shackles off of those women!” he commanded at once. “And for God’s sake, clothe them. Then we will all get back to Grand Junction and evacuate the town before they become casualties in this.” He said, directing their attention to the planetary bombardment going off in the distance to the west.

“Where the hell will we take them to?” one former gang member asked.

“Sanctuary, in the mountains.” The Messenger said.

“Sanctuary is a myth!”

“You will go east until you think you’ve gone too far and then you’ll keep going. You’ll run into the city patrols there.” The Messenger snapped. He took out a medallion from his belt pouch and tossed it to the one who spoke up. “When you get back to Grand Junction, give that to the Priest there, he will assist you in your new crusade to get those people to safety.”

“What about you? You’re not coming with us?”

“I got more to save to the west. I need your hoverbike.” He got the fastest one left in the gang and after bidding them farewell and Godspeed, he kicked the hoverbike into full speed and continued west.

He just prayed that there would be people left in San Francisco to save.

"Creation"

[Occurs an hour after 'A Vanishing of Stars']

Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff

*****

Xellos System
Xellos IV
Krieghoff Residence

Space.

The final frontier.

Vast.

Expansive.

Green.

Even in his sleep, Angelienia's warm form wrapped around his, the
universe was green to Victor.

Green.

The color of life.

The color of death.

Forever intertwined.

A green whole that he had been able to see for decades, but had
understood for somewhat less than that.

Most nights his dreams were green, now. Green fields and lush jungles
where he danced the Dance of Creation, bringing new life into the world,
into the Universe.

The fact that when he dreamed he was blue, and had too many arms and an
extra eye was irrelevant. After all, compared to important things, what
was an extra eye or arms? Or being blue? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Other nights though, he danced a different dance in his dreams, the dark
dance, the Dance of Destruction. They were few and far between now,
those dreams. He still chose for those that were his, chose to let them
move on or let them stay, but the dark side, the part of him that was
the Destroyer, was gone now, had been gone for years. He'd lost it to
another, who'd been consumed by it because it was not his, was not a
part of him.

But still, on nights when the green of the Universe was dark, he dreamed
of the Darkness, remembered it, and could almost reach out and touch it.

Tonight, though, he was unprepared for it to touch him.

He'd continued choosing for those that were his as he faded from making
love to his wife to the sleep that his body still needed occasionally,
the part of him that wasn't from this universe making the choices as he
would have because it was, in truth, him. They were one, had been one,
and he'd known what that made him for years... since the day Angelienia
had died the first time and he'd refused to let her go, had held her
here so that her body could be repaired.

Life and Death.

Creation and Destruction.

The Chooser of the Slain, the Giver of Life.

Fueled by Fear and Death, driven to protect Life.

He was...

...sitting upright in bed, tumbling his wife to the floor, his burning
green eyes wide open but seeing noting around him, the words he'd only
said on one occasion falling from his lips like razor-edged hail around
him:

"I am Created Shiva, the Destroyer; Death, the shatterer of worlds."

As the echoes of the words faded, and his wife's worried questions
started, he shuddered once at the wound to the green, green universe he
saw, wept inside for the loss that he'd been unable to stop, the lives
he'd been unable to save...

And knew that he was no longer alone.

"Recovering the Package"

Fleet Admiral Elaithin Jii
Allison von Ernst

with:
Lieutenant Elaithin Aria
Commander Elaithin Toryl

EARTH
SAN FRANCISCO
RUINS OF STARFLEET ACADEMY

--

He remembered this tree.

Sitting under a tall oak in the southeastern corner of the Academy drill field had been where young as a young cadet he finally figured out the difference between being a follower, and being a leader of men.

It had been an epiphany. One that came to every great commander at some point in his career, and he had been fortunate that he learned that lesson early on.

That was long ago.

Fleet Admiral Elaithin Jii was heading steadily toward his mid-50s, according to his birth records -- and was several years into them, temporally-speaking. He remained, however, every bit the imposing figure he's always been: tall, solid, combat-ready and battle scarred. He wore his hair longer these days and it, as well as his full beard, bore traces of silver-grey, but otherwise little had visibly changed since he took command of the Miranda more than twenty-years earlier.

The 'epiphany tree' was dead now of course. Much of the lush green foliage that had once decorated the lawns and fields of Starfleet Academy had long ago vanished into the toxic clouds and acid rains that pelted the seaside community.

The quaint collection of dormitories and classrooms where as a youth he had struggled to become a man, were now nothing more than darkened husks of duracrete rubble and steel.

Shell Pockmarks and craters dotted the area. Not for the first time in the last 10 years, the Academy had become a battleground. The smoldering remains of the dead Dragoon still sizzled to itself on the south lawn, while further back in the shadows, the Admiral could make out older wrecks from previous engagements.

Tanks…crashed shuttles….more shattered Dragoons.

And always the bones.

The bloodstained remains of last night's victims would join the ever-wising piles of skulls that collected in the shadow of every San Francisco building nowadays.

The Skinnies were out there: the rabid cannibalistic children of the 25th century waiting for the 'sky people' to depart so that they might feast on the newly dead.

Earth…what a horror it had become.

He had come to meet them planet-side, something he rarely managed to do these day; his wife did her best to keep him well insulated, and he did his best to undermine those attempts. It wasn't dissimilar from how they had always worked. She was paranoid, he was cavalier; she was the spook, he was the cowboy. Though, in the past year or two he had let her sway him more often -- losing a son was sure to change some things. Maybe it was his own awareness, maybe it was out of care for her. There was only so much she could take.

Admiral Elaithin watched passively as the dragoons came roaring to the meeting sight; one down, from the looks of things. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened, a flicker of regret that no one would see if they weren't looking for it. All these years, he still felt every casualty. That, he said, is what set them apart from the other side. Compassion, care for mortal life. A belief in something better. Idealism.

"We should make this fast as possible," the young woman standing at his side said as they watched the belching behemoths shudder to their rest. "We're already reading Hawk activity tracking us and they're steam-rolling into the sector. If--"

"Which one of us has been doing shit like this for forty years, Lieutenant?" he asked, raising his brow as he looked to his eldest daughter. Lieutenant Elaithin Aria responded with an expression reminding him that he could kid himself all he wanted -- she was her mother's little girl through and through, despite how much any of them would rather forget it at times. He chuckled low as he diverted his attention back toward the soldiers extracting themselves from the machines.

"I'm just saying. You're not the one she'll send to Breen-Occupied Wherever if this goes south. And I'd really rather not do that again."

"Hm," he grunted, knowing full-well Aria's intelligence assignments took her many unsavory places -- none of them anywhere near Breen-Occupied space. "Just means you wouldn't be the one stuck living with her," Jii said. He glanced at her once more, eyes gleaming though his expression remained as steely as ever. "I win."

She cursed under her breath, offering an oath in the jumbled ancient-Bajoran she picked up from her mother long, long ago.

"Now, now, that's no way to talk about your admiral, Lieutenant."

"Just tell me you give Toryl this hard a time, because I hate to think I'm the only of the si --" she cleared her throat, "five of us."

"I get far worse, actually," the baritone stated as Commander Elaithin Toryl appeared, pulling off the gloves of his flak combat uniform. Several other officers followed him, though a few stayed with the mechanical beasts, monitoring the data coming in from the Sol defenses. Aria's eyes drifted with her father's to settle on the small blond girl trembling next to her big brother.

"Admiral. Let me introduce you to Allison von Ernst," Toryl said.

She was young. Younger than he expected really, nothing more than a teenager. The tattered remains of what 24 hours ago had probably been an expensive outfit hung in ribbons around her trembling limbs. Somewhere along the way she had lost a shoe, but the other was a scuffed up high heel number that looked strangely out of place amongst the ruins, something that the Admiral hadn't seen in years.

She really had come across time… just like Daren said she would.

What was Rebecca planning to do with her?

Admiral Elaithin stepped forward, a hundred thoughts drifting. He remembered Rebecca von Ernst from the early days on the Galaxy, long before Hoth and Bhrodie dug their talons into her. She'd been a mousy, timid thing then. Times changed. Looking at this girl -- 16, if he remembered right -- he could see more than a little bit of her mother: the pale skin, the skinny frame. But even trembling in fear, she had a fire that Rebecca never had. Allison von Ernst had passionate fight behind her, a stark contrast to the dead-eyed calculating murder her mother committed.

He extended a hand toward her with a sad smile that was as warm as he could make it. "I'm Admiral Elaithin Jii of the Starfleet Ship Miranda. Allison, we're going to keep you safe. You have my word."

Finding more bravery than she really felt, Alli slapped the offered hand. "Keep your zarking mitts off me buckaroo!" she snapped, voice quivering a bit.

'Zarking mitts?' Aria mouthed toward her older half-brother, her brow furrowed as she tried to resist the urge to take this girl to the ground for her actions; Toryl discreetly managed a shrug, his widened eyes communicating that the past ten or fifteen minutes of his life had been far from a quiet picnic.

"You tell me I'm going to be safe?" the girl's high-pitched voice continued. "Hel-lo! Ever since I set foot in Bizarro World here, I've been shot at, blown up, almost eaten by the kindergarten cannibals, and now almost stepped on by the Tin Man on steroids." She jerked a thumb back at a rumbling Dragoon. "But YOU are going to keep me safe?"

"I'll do my damnedest, yes," Jii said. "Obviously, this isn't the Earth you left. But we'll be able to discuss that more once we get you back to the ship."

Alli crossed her arms. "Where am I really? I was supposed to be met at the Hawksley Industries Research Station on Alpha Centauri. I was supposed to meet my mother there, retired Captain Rebecca von Ernst… look her up."

The uneasy glances that passed amongst the assembled were lost on the young girl. "My uncle, Victor Krieghoff is also supposed to be picking me up… they're going to be like totally worried to death, and hel-lo can we talk about damages here… Who's going to replace my shoes?"

There was too much information there to delve into at the moment; it would all have to be saved for the debrief. He dimly heard Aria whisper Krieghoff's name under her breath and tried to ignore it.

"I guarantee that Victor would rather we find you than the other people who're looking for you," Jii assured. "And we'll find you some shoes."

"Oh, really?" Alli demanded with a sharp, incredulous tone. This 'G' asshole was taking her fashion emergency far too lightly. "And just where are you going to find a BLOOMINGDORF'S on this zarking hellhole?"

"You could probably pinch something from Mom's closet," Aria said, glancing at her father with a smug smirk. "But I don't think she's worn pink and sparkly since she was eight." Her eyes narrowed back at the teenage child in front of her. "So you might have to just cope with something that doesn't match your outfit."

Allison clearly had a retort in mind, but she was interrupted from issuing it when a call from a nearby officer drew everyone's attention.

"Admiral! Fleet Comm reports a Hawk Dreadnought dropping out of warp… shit… excuse me, sir, but it's… it's the SHIVA."

The mood got real cold real quickly. Suddenly, sitting exposed on the planet didn't seem like a great place to be anymore.

"Commander Elaithin," the admiral said, as he rest a hand on the teenage girl's shoulder and, against her protests, lead her toward the armored shuttle waiting for them, "you're with us. Let's make our rendezvous. 'Commander Grox, take command of this squadron."

"Yes sir," Grox said, nodding at the eight men in the Dragoon command. "Fall out."

"I don't like leaving my people, Admiral," Toryl muttered under his breath, long in the habit of calling his father by rank.

"Believe me, I understand that," Jii said, ushering everyone into place, Aria taking over the handling of the 'package' as their communications would refer to the teenage girl. "But we lost Wilco a couple days ago. I need you back at CAG. Besides that. Your wife's been driving me crazy."

"I never knew you to make a habit of giving in to difficult women," Toryl joked as he carried up the rear and called for the door closure. Aria had already slid into the pilot's seat and was initiating start-up while a pair of security officers got Allison settled against her protests, which were going all-but ignored.

"Son, have you met me?" Jii asked, raising his brow. "I've got nothing but difficult women in my life, and if I have the opportunity to relieve myself of one of them -- I'm damn well going to take it." He looked over his shoulder. "Lieutenant, enough with the obsessive-compulsive check-list -- take us up, now, before you can't anymore."

"Yes sir," Aria chimed. "You should strap yourself in -- this might get a little interesting."

Jii dropped himself into the co-pilot's seat. "Define interesting," the admiral said as he glanced back momentarily at the people they carried -- at the one in particular. She glared back at him, her pretty pixish face twisted in irritation and fear.

Aria looked at her father, a bemused expression on her face as she lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. "Do you really need me to do that?"

"Oh Gods. Oh Gods. We're all gonna die," Toryl deadpanned. "Just get us back to The Bird, sis."

"Yes sir, commander, sir," she intoned, and initializing thrusters she took them up and out of earth's atmosphere.

"A Fire Subdued"

Arel Smith
Jan Hoffman Spengler

****

chonnaQ freighter,
leaving Klingon space

****

The sonic showers aboard the frieghter usually ran at a 55%
efficiency, which was decent enough - if you didn't mind the ear
piercing shrill that went along with it.

The crew had thankfully sent up two buckets of melted down ice - the
primary purpose of the chonnaQ was water collection - and Arel had
left Spengler to his bath after suggesting that he start with cleaning
his hair first. Arel sat on the bed and gazed off at a scorch mark on
the wall. She'd taken off her coat, gloves, and boots but hadn't
gotten much further and frankly either he'd help her with that or he
wouldn't.

She wasn't quite sure which option she wanted.

Spengler eventually exited the bathroom and she pushed the small plate
of food his way. "Eat."

The old Prussian sighed visbly. "Five years of Rura Penthe, and the
first thing I get after being released is your cooking? It's a joke
ja?"

Nevertheless he did dig into the mash hungrily.

"So then." he chewed slowly, "How's your dad?" his blue eyes flashed
knowingly. "Nice visit?"

"I've had better."

"Killed him yes?"

Arel couldn't work herself up to anger. After all, the man had been in
a cage for years, one that her father had kept him in. "Yes."

"What a dutiful daughter you are, Liebchen. A pity we never had kids
you and I, to return the favor so to speak." Spengler stirred his
mash, wondering idly how much she'd spit into it. "Did you not get a
pony as a little girl?"

"He never really recovered after Qo'Nos and then his mind started to
slip," Arel stated. She was aware that the tone was wrong, that the
pacing was almost mechanic. She might have called it shock but there
was probably nothing in the universe that could shock her anymore. "It
was quick and honorable. What more can anyone ask for?"

The spoon clinked into the bottom of the bowl. "What more? Perhaps to
live ja? But then again I have always maintained that Klingons are too
cowardly to face any challenge other than from a position of strength.
If the odds are not in their favor...if they are feeling under the
weather...best to take the cowards way out nicht wahr?"

She didn't reply. He knew well enough that the warrior code was what
had kept her alive all these years. That and him, of course. "There's
wine in that bottle over there. I think." Sam always sent Arel a
bottle on her birthday; never told her what kind it was though.

"Wine." the thought appealed to Spengler, and he reached out to
examine the label. Nothing came out of Earth anymore these days, but
there were still some nice off-world vineyards out there. It had been
years.

For the first time in several hours, Arel looked almost amused. "Were
you trying to piss me off?"

"Trying? I believe in the past it always came naturally, my dear." He
studied her for a moment and suddenly realized what else he hadn't
done in years.

"Forget the wine for a moment and be a good girl and bend over the
table for me ja? Something just came up."

Arel just raised an eyebrow.

"Well honestly, my dear, I'm surprised I didn't think of it sooner. I
am afraid to say that I'm getting older." A sly smile crossed his
face, "Or should I say you're getting quite older looking yourself,
and it took me a bit to look past the wrinkles and grey hair. Still I
think I can force myself ….. any port in a storm, yes?"

He fiddled theatrically with his belt buckle. "It will be like old
times, my dear. Blood and broken bones…..all mine naturally. Do I need
to get you a cup for your teeth first though?"

"Still all mine," Arel replied in a casual tone which was all the
warning he got before he found himself knocked backwards and off the
bed. When the air finally found its way back into his lungs, Spengler
looked over to see her frowning at the opened bottle. "I think it's
Romulan."

"So much the better." he squeaked, taking inventory of his parts.
"I've always liked Romulan, but you're changing the subject."

Straightening up, he padded his way back over to Arel and after
cocking his head sideways to consider her for a moment, he hauled back
and smashed her back into the wall with a backhanded fist.

"Beautiful." he rubbed his knuckles a bit, "I've really missed these
discussions, my grey haired bitty. Tell me grandmother…is this one of
our fights that leads to fucking, or is this just one of the ones
that's putting one of us in the hospital…they do tend to look alike at
times, yes?"

Arel wiped her bloody nose with her sleeve. That had triggered
something at least.

"I'm not really sure." Her eyes narrowed and she widened her stance.
"Let's find out."

***

She stayed in his arms, not exactly restful but at least more at ease.
"Told you the teeth were real."

"Surprising mien frau, considering the abuses you put them through. I
half expected you to file them to point by now. " Spengler reached
back to scratch at his shoulder, still bleeding slightly. "So then, I
am assuming you didn't not come all the way across the quadrant for a
mere 'booty call' I think you call it, yes? What is it you desire
from me?

"I want you to stay with me. Come fight for Jii."

There was a sharp barking laughter. "Jii is it? Are you here to
seduce me to the side of good to fight for truth and justice? Come
now liebchen, you know me better than that. In fact I think I know
you better than that. What's the real angle? Seeking to go out in a
blaze of honorable glory? No thank you. Too many forgotten martyrs
these days…the fashion has quite gone out of style."

Arel closed her eyes. "I agree. Jii didn't ask for you. Chances are he
won't be happy with me for setting you free."

"You see….already I have issues with his judgment. I for one am quite
happy to be out amongst the living. But what is this really? Trying
to save the galaxy? How unlike you."

A pause.

"The universe could burn and I could care less. I have no vengeance,
no empathy, nothing save honor and a duty that binds me until death,"
She said on a sigh. "And I have many, many years left in me. At least
you would make them interesting."

"Do not bore me woman." The Prussian disengaged himself from her arms,
and begun digging around the bedside table for a pack of cigarettes.
"You are mildly amusing and useful to me, Arel. I prefer things kept
on that level of mutual abuse ja?"

Words, like blades, had always been her strong suit - except around
Spengler. He'd either stay or he wouldn't, his will had never been
changed by anything she said. But she couldn't keep herself from
trying. "I've been cold ever since you've been gone."

The kick that sent her sailing from bed and onto the floor was not
gentle. "Mien Gott woman! What a pathetic kitten you have become in
my absence! Has you Klingon spirit been so crushed that you run
mewling from lover to lover like some damnable teenage girl?"

He struck a match and lay back shaking his head, inhaling the noxious
fumes deeply. "What a waste, Arel. What an old woman you have
become. Shall I beat you to see if there is still fire in your belly?
I think perhaps you have lost your way since I have been gone.
Perhaps I shall stick around after all….it seems you need reminding
what it is to be free ja?"

She rubbed the hip she had landed on and tried to decide what emotion
she was feeling. Then gave up. Since her clothes were on the floor,
Arel decided to pull them on. "There is no free, Spengler. You're just
in a larger cage."

She raised an eyebrow when he didn't answer. "The Captain of this ship
has orders to take you wherever you want."

Arel left the room quietly.

For a long time afterwards Jan Hoffman Spengler lay in bed, watching
the warm grey smoke twist its way around his cigarette and up to the
ceiling. He wondered why Arel's words stung him. After all what was
she but another woman? She was nothing important. Why then did he have
the urge to go after her?

To punch her lights out?

To throw her to the floor and ravage her?

Both?

Instead he lay in bed watching the smoke. Sometimes that was the best option.

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