And now she was being lectured by some prick about what was lost. A prick lecturing her from the safe pulpit of Bolarus none the less. It was easy for him to say they had to hunt the Shiva down... if they were destroyed in the process he'd still be around to regroup.

Still, all the reasoning aside, she was too freaking tired, and too freaking stressed to deal with this crap.

"Fine, fine, fine!" Her hands covered her eyes, struggling to keep welling tears at bay. "Two days. Brooklyn out."

It was normally detrimental to one's career to 'hang up' on an Admiral, but Sophie didn't care anymore. She wasn't going to let an Admiral see her cry, and she needed a good cry. She rested her head in her hands, and just let everything go. The image in the small, lighted mirror on her desk did not come off as very flattering, the face of a woman of mixed southern and northern European heritages staring back at her with blue-hazel eyes.

This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Something told her that much.

Lost in her own thoughts, Sophie never heard the door open.

"Everything okay skip?"

"Mmhmm." She quickly ran her sleeve over her eyes, silently grateful not to be wearing make-up, before giving her former deputy chief engineer an attempt at a smile. "Just a lot of things on my mind. We've been given new orders."

"Oh." The newly minted Chief Engineer, Archimedes Mosakis, frowned. "I guess this means we're expected to head back out again?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll get the ship ready for the new skipper."

"There won't be one." Sophie resettled herself in her chair. "They want us to head out in two days to join the rest of the Dove fleet, we have two days to make what upgrades and repairs we can before pulling out for the rendezvous."

"Oh." Archie shrugged. "What can you do, eh? Let me guess... Admiral Bhrode and Admiral Janeway were caught sleeping with each other at the public baths on Alpha Centauri, so the whole fleet is being assembled to take pictures thus fulfilling Admiral Oquendo's sick fantasies vicariously?"

One couldn't help but laugh, even if just a little bit. She probably should've told him what the actual mission was... but knowing Von Ernst's reputation, and being afraid enough on her own without needing a panicking crew, Sophie decided against it. "Something like that. You know Archie, that's the sickest thing I've ever heard you say... and that's really an accomplishment."

"Even sicker than when I showed you that med-student's picture of the Medusan wang?"

"All right, that's it." Sophie threw her hands up. "No queesying out the skipper before lunch."

Then came that sarcastic 'gotcha' smirk that somehow put you at ease. "Yes ma'am."

"I... umm..." She rubbed the back of her neck in thought, taking a deep and (hopefully) cleansing breath as the amount of work that had to get done fell into order in her mind. It came with being an engineer... an innate understanding of how to order things, that was. "I guess we should pull a bunch of the guys together, get some advisors from tactical and operations... the SIF is going to need to be enhanced which likely necessitates an upgrade in our M.A.R.A. We might want to ask the starbase to scrounge up some additional shield generators... something with a higher capacity than our current models. Same would go for phaser emitters. We'll need to make somewhat decent repairs to the sensor grid... we took a pounding when we ran up against the Lazhou. We'll have to recalibrate life support to be more efficient if possible... damn it Archie this would be a year long project if we had the benefit of a full starbase and a battalion of yard workers."

"I know, but we don't. So let's see what we can do."
=======================================================

(U.S.S. Brooklyn, N.C.C. 31909- Berth 3 at the Tau Ceti Fleet Maintenance Yards, 2 Days later)

Starbase Tau Ceti was actually originally a planet side facility only, designed to build the Federation's 'surface transit' fleet. In essence, shuttles, runabouts, fighters, that sort of thing. During the Dominion War, as Starship designs began incorporating facilities for the ad hoc construction of auxiliary craft, in order to maintain purpose the Starbase began an improvement program. As the war progressed, the need for starship production and repair facilities grew dramatically. Tau Ceti invested in four high-orbit berths outfitted for small ship construction, up to 300 meters in length. This made it a hot bed for the production of the starlet Defiant Class, the ship that 'was' the Starfleet Defense against the Jem H'adar if you watched the archive reels. It also made it a favorite place for the repair and upgrading of some of Starfleet's older small designs, chief among them the aging Miranda Class ships.

Like the rest of the former worlds of the UFP, Tau Ceti had fallen on hard times, and it's small facilities were in need of major repair and redesign. The Civil War didn't allow for that though, as Tau Ceti was a major Dove base of operations extremely close to Hawk territory. They kept building and repairing what they could, the way they had since the 2380's when the last refit had been approved.

Occupying Berth 3 was the USS Brooklyn, every available person working around the clock to provide her the repairs and upgrades needed not so much to 'win' the day, but to 'survive' the day.

It was hard to believe 2 days had passed already.

On a severe caffine trip, Sophie had to be reminded a couple of times that they had just 8 hours left. That was, 'if' they actually ended up meeting the fleet. And of all their improvements, nothing had actually been tested yet. 'It'll work' she kept repeating to herself, like she did when she was drunk. 'It'll work.'

The crew, God bless them, had served valiantly with little resources, and despite clearly deteriorating morale.

The Admiral, barring being irrational, was good to his word. The yard workers and station CO were firmly ready to provide whatever they could to the Brooklyn's staff. The main industrial replicator unit planet side had been working non-stop, while salvage parties had been going through the planet side base's wealth of old wrecks to obtain those parts they might need that weren't replicable.

Warp coil sections 3 and 8 were replaced with less 'slightly used' sections from a half canibalized Centaur class ship.

The actual Matter/Anti-Matter Reaction Assembly had been swapped out for a Defiant Class version, providing significantly higher yields and efficiency settings when properly modified. To compensate for the increased power, the Brooklyn's main power conduits were reinforced or replaced with those from the cannibalized vessel, and the main and auxiliary power grids were fused together to provide a much greater 'dispersion' of energy effect.

Plates of ablative armor, those not ruined in whatever scrape that doomed their donor vessel to the trash heap, were ripped apart from the vessels hulk, instead being transplanted to critical parts of the Brooklyn's outer hull.

What remained of its tactical sensors and torpedo launchers were likewise borrowed and installed on the Brooklyn, though it took a great deal of 'creative redesign' to make them fit. The launchers were installed on hard points placed on the side of the ship, dorsal, at an angle to provide an optimum firing arc. Housing pods were hastily constructed which was nothing more than the torpedo units from the Defiant Class with reprogrammed automated loaders, sheathed in spare titanium and duranium alloy.

The Type X phaser banks were taken to replace the dorsal main array, and the two 'point' arrays on the roll-bar. The infamous pulse phaser cannons were mounted in a 'turret pod' which was hardwired into the main hull through the ventral captain's yacht port.

Several of the ventral phaser emitters that had burned out during the fight with the Lazhou were replaced with spares borrowed from the recently wrecked 'Niagara', hull plates and beams of which were borrowed to harden and replace damaged parts on the Brooklyn.

The SIF was replaced with a model from an unfinished Intrepid class that never made it off the assembly line.

To make up for the added strain all the additional equipment brought, engineers meticulously checked the space frame of the Brooklyn, reinforcing it as needed... which was frequently. The internal structure of the Brooklyn was littered with numerous micro-fractures, each of which required mending. It was an insane amount of work to get accomplished in 48 hours, but they'd found a way... in theory anyway.

Sophie wiped some of the grime from her brow as she tended to the latest micro-fracture detected in Brooklyn's skeletal structure. Benjamin Franklin put it perfectly in his analogy 'for want of the nail... the war was lost.' On starships, all systems were interlinked to some extent. For instance, a micro-fracture in one of the primary frame beams could extend to a full fracture under stress. That full fracture, now unable to bear the mass upon it, could collapse or buckle, leading to a hull breech. That hull breech could kill crew or damage critical systems, in turn endangering the ship.

In short, it was best for the 120 crew members of the Brooklyn to make sure everything was as close to orderly as possible.

Archie placed another mug of coffee next to her as she finished the last spot weld, shutting the plasma torch off and lifting the face guard to give a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He leaned back against the bulkhead. "So... we have 12 hours of repairs to make in 8 hours at this point. How do you want to handle things?"

"Focus on the hull for now, that's our big problem. Get everything physically in place, we'll iron out the other difficulties on the way, and test everything on the run."

"So... the usual, eh?"

"Pretty much." She nodded in agreement. "Do the impulse engines still work?"

"Those I can guarantee, as well as Emergency power." He chuckled. "If we stall out, we'll have an hour to either get back to base or abandon ship."

"Joy." She sighed not for the first time that day... days... whatever. "Quit gabbing and grab a tool kit, will ya?

~Let’s Make a Deal~

T'Pei
T'risia

===========================
Vulcan, 2402

1900 hours

When she saw that the courtyard was empty, she turned back, moving into the shadows cast by the building. The wall had not yet lost the day's desert heat, and T'Pei leaned against it, soaking up the warmth like a lizard.

She was exhausted. The stress of being on Vulcan, of hiding her emotions, of worrying about the Hercules, and Earth, and time travel...they had collectively drained her. Her
indignation at both T'risia's proposed deal and Haight's accusations had quickly faded, leaving only the desire to get this meeting over with, to return to Chris and see him
safe with her own eyes. Their argument did not matter, nothing mattered anymore, if she could just rest.

'Soon,' she thought, pushing away from the wall. 'One last duty to perform here.' Changing her demeanor like clothing, she slipped into Vulcan rigidity, her back straightening and her face hardening, holding just the right amount of proper Dove derision for the woman she was going to see.

The slender, graceful form of T'risia, Pirate Queen, resplendent in her full, tattered pirate regalia, beamed in from her spacecraft's hidden location, holding, incongruously, a jar of dirt, as she leaned heavily on her cane. She took a few plodding steps forward, her innate grace hampered by the crutching along. Raising her glance to T'Pei, she said, loudly, as she bowed, "Hail and well met, milady. Arr. I trust that this day finds you feeling well and hearty? I would wish you peace and long life, but we will have neither, saavy?" The Vulcan pirate arched a brow, and her piercing green eyes regarded the other.

"You are late," T'Pei observed flatly, ignoring her greeting.

"Intriguing," replied the woman, adjusting her hat. "For a frequent time traveler, one loses track of the concept of lateness. I trust that we can still do business, despite my temporal inaccuracies?" Her characteristic lack of any emotion belied her bantering words. T'risia had spent many, many hours practicing witty banter, and although she had memorized a great deal, she had not yet the timing that a sense of humor would provide.

It was just as well, then, that comedic timing would have been wasted on her current audience.

"On what evidence do you base your assumption that I would do business with a criminal, T'risia?"

"I assure you, my pretty, my logic is as sound as ever," began T'risia, despite her practiced words, still failing in intonation. "My premises are threefold, like the sails of a stout ship. Firstly, I have a map that you would do well to lay your proverbial hands upon, for the sake of your side in the faction conflict...." She made a vague, Keith Richards like gesture, still leaning heavily on her cane. "...that encapsulates the Federation. Such as it is. Secondly, I am in possession with a number of your opponents' computer cores, which would be a big help, to be sure, to one who desires to know the thoughts of their enemy. Just scored those in the Battle over Earth...you might have noticed it. And thirdly," T'risia rocked slightly as if unsteady, and clutched her jar of dirt, "I have this jar of dirt. This jar of dirt is most important, in fact, premiere in my negotiating strategem. But we needn't get to that business, the jar...all you need to do, for me, is repair my craft, the Pearl."

In response, T'Pei raised an incredulous eyebrow. The younger woman seemed quite serious about this deal, although that hardly inspired confidence, as she also seemed quite
serious about her outfit, and that jar of dirt. "You realize that Vulcan will not allow you to repair your ship here," she observed, calmly clasping her hands behind her back. "If I assist you, I will be committing treason."

"Oh, of course. Treason, treason, treason. It is not treason provided you are victorious. When you win, they tend to make you a bold patriot, and rewrite history for you. Perhaps, should you use my star chart, you could rewrite history yourself."

'What are you planning, T'risia?' T'Pei wondered as she studied her former acquaintance. They had been friendly once, back when T'risia was merely eccentric, harboring an
excessive fascination with both Earth and 8-ball. Now though, she was unbalanced, untrustworthy, unpredictable. It was the last that unnerved T'Pei, causing her to question how much logic actually remained under the pirate's emotionless exterior, and how much had been lost to compulsion.

"I require more information," she began, cognizant of Haight's orders to find out as much
as possible. "What, specifically, do you have to offer?"

"Besides the Star Chart and cores?" T'risia set down her jar of dirt, and began unscrewing the lid, slowly, and cautiously. "You drive a hard bargain, but I suppose that I will have to concede some things, for the value of what I am getting." She gave an exaggerated, and false sigh as she unscrewed the lid of the jar. The emulation of emotions, but only that, and poorly done. As she worked, she finally tugged the top free, and poured out the dirt, within the pile, finding a communications device attached to a tricorder by jury rig.

"See this?" she said, with exaggerated care. "It monitors my life signs, as well as whether I am transported by any beam not emanating from the Black Pearl's own console. It also transmits on a secure channel, very hard to do, I hope that you concede the elegance...to a high yield quantum device currently located in Shi'Kahr. Did you know that I am from Shi'Kahr? One of the few portions of Vulcan really intact."

T'Pei froze, watching in horrified silence as the pirate took up her cane again. "It will be hard to find the device, I assure you. Childhood hiding places, you know the
way. I will leave Shi'Kahr unbroken....and never return to Vulcan in the future, as well as provide you all of these valuable goods. Really, quite the deal."

One by one, T'Pei listened to her viable options be efficiently eliminated, and realized how thoroughly she had been trapped. 'She predicted that I would refuse to deal with her,
and manipulated me' she thought, realizing how thoroughly she had been trapped. 'Now I must either act against the High Council or be an accessory to the destruction of
Shi'kahr.' Her palms felt clammy, and T'Pei resisted the urge to wipe them on her pants.

T'risia made a face. It was horribly forced, but the traditions she endorsed forced her to make the attempt. "I know. Just one city. It is a small thing compared to the way that Von Ernst person decimated an entire planet, but...I am on something of a budget. Plus, she wasn't making a deal, she apparently just was cross with the entire planet. Having no emotions, I just cannot muster that sort of thing. However," she said meaningfully, "having no emotion, neither will I miss Shi'kahr."

"All you have to do, for the entire package, is repair my craft." She replaced some of the dirt in the jar, and put the detonator apparatus back in. "I have a jar of dirt."

T'Pei stared coolly at the pirate as she finished repacking the jar. She was left with few options, all of them unacceptable. If caught assisting T'risia, she would undo her
own efforts with the High Council, possibly guarantee their support of the Hawks, and lose the acceptance of her people permanently. Still, these risks were preferable to the
alternative. The logical choice was clear, and T'Pei felt no indecision or guilt. As always, she would do what she had to do.

"I accept your terms," she stated, when the other woman finally grasped her cane and pushed herself to her feet.

"It is logical to do so," said the Pirate Queen, as she cradled the jar, setting her hat back to a precisely calculated jaunty angle. Having settled the fashion issue, she regarded T'pei momentarily, and her green eyes settled on the other woman's face, with an emotionless look that still conveyed hardness, if only through efficiency. "Well, dear, at this point, all that remains is the transfer of materials to the Pearl, that might be used to repair her." She reached into her coat, and produced a PADD, covered on its non-display surfaces with "Hello Kitty" stickers. "This data storage unit has all of the materials that are required, as well as the location of the Pearl, in system. Once again...should you double cross, me, dear..." she held up the jar of dirt, and tilted her head. "Boom," she said, tonelessly.

T'Pei took the offered PADD and scanned it, deeming that a wiser choice than violently assaulting the other woman. "I will require approximately one and a half days to acquire
these items, if I am to remain undetected," she said.

"Once the repairs are made, I will have the map sent to the Hercules, as well as the computer cores. The map is eminently more valuable you know...it leads to the probably
location of the Ellison Base, and thus, the fabled Guardian of Forever. Your side could change history...." She trailed off. Returning her attention to the present, she
concluded, "I too, seek answers in the past. However, I resolve to find them in the future, and thus, the map is as nothing to me. If all goes well...we should not meet again."

"No," T'Pei blurted out, then added more calmly "I would prefer to receive the cargo personally, so that I may review the contents. I will supervise its transfer to the Hercules."

"I won’t give you my jar of dirt," said T'risia, in all seriousness.

T'Pei felt her lip curl up in disgust, and turned to leave, needing to look at anything at all besides the other woman. "I was not asking you to,” she said coldly, and started walking. “I will contact you when I have acquired everything."

T'risia raised an eyebrow at the sudden display of emotion. "For all my reputation as having lost the way of Vulcan, it is intriguing to me how it is your control that slips. Arrr. You will have your things in haste, have no doubt. I have people to see, you know." With that, she touched one of the many badges and medals on her worn coat, and was beamed back to the Pearl....and an uncertain future.

"The Beginning"

Professor Ayanna Hinanat Streely

Location: Undisclosed

--------------------------------------------------------------
"David Washburn."

"Member of Doves...higher up...wealth of information on him. We are this close." The slight widening of the claws acknowledged that they were very close to getting what they needed to bring down this gentleman. All they needed was Ayanna.

He glanced sideways at the assistant before placing his hands on Ayanna's temples. She had no fight, being strapped down to the chair at various spots including her forehead netted her no ability to struggle. Involuntarily, Ayanna felt her eyes close as she presented the most prominent memory to her enemy.

*
"Ayanna....you have to help. You know the circumstances around the situation that I find myself in. One time. Can you help me just once? Everything will clear for me and then I'll never ask anymore of you. Please....honey." There was a slight pause before a long staggered breath. "I still love you. I never meant to hurt you so badly."

"Liar."

"Please Aya. It's my life we are talking about here."

"Implant?" She suggested.

His eyes flooded with relief. "Yes.. It's the safest mode of transport within Starfleet. I'll arrange everything...thank you babe...really thank you."

"I didn't say yes David."

"But you will Aya. You *have* to for the sake of all involved."
*

"Not enough. Introductory stuff, they had broken up, he was asking her for initial help. He's likely who drew her into the life style of a 'carrier'."

Ayanna's eyes narrowed to slits. The word 'carrier' gave her disgust. It was the truth, it was who she was at her core. Her head and body were a certified and protected manila envelope that carried information from person to person, from race to race, from sanction to sanction, from Dove to Dove, from Dove to Hawk, from Hawk to Hawk, and so on and so forth. Her history as one of the elite core soon began after her welcome on board the USS Galaxy.

His head tilted to the side as he regarded her. She was a creature of infinitive possibility.

Hinant's eyes opened just slightly, attempting to bump his mind with an emotional urge that would throw him off his guard a slight bit. Nothing. Knowing his strength, he did not feel anything at all. Her arsenal had become varied throughout the years thanks in part to meeting her father. That happened also shortly after her arrival on board the Galaxy. The fate that she found herself in, with the exception of Leo, all formed on the Galaxy. Their stories were inter weaved and she thanked the ship that brought her here.

"Loews...Let's Build Something Together"

by Cap'n T'risia

Once more on board the Black Pearl, the Captain sat at her desk in her Ready Room, working hard at her new workstations. Her plan required precision as much as anything else, and despite speculation about her mental state, the obsessive Vulcan was nothing if not precise. Her green eyes were narrowed in concentration as Mr. Lucas Walker entered.

The dignified man said, without preamble, as he sat in his customary seat, "Your deal with T'pei went through perfectly. Repairs are proceeding, and we'll be back in trim form in another day." He smiled slightly, being human.

T'risia nodded, and settled her hat on her head. She handed across a PADD, and nodded at it. "We need to make these modifications to the deflector shield grid. Arr." She said it matter of factly, and allowed Lucas time to review the PADD.

"You want to run Chroniton particles through the shield grid?"

T'risia shook her head. "That would be illogical. If you look closely, I want to run tachyon particles through the shield grid, at random emission densities, determined by a rotating computer algorithm." After stating this, she returned to staring at her screen. Squinting slightly, she considered that she might wish to start wearing a monocle.

"Why?"

T'risia sense the need to explain herself again. Humans. "Tachyons are faster than light particles that travel backward through time, as you know. By coating the ship in them, we will effectively be able to repel accurate scans and transports from the Temporal Incursion Committee that has been such a problem over our journeys. Simply put, they will be unable to lock on, since their scans will be out of synchronous with the time frame of the ship beneath the shield. Further, any actual transport will go through it, drawing the person a random number of seconds into the path. If the ship drifts, the transport will be...unsuccessful."

Lucas shuddered at the idea of a failed transport beaming someone into a bulkhead. Composing himself, he said, "You expect more trouble from them?"

"I am one hundred percent sure of it."

The Vulcan woman rarely dealt in certainties, so the man's eyes widened. "How so?"

She slid across another PADD. "This is our new course..,..Arrr."

Walker reviewed its, and then put it down. "This is a solar slinghot maneuver."

"The longest one ever attempted, in fact." T'risia had returned her attention to the screen before her.

Lucas leaned forward and asked, "Where are we going? um...well, when are we going to?"

T'risia nodded to herself. "The grammar for time travel is in fact, imprecise. For instance, how would one refer to events in the past that have not happened to them yet? Future, or past tense? I have been working on that problem." She sensed the human man's annoyance, and moved on from the interesting linguistic problem. "Simply put, we are going to them. We are jumping forward to the 29th Century."

Lucas Walker was shocked. "What are we going to do there?"

"What we usually do, Mr. Walker. Arrr."

"The Pleasure Principle" (2402) - Part One

Arel Smith
K. Jordan Elaithin

****

USS Miranda

****

It started, oddly enough, with breakfast.

Arel never had an appetite but since her body needed the fuel (and
willingly starving herself was even less honorable than walking out an
airlock) she made time every day for her meals. Breakfast was always a
bowl of oatmeal, programmed to replicate at precisely 0500, with
fifteen minutes allotted to eat before she moved on to her morning
workout, which was also scheduled and performed more out of necessity
than enjoyment. Normally she would eat every bite, chewing and
swallowing dutifully until she was finally free but today she found
the oatmeal ... unappetizing. It sat before her in one congealed mass
and she could just imagine it sticking to her tongue and the roof of
her mouth, lumpy and tasteless.

Yuck.

It gave her pause. Arel couldn't remember the last time she had cared
about food one way or the other. Sour, spicy, sweet ... it was pretty
much all the same and still the thought of being forced to eat one
more bite was definitely dissatisfying.

Arel frowned down at the bowl. She was pretty sure this was going to
mess with her schedule for the day and she still had to put together a
plan to show the Elaithins, not to mention find some way to deal with
Aria now that the girl was tagging along. She picked up her bowl,
threw it in the waste disposal, and turned to the replicator wearily
before ordering it to make her a new breakfast. Naturally she had
forgotten how many food items were kept on file.

She sighed at the computer. "You have a lot of options, I get it. Shut up."

Arel stared at the replicator for a few minutes, trying to remember
something that she had liked to eat for breakfast, but could think of
nothing. She thought briefly about asking Spengler what he liked to
eat but knew she'd only hear a crude answer, if he chose to answer her
at all.

"Smith to Jordan."

["Jordan here. What is it Arel?"]

"What do you like to eat for breakfast?"

There was a silence on the other end of the comm.-link. ["Breakfast?"]

"Yes. Breakfast."

["I don't understand what you're asking, Arel -- I've already had breakfast."]

"What did you have?"

There was a sigh. ["I don't know... usually an English muffin and
some hot tea, I guess. I depends how much time I have in the morning.
Why? What do you have for breakfast?"]

Arel frowned. "Oatmeal normally. But I ..."

["Oatmeal?"] the distaste in the intelligence officer's voice was
almost visible. ["So what's the problems?"]

The security officer sounded puzzled. "I think I hate oatmeal. I can't
decide what to eat."

["You hate oatmeal..."] Jordan sounded puzzled. ["Well, I can't say
I disagree with the sentiment, but this is kind of an odd problem,
Arel. How long have you been eating oatmeal?"]

Arel shrugged even though the other woman couldn't see her. "A couple
of years now?"

["Really? Well, what did you like to eat before then?"]

"I don't know. Eggs?"

["I'd start there."] She sighed. ["I can head on over there if you
want, but I'm not sure I'm the best one to get when it comes to food.
Not exactly the live to eat type."]

---

"You know, I may deserve a medal for this," Jordan said, looking a
little stressed when Arel's door opened to reveal her. "Between you
and Jii and the kids, Prophets help me." She held up a bag. "I come
bearing omelets. They're good. You'll like them. Lots of protein."

"Protein's good," Arel commented, although she looked down at the food
doubtfully. She hoped that tomorrow she'd be able to eat the oatmeal
again. How did people go through day after day with so many decisions?

"Any idea what might have caused this sudden change of eating habits?"
Jordan said. "I mean, I understand -- but it's not normally something
I'd consider your modus operandi."

"I don't know," the other woman said. "I just didn't ... want it."

Maybe it was just another one of those 'whims.' She wondered briefly
what Spengler would say if she told him he was the equivalent of
disliking oatmeal.

"Fair enough," Jordan said with a solemn nod. "Certainly your
prerogative. Just be sure you eat something -- that's a slippery
slope you don't want to go down, believe me." She sat on the couch.
"You've been eating oatmeal every morning for years?"

Arel nodded as she poked at the omelet with her fork.

Jordan made an appropriate face. "I don't know, Arel... maybe your
psyche is going to start letting you live again."

"I've been living," she disagreed before taking a cautious bite.

“Is that what you’ve called this?” Jordan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“What do you think of the omelet?”

"I'm not sure," Arel said after another careful bite. "I don't dislike it."

“That’s generally a good place to start, then.” Jordan stood, wincing
with her back’s silent complaint. “Glad to help.”

Arel's fork paused. "You should fix that before it gets worse."

"What problem am I fixing?"

"Your back."

"It's not a big deal," Jordan replied, shaking her head. "Stress
tension. It'll go away when all this nonsense is done."

Arel shrugged and continued to eat.

"See, this is the fantastic thing about being resurrected, Arel -- I'm
50, but I have the body of a 20-year-old. Seriously. It's fine. But
if it makes you feel better, I promise to have the Swedish Medic give
me a massage -- right between the exfoliation treatment and sun bath."

The truth was that it *would* make her feel better and that felt
strange. Arel frowned. This was going to be a long day.

She finished up the omelet. "Thank you for this. I should get ready for work."

"Setting Sail, for Unknown Waters"

by Cap'n T'risia

The captain of the Black Pearl paced the wood floors of the ship's bridge, her cane making loud thuds on the surface as she leaned her weight heavily upon it with each stride. Her bridge staff, such as they were, were present and accounted for, preparing the craft for its fateful, and historic voyage. She thought about this, as she paced, idly fondling the various badges and medals on her Elizabethan style coat. If the Federation were not in shambles, this sort of voyage of exploration would be hailed, to some degree, as a triumph in space time exploration. That is, after they court martialled her for complete violation of the Temporal Prime Directive.

T'risia considered that, as she paced. Did the temporal prime directive apply to trips into the future? Could it? All beings were continuously traveling forward in time, into the future, and altering it by their actions. Logically, a larger jump than normal, into the future of one's own timeline, would cause no paradoxes for those behind, and thus be acceptable. Although, you were always in someone's past, and there lie the rub.

She stepped up behind the helm, and took a swig from the bottle of Rum in her hand. "Mr. Three Fingered Jack, is the course laid in? Arrr."

The young man looked up from his work, seeming worried. "Er...aye, Cap'n!" T'risia stared him down, and he added, "Arr?"

"Warp engines set to full sail?"

Three Fingered Jack took a moment to translate from the arcane pirate speak, realizing that she was inquiring whether the warp core was at full performance. "Aye, Cap'n. Arrr."

T'risia had another swig of Rum, adjusted her hat, and paced back to Tactical, where Lucas Walker manned the station. He seemed slightly troubled, but as the man had aged, he had become much calmer, much harder to rustle. After the initial shock of their mission profile had passed, he had grown accustomed to the idea. He had not assumed that T'risia was being literal when she had said that she was setting a course into their future, but should have assumed it. The captain was nothing if not literal.

"Mr. Walker, is the structural integrity field to ship shape?" That question was vital, the ship would not survive such a harsh temporal transit without it.

"Yes, Cap'n, arrr," came the crisp reply.

"And the inertial dampeners shored down, battened, set to maximum? Arrr?"

"Aye, Cap'n, but it will still be a rough ride." Lucas' face had a grim set to it, knowing that the ship would be highly stressed by the transit through space and time, and the unimaginable forces that it would be subjected to.

T'risia limped to her large, ornate captain's chair, and sat down heavily. The trip was a gamble, not on their ability to survive it, but their ability...her ability, to pull off the objective at the end. Much fell on her, and if she failed, the Pearl, and her crew, would be stranded, and imprisoned, in the 29th century. A heady responsibility, to be sure. She opened the compass, and studied the reassuring features of Lt. Hunter. Hunter would boldly step forward, and damn the torpedoes...whatever exactly that meant.

"Helm, set sail!" T'risia shouted from her chair, ceremoniously, but with no emotion in the words. She slammed her bottle of rum against the arm of her chair, as the ship began the approach to Vulcan's star, accelerating to warp speed in preparation for the precisely calculated gravitational slingshot maneuver. The matte black starship cut an inky shadow in the space between Vulcan and the sun, and the ship began to vibrate almost immediately. The stress on the craft's demanding course was huge...the longer the time jaunt, the more the gravitational and temporal stresses visited upon the craft performing the slingshot. Hopefully, after this mission, it would be easier...and also unnecessary.

The ship lurched heavily, and T'risia called over the rattling of the hull, "Maintain course at all costs! Arrr!" She followed this with a fortifying swig of rum, as an ops console blew into sparks, showering Lenny the Hook in glowing particles. T'risia ignored Lenny's problem, assuming that he would be fine, and instead rerouted ops control to her armchair console. "Stay on target...arrr....stay on target...."

As T'risia monitored the tiny spacecraft's chronal progress, the ship rounded the sun, making the point of no return passed. At this point, they would come through the time vortex at the other side, or be scattered to dust spread across at least two centuries. The shaking of the craft suggested the latter, as the turbulence grew worse. Unasked, the partially assimilated monkey jumped to her shoulder, and for once, she was too busy to throw it against a bulkhead.

And, just as suddenly, the course began to smooth out...the turbulence to decrease, and the shuddering, creaking noises of the hull to abate. They were nearing the end of the journey, and preparing to drop out of warp. As the Black Pearl exitted warp, T'risia called out, "Damage Report! Chronal Positioning! ARRR!" Although the last was a hearty shout, it was as emotionless, as robotically delivered as any of her other statements.

Lucas Walker sounded startled. "Damage to various terminals, warp core operating at 67 percent...but damage nominal. We can function, Cap'n."

"Good. Bring up the modified shields," she instructed, as she leaned back in her chair. "Chronal position?"

Lucas Walker took a moment, and then responded, "The year 3045, near Vulcan."

"The Pleasure Principle" - Part Two

Cmdr. Arel Smith
Lt. Cmdr. S'Dora, NPC

****

USS Miranda

****

Her meeting with Aria went better than expected, probably because they had both come to an unspoken decision to work with a minimal amount of conversation. In no time at all their proposal to get to Von Ernst was ready, and they each went their separate way. Arel had to admit that the girl was good but she still would have been happier if she could go on this mission alone.

Happier, Arel thought with a puzzled shake of her head. What was with her today? Maybe Spenger had kicked her in the head when she wasn't paying attention.

She entered Security and headed straight for her office where music was blasting loud enough to be heard through the closed door. S'Dora must have been catching up on her reports, Arel decided. The woman had often said that Klingon opera was the only thing that kept her from taking a bat'leth to their case files. Arel had never discovered anything to ease the burden of paperwork.

The door opened and "Aktuh and Melota" assaulted her, the fervent chorus of their love song missing her heart entirely and attacking her eardrums instead. Arel was about to yell at her assistant chief to turn down the racket when suddenly she was back on Qo'Nos, in her grandfather's kitchen, rolling her eyes as he explained his admiration of Klingon opera while teaching her how to prepare Bregit Lung. Arel had been about eleven ...


"Melota was a whore," Arel commented when he was finished.

Kern scowled. "Do you really think that or are you just saying it to piss me off?"

Arel grinned. "Bit of both. Come on, Kern. They all say she was Aktuh's equal but half the time she's off singing some stupid war ballad while Aktuh was doing the actual fighting. And the final battle? Please. You know Melota handled maybe ten guys. Eleven tops. What a waste of oxygen."

"How does that make her a whore?"

"I meant it in the figurative sense," Arel said with a wave of her hand. "Lazy ass bitch work better for you?"

Kern shook his head. For a moment she expected a lecture on language, on not being inappropriate and crude, on respecting your elders blah blah blah but then she remembered that she wasn't on Earth anymore. "I know you can do better. Make your insults count."

They had spent the rest of the day trading the most vile things they could think of. Her father had turned five shades of red at dinner.


"Arel?"

She blinked, startled, and looked over at S'Dora. The music was now turned down low.

"I haven't seen you smile in a long time," The Klingon woman grunted.

Arel felt like feeling her face even though she knew the smile had already left it. "I've been having an off day."

"It made your face look younger. Softer," S'Dora said. "Ugly."

Arel's lips almost twitched at the Klingon's frankness. She almost considered going to Sickbay to find out what the hell was wrong with her. "If you want a break, I want to go over some things I want done while I'm away."

S'Dora looked like Arel had just handed her Kahless' hand in marriage and his blood drenched sword. She started to call for the computer to stop the music when Arel surprised them both.

"You can leave it on," She said.

"Expected Guests"

by Cap'n T'risia

The Black Pearl sat on station, drifting slightly, near Vulcan in the year 3045. Its dark shadow cut the space around it, absent of reflection save for the exhaust ports of her mighty, although damaged engines, and the bright yellow "Hello Kitty" skull and crossbones emblazoned upon her hull. The ship buzzed with damage control activity, and her defletor grid emitted a random stream of the all important tachyon particles that would shield them from boarding, and provided the sole chance of success for her plan.

"Is there any evidence that we have jumped laterally, to another timeline, or not?" T'risia asked, with some unexpected reasonability.

"Impossible to determine, Cap'n," replied Lucas Walker from his station. "We don't have a benchmark for this time frame's quantum signature, or really any way to assess how our time frame's quantum signature may have shifted to this one's. Bottom line, we'll need to take it on faith that we haven't made a lateral jump, since no futureward journey by slingshot ever has."

T'risia nodded, from her chair, the partially assimilated monkey still sitting with her, on her shoulder as she thought. "Although the logic seems sound, it is making something of an unprovable assumption. However," she paused as she considered the ship's scans of Vulcan, "given the state of this Century, an emotional being might find hope in it. It seems that Vulcan is somewhat restored from the state we last saw it."

Lucas, for his part, sounded somber. "There will be no restoring the Earth, Cap'n."

"Indeed," was her emotionless response, as she idly fussed with her cane, leaning back in the overly large captain's chair. The Bridge, as always was a mess, and their medic was treating Lenny the Hook, as the ops console was repaired by someone that T'risia had never taken the time to learn the name of. That had been Sam Widdlestein's job, or part of it, and without her, relations with the crew were less than stellar already.

Mr. Walker chimed in, a bit sarcastically. "That would be where you say something sympathetic, T'risia."

The Vulcan woman, for her part, was unphased by the barb. "As always, the care and feeding of emotional beings eludes me. You should know more than most that I consider the loss of Earth a great tragedy to the arts."

"Hello, Kitty is not art, T'risia."

She arched a brow. "The eye of the beholder, Mr. Lucas." As she finished saying this, the proximity alarm began to blare, and the ship's lighting went to alert status. All hands came to ready, and T'risia stood up, leaning heavily on her cane, bearing much, if not most of her weight upon it, as usual.

"It's a ship," said Mr. Walker, "not much larger than us. But the technology is...is incredible. I've never seen sensor returns like this."

"Logically," said T'risia, hitting the Rum a bit hard, even for her. "We are actually in the future, Mr. Walker. Arrr." She stepped forward a bit, and said, "On the screen, you scurvy lot." Her dialogue, as always, was stiff, and uninspired. As the screen shifted, the approaching vessel was depicted, the white of a Starfleet Vessel, with a vaguely wedge shaped profile, and no separate nacelles. It bore more similarity to a Defiant class vessel then other, more standard Starfleet vessels...perhaps the shape made the time jump easier.

"Wow...." said Three Fingered Jack.

"How did you know that they would come to us, Cap'n?" asked Walker.

She arched a brow. "We are now the single most impressive time travel violators in the history of the Federation, having made a jaunt of more than any that Kirk's crew did. Their own laws demand that they logically attempt to bring us in. I trust that the Tachyon Shields are running?"

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Then we are safe, for now....Arrr." She paced a bit, since captains in literature tended to. "I believe that they will attempt to contact us....now." She held up the bottle of Rum in signal.

"Incoming hail!"

T'risia nodded her head. "Predictable. On Screen. Arrr."

A human male, approximately 50 earth years of age, addressed her. He had thinning, graying hair, and a mustache of the same color. "Attention Black Pearl. This is Captain de Marco of the UTS Twain---"

T'risia interrupted, quite rudely. "UTS?"

"United Time Ship. As opposed to United Space Ship." He seemed annoyed at being cut off.

"Is not all time and space united? And further, time and space are intimately connected, as a basic understanding of General Relativity shows. Is this nomenclature not redundant?" Almost forgetting herself, she added, "Saavy?"

Vucans always frustrated de Marco. Who really cared about the semantics of the damn ship acronym? "As I was saying...lower your shielding. We know you are the Black Pearl from 2402---"

She arched her brow. "Noticed the Hello Kitty Skull, did you? Advanced scanning techniques indeed, Mr. Lucas."

de Marco ignored her bait. "And you, T'risia, are one of the greatest violators of temporal prime directive ever. You will stand down and prepare to be boarded."

"Time Pirate," is all that T'risia replied, oddly petting the partly borg monkey on her shoulder, instead of throwing it.

"What?"

"I am not a violator of temporal prime directive. I am a Time Pirate. It is best to be precise. Arrr...."

de Marco found her infuriating. "Whatever! Lower your shielding!"

"No."

The human sputtered and lost his temper. "What?"

T'risia was calm, and resumed her pacing, her cane smacking hard against the deck plates. "No. My improvised tachyon shielding confounds most of your technology. I refuse to lower it. I however, can beam through. I will cheerfully beam myself to your bridge, and into your custody, to discuss negotiations for your surrender. I give you..." she took a mouthful of rum, and then threw the bottle against a bulkhead, hard. "Two minutes to consider. Arrr..."

With that, she cut the comms herself, from her captain's chair arm console.

Lucas Walker said, dryly, "That went well."

“Cry Havoc, and let slip the Cats of War!”

Captain Alexandra Lee, CO Dove Fleet (Aaron)

Star Captain Le’on Khatowren, CO Task Fleet Harpoon (Jeremy)

Captain Jill Maivia, CO USS Capella (Chris)

**********

Aboard the Pegasus, Captain Lee was going over some last minute preparations from the arm console of the command chair when the beeping sound of an incoming message caught her attention.

"Captain, T'ral spoke up. "There is an incoming message from the ICS Days of Thunder. The vessel and two others are in range and coming in behind our fleet."

"Put it through," she replied, looking up toward the view screen as it switched to the image of the feline-like commander and smiled. "It’s good to have you with us, Star Captain."

”Thank you, Comrade Captain.” Le’on said. “It is good to be at your side once again. You have impressed my people, which is something that is not easy to do. We have all agreed to defer to your overall command authority in this matter.” He explained. In the background, multiple kitty heads were bobbing in agreement.

"Thats good to hear. Remain cloaked until we drop out of warp, which we will do until the last moment, dropping right on top of the Shiva and the assembled Hawk Fleet. Our main goal is protection of the USS Miranda, followed by the destruction of the Shiva and the Hawk vessels. Once we drop out of warp, our fighters and shuttles will be launching at the Shiva. Any questions?"

“Da… Understood…” Le’on nodded. “Only one question; what is so important about the Miranda?” he asked. “We have been hearing ‘Miranda this’ and ‘Miranda that’ over subspace communications for days now. Even heard something about it from that oversized Lizard of ours. What is she up to that requires whole fleet to protect her for?”

Alex took a moment to gather her thoughts before she tried to explain it to Le'on. "Jii, my husband, and other former USS Galaxy members and those aboard the Miranda believe that this timeline is not the correct timeline. It somehow has to do with Von Ernst's daughter and that she is possibly the cause of this timeline. Don't ask me how. But they seem to believe strongly in this theory, so I am inclined to support them, and I'm not going to leave them to be simply slaughtered by the Shiva and Hawk Forces simply because I don't like their plan."

Le’on scratched behind his ear as he mulled things over. That news did not sit well with him. How could Allison Von Ernst, the squirrelly little human (‘little’ being relative to other humans anyways…), be the whole cause of a timeline deviation? “So they think that we should not even be in our current situation? How did they come to that conclusion?” he wondered aloud.

"My husband was convinced upon completing calculation about the Triad/Federation war, stating that the Federation should have won. There must be some truth to this whole mess if Von Ernst was crazy enough to destroy an entire planet in the process of searching for her daughter. Our current ETA for intercepting the Shiva and Hawk Forces is three minutes.

“True enough Comrade.” Le’on conceded. “We can debate matter later over bottle of vodka. Real vodka.” He said with a feral smile. “My treat. I’m sure I have bottle around here somewhere...” he muttered glancing around.

"I look forward to it," Alex smiled.

“We shall maintain radio silence and run quiet until contact. Das Vydania, Comrade Captain. We shall see you on the other side.” Le’on said, raising a paw to his brow in salute before cutting the commlink.

"Das Vydania, Star Captain."

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

Captain Jill Maivia leaned forward in her command chair as they flew alongside of the Shiva. She supported Von Ernst, as did the commanders of other vessels assembled around the damaged Shiva. Though a bit on the crazy side, she believed Von Ernst was a good commander and excellent tactician. The Capella and the rest of the Hawk Fleet had arrived shortly after the initial fighter attack on the Shiva, which it had managed to fend off but not before being wounded by a suicide attack from one of the fighters. In comparison to the close distance of the Capella to the Shiva and in size, the Capella resembled a Remora attached to a terran shark, along for the ride--except this "Remora" was a shark in its own right.

"Captain," Maar replied from the Tactical station. "The Dove Fleet is incoming."

"Keep us in position. Ready controls for emergency maneuvers."

Jill smiled as this shark now smelled blood and it was time for the kill.

"They've dropped out of warp literally on top of us!" Maar exclaimed. He did not expect such a bold maneuver, as the Dove Fleet opened fire on the Shiva.

The Capella climbed sharply, and unleashed a steady stream of pulse phasers at the Pegasus.

Onboard the Days of Thunder, Le’on winced as he saw the opening salvo rake the Pegasus. From the other side of the holotable in the CIC, he heard Salem’s solemn report. “They took a beating on that first pass…” he said.

Le’on nodded as he watched the space between the Hawk and Dove fleets light up brilliantly with the exchange of phaser and torpedo fire. “Contact the Claw and the Talon, tell them to remain under cloak until they have good shots at the Shiva. Drop cloak, raise shields, and fire on that Defiant!” Le’on said, he checked the IFF tag on it; USS Capella; a hardcore Hawk Ship. At once, his own Saber Class Refit slid out of cloak and started raking the Capella with shots of its own. He just hoped that it’d be enough to make the Captain of the Capella to think twice about their position.

The Pegasus shuddered from the strafing run of the Capella. All power were being poured into their shields as the last of the Pegasus' shuttles and fighters launched from the shuttle bays. "Increase speed to three-fourth impulse and fire all weapons. Target the Shiva," Lee ordered as torpedoes streaked towards the Shiva. Suddenly the Pegasus shuddered again from a quickly closing Sovereign Class.

"We have the USS Agamemnon coming up from astern, captain," T'ral stated as his hands worked quickly across the tactical console. "Shields are down to ninety percent."

"Bring us about. Target the Agamemnon."

Aboard the Capella, Jill Maivia smiled as the Capella shuddered. "Bring us hard about and fire! Time to spank those kitties. Full power to forward shields!"

The Capella seemed to turn on a dime, aimed back at the ICS Days of Thunder and let loose a steady stream of phaser pulses and torpedoes.

Onboard the Days of Thunder, it was a flurry of activity… “High Energy Turn on the Capella!” the Operations Officer called out

“She’s firing!” The Tactical Officer called out.

“Thank you, I can see that…” Le’on called back, eyes fixated on the tactical display in front of him on the holotable. “Roll left 180 degrees! Continue firing. Maintain course and speed!” he ordered.

“But captain…”

“Maintain course and speed…” Le’on reiterated. A wise captain in Earth’s history said that the hardest part about playing chicken was knowing when to flinch. The Days of Thunder passed right underneath of the Capella while both ships raked each other with massive amounts of weapons fire. Le’on felt his ship shudder under the impacts and heard the damage reports coming in. His own shields had dropped to seventy five percent and there were a couple of shots that snuck through to score hits on their ablative armoring, but he was sure that the Capella was hurting just as badly. “Leave them to the rest of the Doves…” he said, continuing to monitor the action. The captain of the Capella probably didn’t expect to trade hull paint with him, and that made the cat grin. He was still heading towards the Shiva.

Aboard the Capella, Jill had to admit that the captain of the Days of thunder was bold for pulling such an unexpected maneuver. 'These Doves must be more desperate than I first thought,' she thought to herself. She then spotted the main vessel of her hate--the Trafalgar. "Concentrate fire on the Trafalgar! Show that bitch, Colonel London no mercy!"

Fighters, shuttles, and runabouts now swarmed over the Shiva like a swarm of angry bees. The Pegasus let loose a deadly volley of torpedoes, striking the Agamemnon, who in turn fired at the Pegasus as they passed each other, trading heavy phaser fire.

"Shields down to sixty percent!" T'ral reported.

"Evasive Maneuver Alpha Epsilon Theta. Fire all weapons!" Alex called out as the Pegasus rolled and pitched up as tight as the engines could perform. The Agamemnon was equally maneuverable, matching the Pegasus' pitch rate.

"They're matching our maneuver, captain," Ensign Cathers called out.

"Decrease speed to half impulse and fire!"

As expected, the sudden decrease in speed caused the Agamemnon to overshoot and lose position as the Pegasus launched a volley of torpedoes at the sovereign class ship.

Meanwhile, the Days of Thunder was falling back into formation with her two cloaked counterparts. The Claw and the Talon had slid through the Hawk lines almost effortlessly. Le’on ordered the Thunder up to full speed for their attack run on the Shiva. “Target the Shiva.” He ordered. “All Cattusian ships; Decloak and fire!”

Two Defiants shimmered into existence alongside of their Saber leader. All three ships opened fire as one on the massive behemoth known as the Shiva.

"Pleasure Principle" - Part Three (2402)

Arel Smith
Jan Hoffman Spengler

****

USS Miranda
Arel's quarters

****

The environmental controls to her quarters had been shot for years,
the temperature - depending on her mood - running at either an
unpleasant swelter or two degrees above ice cube without any middle
ground. Arel usually set it low but Spengler had chosen to crank up
the heat and now his hand was literally slipping from her hip as he
slammed into her at a pace that should have left her breathless. As it
was she felt ... distracted. She'd felt strange all day, first at
breakfast, then while listening to S'Dora's music but it hadn't
occured to her what had changed to make her feel so different. Until
now.

It was true that she had a new mission but killing a woman, even if it
were Rebecca Von Ernst, didn't particularly move her one way or the
other. It was just something that had to be done and duty had long
since failed to compel her. No, if she were honest with herself this
had all started after her meeting with Daren M'Kantu and after
figuring *that* out she couldn't stop herself from turning his words
over and over again in her mind, even though she was trying to ignore
the beautiful universe of "what if's" that they created.

What if they could fix it all?

What if they could go back?

What if Korvin ...

She nearly shook her head. It was impossible, unlikely, a cruel dream
at best, and ... Gods, where did Spengler find the energy? She was
about to comment that the ship still had plenty of amenities to
relieve his boredom (and possibly some clever comment about his being
able to avoid frostbite all those years in prison) when he suddenly
nipped at the tendon in her neck and she reacted without thinking,
flipping their bodies to straddle Spengler for a deeper penetration.

Under such circumstances, most men would be leering appreciatively,
looking up at their lover and enjoying the feat of gymnastics. Jan
Hoffman Spengler however looked bored. The expression on his stern
face was more like unto disappointment or disapproval. Perhaps like a
father ashamed of his tiny child.

Arel paused, suddenly uncomfortable. Sex hadn't been much more than an
attempt at normal and she really hadn't expected to enjoy herself
beyond a slight relaxing of her body. Even the notion of wanting to
enjoy herself seemed strange and yet it *had* felt good. Alien but
good.

Life was simpler when you didn't feel things.

She looked down at him uncertainly.

~~Look at you....are you proud of what you've become? Proud of who you
are with?~~ His eyes accused. When there was no answer The German
seemed to reach a decision to degrade her further. Some undefinable
emotion passed across his face before he grabbed her ass and shifted
her forward, causing them both to groan. Arel forced her eyes back
open, even more shaken than before, and, perhaps, slightly impressed
with herself for the effort.

Spengler was not so impressed. "What do you wait for, Liebchen, a
medal?" He droned. "If you are going to fuck me then make it worth my
while. Otherwise you're just a little girl pretending she knows what
she is doing."

Orders were easier, Arel thought as she moved to meet his command. She
could focus on the order and try to ignore the unfamiliar emotion that
was threatening to overtake her body. She rode him hard and when her
body finally buckled, a half second before his, she collapsed on top
of him.

"Mien Gott woman," He chuckled when he had recovered enough to slide
her off. "No technique but there is no one to match for enthusiasm
when you put your mind to it ja?" He fished in the bedside table for
his ever present pack of cigarettes. Since the fall of 'civilized
society' some vices had become easier to enjoy than others. "Overall
you were acceptable."

"Good to know," Arel sighed. Her body felt heavy, both sex and heat
starting to lull her, and she thought she just might be able to fall
asleep quickly for once.

"Nein," Spengler said. Arel felt a finger poke hard into her side and
she opened her eyes with a frown. He smirked and traced her mouth with
his finger. "Better. Now, Liebchen, what has changed to bring your
skinny corpse to life?"

She pushed his hand away. "Not sure."

He rolled his eyes in derision, the disappointed father look returning
"You've always been bad liar ja? Besides, have you not learned by now
that I do not care what you think or say to me? My opinions are my own
and immutable."

She rolled to her side so she wouldn't have to look at him. Arel told
him the general idea behind M'Kantu's plan - even she didn't quite
trust him with the specifics - and waited for him to confirm how
targshit insane it was.

Watching the curling wisps of smoke rise to the ceiling, Spengler had
several thoughts cross his mind at once. First option was to shove
this silly woman off of the bed and well and truly beat some sense
into her fool head. He'd pound some intelligence in, or her brain
out...whichever came first.

Second option was to ignore the whole thing and flip her skinny ass
back over the edge of the bed for another go (whether she approved or
not of course...after all it had been a very long prison sentence)

The third option...and ultimately the one he settled for was merely to
take a long drag and watch the new smoke patterns dance in the air
currents. "Change the past?" he repeated. "Arel my dear ... whatever
could it be you are hoping for instead? Personally I mean, of course.
Do not give me some silly patriotic spiel, I know you too well."

"Korvin," She said hesitantly. "He could be alive in this new future."

"Ahh," he nodded. "The child of course."

Maybe a concerned party would have apologized, or made polite
inquiries into Arel's state of mourning, but that was not Spengler.
"I'd quite forgotten about it." he mused instead.

Arel rolled over. "It?"

"Ja..it..Child. I am being grammatically correct, Arel. If you want to
hit me for something you hardly need me to provide an excuse."

Arel stared at him, knowing that once she'd have kicked his balls out
through his nostrils and that now she probably wouldn't do anything.
It didn't quite hurt but she did feel any semblance of the pleasure
she'd rediscovered slipping away. And that was ... disappointing.

"And what do you want from me in this affair?" he inquired at length.
"You want to change the past. What's in it for me?"

"I'm not sure what I want from you, especially since you don't have
much to offer," She said without thinking. And suddenly, just like
that, she was certain why she'd set Spengler free from his cage, what
she thought she had wanted from him, and that it had been a pretty
stupid notion on her part.

Oh well.

"Perhaps that's not entirely true," Arel amended. "You can be useful.
You did save my life once. It was about a year after Korvin's death
and I came to you and said I couldn't go on and you remember what you
did?"

"Hardly. You tend to be forgettable on occasions."

"You wrapped your hands around my neck and squeezed," Arel said with a
tiny flicker of a smile. "I knew you were the only person who would do
it. You squeezed and I tried to let you ..." The smile faded. "But my
body fought. Instinctive, of course, but then I remembered the words
of my grandfathers and I knew that I couldn't leave ... that way."

Stabbing out the cigarette on her bedside table, Spengler rubbed his
jaw wearily. "I remember now. You came alive and I spent the next
three weeks in traction. You're quite beautiful when you are breaking
my bones, girl."

Arel shrugged. "My point is that I've been getting worse again. But I
don't need your help to die. I could take a walk in space any day when
it comes to that. I think I brought you here ... I think I thought you
could help me ... live."

She regarded those ambivalent eyes of his. "But I don't really see now
how that's supposed to happen. Especially since you're, you know, an
asshole."

Arel paused again as she tried to decide what it was she was feeling.
She thought maybe it was a kind of pleasure. It had been a long time
since swearing had given her any satisfaction.

Maybe hope wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Arel made a 'hmmm sound'. "What's in it for you? Maybe you'll change
your mind about swindling Klingons the next time around. Save yourself
from the cage. I'm going to go take a shower."

"I will tell you this, Arel." he replied, watching her slim naked form
rise from the bed and trail its way silkily across the room. "Perhaps
my motivation in this can be new life for the dead."

When she turned slightly, surprised at the statement, he waved it
aside. "No, not for any whelpling brood of yours, but for you
yourself. Perhaps in this new future I can dare to hope that this dead
thing you've become will finally find that spark."

There was a silence between them for the briefest of moments that was
almost beautiful, until Spengler opened his mouth again. "Don't work
too hard in the shower now woman, I believe I'll be needing you in
about ten minutes to get off again."

The thrown towel missed him completely.

"And bring the razor blade in when you come back too….you're getting
scratchy in places."

“Calm before…..”

Starring Rebecca von Ernst

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

“I dunno Ma’am.” the technician replied from behind the shower stall. “Hot water pipes seem to be all right…maybe it’s a software problem?”

“Software Problem.” Rebecca von Ernst repeated softly, her eyebrows furrowing into deep concentration. It was a phrase she’s heard several times in the last few days since their skirmish with the Dove fighters.

In fact….she allowed her eyes to unfocus a bit as she scanned back through her memory for a more exact figure.

“….software problem….”

“…computer problem….”

“….software problem….”

Software software software software.

She blinked and with a snarl stabbed the intercom switch outside her private bathroom. “Chief Mendez….we got a computer problem. I think we‘ve been sabotaged.”

It was an easy enough diagnosis. 25th Century computers did not just suddenly freak out, at least not in so many various and diverse ways, and certainly not all at once.

Three more hours of intense digging by the Shiva’s technical crew found them sweaty and demoralized standing at attention in front of von Ernsts Captains desk.

“Sabotage ma’am.” reported Melendez, confirming their worst fears. “No doubt about it but we’ve picked some sort of nasty mix between a Trojan and a worm, and who knows what else…its like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Silently munching on a box of donuts that lay open on her desk, Rebecca digested that news with uncharacteristic calm. “Who did this?”

Doves were the obvious answer, but Melendez explained that the actual specifics were somewhat fuzzy. These programs could lay dormant for weeks or years waiting for just the right circumstances. It could have been some dockyard worker at their last refit six months ago. Maybe a contaminated data chip snuck aboard by a Dove agent. There was even the uncomfortable possibility that some disgruntled crewmember aboard the Shiva had seen fit to take things into their own hands.

The Chief spread his hands, the universal sign of ‘hell if I know’

Selecting another chocolate covered donut with little sprinkles on top Rebecca continued to much in quiet thought. “Repair time?” she asked without even really caring.

“Repairs?” The Chief echoed. “No Ma’am this type of damage requires a complete memory wipe and reinstallation of the primary core. “ he shrugged, “We have backup programs of course incold storage, but a complete reinstall takes a week….minimum.”

Nodding and chewing, Rebecca didn’t have to tell her officers that given their chase of the Miranda, stopping for a week was out of the question.

“How long do we have?”

Another shrug. “Couple of weeks maybe before complete shutdown. But keep in mind that systems will be severely impaired long before that time. Combat systems. Engine protocols. All the little things like lights and hot water for the showers and things like that.”

He eyed the box of donuts for a bit then added, “Really the only reason we’re still going is that the computer OS is such a huge program it takes a while to completely infect. The code does have some self repair capability which keeps things from going bonkers all at once, but in the end we’re going to be losing systems faster and faster until….poof. We’re just some shiny piece of metal floating in space.”

Rebecca started to nod again when suddenly she felt like something exploded inside her head, sending her almost reeling form her chair and to the floor.

THEY’RE ALL GOING TO DIE.

“Ma’am are you okay?” The chief was assisting her to her wobbly feet while another thech was getting a glass of water.

It took the tiny captain a few blurry moments to figure out what just happened to her….it wasn’t an attack, or anything physical…but rather a realization…something mathematical.

~~OH Noodles.~~~

The numbers.. those glowing equations that danced in her head from the moment she was born had suddenly changed. The magical path of parabolic curves and polynomial expression that drew out the course of her entire life from victory to solid victory suddenly no longer predicted a sure road to success.

The glowing 100% in her mind had dropped to a more unlikely 97% and even as she computed and recomputed their chances it dropped further 94%…..91%…..89%

THEY’RE ALL GOING TO DIE.

The realization was complete and instantaneous. Mathematically sure and pure as could be Rebecca could project out the tactical path of the SHIVA from its present condition into the distant future where given battle damage…Dove intervention…and now the computer sabotage would lead invariable and irreversibly to its own destruction.

“Allison.” she whispered.

“Uh…Ma’am, you okay?” the Chief again.

There was still a chance for Allison wasn’t there? A blure of numbers coursed through her soul examining various plots and gambits arriving eventually at a still viable possibility of rescuing her daughter….but she’s have to act now. Throwing caution to the wind, Rebecca would have to drive the Shiva harder than she ever had before deeper into the heartof battle in order to rescue this one chance to see her daughter again.

Or she could retreat…back off the chase and find the nearest Hawk Starbase.

Yes.

Is she retreated the ship would survive she could see….but not easily, and it meant giving up on Alli.

“Captain von Ernst, if you don’t tell me you’re okay I’m going to call the Doctor to the Ready Room.”

Rebecca shook her head and looked up at the Chief. She would never abandon Allison. The chase to the Guardian planet would continue. Shiva would fight like she never had before. They were all going to die.

“I’m fine Chief…help yourself to a donut…you deserve that at least.”

"Papa Don't Preach"

John Walker
Kaylee Hunter (npc)


Kaylee was not a stupid girl. So when she got home from school, found Dad there, three days before scheduled and looking like someone shot his puppy . . . and like he was about to exact bloody revenge for the death of his beloved Benji . . . she knew he'd found out about T'Pei.

This could not end well.

Dad turned his head to stare at her. He looked more angry than disappointed. There was nothing comforting in that.

"Soooo . . ." she said. "Got an A on that math test!"

***

In twelve years, John had never felt the urge to hit his daughter. Not when she threw a temper tantrum, not even when she dyed all his uniforms bubblegum pink.

Now, he had to turn away from her and breathe through his nose, control himself. Because when he asked her if she understood how dangerous her letter could have been, Kaylee said, "Yeah, Dad, I got it, like, the 86th time you told me---"

---and John had wanted to do nothing else but backhand her across the face.

Jesus, didn't she get it? Everything he had done, he had done for her. She was the only thing that mattered to him in this whole godamned universe. He made sure she had food and a roof over her head, or, at least, something between her and the cold deep of space. He did his best to keep her from the horror, the bloodshed---and she had the fucking nerve to be flip about it?

John closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then kept right on counting. He would not hit his daughter. He would not do it.

He might have become a monster . . . but never that kind of monster.

"Kaylee," John said, turning around slowly. "Sweetie, you're taking 'trying my patience' to whole new levels."

"Dad---"

"What you did, baby, was monumentally stupid, and you are not a stupid girl. Dammit, you're smarter than this, Kaylee. What do you think would have happened if Mercedes had found out? You think she'd have said no harm, no foul? You think she would have assumed that because you're a child you're also innocent?"

"Dad---"

"She would've had you interrogated, baby," John said. "She would have ordered Korath to interrogate you, to torture you---"

"Then what are we still doing here?" Kaylee walked up to him, took one of his hands in hers. She looked frustrated and sad and all kinds of things that you never wanted to see in your child. "If it's so dangerous on this ship, and you're so worried about me---"

"I owe her, Kaylee," John said helplessly, knowing those words seemed empty without the history behind them. "You don't know . . . I know you don't remember . . . ."

And Kaylee took her hand back.

"I remember more than you think," she said.

(takes place before Papa Don't Preach)

"BFF's"

John Walker
T'Pei

Denobula wasn't proving to be two tons of fun. John was ready to get off this rock and onto some other rock, any other rock. His day had so far consisted of planning for doom and destruction with a hangover from hell. He had actually thought to himself, This day can't get any worse.

Jesus, he knew better than that.

Nnerhin was half-Romulan, half-Immense-Pain-In-the-Ass. He was also about six inches shorter than John, which made it mildly hilarious when he tried to stare him down. Mercedes could pull off the five foot flat psychotic badass; when Nnerhin tried to look hardcore, he usually just looked constipated. Currently, he was staring constipated daggers straight at John. "Commander Walker, we have a problem."

John had about twenty-seven problems at any given moment; Nnerhin's issues were nowhere near that list. "I don't have time for this right now," John said. Nnerhin took his arm. John glanced at him.

"Off,"he said. "Now."

Nnerhin let go of his arm. "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt," he said. "Normally, I'd go straight to Captain Delgado about this, but I thought I'd talk to you first, give you and your daughter a chance."

This time, it was John who took Nnerhin's arm, and by taking his arm, he meant shoving the half-Romulan into a wall. "The hell are you talking about?" he asked. Nnherin handed him a PADD from out of his pocket.

"I found these transmissions," Nnherin said. "From your daughter to someone off-ship. You have to understand that this doesn't look good. If you can't explain them . . . well, you know, better than most, what happens to traitors on board the Perdon."

John, who had been scanning the PADD, stopped to take Nnherin by his skinny little neck and squeezed as tightly as he could. Nnherin's eyes did all but pop out. "Now, listen to me, you sonofabitch. If you ever even vaguely imply that you'll hurt my daughter, I will tear you limb from fucking limb. Do you understand that, Lieutenant?"

Nnherin was turning unhealthy shades, but he nodded frantically. John released him and stood back as Nnherin caught his breath. "You can threaten me," he said, "but if you don't do something about this, I'll have to report Kay---you. I'll have to report you, Commander Walker."

"Don't worry," John said, smiling cooly. "I'll be taking care of it."

***

John made an unscheduled trip back up to the Perdon and was glad that Kaylee was still in school. He needed to calm down a bit before he talked to her about her little "chat" with people off ship.

He felt no such need to cool down before contacting T'Pei.

***
Immediately after talking to Chris, T'Pei composed a succinct message. Cutter, I am unable to help you. However, I wish you success. She did not mention T'Risia's map. That was covered in the 'unable to help' part, perhaps.

Now the she restlessly paced her quarters, contemplating meditation as a way to calm her cluttered mind. She had just settled herself on the floor, focusing on the candle in front of her, when a soft chirp alerted her of a live transmission.

It was from the Perdon. T'Pei mentally prepared herself and brought John Walker's clenched jaw and glittering eyes up on the screen. A small blue vein insistently bulged out of his temple.
She supposed he was rather upset.

"Commander Walker," she began, and that was all it took to set him off.

"What the hell part of leave us alone did you not understand, T'Pei? I mean, I like to think I'm a pretty clear guy: when I say don't contact me, don't contact my daughter, not ever again, I like to think there's not a lot of wiggle-room in that, that you might, I don't know, not do it. Apparently, I was wrong. So, let me ask, what in the hell are you doing talking to my little girl, because, really, I can't think of a godamned thing you would have to chat about."

"She contacted me, John," T'Pei said calmly. "With questions about her mother. I hardly find that unreasonable of her, nor was it unreasonable for me to respond, as I have the answers she sought."

John snorted. "Really," he said. "You wanna share those answers with me?" Cause he was pretty sure that the answers T'Pei had given 11 years ago had about fuck all to do with the truth.

"Did you read my letter?"

"No, T'Pei. I just figured I'd put it in the scrapbook under the Long Lost Friends section. Of course I fucking read it." Had to make sure no big Hawk conspiracy was happening right under my nose, didn't I? Damn you, Nnherin.

"Then you know exactly what my answers were, John," she said, her affect only growing colder and flatter as Walker's became angrier and more sarcastic. "I said nothing untrue, and I limited myself to discussing my relationship with 8-ball, and nothing else."

"Yeah, that's right. I forgot, you guys were such great friends. I was really moved by the camping story, by the way. I felt it, right here." John tapped his chest, smirking. "It's funny, though. I mean, we must have pretty different ideas of what it means to be a good friend. You see, for me, being somebody's friend means that you do anything for them. You'd die for them. Or is that unclear? Am I being too ambiguous, T'Pei? Tell me."

"The mission--"
"Fuck the mission, T'Pei. Whatever your grand mission was, it succeeded, and look how great everything turned out. Her death meant a whole hell of a lot, didn't it?"

T'Pei didn't have a response to that, and John looked at her triumphantly.

"You weren't her friend," John said. "You're the reason she's gone. You're the reason my little girl doesn't have a mother. So, if it's all the same to you, I think this family has had enough of your friendship."

It felt like he had punched her. T'Pei sucked in a sharp breath, swallowing the bitter lump in her throat. He had no idea what he was talking about, none.
"She knew how dangerous it was, John. Even if our attempt was not sufficient, at the time we believed it would be successful and 8-ball knew--"

"Stop calling her that!"

John could feel that vein in his forehead pulsing, and he closed his eyes, took a breath. Wouldn't do to have an aneurysm, would it? But good God, he'd never wanted to hurt someone so much in his whole life. You don't know, T'Pei, he thought. You don't know how many ways I could make you bleed. T'Pei's blood would be green, and John figured that might not upset him, dripping from his hands.

He took another minute to get it together. By the time he opened his eyes, he was annoyed to find that they were wet.

He laughed, a little. "What the hell do you want from us, T'Pei?"

"I want..." Not to feel guilty anymore. Not to remember her mind falling to pieces and know that I was the one who broke her. He was still crying, and T'Pei lowered her eyes, unable to look at him anymore. Are you right, John? she wondered. Should I have tried harder to save her? Could I have?

"...nothing John," she said, her voice muted. "I do not want anything. I was just giving your daughter some answers. She deserves to have them."
John laughed again. T'Pei didn't even know his daughter. She didn't know anything about how much Kaylee deserved. "You wanna know what I want, T'Pei?"
T'Pei stared at him silently. She could not even begin to guess what this bitter, broken version of John Walker wanted.

"I want her back. I want 8-ball, my 8-ball, back. If you can figure out how to do that, then call me. Otherwise, don't ever talk to Kaylee again."

He ended the transmission.

OOC-Occurs immediately before “BFFs”

"Inside Out, Upside Down"

Lt. Cmdr. T'Pei
Capt. Chris Daniels

Soundtrack-The Walk, by Imogen Heap: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p06kh-sTVmk&feature=related

She might have hesitated outside of his door.

It would have been understandable. The last time they had seen each other it had been hurtful, so she might have wondered what he would say, what she should say. An apology? That would certainly be inadequate, perhaps also unnecessary. T'Pei did not need an apology from him, all she needed was to see him alive, still with her, as he had been for over ten years.

There was no way of knowing what he needed, though. So she might have hesitated, wondering if he would be upset with her, or push her away. It would have been understandable.

But she didn't. If she could have transported directly into his quarters, she would have done so.

Instead, she had nodded silently to the transporter Chief upon her arrival, and headed straight for the turbolift. She stared at the tan walls, willing it to go faster. Deck 7, Deck 8, and then she was turning left, towards his quarters, and pressing the chime eagerly, no plan beyond being in his presence.

When he answered, the same familiar voice saying "enter", that was just enough for T'Pei's world to settle back into place. She stopped just inside the door, silently, not hiding her smile.

What she saw was different from what she was accustomed to when she had been in here before. The ship's captain sat quietly on a rarely used couch, swirling a drink in his hand. The usual flurry of PADDs and frenetic pace were gone. Instead of one of his well worn uniforms, he sat quietly in a robe; the sliver of a white collared undershirt the only sign that he was clothed underneath as he stared out is window. No smile, no twinkle...just indifference peppered with a touch of thought.

"Any luck with the council?" He asked, almost nonchalantly, never turning his eyes towards her.

T'Pei's smile faltered slightly. "I was successful in my endeavors. Vulcan remains neutral." And Shi'kahr remains intact, she added silently.

Chris nodded. "Good. Either way we were leaving. And the relief efforts?"

"Those who survived have been transferred to medical facilities in Shi'kahr," she said, thinking of the small stuffed sehlet Oliver had quietly sent to her quarters. "They will eventually be relocated to nearby cities."

Chris stared at his drink, not seeming to hear her at first, and so T'Pei fell silent, waiting for his almost robotic debriefing to continue.

"Are all the crew back aboard?"

"Yes, I was the last to beam aboard."

Chris pushed a command on his PADD sending a message to the Helm to begin departure procedures. He finally turned his body at an angle to face her. As the captain, he could simply ask the questions of her that he needed and be done with her. But as her...whatever they were...he honestly had no idea what to say. Desperately he wanted to ignore it, pretend it had never happened, and move on. But he couldn't. Not with what he was about to take them through.

"Sit." It was a spoken like a command, but as had happened so many times in his life, his eyes betrayed the true tone. A request...almost a plea.

Chris had not gestured, but T'Pei's eyes flicked towards her chair. It was the chair she always sat in when they spent time here, while Chris took the less formal option--perched on the edge of the desk, occasionally sprawled across the couch, but most often lounging on the floor, his back against the desk or bed. He would grin up at her foolishly, in her chair, and his boyish casualness was catching. T'Pei would find herself relaxing, resting her chin in her hands to hide her own foolish smile.

Sliding past the chair, the Vulcan settled herself on the couch.

Once T'Pei had positioned herself on the couch, Chris noticed something. Back in the day, someone had been gracious to custom make the couch to fit Chris' frame. It wasn't much, but the differences were enough that the lithe Vulcan seemed almost to be swallowed by the piece of furniture. His mouth turned up in a subtle smirk. Were things not as awkward as they were between them, he might have made a crack about it. Instead, he stared down into his glass. Quiet moments followed until Chris sighed and then spoke.

"Turns out you were right."

"About what?" T'Pei tried to catch his eyes, but he only grimaced, deep creases etched across his brow. When had her friend's trademark impatience melted into pained exhaustion?

"My personal feelings and desires getting in the way of what's best for this crew."

"Chris..." she shifted, sliding closer to him on the couch. "What happened?"

"On the way out there I got a call from Jaal Jaxom. He made me realize that I was pulling a Captain Ahab. So I withdrew back here to pick you all up before we go meet with him to discuss his plan to take on von Ernst."

T'Pei had leaned forward, trying to connect with Chris, but now she shrunk back slightly. "You still plan to pursue her, then."

Chris turned his body towards the Vulcan, facing her while his knees and lower legs just glanced hers. "T'Pei, I'm sick of this life. All I've known in my career is war. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of hunting. Something has to change."

"There may be another way to change things," Chris halted, looking at her with a face equal parts wary and expectant. "Cutter Kara'nin contacted me while I was on Vulcan."

Chris' face turned into a scowl. "Cutter? What the hell does that arrogant bastard want?"

One eyebrow and the corner of T'Pei's mouth rose in unison at Chris' reaction to the Fruna'lin. Certain things never changed. "Daren M'Kantu believes that it is possible to alter our current situation." She took a deep breath before continuing. "They are going to go back in time to 2385, and they have asked me to go with them."

"What exactly do they propose to do?"

"They have not settled on a course of action. It is necessary to study the events of the past seventeen years, to determine which changes will have the desired effect."

Chris looked into her eyes before he spoke. The ramifications of what she was proposing were not lost on him. Even still, his own selfishness was proving to be superior in his mind.

"So if you succeed, in theory none of this will ever happen?"

"Not in the same manner, no."

"And if you should fail?"

T'Pei watched Chris throw back the rest of the drink, resting his forehead against the now empty glass in his left hand. "If we fail... it depends," she replied slowly. "Events may unfold as we know them, or we may alter the timeline such that some portions are altered while others are entirely unchanged. Barring catastrophic failure, however, the timeline will likely be affected significantly."

"So in either case I lose what's important to me..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry T'Pei, I can't let you go. With what we're about to attempt, the ship needs you...I need you."

T'Pei bowed her head, knowing what he was trying to say. "The timeline will be changed, regardless of whether I participate, Chris."

"But if whatever they plan on doing doesn't work..." His hand had settled hesitantly on her knee as he spoke, and T'Pei stared at it, mesmerized at the novelty of the contact. "...and this madness doesn't go away, I'm stuck here fighting a war by myself. Without a key part of my ship's crew. Without one of the few things that's let me feel human and hopeful for the last 10 years." He shook his head subtly again. "No."

“You—we need...” T’Pei gestured between them, but the words died in her throat when Chris took a deep breath, subconsciously leaning in closer to her, their faces only inches apart. "I want this to be my last battle, T'Pei. I want her dead so I can be done with this. What have any of us had to live for these last two years besides our own survival? I grew up during war, I've lived my entire Starfleet career in war, and I sure as hell don't want to die knowing only war. I'm tired of it. I want my humanity back. All I want now is to settle down somewhere and live a quiet life with the woman I love. But all this shit keeps getting in the way. I'm done with it."

His whisper trailed off, and he waited silently, his breath warming her cheek. T’Pei’s eyes slipped closed as she listened to his heart beat—so rapid, although still less than half the speed of her own. She could feel his eyes on her; wondered how long it would be before the words he had finally uttered overpowered this precarious silence. Her chest felt tight, and T’Pei let out a broken breath, realizing only then that she had been holding it. The intoxicating fog retreated for an instant, and she could feel his thumb rubbing small circles on her knee, trying to soothe her nerves.

She slid back abruptly, her leg cold where his hand used to be. “I, I am sorry,” she stammered, backing towards the door. “I must contact Cutter now.” The man on the couch hadn’t moved. He was still leaning forward, his gaze directed not at her, but at where she had been. “I am sorry,” T’Pei repeated, and then she was gone.

"To The Edge"

-Takes place before "BFFs"

Lt. Cmdr. T'Pei
Capt. Chris Daniels

Soundtrack-The Walk, by Imogen Heap: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p06kh-sTVmk&feature=related

She might have hesitated outside of his door.

It would have been understandable. The last time they had seen each other it had been hurtful, so she might have wondered what he would say, what she should say. An apology? That would certainly be inadequate, perhaps also unnecessary. T'Pei did not need an apology from him, all she needed was to see him alive, still with her, as he had been for over ten years.

There was no way of knowing what he needed, though. So she might have hesitated, wondering if he would be upset with her, or push her away. It would have been understandable.

But she didn't. If she could have transported directly into his quarters, she would have done so.

Instead, she had nodded silently to the transporter Chief upon her arrival, and headed straight for the turbolift. She stared at the tan walls, willing it to go faster. Deck 7, Deck 8, and then she was turning left, towards his quarters, and pressing the chime eagerly, no plan beyond being in his presence.

When he answered, the same familiar voice saying "enter", that was just enough for T'Pei's world to settle back into place. She stopped just inside the door, silently, not hiding her smile.

What she saw was different from what she was accustomed to when she had been in here before. The ship's captain sat quietly on a rarely used couch, swirling a drink in his hand. The usual flurry of PADDs and frenetic pace were gone. Instead of one of his well worn uniforms, he sat quietly in a robe; the sliver of a white collared undershirt the only sign that he was clothed underneath as he stared out is window. No smile, no twinkle...just indifference peppered with a touch of thought.

"Any luck with the council?" He asked, almost nonchalantly, never turning his eyes towards her.

T'Pei's smile faltered slightly. "I was successful in my endeavors. Vulcan remains neutral." And Shi'kahr remains intact, she added silently.

Chris nodded. "Good. Either way we were leaving. And the relief efforts?"

"Those who survived have been transferred to medical facilities in Shi'kahr," she said, thinking of the small stuffed sehlet Oliver had quietly sent to her quarters. "They will eventually be relocated to nearby cities."

Chris stared at his drink, not seeming to hear her at first, and so T'Pei fell silent, waiting for his almost robotic debriefing to continue.

"Are all the crew back aboard?"

"Yes, I was the last to beam aboard."

Chris pushed a command on his PADD sending a message to the Helm to begin departure procedures. He finally turned his body at an angle to face her. As the captain, he could simply ask the questions of her that he needed and be done with her. But as her...whatever they were...he honestly had no idea what to say. Desperately he wanted to ignore it, pretend it had never happened, and move on. But he couldn't. Not with what he was about to take them through.

"Sit." It was a spoken like a command, but as had happened so many times in his life, his eyes betrayed the true tone. A request...almost a plea.

Chris had not gestured, but T'Pei's eyes flicked towards her chair. It was the chair she always sat in when they spent time here, while Chris took the less formal option--perched on the edge of the desk, occasionally sprawled across the couch, but most often lounging on the floor, his back against the desk or bed. He would grin up at her foolishly, in her chair, and his boyish casualness was catching. T'Pei would find herself relaxing, resting her chin in her hands to hide her own foolish smile.

Sliding past the chair, the Vulcan settled herself on the couch.

Once T'Pei had positioned herself on the couch, Chris noticed something. Back in the day, someone had been gracious to custom make the couch to fit Chris' frame. It wasn't much, but the differences were enough that the lithe Vulcan seemed almost to be swallowed by the piece of furniture. His mouth turned up in a subtle smirk. Were things not as awkward as they were between them, he might have made a crack about it. Instead, he stared down into his glass. Quiet moments followed until Chris sighed and then spoke.

"Turns out you were right."

"About what?" T'Pei tried to catch his eyes, but he only grimaced, deep creases etched across his brow. When had her friend's trademark impatience melted into pained exhaustion?

"My personal feelings and desires getting in the way of what's best for this crew."

"Chris..." she shifted, sliding closer to him on the couch. "What happened?"

"On the way out there I got a call from Jaal Jaxom. He made me realize that I was pulling a Captain Ahab. So I withdrew back here to pick you all up before we go meet with him to discuss his plan to take on von Ernst."

T'Pei had leaned forward, trying to connect with Chris, but now she shrunk back slightly. "You still plan to pursue her, then."

Chris turned his body towards the Vulcan, facing her while his knees and lower legs just glanced hers. "T'Pei, I'm sick of this life. All I've known in my career is war. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of hunting. Something has to change."

"There may be another way to change things," Chris halted, looking at her with a face equal parts wary and expectant. "Cutter Kara'nin contacted me while I was on Vulcan."

Chris' face turned into a scowl. "Cutter? What the hell does that arrogant bastard want?"

One eyebrow and the corner of T'Pei's mouth rose in unison at Chris' reaction to the Fruna'lin. Certain things never changed. "Daren M'Kantu believes that it is possible to alter our current situation." She took a deep breath before continuing. "They are going to go back in time to 2385, and they have asked me to go with them."

"What exactly do they propose to do?"

"They have not settled on a course of action. It is necessary to study the events of the past seventeen years, to determine which changes will have the desired effect."

Chris looked into her eyes before he spoke. The ramifications of what she was proposing were not lost on him. Even still, his own selfishness was proving to be superior in his mind.

"So if you succeed, in theory none of this will ever happen?"

"Not in the same manner, no."

"And if you should fail?"

T'Pei watched Chris throw back the rest of the drink, resting his forehead against the now empty glass in his left hand. "If we fail... it depends," she replied slowly. "Events may unfold as we know them, or we may alter the timeline such that some portions are altered while others are entirely unchanged. Barring catastrophic failure, however, the timeline will likely be affected significantly."

"So in either case I lose what's important to me..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry T'Pei, I can't let you go. With what we're about to attempt, the ship needs you...I need you."

T'Pei bowed her head, knowing what he was trying to say. "The timeline will be changed, regardless of whether I participate, Chris."

"But if whatever they plan on doing doesn't work..." His hand had settled hesitantly on her knee as he spoke, and T'Pei stared at it, mesmerized at the novelty of the contact. "...and this madness doesn't go away, I'm stuck here fighting a war by myself. Without a key part of my ship's crew. Without one of the few things that's let me feel human and hopeful for the last 10 years." He shook his head subtly again. "No."

“You—we need...” T’Pei gestured between them, but the words died in her throat when Chris took a deep breath, subconsciously leaning in closer to her, their faces only inches apart. "I want this to be my last battle, T'Pei. I want her dead so I can be done with this. What have any of us had to live for these last two years besides our own survival? I grew up during war, I've lived my entire Starfleet career in war, and I sure as hell don't want to die knowing only war. I'm tired of it. I want my humanity back. All I want now is to settle down somewhere and live a quiet life with the woman I love. But all this shit keeps getting in the way. I'm done with it."

His whisper trailed off, and he waited silently, his breath warming her cheek. T’Pei’s eyes slipped closed as she listened to his heart beat—so rapid, although still less than half the speed of her own. She could feel his eyes on her; wondered how long it would be before the words he had finally uttered overpowered this precarious silence. Her chest felt tight, and T’Pei let out a broken breath, realizing only then that she had been holding it. The intoxicating fog retreated for an instant, and she could feel his thumb rubbing small circles on her knee, trying to soothe her nerves.

She slid back abruptly, her leg cold where his hand used to be. “I, I am sorry,” she stammered, backing towards the door. “I must contact Cutter now.” The man on the couch hadn’t moved. He was still leaning forward, his gaze directed not at her, but at where she had been. “I am sorry,” T’Pei repeated, and then she was gone.

"Confirmation"

Rear Admiral Elaithin Jii
Commanding Officer
USS Miranda

Captain Alexandra Lee
Commanding Officer
USS Pegasus

----

Alex had retreated to her ready room after ensuring the ship and joining Dove vessels were ready for battle. "Computer, open a secure channel to Admiral Jii aboard the USS Miranda." She drummed her fingers on the polished oak desk upon the terminal activating to it standard Federation Logo as it slid up, out of its compartment. She wanted to know the truth if this was indeed concerning time travel and what this assembled fleet of Dove ships were to face. She still hadn't found a suitable place for the refugees of Earth and she hated the idea of placing the civilians into harm's way.

"USS Pegasus, this is Ensign Cadence Merriweather, assistant communications officer of the USS Miranda. How are you doing this evening?"

"I am well," she said simply.

"Captain Lee," Merriweather said, with a nod, and a brush of honey colored curls from her face. "We've been expecting you. Please excuse any static -- we have been having some difficulties with our communications array. Are you receiving this adequately?"

"I understand. Yes, I am receiving this transmission just fine. May I speak with Admiral Elaithin now?"

"Of course, ma'am. The Admiral is just stepping into his ready room. I will transfer you momentarily. Please hold."

The imagine blinked out for a moment, before the Starfleet logo was replaced with the image of Admiral Elaithin's form settling into the chair behind his desk. His dark hair was greying at the temples, and he didn't quite have the muscular bulk he once did, but his head, his broad shoulders still filled the frame.

"Alex," he said, "I hear congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, sir. Word of my promotion has spread fast, it seems."

"Yes, fair enough, but I was speaking more about your wedding," Jii said, a smirk twisting his expression as he twisted his own wedding band absently around his finger.

Alex blushed slightly. "Ah, thank you. I am...still trying to get used to being married again. Now, if I may, why is Von Ernst's daughter so damn important that she felt it necessary to destroy Earth?"

"You answered your own question, Alex. She's her daughter," Elaithin replied, simply. "I don't know many parents who wouldn't dismantle the Caves stone by stone to protect their children. Von Ernst is just a bit more crazy-like and comes with significantly more fire-power than most."

"I know all about losing a child..."she recalled aboard the Bismarck when she lost her son to this war. "But that bitch had no right to destroy an entire planet. Luckily the Pegasus were able to rescue some people just before the Earth exploded. "What would drive a woman like that over the edge?"

"She's..." Jii frowned, the ridges on his nose deepening. "I hate to say it's not so much the girl as it is the information she brought. It's enough to make us rethink our strategy. I'm not comfortable going into too much detail ov -- oh, hell. Jordan can kill me later. Alison von Ernst came back to the future, Alex, and it's different from when she left. Daren M'Kantu, Victor Kreighoff, they recall her presence some 17 years ago and they recall sending her back to her own time. But this, apparently, isn't it. It gives us reason to believe that something happened to derail what was supposed to be. We're attempting to figure out what, and find a way to fix it. What we need you to do is... well. Cover our asses while we do it."

Alex nodded slightly. "Admiral Akaar has given us orders to do just that. We're enroute to your location at our best speed. The remaining Dove Fleet is currently assembling and we should arrive within two day's travel." She knew that the Pegasus could get there faster, but they had to slow down in order to allow the fleet to catch up. "To be honest, I just hope what you and my husband are doing is the right thing." She had a hard time believing that all of this war was due to one little brat.

"So do we, Alex, so do we," Jii replied, grimly. "We appreciate the help. Do this best you can and with any luck -- none of this will actually happen."

"That would be nice, admiral."

"Good speed, Captain. Take care of yourself."

Thank you. you do the same, sir."

Elaithin nodded, then blinked out, the screen becoming blank save for the seal.

Alex sat back in her chair and sighed before forcing herself out of the seat and onto the bridge. Dispite what she thought, she still had orders and a ship to run.

"What Is And What Should Never Be, Part One"

Kaylee Hunter


This is what Kaylee wishes had happened:

Her mom had never died. Her father decided to take up a merry career of baking cupcakes, and they travelled to happier parts of the galaxy distributing them. Somewhere along the way, they met Korth, who decided to leave his father behind and travel with the Hunter/Walker clan, protecting them from various evildoers who might attempt to hurt the happy family and take all their baked goods for free.

This is what Kaylee thinks should have happened:

Her mom died a long time ago. Her father stayed in Starfleet, but he never got captured back on Betazed, so he never even met Mercedes. More importantly, he knew that things were going badly on Earth, so he took Kaylee from her grandmother's arms and kept her safe with him, on whatever ship he was serving at the time. Ideally, Gramma Beth would be safe too, and they'd all be flying together, at war if not serving cupcakes, but Kaylee knows you can't get everything in life, and the truth is she barely remembers her grandmother anymore. So she'd give up Gramma Beth to be safe from Earth, to be far away when the first attacks came. It's not very brave, she knows, but she's okay with that. She shouldn't have been there when the horror started.

This is what happened instead.

***

Kaylee is three years old. She lives on Earth with Gramma Beth. They live on a farm with horses and chickens. She liked the chickens, until they pecked at her hand. Now she doesn't like chickens much anymore. Anyway, the horsies are much prettier. When she grows up, she'll ride them all the time. Kaylee likes the horsies.

She also likes her Gramma Beth. Gramma Beth is funny. She's got real white, white hair. She's Kaylee's Daddy's Mommy. Kaylee doesn't have her own Mommy. Kaylee has a Daddy, but he's somewhere in the stars. Kaylee looks for him sometimes. She never sees him up there.

Gramma Beth says he'll come back. Sometimes she cries when she says this. Kaylee doesn't know why she cries, but she gives her a hug, and Gramma usually feels better.

Kaylee waits for him to come back. In the meantime, she plays with the horsies.

One day, Gramma and Kaylee are outside, and Gramma has forgotten something. She has to go inside to get it. She'll just be a minute. She tells Kaylee not to go anywhere. Sometimes, Kaylee likes to go somewhere, and she always gets in trouble for it. Kaylee promises, "I not go nowhere, Gramma." Gramma thinks this is funny. She thinks lots of things Kaylee does are funny.

She goes inside.

Kaylee isn't going to break her promise. Promise-breakers are bad. But then she sees a butterfly and it flies right by her nose. It's pretty. Kaylee likes butterflies, almost as much as she likes horsies. The butterfly flies away somewhere and Kaylee wants to see where its going. So she goes somewhere too. Bad promise-breaker. But she goes anyway.

She doesn't think she's gone that far, but when she looks back, the house is way far away. She's not supposed to be this far away alone. Gramma Beth will be very, very angry. Kaylee can't find the butterfly, so she turns around and starts to walk back home. She trips on something---not a shoelace. Gramma tied those good. Maybe a rock. Kaylee falls down.

It hurts a little, but Kaylee is brave. She doesn't cry, unless chickens peck at her. Chickens are mean. She doesn't like chickens. Rocks aren't mean. They don't know any better. Kaylee turns on her back and looks at the sky. Sometimes she looks for Daddy in the daytime, which she knows is very silly. The stars only come out at night, and her Daddy is in the stars, so obviously, she can't see him when then sun's up. She looks anyway, though. She hopes he comes home soon.

Usually, the only things in the sky are clouds. Today there are planes, big planes, ships. Maybe Daddy is on one. She waves, but no one seems to wave back. They are bright lights and fireworks and things going boom boom boom. Then, things on the ground start going boom boom too. Trees catch fire. Fire is bad. Then her house catches fire. It goes big boom.

Gramma.

The booms scare her, but Kaylee heads towards them anyway. She needs to find Gramma. Gramma Beth will keep her safe. Only then another big boom happens and Kaylee is falling. She hits her head on the ground. It hurts, really, really bad, way more than the chickens. Things get dark and she is sleepy, so she sleeps, for a bit. When she wakes up the sky is all black and the air is all thick and smoky. She walks back to the farm. The house is in pieces. The pretty horsies are in pieces too, all over the land. Even the chickens are mostly feathers now, scattered with the wind.

She never finds her Gramma.

"The Philosophy of Fate"
(Takes place after 'Rendezvous')

Jordan Elaithin
Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff
Elaithin Aria
Victoria Elaithin

----

"Oh shit."

Angelienia looked at Aria and then Victor, ignoring the secret stab of pain that ran through her every time she saw or touched him now, the ache that told her that she was going to lose him, to lose *them* in her self-appointed mission to give him the life he should have had. When both of them returned her look with a shrug, the Ktarian turned back and asked, "What's wrong, Aria?"

Aria remained frozen stony, and so Victoria looked over her shoulder. "Ari forgot to tell Momma I was coming with her," she explained.

The group focused on the screen, which revealed Jordan Elaithin standing at the front of the bay with her arms folded as the shuttle passed through the force field and began to settle on the landing.

Aria's face tightened as she powered down the shuttle and sat there a moment. "She's so small. I wish I knew how she is able to look so big," Aria murmured.

"She's bigger on the inside than she is on the outside," Victor said absently, as if that explained everything, and then winced internally as the comment brought back a memory of Victoria's words to him when she'd first beamed aboard the Faith - which in turn brought up the memory of the incredibly uncomfortable comments she'd made to him after they'd left the Faith. Then, deciding that leaving the comment hanging was worse than finishing it, he added, "She's just letting you see it, that's all. I used to do that all the time - sometimes without meaning to - back in the day. Before I got a handle on things."

"Don't worry, Ari," Victoria said, offering her a wide, toothy grin. "She's angrier at me than at you." She looked back out the window, her face losing its spark, becoming stony and serious. "I should know better."

"I'm the adult here," Aria said. "I should suck it up and talk to her every once in awhile about something other than..." What? Espionage? Assassination? "I should talk to her."

"Talking to the people you care about is important," Victor agreed softly. "Talk to them about everything, about anything. If I hadn't finally learned that, then Angelienia and I wouldn't have found each other."

"Yeah, well," Aria muttered, "Mom's not so easy as all that."

"They're too similar," Victoria filled in.

"Shut up."

"Daddy sees it too," she said with a shrug. "It's true."

*****

Jordan watched them disembark, Aria leading them -- tall, lithe, graceful. She moved with such purpose, and reacted to her world the way a mother would want her daughter to: with such strength and confidence, and edge of willful defiance. In so many ways her eldest embodied everything Jordan always wanted -- and everything she never did. There was guilt for that, regret, knowledge of her own role in taking Aria down this road. But she hadn't made the choice -- Aria didn't go anywhere she didn't want to.

What was the worst of it all, though, was the touch of fear in her eyes when Aria looked toward her mother. It was a painful knowledge.

"Mom--"

"Aria," she stated, voice lacking the edge they'd both expected it to. Instead, there was exasperation, sadness. "We'll talk about this later. I need you to find Arel Smith."

"But--"

Jordan's look stopped Aria's voice short, and they stared at one another.

"Now, please." Aria's jaw tensed, but she nodded firmly, and brusquely departed. Jordan looked toward her younger daughter, at the girl's face, watching with such bemused passivity. It was all she could do to keep away the sigh. "Victoria..."

"I know," the girl said, all but floating past her mother, hands clasped behind her back, long curls falling toward her waist. "So do you."

"You know where I expect to find you when I'm finished here."

Victoria didn't physically or verbally acknowledge, but she followed her sister's lead out of the shuttle bay, leaving Jordan alone with Victor Krieghoff and his wife. Her eyes focused on the pair. Victor looked exactly how he did the last time she'd seen him. She wasn't surprised. Angelienia, however... Jordan couldn't keep the vaguely pained expression of sympathy out of her eyes. The woman's presence raised the hair on the back of her neck even more than Victor's aura did. It didn't help that Oracle had been more active of late, ever since Earth's destruction, the plan's quick conception and movement. It was often easier to tell where one of them influenced the other and when, how it came to the 'We' opinion Oracle's voice expressed.

Victor Krieghoff was a different story. Where he was concerned, it was somewhat more difficult to tell. Each side had specific misgivings that blended together and Jordan had a difficult time knowing when she was thinking as Oracle and when she was thinking as herself.

"Victor. Angelienia," she said, after a moment longer than she'd intended. "It's been a very long time."

"It has," Victor nodded pleasantly. He indicated the departing girls. "Don't be too hard on the kids; children are all of our hopes and dreams made flesh, true... but they're not little robots that do everything that we expect them to. They're unique, beings, every one of them, and they have to learn to find their own way. You know that, the two of you, but sometimes it's hard to remember past the irritation." He smiled a little. "I haven't had any of my own, true, but Angelienia and I have raised a herd of them for our friends and that's pretty close."

Beside him, Angelienia smiled to hide her internal sorrow and slipped her hand into his, accepting the momentary ache of loss and letting his strength fill her. "Hello, Jordan," she said simply.

"Hello, Angie," Jordan stated, though her eyes didn't drift from Victor's. "Do me a favor. Do not tell me how to raise my children."

"I'm just dispensing advice, Jordan," Victor replied, as pleasantly as before. "Feel free to ignore it if you want. When you get down to it, it's really nothing more than an opinion, and everyone has them and all that."

"Right. Well, as you've said -- you don't have children of your own. And this is a... unique situation. Aria knows better. I've repeatedly asked her not to take Victoria off the ship, and to knowingly place her in such close--" Jordan shook her head. "Victor." It was all she could do to keep Oracle in check, but her voice came out gentler than she expected it to -- more pleading than aggressive, more defeated than defensive. "Please. Stay away from her."

He nodded toward the door the girls had departed through. "That's easy enough. I'm not chasing your daughter -- either one of them -- for any reason. Whatever else you might think I am -- or I might actually be -- I'm not an adulterer; I don't chase other women, much less impressionable teenagers. If it makes you happy, then I'll not institute contact with your youngest. All right?"

Angelienia's eyes cleared as she grasped what parts of this conversation appeared to actually be about. It wasn't the first time someone had had an interest in her husband, but it was the first time it had been the child of a friend... or whatever Jordan was.

"That was not what I was implying," Jordan said, clenching her fists at her side, attempting to remain calm, keep herself together. His mere presence riled her, and this even, faux-pleasant and wholly condescending manner with which he spoke to her did so all the more. "You know that as well as I do, Victor, just as you know there are some things that cannot be stopped no matter how much we want to."

Jordan was mortified by the slight, emotional tremble of her chin, and her eyes darted momentarily toward Angelienia before falling back to Victor, cautious of what the man's wife knew, concerned -- admittedly, somewhat uncharacteristically -- for her feelings.

"Victoria spoke to you, I know she did." Jordan's voice was soft, a hush, eyes almost pleading. "I'm not accusing you of anything -- now or in the future. But you must understand, Victor. You wax poetically about children being our hopes and dreams - and that's undeniable. But Victoria's even more than that, for me -- my biggest mistake and my greatest miracle. Please understand that I'm just trying to keep her my little girl for as long as I can." She paused, her gaze cemented to his. "In this universe, under these circumstances, that's far easier said than done."

"She said something," Victor nodded. "But nothing more than a teenager with a crush might. They like to speak in absolutes, and talk about things as if they're preordained but I don't believe in 'destiny.'" He deliberately exaggerated the word. "There's no mystical energy field that determines my fate, no unalterable plan that guides me. You shape your fate every day with every decision you make, for good or ill." He shrugged. "I don't get to see the future, Jordan, and I wouldn't want to if I could; I can't see how any happiness would come of such a thing. Even before, in the Other Place, I couldn't see the future, which is probably a good thing. If I'd been able to, then I imagine that things would have worked out differently here for me -- and everyone else. So don't worry too much about what she said or might have said -- for me, to me, they were just the words of a girl with a crush, talking like the teenager that she is, that's all. Nothing more... and no more meaningful."

"The thing about destiny is that it doesn't need you to believe in it. I found that one out the hard way," Jordan mussed, her gaze drifting once again to Angelienia as Victor's comments soaked in. She wanted little more than to see it as nothing but a crush. Perhaps he was right. She had nothing more to go on than Victoria's sighted comments and any inklings she gleaned from Oracle -- though her other side was sharing few details in this matter as with many others, these days. "We'll agree to see different sides to this matter, and I will resolve to believe your assertions."

"Good," Victor nodded, still cheerful and pleasant. "And, just for the record, I've promised Aria that I'm not going to throw the first punch on this visit, so if either one of you are just determined to have a fight, you're going to have to start it. I'm just here to listen to Daren and Jii and decide what, if anything, I'm going to do to help them out with this plan they've cooked up."

"Oh, Victor -- We have no intention of coming to fisticuffs with you," Jordan commented, turning on her heel to lead them out of the shuttle bay. "Trust that it's not Our punch you have to worry about."

"Metaphor, Jordan," he laughed as they followed her, Angelienia's arm through his. "Metaphor."

"Cheeky bugger," she commented over her shoulder.

"Did," Angelienia whispered as they walked, "Victoria really tell you that she...?"

"Not literally," Victor replied, "but figuratively, yes. As I recall, after the initial shock wore off, I said 'umm' a lot, and that was that. And we really shouldn't whisper; its rude to both Jordan and the Oracle, both of whom are perfectly capable of hearing us.

"Indeed. Resurrection gives me the hearing of a 20-year-old."

"See?" Victor observed, as they paused to wait for a turbolift. Once inside it, he glanced over at Jordan, and asked, "Lift safe to talk in?"

She gave him a sideways glance, arching an eyebrow. "It's *my* ship."

He nodded and reached out to key in a Stop command, leaving them between decks. "Since I don't know that I'll get the chance to ask you this privately again -- and personal issues you might have with me aside -- what do *you* think of this idea? Both of you, in case there are differing opinions."

Jordan's eyes flashed a telltale blue, but Oracle held back and she answered in Jordan's voice. "You know -- this is strange," she said, smirking, "We're not used to being addressed separately. Aria does it, but she's the only one, these days. We've been one entity for a very long time now. Surely, you can at least partially understand that."

"Yes," he nodded. "The problem is, I think, that the two of you don't act like the same entity all the time, what with the vocal shifts, the body language shifts, the eye-color shifts, and all that. I had that same exact problem for years after I initially bonded to myself, slipping from one to the other of me, most of the time without the part of me that was human knowing that it was happening, or even remembering that it wasn't in control. When I look at you now, accurately or not, I see myself back then, before I learned how to stop that and just be one person with one point of view all the time. A failing perhaps, and I do apologize if it offends; I'll try to stop." He glanced at Angelienia, smiled, and looked back.

"No, it's not offensive," Jordan replied, softly, with a shake of her head. "It's very valid. We--" She paused a moment, thinking, and then cleared her throat, brushing her hand over the Eye hiding under the fabric of her shirt. "I've had less time than you. I wasn't born with Oracle as part of me -- at least, not a conscious part. The fusion was meant to be, but it's taken adjustment. It's easier around some than others -- you make... me... somewhat anxious. And beyond that..." Jordan's expression twisted slightly, her eyes again falling to Angelienia. "Well." She looked to Victor. "It's easier for those I love. For Jii. For the chil-- for Aria. It's easier for them to think there's much more of a separation than there actually is.

"There's a lot of acting involved, too much of the time. I am... different than I was before, in many ways -- the way I want to react to things, the paths I want to take. But I don't want Jii to regret his decisions, to be afraid he made the wrong choice, to see the struggle I go through sometimes to keep a tight hold on my humanity. He saw a lot of my actions before as being extreme, I don't want him to... It's easier to allow Oracle to 'surface,'" and she used air quotes, "when some things are said or done than it is to say them as myself -- as Jordan. That's how the whole thing was for the first several years -- it will still happen occasionally, but it's remarkably rare -- I just made the conscious choice to keep the division going. I don't know if it was right or wrong. But it is what it is."

"I'm pretty certain that I wasn't supposed to wind up like this," Victor admitted, "so in that respect, you're better off than I was in the beginning. And I definitely do not recommend the method I used to achieve final fusion with myself to anyone, for any reason." He squeezed his wife's hand. "But I understand things being what they are. I've lived with that my whole life, even before I came from the Other Place and met myself for the first time. With that said, though, what do you think about this plan of Daren's?"

Jordan cleared her throat. "I'm very wary of it. On the one hand, I agree that threes a certain degree of wrong in the universe as it is; I don't know when it happened, but We've -- *I've* believed for some time that something got off track. What the right track is, and whether or not it's our place to interfere, that I do not know."

"I won't claim to know if this is the way things are supposed to be or not, but I do think they could be a lot better," Victor conceded. "I've watched too many people die that I couldn't stop, and had to let too many people die that I'd rather have tried to save."

"We all have," Jordan said. "And some of us could have -- perhaps should have -- stepped in, gotten involved, done something. But there are rules to the universe. And I know I'm relatively alone in the idea, but I firmly believe the uniquely gifted are even more beholden to them than the rest. Some things are beyond my purview, beyond my Reason. Thusly, I'm unable to make the definite statements I prefer. But I'm concerned that making this choice and taking this journey -- this mission -- will have tremendous consequences. If not for the past, certainly for the future. Which one, where, I cannot say until the decisions are made."

"Everyone, everything, has rules that govern it," Victor agreed. "You, me, the fish I had for dinner a few nights ago, everything. They're just not all the same rules, or I don't think they are, at least. If I break one, then the Universe is going to slap me down -- but that doesn't mean that you'd get slapped down for the same infraction. The Divine knows the Q never seemed to have the same rules as anyone else before they crawled into their hole and pulled it shut after them." He shrugged. "Or maybe they did and that was the result of the Universe slapping them down. Hard to say. In any case, I'm... hesitant... to start trying to change things willy-nilly, for fear that we'll wind up in a bigger mess than we are now."

"That," Angelienia interjected, "doesn't mean that there aren't things that we shouldn't change, or try to change, though. At least that's what *I* think. Small things, that add up to big things, not big ones that add up to unimaginably large ones."

Jordan frowned, her forehead furrowing at the strength of it. Oracle flickered with frustration in the inability of others to understand of what it was she spoke. She resisted the urge to massage her temple and breathe deeply, the way she did when the twins were younger and they argued in their personal language and stubbornly refused to see the reason of their mother's logical "because I said so."

She had not lied to Victor per se. She just worked within his understanding -- as she worked within Jii's understanding and everyone else's. It was easier that way. Truth of the matter was, she was always Oracle. Oracle was the end product, not one half of a whole. She and the entity Eis Mezquelam (Ayz Mez-kayle-em) had long ago become the singular entity -- Oracle was the true face, a complete fusion of two very different halves (though not all that different).

Eis Mezquelam had once been a Prophet, but had fallen when it had taken up with Kosst Amojan and others of the rebellion. For unknown reasons, the beings the Bajorans knew as the Prophets of the Celestial Temple -- the trans-dimensional, non-temporal aliens remaining in the wormhole -- took pity of Eis Mezquelam, which, by taking a vow of service and repentance, was able to avoid the same fate as its companions. It became a lesser, spending millennia on Bajor, existing in sacred places and fulfilling prayers of the good and the devout. Through these works, it found redemption, and Eis Mezquelam was allowed to reenter the Celestial Temple, though it was still to remain in service.

Eventually to be made flesh, made human, fused with another to create something new. Something important. Something necessary.

"No," Jordan agreed with Angelienia, albeit somewhat vaguely. "Though the question it -- what is big and what is small? To some, human civilization is small, a blip on the screen of existence. To others, there is nothing larger or more important. For some, time itself does not exist. It's something I still struggle with -- this concept of linear time. I understand it because a part of me understands it, but that doesn't mean it makes any sense. How can one travel backward and forward when everything happens at once? So you see, it's all a matter of perspective -- and, whose perspective should we take?

"But, aside... the concern is not so much that the Universe is going to... slap me down. I do not fear nor am I concerned over my association with you." She addressed this to Victor, the blue tracing around her dark iris deepening, becoming more vibrant, though hardly the oppressive glow it sometimes could be. "More, my concern is over how many things we can change, how many rules we can break -- acting together, as a force of souls or spirits or energy or Paghs or however you want to see humanoid consciousness -- before this Universe is no longer the one that supports us, before we nullify our very existences. This is my concern and there is not an answer to it until all is done. It goes even beyond the question of omniscience or lack of time, lack of space. One can be everywhere, everywhen at once and still not be able to say."

"I don't have an answer for that," Victor returned. "I expect that no one does, outside of the Divine, and he and I don't talk much. Maybe saving one life would do it, maybe saving a million, maybe nothing at all. But, frankly, they're going to do this thing whether you, or I, or anyone else agrees - free will and all that. Plus, nothing, and I mean nothing, that I have ever heard of - in this universe or the Other Place - can make Daren M'Kantu back down when he believes he's in the right. Not even the potential death of the universe."

"Indeed," Jordan said with a nod. "My husband's the same. I'm here, aren't I?"

"But shouldn't we change things?" Angelienia asked. "If we can, I mean? Don't we owe it to the ones that we love and care about to try and give them the best life, the best universe that we can?"

"Of course we do. Within the bounds of what we are given," Jordan replied. "But, as the old adage goes -- just because one *can* doesn't mean one *should*. This cycle we're in must stop somewhere. We, as a whole, got ourselves into this mess we're in -- it stands to reason we can get ourselves out of it, make it stop. Whether or not we can or should set back the clock..." Jordan shook her head. "I fully believe there's a point where we need to just accept things as they are. I even believe we're at that point. But I believe in my husband beyond reason, and I do want a better life for my children. Perhaps it's blind and ignorant hope, maybe it's because, at this point I just don't have it in me to really care anymore. So my philosophical beliefs and non-temporal inklings aside, I will participate in this. I owe those I love a debt I cannot repay, and this is just another attempt in a long line to try."

She moved past Victor toward the turbolift controls. "That said, we should leave to debate to the true believers from this point -- as it is, we've dallied long enough. They're going to think we did actually come to blows."

"Probably," Victor agreed. "People are always willing to believe that violence is the way I solve issues. Not without justification years back, or in the Other Place, but now... now I'd rather talk. It seems to get better results at least half the time."

"Hm. True," Jordan said, folding her arms as the lift began to move again. "But sometimes, I just really have the urge to throw-down."

"Me too," Victor admitted as the lift sped up and then started to slow. "But not as much as I used to. Somehow..." the doors to the lift opened on a group of technicians with padds that started to push forward "...the thrill of ripping someone's spleen out with my bare hands just isn't as exciting as it used to be." Without a word, in unison, the technicians turned and moved away from the car and down the corridor at a rapid pace.

"Moments like that," Victor continued with a wicked smile as they stepped out into the corridor, "just never seem to lose their charm, though."

Jordan smirked, knowingly -- though the fear she received was more due to her professional position than anything else.

"No indeed," she replied. "I have to say though, it's been some time since I've done any good spleen ripping." She glanced at him as they walked down the corridor. "I'm just hoping the next few days don't hold anything that would change that. She paused in front of the conference rooms door. "But I somehow doubt it will all go down bloodlessly for any of us."

"We're talking about changing the course of history - that always has a price," Victor replied. "And blood is the ink that changes like that are written in."

"Plotting to Break the Laws of Physics"


Cutter Kara'nin
Artim Shivar
Eve Kyznetsova

It wasn't but moments after they arrived at the fabled Department of the Omega and Alpha that they got down to work. After all, they were trying to save Earth, the Federation and billions of lives. With goals like that, one tended not to dillydally. But, of course, the personalities involved tended to often be all work and no play even in the most light-hearted of times, so it was quite natural for business to immediately rear its head.

Cutter Kara'nin and Artim Shivar followed Eve silently through the extremely modern, high-tech corridors of the DOA. The two aliens were quietly awed by the technology, though each made their best effort to be as impassive and nonplussed as possible, almost as if there was some quiet competition between them as to who could be the least phased. Eve, as the head of this operation, walked quickly with dedication and clear purpose.

The plan was to travel back in time, to change the past and save the future. It was an insane plan - arrogant and presumptuous, if not completely futile - as even some of the people agreeing to it would argue. Cutter, Artim and Eve had left the others behind in the larger commons space. In theory, the others were to determine in what exact ways they would change the timeline, what actions they would take in the past, but in practice, they were probably simply arguing about the ethics. But Cutter, Artim and Eve, they were scientists. Debating ethics was a task better served by those who didn't know what they were doing. Besides, all the arguing in the would would be useless unless they could actually travel to the past. That was their job - to figure out how, exactly, they would travel back through time.

Eve led them into a large, dark room. It was empty, save for a couple chairs. "What is this?" Cutter asked.

"It's one of our thinking rooms," Eve said.

"Thinking rooms?" Cutter questioned, his tone mildly scoffing.

"It looks like a holodeck," Artim volunteered.

"It is a holodeck," Eve said, "Of sorts. There's minor force fields and no replication tech here, it just produces display with user definable touch interaction. I find modern science occasionally has troubles fitting in two dimensions on a tiny computer screen. It's better, I think, to stroll through your data tables, circle around your graphs and walk through your equations."

Cutter grunted, a sign of approval. Artim replied, "Looks good. Can definitely see the benefits especially considering what we're about to embark upon," he said. "Well I think the first question is, well, who has an idea as to how the hell we're going to go back and 'fix' things?" Artim was always the type to get straight down to things and this was a time where avoiding the point served no one's interests.

"I've already ruled out the slingshot method," Cutter said, "It's too imprecise, and too unpredictable. Besides, your ship couldn't take the strain."
"The Federation could," Eve said interjecting.

"Perhaps," Cutter admitted, "But the other problems remain."

Artim looked reluctant to add something to the discussion but he promised to so he started to speak as he handed Eve a data module.

"The Erdans, according to Shipmaster Nibbletoe, have been working on a device that could create a more precision targeted temporal anomaly. However its highly experimental..." Artim's tone seemed to indicate there was more to that last word then its normal context
"How experimental?" Cutter asked.

Artim response was very direct, "Well, in Erdan parlance calling something 'experimental' means its at least as likely to blow up in your face as its intended effect. Their R&D labs before their contact with the Federation had a casualty rate that a Klingon would cringe at."

"Then, that doesn't really sound like a viable alternative," Cutter scoffed, as Eve loaded the data. The room suddenly began to fill with marching equations and constellations of charts.

"I've looked at this data," Eve nodded, "I think the conceptual design is promising, but there are engineering issues in the power designs."

"What issues?" Cutter asked while scanning the floating numbers. "That it would require as much power as Vulcan produces in a day?"

"Which isn't necessarily an insurmountable obstacle," Eve defended.

"Except that this anomaly has formative properties like a singularity and thus would destroy any nearby planet," Cutter scoffed. He folded his arms and brushed away the schematics with his wings. "I stand by my initial appraisal," he spat.

"Well, then, it appears that, of the current options available, utilizing the Guardian of Forever is the only feasible method." Eve waved her hand as she spoke, a visual duplicate of the blasted and weathered cityscape with the Guardian of Forever's decidedly asymmetrical form in the center.

"Hmmm...isn't that thing just a rumor though?" Artim asked quizzically.

"Actually, no. The Guardian of Forever is an ancient device that was discovered, what, thirty to forty years ago?" Cutter said.
The cyborg shook her head. "Doctor Leonard McCoy was the first human to discover and utilize it, one hundred and thirty five years ago ..... as of yesterday, in fact."

"One hundred thirty five?!" Cutter exclaimed.

"I thought someone as smart of you would know that.. I attended theoretical discussions of the thing when I was studying on Vulcan and that was before your grandparents were born." Artim couldn't help but grin at getting a one up on Cutter.

The avian looked down at the Miran and frowned. "Well, whatever," he harrumphed, "This device - it can create portals to different positions in spacetime that, supposedly, humanoids can pass through."

"The quandary posed now is determining its location," Eve said. Another hand motion was given; this time the point of view suddenly zoomed out from the ground to planetary orbit, then out into a general overview of the Milky Way Galaxy. "The logs of the USS Enterprise were altered by sufficiently skilled data manipulation as to prevent accurate location via stellar mapping." A selection of stars highlighted themselves, with an appropriate label appended to the sides. Sector 001, DOA Primus, DOA Centrix, known political boundaries, and a few other landmarks were so indicated. "Stellar cartography of the records plots a location not found within the known galaxy. The star formations were jumbled and randomized, complete with galactic background features. However, given that Ellison Base relies on DOA Primus for much needed services, I can ascertain that the system they are located in lies some light years to the Galactic East." A line of stars light up, indicating the path the DOA service vessels take, along with the designated stopping point where all such services were rendered, a star labeled LV-426.

"Ellison Base is the top secret installation the Federation set up to study the portal," Cutter explained for Artim's benefit.

"System LV-426 is empty; A single type A planetoid orbiting a white dwarf. Detailed sensor sweeps reveal nothing out of sorts. Ellison vessels are always in system awaiting our arrival, and depart for their home base once we are securely outside long range sensor capabilities. Given the types of ships they are using, I can narrow the possible systems down to about 24." She 'touched' the dot representing LV-426. All of the highlights disappeared, to be replaced with a roughly spherical selection of highlighted stars surrounding the drop off point. "DOA's cartographic information for this region of space, as well as at least 50% of the regions Captain Kirk explored, is limited at best."

"How do you know the search space really is this small?" Cutter asked. "Couldn't they dock their receiver ships with a larger ship and fly somewhere else?"

She manipulated the visual representation, zooming in on the 'small' cluster of highlighted stars. The actual amount of space, as well as potential stars, turned out to be far larger than the galactic overview made it look like. "First, there would be physical evidence of a piggyback; graviton particles in the hull from tractor beams, stress wear asynchronous with the ship's normal warp field effects, and a host of other minutiae. Secondly, the search area contains over two hundred solar systems, half of which DOA holds no cartographic information beyond the positions and relative motions of the stars."

"So, then how exactly have you narrowed the field down to twenty-four of these two hundred or so systems? If the system only contains a terrestrial planet, at habitable distance from a K class star or below, you'd be able to easily deduce its presence by comparing apparent motion and redshift data from two or more observation points. Assuming you've done that, that would only eliminate about half of these candidates. A single terrestrial planet orbiting at a habitable distance around a medium sized star would be undetectable from long range without a good six to twelve month's worth of observation, but you said you don't have any cartographic information?" Cutter asked.

Before Eve could answer, one of her 'librarians' entered the room. The small woman walked over, nodded courteously to Artim and Cutter, and handed a data chip to her boss. Eve flipped a switch on the small device, and new files began to pop up around the room. She smiled, "It appears as though our search may be at an end."

Cutter glanced over at Artim, who shared a similarly surprised face, then looked back at Eve with impatient expectation.

"Paul McAllister has just donated to us some new information he's purchased," Eve said. "It suggests the location of the Ellison Base, and the Guardian of Forever, is here. LV-152." Around them, the room changed, growing a large, orange bulb in the center with several small pebbles circling around it.

"And how exactly do you know this isn't just another smokescreen?" Artim asked.

"The information comes from Samantha Widdlestien," Eve pointed out.

"That means nothing," Cutter replied.

"Yeah, I agree...seems way too easy..." Artim clearly wasn't sure about this conclusion from his expression. However...well...Widdlestien wouldn't...would she? She had grown up...

"Well, this is one of the twenty-four candidates," the cyborg pointed out, "So it's plausible, by our research, at least. I suppose we won't know until we go investigate."

Artim looked up at the other two, "Worth a shot I suppose. Lets be off."

"No Name Calling, Part 1"

(Occurs after 'The Path' and before 'Rendezvous')

Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff
Katherine Maivia
Branwen London

****

ISV Faith
Deck 4
Krieghoff Cabin

After her first 'shift' Katherine went back to Uncle Victor and Auntie
Angie with lead in her shoes. She knew that her Uncle would make good on
his threat to call her mum tonight and she would get an ear full. On the
other hand she would have to get it over with sometime.

"Hi, I am home!" She called out. "Work was fun and everybody is very
nice. What is for dinner?"

"One of Victor's family recipes, Andorian Ice Fish," Angelienia called
out, from the small table that she was setting places at. "Victor got
some live ones in a trade a year back, and we're raising them back home
now." She set a plate down, shifted it slightly, and moved to the next
spot. "We're going to try and introduce them in the wild later if the
eco-biologists decide it's safe." She set the last plate down and
smiled. "It's a bit spicy though, so go easy on it at the start,"

"You know I love your cooking, Aunt Angie." Kate smiled up at her. Yeah
she was sucking it up big time, needing her aunt on her side.

From in the attached kitchen - all of the cabins had them on the Faith -
Victor's voice called out, "Is that Kate, chatriz?"

"Yes, dear."

"Tell her to go get cleaned up, and then get ready to make the call - no
sense waiting on it."

Angelienia turned to Katherine. "Go on and get cleaned up, Kate. And
smile, it won't be as bad as you think."

Kate groaned. "You know my mum right? Just checking, you know it IS
going to be bad." The teenager mumbled as she headed for the bathroom.

When she emerged, Victor and Angelienia had swapped places, and he was
wiping his hands off with a cloth. "Ready to get this done, so we can
have dinner?" he asked.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say they could have dinner first. But
Kate nodded. "Let's get it over with. She is going to kill me, you do
realize that don't you?" Soulful eyes looked at him.

"Oh," he said agreeably as they moved to the door, and started down the
hall to the Com Center. "I'm sure there's going to be some yelling, and
a bit of finger-pointing, and probably some language that wouldn't be
approved of by the old Federation Broadcast Network, but other than
that?" He shrugged. "Really, what can she do unless we're going to be
somewhere that allows her physical access to you. Ground you? I've
already done that. Try to get me to spank you? I think we're a bit past
that point, don't you?"

The teenager shrugged. "I have learnt over the years that mothers are
very inventive were it comes to punishment. And she is going to be mad
at you as well, you know, and shout at you in Welsh. At least you are
not going to be able to understand it." She waited until Uncle Vic
contacted her mum and explained the situation.

***

"...and that's how things played out," Victor finished explaining from
today's virtual broadcast location of choice by the Com Girls, the
podium of Vulcan Science Academy amphitheatre. "I can't take her back -
we're too far out - so she's here and working every job we can pile on
her until we get back." He beckoned Kate forward. "You may now commence
yelling," he added to Bran, whose face had, by the time he'd finished,
turned a remarkable shade of red.

"Are you mad?" Bran's voice was dangerously low.

"Mum!" Kate whined.

"Quiet!" Branwen said. "I do not want to hear your voice, young lady. Do
you have any idea how hard I tried to keep you and your brother and
sister safe? And now Victor has to tell me you are going into battle.
You are a child, Kate, this is no place for you. I am terribly
disappointed in you."

The teenager shuffled around. ~Aw sucks, why did she have to do that.
The disappointment card worked so much better than the anger.~ "Sorry
mum." She mumbled.

"Why, Katherine, why?"

"I want to find dad and bring you guys together. What would happen if
you ran in to each other now without me here to negotiate."

Bran didn't have the heart to tell her daughter that they had already
met and hoped that Victor would not do either.

"Sweetheart, your father and I will never get back together. I thought
you understood that. I love another man now, in fact Colonel Duke and I
just got married."

"No!" Kate shrieked. "No you can't! You love dad. How could you?" She
yelled.

Victor squinched one eye slightly at the shrill pitch Kate's voice
reached, and debated with himself over whether now was the time to step
in and say something, or if he ought to let things run their course a
bit more and see if some sort of plateau was reached. Eyeing Kate's face
as she took in a gulp of air to continue, and seeing Branwen's
expression, he made his choice; he'd wait another minute and see how
things fell out, but if someone started to deliver an ultimatum, then he
was going to speak up, consequences or not.

"Sweetheart, I don't love your father anymore. You know that."

"Mum how could you marry a stranger, are you crazy, why?" Kate's voice
pitched even higher and right now she seemed like the offended party.
"Colonel Duke is crude and ugly, yuk!"

"Katherine!" Bran's voice rose in tone as well.

"I hate you!" Her daughter yelled. "I hate you!!!!!!"

"I think," Victor said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper, but seeming
to come from everywhere in the room on both ends of the communications
channel at once, "that will be enough, ladies."

"Victor, I need to." Bran started.

"Ah-ah!" Victor said, holding up a finger to forestall another sound.
"No more speaking for a moment. We are, I believe, fast approaching the
point where one or both of you is going to say something that will
difficult - if not impossible - for you to take back. So, since no one
else is slowing things down, I'm going to. Do both of you understand?
Just nod - no speaking yet."

Branwen still looked ready to explode but she took a few seconds and
then nodded.

Kate, tears of frustration in her eyes, nodded as well.

"Good." He studied the two women for a moment, letting the part of him
that was Chulak review the situation. "So," he said as Kate and her
mother both reached the point where they'd started to fidget in place,
"I'm now instituting rules to this conversation. First person to break
them will make me angry - and neither of you want to see that happen.
People don't like me when I'm angry. Rules One: No yelling. Rule Two:
Only one of you speaks at a time, taking turns. Rule Three: No
ultimatums, no threats, no dire promises. Rule Four: I reserve the right
to make up new rules as needed to keep things civil. Are we all clear on
those?"

They both nodded reluctantly.

"I thought we might be," Victor nodded. "Now, to keep things simple,
I'll pick the starting topic. Kate, you feel that your parents should
get back together again, is that correct?"

"Yes!" She said emphatically. "They belong together."

"Kit," Victor turned to her image, "In slow, conversational language -
and no Welsh - answer that without resorting to orders, declarative
statements, or treating your daughter like a sub-adult. Kate, you listen
and make an effort to understand that just because you want something to
be so, that doesn't mean that it has to be that way."

Branwen started with a sigh. "Katie, I can't forgive your father for
killing Daffyd. I will be honest with you I had some feelings for him
still until that point, even after the divorce and his defection. But I
can't live with the fact that he killed my eldest son. I have known Duke
for a long time and he is a good man. He cares for me and is there to
hold me when I cry. That is what I need right now, love. An equal
partner. Can you understand that?"

Kate shook her head no. "Dad still loves you, mum. You always told me
that divorce is a sin! If you marry this guy, you are an adulteress! A
whore!"

Bran started to open her mouth.

"No Name Calling, Part 2"

(Occurs after 'The Path' and before 'Rendezvous')

Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff
Katherine Maivia
Branwen London

****

ISV Faith
Deck 2
Communications Pod

"Kate." Victor's voice cut off any response from Branwen. "Civil conversation, please. It's now new rule time. So, Rule Five: No name calling. Are we both clear on that one? Just nod, please." After the two nodded, he continued, "For the record, the more of these rules I have to institute, the closer to seeing me angry the two of you are going to get. I haven't been angry in a long time, so I'm a bit out of the habit - but I think that it'll come back to me pretty quickly. Now, that said.."

He turned to Kate. "Do we really want to bring religion into this, Kate? Because if we are, then I'm going to need to tell you some things that your mother hasn't told you about the 'religion' that she was brought up in and what it did to her, and how it's affected her for years - and she isn't going to like me telling you that. Or, you can take my word for it that if she's changed her views since then, it's a healthy, good thing. Your call." He held up a hand to stop Bran's outburst. "No, Kit. Kate wants us to treat her like an adult, that means she has to learn to deal with the bad as well as the good. That means seeing us for what we are, warts and all. You're not a saint, this isn't a fairy tale. Not the way that this sort of thing should be done, it really ought to be gradual and subtle, but Kate's stepped up to the plate and accelerated the process, so she's telling us that she's big enough to handle the pitches." He turned back to Kate. "Kate?"

"What could have been so bad." Kate muttered. "She was the one who wouldn't give dad an inch. We haven't been allowed to see him since he left. He's my dad!" Boy was she angry at her mother. Years of pent-up frustration came rushing out all at once. And even though she loved her mum very much right now she had no compassion for her mum at all.

"We're not talking about your father right now, Kate, just your mother." Victor frowned at the memories he'd not called up in years. "As for what could be so bad. why don't you tell me when I'm done?"

"Yeah, yeah." Typical grown up talk, trying to make themselves more important to puny little teenagers. Kate just managed not to yawn at him.

"To understand your mother, you need to understand that she grew up in a small, restrictive, anti-technological religious farming commune," he began without preamble. "Not many families, all work done by hand with non-powered tools. A hard, rough, brutal way of life to modern eyes. The particular brand of religion practiced there was a Terran Christian offshoot, administered by male elders who practiced systematic physical and psychological abuse on their families - wives and children alike - in order to keep them in line and maintain control over them. They said that it was all in the name of 'God,' and was 'for the good of their souls,' but what it really was about was power. Power over their families. Power over their neighbors. Just. power. Your mother was beaten regularly, systematically, by her father, and brainwashed think that the beatings were her fault, because she was a sinner, and that he was doing it to 'save' her from eternal torment. And when merely beating her wasn't enough, she was punished in other ways: confined in small, dark spaces, starved, and worse."

Kate blinked. She could not believe what she was hearing. Sure she had seen the occasional scar on her mum's body but had always thought she got those in the line of duty. Being a marine was not always without danger. How could someone, a father do that to a kid. "What can be worse than that?" She whispered.

"Worse," he said evenly. "Worse than even what you're thinking, Kate. Bluntly, she was brutalized by her father so many times, in so many ways, that she couldn't have children. Not without surgical intervention to repair the damage he'd done to her."

Another blink. Her mum who had given birth to 6 kids and who was such a doting mother, how could someone do this to her.

Victor looked at the young girl for a moment, and then continued on, "When I first met your mother, the abuse had gone on for so long that even though she'd escaped the commune she accepted it, that she *believed* it to be true. She thought that bad things were supposed to happen to her because she was evil, that God was punishing her for daring to think a happy thought, or wishing that someday she might find someone that would care for her despite her evil, sinful nature. And when God didn't hurt her enough, she would hurt herself because she didn't know what it was like to *not* live in pain." Victor paused, and then added, "She got help, eventually, but it wasn't easy. Overcoming something like that never is. But it's still there, always, just below the surface, and if she's not careful, she starts to think that maybe she deserved this bad thing happening to her because she did this thing over here, or that thing over there. You get to ask questions now, Kate. But be civil."

"Oh mum." Kate whispered. "Is this true?"

Bran nodded not able to talk.

She lay her hand on the screen as if she could touch her mother that way. "Mum, I love you." Her voice was breaking, all thoughts of blaming her mum had left.

"Oh baby." Finally Branwen managed to look at her daughter. "Promise to be careful. I can't bear to lose you as well. Do exactly what Victor and his people tell you to do, will you promise me that?"

"Yes mum." The teenager said tears streaming down her face.

"Good girl." She looked at Victor. "Keep my little girl safe, Vic." She had never known that he knew her that well.

"I can promise you that she won't die," Victor said simply. "And that I'll do my best to protect her... but after that, maybe the God you follow now would be a better choice for everything else."

"No Victor, over the years I have come to learn that I can trust in you more than any god there might be. Keep safe all of you." Colonel London then cut the connection.

Kate sat there quietly for a while letting the tears drop down unchecked. "Was that all true?" She finally asked. "Why did she never tell me?"

"I don't lie to people, Kate," Victor said as he started the shut-down sequence for the com-pod. "It always backfires on you, so even if the truth is painful, it's a cleaner pain than the kind of festering rot a lie produces." As the pod started to cycle open, he added, "As for why she didn't tell you... I don't know. The most likely one that I can think of is that she's ashamed of it - your mother is big on shame, she holds onto it longer than she needs to, even now."

"It's stupid." Kate blurted out. "What happened in the past is not her fault. And she has never laid a finger on me or the other kids. How can she feel guilty about something that happened so long ago?" They walked back to the dining room. "Hey she forgot to give me more punishments!"

"Noticed that, did you?" Victor asked lightly. "Now, as to your question, guilt isn't logical. It just is. People hold onto things deep inside themselves because they don't know how to let go of them. Sometimes they hold onto them for years, sometimes a whole lifetime, letting their carefully hoarded guilt color their actions until the end of their days." He shrugged. "Perhaps she is afraid that people will think she's weak for letting herself be brainwashed like that and allowing those things to happen to her. Perhaps it's something else. Perhaps she doesn't even know herself."

"You don't know? I always get the impression that you know her very well." Kate smiled at Aunt Angie as she sat down for food. "I have never seen my mum as weak. The opposite even." She mused.

"First 'Grown Up Lesson' for tonight, then," Victor said, settling into his own chair after stealing a kiss from Angelienia, "is this: how we see other people is not nearly as important as how they see themselves. You may see your mother as strong because she *is* strong, or because she wants others to see herself that way. To understand her, though, you need to know how she sees herself - which may have nothing to do with who she really is."

The girl was silent for a long time and then nodded. "I think I will." It was obvious that she had learnt one of life's lessons today. "Thank you for telling me, Uncle Victor, and for explaining."

"You're welcome." Victor considered her for a moment as Angelienia started to bring food out to the table. "I won't lie to you about this either, Kate: I think the odds of your parents getting back together again are... slim."

"Why?"Kate asked looking up at him. "Because mum is so stubborn?"

"In part, because both your parents are like that. When I knew him," he explained, "your father was a hard man to like. He wasn't evil, just a product of his culture; the Capellan's are a proud, stiff-necked people, and the honor code that had been drilled into him as a child made him seem remote on the best of days. He seemed to get better for a time after meeting your mother, and falling for her - she was good for him in that way - but then... then things got complicated. The Hydrans captured their unit, and did... things... to both of them. Even though the literal damage was repaired, there was some psychological damage that I'm guessing never fully got healed. Your father wasn't happy about your mother's decision to keep your half-siblings and carry them to term, and your mother's religious beliefs wouldn't let her terminate the pregnancy, and that contributed to the issue. I would imagine that the collapse of the Federation and the two of them winding up on opposite sides didn't help matters any." He paused, then added, "I understand your wanting to fix things, Kate, to make them happy and together again, but sometimes... sometimes life doesn't work out the way we want it to."

"It is the one thing dad and I never agreed on. I met Rowena and Daffyd and they are nice. No different from human kids, they are not monsters like dad makes them out to be. I don't understand why he killed Daffyd and why he hates Rowena so. If he had given them a chance they would still be together, I am sure of that. Mum can't really love this Duke person, she always said she doesn't believe in divorce. Maybe if I got Ro and dad to like each other?" She suggested hopefully.

"Kate," he said slowly. "What your mother and father feel for one another is between them, you're a part of it, true, but just a part, the same as Rowena, and your other siblings. As hard for you to accept as it might be, you're not going to change anyone's mind until they decide that it's going to change on their own, no matter what you do. That's a fact of life. Sometimes the way people feel for someone changes; that doesn't make either one of them necessarily bad, it just happens. Right now, with the way things are between your parents, the War going on, and everything else stacked against you, I think you're far more likely to cause more damage to your relationship with both your parents, Rowena, and possibly your other siblings, by pushing for this than you are to do any good."

Kate pushed her food around. "What do you think, Aunt Angie?" She asked. "Can you ever imagine not loving Uncle Victor or not being with him?"

Angelienia stopped in the doorway from the attached kitchen, trays of food in hand, and stared at Kate for a moment before looking down at the food to check it as she continued forward and replied softly, "I cannot imagine loving anyone else in this or any other universe, Kate. I never loved anyone before Victor, because I didn't understand what it was that love really was until I found it with him." She set the food down and wiped her face with one of the cloths she'd used to shield her hands from the heat of the trays. "But you probably shouldn't use us as an example of what other people should be like," she added. "I was luckier than anyone has a right to be to have found Victor and not lost him before we discovered how good it was when we were together." She touched Victor on the arm as she sat down. "I wasn't a nice person when we met for the first time and I... almost lost him because of it."

"We were both lucky," Victor returned with a smile. "Lucky that you were stubborn enough to try again, and lucky that I was somehow smart enough to let you." He turned back to Kate. "Angelienia's right, though, Kate - we're not a good example to use for everyone. We were lucky, very, very lucky... and even with what we feel for each other and all that luck it's still not perfect; we disagree about things all the time."

"We just have to talk about those disagreements and not shout or yell or go to bed angry," Angelienia added. She looked over at Victor with a sly smile. "Of course, I've never been able to be mad at Victor in bed for long, so that helps a lot."

"Perhaps too much information, dear," Victor returned, smiling, although the look in his eyes said the reverse.

"So what do you suggest I do? I have come this far and I can't go back home." Katherine was willing to listen to their advice.

"What should you do?" Angelienia repeated, glancing at Victor for a moment before turning back to Kate. "I think you should pray," she offered. "To the Thousand Gods, or whatever face they wear when they look at you. I do, every day, and it always seems to help me. Just remember that sometimes, the answer to your prayers will be 'no' or 'not today.'"

"Besides that," Victor offered, "you should probably let things be on the 'get Mother and Father back together' front for a while. Let the idea percolate in your mother's head and see what happens. It might take hold, it might not. In the meantime... in the meantime, you ought to take this chance to see all the things you haven't had a chance to see before, and learn everything you can while you're out here..." he nodded towards the table "...and eat your fish before it gets cold."

"Yes Uncle Victor." She said and grinned at him. "Mother made me work hard today, but I like it. I don't mind hard work, and I am making new friends and learning stuff. Thank you for giving me this chance, Uncle, you are the greatest." She then shut her mouth to eat her food.

"I'm certain that there are plenty of people that would disagree with you, Kate," Victor observed as he started to cut his fish.

"Perhaps," Angelienia replied with a smile, "but none of them are having dinner with you tonight, dear. Now be good and eat your fish; we can talk later."

"All right, chatriz," he chuckled. "Another lesson for today, Kate: the people that you love - and that love you - can be the most gentle of tyrants because you let them."

She snorted but wisely kept silent and continued to eat before her aunt could get on to her as well.

"What Is and What Should Never Be, Part II"

John Walker


This is what John wishes had happened:

8-ball had never died. Instead, she decided that Starfleet was far too boring for her and decided to open up a bar somewhere else instead. John went with her because of Kaylee and ended up being the handyman for an entire planet. This planet would have been remote and far, far away from the war. John's whole family moved to this magical planet, and Kaylee decided to go into the nunnery and renounce boys forever. Everyone lived happily ever after until they eventually died . . . of extreme old age.

This is what John thinks should have happened:

8-ball didn't die, she just . . . went away somewhere. John doesn't know why and doesn't care . . . she shouldn't have died the way she did. That being said, John knows that he can't ask for everything in life, and he'd accept 8-ball being gone if he could just change the things that should never have happened. He should never have been captured on Betazed. He should've met Mercedes through some other war effort, one that wouldn't have taken two and a half years of his life and kept him from his only child. If John hadn't been in the prison camp, then he would have been around to take care of Kaylee. And if Kaylee hadn't gone through . . . what she went through . . . then John would have had the time to back Mercedes when she needed him. And if Mercedes didn't go through what she went through, they would fight honorably, act like Doves. At the very least, they wouldn't be burning people alive and eating marshmallows in Ten-Forward.

This is what happened instead.

****

Mercedes breaks John and two other prisoners out of the POW camp. Everybody else dies in the attempt. It's still a pretty damn amazing feat. John's been there, stuck on Betazed, for over two years now. All he wants to do is see his little girl and hold her in his arms again.

John fears, knows, that Kaylee won't remember him anymore---she's already four years old now. How is that possible---how could he have missed so much of her life? So many important years---he wishes he could take them back, wishes that he'd been there to see Kaylee discovering the whole world around her. He wonders how tall she is now, how much she talks, if she's learning to read. John can't wait to get there, to see her, to touch her. He's never going to let her go.

(And he doesn't know why he can't get ahold of his mother, or anyone else he knows back on Earth, but it's just a communications problem and nothing else. Nothing . . . worse.)

(He wishes.)

There are problems here, on the USS: Balder, the ship that picked them up. In the two years that John's been gone, things have begun to change. The Federation is starting to tear at the seams, collapse in on itself in a way that frightens him. John's never seen anything like it, how hopeless everything looks. The war with the Triad is still going on and the Federation is still losing, but now there's so much in-fighting that it's a wonder anyone could bother fighting the Triad at all. Back in better days, back on the Galaxy, the Hawks and Doves weren't such a big deal. It was a philosophical argument, for Godssake; how do you handle yourself in a war?

Now, apparently, the philosophy has escalated into something much closer to a blood feud.

John's gotten none of this information from the captain of the Balder, who holds intel so close to his chest that it might as well be stitched into his skin. He's been listening to the other officers, the ones who walk by with worried faces and tense shoulders, the ones who clearly have been ordered not to discuss anything that might have happened on Earth until they get a full debriefing from the prisoners. But John doesn't feel like trying to debrief anyone anymore; instead, he wants to talk to his fucking daughter, and each day that goes by he's getting more frustrated (and frightened) by why he can't. All he knows is that this conflict between the Hawks and the Doves has rapidly become violent, and most of that violence has centered around their little blue planet.

(They're dead.)

They aren't dead. John refuses to believe his mother and little girl had died while he was wasting away on Betazed. That isn't possible. That isn't . . . fair. But clearly, they need his help, and he won't be able to give it to them while stuck on this fucking ship with this fucking captain and his fucking precious debriefing. John feels like he's going to murder somebody. Murdering people is bad. So he tells Mercedes, "Fuck this bullshit. I'm stealing a godamned shuttle, and I'm stealing it right now."

And Mercedes, of course, gives him a shit-eating grin. "Well, hells yes," she says. "The fuck we waiting for?"

They steal one of the Balder's shuttles and land it on John's homestate of Kansas. Kansas ain't looking too pretty, these days. Actually, not much is. Whole cities have been destroyed. Corpses lay out in the street. The world looks like it's on it's merry way to Hell . . . and the Federation's too busy trying to hold itself together to come help.

John feels like his blood's boiling in his veins. All these people . . .

John doesn't want to go to his childhood home anymore, but of course he does. The farm's been blown all to hell. Kaylee isn't there. They find the skeletal remains of one human foot, near what used to be the house.

John's mother is dead.

Kaylee can't be.

Mercedes clearly believes that she must be, but she helps John search anyway, search through the debris of the farm and then the debris of Lawrence, shaking people, asking anyone who was still around what had happened, if they'd seen a little girl. They don't get a lot of information. What they do find out is that this particular bombing happened about ten months ago, and this part of the world is pretty scarce now except for grieving widows and orphaned children. John's heart practically leaps out of his chest at the notion of groups of orphaned children, banded together, looking out for one another---the woman he's talking to quickly disabuses him of this wholesome notion.

"They're wrong," she says. "The children are wrong. They were too young when it all happened, and with no one to look after them . . . they're savage, okay? They aren't human. They're feral."

But John can't listen to any of that, can't afford to believe that even if his child's alive, she's too far gone to be saved.

He can save her.

Bunch of horror stories, is what it is, John tells himself. Maybe these kids have done some bad things, stealing, maybe even killing to defend themselves, but what they're calling them, cannibals, Skinnies . . . just urban legends, nothing else. Kaylee's okay. I'm going to find her. She's alive. I'm going to find her.

And find her, he does, three weeks later in a back alley in Lawrence. Kaylee is there on her hands and knees, ripping away flesh with her teeth from a dying man.

"Trafalgar Down"

Colonel Branwen London
Colonel Biggs Duke (Robert)
Captain Jill Maivia (Aaron)
Xavier (Chris)
Lieutenant Jennifer Adams (Aaron)

The Trafalgar shook violently again as the Capella finished its strafing run on the ship’s dorsal side. On the bridge, Lt. Adams stayed at her post as she cycled through the undamaged weapons and attempted to lock onto the small and fast-moving Defiant Class ship as it rolled, banked, climbed, and dived through the onslaught of phaser fire. The ship was nimble, even for a Defiant. 'My guess is they upgraded the impulse engines for more power,' Adams thought as a rear bridge console exploded, knocking her hard to the deck and a piece of shrapnel missing her by mere millimeters. She pushed herself back up as the ships' anti-fire system activated, dousing the console with a flame-retardant spray.

The Colonel was knocked off her feet as well and had a nasty gash over her left eyebrow but she scrambled back to her feet. "How much more can we take?" Bran shouted. "Are the shields holding?” The Trafalgar’s fighters were out there trying to take on the Shiva, and they could not run and leave them behind without a haven to return to.

Adams glanced at the shields status. "Dorsal Shields are at twenty percent! One more good hit and they'll collapse. Starboard shields at thirty percent. Port at twenty-five percent and aft shields are at ten percent!"

As if on cue, the Capella had circled in behind the Trafalgar and unleashed a barrage of pulse phasers. The weapons ripped through the remaining shields and into the Trafalgar’s armored hull.

"Aft shields are down!" Aft armor at twenty percent!" Adams reported as a phaser shot managed to strike the Capella.

London fell down again, stifling a groan as she came to her feet. "More power to the shields, get us out of danger!" she ordered.

The Trafalgar banked sharply away from the Capella, which a sharper turn, having the maneuverability almost identical to that of a starfighter instead of a starship. On board, Jill grinned evilly as the Capella's weapons once again acquired lock. "Target their engines and fire!"

The Capella unleashed its weapons and they tore into the Trafalgar’s nacelles. At having little armor on the nacelles, the phaser pulses ripped into the manifold. The stress from the damage sheared off the port nacelle of the Trafalgar.

”We've lost the port nacelle...we can’t go to warp!" Adams reported as a shower of sparks rained over her. She managed to gain a lock on the Capella and fired a volley of torpedoes, which struck the smaller vessel.

Xavier clenched his seat tightly to avoid being knocked down. This was why he preferred sitting during combat. "They may have supped up the capabilities, but I bet a ship that small still has a limited crew." He looked over to the Colonel. "If we can concentrate fire on a single shield emitter, collapse it... we might be able to beam over boarding parties."

Biggs Duke was monitoring Bridge communications from the Trafalgar's main transporter room. With him were two fully equipped fire teams; Team 3 under Lt. Edward Swisher and Team 4 under his personal command. Captain Nokumora and the rebuilt Team 1 had been assigned to augment the Trafalgar’s depleted security detachment.

Biggs tapped his comm badge, =/\= We're ready as soon as you give the 'Go' order, Colonel. =/\=

Rowena London and two additional security personnel were stationed at the cargo transporter prepared to beam over the boarding package - an anti-personnel incendiary device designed to eliminate as many of the enemy that would defending a hot beam-in zone. It would be transported and detonated just moments before Biggs' teams would transport in. Ro signaled
that her position was secure and the device ready.

"Do it, Xavier!" London said. "Be ready to go, Duke. We are going to concentrate our fire. You will probably have a very small window to beam over."

Adams rerouted what available reserve power was left to the phasers as they continued to fire through their arcs at the Capella. Seeing the Capella pull a familiar maneuver, she guessed the new heading and fired a volley of torpedoes, striking the Capella's starboard shields. "Their starboard shields are down!" The Trafalgar suddenly shook again from another run, causing yet another console to overload at the helm, sending the officer slamming to the deck.

"Energizing now; good luck Marines." Xavier barely got out as he frantically rerouted enough power from the reserves for the transport.

London retook her seat. "Did you get them all across safely? What is our own status?"

"I can't tell if they're aboard, that last volley from the Capella knocked transporter scanners off line, and the onboard sensors are otherwise occupied." Despite the fact the Trafalgar again shook, Xavier kept working. "We've lost main power on decks sixteen through twenty four, but primary systems are still online through the auxiliary power generator. Life support on the port side of deck thirty is off-line, security is evacuating now. Engineering is reporting the M.A.R.A. has been damaged, and unless we take it off-line we're risking a core breech in minutes. And I can't raise any
of our allies on sub-space; I think the long-range comm system has been disabled. We're running low on torpedoes and our phaser output is down to 75%." He looked up from the console. "If the Marines fail... we’re going to have to abandon ship. I suggest we start now... use our weapons to cover the escape pods and shuttles as they make a run for it. The more distance
between them and the Capella, the better."

The boarding device materialized inside the Capella's engine room near the control center, and promptly detonated, killing or gravely wounding the people stationed there and providing a semi-secure but still hot "landing" zone for Biggs' marines. Team 4 went in first, materializing in kneeling positions, and firing as soon as the transporter effect allowed. Following
soon after, Team 3 arrived a short distance away, taking advantage of the ruckus Biggs' team was making to snipe at individual targets of opportunity.

Although the boarding bomb at effectively cleared the main control area of the Capella's engine room, auxiliary stations and other work areas were still manned by angry Capellans who immediately returned the Trafalgar marine's fire. Biggs and his team dived for cover. "Gunny!" ordered Biggs. "Signal Trafalgar -- we're in, zone is hot. Attempting break-out."

"Colonel." Xavier looked up from his console. "Colonel Biggs' teams are aboard. Looks like they made it in safely. If they pin down enough of the Capella's crew, we may be able to start evacuations. I volunteer to stay behind and keep the Capella busy."

“For now we will both stay and coordinate.” London said. “Evacuation protocol Gamma Alpha one.” She ordered. That meant that non-essential personal would be evacuated first. They would asses the situation constantly until only a skeleton crew remained. And if the ship was not to be saved, even that small crew would evacuate. None of the inner turmoil going through
Branwen in those few seconds showed on her face. Abandoning ship was one of the worst things for a ship’s captain to do. But if it could save lives she would do it in a heartbeat.

Main Engineering on board the Trafalgar was in chaos. Consoles spew out sparks and plumes of smoke, the red alert claxon was constantly reminding them of the danger they were in, and the intermittent red light that accompanied the claxon placed the large room in an eerie glow.

Michael had just receive news that evacuation protocol Gamma Alpha One was put into effect. Not a moment to soon. The Trafalgar was dying. There was no denying that. She'd just suffered too much. The port naccelle was blown right off the ship, the M/A containment field was dangerously close to collapsing, only a few console were still operable...and the list went on.
But the greatest loss of all were the people who'd lost their lives. His colleagues, his friends. Many of them still lay down on the ground, randomly thrown down across Engineering. For a split second he allowed a feeling of grief enter his heart and mind then he suppressed it, burying it deep down inside him. There was no time to grief.

"Attention people!! The Captain has ordered evacuation protocol Gamma Alpha One! Beta, Gamma, and Delta Team, you know the drill! Get to an escape pod ASAP! Alpha Team stays here!" McDowell screamed at the top of his lungs to try and carry his voice over all the noise of death and destruction. "GO!!"

Meanwhile, aboard the Capella, things were going to hell in the Engine room. A Defiant class engine room wasn't exactly a big place, and whether they were dove or hawk, nobody wanted to be locked in close quarters with Starfleet Marines. Still, on a Defiant class there wasn’t exactly many places to hide, so it wasn't like you had much of a choice.

Ensign Jason Castillo, 'JC' to his crewmates, fought to keep control of his small station in the Capella's bowels. He'd been unfortunate enough to have pulled power-systems monitoring this morning... a station particularly close to the beam in point. First thing to materialize was a device he'd read about with a great deal of horror. "Get out of there!" He yelled to his
comrades. "Engineering to security, intruder alert!" The young man screamed, scrambling for a nearby weapons locker. He barely had time to enter the unlock code and pull out a Type II when he heard the explosion, the screaming howls of those unfortunately caught in the wake but not yet dead, and the tell-tale whine of transporters again right before the Marines opened up.

"Boarders!" A young woman, Crewman 2nd class Margaret 'Maggie' De Palma screamed right before she ducked under a few phaser rounds that left her yelling.

JC grabbed a second type II and threw it her way, the weapon skidding across deck plating while the Marines made their break out attempt. "Watch the core!" He yelled at her, the atypical warning necessary given nobody in Capella's engineering expected to be required to repel boarders.

Maggie ducked behind a support strut and fired a burst as a few struck the bulkhead only inches from her face. She then could feel a different vibration. 'You guys are in for it now,' Maggie thought with a grin as the doors slid open followed by the near silent noise of blades slicing through the air. One three-bladed disc decapitated a Marine and embedded itself into a console. Roars from Capellans poured in, some clashing full speed into the boarding Marines. The invaders were being forced into a fight on the Capellan's term--that of hand-to-hand, where they excelled.

Biggs was rapidly running out of options. Crowded room, limited cover. Grenades would injure as many of his men as they would the enemy; so would wide dispersal beams. Gunny had already relayed the order to switch from rifle to hand phasers – not as powerful, but much more effective in close quarters. He attempted to contact Trafalgar for a beam-out to their secondary target only to find the comm system down.

As Capellans charged into the room, using their blades to devastating effect, Biggs made the only fighting decision left to him. It was an old order, referencing a time before energy weapons and transporter-assisted tactics. But his teams had practiced the old art, and had modified their weapons accordingly.

Biggs gave the order: “Marines! Fix bayonets!” Attaching his issue K-bar to the modified clip of his rifle, he sprang from cover. “Follow me!”

The Colonel didn't get far however. JC had heard the order to 'follow me' and in instant reflex, his eyes half closed, drew his weapon and fired. Sheer fortune had guided the beam from his type II right to Biggs' chest, the heavy stun setting just enough to get past the battle damaged armor and find flesh.

The rest of the capellans killed those who did not surrender immediately. Leaving only four marines, including Biggs, alive. =/\=Tarra to Captain Maivia, we have four enemy in custody. The rest are dead,=/\= a female Capellan spoke into her commbadge.

=/\=Restrain them and then lock them into the cargo bay. Captain Maivia, out.=/\=

On the bridge of the Capella, Jill sat in her command chair as she watched the another volley of phaser pulses rake across the Trafalgar, tearing into the other ship's armor and hull. She then noticed several lifepods being launched, and speeding away from the vessel.

"Scan the pods for lifesigns belonging to a Colonel London."

"Found it," the reply came after a moment.

"Beam the people in that Pod aboard. Disable any weapons they have during transport and transport them directly to the brig", Jill ordered, as Man'darr stepped onto the bridge and remained in the aft section of the bridge as to not interfere with bridge operations. "And destroy the rest of the pods!" Jill ordered mischievously. The Capella's weapons opened fire, obliterating the the small, helpless craft as all the passengers abaord could do, was watch and wait for their turn.

Soon the Capella shook from fire from the Bellerophon. " Come hard about and fire!" Jill ordered, leaning forward in her command chair.

The capella executed a hard turn, bringing its weapons to bear on the closing opposing vessel and fired as streams of pulse phasers and torpedoes streaked across the space, slamming into the Nebula Class vessel. The battle was slowly turning to the Hawk's favor, mostly due to the Shiva's presence and firepower.

“A Cold Dead Place”

Starring

James Corgan

Allison von Ersnt

T’lan (NPC)

OOC: Takes place just prior to the massive starship battle above the Guardian planet

*****

Above the Guardian Planet, in the ISS Stolen Heart

*****

Keeping himself in a calm, zenlike state of mind, James Corgan and T'lan prepared each other for battle.

James prepared an elaborate uniform for times when he needed to impress or bamboozle the locals. He never cracked open his Starfleet uniform, as decorated as it was, for to him Starfleet was a defunct organization. What he had in lieu was just as status worthy and so similar as to be mistaken for the one he wore at the end of The Triad War. First was the suit, a red shirt with black dress pants and a pair of polished black shoes, and with it the unit adornments. Not being Starfleet, his iconography identified himself as part of the Space Boomer Collective, Fleet Number 7, their symbol the rocketship orbiting a planet.

Next was his greatcoat, grey with black and red trim and decorated shoulders. This was his signature embellishment during The Triad War and he found it quite handy when he wanted leave the impression of military pride and accomplishment. It left alot more room for his medals and badges, worn proudly on the left breast of the coat. It also made him look a little bigger, swooping cloth reaching nearly to the floor loved to billow and sway.

T'lan buckled on his officer's sword. The scabbard and belt was simple black leather and brass buckles. The sword, being a blend of late industrial period panache and 24th century high technology, wasn't just for show, though it was its original purpose. James loaded a phaser pistol's power pack into the hilt, adjusted the pommel and inspected the curved duranium alloy blade, then flicked on the power system and saw it's slight glow, then turned it off. The blade had the accumulated techniques of the best swordsmiths Earth could offer, added a phaser shaped monomolecular cutting edge, and a further energy weapon effect that could slice modern armour like paper mache.

He holstered his favorite phaser, Midnight, into his belt. He'd had the weapon since he commanded a security detachment on the USS Galaxy. It was a standard Type 2 hand held, but modified with an undercarriage trigger, more sensitive and rapid controls, a more pronouncely curved handle to do away with it's broomhandle heritage and go more for a standard pistol configuration, and a trigger guard at the bottom (great for twirling). And it was in black and emboidered gold. Any more fancy and it would have pearl handles. He had other weapons concealed in his greatcoat and his wrists, but those were his secrets.

And at last, he put on his officer's cap. That was another non standard uniform item James added to scare the Hydrans. He picked a design he saw from a mid 20th century tank commander, saw it was cool, and took off their logo for one of his own. The old days saw a United Federation of Planets olive branch and starfield. These days he put on the planet and rocketship of the Space Boomers.

T'lan's was not as embellished, but here Vulcan austerity lost over a peacock's brilliant plumage. T'lan favoured the beret over the officer's cap, but kept the Space Boomer's symbol. A grey, longsleeve, tighter coat that reached down to her waist was used instead of the longcoat, and though she didn't wear medals she did keep her badges. She kept the traditional Vulcan High Command style maroon bodysuit, practical, minimal, flattering to her athletic body. She didn't keep an officer's sword. She had an Ahn-Woon wrapped around her waist, a Vulcan fighting rope, and had an old Dominion Phased Polaron Rifle slung to her back.

James and T'lan looked more like pirates than officers, but with enough razzle dazzle, showing by his medals he'd been through similar wars, and his weapons to show he was quite proficient at defending himself, he would be taken seriously by both sides of the Civil War.

T'lan was the first to quip, "Not how I planned to spend a saturday night."

James mirthed, as they entered the turbolift, "Saturday night's alright for fighting. I hope Alli is ready. Transporter Room!"

*****

Allison von Ernst, darling time traveling daughter of Rebecca and James sat quietly in front of her dresser mirror and contemplated the unfairness of the universe in general.

Life, it seemed, appeared particularly anxious to torture the young girl from Iceland. It seemed ready to spring new and interesting ways of ruining her existence on almost a daily basis.

It seemed like she remembered some story from school about some dude always being just out of reach from his dreams…like he was hungry and they kept the mashed potatoes just out of arms length or something. She never paid attention in school but that seemed right.

~Kind like me.~~ She grumped. ~Cant reach the potatoes~

Her dad was not quite her real dad….her mom was not quite her real mom, and the rest of the universe seemed to be gung-ho to blow itself into little bloody pieces.

Cute.

She considered her face in the mirror.

Young and pale with a light dusting of freckles that she ardently kept hidden under a mask of makeup. Those were from her mom, those freckles…her real mother and not some altered universe Sith Lord.

Touching her face she traced the almost invisible line of the little spots up one slope of her nose and down the other. This was evidence. Evidence that somewhere out there in the multiverse mom really existed. She really existed and was home somewhere making really bad meatloaf and doing her income taxes at the kitchen table in her head.

Alli almost smiled at the memory.

Touching her hair she allowed her aluminum nailed fingers to trail slowly through their blond locks.

This was from dad…the hair, as well as her pale blue eyes. Somewhere he was out there too.

True there was some version of him here on this starship, but that wasn’t him right? Not really.

Dad was the still the mysterious person was off in her original universe somewhere….but at least he wasn’t dating Vulcans or siring half sisters for Alli.

The tiny red light next to the mirror lit, bathing her features in its scarlet glow. It was time apparently. Time to go home…..hopefully.

Standing and smoothing down her skirt, Allison took a last look at herself in the mirror. Hopefully this would be her last trip.

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

(Transporter Room)

"Hey Alli!" James greeted cordially, keeping a brave face in what would be the confrontation of his life, "Ready to go home?"

She considered him silently for a moment before answering. Searching his eys and features for signs of herself. But it wasn’t him…not really right?

“Yes…..dad.” she added hesitantly, head lowered to the deck. “I’m ready.”

"Alright then. Styles!" James barked to the transporter chief, "Find that goddamn Guardian and set some transporter co-ordinates there."

"Aye, sir!"

"And Alli..." James turned to his daughter. Looking into her face, he saw the anger and the love that was buried inside. It brought love and guilt, love for his daughter and guilt for not being the father he was meant to be, "Before we go... I gotta say a few things."

She allowed him to lift her chin, half of her soul screaming to run away, the other half wanting to throw herself into her arms bawling and crying for Daddy to make everything all better.

In reality she did neither. Being a sullen silent teenager was a special skill set for Alli.

"Alli... I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. And I'm sorry I turned out to be a disappointment to you. All those years I spent fighting, thinking I was out there to protect you... I should have spent some time with you, where I was really needed. We had lots of generals. You have one set of parents. That's the math question I failed. If you see my past counterpart again, could you remind him of that?"

“Counterpart.” Allison repeated the word. “Counterparts and versions, and alternate selfs. When am I just going to find dad?” the ironic answer to that question was that she should have never left home.

"And another thing, about my past self... sorry if I was a little self absorbed." James blushed, "At the time you visited, I was going through alot of crap. A Hydran weapon scrambled my neural system so I had to go to Earth for rehabilitation. I went through War College again, got my commander's license while I was at it, and I had a fiance and the wedding date was close. I had alot on my plate at the time and it was overwhelming. So... go easy on the guy. And remember... he's going to lose someone very dear to him soon. She wasn't just anyone. She was special to him. Remember that."

Alli cocked her head to the side a bit. He thought she was going to go back to the past? Mom wasn’t in the past….mom was in some version of the future…or the present. She shook her head a bit confused at the terminology. “Right….” she grated through clenched teeth. “Be nice to Daddy about his girlfriends.”

"And forgive me for being a doting father... but if you run into further trouble and my past self isn't enough... ask Mika for help. You may not like her, and she probably doesn't know about the time traveling, but she is the best ally you have. She will help you in the worst case scenarios. Don't dismiss her."

Sullen teenager look was quickly replaced with angry pissy teenager. Allison would rather totally have acne for a year before she had anything to do with fake-Daddy’s chippies.

“Whatever.” she said.

"And baby..."

“WHAT ALREADY?” Alli snapped. Geez….get with the program dude.

"I'll always love you. You may not be this timeline's Allison, but you're Allison to me."

James kissed Allison on the forehead, then said, "Take care of yourself. I'll see you to the portal. T'lan, you'll stay on the ship."

T'lan objected immediately, "James! I can't leave you alone."

"T'lan, this isn't open for argument!" James brusquely snapped, "I have to see Allison safely to the portal. I don't trust the Hawks or the Doves to do the right thing. She needs me! I have a personal obligation to her and I'm the only one that can fulfill it. It means I can't fulfill my obligation to command this ship at this time. That's why I have to ask you to do it." He gave T'lan a reassuring nod, "Don't worry. I'll be back as soon as she transits. Make sure your ship is safe."

T'lan stammered, "My ship? James... what are you talking about?"

James silenced opposition by walking to T'lan, leaning down, and giving her a deep kiss. He let the kiss linger, letting it leave an impression.

James said, "Thank you for... being at my side all these years."

T'lan whispered, "You are not going on a suicide mission."

James winked, "Not if I can help it. You got your job. I got mine. Get to it soldier!"

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

(The Guardian Planet)

The planet was older than time itself. A dusty remote sphere already long forgotten when the universe was young.

The city into which they materialized was a mass of ruined columns and supports that spread to the horizon in all directions.

The long dead crowning glory of a civilization that was extinct long before the sun ever began to shine.

In spite of herself, Allison drew nearer to her father. A cold dead wind ruffled the hem of her skirt, and sent chills running up her bare legs. So much death and ruins. Alli was a girl of sparkle and life. Growing up on the green-growing shores of Lake Myvatn in Iceland she had reveled at the lushness of the world.

But now all was dust and forgotten memories.

She looked around, eyes scanning the strange alien shaped in the building shells around her. “Wh…what is this place?” she quivered. “I thought Uncle Daren and the others had already beamed down from Miranda.”

"Give them time baby." James nervously scanned the windswept landscape, "We're early for the party. That's all."

“And I’m going to be able to go back?” She hugged his arms tighter as another chill wind blew. “Back to my own time I mean with Mom and you….I mean the real you?”

James greatcoat made a pronounced fluttering noise, as he led Allison to The Guardian, "Did you know your mother and I saw The Guardian together once? This very same one?"

“Together? No.” Alli looked up with interest. She’d never actually seen her parents in the same room together, and any stories about their life together was fascinating to her. “Honeymoon spot?” she half teased.

"It's true," James, caught up in the story, continued, "It was above my pay grade at the time and I should have been shot. Hell, she warned me herself. But I cared about her well being, and misguided and young I found her next to The Guardian. It was when I got my Commander's pin that I realized why. A time machine like that, more powerful than Dora, could do alot of damage to the unwary, but it has its limitations. Unlike Dora, The Guardian is focused solely on one timeline thread. Go back far enough, and you can reroute yourself to your own timeline, like say... during your slingshot maneuver."

Nodding, Allison allowed her eyes to stray upwards into the night sky. There at the edges of her vision lights moved across the darkness.

Starships.

The sky was full of those dancing lights, the assembled Dove fleet centered on the Miranda, their flagship.

“And how is Mom supposed to get through that?” she asked, finger trailing upwards. “Cant they just let her through?”

James marveled at the naivety and innocence of the young. "I wish I could. I wish I could save everyone. You... your mom, everyone in this goddamn war, but hate's poisoned everyone's hearts and spiraled things well out of my control. They'll fight, and forgiveness for the destruction of Earth will be far from their minds. But don't worry. She may not have your street smarts or resourcefulness, but Rebecca makes up for it in raw brain power. She'll find a way. But knowing her... it will cost her The Shiva."

“And your ship?” Alli’s blue eyes locked into her fathers. “You’re going to help her right? You’re not going to let them hurt mom?”

James had no real answer. At this moment, T'lan might be fighting for the ship's life. No doubt the Hawks would be the agressors. Rather than burden Allison with an honest answer, James replied, "I'm part of the old school. I believe in fair trials first. Mark my words, she will live, and I'll get her out of this war and let her have that trial. But she will be responsible for her actions. That's part of the burden of our choices."

Nodding sadly and hugging his strong arm just a bit more closely Allison pretended not to notice that he didn’t answer the question. His ship was going to try and kill her too. Well so be it. At least with Dad down here the only person to get there but kicked would be that Vulcan skank.

She hoped it would be over soon.

She shivered again. Obviously her skirt was a bit too short for walking around dead planets.

“I’m cold Daddy.”

"Come here, darling."

James wrapped his greatcoat around her. It was heavy, but it was very warm. James braved the elements with nothing but his basic uniform. He kept his discomfort to himself, taking great pains to assure Allison that he was not inconvenienced.

"You'll be fine. I'll see to it"

"The Viper and the Dragon" Part One

Professor Ayanna Streely Hinanat

Peitro Leid NPC

Location: Undisclosed




The utter exhaustion wore itself openly on the victim's face. The downward curve of her lips, the dark circles under her now black eyes, and the saliva-less dry mouth left the woman barren of emotion.

Peitro Leid walked into the room with the precision of a military drill instructor. His dark gray jumpsuit was featureless, with the exception of an odd emblem in black on his left breast pocket. He wore black leather gloves and boots with a shine so bright your reflection could be seen. He reached the middle of the room, slowly turned his head to face his victim and then turned his body to match his head. He permitted himself a small smile as he sized up this lady for the first time. He had read the intelligence reports on her, but they did nothing to help him judge her character. This one... would be an easy one to defeat.

He took two steps forward stopped a few inches from her and then pulled his leather gloves slowly off his hands, taking his time as he folded them up and slid them into his back pocket of his suit. He looked down at her, saying nothing at first. There was no need. They were both telepaths... at least she was a partial one, though to a considerable lesser degree than himself. He put his finger to her chin and tilted her head slightly to look into his eyes, dark and very distant.

And though there was certainly no need for discussion, nor need for touch, he so loved putting his hands on his victims as he extracted what he needed to know. He positioned his hands, much like a Vulcan would when linking telepathically and instantly felt his mind enter into hers. He thought, {{Do you know why I am here child?}}

Ayanna's cheek nerves registered the fleshy tap tap of his chilly fingers. She rolled her neck to the right causing her head to level as black eyes full of morose irritation met his equally distant stare.

"What?" Her voice rasped.
{{Your purpose child. Why I am here in your mind?}} He thought to her...

"Hell if I know." She spoke out loud with an angered hiss.

He found himself flying through a large black area of space, much like what all his victims had. Inside this space, hundreds of thousands of bubbles seemed to float aimlessly inside her mind. He flew to the nearest one, which held a memory of receiving her first performance feedback in Starfleet and gazed into a moment. She sat at a desk with a Lieutenant talking to her about initiative and motivation. He muttered, "How absolutely boring..." He turned and flew to the next bubble and looked inside it. He was delighted to find the experience of her first real kiss with a boy when she was a teenager. He stared at her a moment and then said, "How sad."

She wished he would shut up. There was nothing worse than being mentally probed, with all her secrets exposed with vivacious color. Closing her eyes, she drew upon the image of herself in an attempt to construct a mental barrier against him. Out of the middle of her mind, Ayanna summoned a creature of great strength. It's royal purple color expanded with translucent scales as the beast grew in an attempt to cover her memories and information with it's wings. The eyelids of the beast blinked twice, opening to reveal obsidian orbs full of security. Raising it's head slowly, it stopped, staring openly at the person that had invaded it's space.

Peitro gave a bit of a grin. When he was brought in on this assignment, he thought it would be just another simple case without complications. The mere act of transforming her consciousness into a entity like this dragon was at least proof she had some kind of mental defenses. He smiled and as he did also began to change into a different kind of image. A long slim python, at least 120 feet in length, with his body as thick as a tree trunk..

He opened his own huge gaping jaws to reveal his fangs which were more than 3 foot in length and extremely dangerous in appearance. As he spoke, his fangs slashed back and forth with ferocity, "So, you will present me some kind of a challenge. Good. Make this interesting for me."

He recoiled back preparing to strike! And with lightning speed, leaped the distance between the two of them. His body wrapped tightly around her torso and again around her waist, catching one arm and a wing in the coiling. He felt a sinister grin wrap around his wide mouth as he said, "Perhaps I was overstating your defenses to much." The instant he finished and while she was still stunned from the speed of his attack, he jerked forward again, his teeth burying themselves through some of the missing scales on her chest and shoulder! He and penetrated her conscious with his strike... her defenses would quickly start to weaken... and all he had to do was wait and hold on tightly...

The past aways exposed her. The psychologists, victim's group therapies, and or addictions through the years did nothing to completely heal the attack she experienced at the academy. Those memories were her weak point, the entry into the deep dark secrets she held exposed themselves through her bare unprotected flesh. She instantly withdrew her defenses, shrinking in stature. He had her leaving her with no clue as to how to protect herself.

The viper released his fangs, realizing this victim had so little fight in her. He could feel it in her core. He had begun to merge into the defenses of her mind, as the viper added coil after coil around her body, wrapping her legs tight, her arms and wings. His trunk wrapped around her neck as well, leaving only her head dragon like head exposed and her turned around to face her and said, "I believed you a challenge. I believed wrong. Not just stay there and be a good little girl while I find what I seek." The viper turned his attention to the space filled with bubbles and moved with her firmly wrapped in his coils. He began to poke his head into the bubbles around him invading her most intimate thoughts and memories. He continued poking around with her failing to even struggle in his grip. He poked his head into another bubble and yelled, "Eureka! I found what it is I seek. Now, be silent and still... do not make me crush you." He began to extract that memory into himself, causing the bubble to shrink slowly... becoming smaller and smaller....

"Prime Planning, Part 1 of 4"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Shiarrael M'Kantu
Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff
Katherine Maivia
Captain Daneel Olivaw
Captain Karyn Dallas
Commander Paul McAllister
Commander Cutter Kara'nin
Captain Artim Shivar
Valentina "Eve" Kyznetsova
Thyago Carneiro
Th'Khiss K'aa

****

DOA Primus
Central Administration Building
Conference Room 1

Daneel was the first to arrive and instead of sitting down right away he looked out the windows to watch the stars. As usual, it was a beautiful sight and he wondered just what kind of mess Jaal had sent him to deal with. He suspected these would all be people that his Trill friend knew and got along with at some point in the past. Would he be able to work with them the same way? The only person in the group he really knew of was Daren M'Kantu and that was mostly by reputation.

Less than a minute later, the doors slid open again, admitting a couple in civilian garb, the man human and dark-haired, the woman Ktarian and blonde, and carrying a shoulder bag. They both stopped just inside the door, looked around, and moved to one end of the table, as if putting distance between themselves and the rest of the soon-to-arrive individuals. "Good morning," the man nodded to Daneel pleasantly. "I don't think we've met, for all that you're one of mine.
I'm Victor Krieghoff, and this is my wife, Angelienia." The Ktarian woman smiled and added her own "Hello!" to the greeting.

"Pleasure to meet you," Daneel started towards them to shake hands and stopped suddenly about one meter away. The Betazoid's eyes narrowed. His head tilted to one side as he looked suspiciously at the other man in the room. "Ah yes. You must be the one Jaal warned me about? He said you were... different."

"That's certainly a polite way of putting it, yes," Victor nodded. "I'm generally much easier to get along with than I was back in the day, though." He studied Daneel for a second. "Betazoid?" At the confirming nod, Victor continued, "You might want to skip the actual handshake then. I've gotten better about not affecting people, but I've always had issues with your people, all the way back to my childhood; Betazoids generally tend to react... poorly... to my presence, even now, in close proximity."

"I... see," Daneel admitted testing the mental ether with his eyes still narrowed. He took a step back from the Krieghoffs though he still smiled and offered a respectful nod. "Still, it's a pleasure to meet you."

The three were interrupted by the door opening again and a young woman, a teenager really, also in civilian garb, slipped in. "Sorry for interrupting, Uncle Victor, Aunt Angie." she apologized to the Krieghoffs out of breath. "I got to help with getting the shuttle docked and then I got a little bit lost in getting here. I was supposed to come here wasn't I?" She frowned. "Or did you want me to stay with the shuttle?"

Angelienia smiled and Victor sighed. "That's all right, Kate," the Ktarian assured her, putting a hand on her husband's arm to signal that she'd handle things. "Just come and sit by us and we'll sort things out after the meeting." Turning to Daneel, she added, "This is Katherine, she's one of our wards. Katherine, this is... drat, we hadn't gotten to the part where you told us your name yet, had we?"
she finished.

"Daneel Olivaw from the USS Eldritch," the Betazoid offered hiding his discomfort well. "Jaal Jaxom and I attended the academy together and served on the same ship for a while afterwards. We've been great friends ever since," he offered as a way of explanation. "He's otherwise engaged or I believe he would have been here himself."

"It's always good to meet new people," Victor returned, "especially when they're friends of friends. I'm sure that Jaal and I will run into each other sooner or later, but any friend of his is a friend of ours."

"Nice to meet you, sir." Katherine said politely. "Katherine Maivia."

"Nice to meet you as well," Daneel smiled warmly at the younger woman. There would certainly be more meet in greets in the near future.

"IS THAT BRUSSELS SPROUTS I SMELL?" came booming voice from the conference room door. Paul McAllister, a wide grin on his face, strode into the room with an unlit cigar in one hand and his walking stick in the other. "Damn, Victor, I knew it had to be you -- no one smells like Brussels sprouts better than you. How are you, sir?" Paul chomped on his cigar and extended his hand, knowing that Victor's touch would make the smell that much worse for him, but more than willing to show respect for his old dancing teacher.

Victor smiled and shook the proffered hand firmly. "Good to see you, Paul," he returned. "You remember Angelienia of course," Victor's wife hugged Paul in greeting before he could reply, "and this is Kate, one of our wards who invited herself along for the ride."

"A pleasure, sir." Kate said, keeping more of a distance from this exuberant person.

McAllister smiled at the young woman with a touch of melancholy in his eye; Kate appeared to be just about Jonathan's age -- or the age his son would have been if he had not been killed at the beginning of the war. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss." Paul turned to Angelienia. "I haven't been hugged that good in almost a month! Where's the cookies? You did bring cookies, right?"

"I did," she nodded, opening the bag she'd brought in and taking out a vacuum-sealed container. "I brought some to the meeting, just in case anyone wanted one. I'm trying a few new kinds this time - I hope you like them." She set the container - which, judging from the size was the only thing in the bag, and from the layers of cookies visible through the transparent side, had to hold over a hundred of the dessert items - on the table. "There are White Chocolate Chip Macadamia Nut, Vertinberry Oatmeal, Andorian Sugar Twists, and something that the recipe called, 'Betazoid Dark Chocolate Raspberry Delights.'"

"Victor, don't ever let her get away," pronounced McAllister. "Beautiful women abound, even these days, but none of them can make cookies like this lady of yours." He winked at Angelienia. "So -- you're not quite as 'sprouty' as you used to be -- less butter and slime. You are well?" he asked Victor.

"I am," he nodded. "Less angry than I used be, back the last time we met, which may be why you're smelling a change, and why Daneel here isn't trying to jump out the viewport into space to get away from me.
I... tried an extreme anger management program, and it seems to be working."

Daneel smiled as his interest in those Betazoid Dark Chocolate Raspberry Delights kept his mind off Victor's influence causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand straight up.

"Extreme anger management, eh?" asked McAllister. "You'll have to tell me about that -- I'm told I could use a bit of help myself." He turned his attention to Betazoid captain standing nearby. "Captain Olivaw? I don't believe we've met -- Paul McAllister. I play the piano."

"Daneel Olivaw, pleased to meet you Paul. Sadly I don't play anything musical but I'm a fair racquetball player."

Angelienia opened the container of cookies, filling the conference room with the rich odor of sugary baked goods in seconds. "Try one?" she offered, holding the container out to Daneel and Paul.

"OH don't mind if I do," Daneel answered taking one of his favorites.

Paul chose one of his favorites, the WCCMN. After popping the entire cookie into his mouth, he chewed and his face lit up in ecstasy. "Angelienia, this should be outlawed. You sure I can't bribe you for the recipe?"

"Of course you can, Paul," she laughed. "But you know it's the love that goes into them that makes them taste so good. That..." her eyes turned serious for a moment and looked over towards Victor. "That... you can't have. I already gave it to someone else."

"Pity," Daneel commented with his mouth full.

Captain Karyn Dallas entered then, and she nodded politely to all in the room before she took a position as far from Victor Krieghoff as humanly possible. She'd heard the man was much different than he used to be, but she couldn't trust that. Even though it seemed like a lifetime ago when he attacked her while under the influence of powerful pheromones, she could recall the beating and attempted rape as clearly as if it had occurred yesterday. She'd done her best to move past it, but she couldn't keep her mouth from going dry every time she saw him. Still, she'd make a deal with the devil if it meant getting out from under this damnable war.

The doors slid open again, admitting the familiar, if older, figure of Daren M'Kantu, and the tall, slim figure of his daughter in her ever-present position at his side. "Good morn-," Daren stopped in mid-word, blinked, and seemed lost for a moment.

"Father?" Shiarrael asked, shifting position as she entered the room so as not to run him down.

"I... I'm sorry," Daren shook his head and moved the rest of the way into the room. "That smell, I..." he sighed. "For a moment, I thought I was home again."

"Sir," Victor nodded from the end of the table.

"Captain," Angelienia smiled. "Would either of you care for a cookie?" She offered the container to the two new arrivals.

Daren ignored the look from his daughter, peered into the container, and plucked out a cookie. "Are these... Vertinberry Oatmeal?" he asked carefully, as if afraid to be told 'no.'

"Yes," the Ktarian nodded. "It's a recipe I got from" her face sank and her voice slowed as she realized what she was saying "... from your wife back... on... the Galaxy...."

"Prime Planning, Part 2 of 4"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Shiarrael M'Kantu
Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff
Katherine Maivia
Captain Daneel Olivaw
Captain Karyn Dallas
Commander Paul McAllister
Commander Cutter Kara'nin
Captain Artim Shivar
Valentina "Eve" Kyznetsova
Thyago Carneiro
Th'Khiss K'aa

****

Conference Room 1

"So," Daren continued, "we're all agreed on that point then?" He looked
around the room. For some of them, it was the first they had heard about
the plan. The plan to defy long standing Federation and Starfleet law.
The plan to travel back in time. The plan to do the impossible. The plan
to save Earth and the very existence of the Federation.

It was a lot to take in, he knew. It took him a long time to come to
terms with it himself, so he was expecting to hear some amount of shock.
But, these were all people he knew and had served with. He knew that at
some point, nearly everyone here had trusted him with their life. So, he
was counting on that trust again.

Victor frowned from his end of the table, but nodded. He still wasn't
convinced that this was a good idea, that this didn't risk erasing
everything that they still had, but he'd given his word to listen...
and Angelienia was convinced this was a good plan. For that reason
alone, for her, he'd support it even if he had private misgivings.

Karyn shrugged and offered a mischievous grin. "This isn't the first
time I've pissed off the brass, you all know that. I'm sure it won't be
the last. I couldn't think of more worthy partners in crime." She
offered a nod of acknowledgement to Angelina and added, "If we're going
to go to prison, at least we'll be high on sugar."

Paul winked at Karyn and popped another cookie into his mouth. This
whole mission was a good excuse not to worry about his waist line.

"Now we need to decide what we're going to do to change the past,"
M'Kantu said simply, noticeably playing down the fact that they were
single-handedly trying to accomplish a truly Herculean task and change
the course of the river of time. "There is at least one thing that I
know must be changed."

"As you all know, Earth was destroyed," Daren said, and his stature fell
visibly as the memory of his homeworld flashed once more through his
mind. "Earth was destroyed using a weapon, called the STAM.
Subsurface Tectonic Agitation Munition. This is the same weapon that was
used on Delta and Bolius by the Hydrans. The STAM is a Federation
weapon. We made it, and the Hydrans stole it."

Daneel rubbed his chin in thought. He suddenly realized he'd picked up
the habit from Jaal years ago and chuckled inwardly at the thought.
"We should do something about that then," the Betazoid suggested, "Stop
the Hydrans from getting a hold of it? Stop it from being used on Earth?
Or, better yet, stop its creation in the first place."

"If I recall correctly," Victor offered, "the STAM had a long, difficult
development process; over a decade in testing, cost-overruns that would
have bought a pair of Intrepid-class ships, and a half-dozen failed
test-fires." At the looks he got from several people around the table he
shrugged, "I read it in the files of an arms dealer I put out of
business," he explained. "In any case, that's the easiest way to solve
the problem: disrupt the development process."

"All right," Daren stopped to drink some coffee and take a bite from
another of the cookies that his daughter had given up trying to stop him
from eating. "That's something we'll need to address. I'll have the
files accessed so we can find a good spot to do something about it.
Paul, I believe that you have some ideas on what else we need to look at
potentially changing?"

McAllister nodded his thanks to the older man; although he had never
served with Captain M'Kantu, Paul knew the man's reputation for giving
his subordinates a fair hearing. He hoped that was still the case.
Pressing a control on the table top in front of him, McAllister
activated a large view screen. Springing into view was an official
Starfleet portrait of a senior member of what was then Starfleet
Command. Even after being touched up for the public, the man scowled at
those gathered in the room.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Admiral Jurgen Hoth. Centering on
Earth's destruction, and working backwards, this man is the root cause
for the reality in which we currently live." McAllister rose to his feet
and limped to the front of the room.

"Jurgen Hoth?" Daren blinked. He'd expected a bit of finger-pointing in
the proceedings, but hadn't expected the deceased Hawk Admiral to be one
of the ones that was being aimed at.

"Didn't he die in a 'shuttle accident?'" Victor asked. "a year or so
before I was court-martialed?" He leaned back, smiling. "No one really
dies in shuttle accidents you know. Not real ones. Statistically
speaking, you're at greater risk of being hit by a micrometeorite while
out in your garden."

McAllister smiled at Victor and nodded. "True, but there is always
'pilot error,'" he added.

"He was Rebecca Von Ernst's mentor," Karyn offered. "As I remember it,
he really pushed her. He was convinced she possessed the greatest
tactical mind the Federation had seen in a long time, in large part due
to her mathematical abilities and her photographic memory."

"And with a complete and utter disregard for her psycho-social
development," added McAllister.

Paul pressed another control near the viewscreen and the official
portrait of the most hated woman in the Milky Way took the center of the
screen, moving the scowling admiral to one corner. "I know what many of
you think. Rebecca von Ernst, commanding the Shiva. Her and all her
hawkish ilk deserve vengeance for the destruction of Earth and the death
of untold thousands of our fellow mates. In fact, if my analysis is
correct, there is a 71% chance that someone in this room has signed this
woman's death warrant." McAllister looked hard at Victor and saw no
reaction other than a frown of concentration in the other man's green
eyes. 'That's interesting,' he thought. 'Just what are you up to old
friend?'

"It wouldn't need to be anyone in this room," Angelienia spoke up.
"She's killed so many people, that you could say that about any group of
more than ten people randomly assembled from the old Federation."

"A good point," agreed McAllister. "However, most studies indicate that
the preferred method of her elimination would be public, spectacular,
and designed to include a large degree of vengeance. An assassination
requires a more subtle and devious mind. Either way, her outright
elimination could be problematic -- I'll get to that in a moment."

Paul toggled the screen again, and a analysis diagram drawn as a reverse
functional flow block study moved Rebecca's pixie features to the corner
of the screen opposite Hoth's. "This diagram is a partial reconstruction
of an analysis branch focused on the destruction of Earth.

"The analysis 'tree' from which this branch grew was begun in the 2380s,
when Fleet losses in the Triad War were exceeding all projections for
unknown reasons. This diagram shows the cusp events that lead us to
time-line we currently inhabit. I've currently identified three,
possibly four such cusps: Rebecca von Ernst, Admiral Hoth, the Triad
War, and perhaps Rebecca's daughter Alison.

"Allison von Ernst may be as unwitting a player in the events that led
to Earth's destruction as she says she is. I've reviewed most of the
transcripts of interviews taken from her since she was recovered;
unfortunately, it seems that people with more short than long-term
thinking have denied us the chance to thoroughly interview Allison and
determine her true part in all of this."

"I knew Allison back in the day," Victor offered quietly. "In fact, I
was the one that helped her return back 'home' when she determined that
what she'd come to the past looking for wasn't what she'd thought it
would be. I'm not saying that she couldn't have changed the past when
she came back, but if so, then it was inadvertent. She wasn't the right
sort to be doing anything deliberately; not that sort of thing, anyway."

McAllister nodded. This fit with his memories of the younger Allison. "I
agree, and what information was obtained from her prior to her, um,
capture bears this out. Allison may be responsible for some minor
paradoxes due to her time aboard Galaxy, but probably not any cusp
events."

Karyn remained silent. Having worked with Paul, she knew where a lot of
this was going. She wondered briefly what the others would think.
Would they dismiss their findings as too unreliable? Too soft? She
wanted to believe her years of service had earned credibility and trust,
but with so much at stake, a room full of tactically and fact minded
individuals wanted something more objective to count on. While Karyn's
medical and psychiatric skills had earned the respect of all those she'd
served with, she held no illusions about where her expertise stood in
the pecking order of respectable disciplines.

"So, friends, in summation -- there are three definite cusp events that
need to be tweaked if we want to return this universe to a track more in
keeping with the ideals of the Federation: One, Rebecca -- her creation
into the Mistress of Destruction needs to be curtailed. I have already
asked Karyn Dallas to prepare a forensic psychiatric evaluation of the
woman to identify key events in her lifetime that were manipulated or
altered to make her the bitch she is today. However, I must caution all
of you -- the outright elimination of any of these cusp events, through
a premature death or removal from their time-line may result in what is
sometimes called the Red Alert effect.

"The Red Alert effect is named after a once popular computer game -- the
premise being that the players must fight a WWII with a vastly superior
Soviet force because someone thought it would be better to assassinate
Hitler than to turn him into a non-effectual, easily forgotten artist.
Hitler's death did not, in this scenario, prevent the war, but allowed
Stalin to rise to even greater power.

"Two -- the Triad War must be brought to an acceptable conclusion,
possibly through the elimination of this Hawk v. Dove nonsense that
weakened us since the Borg conflicts. Which brings me to three, and yes,
I'm almost done -- Three, Admiral Hoth -- the only identified link
between all other cusps. Admiral Hoth was von Ernst's mentor, and a
rabid Hawk, responsible for many of the policies that eventually led to
civil war within the Federation.

"Jurgen Hoth is the root cause. Analysis indicates a 74% possibly that
Hoth may even be or have been a Triad agent. Again, beware the Red Alert
effect in considering his outright termination -- it would be far better
to discredit the man, remove his influence on Starfleet and the
Federation policy makers, than it will be to kill him. There is always
an asshole waiting to take another asshole's place. Beggin your pardon,
Angelienia." McAllister centered Hoth's picture on the display once
more, then limped back to his seat.

She snorted and waved a hand dismissively at the need for an apology. "I
was a fighter pilot, Paul; I heard and said worse every day before
breakfast."

"And some of us said worse in session," Karyn quipped. She found it
fascinating that the normally "call-it-like-I-see it" Paul felt the need
to apologize for Angelina's benefit and no one else's. Her shrink
instincts had started pondering that before M'Kantu's voice interrupted
her reverie.

Daren nodded from the head of the table. "Succinctly put, Paul, thank
you. Now I have a question for all of you: If we can change only *one*
thing in the past, due to a lack of operational time or other
constraints... what should it be? What one event gives us the best
chance of averting the universe outside out windows? Rebecca? Something
to do with Jurgen Hoth? Stopping the Triad War? We need to prioritize,
to maximize our chances of success with a single point. Then, if we're
allowed the time..." he smiled slightly at the unintentional pun "...we
can move on to try and accomplish secondary and tertiary goals to
further influence the change."

"And," Victor added quietly, "we really should decide what events we do
*not* want to affect; what we have to stay far away from. Changing the
universe is one thing, but if we wind up breaking in another way, then
we haven't really gained anything, have we?"

McAllister leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "Just a
couple of points to add to the discussion -- a well-known author once
wrote that 'a paradox can be para-doctored.' The point being this,
without resorting to the math: mistakes made when traveling back in time
have already been made and the time-line has adjusted, or branched to a
new multiverse. What's been done in the past is already done -- it can
be shifted, and in some cases pinched off, but rarely if ever completely
eliminated.

"There *will* be some untoward effects to this mission -- I may grow
hair, for example; another would be a completely new time-line." Paul
directed his next remarks to Daren. "As for having time, sir -- we'll
have all the time in the world, if you accept that we may have to do
this more than once to get it right. But if you only want to make one
attempt -- then I recommend centering on the root cause: Admiral Hoth.
He is the only element thus far discovered linked to all other cusps,
Rebecca and the War. Deal with him, and changes *will* be affected to
everything he is connected to. Priority resources should be directed at
the root cause; secondary resources can be delegated to the other cusps
to aid in tweaking them into the time-line we desire."

"I agree, sir," Karyn said, directing her attention to the group.
"Begging your pardons for the use of the therapy lingo, Rebecca is what
family systems therapists call the scapegoat or the identified patient.
She destroyed earth, and the natural inclination is to want to focus all
of our intervention on her and her actions, when the reality is,
Rebecca's actions in reaction to a dysfunctional system based on action
and reaction. I think our efforts should focus on both of them, as
focusing on just one disregards the role the interactions between them
played in maintaining the larger dysfunctional system."

"Prime Planning, Part 3 of 4"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Shiarrael M'Kantu
Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff
Katherine Maivia
Captain Daneel Olivaw
Captain Karyn Dallas
Commander Paul McAllister
Commander Cutter Kara'nin
Captain Artim Shivar
Valentina "Eve" Kyznetsova
Thyago Carneiro
Th'Khiss K'aa

****

Outside Conference Room 1

Up! And catch. Up! And catch.

Thyago sighed. He was outrageously bored. Everyone else was meeting, discussing what to do if they were able to make it back through time.

But, he didn't really want to participate in that. It was liable to be boring. Although, to be fair, he wasn't doing anything anyway. He was out in the hall, sitting upside down in a chair, his legs over the back, his back lying on the seat, his head hanging down off the front, and he was repeatedly throwing a phaser up into the air, as if it were a tennis ball. A really old phaser, which he had picked up originally from someone who was here now. Up! And catch.

But, however bored he was out here, the meeting was liable to be equally boring, and he would have to play nice in there. Or, on the other end of things, the meeting was liable to explode into super-heated debate, which would certainly have been entertaining. But, he had a tendency recently to get a bit excited in that type of environment, and he didn't yet want to cause trouble.

Up! And catch. Up! And...

"Hey!" Thyago cried out as a hand reached and caught the phaser above him. He tilted his head back to find an exceedingly large dinosaur hanging from the ceiling. "Whoa."

"Hrrnnssss. Greetingsss Thyago," the creature said, dropping the phaser back into Thyago's hands.

"Trogdor?" Thyago questioned, still sitting upside down. He attempted to rotate upright, but in his excitement, he rolled off the chair. And then he cursed.

K'aa snarled a leathery grin. "I sssee you haven't changed too much, Thyago Carneiro," the giant Gorn said.

Thyago laughed the kind of laugh that suggested there was more humor in that line than K'aa had intended. He picked himself up and placed himself back onto the chair, right-side up. "Right. Yep. Same old Teo," he grinned. "You haven't kept in touch."

K'aa looked at him. The slits in his eyes narrowed visibly as he focused on the Brazilian. "No," he replied simply.

"How come? After all that time we served together, all those missions we went on, all those jokes. You were a killer straight man, Puff."

"Hrrnssss, because I don't like you very much, Thyago," K'aa said. "You have an annoying, albeit usually unintentional, habit of, asss you engineersss say, throwing wrenchesss into my gearsssss."

Thyago giggled, despite the insult. Or, perhaps at the insult. But then his grin took on a more vicious snarl, "What're you doing here, Puff?"

"I am here to participate in a meeting," K'aa hissed, looking down the hall to a set of closed doors.

"Oh, are you time traveling, too?"

K'aa looked back at the human. "Time traveling?"

"Yeah, you know, go back to the past. Change the future. Stop the war, save the Earth. Lollipops and candy canes," Thyago mocked, watching the lizard. It hadn't gone unnoticed that the lizard had clamped up when Thyago had told him what they were planning.

K'aa looked back at the doors and stared for a moment, thinking. A long moment. "Issss that what they're planning?" he mumbled.

Thyago watched K'aa think. After a while, he stated, "You don't want them to go back, either."

K'aa snapped his head back to Thyago, still sitting in his chair. "Either?"

"You know, I wasn't always causing you trouble," Thyago defended himself, "I remember quite a number of times when my antics helped you, helped both of us, inadvertently or not."

The Gorn narrowed his eyes, and looked like he was about to pounce. "Hrrnnssssssssss. You have changed, Thyago. You've changed quite a bit, haven't you."

Thyago smiled.

"I would like you to ssssee ssssomething," K'aa said, "I have a ship in orbit. You should beam up there. Tell my crew that I sssent you, that I want them to take you to... the mailboxxsss."

"The mailbox?" the Brazilian echoed, "Hah, funny. I like it. What're you going to do?"

"Assss I sssaid, I'm going to participate in a meeting."

*****

In the back of the room, Victor frowned and looked off at the ceiling, something drawing his attention away from the table. Something that had been here was gone, a part of him, something that was.... There. Too far away to be I the building now. Another ship? Out in space?

The conversation in the meeting room halted as the doors to the conference room slid open. Behind them stood a mammoth figure in green. Daren felt his stomach sink, and his throat tighten, as if he had stumbled off the roof of a building and noticed the ground rushing up to greet him. Behind him, he could almost hear Shiarrael tense up. She was gripping his chair so hard, he thought she might snap off the back. "K'aa," he said to the monster that once snapped his neck and sent him to the brink of death.

"Hrrrnnnsssss," the giant Gorn hissed quietly as he took notice of everyone in the room. He knew Daren M'Kantu was going to be here. So, he knew there was a good chance, because of that, he would not be welcome. Even though it was never actually him who nearly killed M'Kantu all those years ago, but instead a Hydran spy, Daren had never quite forgiven him. It was difficult to make peace with the monster that haunted your nightmares.

Angelienia wordlessly scooted her chair closer to Victor's, effectively placing the two of them between Kate and the Gorn, like a living wall.

McAllister discreetly checked under the table to confirm he was *not* wearing his lizard skin boots.

"Hrrmmm." Victor considered the Gorn from his end of the table. K'aa was one of his, but he'd not expected to see the Gorn again after he'd reclaimed his own body and returned home to do whatever he'd been doing there for all these years. "K'aa," he greeted the reptilian politely. "Good to see you again. Bit far off your usual stomping range, aren't you?""

Karyn snorted It figured the two monsters in the room were BFFs.

Dallas felt for M'Kantu. She sensed Daren was working hard to maintain composure; not just because of a personal mandate, but because it was expected of him as a man. Never show fear, and always exude confidence and control.

She wondered if Daren was fighting the urge to scream or vomit, as she had during those early encounters with Victor after he had beaten her and tried to rape her. Of course, no one would ever think less of her for it if she had bothered to admit it to anyone.

After all, Karyn had been a shrink then, and on top of that, she was a woman. Those two facts alone would have given her all the latitude in the world to give in and express the very normal and gender non-specific emotions associated with confronting a person who had threatened her life and visited such violence upon her.

It was M'Kantu's gender and position that would likely lead him to act in a way which denied him the same outlet for the same normal feelings.

"I wassss sent by Elaithin Jii," K'aa said simply. "I wassss told that you had a plan to ssssave the Federation."

"The outlines of one, yes," Daren returned carefully, making an effort to meet the dead reptilian gaze of the Gorn and keep a quaver from his voice. He was sure K'aa knew anyway, but appearances mattered. "We're working on refining it now." He smiled - perhaps a bit thinly - and indicated an empty spot at the table. "Would you care to join us?"

"Yesssssss," K'aa said, although he did not move to take a chair. He merely loomed large by the door. "I'm told you want to change thingsssss?"

"We want to make the universe a better place," M'Kantu responded evenly. "That's what we all wanted to do when we joined Starfleet a lifetime ago; we're just having to try harder now."

"You want to change the passssst," K'aa stated.

"Prime Planning, Part 4 of 4"

Captain Daren M'Kantu

Lieutenant Shiarrael M'Kantu

Victor Krieghoff

Angelienia Krieghoff

Katherine Maivia

Captain Daneel Olivaw

Captain Karyn Dallas

Commander Paul McAllister

Commander Cutter Kara'nin

Captain Artim Shivar

Valentina "Eve" Kyznetsova

Thyago Carneiro

Th'Khiss K'aa

****

"Yes," Daren replied, maintaining his forced smile, "Will you help us?"

But, K'aa did not have a chance to answer. It was then that three more people entered the room. Cutter, Artim and Eve had been off elsewhere in the DOA, M'Kantu had told everyone earlier, trying to determine how exactly they were going to travel to the past. It appeared that they had figured it out.

"Cutter," Daren said with a less-forced smile, welcoming the distraction away from the Gorn. "I hope that this means that you've had some luck on your end?"

"There is an ancient time portal," Cutter answered. "We're going to use the Guardian of Forever."

McAllister was glad the information he had purchased had passed muster with Valentina and her team. He didn't particularly care what the bird-man thought, but had grown to respect Valentina and Artim's scientific prowess.

Daneel's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Interesting. It's a good thing Jaal sent me instead of coming himself. He HATES time travel."

"Somewhere," Victor sighed, eyes pulled back to the table, "the ghost of James T. Kirk is laughing at us. I know it." He glanced towards the door again, as the missing element was abruptly back again.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he was laughing at us long before now," Karyn quipped. "Leo Streeley, anyone?"

After keying up a holographic starchart in the center of the table Artim finally spoke up. "Kirk wouldn't laugh at us. He'd probably want to go. At least that's the impression I got when I had dinner with him. Anyway, given the data that the DOA acquired combined with some...other information, we've located the Guardian. Or at least we think we have, here, on LV-156" Artim waved his fingers across his console and the display zoomed in. "It’s on the edge of League space but is virtually uninhabited. An Erdan task group will rendezvous with us in orbit.

Thyago snuck into the room as Artim finished, making no noise but the sound of the doors opening and closing. He sidled up to Artim and whispered, "What'd I miss, anything cool?" Artim merely offered an annoyed stare.

Paul sniffed the white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookie he had been about to bite into. All of a sudden, it just didn't smell right.

"Sssso, you're actually going to do it?" K'aa hissed once the plan had been laid out. "You really are planning to change the timeline."

Cutter glanced over at the Gorn, unaware of the previous tension. "Yes. And we're going to succeed."

"Thisssss issss irresponsible," K'aa growled, "Your desiresssss to sssave the Federation are admirable, but sssselfish. There are other playerssss involved. Civilizationssss that are now thriving. Sentientsssss with familiessss and good livesssss. You would rissssk all of that?"

Cutter folded his arms across his chest. "Yes," he said matter-of-factly.

Victor's eyes narrowed suddenly and one hand dropped below the level of the table, drawing a slim tachyon weapon from the small of his wife's back. Angelienia's eyes widened at the movement, and she reached for Kate, falling backward below the level of the table and dragging the younger girl with her.

Kate squeaked as aunt Angie threw her down on the ground. She had been following the proceedings with large eyes. It was like watching your favorite book of fairytale figures come alive in front of your eyes. "Lemme up!" She hissed at her aunt. "We are missing all the fun!"

The movement startled Karyn, but it was all happening too fast. Her fight or flight response had kicked in double time and her eyes darted around the room trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

McAllister reacted by grabbing the first projectile weapon he could get his hands on, which happened to be a near empty plate of Angelienia's cookies. He stood, holding the plate like a Frisbee and was winding up for a toss at lizard-boy when...

K'aa seemed to grow even larger than his already impressive size as he snarled and shook his head. "No!" he spat. "I will not let you!" He unleashed a final, feral growl before he pressed a button on a device around his wrist. Before anyone else could react, K'aa was gone, transported away in a swirl of yellow light.

Simultaneously, McAllister let fly with the plate, and it sailed through the air just vacated by the Gorn's head, crashing against the bulkhead.

In that same instant, Victor fired from his chair, a thin green beam searing a hole in the wall where K'aa had stood as the Gorn vanished. "Damn," he sighed, standing. "That's going to be a problem. Wish I'd realized what was about to happen sooner; it would have made things easier."

"Jesus Christ, Victor!" Karyn yelled. She was sucking in ragged breaths and her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. It was the closest to a direct exchange the two had ever come in a long while. Dallas hated that she was still so on edge around him.

“No,” Victor said with a degree of regret. “I hardly think so, Karyn. Might be nice, though.”

Suddenly, Cutter seemed to seize where he stood, convulsing sharply before falling onto the edge of the table.

"Dude!" Thyago murmured, a quiet exclamation of entertained surprise.

Karyn's head snapped around from Victor's direction to Cutter's. She rushed to his side, her medical training coming to the fore. "What the hell? Someone help me stabilize his head!"

Victor's eyes suddenly snapped open wide and he grimaced as if in the anticipation of pain - or the terrible joy of welcoming it. "No, dammit, not again." He turned to look out the viewport at the world they were orbiting. "Not when I'm this close."

McAllister's gaze followed Victor's to the viewport as the smell of buttered, slimy Brussels sprouts assailed his olfactory senses. The odor was unmistakably the one he always associated with Victor -- but it was coming from near the door? Paul shook his head in confusion.

Daneel deeply wished he could let down his mental barriers to find out more of what's going on. With the barriers up, he was akin to a sighted man in the dark with a small flashlight, sure, he could see, but not the entire picture and he hated that.

"We need to get out of here!" the avian cried as Karyn tried to help him. "Everyone! Right now! He's destroying the entire planet!" Cutter shouted, and then screamed like he was dying right then.

M'Kantu stood, knowing when to follow the omens of his first officer. "We need to do as he says!" he ordered everyone, "We may only have a few moments."

Kate helped her aunt to her feet and now was ready to follow orders to the letter. She didn't know what was going on but it sure did sound scary enough.

Eve looked around the room, nodded once, and triggered her internal communicator. “What’s happening in orbit?”

=/\= The Gorn ships are moving into a planetary attack formation, ma’am. No, wait, not all of them. A group is maneuvering into some kind of formation and beginning to power up something in synchronization – something big. I’ve never seen anything like it before. =/\=

Eve looked around the room again, read the faces present, weighed what she knew of K’aa… and made her decision. “Institute Emergency Evacuation Plan Omega-Nine. Don’t fight, run – that’s an order.”

"Shivar to Bridge!’ Artim was calling over his comm. “Initiate mass evacuation procedures. Get as many people off the surface as possible – starting with us!"

A wash of transporter beam outs filled the room, leaving it empty except for a single vertinberry oatmeal cookie teetering on the edge of the table. The cookie swayed once… twice… and tumbled to the floor, forgotten.

****

ISV Resolved

Deck 1

Bridge

In orbit, a fleet of Gorn ships slowly shifted into a well choreographed order. They had been welcomed here, this place considered by many to be near holy, a sanctuary of peace and knowledge and enlightenment, on the recommendation of trusted friends. But now, powerful webs of plasma began to arc across specifically purposed arrays. As the power levels rose, the arcs began to jump not only from different points of the same ship, but between ships. All of it concentrated on a single vessel in the center of a circle of the others. It was as eerily beautiful and entrancingly hypnotic as it was deadly.

"We need to leave," Cutter was shouting, like a schizophrenic being attacked by his own imaginary demons.

"He's right," Victor hissed. "We have to go - now. No delays. I can' stop this - not this many, this close."

Behind him, Angelienia reached out and firmly gripped Kate's arm so they couldn't be separated, and then keyed her internal communicator on. "Elrin, Plan Nine. Repeat Plan Nine," she subvocalized the order to evacuate the system and follow at an even more extreme distance. "The Ten Thousand Gods be with you."

"All right kids, lock and load. Attack pattern Delta 5. Have the Glittergold come left and engage and ask Cal if he has any good recipes for roasted lizard..." Artim's first instinct was to take out the Gorn vanguard to slow up pursuit but he knew it would draw protest.

"No!" Cutter shouted again, throwing himself at the diminutive captain, practically attacking him. "We need to leave! We cannot fight, we cannot stay! We need to run! We need to--" he continued, until his dark blue eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he collapsed on the floor of the bridge.

"We should leave," M'Kantu urged Artim calmly, acknowledging that it was his ship, and that the Miran was the one in command.

Daneel felt rather helpless and hated that. It wasn't his ship. He couldn't give orders. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. K'aa's resistance to their plans was something Jaal had not foreseen and therefore had no plan against.

Artim calmly looked at his tactical display and nodded. They were hopelessly outgunned "Helm, full evasive. Lay down a covering barrage from the aft launchers and let’s get the hell out of here. We got a bigger job to do."

As the Resolved and as many other ships as possible fled the system, Eve kept her eyes glued to the sensor readout screens. She watched in helpless horror as the sensors picked up a massive energy discharge, as large as she had ever seen before in her life. And then she watched as the data stream suddenly stopped. The sensors were still reporting, but there didn't seem to be anything more to report.

Behind her, Victor shuddered once, let out the breath that he'd been holding, and murmured something softly in a language that wasn't Federation standard. Opening his eyes, he focused their bright green gaze on the console in front of Eve, stepped forward, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"It's gone," Eve said quietly. "DOA: Primus, it's... it's just gone."

"I'm sorry," Victor said, trying to comfort her, even as he felt so... green inside. He instinctively looked over at Thyago, who was leaning casually against the wall of the bridge, hands in his jacket pockets, holding something concealed inside. Something of Victor's. He looked up to see Thyago watching him, a subtle grin on his face. "I'm sorry," he said, turning back to Eve. "There were too many, all of them at once... and nothing to hold them to. I couldn't do anything."

"I don't believe anyone will hold you at fault," Daneel said sympathetically, "I've got a feeling this is something no one thought would happen."

McAllister casually walked up to Thyago. "Dude, I know this is a weird question -- but did you just eat some Brussels sprouts?"

“Mea Culpa”

Captain Alexandra Lee, commanding USS Pegasus
Commander Paul McAllister, SFI

Inspiration: Mea Culpa – Enigma
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SC_VQ_aXmd0&feature=related

(before “Prime Planning”)
------------------------------------------

<Guest Cabin, DOA Primus>

Haunted by his dreams, McAllister couldn’t sleep. He sat at the computer and tinkered with his analysis, but could not lose his thoughts in the details of his work. He had already attempted all his tried and true remedies for a sleepless night – well, all but one – and still the peace of sleep eluded him.

Frustrated and angry, he shut off the computer and poured himself a drink from the bottle of scotch Valentina had given him. Slumping in the most comfortable chair in the room, he lit a cigar, propped his feet on the table in front of him and watched the ghostly patterns of smoke as it rose from his lips to be claimed by the room’s circulations system.

Paul closed his eyes. “Alright, damn it,” he said. “Bring it on…”

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

<Memory: Captain’s Quarters, USS Pegasus>

Paul was packing a kit to take with him to DOA when he heard the doors to the quarters he shared with his wife open and close. “In here, babe,” he called out, hoping Alex was in better mood.

Alex stood in the doorway to their bedroom with her arms crossed. She didn't really want Paul to go, but he was stubborn about going. And there was a possibility that he could be right. 'Perhaps I was a bit selfish,' she thought. "So, you're really going through with this?"

"I have to, Alex. I've got to see this through."

Alex let out a sigh. She didn't want Paul to leave--especially on a theory. "If that's what you feel you must do, then go." 'Leave me again, you bastard,' she mentally cursed.

"You could come with me?" Despite being asked as a question, Paul was fairly certain what his wife's response would be.

"Come with you? Do you really expect me to abandon my ship and crew for a theory? In a few hours, this ship will be in battle and I'll be damned if I'm going to simply walk away," she said with an edge of anger and disbelief in her voice. It was her ship, her crew. "This is where I belong, Paul. One of my professors in command and tactics at the academy once told me. "While you're a starship captain, your place is on that bridge...that's where you can make a difference."

"No, I don't really expect you to leave the Pegasus. You're absolutely correct -- you are needed here. Your ship and your family. I get it -- this is where you can make a difference." Paul pointed out the view port at the station Pegasus was orbiting. "That's where I can make my contribution. I'm no use to you here, but out in the field, *I* might be able to make a difference."

"You've always been a use to me, Paul," she said softly. "I just hope you are right about this and not purposely trying to change the timeline so it simply suits us, and everyone else better."

"You know me to well for me to deny that I hope what changes are made will prevent our son's death -- and all those years we spent apart. But such a small change for personal gain would cause us more harm then good -- the cascade effect could result in Jonathan being saved and you or I dying in his place." Paul walked over to where his wife was standing, wanting to take her in his arms, but unsure of Alex's reaction.

"Alex, I'm doing this because I honestly believe that it is the right thing for me to do -- and there are some pretty good minds over there, belong to folks you respect, that agree with me. This could save Earth."

Alex sighed and wrapped her arms around him. "You had better be right."

He held her close as he stroked her hair, just breathing in her scent for a moment. "Yeah," he whispered, not wanting to think about how badly things could go if he and the others were wrong.

Alex grinned as a thought came to her and she looked up at Paul. "I'm reminded of the Shepard's Prayer for you. Please, dear God, don't let me fuck up."

Paul grinned and let his hands slip down her back so he was cupping his wife's ass. Giving Alex a gentle squeeze, he said, "I'd say the same prayer for you if I thought it was necessary -- your part in this is much more dangerous then mine. Promise you'll keep these buns as safe as you can -- they're connected to someone I care very much about?"

"I promise," she replied with a grin.

He gave her another quick squeeze and returned to his packing. "Have you seen my socks -- you can never have enough socks when you time-travel?"

"No, I haven't," she said as she began to help with the search.

OOC: I apologize for this warping of Scot history, but hope you will enjoy the tale of McAllister's letter to the past...

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

“Matryoshka, Part One”

(1661 - 1817)

Clan McAllister (NPCs by Betred)

(follows “Double Back, Part 2”)

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

<Menstrie, near Stirling Castle – 1661>

William Alexander, chieftain of Clan Alasdair, was in the fight of his life. Tartan twirled as claymores clanged; his opponent blocked every thrust. Cursing, William swung wildly as he stepped back, slipping in the blood of his kinsmen.

His opponent pressed the advantage and with swings barely blocked by William’s blade, forced the clan chief to fall to his knees. William panted with exhaustion as he waited for his enemy’s blade to end his life.

Montgomery paused to gloat, “Your ancestors stole our lands and made whores of our women. Today you will pay for those crimes, you bloody haggis!”

William heaved himself to his feet, thrusting his sword deep into the great belly before him. Montgomery gasped as William kicked the man off his blade. Now it was Montgomery on his knees in the blood and the muck of battle. Holding his entrails in, he yelled at William, “Go ahead and finish it, you bastard. You know there can be only one!”

William used the last of his strength to deliver his final blow, severing Montgomery’s head from his shoulders. “You crazy bastard!” shouted William. “How many times do I have to tell you and your kind – I be a MacAlasdair, not a bloody MacLeod!”

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

Later, as he lay in his bed recovering from battle, a Paige in the finery of King Charles was ushered into William’s presence. “You are William Alexander, of Clan Alasdair?” the Paige asked.

“Aye, lad,” replied William. “And you be representing the King. What does bonnie Charlie want with the likes of me?”

The Paige opened his satchel and withdrew a package bearing the seal of Ouroboros. “My liege bids I deliver this to you, with the royal command that you pass this on from descendant to descendant, until such time as it may be opened; on the date listed thereon.”

William examined the parcel and noted the date, some twenty years hence. “Aye, laddie – and why should I be doing this for my king?” asked William.

“For the prize to be given at the end times, my Lord,” responded the Paige. “By your leave?”

William waved the Paige away muttering, “Bloody hell – MacLeod gets lightening strikes and a chance at bloody immortality – I take a head, and what do I get – a bloody damn letter I’m not allowed to open!”

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

<Kintyre, Scotland – 1700>

Alexander of Loup, chieftain of Clan Macalister, stood in doorway to his son Duncan’s room, watching him supervise the household staff in packing his belongings for the trip to Holland. Duncan has secured a position in the army and was leaving to take up arms against yet another king’s enemies.

Duncan noticed his father and raised his hand in greeting. “I was coming to take my leave of you sir, but wanted to insure these laggards completed their task. What brings you to me?”

Alexander smiled, choosing to ignore the subtle sarcasm in his son’s tone. “I have a present for you, my son, that I think will serve you well on your journey.” He stepped into the room, narrowly avoiding being skewered by a servant bearing pole arms.

‘He’s actually going to give it to me!” thought Duncan. ‘The family sword – he’s actually allowing me to carry it into battle!’

Indeed, there was a sword strapped to Alexander’s back, but when the elder man reached up, it was not to grasp the hilt of this weapon to offer it to his son and heir, but to reach into his jacket, withdrawing a parcel the size of a small testament, wrapped and sealed in leather.

“I want you to have this, and need your promise that you will abide by the instructions contained in its pages,” said the older man.

Duncan took the parcel, staring at it incredulously. “I go to lead a foreign army to victory and you present me with this? A book?”

“Aye, lad,” replied Alexander. “Not just any collection of tales, Duncan. This parcel was entrusted to our Clan by God hisself, delivered by an angel into the hands of William Alexander by King Charles. You are to keep it safe, read and heed your piece of the tale, and ensure it is passed on to your descendants, as instructed. Do not fail in this Holy assignment, lad.”

Duncan tossed the parcel into a passing chest, to be crated and shipped with the rest of his belongings to the land of windmills and tulips. “You know I care not for your superstitions, old man. I will take it with me because my father asked me to, no other reason.”

“I pray that will be good enough, then,” responded Alexander.

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

Duncan was in his tent, searching for a warm and dry pair of leggings. The battles had been fierce since his arrival, but soon the fight would be over, and could return to his Margreet, the woman he had fallen in love with soon after his arrival.

He did not find any leggings, but came across the parcel his father had given him on leaving Scotland. Distracted, he began to open the package.

An orderly burst into his tent. “Captain! They are attacking the camp! We are surrounded!”

Duncan thrust the package into his jacket pocket and grabbing his pistols and sword, followed the young man into yet another battle.

Later, the victory hard fought and glorious, Duncan once again retired to his tent. Stripping himself of his arms and clothing, his father’s present dropped to the ground at his feet. Duncan picked it up and then gasped in surprise.

Embedded in the parcel was a musket ball – a ball that surely would have wounded him gravely, if not ended his life, had not the leather wrapped parcel acted as a shield.

Duncan pried the ball loose from the pages, setting it aside. He unwrapped the package, and began to read…

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

<Strathaird, Isle of Skye – 1817>

Yet another son of Scotland, Lachlan Macalister was preparing to immigrate to a foreign land – Australia. Lachlan was not leaving by choice. Being caught kilt-less with parts of your anatomy stuck in Albert’s mistress usually resulted in more than forced deportation; late night negotiations and the transfer of large sums of gold had been the only thing to save Lachlan.

Despite the reason for the trip, Lachlan was excited to be going. Australia was a new territory where an enterprising young man could live by his own rules. Fortunes could be made. Besides, seeing the look on Victoria’s face when she found out about the affair was almost worth it.

Lachlan was examining a box delivered by courier just moments before. It bore a striking seal, one he only vaguely remembered from family legend – a great snake attempting to swallow its own tail. On the inside lid of the box was yet another seal, this of Clan Alasdair. Nestled inside, protected by red felt, was a leather wrapped package of documents.

He examined the documents, and the notes made by ancestors who had been guardians of the box going back to 1661, as he sailed to Australia. Lachlan decided to heed the warning not to read the sealed letters that bore dates far into the future, but he was particularly interested in the one letter that bore his name – and the date of 1800.

Contained in this letter were detailed instructions, some hard to follow because of the hole bored into the letter by a musket ball of all things – instructions on what he should do to become a very wealthy man in his new home.

At first Lachlan scoffed at these predictions. But as more and more of them came to pass – or came close to passing; the letter was not perfectly accurate, he paid close attention and invested wisely.

Despite the dire warnings in his letter, Lachlan also invested in the growing German economy, including the ventures of a family known as von Hothren. He didn’t see why he should shortchange his future fortune based on the warnings from some distant ancestor.

TBC

"Boarding Party, Bring your Own Rum"

by Cap'n T'risia

"I really don't think this is a good idea T'risia," said Lucas Walker, smoothing his elegant 18th Century style uniform over himself a bit nervously. The Captain had, incongrously, demaded the surrender of a technologically superior, undamaged ship moments ago. Further, she had demanded that she beam, personally, over to their Bridge to accept the terms. Lucas had not been clued in to this part of the plan, and in fact, neither had anyone else on the Black Pearl. He didnt like it at all.

"Why do you say that, Mr. Walker? Arrr...."

"There's just one of you! They'll be armed....and they'll take your weapons...!"

"I had assumed as much, it would be logical, after all," said the obsessive Vulcan woman, leaning heavily upon her cane. She took a limping step, and the cane smacked against the wooden floor. For a moment, she lifted it, shifting her weight, and looked at the oddle shaped orthopedically styled head of it. She fussed with it a moment, and then put her weight back upon it.

"And they will just surrender to you?" Walker was incredulous at this seeming leap of logic.

"Of course not," said the master tactician, T'risia. She fussed at some of her meaningless buttons and badges, on her worn red and brown coat. "That would also be illogical. It has been precisely 42 seconds. I assume, then, that they are attempting to beam over a landing party."

Lucas checked his tactical board, upset, and incredulous. Landing party. Only T'risia still said that. To everyone else, they were away teams now...but like everything else, the self proclaimed time pirate clung steadfastly to the past, in everything. His eyes widened as he looked at the board, and then scanned around the ship.

"Y-yes..."he stuttered, somewhat horrified. "Because of the Tachyon Grid, they slid back through time about a minute....and they've actually been floating in space nearby for that long."

T'risia nodded. "They are tactically foolish. If they had scanned the space around us while I was extending my terms, they would have discovered the corpses, and thus aborted that plan."

Lucas tilted his head. "If they aborted the plan, wouldn't the corpses not be there?"

T'risia nodded, very much a return to her older, lecturing self. "Of course. Although then, they would have proceeded with their previous course of action, and beamed the landing party."

The man at tactical was frustrated. To T'risia, the paradoxical logic of time travel made sense. To everyone else, it was a mystery. He assumed it had something to do with the Shroedinger's Cat problem, but really, could not make heads or tails of it. He checked the chronometer. About a minute left.

The Vulcan woman paced, her usual emotionless, eerie calm self. The logical paradox was expected to her, and in fact, seemed almost calming to her. She hadn't even called for more Rum. Turning her attention to the crew, she spoke. "This lethal paradox will convince them to accept my terms. Their logic will be sound, of course. One person, beaming to their bridge, with a security detail on hand should be effortless to capture. Logically, they will plan to capture me, and return the Pearl to it's endpoint. They assume that the detainment of a single, crippled Vulcan woman will be a matter of no effort."

Lucas sputtered, saying the first thing that leaped to mind. "But you don't have your jar of dirt! No tricks here! They'll imprison you or kill you just to save the time stream! Damn it, T'risia I---"

She arched her brow. "You what?"

He stopped. In a calmer voice, thick with feelings he knew he couldn't say to her, he simply spoke, "I don't want you to go. I... we need you here."

The comm beeped with an incoming message.

"On Screen! Arrr...." was T'risia's only response.

It was, of course, de Marco again. The older human looked shocked, and burdened by the decision he had made, costing lives. He looked somewhat shocked that someone from so far in the past could have produced such a wily countermeasure. At the same time, he looked confident in his current course of action. "Our scans show your weapons systems are unpowered. Maintain that, and you may beam abourd the Twain, to discuss the situation."

"You mean your surrender, saavy?" said the Vulcan, adjusting her hat.

"I said the situation. We will expect you shortly." With that, the disgusted human cut the comm.

"Prepare a site to site transport," ordered T'risia, fussing with one of her many rings. "Direct from our bridge to theirs."

"How many with you?" asked Lucas.

Her piercing green eyes took him in. "None, You know this."

"But---"

"Enough. Transport on my mark. Arrrr...."

As the maneuver was executed, no one really noticed that the partially assimilated monkey was still on her shoulder.

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

She materialized without incident, on the bridge of the Time Ship, Twain. For a moment she looked around, fascinated. It looked very similar to a Starfleet vessel of her time, which, to be fair, was boring. However, the idea that the functional design had remained changed very little was an intriguing point. Had art, and culture stagnated at some point? She would have to find out. She took a step, leaning heavily on her cane, but the security chief, she assumed from his rank, and two others, lifted their phasers.

"This is where you surrender," she said, uminpressed and unemotional. "Perhaps you misunderstood me."

"Hands up!" shouted one of the human men, the commanding security person. She complied, as one of the men scanned her with a tricorder, and the other searched her. He found, at her waist, two wicked looking Klingon disruptor pistols, and tossed them away from her. The other man, with the tricorder, said crisply, "She's clean. No other technology, except her combadge...which has to be in that coat."

"Take it off!" said the security chief, and, again, unimpressed, the Vulcan woman complied. The beloved coat was kicked roughly aside, although the monkey scampered back to her shoulder, seeming agitated by the unfamilar environment.

After a patient moment, where she bent down, struggling to retrieve her cane, she said, "This has been fascinating. Now that you have my pistols and coat, I assume that you are ready to surrender?" She leaned her weight heavily on it, and took an experimental step.

De Marco answered her. "Why on Earth would we do that? We have you in custody, unarmed and unable to leave. You are the single largest temporal violator---"

"Time Pirate," she interrupted.

"---ever, in recorded history," he finished, angrily. "Why would we ever surrender to you?"

She pet the monkey for a moment, an uncharacteristic move, since she usually abused the cyborg beast. "Because, sir, if you do not, everyone on this bridge will die in the next few minutes." As was typical, she delivered the news in the manner that someone might say, "Go pick up my laundy, I don;'t have the time."

De Marco luaghed. He laughed hard, having to put his hand to his mouth, covering his greying mustache. When he recovered himself, he said, "How do you figure that, T'risia?"

"Chung Ling Soo," she said.

"What?"

"How is it with all of history at your command, you know so little of it. Chung Ling Soo, a nineteenth century Terran stage magician."

"What does he have to do with any of this?"

She assumed her lecturing manner, comfortably. The security men relaxed a bit, as she was unarmed, and out of range. She paced a bit, limping. "Chung Ling Soo was actually an englishman. He lived his whole life, however, as a stereotypical chinese man, to preserve the workings of his greatest illusion, which was producing a large aquarium, from nothingness, even upon paved streets."

De Marco was vaguely interested. "And how did he do this?"

Warming to the topic, T'risia went on. "The character of Chung Ling Soo he created was elderly, and walked with a sort of small stepped, shuffling walk. He did this all the time, to preserve the character, you see. On stage, he would keep the huge aquarium between his knees, shielded from sight by his flowing asian costume. Then the time for the reveal occurred, he would simply release his leg pressure, the aquarium would touch the ground, and he would then walk forward and away from it. This produced the illusion of spontaneous creation."

Now bored, de Marco asked, "And this is relevant to you how? You seem to be wearing trousers."

T'risia nodded, her green eyes sparkling. "I am. I also don't limp."

In one fluid motion, she reached to her shoulder, and threw the assimilated monkey at the startled guards. They were not startled enough, and fired, but the borg shields in the monkey were ready, from her years of abuse. The phaser beams were inefective, and the mokey became a shield wall of primate violence, bowling them over and biting and tearing.

The real threat was T'risia. She pressed the release on the head of her cane, releasing the monomolecular sabre blade within. Years of limping, walking with the cane, all for one moment of tactical supremacy. all for that unpredicted element of surprise. The years of sabre fencing training on the holodeck, in secret, to make the weapon a coldly efficient killing device, came to their fruition here. The duranium blade had been honed to a molecule diameter at its edge, making the weapon nearly infinite in sharpness. It would dull rapidly, but for a time, it would cut through anything. The odd shaped handle, in fact, a Belgian style fencing handle, to enable her to use its point more effectively.

As soon as it was out, she executed a flawless fleche, her footwork bringing her to the Captain instantly, her head cut cleaving him in two with a minimum of force. Before the halve hit the ground, she was whirling on her feet, to dispatch one of the security men. As she bisected one with a bonderole cut, she nerve pinched another, leaving the last to the horrible biting of the monkey.

Picking up the phaser dropped by the security man, she stunned the Ops officer, and trained the weapon on the Helmsman. "You have two choices."

The helm officer began to tap his console. She could not afford to allow the activation of intrusion countermeasures, so she simply fired. Illogical, desperate move, she thought to herself. The sounds from the monkey were unsettling. The tiny beast had been ripping and tearing...she disintegrated the final security man as a mercy.

Taking a moment, she put her blade back in the cane. It would need sharpening. Then, limping as usual, she returned to the Ops console, and released anti-intrusion gas below decks. Opening a comm channel, she hailed the Black Pearl. Lucas Walker's face was amazed when he saw her on screen. "The Twain is secure. prepare to beam aboard a prize crew."

Lucas Walker's dignified face could not seem to close his mouth.

"And bring me some Rum. Why is there no Rum?"

"Meeting Of The Minds"

Capt. Chris Daniels
Capt. Jaal Jaxom
LtCdr. T'Pei

Bridge, USS Hercules
================

As the Herk dropped out of warp, Chris felt the tension on the bridge
rise. All they had was a set of coordinates and a transponder code,
and no idea what they were about to drop into.

"Hailing frequencies, T'Pei."

"Channel open, sir," the Vulcan replied,her eyes glued to the sensor
readouts in front of her, watchful for any signs of another ship.

=Captain Jaxom, this is Captain Daniels of the Hercules. We have
arrived at the discussed location, squawking as requested and awaiting
further instructions.=

Chris ended the message and tapped his finger impatiently on his
chair. All he could do now was wait.

The USS Panther decloaked about two hundred meters above and slightly
behind the Hercules setting of proximity alarms on both ships.

"What the hell!" Haight barked. "Is that him?"

"Confirmed, the vessel is the Panther," T'Pei answered, shooting Chris
an inquisitive look about his old friend's piloting decisions.

"Who does he think he is?" Haight grumbled, returning to his chair.

"He's the Trill version of a Russian..." Chris muttered. "Doesn't
take so much as a dump without a plan."

==Panther's Bridge==

Jaal was smiling widely. He was happy that Daniels decided to make the
more mature decision and join his assault on the Shiva. "I apologize
for the close proximity Captain," Jaal Jaxom explained, "but on every
one else's long range sensors we should still look like one ship.

Requesting permission for me and my CMO to beam over," he answered.

The face on the viewscreen showed only a slight bit of agitation.
Obviously, Daniels wasn't used to being jumped like that. =Granted.
I'll see you in the transporter room.=

==USS Hercules==

Moments later Captain Jaxom and the Panther's CMO, Mesta, appeared on
the transporter pad on the USS Hercules.

Jaal looked around with a somewhat pleased look on his face. His eyes
finally rested on Chris Daniels as he stepped down from the pad
followed by Mesta. "It's good to see you again Chris." The Trill
extended his hand to shake.

Chris extended his hand to the older Trill and smiled. It had been a
long time since they had served together; even longer since he had
pestered Jaal for insights into his younger sister. The fact that
this was what was needed to get the old friends together nowadays was
a shame. But now wasn't the time for that. Now was the time to hide
all the frustration and angst, put on a good face and get down to
business.

"Jaal, always a pleasure my friend. Welcome aboard the Herk. This is
my first officer, Commander Haight, and I believe you might remember
Lieutenant Commander T'Pei, my chief of Ops."

Jaal nodded a greeting to the others present. "This is Mesta, my CMO,"
Jaal introduced her to the others, "This is Chris Daniels," he told
Mesta, "We served together on Miranda and Galaxy."

"So I've heard," Mesta replied now surveying Daniels with her deep,
black irises.

Chris greeted Mesta with a nod and eyed her as she investigated him.
Why Jaal had brought a doc was beyond him.

"We need to get down to business. Can we talk somewhere privately?"
Captain Jaxom asked.

He nodded. "My quarters are probably the most accommodating. Follow
me if you all would."

- Hide quoted text -
*****

Once they had all entered his chambers and taken their seats, Chris
locked the door and went to sit on his couch. As he walked over, he
very bluntly started the conversation.

"Alright Jaal, what's this plan of yours? I've pissed off half of
Vulcan and called off one attack to get to you, so I better be
impressed." He smirked at Jaal. Focusing his attention on the Trill
was the best way to ignore what had happened between him and another
party to the meeting in this very same room only a few days ago.

We've been been monitoring Dove and Hawk communications. We know Shiva
is chasing Miranda. We're pretty sure we know where they're headed and
better yet," Jaal held up a finger and grinned maniacally. "We also
know when Shiva is going down."

"On what do you base your certainty, Captain?" T'Pei asked. "Based on
historical precedent, a single ship, even one with the record of the
Miranda, is not likely to survive against Captain von Ernst." She felt
Chris shift uncomfortably beside her, and though she kept her eyes
securely trained on Jaxom, she unclasped her hands, letting her
fingers brush his as they fell to her side.

"Yes, she is. Allow me to explain," Jaal ran his hand through his
graying hair and licked his lips once. "About a year ago we managed to
get a mole on Von Ernst's ship. Yesterday we received a confirmation
that they performed a little favor for us."

The Vulcan woman narrowed her eyes. "What manner of favor?"

Jaal allowed a dramatic pause before starting. "The Shiva's computer
systems are infected with a slow acting virus. Eventually, the only
thing left functioning on her will be life support and anti-matter
containment systems." The Trill looked very satisfied. "There's Dove
ships chasing her down, picking away at her until they manage to stop
her or destroy her. Our latest intel says she's still able to put up a
reasonable fight but she's slowing down. The virus is helping but it
will still be some time it starts shutting down major systems. I
believe this is going to be the best chance we have at a start to
stopping this civil war. What I'm asking you today is... do you want
to join us?" Jaal looked at his old friend with one eyebrow arched
expectantly ready to answer any question Daniels might have.

The Trill stole a quick glance at Mesta wondering if she could offer a
clue to what Daniels was thinking. More often than not, with her
insight, Jaal managed convince people to sway to his side of an
argument. Mesta's expression, for now, remained neutral.

Chris shifted in his chair as he processed the information. Deep
inside, he resisted the voice that wanted to go after Rebecca no
questions asked. He had to continually remind himself that he had a
crew to take care of.

"How many ships do you have in on this?"

"There will be fourteen more besides ours," Jaal replied, "And
possibly more depending on how many can readily leave what they're
doing now and get there in time."

"And are we planning on a set point and time of attack, or are we
going to wait out this virus?"

"The plan is to more or less wait but protect our allies," Jaal
replied again, "meaning other Dove ships and any Hawks that may join
our cause... which, in case you weren't clear on that point," Jaal was
almost being facetious, "is to end the civil war and go back after the
Triad as a unified force."

"Did you think about what happens if she gets to the Miranda first?"

Jaal glanced at a chronometer on the wall. "I don't 'think' that will happen."

Chris nodded. The tactical officer in him had never gone away. "And
who's writing your tactical plan?"

Jaal smiled. He knew he almost had Chris especially since he was
asking about his own specialty. "Well, I've wrote most of it with the
help of the other captain's in my modest fleet. However, we are
willing to make modifications with an expert's advice."

Chris took in the information and took a moment to look around at
T'Pei and Haight. While it was his ship, he still looked to their
advice for major decisions like this.

"Do either of you have any questions or objections for the Captain?"

Haight shook his head, but T'Pei turned to address Jaal. "You said you
knew the two ships' intended destination. What is it?"

"Our latest extapolations point towards Ellison Base," Jaal answered
cryptically.

Ignoring Chris' glance, the Vulcan kept her face neutral. "I see," she
stated simply. "I have no objection to the plan." Now, she allowed
herself to meet Chris' eyes, nodding sharply, and after a long moment
he turned back to the Trill.

"One more question, Jaal. What's the doc here for?" Chris nodded towards her.

Jaal looked to Mesta and then back to Daniels with a rather mirthful
expression. "She's my personal brain care specialist, of course."

Mesta rolled her eyes while blowing a puff of air through her lips. "Oh stop."

Finally satisfied, Chris rose and placed his hands on his hips.
"Alright Captain, you forward some more concrete info over here and
you've got yourself another ship. Let's hope this little virus of
yours works." Around the room, everyone noticed a glimmer in Chris'
eye that hadn't been seen in a long time...hope.

"It will," Jaal answered, " and we'll return to the Panther and get
you that info."

"Great," Chris told the other captain, "Commander Haight, I must
return to the bridge, will you escort them to the transporter room?"

Haight nodded, and the group filed into the hallway. T'Pei moved to
follow Chris to the left, towards the bridge, but a small hand on her
shoulder stopped her.

"Commander, a word if I may," Mesta said quietly. Halting, T'Pei
turned to find the Betazoid woman staring at her intently. "I am quite
aware that you are hiding something."

T'Pei started in surprise. "Yes, Jaal warned me that I would be able
to read you. It is not complete though; your mind still partially
blocks me."

Mesta narrowed her inky black eyes. "I sense no malice from you,
Commander, and so I do not view you as a threat to myself or our
mission, at this time. If I should come to believe that you are,
however..." The woman trailed off, looking down the corridor after
Haight and Jaxom.

"I believe you are needed on the bridge," she said neutrally. "I will
show myself to the transporter room."

"Remember the Name" Pt.1

Captain Alexandra Lee
USS Pegasus

The USS Pagasus was in the fight for her life as she currently battled the Sovereign Class USS Agamemnon and the Prometheus Class USS Achilles. The Pegasus was raked by fire from the Agamemnon. On the bridge, Alex held onto the armrests tightly as the ship shuddered hard. "Shields down to fifty percent!" T'ral called out as his hands worked the tactical console.

"Evasive Maneuver Epsilon Theta One. Fire full weapons," Alex replied as phasers and torpedoes streaked out in every direction that would strike the two ships.

"Captain! The Achilles is beginning to initiate their multi-vector assault mode!" T'ral reported as the Pegasus picked up the beginning separation of the Prometheus Class into three small, more agile combat vessels.

"Target the central section with all available weapons and fire! Full torpedoes!" Alex snapped as she saw the Achilles offer a brief tactical advantage to the Pegasus. The Prometheus Class was vulnerable while separating, which was brief.

All available phasers streaked towards the Achilles followed by a stream of torpedoes. The phasers pounded the shields, followed almost immediately by the torpedoes. The first torpedo punched a hole through the shields, as the rest passed through unhindered and ripped into the central section's hull several feet before exploding. The result was devastating as the central section exploded. Its shockwave, preceded by debris, literally ripped the two remaining sections in half before they similarly exploded spectacularly.

'Now for the Agamemnon,' T'ral thought with a slight grin at seeing the spectacular destruction of the Achilles.

The Pegasus banked hard as it turned into the Agamemnon, who had retaliated with a full torpedo spread. The Pegasus shook hard as it's shields absorbed the damage from the torpedo volley. "Shields down to forty-five percent, captain," T'ral called out.

"All reserve power to shields!" Alex ordered. "Close to five-thousand kilometers and return fire!"

The Pegasus continued its fight as it unleashed a massive barrage of phaser and torpedo fire as it closed to the desiganted range. The close range strikes of the multiple phasers and torpedoes shook the Agamemnon to its core, tossing its occupants within about like rag dolls.

"Their shields are down to twenty percent. Minor structural damage detected," T'ral reported.

The Pegasus turned about hard, as did the Agamemnon. The Pegasus was the first to launch its weapons as another torpedo volley struck the ship, ripping into the hull and literally annihilating the bridge. Bodies not immediately vaporized in the destruction, could be seen being sucked into the cold, deadly vacuum of space. Alex sighed at the sight of those being exposed to space as their bodies instantly froze. But this was war...something she had become all too comfortable with. "Continue the attack!" Alex commanded, taking advantage of the Agamemnon's temporary confusion as those in engineering attempted to transfer control there and continue the fight.

The Pegasus fired again as its phasers ripped through the Agamemnon's hull and ultimately into the core, causing the vessel to explode vibrantly, its shockwave gently shaking the victorious Pegasus as it gained weapons lock onto the Galaxy Class USS Brittain.

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