2380

Captain Peter David McAllister, SF Liaison Corps

Captain Kathryn MacKenzie, Federation Security Directorate

Commander Pavel Irihinova, Starfleet Intelligence

Duncan David McAllister, Chieftain of Clan McAllister

William Jennings Bryan, Freelance Sectel Specialist

-- NPCs by Betred

(follows “Matryoshka, Part 4)

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

<A Dive, Anywhere – 2380>

“Here we are again, discussing your son’s screw-ups,” remarked Kathryn MacKenzie. “Explain to me why we just can’t kill him?” she asked Peter McAllister.

“Because that would be too obvious, my dear,” interrupted Pavel Irihinova. “Besides, Captain McAllister has enough blood on his hands.”

“You can’t blame any of this on me,” protested McAllister. “We’ve been following the plan approved by your precious Hoth – I’m not responsible for the intercessions on Paul’s behalf. I’ve done all I can to discredit the little weasel.”

“Calm yourself, Captain. I know you had nothing to do with this latest fiasco. And, Kathryn, you played your part as his lover well – you had nothing to do with the younger McAllister receiving administrative punishment after your affair was discovered.”

“So what the frack happened?” asked MacKenzie. “I wasted almost two years of my life screwing this guy and all that happens is he gets transferred out of tactical and into intel – when he should be on some backwater planet playing his precious piano.”

“That’s not quite true,” answered Pavel. “Those two years on your back bought you the fast track to those four pips you’re wearing – congratulations on the promotion by the way. True, we had hoped that young Paul would have been expelled from the Academy, but someone interceded on his behalf.”

“Who?” asked McAllister. “That analysis he did while on the Black Elk set us back six damn months!”

“It’s quite simple, really. Paul McAllister interceded on his own behalf. From the year 2402 I believe.”

“You’re shitin me,” said Kathryn.

McAllister cursed. “That damn letter! He warned himself?”

“Yes,” replied Pavel. “The President’s office received a communiqué that was forwarded to the Commandant of the Academy during young Paul’s hearing. The original message was sent from the CEO of Ouroboros Industries – another relative of yours, as I recall.”

“Duncan – that bastard! I’ll fry his nuts for breakfast.”

“There’s no need for that.” Pavel ordered another round of drinks. “I’ve looked into it; once Duncan was made aware, it was simply a common case of patronage. Duncan McAllister and the Commandant went to university together and when he found out what was about to happen to his nephew, he asked for a favor. The Commandant thought placing Paul in the intelligence track would convince him to quit on his own.”

“I still want those two years back,” remarked Kathryn.

“Oh quit your bitching already – you were well paid; I know, I authorized the credit transfer,” said McAllister.

“You two should really consider a long-term relationship,” remarked Pavel. He handed MacKenzie a PADD. “I’m sure you will appreciate these new orders – a project originally conceived in my department is now being transferred to the Security Directorate – under your capable supervision. It’s called Operation Classical Gas and young Ensign McAllister is part of it. So, you see, now you CAN send him to every little backwater planet you can think of.”

Kathryn took the PADD and examined its contents with a wicked smile. Inwardly, Pavel winced at the thought of some of the places McAllister the younger would be forced to visit while working for his ex-lover.

“What about Hoth and Archangel?” asked McAllister.

“We’ve been very successful at deflecting the Ouroboros group’s efforts to discredit the project. It is still on track and we’ve placed additional safeguards on von Ernst. All indications are that we can still succeed with our efforts to bring the Federation into the fold without the destruction of Earth. The home world is pleased.”

“Excellent Pavel, excellent,” exclaimed McAllister. “Despite my son and his damn letter, we will succeed.”

********

<Around the corner and down the street, in a decidedly more upscale establishment>

Duncan McAllister was enjoying his dinner; the roast was especially succulent this evening, and the wine was simply excellent. It should be – it was over one hundred years old and cost more a glass than his dinner companion made in a year.

“The accounts are all arranged?” asked Duncan.

“Yes, sir,” replied William Jennings Bryan. This was not the agent’s real name; in truth, Bryan wasn’t sure what his real name was anymore. With each new assignment, a new dead president* gave up his name and physical appearance to the agent’s use. “All secure accounts, on various different worlds within the Federation and allied systems. The access codes will be transmitted to Galaxy once the file is accessed. As directed each principal will receive one half of the necessary code, insuring they will have to work together to access the funds. Again, sir – we recommend against this. Instead of forcing the principals to work together, you may simply be signing a death warrant for one or the other. There is even a slight possibility they could kill each other.”

Duncan sipped his wine without apparent concern. “A calculated risk. I have more faith in my nephew than does your organization. The file transfers?”

“Prepared, and as accurate as we can predict, based on his latest revelation. We may have to scramble to make additions or deletions based on his next letter, expected in five years. That will be one of the last, sir.”

Duncan called to the waiter, ordered an odd French dessert and Jamaican coffee. When the waiter had left their table, he asked, “When will the files be inserted?”

“There will be a battle in or around the Kateren Nebula necessitating somewhat extensive repairs. We plan to insert the files at that time, prior to the principal’s assignment. President Bacco has agreed to authorize the mission but we’re uncertain if she will still be in office when the travelers arrive.”

The coffee was excellent. Duncan sent the dessert back. “What files are to be implanted so far?”

“At present there are only four,” replied Bryan. “The president’s mission authorization and the necessary fleet orders, the detailed scans of Earth’s destruction along with one of the principals’ analysis of root causes, and a medical file designed to insure that the scans of one of the travelers are normal when they are, in fact of an artificially animated deceased individual. The last is a replicator program for Haggis.”

Duncan chuckled. “My nephew always did have an odd sense of humor. Opposition status?”

“Efforts to discredit Admiral Hoth and the Archangel Project continue to be a dismal failure. We believe this lends credence to the travelers’ speculation that one cause of the continued success of the project and continued failures at diplomacy are other directed.”

“Other directed?” asked Duncan.

“The result of some other group or agency’s direct influence, sir; possibly even that of the group referred to as the Triad in the revelations.”

“You intelligence types certainly love your convoluted phrases. Anything else I need to know?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Bryan. “Additional funding is needed to prepare the strike groups that the principals may have to call on to halt WMD development. Radical terrorist organizations have received preliminary funding in accordance with their ideology, but keeping these groups active but quiet is becoming quite the juggling act.”

“We thought that might happen,” said Duncan. “The funding is authorized. Issue the orders to move all secret research and the associated personnel from the Seattle Ouroboros facility. Then give that to one or two of these strike groups to practice on. That should keep them satisfied and deflect any undue attention.”

“To be clear, sir – you just ordered a terrorist attack on one of your company’s own headquarters facilities?” asked Bryan.

“Yes, that order is confirmed,” stated Duncan. “You can’t make an omlette with breaking a few eggs, Mr. Bryan. I have other facilities that can carry on the work begun in Seattle.”

“Understood, sir. If that will be all?”

“One more thing, Mr. Bryant. Where is he now?”

“Your nephew, sir?” Duncan nodded.

“Ensign Paul McAllister has been assigned to the Federation Security Directorate. His commanding officer is Captain Kathryn MacKenzie – we believe that she will keep him out of circulation in retribution for their time together at the Academy. He should be safe.”

“Don’t count on it, Mr. Bryant. My nephew has a way of landing in the thick of things without a safety net. Keep an eye on him, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

********

<Kintyre, Scotland – 2385>

Duncan David McAllister lay on his deathbed. He was 117 years old, and had given up leadership of Clan McAllister on his hundredth birthday. Still, despite the pain of continued life, the old man hung on.

News of the Battle at Kateren Nebula reached Duncan through a variety of contacts. Oddly, this actually appeared to cheer the old man, and he was able to take a few brief sojourns to the loch next to which his ancestral home was located.

Soon after, a thin dark skinned man who identified himself to the house staff as Obama came to visit Duncan. He delivered a message to the old man – “Files in place. Principal recalled for assignment to USS Galaxy. All is well.”

Duncan David McAllister died the day after Mr. Obama’s visit.

When his will was read several days later, family and friends found themselves quite a bit richer than before his death. Except for his nephew, Paul. Paul McAllister received several rather unusual bequests: a Steinway Concert Grand Piano, a small stipend, Duncan’s space yacht the SS Vienna, and Duncan’s prize possession, a ring bearing the crest of the McAllister clan overlaid with world devouring snake –

Ouroboros.

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

OOC: Yes, I realize that despite three separate attempts, William Jennings Bryan never managed to win election to the presidency of the United States. Perhaps McAllister’s letters affected more change than previously thought? -- Betred

"Welcome Back to the Fold"

Starring:

Commander James Lionel Corgan
Mikaiu 'Mika' sh'Sonora
Lieutenant T'lan

Location: USS Galaxy

*****
Docking Bay, USS Galaxy
*****

Was the Galaxy really as James remembered it?

It had the same beige colour walls and maroon and beige carpeting of the peaceful explorer's revival of the 2360's, and the LCARS paneling every Starfleet officer knew and loathed like a 20th century Windows Operating System. There were no old faces going in and out of the narrow docking tube as far as James could see, but there were new personnel going through the USS Galaxy all the time. It's reputation for very skilled but 'professionally unreliable' staff gave the Galaxy the unwarranted label 'officer mill', so seeing fresh faces wasn't a surprise. So far as he could tell, no new dents on the hull, no outside modifications.

The USS Galaxy was as James had left it a year ago. An intimidating brute force brick that lost its sexy line when it donned its platemail.

How he missed the old dear. It was home for him. A home for so many years it was hard to imagine not being on the ship. When their good were transported to his quarters, it was as he left it, including the battery acid stain on the desk from tinkering with an antique iPod. Yes, it was home.

He wanted to come back for one reason.

He was here to sort out the hell that had become his life.

Starting the the questions raised from his temporally displaced daughter (that's Allison Jimsdottir to the uneducated).

While at the War College on Earth, James spent his free time learning what he could about time travel, alternate realities and temporal manipulations, even going so far as digging through old logs that involved starships and their jaunts into the past and the future. Little did he know that he was going way over his head, the scope of time travel needed a time traveler on an infinite looping temporal dimension just to learn all the skills. 24th century temporal studies were not studies at all, but rather theories that could not be proved, disproved, or even attempted due to the temporal prime directive, which states as quoted by the colourful Admiral Robert Pryde in 2347, 'Don't go back and forth in time... or we'll find you. Then we'll see what happens.'. Oh, there were theories. James like the alternate realities subset, but that couldn't be proven until someone actually tried to change the past and someone remembered where exactly they slipped the rails, though some instances were candidly close (see case study Edith Keeler, USS Enterprise, stardate... oh hell it was Kirk again!). Or there was the linear line, no divergences, and what happens happens and everyone isn't aware of temporal manipulations because they already happened, such as the case of Gabriel... what's his name (he looked an aweful lot like that Dominion War hero Captain Sisko...)? Or some say that we would be aware, or not aware.

There were a lot of theories on the subject. And nobody with the balls to violate Federation law to give it a try. A Federation citizen's urge to explore the unknown and gain knowledge wasn't enough to justify the potential destruction of a timeline.

Except for dear old Allison. James hoped she was still around. It was a dickish thing for him to do, to leave the ship without word, but rather than risk the past getting messed up, James decided to make a lot of distance between them... like in the sector wide range. Allison of the future, in looking for her father, had some unintended consequences, such as giving him an awareness of future events.

Such as not being married to Mika, like James planned, but instead Allison's mother, Rebecca Von Ernst.

That left a lot of questions, such as how Mika and James failed to kick off their marriage. What happened? How could the love of his life not be in his life? James was still passionately in love with his adorable little doll of a wife, whom was walking at his side, her arm around his and her head adoringly leaned on his forearm, loving, affectionate, too damn cuddly for her own good, and showing no sign that she wanted to do the sane thing and run screaming to the nearest habitable planet and out of James Corgan's life. She had no clue what was going on.

James knew. A future version of himself told him, and much after the fact. Allison was indeed his daughter and Mika was going to die a horrible death. How was unknown. Otherwise... that narrowed it down greatly!

James wasn't taking Mika on a lover's stroll through the docking tubes to their new ship, surrounded by excited and new personnel with families and loved ones in tow and comrades to talk to. It felt like James was taking Mika into the jaws of death, marching her up a figurative volcano for sacrifice, just to find out 'how' it happens, so he could use that narrow margin to figure out a way to save her. He didn't know how she died. He did narrow it down to... every conceivable method in the known universe. It could happen just as easily on Earth as it could on a warship, so what the hell?

And might as well be where Allison was. She was pivotal. If everyone was going to live, Allison included, she would have to be there. How she would be created if James never had the chance to conceive Allison with Rebecca was another problem altogether, but if anyone knew a way Allison did. She was the woman with the knowledge of future events. Somehow she could untangle the tumbleweed that's become the past.

And so those conclusions and events brought him home, to the ship he loved.

“James?” Mika looked up, way up considering her just shy of five feet height.

~”Damn!”~ James thought. It was hard to keep Mika from the truth. She was perceptive, like a bloodhound, whenever James was brooding or upset. That's what made his temporal conspiracy dangerous. It wasn't the red flags surely raised by Starfleet Security every time he took out an electronic document on time travel, it was the fact that he kept a big secret from a woman who didn't like him having any. It was coupled by a scary, diplomatic intelligence, which meant a not so fun marital interrogation if she found out. How he didn't want to keep it a secret.

“Just thinking.” James kissed Mika on the forehead, below the antenna, then withdrew, “It's good to be home, eh?”

Mika thoughtfully peeped, perfect as Andorian court protocol, “I too find familiar settings... pleasant. But my home is where you are, dear James.“

~”Now end it with a joke...”~ James grinned, “Oh, well in that case, I was thinking of a transfer to the penal colony on Dante XIII. Sulfur geysers, black clouds and smokey skies, shale as far as the eye can see, and a balmy 50 degress celsius in the polar regions. I hear the hazard pay alone is worth it!”

Mika playfully rapped James on the shoulder, “Do not push your good fortune with me, dear James.”

A tap on the shoulder from her could be a painful experience. Mika didn't know her strength, a subtle move from her could really hurt! James got a sore shoulder that would subside in a minute. But the diversion was worth it. Mika didn't know James was contemplating how she would die.

~”Putting her in the bear's jaws and lying to her. I'm so going to hell for this.”~

“James?” Someone shouted over the throngs of transferring personnel, “James!”

James let go of Mika, dropped his duffel bag, and said, “T'lan?”

And out shot T'lan, James most trusted Lieutenant.

From when they last meet, T'lan was still on Vulcan, undergoing treatment for a total collapse of emotional control. Too many traumas to her psyche, spread out over multiple events, had turned the female Vulcan security officer's emotional control into a crumbling ruin. Vulcans had formidable defenses and the patience of a monk, but they didn't have the mental elasticity of the emotional species. When James was traumatized by the Borg, it took years of therapy but he was now reduced to sleeping pills and a monthly counselor's visit. If the same happened to a Vulcan they would either be perfectly alright... or a gibbering wreck for life with no hope of recovery.

That was what T'lan was facing. Years of institutions where her unbridled and potent emotions, ranging from suicidal depression to homicidal anger, would leave her punching padded walls and being fed by cattle prod point as long as she lived. All because a vampire forced pon'farr on her (akin to rape), an alien intelligence took over her mind and body using her to subjugate her friends, and a proto-Romulan katra decided to be her mental roommate and didn't want to leave.

By all accounts T'lan was insane. The Vulcans wanted to lock her up. Did lock her up at the Vulcan Science Directorate for further study in hopes of a cure.

They must have found a cure, because it was T'lan's voice that called James and it was T'lan's fine, amazonian self that brushed past the crowd to meet Mika and James.

He hadn't expected T'lan to brandish a big smile. Vulcans never smiled, or if they did it was fake and unnerving. Her smile was joyful, pleasant even. It went well with the elfin ears solid cheekbones.

He hadn't expected her to put some spring in her step. He had to look away, that seven days a week Starfleet workout regiment body combined with what benevolent and merciful God gave her had an unfamiliar jiggle and bounce.

He certainly didn't expect her to run up and squeeze the life out of him. Her hug was like a vice grip. Her padding was pleasant but the strength of her hug was uncomfortable!

“SIR!” T'lan swung James around, not letting the hug go, “I am so glad to see you!”

James gasped, a lack of air turned his voice into a squeak, “What the fuck?.”

“AHEM!” Mika crossed her arms, her antennae had a noticable, antagonized twitch. “May I have my fiance back? I would prefer you left him in one piece.”

T'lan sheepishly let James go, “I am sorry.” She bowed to Mika, “I have overstepped my bounds. Forgive me.”

Mika said, “Forgiven, forgotten, my dear T'lan. Please understand that I need my future prime Quadmate to be in one piece. Tonight is a night for celebration, yes?”

T'lan nodded, “Agreed.”

Mika added, “You're of course free to j...”

James coughed, “Waitasecond... did T'lan just... show emotion?”

T'lan turned and nodded to James. “Yes. I did.”

“And you... aren't locked up?”

T'lan said, “That is correct. I am no longer incarcerated.”

“And... you're in your uniform.”

T'lan looked down at her polished communicator badge, “Why yes. I am on active duty as of today.”

“Does that mean the Vulcan nuthouse thinks you're no longer insane?”

T'lan raised a Vulcan eyebrow, “Technically.”

“Technically? What's that... *cough cough* supposed to mean?”

T'lan said to Mika, “James seems very confused.”

Mika replied, “It happens a lot with him, the poor dear. But he's very earnest.”

“Explanations please?”

T'lan blushed, “Oh, I'm sorry. Here... let me take your bags. I'll show you to your quarters. On the way I can tell you.”

What took James a lot of backwork and one good strong arm to lift, T'lan one handed James' duffel bag like it was a paperweight. Vulcan strength, and T'lan was very strong. She took Mika's suitcase with the other hand, and not the least bothered by the burden, led James and Mika to the turbolift.

Upon entering she told her story, in a tone that suggested the logical T'lan of old, “I was institutionalized. The best Vulcan neuroscientists and doctors did not have a cure for my affliction. It was similar to war victim's total collapse of emotional control. Our defenses are strong, but once broken we do not recover. It is the... downside of our pursuit of our emancipation from our own emotions. I should not have recovered, but my doctor suggested a nanosurgery to my neural pathways. It was experimental and due to Borg associations nanites are controversial, but I choose to go through with the surgery. A Vulcan priest was also in attendance. There was a Katra still inside me, a young Vulcan exile named Tellan. She did not want to leave. It was theorized that the surgery would loosen the Katra's hold on me and could then be exorcised. We went through with the surgery.”

Mika asked, “I take it your surgery did not go to plan.”

T'lan answered, “It didn't help at all! Neural pathway reparation doesn't restore a Vulcan's emotional control. It was supposed to help, restart my controls like one would turn off a computer console to reboot it when an error leaves it offline, but retraining my emotional control was impossible. I still had the Katra inside me. The more we tried the more it dug into my mind. The Katra was dying as well, and when it was dying... I was dying. Imagine if you will a dead spirit given flesh once more after being trapped for millenia in spirit form, alone, no comforts of the flesh. You can imagine why she would not want to let go given life again.”

James asked, “But here you are. Somehow it must have left.”

T'lan replied, “Not quite. You see... we were both going to die. At the time I thought it logical to make a deal with Tellan. You see, she had emotions and were used to dealing with them. I had some control left. She did not want to die. I did not want to die, but we both were going to die anyways. Therefore I made a deal with the Katra of Tellan.”

“What did you do?”

T'lan said, “Logically we merged.”

“EH?! But... then you're not you?”

T'lan continued, “Try not to be shocked James. I am still me. I retained my memories and experiences. What I gained from Tellan was her control and emotions. We both died. We both lived. We became T'lan, the person you see now, as well as Tellan, the Romulan exile. I have a Vulcan's analytical abilities and strong body, and I have my feelings, my fears and my loves, but rather than suppress them like other Vulcans, I acknowledge and cope with them like an emotional being. I find it... superior. I like my arrangement. I hope in time you will like it too.”

James wanted to gibber, “So... you're ok?”

“Technically.”

James rolled his eyes, “Of course.”

Mika asked, “What do you mean, technically? You are on duty. Someone must have approved your mental state.”

T'lan explained, “You see, the Vulcan Science Directorate considered my procedure to be a spectacular failure. The Order of Sarek, whom performed my Katra extraction, considered my merger with that spirit to be blasphemous and the loss of my emotional control to be sacreligious. I went to Betazed and was analyzed by the best Betazoid psychic surgeons to be sure. They gave what you humans would call a 'clean bill of health'. I did the same on Tellar, Andoria and an Earth colony. So yes... I am sane to everyone except my own people.”

T'lan dropped the bags. She carried in her eyes a sadness unfamiliar to the couple. New to emotions, T'lan felt that much more, and it was a thin strand that kept her from crying.

“If I go back to Vulcan.” T'lan quivered, “I will be locked away. My embassy will not help me. My parents sanctioned my incarceration and will do so again. I have no friends, no allies, and now no people. I have no roots. I am alone. Starfleet is all I have left.”

Unexpectedly, Mika hugged T'lan. She kept the hug light to the touch, but warm and close.

“It's ok. You may if you want to.” Mika said to T'lan.

T'lan whispered, “Not now. No need.”

James, not wanting to see T'lan dive into despair, padded T'lan's shoulder. “Babe, you're a misfit. Just like us. I'm no stranger to insanity, and Meeks isn't exactly accepted by her former ring of friends. We're all fuckups. The universe doesn't want us. So fuck 'em. Join us. We just need each other. And I'm not sure about you, but I consider you a good friend and valuable ally, and Meeks here has enough love for a dozen fuckups like us. So if you think you're alone out there... don't. You're not.”

T'lan reached over. Rather than take James' offered handshake, she gave James a hug.

James added, “Welcome back to the fold, T'lan.”

T'lan sobbed, “Thank you James.”

OOC: I apologize for this being posted out of sequence. I had some difficulties getting this arc to do what I wanted it to do. With the exception of the last two parts of "Matryoshka" that are already posted, these individual posts more or less stand on their own, so I hope any confusion is minimal.

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

“Matryoshka, Part 3 (2184)”

Jonathan Archer, newly elected President, UFP (NPC by Jeremy)

Thomas Vanderbilt, current President, UFP (NPC by Betred)

(follows “Matryoshka, Part 2”)

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

<Office of the President of the United Federation of Planets, Paris, France, Earth – 2184>

The President’s office smelled like a new car.

Thomas Vanderbilt, soon to be the ex-president of the United Federation of Planets, entered the room from his adjoining private study, letting the old-fashioned hinged door swing close with a quiet click. In one hand he carried a small wooden box, into the lid of which was carved the world devouring snake Ouroboros, tail firmly lodged it its own mouth.

Vanderbilt placed the box on the center of the desk he had never had the chance to use. Construction and decorating of the President’s office had been a bureaucratic nightmare of committee meetings, political correctness, and endless procurement forms and protocol choices, all designed to provide the leader of the UFP with a work space that offended no one, and in which very little work could actually be done.

But, what a view! From his – at least for a few more hours – window, Vanderbilt could survey all of Paris, with the majestic Eiffel Tower centered in the glass. It was a beautiful day, and he could feel the responsibilities of the office beginning to lift from his shoulders. Soon, he could cease to be concerned with endless minutia of forming a government that could lead and support a variety of different worlds and different, sometimes difficult peoples, all with their own agenda.

“Mr. President,” came the voice of his secretary from the intercom on the desk. “The President-Elect is here.”

“Send him in, Mary,” answered Vanderbilt.

The double doors opposite the panoramic windows behind the President’s desk opened, and President-elect Jonathan Archer strode into the office, a hesitant smile on his face.

Jonathan Archer had been in the UE President’s office many times before, the first being after the completion of his historic first tour as Captain of the Enterprise. Each time meeting a president was a humbling experience for him and an honor. Meeting the first elected President of the UFP was no different. He bowed his head formally. “Mr. President…” He said respectfully with the smile plastered on his face. “It is an honor as usual.”

Vanderbilt grinned. "Mr. President-elect. Welcome to your new home; I imagine you'll be spending quite a bit of time here," he said, shaking Archer’s hand.

“It’s still a lot to take in. I never thought that I’d be elected into the spot.” Archer said humbly, but decided to get down to business. “Now, your message said that you needed to brief me on something?” He asked, wondering exactly what Vanderbilt had in mind. Archer already had his transition team in place, ready to go, and so was wondering what more there would or could be.

Vanderbilt waved Archer to a seat. “It’s traditional for the ousted man to share some thoughts with his replacement just before he’s sworn in. Care for a drink?”

“Thank you.” Archer said, taking the offered seat. Vanderbilt went over to the nearby minibar, poured the drinks, and offered Archer his.

After some additional idle chitchat that just served to make both men more uncomfortable, Vanderbilt rose and walked over to his – soon to be Archer’s desk. “Have you ever meet Duncan McAllister? He’s a corporate executive and a member of the European Union’s delegation to United Earth – and very influential with many Federation representatives.”

“Heard of him, yes.” Archer said. “Much of the funding for the Warp 5 project came from his company as well as funding for many private space transport industries.”

Vanderbilt picked up the box from his desk. Walking it over to Archer, he said, “Duncan gave me this box and the documents inside when I was elected, and now it is my duty to give them into your care, Jonathan. These documents have been in the possession of the McAllister clan since 1661. Read the letter on top first, before you think I’ve lost my marbles.”

Archer raised a skeptical eyebrow, but looked at the box. “I’d say that you have lost your marbles had it not been for my own experiences on Enterprise.” He said, picking up the top letter and looking it over. The “letter on top” was dated with that day’s date, 2184, and was addressed to President Jonathan Archer. The signature contained that of one Commander Paul McAllister of Starfleet, below which is the date written – 2402. “You said that the McAllister clan had this since when? 1661? Where did it come from before that and how?” he asked. A couple of ideas sprung to mind, but he wanted to hear Vanderbilt’s take on it first.

“The details are in all the letters with dates earlier than this year. The legend is that an angel presented himself to King Charles II of Scotland in the year 1661 and presented this written prophesy to him, with instructions to deliver it into the keeping of Clan McAllister -- then known as Alasdair – until the end of time. Since that time, every one hundred years or so, a new letter is opened with additional instructions.” Vanderbilt refreshed his drink and sat opposite Archer across from the Great Seal of the Federation woven into the office carpet.

“The truth is the parcel in your hands was delivered from the year 2402 to the year 1661 by means of the time manipulations of a Starfleet intelligence agent – not the Paul McAllister who signed your letter, but evidently someone close to him. The gist of the whole thing, if it’s not some giant hoax, is to guide us in making decisions to avoid the destruction of Earth and civil war in the year 2402. Duncan McAllister’s instructions were to deliver the package to the care of the Federation president, beginning with Axelrod in 2161. Duncan swears by the information you’re holding – says it’s made him a rich man.”

“Of course…” Archer said. “Anyone with future knowledge would have an edge in any commerce.” He briefly looked it over the documents and notes and diagrams of everything that was contained within. “So then what exactly are we to do with this knowledge?” he asked. “2402 is a long time off” he said. And, God willing, I’ll never have to see another Wasteland Earth again let alone one that didn’t exist at all. He thought.

"McAllister's recommendations to me where fairly broad," replied Vanderbilt. "He warned against adopting a too isolationist viewpoint and strongly recommended enhanced oversight of any programs for the development of doomsday type weaponry. His only specific plea, to me at least, was to initiate an off world achieve facility for the secure storage of Federation knowledge and Starfleet records. I have no idea, what he'll tell you, I haven’t read your letter."

“Which is probably a good thing since the first set of instructions are not to read ahead…” Archer commented, looking over the top of the letter again. He was still recovering from the fact that this had been on Earth since 1661. “Another recommendation here is to make allies all around.” Archer let out a long sigh. “Peace with the Klingons… We’ve been at each other’s throats for ages now. Would such a thing be possible?” he wondered.

"Thanks to you, we managed it with the Andorians," said Vanderbilt. "I got the impression that my primary purpose was to be a custodian of the documents and to insure they would be forwarded on. But there are a lot of years between now and 2402 -- it's hard to imagine what the Federation will be like then. I have no idea what we can do now that would prevent a civil war that far in the future. But McAllister's warnings are clear; war breaks out because of fighting within Starfleet. What can we do to stop that?"

Archer shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re talking about an event hundreds of years in the future; at this point, I don’t know where to begin. This Duncan McAllister; would he be willing to meet to discuss this?”

“I’m sure he would.” Vanderbilt smiled. “In fact, I’ve taken the liberty of asking him to set some time aside at the Inauguration Celebration this evening.”

“I’ll meet with him, but I’m going to reserve the right to hold off on any decisions about this until I’ve had a chance to study these documents in detail.”

Vanderbilt stood. “That’s all we can ask, Jonathan.” He looked at his chronograph. “It’s almost time. May I walk you to the podium?”

“Certainly, Thomas,” replied Archer, standing. “This has been an – interesting – meeting.”

Vanderbilt extended his hand, and Archer grasped it firmly. “Welcome to the Circle of Ouroboros, Mr. President.”

“The what?” asked Archer.

Vanderbilt chuckled. “The Circle of Ouroboros. That’s Duncan’s phrase for those who know about these letters.”

The chime of the intercom interrupted Archer’s reply.

“It’s time, Mr. President.”

tbc

“Happy Anniversary, James Corgan!”

Starring:

Commander James Lionel Corgan
Mikaiu 'Mika' sh'Sonora
Lieutenant T'lan

Location: Corgan's crew quarters, USS Galaxy

Soundtrack: “Give Me a Reason” by Portishead

In a fully unpacked room, James quarters as impeccably arranged as he had left it a year ago, he laid on the bed, satin sheets covered him from the torso down to expose a hard working, lean, pale pink/white chest. His glasses were off, and in a way it made him look more handsome, giving his ice blue eyes a bit of the spotlight, and his hair wasn't combed down but rather ruffled, to add to his bad boy charm.

He didn't think he was sexy. His nose was a little too big. He had a brooding personality, or sometimes he was a total floppish jackass. If he didn't exercise for his job, he would be skinny and anemic. But someone out there thought he was sexy, and it was a boost to his confidence. One of these adoring masses was coming out now to put on a show. He leaned back on the bed's baseboard, his hand resting behind his head, leaning like he was tanning on a tropical vacation.

This was James relaxed, comfortable, the part he hid from the general public. The relaxed, playful, vain side just wasn't needed in his public face. Who ever takes down a Hydran warrior with good looks? They were unimportant, delegated to the small fraction of his life used for fun.

And tonight he was going to have fun with the one woman who's opinion on his sexiness was the only one that mattered.

She came out to the beat of Corgan's music, played softly in the quarter's speaker system. One white sandaled blue foot trotted in front of the other. James' eyes trailed up slender blue legs, continued above the knee when his eyes meet an opaque white babydoll. Further up he saw under the flimsy cloth blue and white panties, kept on by a bowtie knot on each hip and adhering perfectly to her petite but well defined musculature. He continued to look up and admire her flat stomach, her small and pert breasts who's shade and excitement couldn't hide under a kilometer of cloth, her delicately graceful arms, slender neck, up to her most adoring and lovable face, cute and perky nose, small sensual lips, snowy white hair that rippled and waved like a snowbank, and reed like antennae that seemed to swoon and sway to her dancer's gait. He looked at the eyes most of all, soft as pottery clay, gazing as if giving all the love in the universe.

She slipped in the covers at the foot of the bed, lingering the soft touch of her warm little body as she crawled seductively over James, to cradle in his arms. She let her kiss stay on his lips, soft, slow, giving him time to savour the stickiness of her saliva and lipstick, the plushness of her skin, the scent of her flaxen hair and body's musk. She wanted to speed up the tempo, but James hand on her back stroked, pressed, and lead, body cues slowed her down, giving James time to process and savour what was given to him.

“Happy anniversary, James.” Mika breathed, her kisses trailed downwards. Lower, lower, to his chin, his neck, his shoulder, his chest, and going down and down, Mika watching through a pool of her own bangs as she reached his Starfleet regulation boxer shorts. Her eyes flashed to life, a predator that wanted to take as well as give.

“Happy anniversary to you, babe.” James grinned boyishly, “You didn't have to go through all that just for me.”

“All this?” Mika questioned, a shrug to tell James that the spectacle, the sexy lingerie, the act of lovemaking was not a big problem, but rather as comfortable to her as a second skin. “Of course I did. I do not mind. I love it, as I love you.”

She might not have been the ideal looking woman. She was too short, too small, too dark skinned by her people's standards, and a little boyish herself if she didn't try hard to be feminine, but to her the efforts had their personal rewards, even if it was quid quo pro from her boyfriend. James found that the most sexy part of her. He liked cute, he liked petite, but best of all he loved a sexy attitude.

“Oh yeah...” James mirthed, “And what do you love about me?”

What the hell! James acted a bit narcissistic. Mika didn't mind. She said, “I like that pink skin of yours. I like how you fake modesty. I like how you carry yourself, and how when you're near me you don't just pay attention... you protect and comfort me.”

James joked, “You need me for that? You could break me in half.”

Mika shrugged, “Maybe... but maybe I don't want to protect myself. Maybe I want you to keep me safe. Maybe I like it like that, and maybe you do too.”

“Heh...” James grinned, “You got me there. Do you want your knight in shining armor to keep you safe?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Then come over here. Lets take it slow, take it easy.”

Mika shook her head. She disappeared under the covers, slid out at the foot of the bed. “Not yet James. I have a surprise for you.”

“Is that a fact?” James crossed his arms and waited, “Can I unwrap it now? Or later?”

Mika disappeared behind the bathroom, “In a moment, dear James. It's a big gift. I wanted our anniversary to mean something, and this is the best gift I could find for a ... overactive pinkskin.”

James guffawed, “Oh hoh hoh... should I be flattered?”

“Very. Wait patiently, love.”

James wondered if he heard a transporter make a soft hum in the bathroom. It could have been the sonic shower. Sonic shower lovemaking? James had been trying to convince Mika to do that for a long time, but she didn't like the vibrations of a sonic shower on her antennae. The fact that she would put up with that discomfort for him was thoughtful. James was ready to go.

No sonic shower. The hum was for a moment. ~”Nutzen...”~

Sashaying out of the bathroom, Mika had in her hand a black blindfold and some silken rope. The blindfold got him intrigued, but the wrist sized roped gave him a nervous twitch. He had bad experiences with women and rope, but he trusted Mika. And what the hell... it was her anniversary too.

Mika blindfolded James, then tied the ropes from his arms to the bedposts. All the while he held a big happy grin. “Girl, you didn't have to do this for me. Can't I, the great Captain Cunnilingus do the work?”

Mika whispered to his ear, her hot breath tickling his lobes, “Later.” She gave the earlobe a lick, “If I let you go down on me, you be at it all night and I wouldn't be able to give you your surprise. Patience James.”

~”Aww man! The suspense is killing me! Come on babe, will you just tell me what it is?”~

“You know me.” James lied convincingly, “I'm all about the patience.”

Blindfolded, James couldn't see what was going on, but he could hear Mika walk away again. She came back a moment later, her footsteps were heavier and lighter at the same time. James didn't know how that was possible. He felt the shift of her weight crawl on the side of the bed, her body press on top of his, and her lips kiss him again. He returned the kiss, and this time both lips were insatiably hungry for contact.

A funny sensation crept up his leg. Was it ticklish? It felt like fingers pressing into his muscles, relaxing them, shooting a tingling jolt up his hindquarters. It felt rather good, he was beginning to like it.

He felt someone else's weight shift on the bed. ~”Huh?”~

Fingers ran up his legs and onto his chest. Mika moved off to his side, teasing his tongue, laughing, her hand on his shoulder and pectorals. Odd, it felt like there were two hands running down his chest, and another was tousling his hair.

A body pressed up against his other side. It was softer than Mika's. Much softer. Very plush in the chest area. Her lingerie was silky to the touch, her breath was heavy on his cheek. She wore a perfume of lilacs, James favorite. Her toes twined with his leg, proving she was nearly as tall as he was.

Then the mystery lady whispered in his ear, in clipped, pronounced Vulcan, “Happy Anniversary, James Corgan.”

“GAH!!!!” James slammed the brakes on his passions, “What the fuck?!”

James reached for his blindfold, but his arm was tied to the bedpost. He had to shake his head, blow at the cloth with an upturned lower lip to loosen it enough to see. This shoved both women away, whom beat a hasty retreat to the end of the bed. He caught a glimpse of the newcomer.

To Mika's side was James most trusted subordinate officer, Lieutenant T'lan, and both women wore a look of indigence.

T'lan was the opposite of Mika in many ways. Amazonian height, hardbodied, austerely Vulcan, a beauty in a species of beauties that considered ugliness to be an illogical handicap. Bowl cut Vulcan hair ringed the universe's sharpest eyebrows and nut brown eyes. Tanned skin with a greenish tint was covered up by a barely there lacy panties and a corset bound tight, bosoms lifted and spilling out, the hint of areola escaping the top.

“Oh hell.” James groaned, “I'm in a bloody threesome.”

T'lan and Mika nodded their heads in unison.

“A threesome?”

They nodded again.

“With my co-worker. My subordinate officer.”

T'lan solely nodded.

“Whom was a great person but a cold fish?”

T'lan corrected, “I have emotions now.”

James grumbled, “You, me, and every other Vulcan on this ship! Do you know how many friggin' regulations this breaks!? Get out!!! I'll make sure nobody hears about this. Nobody has to know. Certainly not Starfleet Command! If they do just blame it on being a batshit crazy Vulcan with emotions. They'll understand.”

Mika squeaked, “What about me? Don't you care?”

James backpedaled, “Of course I care! I'm sorry baby... I'll make sure the teachers never ever find out. Promise!”

T'lan shoved James to the baseboard.

“Trust me.” She said distinctly, her finger traced the center of his chest, “Nobody will ever know.”

Mika said innocently, “I thought you would like it.”

T'lan added, “Logically, I thought James would welcome a sexual encounter with me. I notice how he looks at me at work.”

“And she is beautiful. Even I find her attractive.”

James wimpered, “You would?”

Mika rolled her eyes, taking T'lan's neck, she brought the Vulcan woman close and gave her a kiss. It was very long, and liberal on the head moving, tongue, smacking noises and panting. Mika even got a leg around T'lan's waist. The added 'mmmmhhh' from both of them was a little too theatrical for James' tastes.

Mika and T'lan stopped their impromptu make out session, looking back at James with a scornful passion. Mika said, “Dear James, you must be honest with me. You want her.”

T'lan added, stroking Mika's hair, “I wanted it, or else I would not have agreed.”

“You wouldn't admit it. Not to me. Stupid pinkskin concepts of monogamy.”

“And you wouldn't admit it to me. Stupid emotionals concept of interpersonal work relationships.”

“And you would not stop singing your praises about her! So I had to know for myself. I got to know her, and you know what? She is a wonderful person.”

“And Mika has taught me so much. Including what pleases you.”

“So relax a little....”

“...Lay back....”

“...Have a good time...”

“...Because we're happy when YOU'RE happy...”

Mika held a slice of pizza in her hand. Where the pizza came from James didn't know. “You do so much for us, dear James. Can you not enjoy what we can give you? That is your problem. You do not relax. You do not let yourself enjoy your good fortune.”

“That was my logical observation.” T'lan uncapped a bottle of root beer, the foam dribbled down the cold bottle and on her strong fingers, “You have two women in one bed. Why is this a problem?”

“Human repression.”

“Very illogical.”

“Where did the food come from?”

James was fed a bite of pizza, and one swig of root beer. It was delicious, but those sensations were ignored. His eyes were between looking down the two women's cleavage and wanting to find an escape route. He felt like a trapped animal. This was a deep seated desire. Sure, he could admit to himself that he found T'lan attractive and sexually pleasing. But he had a fiance. Mika! And she was ok with a threesome? He reasoned that Mika would be OK with it. Polygamy was part of the Andorian quad structure, though most Andorians had a chosen member as their closest.

But what happened in T'lan's acquisition of emotions that knocked a screw loose gave her the idea that joining in a threesome with her boss and her best friend was the hip new thing for Starfleet officers to do?

~”This is a dream, right?”~

That fact was confirmed when T'lan and Mika's sexy lingerie was replaced by sports mascot suits. Mika wore the 'Freddy the Fish' costume of the Pike City Pioneers baseball collective, T'lan wore a Calgary Flames hockey club mascot uniform known as Harvey the Hound. Both were making out again, sans the helmet, furry gloves rubbing each other all over, pizza and root beer spilling.

~”So it is.”~ James made a mental promise to NEVER tell his counselor about this dream. And hey! His uniform was back on! Resigned to the wild happenstances that were his conscience, James shrugged, “Stupid latent conscience... what the fuck. Girls!” James clapped his hands together, “My trousers! Take them off! It would... please me.”

The two women put the food aside. Four furry gloves grabbed hold of his pants and boxer shorts.

T'lan said, “On three.”

Mika counted. “One... two... THREE!”

*****

Rudely, James was awoken as the bedsheets were thrown off his slumbering body, exposing his boxer shorts dressed self to the cold harshness of morning air!

“GAH!!!!” Shooting out of bed, James looked around the room with sleepy eyes.

There was Mika, not dressed in sexy lingerie, but her purple turtleneck sweater, black button vest and billowing long black skirt. She had a bundle of PADDS in her arms and a pen in her mouth. She held James bedsheets, dropped in a pile on the floor.

She spoke, apologizing profusely, juggling her supplies, “I am sorry James! I know you wanted to wake up early, but when I woke up you were having a pleasant dream because you were smiling and you had a sweet little laugh so I let you sleep in and by the time I sonic showered and got ready for my big day back at school you were still sleeping only the dreams must have been disturbing because you grumbled and frowned like you do every time you are upset but it was not a Borg dream because you would have woke up screaming so I decided not to take a chance and wake you up quickly.” She motormouthed with a little of the old world Andorian squeak and twinge. Padds, pens, and a nutritional bar juggled in her hands, one fallen object was kicked back up by Mika's foot back into the pile without a second thought, “Breakfast is in the replicator, your uniform is in the replicator and your PADDS are right next to the replicator. I should be back by twenty hundred hours due to orientation. Try not to stay out too late with the boys. T'lan wants you to meet her at your office for at eight hundred hours and one more thing.”

James groaned, sleepy as a hibernating bear, “What is it, babydoll?”

Mika beamed a lovely smile that flashed little cute fangs, and pointed, “Ask little Jamesy if he can wait until tonight?” She pranced out the door, “Love you, dear James! See you later!”

James didn't know what she was pointing at, until he looked down at the immodest display of manhood pitching a tent in his boxer shorts.

“Good god...” James grumbled, “Have I no shame? No shame at all?”

His conscience had the answer, ~"You want to fuck your assistant security chief and your wife to be at the same time. I'd say no not only you have no shame, but you're also a repressed horndog."~

"Thanks. You're a big help."

~"Anytime, Broken Head."~

“First Meeting”

First Lieutenant Branwen London, USS Galaxy Marine Force

Second Lt. Wayne “Biggs” Duke, reporting, USS Galaxy FMF

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

<USS Galaxy – 2385>

Life was good, marine psychologist Branwen London thought. She was finally back on full duty, the greenness was gone and she had her marriage back on track again. Her babies were settling in well with her sister on the Resolution and Shanna was very good about sending regular updates about how they were doing.

Working together with Forkel was much better then it had been as well. They seemed to tolerate each other these days. And even better they finally received some new transfers for the marine officer corps. In fact the next appointment showing up on her puter screen was an intake chat with one of these new officers. Bran was very curious to meet him.

2Lt. Wayne "Biggs" Duke was curious about this policy of checking in with the unit shrink as part of reporting for duty. He had not been told to expect this. Approaching the designated office door, Biggs checked yet again to make sure his uniform was perfect.

When the chime went, Bran walked to the door with a smile on her face and opened it. “Hi, come in! I am Branwen London, one of the platoon commanders and resident shrink. Come in, have a seat! Can I get you something to drink?”

Not what Biggs was expecting at all, especially after just completing special operations training. The petite woman in front of him with the odd accent was cute enough, but seemed way too happy to be a marine.

"Good morning, ma'am. 2Lt. Duke, reporting for evaluation as ordered. No, ma'am, I'm fine, thanks." Biggs entered the room, but wasn’t exactly comfortable with sitting down. He stood at attention in from of Lt. London's desk.

“Oh relax, Lieutenant.” Bran said. “Counseling is not as formal as the rest of the corps. In here you can be at ease and talk about anything that might be bothering you or ask about career advice, whatever you want. Please, sit!”

Biggs sat on the edge of the indicated chair. Nothing was bothering him -- at least nothing he would want the pert blonde psychologist writing down in his file. He also didn't need any career advice. He waited to see what questions London had for him.

“You can call me Bran if you like.” Another bright smile. Most marines really didn’t like to talk at all, she was used to that. “How was your transfer, what was your assignment before this one?”

Telling him it was all right to call her Bran made him think of the bran muffin he had for breakfast. This woman certainly didn't look like a bran muffin, as far as he could tell with a uniform on her muffins looked just fine. Biggs blinked to clear his mind of muffin imagery and answered, "My last assignment was special operations training. I had no problems getting here, if that's what you’re asking. If I may, what is this all about? I've never had to check in with a counselor before."

“I know, and it is new. It is regulation for naval officers and this is a test case to see if it works for the marine corps. I am one of the first marine shrinks assigned to naval ships. The theory is that marines talk easier to one of their own. Today is just to get to know each other, so if there ever is something you would like to talk about I am not a stranger. Does that make sense?”

Biggs relaxed slightly. "Yes, it makes a little sense. Do you get a whole lot business? Most marines I know would rather talk to the bar maid in 10-Forward that a shrink in uniform. The bar maid doesn't write what we say down."

“I don’t make too many notes myself.” Bran said. “And everything that is said in here stays confidential. I can tell you that the first months were very boring and not many of the marines trusted me. It took time and fighting and bleeding next to them helped to gain trust as well.” Another grin. “I gather you are no fan of shrinks either then?”

Biggs chuckled. "No, not really. I'm not a warm and fuzzy kind of guy, and I don't think my mom fed me too many Twinkies when I was growing up. See, I'm a maverick, so I've been around a little longer then most butter bars -- in my experience, marines can handle most anything if they don't have to talk it to death afterwards."

A maverick, somehow it fitted. He had that look of someone who came up through the ranks and even looked down on young academic officers just a little. “That is were you are wrong, Duke. I don’t make them talk it to death, but plenty of the officers and enlisted do like to come in here and talk to me.”

'I don't doubt that at all,' thought Biggs. She must get her uniforms tailored. "Well, discussing personal issues with a woman -- even if she's a marine -- is just not something I see myself doing, ma'am." Biggs smiled. "At least, not on duty."

“Have you got anything against women, Duke?” She asked curiously. “We have been equals in the army for a few centuries now, you know.” Bran chided him playfully.

Biggs laughed. "You see? Right there; an innocent flirtation is twisted and becomes an official concern that maybe the marine in question has issues with the opposite sex. I've seen some good men and women taken for a ride because of questions like that. No, ma'am, for the record, I have no problems with women in the corps. As long as they fight and fuck like marines, they're OK in my book."

Even though she was used to marine language she blushed profusely. Usually that kind of language was not used in her office. “Right ehm… I can tell you that I am very careful in my questions and I don’t draw conclusions before making sure I understood the answers correctly, lieutenant.” Why was he making her feel uncomfortable now.

He could tell that he had said something that caused London some embarrassment -- the pale skin of her face was rapidly turning crimson. Biggs reviewed what had just come out of his mouth and had his own 'oh, shit' moment.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I didn't mean to say that women in the Corp had to fuck necessarily -- oh damn, what I meant was, well as long as they do everybody equally...no, that's not it, as long as they are treated equally, I -- you know what I mean?"

“I think I get the gist.” The redness had not left her cheeks. They were not making the best of starts. “Uhm shall we change the subject?”

"Please, let's!" agreed Duke. "What else would you like to know?"

“Uhm right, how are the other officers treating you?” She tried to get back on track. Sometimes mavericks were ignored or even bullied by other officers.

"No complaints so far, although that Baile fellow seems a bit nuts. I haven't really interacted with them -- and I still haven't had the opportunity to report to the CO, yet. Can you tell me anything about what he's like?"

She had no idea if others had filled him in on the difficult relationships she had with both Baile and Forkel. Bran sure wasn’t going to tell him. “The colonel is a hard worker and a fair CO, work hard, treat him fair and he will do the same to you. Baile… well, I would stay away from him if you can.”

"I intend to. But if he crosses me or my men, I'll have to have words with him," responded Biggs.

“You do know that Baile used to be our commanding officer?” She asked him.

"No, I wasn't aware of that. Was he busted?"

“Higher ranking officers came in.” No need to tell him that she had been XO of the marine force on the ship and that Forkel still didn’t trust her. “It happens.”

"Understood. Will there be anything else?"

“You just got here, so eager to escape.” Bran laughed.

"Well, the sooner this interview is over, the sooner I can ask you out to lunch," replied Biggs.

She blinked, and blinked again. “Sorry?” He had seemed hostile just minutes before and now he was… asking her out? “Why would you want to do that?”

"Because I'm hungry and don't like to eat alone," Biggs smiled.

“Oh….” She wished that she would stop blushing; this was getting ridiculous. “Well, we could. As we will be working together closely I would like to get to know you better.”

"All right then. So, what else do you need to know about me for your files?"

“I guess that is about it. The getting to know each other part we can do over lunch.” She grinned at him. “Anything else I can help you with?”

"Just point in the direction of a decent place to eat," replied Duke.

“The marine officers mess is small but has good food.” Bran said. “What time would be good for you?”

"How about right now?"

“You are very persistent.” She laughed. “You were my last appointment of the morning, so that works for me.”

Biggs stood, waiting for Bran to come around her desk and take the lead. "I told you I was hungry," he chuckled.

“Kitchen should be open now, so not a problem.” She closed down the computer. Bran took no risks with her patient notes. “Ready!” She said five minutes later.

"Lead the way, Bran," said Biggs, trying out her name for the first time. He rather liked it.

She smiled and locked up her office. “It isn’t that far away. Have you eaten there before? We have got a really good NCO chef, so not all the food is replicated. I would say it is better then the naval mess.”

"No, I haven't. I only arrived last night and ate breakfast in my quarters this morning."

“So you haven’t had the grand tour yet either? We will have to remedy that. You need to know were to find things.” She clucked like a little mother hen.

Biggs was beginning to wonder if this woman was that receptive to his charm, or if she was just -- clueless. "So you're offering to be my tour guide and lunch date?"

“I would have to check my calendar, but I think I have time this afternoon, so no problem.” Bran beamed at him.

"Just let me know when you're available," Biggs returned her smile. "I'm sure we can make a good time of it."

“Oh of course. I remember how scared I was when I first came here.” She patted his hand. “I will make sure that that won’t happen to you. Ah there we are, our mess. Let’s go and order!”

Biggs gestured for Bran to enter first, and then placed his hand lightly on the small of her back as he ushered her through the door.

Not really feeling his touch she hurried over to the counter and smiled happily at the cook. “Hiya, Jack, brought the new guy over to meet you.”

The NCO nodded in a friendly fashion, most of them liked the little marine shrink and everyone knew what she had just gone through. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

He picked up a tray, grabbed two sets of the usual utensils from the rack and studied the monitor displaying the day's menu. "Any tips on what I should stay away from?" he asked.

“His meat pies are heaven.” She said. “I am certainly going to get one or two. You are not a vegetarian are you?”

Biggs eyes widened in mock surprise. "A vegetarian marine? Can there actually be such a thing?"

“Good. I have known one or two, but I don’t think it is a good idea. We need our strength.” She started to pile her plate with loads of food.

He watched in amazement as Bran loaded her plate with even more food than he was accustomed to eating. Biggs looked again at Bran's figure, then back at her plate. Making a long arm, he snatched another tray from the pile; at this rate, both their plates wouldn't fit on the same tray. He began to fill his own plate, choosing most of the same entrees at Bran.

"You must have missed breakfast," Biggs commented with a smile.

“Oh no.” She said. “I have been….. Ill for a little while. Need to get my strength back up.” For a moment her face clouded.

They walked to an available table and sat down. "Nothing serious, I hope."

“Nah.” She grinned. “And it is all in the past.” Bran put the tray down. “Dig in and don’t forget to tell Jack how good it was.”

Biggs doubted whatever had happened was all in the past; her grin appeared forced, and there was still a haunted look about her face. The two ate in silence for awhile. Biggs finally slowed down, realizing he was not going to be able to keep up with the petite blonde eating machine with the strangely lyrical voice.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he said, "You know, it's not fair. You've got my file, so you know more about me than I know about you -- how about even up odds a bit?"

She pondered that for a while. “I guess that is fair. Alright, fire away, what do you want to know?” On a ship you couldn’t keep your private life completely separate from your clients.

Biggs was tempted to ask for her room number, but figured that would be too forward. "Branwen is an interesting name -- why don't we start with that?"

“It’s Welsh.” She said. “I am from Wales on Earth. Were are you from?”

"I was born in Iowa," Biggs answered, "but was raised in California. You have any family back home?"

“Yeah.” Touchy subject. “So you see your family a lot? Is it big?”

"I've got a brother. Don't see him much. Our folks are dead."

“Ah I am sorry to hear that.” Bran sat playing around with her desert thinking about the parents she hadn’t seen since she ran away from home at age fourteen.

"Hey, did I say something wrong? You went all morose on me all of a sudden."

“Ah well, you know me and the family didn’t part on the best of terms. I just see my sister and one of my brothers.” She shrugged.

"Sorry to hear that." Biggs figured he needed to change the subject. "So, what kind of missions do us poor grunts get on this boat?"

“The dirty ones. We have been fighting the Hydrans a lot lately and rescuing prisoners of war. Now that sort of thing is tough on the troops. You should be aware of that. Some of your grunts or NCO’s might be a little war weary, keep an eye out for it.”

"Good tip, thanks. So when do I get this infamous tour you spoke of?" Duke grinned.

“Jeez, you are impatient aren’t you? Want me to go check my calendar now?” The marine shrink teased. ‘I barely finished my food.”

"Exercise after a big meal helps the digestion."

‘I guess you are right in that.” Bran had to admit. “Very clever thinking on your part. Let’s walk past my office so I can check. But I think I should be alright for an hour or two.”

Biggs stood and picked up their trays. "I'll dump these and meet you at the door."

“Thank you.” A gentleman. Those you did not meet every day and especially not in the marine corps. She really hoped they would be good friends. Hopefully Dar would like him as well. She thought her husband could do with some more friends.

"So, what's a nice girl like you doing in the Marine Corps?"

“Honestly?” She asked. “Mostly stubbornness. My sister is in the navy; she is a commodore by now. And I didn’t want people to think that she had helped my career in any way. So the corps was the logical solution.”

"I joined up when I was still a kid -- one of those 'join the marines or go to jail' deals; bet that's not in my file, now is it?" Duke laughed. "Boosted a hovercar at the high school prom, trying to show off for some chippie, stupid kid shit. Still, best thing that could have happened to me."

“So what made you become an officer? Some NCO’s wouldn’t dream of joining the officer corps”

Biggs' usual happy smile faded. "I was commissioned in the field when most of our battalion's officers bought it. When the war was over, Fleet reviewed my record and told me that if I wanted to keep the pretty silver bar -- I was a First by then -- the paycheck and my digs at the BOQ, I'd have to go to the Academy. So, I went." Biggs' smile returned. "Maybe I can knock some sense into my fellow officers."

“Did you like it there? I guess you didn’t have to do the full course? They have fast track courses for NCO’s don’t they?” She was really curious.

"Well, it was easier than Basic and Advanced schools -- and yeah, they offered me a chance come in as a third year for officer specific training. I guess the Fleeters figured out I already knew how to polish my boots. I declined the offer and took the full course -- I wanted the degree."

They had arrived back at Branwen's office

“Just a second.” She unlocked her office again and then restarted her computer. Five minutes later she had an answer for him. “ I have got ninety minutes for you. That should be enough to show you the ship don’t you think?”

"Sure," answered Biggs. "I can get a lot done in ninety minutes," he added with a wink.

“So what would you like to do first?” She asked completely innocent.

"Now that's a loaded question," muttered Biggs. "You're the guide -- show me what I need to see, I guess."

“Okay let’s do the marine territory first. The gym and training rooms?”

"And the weapons range?" asked Biggs. "I like to practice."

That made Bran laugh. “Trust a marine to know what he wants. I am offering to show you around so you will know your way and all you want to do is shoot your rifle.” She grinned and shook her head. “Men!”

Biggs laughed. "Got to keep in practice if you want to Semper Fi and all that."

“If that is what you really want. But I do promise you, there will be plenty of time for that later.”

Biggs was beginning to think that this new posting wouldn't be so bad after all. "Well, for the next ninety minutes I'm all yours -- what shall we do first?"

“Like I said, I could give you a tour so you know your way around and will not get lost. You will even be able to impress your NCO’s.” She grinned. “But if you would rather go and practice…”

"A mere second louie will never impress a good NCO -- but a little practice would feel good about now," Biggs grinned. "Your choice."

“Alright, alright, the gun range it is then. Follow me.” She said shaking her head but laughing.

Biggs was a bit surprised when they actually arrived at the weapons range, but since it had been a few days since he'd actually fired a phaser, he decided to go with the flow.

Bran hung back and decided to check out how good he really was. With his experience she expected him to do pretty well. But you never knew for sure.

Duke shook his head. "Oh-no. What's the fun of being on the range if there's not competition? Saddle up partner, and how 'bout a friendly wager, say -- a drink a point?"

“Oh I don’t drink much.” She said laughing. “Why not play for fun? I don’t mind a shooting match.” The last couple of months she had not even been allowed to drink because of the medication she had still been on.

"Alright then, but if I win, I'm gonna want a prize!" Biggs set the difficulty levels to special ops standards. "You ready?"

“Absolutely. Who goes first?” Bran was a good shot and she was not afraid of a contest with the cocky new officer at all.

"Target will appear and we fire simultaneously. The shooter with the most kills after the round wins the match." Biggs touched a control and the room lights dimmed and the usual computer warnings sounded about a live fire exercise in progress. Following protocol, he showed Bran his phaser was set to stun.

She checked his settings and handed her his phaser for the same check. Bran was already concentrating on the game to come, the Welshwoman loved a challenge. As soon as the first target appeared she went after it giving it all she got.

"I’m too sexy… Comrade."

Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff, Acting Chief Security Officer

Lieutenant JG Le'on Khatowren, Security Kitty

Ensign Chris Yorke, Medical Officer

Mr. Mystery Guest Villain: The Claw

**********

Main Stores, USS Galaxy

"Your application is both crude and obvious", the voice rasped from the darkness. "Still... if that's the best you can do I suppose the work will suffice for my purposes."

"Crude??" Fauf, the Galaxy's Ferengi quartermaster, wiped the sweat from his knotted brow with cold, clammy hands. "This stuff'll melt his cerebral cortex faster than last year's Sluggo Cola collapse! What more do you want from me?"

"Subtlety", the voice from the shadow grated. "Still... as long as the substance meets the specific criteria the effect should be as desired. You're certain of the lack of toxicity?"

"Uh... sure. As promised."

"Hmmmm...." From the blackness, a thin gloved hand emerged and offered a small burlap pouch stuffed with an organic herb that scented the air. "Very well... for his usual delivery of personal items. No slip-ups Fauf... you're familiar with the consequences."

"Yes", the Ferengi muttered with an unsteady nod of his oversized head. Beads of persperation broke down and trickled down his lobes, and his head sagged between his thin shoulders. "I know."

**********

Later, in Le'on's Quarters.

Le'on tossed about on his pillows in a somewhat fitful sleep. A sweet aroma reached his nostrils. "Mmmmmm.." He purred, slowly waking up. "Num Numsssss." He popped open a sleepy eye and spotted the package sitting there in the middle of the floor. He then stretched, yawned, and licked his chops. "Mmmm. Somebody loves cat today." he said as he padded his way down off the bed and approached the package.

Deep down, Le'on knew better than to accept strange packages that simply appeared in his quarters. But this was catnip. Catnip is sacred, catnip is the end-all be-all, and, most importantly, catnip is legal.

Flicking out a single claw, he cut into the package. It opened easily to reveal the heaping mound of the dried green plant inside. "oooooohhhhh yeaaaaaaaah! It is da good stuff too." Le'on said with glee as he took in a big sniff of it, his tail quivering in anticipation of the euphoria that he was about to indulge in. He checked his chronometer; two hours until his shift, plenty of time to indulge himself. "How is it dat dey say? Party Time!" he yelled as he dove into the pile of catnip.

**********

Le'on was never late for a shift.

The diminutive Caitian was, perhaps as compensation for his Q-inflicted size, a model officer. Punctual, efficient, friendly, diplomatic when called for, and deadly in the event skill of that nature was required.

It was the punctuality that was at issue here. Having checked, Victor knew that Le'on had never missed a shift except for medical reasons, and, having checked with Sickbay, there were none presently in force against his fellow officer. Still, that might have gone without comment - anyone could be late due to happenstance, even a Vulcan - but Le'on had also refused to answer three com calls, despite being present in his quarters according to sensor records.

That meant there was a potentially greater issue involved, and necessitated a physical check in response…

...which led Victor to Le'on's quarters, his unlocked door, and the observation, "What in the name of the Divine is that noise?" as he keyed the door open.

Victor was greeted to the sudden loud blast of 20th Century Earth music as the doors slid open. Le'on was inside of his quarters dancing on top of the coffee table, wearing nothing but a smile, while swinging the shirt portion of his uniform around and around over his head. He was singing, quite badly, to the tune that was playing. "I… too sexy for my shirt. too sexy for da shirt. so sexy it hurt! Rowr!" he sang out at the top of his kitty lungs, oblivious to the fact that his commanding officer was standing dumbfounded at the doorway.

The quarters looked like a Risan hurricane had hit it; PADDs, uniform pieces, phasers, couch and chair cushions, and a curious green leafy substance were all scattered around on the floor. Le'on kept on shaking his furry butt and tail in time to the music. "On de catwalk! Rowr! On de catwalk! Yeah! I am de cat up on de catwalk!" he sang out, slightly drunk and slightly off key.

It was obvious that he didn't quite know all of the lyrics correctly.

Before Le'on could start into the next verse, he tossed his uniform shirt off in the direction of the desk. But in doing so, he threw himself off balance. He crashed onto his back and rolled off of the coffee table and back onto the floor in giggling fit. He then rolled and stretched some more, trying to get all of the catnip over as much of his body that he could. "Ahhhh yeeeeeaaaaahhhhh.." He breathed, still unaware of Victor's presence.

Victor considered closing the door and opening it again, in the hopes that this was a temporary hallucination that would be banished by that action, but ultimately opted out of that choice out of concern that Le'on would be doing something worse when the door reopened. His psyche was damaged enough already by the initial images and sounds, there was no need to compound the effects.

"Le'on?" He wasn't certain that the word would actually penetrate the apparent drug-induced haze the Caitian was in, but the first rule in situations like this was always to determine the responsiveness of the affected individual.

Le'on had rolled onto his back and was now sprawled out, looking at Victor through glassy eyes, upside down. He blinked a couple of times, trying to determine and comprehend exactly who was in his quarters. "I have new bendy friend. Greetings Comrade." he said, his words still slurring, not recognizing who it was. "Join me in Catnip!" he said to the tall figure that seemed to bend and twist in many different directions at once. "I have catnip for all!" he cried out, grabbing paws full of the stuff and flinging it up into the air. He then bounced up and started frolicking and skipping joyfully around Victor's feet. "Catnip, Catnip, Catnip for all!"

He then stopped, wobbled and collapsed back up against Victor's leg, where he proceeded to rub up against his leg and purr. "I is good cat, da?" he muttered. "Cats need loving too." he said as he continued to purr and weave in and out of his legs, leaving some shedding fur on his uniform trousers in the process.

Before Le'on could carry that line of thought any further and force Victor to fill out Form 176990/Alpha-Helo, Xeno-Species Sexual Harassment By Junior Officer To Senior Officer - in quadruplicate - he resolved the problem by moving his leg and removing Le'on's prop. "I wasn't aware that catnip affected you so strongly," Victor commented as he pondered the safety of picking Le'on up.

"It is de good stuff." Le'on meowred as he tried looking up into Vic's shapeshifting face, failed, and fell backwards onto his back again. "Manna from Heaven. de cat gods like de kitty today. just showed up on doorstep." his head lolled to the side as he then found a speck of light outside the viewport window to concentrate on. "I vonder vhat de color blue tastes like." he wondered as he caught sight of a bluish star outside.

His ears then caught the startup of another verse of the overly loud music and his hind paw started tapping again. "I's too sexy for my fur. too sexy for my furr." he then started singing softly as his head lolled back and forth in time with the music. He then grabbed a couple of clumps of fur and started pulling. "Sooo sexy I purrrrrrr… Rowrrrr." he sang out as he tried to remove patches of his fur forcefully.

"Okay, I think that we've reached the point where you really don't have anything left to take off," Victor interjected, bending over and picking up his crewmate. Catnip, while not a controlled substance - except on a number of feline-inhabited rim worlds that also banned a substance known as 'Meow Mix' whatever that was - definitely didn't produce results like the ones he was currently suffering through. "So, let's play a new game, shall we?"

Le'on's ears perked up. "Game?" he asked his bendy friend with interest.

"It's called." Victor thought rapidly ".'Road Trip.'"

"Road trip." Le'on said, thinking about it. He then dashed over to the desk where he had a bottle of vodka. He leaped onto the much bigger desk, grabbed up the bottle that was almost as big as he was, held it high over his head with one paw while making a 'V' shape with his other paw. "ROAD TRIP! ROAD TRIP! ROAD TRIP!" he started chanting while head banging like an Academy Frat Boy.

Somewhere in the Federation, there was a Starfleet vessel where things like this didn't happen, Victor was sure of it. Or maybe not, maybe everyone else just lied about it. The possibility that that idea was correct cheered him up somewhat as he considered his next move. What was that phrase that legions of inebriated personnel he'd loaded into transports had used.? Ah! "Do you want… shotgun?" he asked the head-banging junior officer.

"I got shot gun!" Le'on cried out triumphantly. He dropped the bottle of vodka and dashed across the room, diving into the footlocker at the foot of his bed. Victor could see his tail swishing back and forth as Le'on dug into his things. Le'on tossed out more uniform items, a mouse chew toy, a nail file, a ball of yarn, a plastic bag of catnip, and a couple of PADDs before coming up holding an oversized Type III Pulse Phaser Rifle victoriously over his head. "Muhahahahahahaha!" he laughed maniacally. "DIE LIZARD!" he then yelled as he pointed it in Victor's general direction and pulled the trigger.

As he dove through the air on his way towards what cover there was in the room, Victor had a split-second to hope that he wasn't going to have to shoot Le'on - commanding officers always hated it when you did that, even if you used a 'stun' setting - before he was rolling up on one knee and had drawn his own weapon, the slime Type-1 phaser warm in his hand.

Instead of the usual beams of light, a stream of small foam rubber darts started shooting out. They missed Victor by a mile and impacted the wall off to Vic's right, all over a poster of K'aa's grinning Gorn face that had a bull's eye target painted over it. The rubber suction darts stuck into the wall all over the place, some hitting K'aa's mug shot and some missing by a mile. Eventually, the toy ammo ran out and only the clicking sound of the trigger was made. Le'on looked at the toy phaser rifle, shook it a couple of times, tried shooting again, peered down the barrel as if to make sure the ammo was gone, shook it again, and then raised it over his head like an oversized club and rushed the portion of the wall under K'aa's picture in order to start beating on the bulkhead with the butt of the toy gun while giving out a Caitian war cry.

"I think," he said to himself, rising and slipping the phaser away, "that's going to be enough of that." He stepped across the room, and grasped the toy phaser rifle in one hand and Le'on by the scruff of the neck in the other. "I think you got him," he assured Le'on as he took the toy weapon away, and offered the Caitian the vodka bottle again. "Let's go pick up some nurses to celebrate."

"ROWR!" Le'on meowed in protest as Victor hauled him up off of the ground; he thrashed around a bit until he caught sight of the bottle.

He then grabbed it and wrapped himself around it as if hugging a long lost lover. "Mmmmmmmm.. Voooooodkaaaa." he purred, not caring where they were heading now.

Victor shook his head, paused to gather a sample of the material that Le'on had been snorting, and moved out of Le'on's quarters towards Sickbay - and, he hoped, a hypo full of detox agent.

****

Sickbay, Deck 12

Chris sat behind a desk just off the main sickbay. The desk was utilised by the duty medical officer for paperwork, but with the lack of patients this morning Chris was busy looking through the ship's manifest and deck plans, figuring out who everyone was, and where the most interesting parts of the ship were. He hadn't figured into his idea of learning the ship as he went along, that the crew consisted of more than a thousand, and that there were over 40 decks - it just never struck him - until now.

The duty nurse, Petty Officer Etara, a young Bajoran male, was dealing with the ward patients' observations. Though in actual fact there were only a couple of people in the ward, one had suffered some nausea and loss of consciousness - put down to low blood sugar, the other had a bacterial infection that needed monitoring for a few days. All in all it was a quiet day, and Chris' first on the job.

By the time Victor carted Le'on into sickbay, the diminutive Caitain had switched from bad rock music to bad show tunes. in Russian. When the doors opened, he was swinging happily back and forth by the scruff of his own neck, swinging the bottle of Vodka in time with the bad singing; "Za va, shas da rovia, heaven bless you both, Nasdrovia! To your health, and may we live together in peace. May you both be favored with de future of your choice! May you live to see thousand reasons to rejoice! Za va, shas da rovia, heaven bless you both. Nasdrovia! To your health, and may we live together in peace!"

The peace had been interrupted. Chris looked up from his mix of PADDs and terminal to seea human male Lieutenant, who he recognized from his studies of the manifest as Lieutenant Krieghoff, the Acting Security Chief, carrying a noisy talking cat... no doubt Le'on Khatowren, a Caitian also from security.

Chris got to his feet just as Etara came in, obviously curious about the noise.

Victor paused as he entered Sickbay, checking to make sure that no one was going to drop a kidney or a vat of cloned ears on the floor like they had the last time he'd been in Sickbay in response to an incident involving Le'on. When no ears spattered across the floor, and no patient red-lined, he continued in, nodding to the ensign eyeing him - and his cargo - warily. "You're a new transfer, right? Ensign. Yorke?" It probably wasn't necessary to look at every incoming crewman's file himself, but Victor felt better being able to put faces to the people he was given to protect.

"Yes, that's me," Chris replied, as he looked at the small Caitian being held by Victor - the cat wasn't quite what he had expected, despite reading the file.

"You're not Betazoid or part Betazoid by chance are you?" Victor asked, staying outside the range of his normal effect on people, just to make sure. Just because he had a face to go with the name didn't mean that he had the file memorized. "I generally cause severe problems for individuals with those backgrounds if I'm too close to them."

Etara , to Victor's left, walked to within three meters of the security officer, and then veered to the left in what looked like a rehearsed fashion designed to avoid his being too close to the man.

"Other individuals as well," Victor noted without apparent embarrassment. "If you feel. uneasy. around me, there's nothing wrong with you. It just means that you're normal, that's all."

"I see," Chris replied, slightly unsure what Victor meant, but nevertheless willing to take the statement as true. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Victor held up the swinging Lieutenant, waited for a pause in Le'on's singing, and said, "It's Lieutenant Khatowren. He's. too sexy for his fur. or something like that."

Hearing what sounded like a sound cue, Le'on took up the bad 20th Century music once again. Only problem was that without the background music to go with it, the song sounded even worse coming from him. "I… too sexy for my fur... too sexy for my furr... soooo sexy I purrrrrrrrr!" he sang out as he gripped clumps of his fur once again and started pulling, dropping the bottle of Vodka in the process.

Victor got a foot under the bottle, preventing it from shattering as it impacted the floor, and sending it rolling off towards Etara. "I think you can see why I'm concerned," he told Chris as he reached out and grabbed Le'on's paws to prevent him from hurting himself. "He said something about catnip earlier, but this is not normal behavior for him even under the influence of that substance."

"I would agree," Chris said. "Let's have him on the biobed over here." Chris indicated to the nearby bed, and took out a medical tricorder. He wasn't familiar with Le'on's anatomy, whether Q had changed it to that of a Terran cat, or simply made the Caitian anatomy smaller.

With a nod, Victor moved over to the biobed and set Le'on down on it. "I've got a sample of what I *think* he was into," he offered as he experimentally let go of the miniaturized Caitian, "but there aren't any guarantees; his quarters were a mess."

"Le'on," Chris said, in an attempt to get some attention. "I'm going to scan you, what have you taken or eaten in the last twelve hours?"

"Just de catnip and de vodka comrade." he said, scratching his head and now looking around for his missing bottle.

He shook his head slightly, and took the sample from Victor. He turned away from the security officer to examine Le'on and suddenly found himself looking over his shoulder, a shiver running down his spine. "Would you mind waiting just over there?" Chris asked him, unsure why he was concerned about his presence, but assuming this must have been what Victor was talking about.

"Not a problem, Doctor," Victor nodded and moved to stand outside the range of his normal effect so as to not impact the examination.

Chris began scanning Le'on with a tricorder. There were all the regular indicators of intoxication.

"How much Vodka have you had?" Chris asked, addressing the question to both Le'on and Victor. "Have you ever felt like this before?"

"I don't know vhere de vodka is comrade." Le'on said drunkenly as he started batting at the moving tricorder playfully. "And de catnip is all gone. but oooooooh sooooo gooood.. It was really good stuff dis time." He said, falling backwards and sprawling out on the biobed. "Ooooo.. Colors.." He said, focusing on something in the air above him and starting to swat at it with his paw.

"Where did it come from?" Chris asked, now scanning the catnip.

"No idea," Victor admitted. "He'd spread it all over the room if it was the material I brought you a sample of. I couldn't find anything that looked like original packaging."

“Heeheehee….” Le’on giggled uncontrollably. “Packaging…” he said with child-like glee as his thoughts wandered to the hundred yards of bubble wrap that he had on order and the fun he’d have with it whenever it got to the ship.

"It seems this is more than catnip," the young doctor concluded. "It contains some hallucinogenic compounds, about four different types actually, two of which are illegal narcotics, the other two are a form of mild tranquilizer."

As if on cue, Le’on stretched, yawned, kneaded his claws out on the biobed and then promptly curled into a tight furry ball and fell asleep.

"Oh, really?" Victor's tone left no doubt that *someone* was going to be in trouble over the incident.

"I can try giving him something to counteract the hallucinogenic drugs, it might work, it might not," Chris explained. "It would work on a Caitian, but Mister Khatowren is not quite Caitian anymore."

"How long will it take to run its course if you don't counteract it?" Victor asked. "And is he in any danger as is, or from the treatment?"

"We're looking at a couple of hours before the effects wear off, and I would take an educated guess of twelve to sixteen hours for it to be out of his system," Chris replied. "But he's in no danger that I can see, I'll give the compound a thorough examination to make sure, but the computer is generally pretty good."

“Sixteen hours?’ Victor eyed the diminutive officer for a moment, and then tapped his combadge to contact Security Main. A few moments later, with Le’on placed on ‘sick leave’ for the next forty-eight hours, retroactive to the night before, he turned his attention back to Chris. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he asked, “could you list him as simply ‘sick’ until I determine if this was something he willingly did to himself – in which case he’ll be entering a treatment program immediately after you discharge him and remove my foot from his furry behind, or if someone’s playing a particularly unfunny joke on my officer – in which case you’ll also be removing my foot before they go to the brig?”

"He's your cat," Yorke replied with a slight smile. "My diagnosis is intoxication from medication overdose for the record. It's down to security to figure out if the medication was prescribed or not, not me."

“Thank you,” Victor nodded, while wondering for the ten thousandth time since being transferred aboard if things like this were normal throughout the fleet, or if, as he had grown to believe, just to the Galaxy. “Keep me updated on his condition, please. I’m going to need to talk to him when he’s more… coherent.”

"Of course," Chris replied. "He can go in the quarantine room to sing it off."

“Thanks again,” Victor nodded, backing up to pick the vodka bottle up. “I’ll have the evidence tech forward you a copy of the report in case there’s something there that will help with getting this out of his system.” He frowned down at the sleeping Caitian. “You might also want to speak to the other Caitians aboard, just in case this extends to more than Le’on’s catnip. One case – annoying as it is – isn’t so bad if so, but several would be… immeasurably worse… given the relative difficulty of corralling full-sized individuals under the influence.”

"Indeed, I'll get them all in today and let them know the problem," Yorke replied. "If there's anything else I can help with, let me know."

“Will do,” Victor nodded. “And if there’s an issue with any of the other Caitians, let me know and I’ll try to handle it off the record until we determine what’s going on. No need to negatively impact someone’s record if they’re a victim.”

"Victor - Victoria"

Victor Krieghoff
Victoria Krieghoff

----

2402
The Guardian Planet

----

The death of their leader now certain with his remote firing signal
being transmitted and the weapon now fully powered, the Gorn ship's
commander hissed his almost serpentine command. To the average humanoid
mind, it was little more than hisses and growls, guttural noises that
combined in lyrical patterns to create a language that stepped from
nightmares. There was a pause, almost like a catch in time, as though
the entire universe paused to brace itself for the stomach punch to
come.

The fates knew. It wasn't just planetary destruction being carried by
that white-hot bolt of molecules -- it was the destruction of a vessel,
the release of something that would change the scope of history, past,
present, and future. Desolation incarnate. And the white horse would
ferry death throughout known space and time.

The vessel -- nay, the being now, solid and complete; Victor Krieghoff
as the moral, corporeal beings knew it but so much more in the eyes of
the universe -- looked upward as he danced the Dance of Destruction for
the Guardian, its world and himself. Streamers of the energies within
him poured out in ropes of power invisible to any but a Third Eye,
binding the Guardian and Cutter together and feeding them the power they
would need to complete the shift into what they sought to, needed to,
become. As he danced, he lessened, giving of himself so that they might
Become, sacrificing his essence to Create that which should be,
diminishing with each step he took as he lost that which he'd become to
assist in the birth of that which was coming.

The bolt moved steadily toward him, faster and faster as the perspective
shifted, as the distance closed.

First crawling like an infant it now gathered the force of a churning
freight train.

The words he'd chanted since he started the Dance spilled out like
thunder: I AM CREATED SHIVA, THE DESTROYER....

He could feel the heat of it now, the blast of Hell's dark fiery furnace
reaching for him, surrounding him, crushing him in the endless gravitic
embrace of death and rebirth. Phoenix from the ashes, but dark, twisted,
untempered by humanity...

DEATH, THE SHATTERER OF WORL-.

The blue light overwhelmed him then, wrapping around him; pulling him
close -- an angel whisking him out of the devil's grasp. It was eight
years old and floating in a calm lake on an early summer's day, watching
the clouds pass through a sapphire sky. It was mother's arms. It was a
lover's kiss.

It was peace.

*****

Thursday, January 18, 2407
Terran Standard Calendar

Her father had decided to officiate the ceremony. There'd been great
debate almost to the minute as to the role he would take, and finally,
Jii decided this would be the best choice. That left Momma to walk her
down the aisle; Victoria had wanted a more traditional Terran-styled
service; while she'd never actually seen one, she thought it was
beautiful in thought.

And it was. She'd smiled at her new sister-wives as she passed them, and
then up to her husband, her heart skipping a beat as it usually did when
she entered his presence. The sense of home washed over her as she took
his hands, and they bound their lives together just as their souls and
fates had always been bound together.

After von Ernst's death, and the destruction of the Guardian, the
survivors struggled to recreate a human race. The time ripple that would
change everything and let them know that Daren M'Kantu's mission had
been a success hadn't arrived yet; possibly it never would. Or possibly
it already had, and the nightmare that they remembered, bad as it was,
was the better future that he'd exiled himself into the past to create
for those he left behind, the hope they were finding the results of his
and his companions' efforts. Or perhaps his efforts had simply split the
time-stream instead of changing it, the better future he left to create
happening just a side-step away, temporally speaking.

In any event, many of the Hawks still fought in small skirmishes, but
over the last couple years, even that had died down. Most of them
reached a peace settlement; everyone was tired, and without the maniacal
leader, they were lost. Elaithin Jii and members of the Hawk's now
depleted leadership signed peace agreements on Mars, brokered by the
Martian government. Many Terrans settled there. Began to integrate into
Martian society. And since, small settlements had cropped up over the
universe.

This was one of them.

The party was still going on; people laughed and danced, the stresses
that had plagued them for most of her life not gone, but definitely
easing. Her husband's best man was dancing with a Centauran woman a foot
taller than he was over by the musicians, the salt and pepper muzzled
Kit'sarin smiling more today than Victoria had seen him do in the years
since everything had changed. Life was moving more in a way it should.
There wasn't peace in the universe, but there was a quiet.

She sat on a stone outcropping, watching as the sun set, the moons
rising over the horizon. Brilliant colors dazzled the sky. She smiled
when she felt him settle behind her.

"People are asking where you are, Toria." He smiled as she leaned
against him, and his arms slipped around her. "I think they're afraid
that you've come to your senses and run away."

"What do you think?" her soft, ethereal voice danced in the air, her
eyes gleaming. "Should I?"

"Well, I'd have to say 'no,'" he admitted with a smile. "But you're free
to choose the path your feet take you down."

"But see... why would I run away from something I've been running toward
my entire life?" she questioned, closing her hands over his forearms as
they crossed over her, fingers encircling. "It's even more perfect than
I knew it would be." She grinned, looking up, over her shoulder, and
then picked at his jaw line. "Stars, when did I become such a girl."

"I think, o mais caro, that you were born a girl." His laugh was soft
and gentle, the Portuguese accented in the way that the part of him that
had been Thyago Carnerio had spoken.

"You're probably right." She looked down at the dress, smoothing away
some wrinkles. "I think the flower arrangements might have been a little
too much. In hindsight. Great idea at the time though. Maybe I should've
listened a little more to my mother... but don't tell her that. Please."
Her index finger lightly touched his lips.

"I won't," he promised. "But she probably already knows - mothers are
annoying like that. Even normal ones."

She smirked. "You likely speak the truth."

"So," he said after a moment. "Now that we've established that you
haven't come to your senses and decided to flee, what are you doing out
here?"

"Hm... drifting," she replied. "Nowhere really. Trying to make sense of
the path ahead, though... I keep getting tangled in the past."

"The past is the past, dear. Learn from it, but don't live in it.
Especially not among the bad times."

"I know, I... agree... but it's not so bad, really. Though, I really
prefer the 'now' these days." She was silent for a long moment, and then
answered his question before he formed it. "The first time we met, in
the real universe anyway, the one that is instead of the one that could
be... Momma had never been angry with me before... It was just before
the last fight. It was with her, before we walked down, and I haven't
been able to get it out of mine since."

"Drifting? The timelines, or something else? I always thought that you
were clear on what was and what might be."

"I am," she replied, "but it's never so simple as that." She sighed
softly. "I used to wish I could move back and forth, could live moments
over and over again, used to wish I could skip ahead. Sometimes I still
do, it's rare, but... it's hard, sometimes, to be so restricted. Perhaps
its why those who do are so far removed, hiding in wormholes and pockets
of space-time -- why Oracle gets so frustrated. It's difficult to know
when you're attached. When you love so much."

She sank deeper into him, wrapping the calm around her, burying into it.
The other paths disappeared, when she was this close to him, like a
shroud that kept away the light -- all the light except for theirs,
tracing a brilliant, glowing path through the stars; she could see it so
clearly, could focus, unencumbered by all the others that zigzagged
through space and time, through existence.

"It's not so solid, anymore," she remarked. "Our path. It was always so
solid, so unmovable, before. Before the last battle. Before the
intersession. But now it changes constantly. Shifting, curving,
tumbling..."

"Maybe it's supposed to be that way," he offered. "More like it is for
everyone else, less fixed. Maybe we get to make our own destiny now. "

"Perhaps. Or maybe, our destiny is to live the life we can for those to
come."

"I think," he mused. "I think that would be good too. Either one would
be good."

She was silent, for a moment, lost in thought. The small ridges on her
nose creased with the contemplation, and she chewed on the inside of her
cheek, a clear indication she wanted to ask something. It didn't happen
often, so when the need arose, she was always timid.

"Yes, meu caro? What is it you want to ask me?" he asked, resting a
cheek against the side of her head.

"I cannot see Oracle, unless her path intersects mine," she admitted,
softly, voice but a quiet, thoughtful breath. "She disappeared from me a
long time ago. I've never asked because I never supposed it mattered,
but curiosity... when... when she interceded -- what happened?"

"Ah." He closed his eyes and let himself remember the day his life had
changed. "I was dancing. The Dance of Destruction and Creation. For
myself, I'd hoped, Destruction, but really Creation for the Guardian and
Cutter, so that they would be reborn after the destruction that was
coming. The weapon fired, and then there was... blue. Everything was
blue. She used one of the Tears of the Prophets I think, to snatch me
away. There's a Tear that would do that, right?"

"The Orb of Time," Victoria murmured. "But it should be on Bajor... how
would she find it...?" Her voice trailed away and she shook her head,
eavesdropping on the memories as they played through her new husbands
head. "I wonder what she risked, doing that for me, doing that for us?"

"Perhaps everything. Perhaps nothing. Does it matter? All that really
matters, I suppose is that she did it at all."

"Do you remember? Did she say anything to you? Did you see anything?"

"I remember," he affirmed, eyes still closed. "There really was blue
everywhere, surrounding me, like I was swimming in an ocean of it,
underwater. Since I'm not really fond of that, and since I... I'd hoped
that K'aa's weapon would end me, end the threat that I posed to
everyone, I was a bit... testy there by myself."

She brushed her hand softly over his arm, calmly, sympathizing with the
pain he'd felt, glad it was no longer there except in haunting, far away
memory.

"And then she was there. Just... 'poof' - like all the other annoying
'higher powers' always seemed to do: the Q, the beings that pretended to
be Greek gods back on ancient Terra, or that Douwd that exterminated the
Husnock with a thought." He smiled wryly. "That didn't improve my mood
any, either. We almost had that fight we'd sort of danced around for so
many years right then, wherever we were. I would have lost of course,
I'd given so much of myself to Cutter and the Guardian that I was only a
pale shadow of what I'd been after taking that part of myself back, but
that wouldn't have mattered at that moment."

"Almost?" she questioned. "What prevented it?"

"She apologized," he said after a moment. "There was more to it of
course, explanations and reasons and all that, but the real reason that
we didn't fight was that she said that she was sorry."

Victoria frowned. "Sorry for what?"

"Sorry that she couldn't let me die, like I was trying to," Victor
explained. "Sorry that she had to let me keep on hurting. Sorry that she
had to let me keep on being alone. Just... that she was sorry. I think
it was the hardest thing she'd ever had to say. Certainly looked and
sounded as if it was to me." He hugged Victoria tightly for a moment.
"I'm still not sure why she made the effort. Even if I'd died - the part
of me that's supposed to be in this universe I mean - the rest of me
would have been in that black hole, fueling Cutter's transformation and
unable to escape and hurt anyone."

"I know why," Victoria whispered. "I asked her to. She had to play her
part, so I could play mine." She pulled away, turned to face him, laying
her hands gently on his cheeks. Her wide and innocent eyes stared into
his. Any logic would dictate that he was the hunter and she the prey,
the wolf and the doe, but somehow... "Don't you listen to me, Husband?"
she chided softly, expression aglow. "I give you all the answers. You
just have to find the right questions."

"What," he asked with a smile, eyes on hers, "if I don't want to take
all the time to ask?"

"You'll just have to continue to muddle through until all becomes
clearer, I suppose." She shrugged. "Makes no difference. We do just
fine, for a very long time. No matter the dips in the line."

"The future can take care of itself," he told her gently, looking down
into her eyes with his jade green ones, the sharp emerald depths they'd
had years back smoothed out, now, thanks to her help and that of the
others. The present is enough for me right now. He smiled again, a touch
roguishly, leaned a trifle closer, and whispered, "Can you tell what I'm
about to ask now, Toria, o meu amado?"

"Let me listen to you say it," she requested, smiling slightly as his
thoughts echoed around her.

Victor smiled and bent down and whispered into her ear the words that
she'd waited her whole life to her.

“Son of the Father”

S’salk K’aa, na-Dominar, Gorn Red Crest

Red Crest Shipyards, S’sgarnon Prime
==============================

My father’s calculations contain an error.

His mistakes, as I have observed over the years, were remarkably few
and corrected with both relentless speed and an exacting efficiency,
but perhaps pride… or sentimentality… blinded him to statistics that
less emotional eyes… my eyes… would find glaring.

In the Federation Civil War, both ‘Hawk’ and ‘Dove’ factions suffered
massive losses as they sought to claw each others throat but the
Galaxy’s crew from my father’s day, while by no means exempt from
loss, were certainly spared much in terms of casualties. Father
offered some offhand remark about the quality of the people, but to me
the statistic reeked of some outward manipulation – nobody, not even
my father, was ever that fortunate.

To say that I greatly admire my father’s accomplishments would be a
gross understatement, and a disservice to both my reverence and the
scope of his efforts. Ours were a close-minded, xenophobic people
when he rose to become Dominar of the Red Crest, too myopic and
bloodthirsty in our own affairs to truly become part of the great
cultures of the Alpha Quadrant. The planning and manipulations
required to radically change the direction of an entire culture defy
my considerable imagination, yet it was accomplished with surprisingly
little bloodletting and now the Gorn are on the threshold of an era of
unparalleled learning, exploration, discovery, trade… and above all –
peace.

I should be proud of my father’s labors, but the statistics fettered
my admiration and to my shame our parting was scarred with growls and
hisses of anger. Still, the statistics do not lie – I am certain that
some deft yet subtle hand was influencing the destinies of the
Galaxy’s crew… and I am also certain that this same hand will be at my
father’s throat to claim his life if it has not already done so.

I am my father’s son… but I am aware of my limitations. His grasp of
the Red Crest is too strong, his scope of vision too deep for my
understanding, and my youth makes me incapable of assuming his mantle,
but I am not completely without my options. Above me, the last of the
Sleestak cruisers gleams with the light of our twin suns, un-
captained. Our houseguard follows my command, and the permutations
that cross my thoughts urge me to take her to my father’s side, but
again, shame burns in my soul as fierce as the fires of our
shipforges.

Rightly so, I fear the vast power of the hand that has guided the
destinies of my father’s former shipmates, and wonder if my own
insignificance would possibly change the course of events.

Despite my best efforts, I am unable to formulate the calculation.

"Transition"

2402
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Captain Daneel Olivaw
Captain Karyn Dallas, M.D.
Commodore Artim Shivar
Commander Man'darr Maivia
Commander Paul McAllister
Lt. Commander T'Pei
Director Valentina "Eve" Kyznetsova

2385
Captain T'Vara
Captain Karyn Dallas, RN
Commander Jaal Jaxom
Lt. Commander Tarin Iniara
Lt. Victor Krieghoff
Lt. JG Man'darr Maivia
Lt. JG Artim Shivar

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Bridge

The world was made from a million, million different colors. Or perhaps
it wasn't the world, but the space between the worlds that the Guardian
had let them step between on their journey back in time. A rainbow of
every color that ever was, and colors for which human eyes had no name,
coruscated around him, through him, filling him with light in an instant
that lasted for an eternity. And then it was gone, the journey complete.

The first thing that he noticed was that the Bridge was so clean.

Daren knew that it had always been that way, back when he'd last walked
the deck of ship that bore the name of her class, but almost twenty
years of sliding towards barbarism had dulled the memory, and the decks,
of the ships that he'd commanded since then. Still, to have forgotten so
simple a thing, to have let it get away from him in the intervening
years was... troubling.

The second thing he noted as he appeared in the air over the central,
open portion of the Bridge between the command chairs and the forward
consoles, was that he and T'Pei were falling. The Vulcan was still
holding his arm, and as they hit the deck, she jerked his body over her
own, cushioning the blow.

Iniara was on her feet in an instant, smacking the combadge on her chest
as the pair of bodies tumbled to the deck before her. "Security to the
Bridge! Intruder alert!"

Despite T'Pei's efforts, the impact had knocked Daren's breath away.
With difficulty, he pushed himself to his knees, greedily gulping in air
as he took T'Pei's hand to help her do the same.

As the pair collected themselves, Iniara frowned, head cocked slightly
sideways. They looked so familiar, but... "Captain M'Kantu?" she asked
tentatively. "And...Lieutenant T'Pei?"

"Yes," T'Pei gasped, unsteadily standing with Daren's assistance. That
accomplished, the stunned pair stared disbelievingly at the group that
had formed around them. Daren placed his arm around her shoulders, not
sure if he was holding the petite woman upright or using her for
support. "We..." he began, and realized that he had no idea how to
explain this. He looked to T'Pei for support, but the Vulcan just stared
back at him with wide brown eyes.

Her demeanor as calm as ever, T'Vara stood, moving from behind her XO.
Not surprisingly, 'Commander Tarin had put herself between her CO and
the intruders, but for the moment there seemed to be no immediate
danger. "Captain M'Kantu," the Vulcan began, slight crease lines forming
on her face as she considered the fact that he looked so much older than
when she had last spoken to him. That had been not more than four months
ago, and yet, he now looked as if he'd aged decades overnight...and had
also regained the full use of his limbs, she amended. And that was to
say nothing of the Vulcan woman standing beside him, who, but for a
change in clothing and hairstyle, would be almost the spitting image of
Lieutenant T'Pei. "This is...highly irregular."

The absurd truth of that statement finally penetrated the fog around
Daren's mind, and he found himself digging his fingers into T'Pei's arm
to hold back the shrill, hysterical laughter that threatened to burst
out. The painful grip seemed to shock the Vulcan into alertness as well,
and he heard her begin to speak in her calm alto. "There will be others
arriving shortly," she managed, just before Karyn materialized, falling
to the deck face first.

Her mechanical legs clanged against the deck loudly and a string of
incomprehensible curses erupted from her lips. M'Kantu released his hold
on T'Pei and bent to assist the most recent arrival, glad for the simple
procedure to concentrate on as he deftly hooked his arms under her
armpits and hauled her to her feet, not letting go until he was certain
she was steady.

Her nose bleeding slightly from the fall, Dallas sniffed and wiped the
blood away with a satisfied smirk. "Guess the gang's all here."

"Yup...we all made it...dammit is that really what my hair looked like
at that age? What was I thinking" Oddly those were the first out of
Commodore Shivar's mouth when he landed on the bridge and saw his
"younger" self staring back at him. Aside from the change from the
Starfleet black and blue to the League's solid blue uniform there was no
discernible difference between the two Artims. Well the attitude would
be another one.

"Ok, first off my hair is fine....whoever you are. And secondly where
the hell did you all come from". There was a clear glare shooting out of
Lieutenant Shivar's eyes levels straight at his older self.

"Simply put," Daren said with a hint of apology for the furor that the
statement was going to cause, "the future. 2402."

Like a punctuation on Daren's statement, Valentina was the next to
arrive. Unsurprisingly, the cyborg seemed to be one of the only
Travelers to land on her feet, as if born to it. Thankfully her temporal
doppelganger was otherwise engaged, but if the two at this moment had
been placed side by side, the only difference discernible to the naked
eye would be the Future Eve's tired eyes. It hurt to witness the
Federation's self destruction, and coupled with the obliteration of her
home world it made for one hell of a life changing experience. She still
wore her old SF Intelligence uniform, complete with combadge and
Lieutenant JG pips - the highest rank she'd attained, period.

With another of the miniscule flashes that signaled a temporal arrival,
yet another figure appeared. McAllister landed badly but kept from
falling, steadying himself with his cane. He quickly braced himself to
help Angie and Kate land safely.

Right that moment Kate Maivia stumbled onto the bridge with her Aunt
Angie in her wake. Kat sat and looked around dazed, she had no idea
where she had ended up now. Arriving at the same moment, Angelienia,
staggered once, took a deep, gasping breath, and seemed to shrink
slightly, almost folding in on herself - then recovered and reached out
to steady herself on Paul and Kate's shoulders.

"Are you alright, Aunt Angie?" Kate asked worriedly, remember what
Angelienia and Victor had told her just moments before. She was
terrified of losing her one familiar face in this strange environment.

"Steady, old girl," whispered Paul to Angelienia. "Let's try to keep you
out of Sickbay, eh? Don't want to be separated from the group over a
sprained ankle."

"I'm... fine," the Ktarian nodded, looking up at all the familiar faces
from days gone by staring at her from around the Bridge. "I just...
landed wrong, that's all." She nodded thanks to Paul for the cover story
and shifted a bit more weight to Kate. "I'll be fine."

Kate gave her a hug and held on tight. "I will help you through this,
Aunt Angie. You just lean on me."

Iniara tensed as she watched the others pop into being around the
Bridge. If these were hostiles, the situation had the potential to get
very messy, very quickly. Thankfully, multiple sets of turbolift doors
swished open a split second later, a group of gold-collared Security
officers stepping out of each one and automatically fanning out, weapons
drawn, one set under the command of Lieutenant Maivia and the other
Victor Krieghoff. She made eye contact with Victor, not surprised to see
that he was almost as confused as she was, and made a slight motion with
one hand: hold your fire.

Victor nodded once and passed the order on to the Security personnel as
he frowned at the group of people in front of him, trying to decipher
what Angelienia was doing there, leaning on a girl he didn't know - and
why she wouldn't look him in the eye. She was supposed to be on flight
deck duty right now, not here on the Bridge with... too many people he
knew that were all older than they should be. Time travel? Again?

Man'darr was confused at the duplicate individuals. 'Must be Hydran
Clones,' he thought to himself. One girl was staring at him with curious
eyes and she had caught his eye. Some of her features appeared almost
Capellan...and some seemed to favor Branwen. He wanted to question the
girl but knew the time was not appropriate.

"Captain," Iniara interjected, still eyeing the newcomers warily, "I
recommend that we take our...guests into custody for the time being, at
least until we can verify their story." And to prevent further temporal
contamination, she added mentally, already dreading the investigations
and paperwork that came from even a suspected temporal incident.

T'Vara nodded once, then looked back at M'Kantu. "You of course
understand the need for such precautions," she told him, the words more
of a statement than a question. Daren suspected that she might have been
humoring him, but that she wouldn't hesitate to order her officers to
fire on them should they not cooperate. Of course, he reminded himself,
this was still the era when shipboard security left their weapons on
stun, so there wasn't that much danger involved, but he still didn't
want to start an incident within minutes of arriving.

McAllister stepped forward, wary of the weapons pointed in his
direction. "Captain," he said to M'Kantu. "If I may." He turned to face
Captain T'Vara. "Captain T'Vara, I'm McAllister, with Starfleet
Intelligence. All of us understand the protocols required. Before
reporting this incident, please pull file Ouroboros 1661 Zulu 007 Alpha
86. It should be an eyes-only file keyed to your personal security codes
and retinal scan. The information in that file will explain our presence
and provide you with additional recommendations for reporting this
incident."

"Or, you know, you could just talk to us first," future Karyn replied,
rolling her eyes. She was tired and cranky, already fighting the shakes
from alcohol withdrawal.

"There are rules, Karyn," Daren said mildly. "Until they're convinced
that we're who we appear to be, then they have to follow them.
Although..."he glanced at T'Vara. "I believe that you're allowed some
leeway as to the nature of the isolation we're to be placed under. Might
I request something a bit less... severe... than the Brig? One of the
larger diplomatic suites, perhaps? Is the old Romulan embassy still part
of the floorplan, or has that been remodeled already? I'm afraid that I
don't recall when that happened."

"There's a rather easy way to tell if we are clones as well Captain, I'm
sure my younger self knows all about the technique." future Artim looked
over to himself who probably hadn't used it in awhile.

Present Artim quirked his eyebrow at his future self and answered,
"Yeah...trick I learned from a Romulan. Age progressed clones always
have an imperfection in the genes that produce certain hormones. A quick
genetic scan should rule that out. I'll take the blood samples myself
with your leave Captain"

"Temporal Contact Protocol requires us to contain the possible temporal
travelers before any other activities, Lieutenant Shivar," T'Vara noted.
"The dangers of temporal information contamination are too high to risk
delay, especially considering that the number of individuals that have
now potentially been exposed to it include not only the entire Bridge
crew for this shift, but Lieutenant Krieghoff and his security teams as
well." She glanced towards Iniara. "Institute the required information
controls, please Commander, and then request that the Liaison Corps
representative release the embassy space to our use under the Temporal
Contamination Control Regulations. Once Lieutenant Krieghoff and his
personnel have secured our visitors there, we will perform the required
tests and medical exams to ensure that these individuals are who they
appear to be."

"Captain," T'Pei murmured from behind M'Kantu, too quietly for anyone
else to hear. "Cutter is not here. Nor is Captain Olivaw. Something may
have prevented them from passing through the portal." M'Kantu began to
respond, but the Vulcan squeezed his shoulder painfully hard, silencing
him. Stepping beside him, she raised an eyebrow and said, more audibly
"We can discuss any matters once we have undergone the proper
formalities."

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

Having jumped into the Guardian while the planet was being destroyed by
K'aa's weapon had thrown Man'darr elsewhere on the ship. 'Hopefully not
all time travel is as rough," thought to himself as he gathered his
bearings. Looking down, he confirmed he was still wearing his old
uniform of a Security Lieutenant that he had wore at this time aboard
the Galaxy. He looked around quickly, noticing he was in the turbolift.
Outside, he could hear voices talking, including his own.

"Please state destination," came the computer's voice.

Things had worked out better than he had planned. He hadn't arrived at
the same location as the group and nobody knew that there were two of
him aboard the ship. "Time to make things interesting," he said to
himself. "Security Station Beta One."

The computer chirrped as the turbolift began its journey.

----------

==Jaal Jaxom's Cabin==

Daneel hit the carpeting rather abruptly. He stood up and took a quick
survey of his surroundings. He'd landed in someone's quarters obviously.
Glancing at the wall he finally found the clue he was looking for. On an
end table near the couch was a picture of the Jaxom family.

He realized the Guardian must have put him in his friend's cabin because
that's who he was thinking most about when he stepped through the
portal. "Where has everyone else landed?" Daneel wondered out loud.

A voice coming from behind him startled the Betazoid. "Everyone who?"

Daneel hadn't detected Jaal before now because his mental shields were
raised to prevent picking up anything traumatic when emerging from the
time portal. He allowed his mental senses to probe the close vicinity as
he turned around slowly to see Jaal wrapped in a towel and pointing a
phaser at him.

"Who are you and who are you talking about?" Jaxom asked sternly.

Once Daneel had turned all the way around to face Jaal fully, the
Trill's expression and demeanor changed dramatically. "Daneel?" he asked
curiously.

"Yes," Daneel answered sensing his friend's disbelief, "It's me."

Jaal's brow furrowed deeply, "But you're... so old." Still not believing
his eyes, he held the phaser firm on the man in front of him

"Hazards of the Job"

(Occurs two days before "Transition")

Lt. Victor Krieghoff, Acting Security Chief

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 35
Security Main

It was amazing how much time he had - relativistically speaking - now
that he'd admitted that he didn't have the time to do everything
himself. T'risia and Shelley had literally worn him down between their
tag-team logical arguments and emotional appeals, and slowly, day by
day, had convinced him to let them shoulder an ever-increasing portion
of the administrative burden that he'd inherited upon becoming the
Acting Security Chief. The end result was a department that ran smoother
and more efficiently than he could ever have imagined it doing if he was
handling everything alone, a fact that he had been careful to note in
each of their personnel files well in advance of their reviews.

With the administrative load shifted he had time to think again, a
luxury he'd almost forgotten. Really, what had ever made him think that
he could do all of that himself?

The answer, he realized, was obvious: he'd never learned to rely on
other people, because other people never wanted to be near enough to him
so that he *could* rely on them.

That problem, at least to some degree, seemed to be working itself out.
T'risia, being a Vulcan, wasn't normally susceptible to the problems
that he caused others, but having her over for dinner and talking to her
about things ranging from the Baseball Titans of Old Earth to famous
pirates of the Golden Age of Sail on Earth was more than the sort of
thing that he'd done with other Vulcans before. It made them, at least
from his perspective, friends, and that was a pleasant thing to
contemplate.

Likewise, Shelley O'Rourke's conversion from one of his biggest - if not
the biggest - detractors to a supporter and ally had been both
unexpected and pleasant. They didn't spend much time together off-shift,
less than he and T'risia did, but when viewed in the light of what her
reactions to him *had* been, it was difficult to see the change as
anything other than a sign of friendship.

So, with their support and - he hoped - friendship, he now had time to
take care of other things. Like the Hazard Team, and the need to
re-staff it. He looked at the message he'd composed, studied it for a
moment, and then nodded to himself and sent it out.

****

To: All Galaxy Personnel
From: Krieghoff, Victor, Acting Security Chief

RE: Hazard Team Openings

I am accepting open applications for the Galaxy's Hazard Team at this
time.

Personnel interested are not restricted as to Department or Rank (other
than the standard Command Rank exceptions), and need not have previously
applied or possess any prior training as a Hazard Team member. Extensive
personal combat experience is not required. Any and all skill sets are
welcome, as Hazard Team assignments frequently require skills and
talents outside those oriented towards combat.

Applicants will be required to meet and maintain more rigid physical
fitness requirements than those required of a standard Starfleet
officer, but the meeting of those requirements is not an initial barrier
to acceptance provided the candidate makes consistent, acceptable
progress towards meeting them after acceptance.

Membership will require extra training sessions above and beyond those
normal for a candidate's normal duties, and will be scheduled in
addition to departmental training.

Hazard Team membership is, by title and definition, hazardous, and
missions undertaken by the team frequently exceed the standard of
'hazardous duty' decided upon by Starfleet. Example missions assigned
Hazard Teams across the fleet in the past have included: search and
rescue missions on disabled starships; hostage negotiation and rescue;
anti-terrorist operations; extraction of First Contact personnel after
failed initial contacts with new species; capture of biological
warrior-constructs after release onto a mining colony; and acquisition
of critical plague antidote ingredients from hostile forces.

All interested parties should message the Acting Security Chief and
attach a personnel jacket for review, as well as list any and all other
skills and reasons why they should be considered if said skills and
reasons do not appear on their official jacket.

All applications will be considered confidential, and application,
consideration, or denial will not appear on an individual's service
record. Acceptance, of necessity, will.

Lieutenant Victor H. Krieghoff
Acting Security Chief
USS Galaxy

"A question"

PO2 Benedict "Max" Maxwell, APP
EMRT

PO3 Victory
Nurse

Victory hummed happily to herself as she went about her duties in
Sickbay. After recent events between herself and Max her mood had
improved almost instantly and she was back to her happy, almost care
free self. She and Max had not had many chances to see each other
since then due to their different scedules, but things were working
out so far and after her shift she intended to give him a ring to see
if he wanted to have dinner. She had invested in replicating a small
portable cook top and was going to attempt cooking something.

As well, she had done some research on things to do during a date, a
subject she had little to no experience with save for a few brief
flirtations here and there during her post deep-space-freeze life. She
had found a veriety of results on the topic and was eager to try them
out. First and foremost that seemed to come up in conjunction with
dinner was something called a movie. The starfleet and federation
civilian databases on movies had been pretty vast and she had compiled
a list.

She hummed along, ticking off some of the names and descriptions in
her mind as she packed up several trays worth of used hypo spray vials
to be sterilized and carried them off to the appropriate compartment
to deliver them.

"What is that tune you're always humming," came a voice from just
behind her. "It kind of sounds familiar, yet it's not." Max was
leaning against the wall with a PADD in hand.

Victory almost dropped her tray and squeaked as Max's voice
materialized behind her. She would have cursed her own ability to keep
aware of her surroundings if it had been anyone else. A big smile
broke across her lips as she set the tray down and stepped over to
give him a quick hug.

"Hi!" she said, than took a second to compose herself. "I don't
remember what it is" she shrugged. "I think maybe something I used to
like a long time ago that always stuck with me" she smiled.

"I like it," he replied, his own big smile on.

"So what brings you to my part of sickbay this time of day?" she
asked, waving her arms about to indicate the storage and supply area

"I wanted to ask you something, Vic. Something life changing."

Victory blinked. "Oh?" she asked, a blush quickly graced her cheek's
as a dozen or more thoughts as to what he could be thinking came into
her mind.

"How much do you like what we do, that is how much do you enjoy
medicine?"

"I love it" she replied, "It's the best thing I can think to do with
myself, where I can do the most good for everyone around me" she said
truthfully

"Think you can deal with med school?"

"Med school?" her eyes went wide. "I've always wanted to, just
thought I would get myself some more experience before applying"

"I decided that I need to finish what I've started, and go back to
med school...and I'd like you to go with me."

A smile touched her lips. "Really?" she responded after a moment as
she collected herself. "You want me to go with you? Me?"

"Yes, really. I would really like you to be there for me...and for
yourself."

She threw her arms around Max, squeezing him tight in a hug. "Oh that
be wonderful!"

"Vic...Vic..." Max huffed, "Remember...I'm still susceptible to being
squeezed to death by you...although I would die happy..."

"Oh!" She quickly let him go. The last thing she wanted to do was
squash him like a bug. "Sorry" she added quickly, a smile still
gracing her lips. "Kinda got a little excited" she looked as if she
could hyperventilate or faint, if it were possible for her to.

Coughing a bit, Max stretched to "straighten" out a bit, feeling a
muscle pop somewhere. "It's okay, hun. I'm just as excited as you
are about this. So I figured we should celebrate with a dinner
prepared by moi."

"I think that would be terrific!" Victory almost squeaked. "But I am
making dessert this time" she threw her arms around him again, this
time without squashing him.

This time Max held her for a long time, the moment suspended in
time. He felt truly happy, and wanted Victory to know how much he was
just so.

Victory held onto Max, placing her head on his shoulder. "I'm so
excited" she said into his ear, her voice almost giddy

"Me, too," he breathed.

"Game Theory"

Lt. Commander Th’Khiss K’aa, Chief of Operations
Lieutenant Fen Gaal – Assistant Chief of Operations

Ops Center, USS Galaxy
==================

“You’re certain it’s M’Kantu?”

Fen Gaal’s question hung in the Ops Center above the constant droning
of various monitors and sensors, and was met only with a curt nod
from
the Chief of Operations. Arms crossed over his thin chest, Th’Khiss
K’aa looked up at the large view-screen at the center’s core and
frowned. Familiar figures now occupied the former Romulan Embassy
suite, easing into the rooms with an uncanny certainty. The former
reptilian focused particularly on the elder statesman of the group –
thin, white haired and showing his advanced years, a seemingly aged
Daren M’Kantu
eased himself into a recliner and instinctively looked up at one of
the suite’s many active com-eyes. The old man’s dark eyes wrinkled
in
amusement as he gave a kind, gentle smile before settling into the
chair and falling asleep.

K’aa’s frown deepened, and a soft growl rattled in his thin throat.

Unruffled by his superior’s predictably ill-temper, Fen Gaal turned
and hovered over the internal scanners focused on the prisoner’s
suite. “It must be them I suppose”, the Tellarite observed as he
poured over the images. “The ‘Kyznetsova’ shows all the hardware our
‘Eve’ has… as well as some hardware upgrades I’m unfamiliar with.”

“Hydran in origin?”

“I don’t think so”, Gaal said cautiously. “It looks like ours, but I
couldn’t say what the function could be. Maybe sciences could
speculate.”

“Send Lieutenant Kara’nin the data. CC Lieutenant Krieghoff.”

“I think the ‘Dallas’ is ours as well”, the Tellarite said with more
confidence. “She had some… er… altercation with the ship’s
diplomatic
legate some time ago. The fractures are quite distinct.”

“Send Doctor Burton the data. CC Lieutenant Krieghoff.”

Lieutenant Gaal looked up from the scanner and arched a thick, furry
brow. “Shouldn’t I inform the Captain as well?”

Looking down from the main view-screen, K’aa gave his assistant a
cold, merciless glare. “Our Captain is a Vulcan, and follows a
predictably linear permutation for her decision making process. I
will be summoned in about forty-five seconds.”

The remark caused the Tellarite to bristle. “You can’t be certain
about that!!”

“You can’t be certain about that – SIR.”

Gaal reddened at the correction, but acknowledged the rebuke with a
nod. “Sir… the Captain’s more than a series of formulae – you can’t
predict her decision-making with that kind of accuracy. I know
you've
made such preditions of others in the past, but...”

“I have found that mammals in general are creatures of habit… Vulcans
especially so”, K’aa rasped, again looking up at the figures on the
main view-screen. “Since taking command, I have found Captain T’Vara
a model of efficiency… and predictability. Game Theory vertex
applied
correctly works exceedingly well for us from an Operations
standpoint. From a Tactical one though…” He shrugged his thin
shoulders and fought back a grimace. “Perhaps it’s best the Galaxy
has been removed from the fleet’s vanguard.”

“But…” Lieutenant Gaal’s protest was interrupted by the familiar
chirp of K’aa’s comm-badge.

[T’Vara to Commander K’aa.]

“K’aa here Captain, go ahead.”

[Please attend me in my ready-room immediately, Commander.]

“I’m on my way Captain. K’aa out.”

The Tellarite’s quickly checked the ship’s chronometer and his fur-
lined eyes widened. “How do you do that?”, he whispered.

K’aa said nothing, but noticed that the M’Kantu figure had opened his
eyes again, looked up at the suite’s com-eye, and seemed to offer a
patient, knowing smile to the Ops Chief.

“Predictability is a weak trait, Fen Gaal”, K’aa grated finally as
started for the Ops Center's exit. “Those who command well are free
from its shackles.”

off: Takes place during "Transition"

"Day of Rest"

Brian Elessidil
J. Andrus S

****

USS Galaxy

****

Home.

It had taken awhile for the thoughts and comforts that accompanied the
word to associate themselves with the quarters he'd shared with Andy
for the past several weeks, but standing in their dimly-lit living
room and staring out into the darkness of space, Brian could feel it.
It wasn't Betazed or Earth, but as far as his life aboard this
starship, this collection of rooms was home.

Gathering his robe as closely as his thoughts, he breathed deeply. It
was during these moments, quiet and more infrequent than he would
prefer, when he could just let the responsibilities of duty fade away
into the distant recollections of another self. Here, he wasn't
Counselor, Doctor, or Commander Elessidil. Here, he was just Brian,
and he cherished these moments greatly. All the more now that being
just Brian didn't automatically mean being alone.

"Being up this early is unnatural," Andrus grumbled as he staggered
into the room. Ever since he'd been attacked, the Betazoid had sworn
to up his exercise and training so he would be able to defend himself
better but it was the first time he'd been able to get out of bed
before eight. "If you loved me, you'd make me coffee."

Silently, Brian turned and gestured to their dining table. A steaming
pot of fresh Kona rested in the center with two empty mugs positioned
to either side. He grinned unhumbly.

Andy brightened, made a beeline for the table, and poured himself a
large mug. He drank and then sighed with pleasure.

"You're welcome."

"Don't worry, I'll jump you next," Andy said with a smirk. He took
another sip. "Isn't it your day off? What are you doing up so early?"

"Contemplating, I guess," Brian answered off-handedly, trying to
decide between returning to his study of space or joining Andy at the
table. The coffee won out for the moment. "Trying to make the most of
the time I have." He looked at Andy. "So much has happened recently,
and what troubles me is that it's the norm. We're always in a crisis,
always responding to demands of some sort." He sighed and mug in hand,
seated himself at the table. "It's all going by so fast, Andy. Life, I
mean. And it all seems just about putting out one sort of fire or
another. There's so little time to really live and to enjoy life."

Andy shrugged. "This is the first time in years I've really been able
to feel like I'm not running to the next job. Assassins aside, I've
been enjoying life so far."

"All things are relative, I suppose," Brian observed.

"What do you want to do about it?"

Brian set his mug on the table and stretched far back in his chair,
indulging some more in the leisurely feel of the moment. "I don't
know....I suppose I could leave Starfleet, but then I'd probably be
bored." He thought about the question for a bit more as he relaxed
from his stretch. "We need more time like this...I need more time
like this," he corrected, "maybe you don't. "I guess I just need to
find ways to make it happen and to enjoy it as much as possible. But
it's not always easy getting your mind to cooperate when down time
seems so foreign. I'm sure I'm not the only person on board who feels
this way," he added as an aside, thinking like the ship's counselor
again for a moment.

"Uh-uh," Andy said and shook his head. "You're not on duty right now
remember? This is your time."

"Yeah," Brian agreed. "Old habits, I guess."

"Practice makes perfect," Andrus offered. "I'm sure the Library can
spare me. So what should we do with our day?"

Brian briefly surveyed their quarters, noticing that everything was in
order. "Nothing needs to be done here," he murmured, before
immediately admonishing himself -- what kind of day off would cleaning
up their quarters be? "Why don't we just stay in for a change?" he
suggested. "No answering the door, no poring through messages, no
uniform. Let's just stay as we are, maybe cook a meal or two, maybe
see if we can find some old videos to watch, maybe read to each
other....Let's just be 'home' today. What do you think?"

"I'd like - " Andy began but was cut off by a series of alarms. He
felt the people of Galaxy suddenly tense as one and he sighed. "I'd
like that, Brian, but somehow I don't think it's going to happen
today."

Brian closed his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that his quiet
day at home was going to have to wait. "What the hell's going on
now?" he wondered out loud.

BIG OOC: Okay so normally I’m gung-ho about never doing back posts, but inthis case its not my fault. The original idea was to finish MomQuest and thereafter I was posting the Mission opener for Finem Respice.

Well I got down to the big Finale and….ahem….some people started posting on the new mission BEFORE I even introduced it. Ack…I had to scramble to get the ball rolling properly and as a result this final portion had to be delayed.

Note on Corgan’s appearance: In the Original MomQuest Dallas was still on hiatus and While he had given me permission to use James Corgan as a character, he did not have any input really. In this post thanks to his return, Corgan is back under his control obviously. As a result some things may not 100% jive with his recent posts, but lets assume James returned just prior to MomQuest, then joined the hunt.

This post takes place immediately prior to the new mission.

“MOMQUEST XIII”

“A Farewell to Arms”

(The long delayed conclusion)

(Our story thus far)

In the midst of the Starfleet Games: Just about the same time that 20 year old Allison von Ernst returned from the nightmare future of the 25th century, Captain Rebecca von Ernst disappeared mysteriously off the Starship Zeus.

Mounting a rescue mission, Allison and ‘Uncle Vic’ Krieghoff begin to uncover a secret Starfleet plot masterminded by the deceased Admiral Hoth aimed at unnaturally brainwashing sub-standard Starfleet officers (such as Rebecca) and turning them into killing machines.

Apparently Rebecca eventually discovered this plot and disappeared of her own volition

Chased across the Quadrant by Temporal Affairs Investigator John Rhinestone, Alli and Victor eventually team up with the long lost James Corgan whose talent for kicking butt save them from apprehension.

The Chase eventually leads to the neutral planet of Chandra V, a world of peace and harmony where the suffering Rebecca is undergoing treatment for her mental imbalances.

It is there the Chandran Doctors reveal that her problems stem not merely from Starfleet’s brainwashing, but rather a congenital defect involving her memory.

Allison, James, and Victor have just received this news.:

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

Twenty Years ago, a young Betazoid Telepath of incredible power was recruited by the Federation to assist in making first contact with a previously unknown species of space-going alien.

The Life form...known as Tin Man to its discoverers, was an ancient creature as big as a Starship who had traveled the stellar void since the dawn of time.

The Betazoid, a powerful but troubled young man names Tam Elbrun had grown up under the horrible crush of thoughts of all those around him, indeed almost going insane from their intrusive onslaught.

His only peace, he once mentioned to old friend Deanna Troi, was his time spent on the world of Chandra V.

"Lovely people the Chandrans." he told her. "Their minds as peaceful as a meadow....Do you know they have a beautiful three day ceremony just for saying 'Hello'."

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

(Our story continues)

“Hel-lo? Wait a minute.” Allison looked up at the great crystalline face of the Chandran Doctor, trying to digest what she just heard. “Are you like telling me my mother is crazy?”

Waves of concerns and warmth flowed through the stillness of the medical office, allowing the young girl to literally feel the physicians concern. Chandra V was a world of perpetual song. The rocks the air and even the sleek furniture beneath them seemed to radiate a harmony of peace and orderliness.

The Doctor itself…although it claimed not be a doctor at all… was similarly exuding its own song, the crystalline limbs vibrating with the tempo of a world in harmony.

*Child,* it sang with infinite patience, *A true definition of mental illness is understandably subjective to the individual. Simply put, your mother possesses abilities and deficiencies that are beyond the norm for your species and would inmost cases tend to render the individual nonfunctional. However despite this she has survived and adapted with them for 30 years.*

The doctor nodded a quartz chin, *In your human psychology the condition would be most accurately defined as a ‘functional’ autistic. What would have confined one individual to permanent care has allowed her to grow and flourish despite considerable difficulties.*

“Functional Autism? Perfect memory?” Alli rolled the terms around, “Totally like photographic memory right?”

*No,* the Doctor corrected gently, *Not perfect memory…PERPETUAL MEMORY. Your starship captain cannot pick and choose ‘photographs’ so to speak, but rather lives her life as if in a great movie house. Imagine a thousand screens playing a thousand movies of each and every moment of her life over and over again without end.*

The Chandran almost sighed, *However the analogy breaks down, for she is not merely watching her life flash by her eyes, she is actively reliving it at all times. She is…so to speak starring in all those thousands of movies over and over again. For instance: We have evidence she broke her arm once aboard your Starship Galaxy many years ago….for her, she relives the pain, and the shock of that fracture at all times.*

It turned its head towards the figure of James Corgan, *Once as a young Ensign she attempted to kiss this one, and was rejected…every day she feels that wave of embarrassment and guilt.*

"Oh... no. I'm sorry." James said, letting the Chandran's knowledge sink in, "Most people of our species would get over it, move on. Are you saying she couldn't?"

*It is not for you to apologize child.* the doctor soothed, the nature of he song changing to assuage guilt, *Your friend’s resiliency is remarkable in her ability to adapt to each new experience. She may act oddly according to your standards…even seem quite stubborn in certain instances as I am sure you have discovered on occasion, but she survives.*

“But what about her good memories?” Alli had to ask.

*They are there too* the Chandra nodded. *Indeed perhaps they are what keep her functional to a certain extent…we really do not know. The excitement of her 5th birthday party balances out the shame of being yelled at the Academy….The miracle of twirling on a merry-go round every second of every day may nullify the similar pain of a stubbed toe…every second of every day. Again it is difficult to diagnose exactly, but were it not for the clumsy attempts at reprogramming by Starfleet, it is entirely probable that Rebecca would have led an entirely functional life in her own fashion.”

Victor found himself hoping that what memories he was a part of were good ones, but feared that they weren’t. People rarely remembered him fondly, or with joy in the recalling.

*Now while we Chandrans are not experts in the fields of ‘brainwashing’ as you humans quaintly put it, it is apparent that the efforts by certain members of Starfleet circumvented some of Rebecca’s natural defense mechanisms.*

Picking up what appeared to be a pair of standard issue PADDs, the physician turned it to display the titles.

One said:

ROMULAN TACTICS IN GENOCIDE : OVERKILL AS AN EARLY OPTION

The other:

NAPALM IN CROWD CONTROL SITUATIONS : NO MORE UNRULY PROTESTERS

*Your mother brought these samples with her when she arrived here, apparently a mere sample of hundreds of such texts delivered to her down through the years since her graduation from the your Academy. Beyond the advertised source material, there is a second layer over quasi-subliminal programming that acts upon her subconscious mind as she reads. Now for most beings…you and I for example this would have a limited effect…if any. However, given Rebecca’s ability to retain and relive everything on a permanent basis the sub-coding began to in effect build up in her sub conscious and begin to short circuit some of her brains defense mechanisms.*

The doctor dropped the PADDs, *While Starfleet intended to merely calm her fears and give her confidence in command, they instead upset the delicate balance of good memories canceling out the bad. What we believe happened is in effect hey short circuited her emotional responses and developed huge feedback loops of information and feelings that left her with an almost sociopath disinterest in the feelings and welfare of others, as well as manifesting in the form of crippling headaches. Again I trust each of you has witnessed all of the above?

"On both accounts." James examined the Romulan Genocide PADD, "Just finished a stint at the War College. Some of the new tactical doctrine's a little more... hypocritical, but nothing like this material, but it has an underlaying cynicism and an emphasis on unconventionally aggressive tactics. You just got to take it with a grain of salt. But given a constant diet of this... I can see where she gets the wrong idea. And oh yes... she has been very cold towards me. We had problems after the Wolf 359 school, and when I tried to dig deeper I was stonewalled... by her and by Starfleet Command. She left... no goodbyes. Just went off to her new command. That's it."

Sighing a musical breath at last and setting heavily into its own giant sized chair, the Doctor shook its great head. *Most cannot remember the past…..your mother is driven mad not simply by the fact she cannot forget it….but that she cannot stop experiencing it.*

There was silence as the group considered what was being said.

*But enough talk now….shall we go and meet her?*

James grinned, "About time. Lead the way."

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

The great medical ward of the Chandran clinic was like the rest of their amazing architecture. Carven out of the solid crystalline side of a mountain, the silent song of peace and tranquility that permeated the very air here was most palpable.

As they entered, the group could actually feel their moods lift…could actually feel old aches and pains melt from their weary shoulders…could actually feel hope for the first time during this long voyage.

Allison was in tears at the beauty of it all. The musical talent in her own soul echoing the permanent song within the very walls itself, soothing like a warm blanket. Glancing up she could see a similar effect on her father. His own love of music redoubling the effect of the Chandran song.

Here, she could almost forget the nightmare of the future….the events at the Guardian.

The ward was like unto a cathedral back on old Earth. Huge floor to ceiling windows stretched upwards into infinity admitting great shafts of golden light that bathed the crystal floors in alternating patterns of light and darkness.

The vaulted ceilings themselves disappeared into the mists above, perhaps reaching to the pinnacle of the hollow mountain itself.

Each shaft of light…perhaps a hundred in all centered on an individual bed crowned with the softest pillows and the most brilliant white sheets. All in a line they were, stretching down the hall again into the golden distance beyond.

*They shall be out soon,* the great Doctor inclined his head, *This is the female ward for our guests, and it is the hour for their washing. We maintain showers just off that small anteroom. Your mother should be emerging soon.*

And so it was.

In a long thin line they came, pale figures clad in simple knee length T-shirts emerging barefoot and slightly damp from the showers, each turning to make their way to their appointed bed.

The figures were from every race across the Quadrant that they could see. Humans….Vulcans….even a great Klingon woman walking by as if bearing a great mental burden upon their shoulders.

*It is curious,* the Doctor remarked musically, *We Chandrans in reality have no concept of mental illness or stress, yet it seems our world has become a haven for those races that do.* he inclined his head towards Allison. *We did not have a word for psychology until 100 years ago…perhaps that is why we are so successful.*

There were about 100 women in all, strolling by. One…a young girl of no more than twelve years stopped and gazed upwards at the grizzled form of Victor Krieghoff. Cocking her head to the side in curiosity she shyly took his hand and placed it to her cheek. “Do not be too hard on yourself.” she soothed softly “It is not for forever.”

It was only then as she turned to go, the party noticed the healing scars that covered half the child’s face and neck.

“Too… hard…?” Victor asked, eyes on the child as she left. Did he know her? Had they met? Was he responsible for the healing scars she bore? He didn’t remember her… but would he? Should he? What had she meant?

The Doctor nodded, *As I mentioned before Krieghoff, do not be surprised if your aura works differently here. What is Death after all but part of life. We treat all forms of mental trauma here. Victims of rape and abuse for example. Warriors bearing the stresses of battles long ago. The tragic losses of mates and loved ones, and even the artificial illnesses such as your Mothers.*

A sudden intake of breath from Allison drew their attention next.

There she was, just emerging from the shower rooms enveloped in a cloud of mists.

Shoulder length red hair dripped wetly upon the simple white shirt that owing to her small size hung well past her knees.

Rebecca von Ernst…Starship Captain and Terror of the space lanes walked quietly barefoot with a bemused expression on her freckled face.

Despite her years of hard existence in a nightmarish future, Alli felt the stinging of sudden tears behind her eyes.

Mom. When was the last time she saw her?

Four years ago on the Guardian planet dangling on the bloody point of Arel Smiths knife?

Allison remembered clutching her mother’s body to her own, their blood mingling as her own wound seeped into Rebecca’s fatal infliction.

She remembered scraping a shallow grave on a dead dusty world and crowning it with a pitiful altar of rough stones.

‘Here lieth Rebecca von Ernst….Destroyer of worlds.’

Now here Rebecca was again….young and glowing, smelling of sweet shampoo and freckled cheeks rosy and slightly smiling.

It was almost more than Allison could bear.

Mom looked so small and fragile in her simple attire, and as she came to stand before them none knew what to say to this slightly damp pixie girl with the dainty pink nail polish on her toes.

“Hi.” the redhead said breaking the silence, scrunching her nosy cutely.

Reaching under the soft pillow of her bed, she pulled out a simple green comb and handed it to James. “I’m wet. Could you help me with my hair please?”

Reluctantly, James took the comb from Rebecca's hand, his fingers trembling. He thought of days they spent on the Galaxy, the adventures, the barely misses, the tension between them, and finally those final days where she turned cold to those around her, and finally left. He remembered the dead ends finding her, the Admirals that told him to turn away or be blacklisted, the years wondering what *happened* to the morose little pixie of a girl, whom all he wanted was to bring a rare and rewarding smile on her face.

Then he remembered at some point, he decided to move on.

That was when the guilt set in. His life gained a semblance of normalcy. He found a new woman (or rather she found him) and he started anew.

All the while, Rebecca was caged in her private hell, and to that James felt guilty for doing nothing.

"Sure." James sat next to Rebecca on the bed, guiding her head and the comb, "Used to do this for my sister all the time, and you don't have her curls. Easy peasy."

“Don’t like peas.“ was the oddly serious response. Giving another scrunch of her freckled nose the petite woman neatly about faced and offered her crimson locks to Corgan, squirming slightly at the first tentative touches of the instrument. A light sheen of droplets decorated her thin neck, and the oversized shirt quietly slid off a single freckled shoulder.

That and the way the dampness clung to her shirt in interesting spots gave her a mix of innocence and sultriness at the same time.

Victor looked away, uncomfortable with seeing Allison’s mother, and his old shipmate as an object of desire. He was only relatively recently comfortable with seeing Angelienia in that light, and the idea that other women might incite the same thoughts was… discomforting. Especially Allison’s mother, whom he’d risked so much to locate and protect based solely on a connection to a girl who hadn’t been born yet. It felt… wrong.

And Victor wasn't the only one. James too was apprehensive. This was the girl whom left the Galaxy without a word, on the night he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, the all or nothing chance that defined the rest of his life. This was the same woman whom, as the Ice Queen, demanded James never get too nosy, never try to help her out, and it was that vow he honored over the stronger imperative to protect a comrade whom meant the world to him.

While Victor grappled with longing, James fought guilt and shame.

"'Becca?" James flicked water droplets out of the comb, then stroked the hair gently up and down, "It's me, James. That's Victor... he's my best friend. And Allison... it's a long story. I'll let her tell it. Don't you recognize any of us?"

The sight of her mother and father standing together for the first time in her life was intoxicating for Allison. Corgan’s protests of disinterest aside, there was a sort of tenderness and care in his long brush strokes that pulled at young Allison’s heartstrings.

James whispered, "Please 'Becks... say something."

Mom….

Dad….

"Say something..."

“I don’t like peas.” was the soft answer that sent all their emotions crashing through the floor.

The dramatic change in the starship captains usual dour personality was apparent. “Doctor,” Allison inquired, “She doesn’t remember…..?”

James comb struck something hard and plastic. He carefully moved the hair, saw a silver device with a circular pattern of LED lights, flickering on and off. He asked, "What the hell is this?"

*Doesn’t remember you and your friends?* the Chandran completed Allison’s thought. *No child, and at her request I must emphasize. Note the simple jeweled device behind her left ear? It is a mnemonic inhibitor effectively reducing Ms. Von Ernst’s brain functions to a moment by moment level. She’ll function normally, however within 15 minutes will have no memory of this encounter.*

“You erased her zarking memory?”

*Repressed…not erased.* The physician corrected. *Again this is all totally reversible and comes at her own request I assure you.*

James dropped the comb, "You WHAT?!?!"

Allison’s shock was evident. “That’s obscene. Dad…Vic…they can’t do this.”
Rebecca stared at the discarded comb forlornly. “My hair.” she frumped, clumsily trying to drag her fingers through the tangled wet locks.

“MOMQUEST XIII-part 2”

“A Farewell to Arms”

(continued for bite sized easy reading)

“You erased her zarking memory?”

*Repressed…not erased.* The physician corrected. *Again this is all totally reversible and comes at her own request I assure you.*

James dropped the comb, "You WHAT?!?!"

Allison’s shock was evident. “That’s obscene. Dad…Vic…they can’t do this.”

Rebecca stared at the discarded comb forlornly. “My hair.” she frumped, clumsily trying to drag her fingers through the tangled wet locks.

James bolted to the chair, approaching confrontational at the doctor, he turned to Allison, "You're damn right they can't." He stated to the Chandran doctor, "You didn't try to cure her, did you? You just masked the symptoms? What kind of fucked up treatment is that?"

“Is this,” Victor asked carefully, “a normal part of treatment? What purpose does it serve? And, reversible or not, what are the risks to Rebecca?” He glanced at the figure of Allison’s mother again. “Just so we’re clear, those answers really ought to be concise and understandable – and offered quickly – otherwise I may feel the need to do something that shouldn’t be done here.”

*You will do nothing Victor Krieghoff* The background song took on a more intense note, *You are not who you think to be in this place. As for the rest, I mentioned that we are not psychologists or surgeons or even really doctors. People come to us asking for help and we offer what assistance we may. That is all we promise. We did not damage your friend, that was your own people that did so. She came to us wanting to forget, so forget she did. Rest assured that the woman that you know as Rebecca von Ernst is still within and undamaged. Her mind has shown a remarkable ability since birth to reorganize itself and work around normally crippling instabilities…given time it may do so again with the damage caused by your people. But that is up to her.*

Not convinced, James eased Rebecca, a weak smile and a leading hand beckoned Rebecca to relax, for James was in control. "One moment." James eased Rebecca, then turned around and hissed at the doctor, "This isn't treatment. Repression is never treatment. I know! I've had to deal with traumatic memories. You have to acknowledge and confront them, learn to live with them. You can't just force amnesia on someone! What good is that?!" James looked for cues from his companions, "Come on guys... we're getting Rebecca out of this interstellar hippie commune right fucking now!"

“I couldn’t agree more Commander Corgan.” a new voice boomed out across the golden hall and the group turned to behold the phaser wielding figure of Investigator John Rhinestone.

“Stop that hand twitching Mr. Krieghoff if you please.” he commanded with a menacing motion, “I’ve got this set on wide dispersal beam so I can take the lot of you out in one shot. I can return Captain von Ernst just as easily stunned as awake.”

James hand had the same unmistakable twitch. "I have a much faster quickdraw than Victor, buddy boy. Drop your weapon or I'll cure all your ills."

“Don’t even think it Corgan. I’ve read the temporal medical exams from the USS Zeus. That’s your wife and your daughter standing there with you. You don’t want to risk them on one of your patented gung-ho banzai charges?” Rhinestone cocked his head to one side a bit. “Incidentally, I read your service file…geez take a damn chill pill mister. You’re too high strung.”

James forehead twitched, annoyed at being at the mercy of someone else's phaser. His head raced, his mouth muttered, "Temporal affairs. It was gonna happen eventually. Sorry buddy, but you can't have her. She's under my protection. Now if you don't mind butting out of our Hallmark moment..."

* A weapon?* the Chadran doctor’s song was broken and discordant, * You brought a weapon to our world?*

“Whatever Doc, Just be glad I’m only interested in the Captain for the time being. Normally Temporal Affairs would love to get a look at blondie there as well.” Addressing Rebecca directly, the investigator inclined his head, “Captain von Ernst ma’am? Have you been harmed? Are you ready to travel?”

“Don’t like peas.” Rebecca replied a little unsure.

“Indeed.” Rhinestone sighed. He was going to be so glad when this assignment was over. He used to think untangling the complexities of Temporal anomalies and alternate timelines was complicated. However this case complete with Starfleet conspiracies, Brainwashing techniques and now a Starship Captain complaining about her veggies added up to nothing but a stack of paperwork.

“Unfortunately Zeus is going to need her CO back to full capacity Doctor…if you would be so kind as to remove the inhibitor device.”

*I will not*

“Not a question Doc. How bout you Jimmy-boy? You seem intent on reversing the process. Do us all a favor an hit the release and lets let Red speak for herself.” he paused a moment finding something amusing, “After all she is ranking officer here and it would be nice to get her input on something other than peas and carrots.”

“I Like carrots.”

“That’s nice dearie. Jimbo? If you would?”

"If I would what? Let you pawn the responsibility off to me?" James walked up to Rebecca, leaned her head back, exposing the device for all to see, "Then fine! Doctor... I'll take responsibility. For good or bad, I'll do it and take all the blame, nobody else. We'll let Rebecca speak for herself. Doctor... you saw nothing, you don't know anything... got it?"

*It…it will not harm her as I mentioned* the Chandran noted sadly, *However the effects may be confusing for her at first.*

"Alright then." James hand pressed on the device, and said apologetically to Rebecca, "Sorry 'Becca. I know you want to sleep, to forget. I know how much I wanted that too... but you can't. Looks like I'll have to break our promise... and help you."

“K..” she noted a little unsure. “Not really sleepy….”

The device was ridiculously simple. A single toggle controlled a dermal molecular bond that popped off with nary a mark.

The effect was almost immediate.

It was like watching someone recovering from a nightmare. The slightly bemused expression faded, as Rebecca’s great brown eyes screwed shut , and her frail body jerked from Corgans grasp.

Collapsing to the crystal floor, her tiny frame shook rhythmically as if buffeted by invisible waves slamming into her again and again.

“Daddy…Dead?….No….” the words hissed from clenched teeth, and tiny hands flew to her temples as oceans of memories came flooding back in roaring flood of ceaseless unending color and sound.

Fear.

Happiness.

Pain.

Desire.

Rejection.

Laughter.

Daddy was dead……dead and buried when she was only eight. She WAS Eight. She was always eight years old.

Laughing and squealing under the tickling tongue of a cuddly puppy….forever laughing.

Why don’t you want to Kiss me James? Rebecca awkwardly arched her skinny back the way she saw in the movies. He thinks I'm a freak! Drowning in a river of rejection.

Rebecca….I’m Rebecca

I’ve killed thousands of my enemies

I’ve slaughtered hundreds of my allies.

I remember every face.

Always.

“Thirty two….thirty two.” she whispered from the floor. “Noodles…That’s how old I am….that’s now…..that’s what now is.”

Head rising, a wet lock of red hair fell across a sullen emotionless face focusing on those around her.

“James.” she said simply with a sigh. “Figured you’d be here.”

"What made you think I would... Oh fuck it!" James gave Rebecca a big, warm hug, "It's good to see you again!"

“Akk….let go weirdo. Like I was saying, I calculated a Seventy two percent chance,” she explained with a sigh, squirming to extricate herself from Corgans embrace. He was always so grabby. “That’s the odds that when I woke up It’d be your fault somehow.” She paused as another unpleasant thought visibly crossed her face, “ There was also a fifteen percent chance its would have been Lysander instead and I’d be dressed in nothing but my undies.”

"The stupid asshole always was a rapist in training..."

Glancing down at the thin damp t-shirt she sighed. “Noodles….James where is my underwear?”

James let go, hands where Rebecca could see them. "Sorry!" He apologized, "You stepped out of the shower! Honest to god! The wet robes and hair back up my story."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow and was about to ask what they were all doing in the shower together when a chuckle from the Temporal agent brought them back to the matter at hand.

“Cute.” Rhinestone sighed motioning with his phaser. “Captain? Are we ready to get back to Zeus now?”

Standing with a wobble, Rebecca rejected Corgans arm and instead latched onto the only female present, Allison…why did she look familiar? Maybe she was one of James new girlfriends?

“Zeus?” she repeated dully, “N..never….I’m not going back.” images of a thousand deaths echoed within her mind. She cast about the room before landing on the crystalline figure of the Chandran physician. “I cant anymore….Doctor, you said I’d forget?”

The Chandran was at her side quickly soothing. *An unfortunate interruption child. This human was rather insistent on your accompanying him. That we will not allow.*

“She’s a Federation citizen and a member of Starfleet.” Rhinestone interrupted, “You cant hold her here.”

*Chandra V is not a Federation world Investigator. While we trade freely and treat your sick, we do not recognize your jurisdiction here. She has asylum as it were. *

“Impossible.”

*Nevertheless. Furthermore you might be interested in knowing that during the course of our treatment we have gathered much evidence regarding some illicit medical experiments conducted on Ms von Ernst by your government. Quite disturbing details actually.*

The Investigator felt another layer of paperwork descending upon him. “Your bluffing.”

*Not at all. I believe similar details are already in the possession of certain members of your Starfleet. A faction I believe known as the ‘Doves’?*

“How the hell do you know about the Hawks and Doves….” Rhinestone began to argue, too late detecting the high pitched tingle of a transporter beam echoing across the great chamber.

“Don’t move Dearie,” rumbled a new voice behind the agent, “The Cavalry has just come under the hill!”

~~Shit~~~ Rhinestone swore as he spun ~~They had abackup~~ His phaser whirled around too slow to prevent a spattering of molten hot liquid from literally sizzling the weapon away into slag.

“Hold please.” commanded the newcomer, “WEapons may not be allowed here, but we Horta can spit a good distance and my loogeys run about 2000 Kelvin.“

“MARY!” Alli squealed. "Ummm...but the expression is totally OVER the hill...not under it."

“To each their own." The loyal lump of rocks sniffed. “ We Horta cavalry tunnel under the hill luv. Bloody Huns Never see us coming. Now...This unpleasant fellow was about to abduct yer Mum….want me to eat ‘im?”

“Mum?” Rebecca raised an eyebrow.”

“Figure of speech….uh Ms. Von Ernst.” Alli hurriedly corrected, “No thanks Mary but we need to talk to this spuffer.

*Indeed,* the Doctor put in, *We will not allow any here to hurt you, but need to resolve this disturbing matter regarding the late Admiral Hoth’s protégés. Indeed to determine how deep this plot goes.”

“How?” John wrung his tingling hand in pain, thankful he was still breathing.

*How did I know?* The Physician replied. *Her own ex-CO kept us informed. My dear investigator, who do you think put the good Captain von Ernst in touch with we Chandrans in the first place? Captain Robert Price first met von Ersnt long ago when she was a mere Ensign in Admiral Hoth’s Advanced Tactical Program, and since that time could not help but follow her rather infamous rise to power. When she left the Zeus it was his own officers that discovered the true nature of the PADDs Starfleet had been using to alter her behavior.*

The Doctor paused a moment. *Isn’t that correct Admiral?*

The soft humming of a motorized wheelchair announced the arrival of a stern faced Sarfleet Flag Officer with clear eyes and silvering hair.

Robert E Lee Price!

The first Commanding Officer of the USS Galaxy and now one of the key leaders in the Dove movement within Starfleet itself rolled up to survey the scene with a grim expression.

Despite seeing him confined to his chair as he was, Victor Kreighoff, James Corgan and Rebecca von Ernst each had remarkably similar reactions to their old Captain‘s appearance.

Despite their rank, and accomplishments, each suddenly felt like a newly minted Ensign again, and unconsciously straightened to attention and glanced quickly to make sure their shoes were polished.

(In Rebecca’s case she blushed slightly and crossed her pink toenailed bare feet in shame.)

“G’Day folks, Price nodded to his old crew, “Sorry I’m late but I caught the first flight out as soon as the Doctor told me you arrived. Been following Starfleets brainwashing experiments most closely these psat few weeks.“ The General paused and considered Rhinestone cooly., “Only it wasn’t Starfleet that was altering Rebecca’s behavior at all was it investigator? Not really. Hoth’s experiments didn’t die with him, but were adopted by elements of the Hawk movement itself. The Director of the 359 School. A few other perhaps?”

Rhinestone said nothing.

Rebecca picked up the tale. “Admiral Bhrode was a part of it too wasn’t he? After Captain Price didn’t live up to the task of turning me into a freak….er…with all due respect sir… they brought in Bhrode to finish the task. Made me his XO. Had me kill. They used me. Turned me into s..s..some sort of machine. Who knows where it would have taken me if I hadn’t found out.”

Standing nearby, Allison had a flashback from her time in the dark future. An older James Corgan shaking here and trying to make her see reason -She blew up the Earth Alli…your mother fucking destroyed the whole planet-

“And then there is you Investigator.” Price continued. “A Temporal Affairs Agent investigating a possible kidnapping case? How does this fit? Why not The Federation Marshals? Perhaps those in power already suspected that Captain von Ernst had learned the truth. Perhaps they needed someone a bit out of his element eh mate?…someone used to keeping the details confidential and hidden from the general public.”

“There is no evidence for any of this.” Rhinestone spat, although in truth he’d been asking the same questions since he got assigned to this case. No shit he was a bit out of his element. This wasn’t his damn job.

“Wrong.” Rebecca replied, her face cold and impassive. “Unfortunately for you noodle heads I got all the evidence right up here.” she tapped her head with a skinny nail. “Ten years worth of Brainwashing techniques, tactical exercises and secret meetings. I can remember every comic book I read when I was five years old…how much do you bet I can remember ever one of those subliminal messages embedded in those PADDS?”

“Impossible.”

*Not at all.* It was the Doctors turn to interrupt. *This woman’s abilities and limitations are now well documented. With time and our assistance any half decent Vulcan Mind Meld could extract the details.*

“Mind Melds are not admissible as evidence.” Rhinestone protested, knowing it was a futile argument.

“No.” Price allowed, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “But sir, you see I really don’t care about admissible evidence at this point, and I don’t believe that your controllers do either. The mere suggestion. The mere hint of such a practice within the highest reaches of the Federation and Starfleet hierarchy would be enough to end a great many careers.”

He paused, “Starting with your own mate.”

He’d lost. John Rhinestone realized. He’d been used by his bosses from the beginning, and he’d lost. If von Ernst secrets got out now it would be the end of him. He’d disappear down some dark hole never to be found again. Crap!

It was time to look out for number one.

“She cant stay here.” he said at last.

This surprised everybody present.

“The memory inhibitor,” he continued, a plan forming in his mind ,”It goes back on her and she leaves the planet. Got it?”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, “Why?”

Feeling a tiny bit of confidence flowing back into his spine, the agent considered her fully. Kinda cute. Bit skinny though. “Your secrets captain.” he explained. “They are your ace in the hole and my superiors as well. If they are kept locked away you both are safe. If these meddling Chandrans unlock them….” he waved his hands, “Who knows what accidents can occur?”

“You want to lobotomize me?”

“Hey it was your idea sister? Or Price’s who knows. I don’t care if you keep up the treatment to try and get all your marbles in order, but keep the deep secret stuff out of it….and we’ll be okay.”

Stepping of to one side, Rebecca stood alone deep in thought. For an instance seeming to bear the heavy responsibility of being a Starship Captain.

“I’ll be like a child…defenseless.” she mused, “If I go back to the farm on Minnesota I wouldn’t last a week before some hired ninja-goons erased my secrets forever.”

“I’ll watch you.” Alli found herself saying before she ever completed the thought.

“Come back to the Galaxy where we can keep an eye on you. Nobody would dare stage a hit there. Not with us there.”

“A deal then?” Rhinestone was actually pleased with it. He might actually bargain his way out of some paperwork with his superiors for this. “Von Ernst resigns her commission and gets her freedom. The Hawks get their secrets. I keep my neck.” he glared at the Horta. “And nobody shoots me with lava anymore.”

Price slowly motioned for Mary Poppins to stand down, and moved his chair over to sit before the tiny redhead.

The First Captain of the Galaxy and the Captain of the Zeus considered each other for a long moment, the disparity of height, and his sitting allowing them for once to actually look eye to eye.

“What of it Captain?” Price inquired. “Are you ready to end your days in Starfleet? To go back to the childlike nature of the memory inhibitor? This is a solution that neither side will be 100% satisfied with.”

Rebecca considered the silver haired man for a moment before replying. This was her first CO….he was her Captain and he always would be. Her perfect memory supplied a random image of her as new ensign, red hair covered in spaghetti after an impromptu food fight, being dressed down by a snarling Price.

She realized years later he was smothering a laugh the whole time.

She shook away the memory. If she couldn’t trust him…..“In all my days as Captain I’ve never been a diplomat." she said, "Instead I killed people and starships. However I read once that Diplomacy is the art of making sure everybody is equally disappointed.”

She paused and winked at Allison. “Sophomore year Interstellar Relations class. Page 232...second paragraph. “

Price managed a wry grin. “We shall trust your memory on that Captain.”

“No.” Rebecca corrected. “Not captain…..not anymore. I’m just Rebecca. Just a farm girl from Minnesota." She glanced around at James and Victor and finally Allison. "I'm a girl with some pretty good friends.”

Formally she nodded to her superior officer. “Admiral Price, it has been an honor to serve with you, but at this point I must respectfully resign my commission as a Starfleet officer. I…I uh..apologize for being out of uniform.”

Robert Price smothered another chuckle…like so many before when dealing with his frazzled young redheaded disaster. “Somehow....for you its appropriate. I accept your resignation. And Rebecca…the honor was all mine.”

Blushing slightly and scrunching her freckled nose, Rebecca snaked her tiny hand into that of her daughter. “Noodles…..I’m ready to go home now.”

FINIS

"Concordium Evangelis"

(written by Betred, Rob H and Kat)

*****

File: Ouroboros 1661 ZULU 007 Alpha 86
Origin: Federation Security Directorate
Verification: Starfleet Intelligence/Temporal Investigations

CLASSIFICATION - MOST SECRET, EYES ONLY TO CAPTAIN T'VARA, COMMANDING
USS GALAXY

Centered on the viewscreen was the great seal of the United Federation
of Planets. The seal faded to reveal the image of UFP President
Nanietta Bacco seated at her desk in the President's office. The
President spoke:

"Captain T'Vara. Accessing this message should only be possible if
certain individuals have arrived on board the Galaxy from the future.
The Office of the President has been aware that this day would come
since the signing of the Articles of Federation over two hundred years
ago. My predecessors and I refer to this group collectively as 'The
Travelers.'

"I realize that the Temporal Prime Directive and its various protocols
will require you to quarantine the Travelers, notify Starfleet DTI, and
conduct a variety of tests and interviews to establish their origin and
possible impact on our current time-line.

"By all means, make your reports - in fact, by viewing this message you
have already alerted my office and Temporal Investigations of the
Travelers' arrival. Your tests will indicate that the Travelers are
from seventeen years in our future.

"Make your reports, run your tests, but I implore you not to waste any
more of the Travelers' time than is necessary to establish their
identities and origin. Their mission is vital to the safety of the
Federation."

President Bacco's image was abruptly replaced by an image of the Earth,
cracking and splintering before violently blowing apart. The
destruction of humanity's home was repeated from several different
viewpoints as Bacco supplied the voice-over:

"These scans were taken by ships of Starfleet engaged in a battle with
each other. The scans have been verified as authentic to the best of
our current abilities. In the Terran year 2402, the Federation has been
dissolved, there is a civil war being fought between the Hawk and Dove
elements of Starfleet, and the Earth has been destroyed."

Bacco's image reappeared. "I understand that many scientific minds will
consider this to all be a great hoax. I choose to view it as a possible
future the Federation and Starfleet must do everything they can to
avoid.

"Unfortunately, the political realities of life in this time, 2385,
require subtle and possibly covert action. In short, you get what
little support I can give you, as outlined in the accompanying
documents, or if I go public with this information and am impeached -
you and the Travelers get nothing. A DTI Mission Team has already been
dispatched and will be arriving at your location shortly to assist and
provide overwatch of this situation.

"Effective immediately, the Galaxy is assigned to assist and support the
Travelers in their efforts to keep their future from becoming OUR
future. This operation is code named 'Concordium Evangelis' and is
under the overall command of Captain Daren M'Kantu, with additional
supervision to be carried out by the assigned DTI team under the command
of Senior Researcher Etrin Gahl. For purposes of this mission only,
Senior Researcher Gahl has the authority to override the normal chain of
command and take such actions as seem prudent to ensure the safety of
our current timeline as well as to prevent the future the Travelers have
returned to alter. You will, of course, continue in specific command of
the Galaxy. Your verification of these orders is anticipated; I expect
you will be speaking with your superiors very soon. This information is
compartmentalized; you now know more about this mission than they do.

"Godspeed, Captain."

Message Ends.

Attached files:

Mission Orders
Traveler Personnel Files
Traveler Medical Records
Supply and Requisition Authorization Codes Mission Analysis and
Supporting Documentation

*****

T'Vara settled back into her chair, silently contemplating the files
open on the screen before her. As someone who still believed that time
travel was impossible, or at the very least extremely unlikely, it was
taking some time for her brain to work through this new information.
However, since the included personnel files and medical records had thus
far corresponded exactly with the tests and observations made since the
group of so-called 'Travelers' had arrived, T'Vara found herself more
and more inclined to believe that, perhaps, the information these files
contained was true. And in addition to that, Rear Admiral Pearle,
T'Vara's commanding officer, had already known about Galaxy's
reassignment to a classified mission, although no doubt due to a lack of
sufficient explanation the older human woman had seemed confused and a
bit irritated with the news.

Despite that, she reminded herself, understanding was not a prerequisite
of compliance. Orders had been given, by the President of the United
Federation of Planets no less, and as a Starfleet officer she was
duty-bound to follow them. Understanding could be achieved later with a
sufficient amount of contemplation. Compliance must occur immediately.

Clearing her throat slightly T'Vara leaned forward and pressed a button
on her desk's embedded communications panel. "Lieutenant Commander
Tarin, please report to the Ready Room." A split second later the
expected 'Aye, Sir' filtered through the speakers, and less than ten
seconds after that the door chime sounded.

"You wished to see me, Captain?" Iniara began after stepping in, the
doors swishing shut softly behind her.

T'Vara nodded, one hand moving to deactivate her console's screen. "New
orders have been received. Effective immediately, Captain M'Kantu and
his group of Travelers will no longer be held under protective custody."

"Sir?" Iniara frowned slightly. "I must advise against this. Until
all tests have been completed, we have no way of knowing--"

"These orders are not up for debate, Lieutenant Commander," T'Vara
replied icily, watching with satisfaction as the other woman snapped
rigidly back to attention. "Inform Lieutenant Krieghoff that the
Travelers are no longer to be confined within the Rihannsu embassy
space, and may move about the ship as they choose. If they would prefer
other accommodations, you will see to it. In addition, an observation
team from the Department of Temporal Investigations will be arriving
soon, under the command of Senior Researcher Etrin Gahl. Assist them
with their duties in whatever way they require."

Iniara nodded, doing her best to keep her emotions in check. True, it
became less likely with each passing hour that this was another Triad
trick, especially since it differed so radically from their previous
infiltration tactics. However, if that was the point, releasing over
half a dozen potential spies and saboteurs into Galaxy's halls could be
devastating. The addition of the DTI team made her feel a bit better,
but if this was a true temporal incident and not another Hydran
infiltration attempt, all that did was create an entirely different sort
of headache. "Aye, Sir. Will that be all?"

"More information will be revealed as necessary," T'Vara told her. "You
are dismissed."

"Business as Usual"

By Ensign T'risia
USS Galaxy

For a moment, the piercing green eyes of T'risia lighted upon her Jack Sparrow action figure, within her cluttered cubicle. She tilted her head, and regarded it oddly, with a strange, illogical intuition about the figure. Very quickly, she dismissed the idea, as the sort of illogical thought process that sometimes presented itself, living among so many highly emotional beings. She regarded her inspirational poster of Spock, with it's caption, "Logic: Not as prevalent as one would wish," and considered that the pop culture icon was in fact a great sage.

She reached forward to her desk, and idly took one of the Oreo cookies from the large plate of them that she had replicated. T'risia worked calmly and efficiently on her paperwork, much of which served no other purpose, to her perception, then to be filled out and submitted. Still, it was work that needed to be done, and even the smallest of contributions often made large operations run smoothly.

A red haired human woman, also a security officer, passed behind her as she picked up another Oreo. The woman was attractive, and obviously worked hard in the gymnasium to hone her physique. "Oh, no....you're not going to eat that, are you?" she asked.

T'risia tilted her head, and looked momentarily confused. "It would be illogical to have replicated this plate, and the associated milkshake, if I had endeavored to merely look at them, no? Obviously, having lifted it halfway to my mouth, I intend to ingest this human foodstuff. Why do you inquire?"

The lieutenant was momentarily confused herself, as many humans tended to be when they spoke with her. "Well, yeah, that makes sense, except they're so bad for you! No nutritional value, and you'll be working off the calories for ages!"

The Vulcan woman considered this, briefly, and adujusted the set of the headband holding back her dark locks, today's selection being a brightly colored matter proclaiming her affection for a fictitious rock band known as Jem and the Holograms. "Ah. Perhaps. However, Terran child rearing lore clearly indicates a daily serving of both milk and cookies, in order to facilitate greater physical strength and health. I am merely observing your planetary traditions." She paused a moment, and then considered further exposition. "In addition, I have discovered that I like them."

"You like them? You like Oreos?"

"Perhaps, Lieutenant, you should report to sickbay. Your hearing appears damaged." As with everything the Vulcan woman ever said, the statement had no tone at all, merely a matter of fact. The officer, for her part, made a human sound of some kind, indicating dismissal, and walked away.

T'risia ate her cookie in peace.

A peace which did not last long. A small figure, about her height, in a brightly colored suit, began to stride past her cubicle at great speed, and with great purpose. He was clearly unauthorized, and on his way to the commander's office. Having had no real reassignment of her duties since Krieghoff was replaced in the capacity of commanding officer for security, she chose to act as she normally would, as it would be logical.

Standing up, and directly in the being's path, she said simply, "May I help you?"

The form of a ferengi took a moment to leer at her, his eyes roaming up and down her form, with greed in his eyes, and the clear abstraction of some form of sexual fantasy. After a long series of leers, he asked in a wheedling tone,"Are you the Chief of Security?"

"No."

"Then you can't help me," said the ferengi as he attempted to walk by her.

T'risia simply blocked his path. Again. "Do you have an appointment?" The question was rhetorical, as she knew that he did not, in fact, have an appointment.

"Why yes, I do," said the ferengi, as the idea dawned upon him.

T'risia simply looked at him with her glittering green eyes. For a long moment.

And another.

And another.

"I don't need an appointment! I am Krodford of Ferenginar!" was the final, frustrated response to her implacable patience. The small male seemed agitated, both by her delay of his progress, and whatever brought him here.

"Indeed. I can pencil you in," she said, experimenting with the human slang term, "tomorrow afternoon?"

"Pencil? What is that?"

"A Human writing tool"

"Why would I want one of those tomorrow afternoon?" The ferengi, Krodford, was now both confused and agitated, a volatile combination.

"I had meant that you could see Mr. Corgan about your matter tomorrow afternoon. Human language is often misleading."

The ferengi huffed. "I need to see this Corgan now! It is vitally important! You wouldn't know, you Vulcans are like robots, no passions, no emotions...."

T'risia felt that this problem needed a lateral solution. Something that would be amenable to the psychology of the ferengi, and bring matters to a peaceful conclusion without bothering her superiors. "Perhaps, you could spend the time indulging those emotional qualities on the holodeck? Then, you may come to your meeting rejuvenated. I can easily clear the time for you."

"Ha! Spoken like a true Vulcan! Why would I want to indulge in the holodeck, in false pleasures, when my wealth can buy the best pleasures in this quadrant? Why dabble with holodeck women, when I can have any woman that I want?" He leered again, stepping closer to her.

T'risia clearly needed to change tactics.

She moved slightly closer, and said, softly, but still without emotion, "You are mistaken about Vulcans."

"Oh?" said the lecherous Krodford, clearly distracted by some sexual imagining about the woman before him.

"Yes. Vulcan women are very passionate. Wildly so..." she said tonelessly, as if describing a pair or shoes that needed repair, as she put her arms around his shoulders.

"I see....!" excalimed the suprised ferengi, at roughly the same time that T'risia administered the Vulcan Nerve Pinch, dropping him to the floor.

"...once every seven years," she concluded, finishing her thought, and thus, not lying.

She sighed, and looked at her poster of Spock again. Indeed...not as prevalent. Taking a cookie from her plate, she bent down and heaved up the ferengi with one hand. Casually tossing him over her shoulder, easily done in the lighter, human gravity of the USS Galaxy, she strode toward the brig. On the way, she passed the red haired lieutenant from her earlier conversation.

The human female's eyes widened at the casual ease with which T'risia carried the man over her shoulder, and tossed him into the brig one handed, as if he were an old jacket.

Turning, T'risia asked the stunned woman, "See what a woman is capable of when she has her milk and cookies every day?"

“Never a Dull Moment”

Commander Man’darr Maivia (2402)

First Lieutenant Branwen London (2385)

Lieutenant (jg) Man’darr Maivia (2385)

2Lt. Wayne “Biggs” Duke (2385 NPC by Betred)

(follows “First Meeting”)

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

<USS Galaxy -- 2385>

"Target will appear and we fire simultaneously. The shooter with the most kills after the round wins the match." Biggs touched a control and the room lights dimmed and the usual computer warnings sounded about a live fire exercise in progress. Following protocol, he showed Bran his phaser was set to stun.

She checked his settings and handed her his phaser for the same check. Bran was already concentrating on the game to come; the Welshwoman loved a challenge. As soon as the first target appeared she went after it giving it all she got.

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

“I won! I beat you!!!” Bran jumped up an down with joy. It still gave her a large amount of glee if she won from one of the tough guys. “Told you I could hold my own!”

Biggs Duke took advantage of Bran's exuberance to give her a quick embrace. "Do you always get so excited over two points?"

“Uhm…” She shrank back a little not accustomed to men touching her like that. But she regained her composure soon and smiled. “Only if I win from tough guys. I just like to win, that’s all.” Another grin.

Biggs finally realized that Bran wasn't sending mixed signals on purpose; she was just scatter-brained. He grinned back in wonder; he had never seen such child like qualities in a marine officer before. He hoped her naiveté wouldn't hamper her abilities in a real firefight.

"So, any time left of the meter for the rest of the tour?"

“Oh of course.” She grinned. “Plenty of time, because I really want to make sure that you can find your way around the ship. Now were to go first?”

Biggs decided to take a chance. "How 'bout showing me your quarters?"

Branwen looked at her timing device. “How about we do that later and you come by for dinner? I would really like you to meet my husband. Dar needs some more friends and I think he will like you as well.”

Biggs attempted a valiant recovery, but wasn't quite successful in hiding his embarrassment for hitting on a married superior officer. "Dar? Um, sure, I'd look forward to meeting him."

“I hope you will like him. He can seem a little rough at first but he is really a great guy and a noble warrior. I do hope he will make some more friends on the ship.” Another smile at him. “I really appreciate it, Duke.”

"No problem." Biggs wondered what kind of person this Dar might be if he couldn't seem to make friends on his own. "So, lead on, Lieutenant Tour Guide -- what's next? Hey, is it true that there's this really creepy guy on board that makes people sick just by being in the same room with them?"

“I will lead you through marine country. Come on. We haven’t got much time left so it will have to be faster then I thought it would be. Any special requests?”

"I can think of three," replied Biggs with a grin. "The Armory, the gym, and wherever the weekly poker came is held."

She snorted, “There is more then one. Okay I will take you past the armory to the gym.”

They walked through the corridors when she spotted a figure running past them.

“Dar!” Branwen called out. “Wait up, I want you to meet someone!”

But he just kept running without even looking up.

“That is weird.” Bran mumbled.

"Was that your husband?" asked Duke.

“Yes, he must be really busy not even to say hello.” She frowned. This was rude, even for a Capellan.

"Try the comm," he suggested. "Maybe Dar didn't hear you."

Before Bran could call her husband, the ship’s klaxon alarm sounded and the XO’s voice announced, “Intruder Alert!”

“Damn,” Bran said and checked in with marine HQ to see if they were needed but it seemed the situation was under control for now. She tapped her com again. “Dar!” Bran called out.

Man'darr sighed as he heard his name; only Branwen called him by blurting out his name through his comm badge. "Yes, what is it? I'm busy escorting some interesting.... guests, to their quarters."

“Is that why you were so rude just now?” she demanded. “But there was nobody with you. I just wanted to introduce you to a new friend.”

"Rude? What are you talking about? I haven't seen you since this morning before I went on duty, then I was called to the bridge due to an emergency and now I'm escorting some people to the quarters."

“You were not eight meters away from me just a few minutes ago?” Bran said puzzled. “I am sure it was you, hon. It had to have been.” Right now she began to doubt herself.

"As I said, I was on the bridge, responding to the intruder alert and am now escorting the intruders. Check the computers if you doubt my word." came Man'darr's gruff voice once again. He didn't like being interrupted while on duty. Yet, deep down, something bothered him about the situation. He was the only Capellan aboard and few aboard even came close to his size and build. Branwen may be naive, but she was not crazy. He looked to the group he was escorting; basically near perfect copies of those aboard the Galaxy now save for the older appearance of the group, except for the younger female teenager who kept looking at him with curious and excited eyes. Yet, no other intruders were located. "Are you certain it was me?"

“I am pretty sure. I couldn’t get a good look but you are unique, darling,” she said with a smile in her voice.

"We may have another intruder, then. Be safe and I and security teams will look for this other person."

“Where was this other ‘Dar’ headed, do you think?” Biggs asked Bran.

Bran was still taking it all in. “I… I don’t know.” She tried to get her brain straight. “Uhm, if he is an enemy maybe to sabotage something? He didn’t look like he was trying to stay under cover and he clearly was not looking for me.”

"Well, he was headed this way," said Biggs, moving off in the same direction the larger man had been headed. "Let's see if we can catch up with him."

“Okay. Let’s move it.” She broke out in a run, following the intruder.

"Escape the Capella"

Commander Man'darr Maivia

Captain Jill Maivia (NPC)

Colonel Branwen London

Colonel Duke Biggs--Betred

The Capellan guard looked to the only other guard in the modified cargo bay and spoke. "The Captain and Man'darr are not the same. Man'darr attacked an unarmed prisoner. What honor is there in that? They stray from our path."

"They are our superiors. We are to obey their word as we would the Teer's, Jaab," the other responded.

"The Teer would never allow a prisoner to be killed unarmed. Only cowards commit such acts, Karra. It is not our way...this, is not right."

Rowena was near panic, attempting to get a response from Jennifer. "Help me, please! She needs a doctor!"

Branwen could not get to her daughter or lover from her cell but what she did see did not look good. “Please.” She asked as well. “Get my officer some help, please.”

The two guards looked to Branwen and then to the prisoner and back to each other. "Karra, we must act. Honor demands it!"

Karra was silent for a moment before she nodded her head slowly. "So be it." The two Capellans approached the cells and unlocked them. "We are not trained in the medical arts," Karra said simply, looking at the wounded officer. "If she does not survive, then she does not survive."

“Don’t you have a doctor on board? Let me help, I have some rudimentary medical skills.” Bran said. As a counselor she had received some medical training.

Duke had been quietly observing the interaction between Karra, Jaab, and Rowena. To Branwen's plea for assistance, he added "The Colonel is a trained psychiatrist as well as a commanding officer -- she may be able to save the woman's life. Will you help us?"

"She may aid the officer as she is trained in the medical arts," Karra said, as she watched Branwen rush to the injured officer. Karra never understood the ways of outsiders, especially humans.

“I could use a little help, if you have a doctor on board.” Branwen said as she tried to stop the bleeding. “And some medical tools please.” There was not much hope of saving Jennifer. “Ro, hon, are you okay?” Her mother asked.

Ro was crying as she held her hand over Jennifer's bleeding wound, helpless to staunch the flow. She managed to nod and looked through her tears briefly into her mother's eyes. "Is there anything more you can do?" she sobbed.

Karra activated her communicator. "Karra to Doctor Yar, you are requested to come to the brig immediately."

There was a moment of silence before a sigh came back over the communicator. "Very well," came a man's voice.

The dark-haired Trill with mopped hair entered the sickbay. His eyes widened at what he saw before him. Being a doctor aboard a ship full of mostly Capellans, there was little use for him. "What happened?!" he asked as he rushed toward the injured officer.

"Man'darr, the captain's brother struck her in her cell with a Kligat," Jaab stated.

"And she's still alive? He must have wanted her to suffer before dying," he commented as he checked the severity of the cut, and began to work on the wound.

“Can you save her?” Bran asked. She had more or less tried to stop the bleeding so the doctor could work. “Tell me what you need me to do, doctor.”

The doctor sighed in frustration at Branwen and her questions. He wanted to tell her to shut up but knew she was only trying to help. "I don't know....there is a lot of muscle tissue damage. Normally people don't survive being struck with a Kligat."

“Maybe he didn’t want to kill her and is just as tired of the killings as I am.” Bran pulled her daughter close and tried to comfort the girl.

"We of the Capella, never tire of war, and doubt that Commander Man'darr has done so. It would have been more...humane to have simply killed your officer," Karra spoke

Duke hated losing anyone -- even a Fleeter, but he wasn't going to let Adam's dying, and the distraction it provided, keep him from protecting Branwen and Rowena. While the Capellans focused their attention on Jennifer and their physician's efforts to aid her, he silently crept up behind the guard named Karra.

He snatched her side arm from its holster, and not bothering to check the setting, fired into the back of her head. He pivoted, and shot Jaab in the chest, continuing to fire until the big Capellan slumped on the deck. Duke aimed at Doctor Yar. "You just keep working, Doc. Bran -- take his comm badge!"

Not minding to take orders from him, Branwen did that. “We have got to get off this ship.” She said.

Duke knelt and checked the pulse of each of the fallen guards. Jaab was dead. Karra was still alive, but deeply stunned. He shot her again, twice, until he was sure she was dead. If the Trafalgar party were to have any chance, leaving guards alive in their wake would eliminate it.

Keeping his weapon trained on Yar, Duke asked, "Is there any hope at all for her?"

The doctor simply sat there, not believing what the idiot before him had done. "Are you simply just stupid or is it a requirement for all Marines to be stupid? You fired a phaser aboard the Capella multiple times and killed two guards that had decided to help you, against their commander's orders. You think somebody hasn't heard that or is coming to investigate? I could save her, but name one good reason why I should, you buffoon. And before you threaten to kill me in cold blood as you did those two, I'm the only one here smart enough to save her...and you're on a ship full of Capellans. Exactly how far do you think you're going to get?"

"We'll get as far as we need to, or die trying. When in Capella, Doc..." replied Duke, calmly. "Ensign London, I need you to pull it together -- check the cargo transporter, scan for anything we can beam off this tub to. Colonel -- can Adams really be saved?" While he talked, Duke searched the area for their equipment.

Branwen blinked as well she had been so focused on Jennifer and Rowena that she had not been paying attention to his actions. “You killed them?” She said in a soft voice. “Oh Duke.” Then the colonel turned to the doctor. “You have my word that you will not be harmed. He will listen to me.” Something in her eyes told the doctor to take her seriously.

Yar sighed and shrugged his shoulders. In all honesty, he was tired of his position aboard the Capella with his services hardly ever being needed. "I guess anyplace is better than here." He grabbed the autosuture once again and continued to repair the damaged muscles in Adam's chest. "She's lost a lot of blood and will need a transfusion as soon as possible."

“Can she be moved, doc? Do you know a short route to the escape pods?” Bran asked.

The doctor chuckled. "Yes, escape from the Capella in an escape pod....want to take a guess on how long you'll live before the Capella vaporizes you with its pulse phasers? The last I heard, was that we are heading back to the Guardian Planet. I don't why, but the reason must be good since the Hawk Fleet is still in retreat and I believe Dove ships may still be in the area. And no, I wouldn't recommend moving her," he indicated to Adams.

"I'll...be fine, doctor," Adams managed to speak.

Yar looked down at Adams. "Who's the doctor here? Me or you? May I be in charge of making the medical decisions around here? Damn patients..."

“Staying here isn’t an option, Doc,” responded Duke. He had found their equipment in a storage locker and was quickly donning his armor. “Does this ship have any shuttles?”

"The Defiant Class vessel is capable of carrying one shuttle...so yes, we do have a shuttle. It is still suicidal...but it also your best option. Your best bet is to use the transporter to transport to the shuttlebay, or else carrying your officer here while wounded will considerably slow us down and we'll be cut to pieces before we get out of this section by the Capellan Forces."

“Let’s do it.” Branwen order. “Duke take care of it.” She wanted to be there for Rowena and Jennifer. Bran was still trying to comfort her crying daughter.

Duke had anticipated Bran’s order and was already moving to the transporter controls. He tossed the women’s gear in their general direction as he strode past. Adams was down, Rowena a blubbering mess, and Bran had forgotten she was a marine – paying more attention to comforting Ro than keeping an eye on the enemy doctor.

Activating the transporter controls, he quickly scanned for the Capella’s shuttle, found it, adjusted and activated the controls.

They materialized in there, seconds later. “Ro, help the doc look after Jennifer.” Bran ordered as she made her way to the shuttle controls. Over the years she had learned to pilot a shuttle. “Duke, co-pilot!”

Duke attempted to activate the controls, but access to the shuttle's systems was locked as expected. "Doc! You got an access code for this thing?"

The ship shuddered slightly. "We must have dropped out of warp," the doctor concluded as he looked over the flight controls. He had been in enough battles to know the difference between a hit by enemy fire-shudder and a dropping out of warp suddenly-shudder. His hand typed in an access code to the shuttle and the systems came online. "There you are. Try to not get us killed," he sighed as he walked back to where the injured lieutenant lay.

“Thanks doc.” Bran thanked him and then started to get the shuttle away from the ship as fast as she can. “Start praying, Duke.” She whispered. “We don’t have the speed or the time to do much of evasive maneuvers. We have to hope they are too busy to bother about us.”

"God helps those who help themselves," responded a grim faced Duke as he armed the shuttle's weapons and targeted the interior of the shuttle bay with micro-torpedoes. "You fly your ass off -- I'll give them something to keep them busy." He fired the shuttle's weapons directly into the interior of the Capella before the bay doors could close.

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

The Capella shook as it dropped out of warp suddenly above the Guardian Planet's northern magnetic pole. On the bridge, it was a hustle of activity as the Capella's sensors showed the power buildup in the Gorn vessel. "Better make it quick," Jill said.

I will...and I will return with my daughter," Man'darr said as he finished double-checking the energy readings on his Type-2 Phaser and placing it in its holster. Man'darr was dressed not in a commander's command uniform but rather a uniform he had not worn in some time--a 2385 Security Lieutenant's Uniform. "I am ready."

"Good luck, bro," Jill said as Man'darr dematerialized in a swirl of blue light and energy.

On the surface, Man'darr materialized just in time to see Victor begin some sort of dance and chant. 'What a psycho,' he thought to himself of Victor. "FINALLY!" the Guardian spoke. Man'darr sprinted to the gate as it rumbled and flashed, along with the now violent-shaking ground and launched himself through the collapsing gate.

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

Before the shuttle could move far enough away from the Capella to be in the bigger ship’s firing arc, Biggs targeted Capella’s tractor emitter and fired, causing extensive damage. As Bran piloted the smaller craft into open space, Biggs fired several times at the port nacelle, hoping to cause enough damage to keep the Capella from going to warp any time soon.

“We’re in her weapons range now, get us the hell out of here, Colonel!” shouted Biggs. He accessed the ship’s IFF transponder and was changing the frequencies and codes so the shuttle would appear friendly to Dove forces.

“On it!” Bran said through clenched teeth as she tried to maneuver the ship but not rocking it too much, keeping Jennifer’s injuries in mind.

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

On the bridge of the Pegasus, Commander Moonblood stood in front of the captain's chair. He was not ready to sit in the chair. It still felt wrong, even though Captain Lee was gone.

T'ral spoke up from Tactical. "Commander, sensors are picking up weapons fire from the planet's northern magnetic pole! Its the USS Capella and they are giving chase to a shuttle displaying Dove ID."

"Close with the shuttle at best possible speed and transport the crew of the shuttle aboard. Target the Capella with all weapons!"

The Pegasus swarmed over the shuttle, taking fire that had been intended for the small shuttle. As the passengers were transported aboard, the Pegasus unleashed full phasers onto the smaller Capella.

Aboard the Capella, consoles exploded across the bridge before the ship, and before anyone could react, the defiant class vessel exploded exploded due to the extensive damage done by the shuttle as it left the shuttlebay.
=====================================================================

”Damn, we made it,” muttered Duke. “Not quite what I was hoping for.”

“You weren’t hoping we would make it?” Bran asked him. All her attention had been on the controls when flying. With her rusty skills it was a hell of a job.

"We're out of the frying pan and into the fire now, darlin," answered Duke. "This is Dove territory. Best not say anything without a lawyer present." He watched as the ship's crew loaded Lt. Adams onto a stretcher for transport to Sickbay. "But, yeah, I'm glad we're alive." He took Bran by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Are you alright?"

“Yeah I am fine.” She said holding him for a moment, then turned to her daughter. “How are you, hon?”

Rowena was still sobbing. "They won't let me go with her!" she said, pointing at the security personnel by the door.

“I know, the doctors need to work now. They are doing what they can and you will be able to see her later.” She said softly to her daughter.

Commander Moonblood entered the transporter room, with a Security detail in tow. "State your identities," he said sternly.

“Colonel Branwen London, former Co of the Trafalgar. We escaped from an enemy vessel.” She stated.

Duke gave his name and rank and introduced the still sobbing Rowena.

Moonblood nodded. "Internal sensors have confirmed your identities when you were transported aboard. "I am Commander Moonblood, commanding officer of the USS Pegasus."

Duke nodded. "Thanks for the lift, Commander. I thought this was Captain Lee's boat?"

There was slight hesitation before he answered the question. "Captain Lee did not survive the battle over the Guardian Planet. Therefore, I am forced to take command. Quarters will be assigned to you. Is there anything I else I can do for you?"

“Thank you, commander. I am very sorry to hear about your captain. We will try not to be in the way but if there is any way we can be useful, don’t hesitate to ask.” Bran said.

"Thank you. We will escort you to the nearest starbase," Moonblood said simply. The loss of the captain still had him and everyone aboard in a sour mood. Yet, like all wounds, they would eventually heal....

"Profit Loss"

The Cost of Justice

Dustin Panerra NPC

Location: Cozumel

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

The conference room swirled around the man as he had sat down at the head of his oblong steel table. The room, rectangular in dimension with no view of the outside world as as cold in appearance as it's owner. In his professional opinion, windows that permitted a peek at his exotic location of daily commune was purely detrimental to the objectives of his company. The objectives could vary daily around the main goal of his conglomerates could be summed up wonderfully with one word...profit.

Blue eyes scanned the display screen that delicately hung directly on the opposite wall above the main entrance to the room. Stocks streamed with several of his interests showing profitable gain in the last few days. This made him smile in a small, yet greedy manner as he took in the site of the blond newscaster. His ego took over his inner thoughts, claiming that if the mood struck him he could have her in a heartbeat. That's the way things happened in his contained world. A snap of his long thin fingers and his desire was by his side. It happened with take overs, material possessions, and past trophy wives.

His eyes darted over to the tumbler of ambrosia colored alcohol, then at the display once more. Nine thirty in the morning and the temptation was there to pick up the glass and drink. Some people had coffee by their hands constantly, he had alcohol. Yes, he particular tastes ran opulent, for only the best tropical rum and whisky adorned him like a much needed accessory. To know Dustin, was to know what he drank. Today was a day that he would need his crutch, and need it in a major way.

Lowering his glance, he noticed that the door swiftly opened revealing a group of ten blue suits. As they entered, an expression of snugness flashed across his tanned face. The army of legal minions shuffled their wing-tipped shooed feet keeping their heads bowed in reference to the man that gave them financial life as, one by one they sat themselves at the table.

Panerra's fingers tapped with aggravation against the printed documents that made a skyscraper of paper before him. Those around him knew he shunned anything digital in relation to information. Evidence to that fact littered the file rooms of floor 112 of this building. To Dustin, paper was just another luxury to prove he was able to be opulent in his personal life and his business life. With a shove, the skyscraper of paper skidded and fanned out across the table. Frozen, the attorneys kept their heads lowered not out of reverence, but sheer fear of retribution they knew might be coming within a millisecond of time.

"This is absolute bullshit." He paused, sucking in a deep breath and outlining his greying blond mustache with his left hand.

"Starfleet division of space environment protection vs. Maya Industries...Since when did the 'Navy' give a crap about space dumping?"

"Sir. SSEP claims that emissions from the unauthorized dumping of our 'contained' chemical barrels have been filtering through the air replicators on ships that pass by the sight. That results in various medical problems with crews on board the vessels and..."

"I can read Lebowski." Panerra harshly retorted.

"Yes. I am aware of your skill. However, people have died and..well SSEP blames us for not properly disposing of the chemicals."

"What the hell do they want?" He spat. Lebowski was such the proverbial smart ass and that's why he hired him as head counsel.

Lebowski cleared his throat. " Damages for families and stricter regulations of the sites."

"No."

"Sir.."

The calm protest made Dustin rise from his seat. His usually calm demeanor disappeared under a wrinkled forehead full of botoxish anger. "I hire the best supposed civilian attorneys to protect me and my assets over peasant bullies like the "Fleet" and all you can come up with is 'Sir..'?"

"We officially need to answer. They are requesting this amount...and these restrictions over and above what is in place.'

Lebowski, out of respect, presented his one and only pain in the ass client with the figures on a piece of paper.

Dustin took a moment to devour every numeral and every word before shifting his wiry frame in his seat. Finally reaching for the tumble, he refreshed himself with a long sip before returning the glass to the table.

One of the lesser peons took a chance and spoke. "If this goes to trial, due to the nature and parties it will be a three judge panel instead of a jury trial. There will be a Star Fleet judge, a civilian judge, and a non partisan judge."

"Interesting." Panerra offered wistfully.

The boss considered the settlement. Tapping ritualistically three times on the papers with his index finger, he voiced his decision.

"Circle the wagons boys, we are heading for a fight."

The collective nod from the legal warriors drew a dark grin on Panerra's features.

"One last note, find out who's on the judge panel., Let's see if justice can indeed be bought..."

"One little, two little three little Indians..."


(With snippets of "Transition" by Rob H.)





Featuring Chief Raven Darkstar and sundry members of the bridge crew.


Time: In conjunction with "Transition"


Location: The Bridge, USS GALAXY







Lieutenant Raven Darkstar hated Wesley Crusher.


A deep, burning, itching, throbbing hatred.


Black and tar like.


Malevolence that usually began not in the pit of his stomach or some darkened corner of his heart, but......... in his cramping calf muscles each and every time he found himself wedged into the helm on the bridge.


An inky, black, shadowy hatred of young Mr. Crusher seeped through The Navigation Chief's soul whenever he found himself manning the driver's seat of the USS GALAXY, the same position that the lean and lanky Crusher had made famous, giving hope to cadets with a sprite like physique that there was a place on a star ship built just for them.


For the grumbling former Security officer, fitting his rather large body behind the standard starship navigation consol was quite a physical chore. More then one crewman whispered privately that seeing Chief Darkstar taking up position at the helm reminded them of a woman lying on her bed to completely zip her jeans.


Thick legs, developed from hours of grueling early morning jogging sessions with the ships physical fitness guru Lt. Heather Sanchez, tensed and knotted as they were wedged uncomfortably under the control panel to the point that his knees ached from pressing up against the hard underside of the station.


His broad back ached from hunching in his seat like a parent at a student conference at elementary school.


Even his weathered and worn hands seemed to throb - usually from clenching them tightly into fists as he fantasized about crippling Crusher, Sulu, Tom Paris and all of the other woodland nymphs whose tiny frames seemed to be the accepted standard body size for which these stations now were designed and built around.


They were the reason for his discomfort and as such, he hated them for it.


He just didn't physically fit into his station, but his uncanny knack for navigating and making precise coarse corrections only on instinct and feelings, without the aid of instruments made him an ideal if not unconventional choice for the head of the Navigation Department and when Admiral Bhrode suggests a departmental change....well, the man was extremely hard to resist.


And so it was that on this day, Raven was enduring, once again as though he were back home on Earth lashed to the 'tree of woe', his gaze fixed on the stars on the viewscreen as usual.


He did this because focusing like that help him 'feel' his position in space and it kept him from catching a crewman giggling and snickering seeing him wedged into the tiny seat - an action that would undoubtedly result in the Indian running amok.


One thought was nagging him.


Something is wrong.


He just couldn't put his finger on it.


It was at this point that two bodies appeared hovering in mid air on the bridge and came crashing down painfully behind him.


Commander Iniara was on her feet in an instant, smacking the combadge on her chest as the pair of bodies tumbled to the deck before her. "Security to the bridge! Intruder alert!"


Adrenalin surged into Darkstar's muscles.


He had been on the bridge when the mad Gorn had attacked M'Kantu, going toe to toe with the lizard only now regaining the full use of his reattached arm, but not able to save the Captain from grievous injury.


He was not about to let that happen again. He went to spring to his feet.....and found himself stuck behind the helm!


With a growl he prepared to rip the panel from it's moorings when Inaria spoke again.


"Captain M'Kantu?" she asked tentatively. "And...Lieutenant T'Pei?"


This calmed Raven enough that he was able to twist himself loose. Now freed from the shackles of his station, Darkstar moved cautiously closer to the newcomers as had other members of the bridge crew although his time under Bhrode taught him to keep his guard and suspicions razor sharp.

"Yes," T'Pei gasped, unsteadily standing with Daren's assistance.


Darren M'Kantu - the REAL Darren M'Kantu was still convalescing off ship from his injuries and GALAXY crewmen didn't make a habit of transporting onto the bridge Darkstar thought.


Captain T'Vara echoed the Indian's concern as she moved from behind the protection of her XO.


"Captain M'Kantu," the Vulcan began, "This is...highly irregular."


"There will be others arriving shortly," T'Pei said and Darkstar found himself suddenly wearing the famous 'WORF LOOK OF WIDE EYED ASTONISHMENT' as what appeared to be Karyn Dallas and James Corgan fell into the bridge from thin air.


Moments later a cyborg woman also materialized from nowhere.


MADNESS!! THE ENTIRE CREW SEEMED TO BE DUPLICATING THEMSELVES!! Darkstar thought as the one claiming to be M'Kantu tried to persuade the Captain T'Vara that they were from the future.


Not wanting to wait for a future version of himself to appear next, the Chief was about to ask for permission to clear the bridge when the turbolift doors swished open. A split second later, a group of gold-collared Security officers stepped out of each one and automatically fanned out, weapons drawn, one set under the command of Lieutenant Maivia and the other Victor Krieghoff.


Quickly assessing the situation Victor nodded once and the Indian took that as an order to belay any gratuitous violence he had planned. The security platoon with phasers could handle the situation better then he could unarmed despite his physical prowess. Still his training told him to distrust the newcomers and he reached across and locked the helm, bringing the ship to a stop.


As the group began to discuss time travel, the Chief could feel his head begin to ache.


A headache!


It was at that point that the light bulb went off.


He finally knew what it was that was wrong and out of place - more so then random futuristic versions of crewmen popping onto the bridge from thin air.


"Leo..." he whispered to himself. He hadn't had a head ache from the antics of Leo Streely in two weeks.


That meant that the little man was up to something.


Something no good.


The Indian vowed he would find out exactly what that was either after his shift was over or after the end of the hand to hand combat with the newcomers should they decide to run violent.

"Of Mice and Wraiths" - Part One

Lt. Ella Grey
Angelienia Krieghoff [2402]

****

USS Galaxy
Ella's quarters

****

"Kill a man and you're square with God but kidnap a teddy bear and
it's all over, baby," Ella huffed. "You're evil, you're tricksy, and
you've earned Victor Krieghoff's version of the "I'm disappointed in
you" speech."

She looked down at the charred remains of her present and rolled her
eyes before grabbing the computer PADD that held her plan to get back
in 8-ball's good graces, what Ella had dubbed the "Clever 12-Step
Program of Forgiveness." Naturally she had anticipated that Step One -
the Starfleet uniform for Eptgac - would be rejected on pure principle
but it still miffed her a bit that 8-ball hadn't even acknowledged the
Captain's pips. "Good thing I didn't send the booze yet. I'd probably
get a Molotov cocktail."

Ella looked at Step Two - a ninja outfit complete with miniature
nunchuks for Eptgac - and decided she should invest in some air
fresheners as this would probably be sent back flambéed. It made her
want to cheat and just replicate the whole thing but they called it a
penance for a reason. So she'd sew the damn thing herself, create cute
little accessories, and send it anyway. 8-ball might be able hold a
grudge but Ella had played the 'I'm not talking" game for years; she
could wait her friend out.

The other downside to penance was that while Ella knew her fabrics
pretty well she wasn't that great of a seamstress. She'd already
stabbed her fingertips repeatedly while making Eptgac's uniform.

Unfortunately she did know someone who was great at sewing.

"Suck it up, Ella," She sighed. "At least Victor should still be on duty."

Clutching the PADD, Ella headed towards where she was sure Angie would
be - Victor's quarters. Hell, it was probably officially Victor and
Angie's quarters now. She nearly scowled as she waited for the
turbolift. Reformation, when you had nothing to show for it,
definitely sucked.

The doors opened and she put on her 'game face', a pleasant expression
hopefully without a hint of wounded pride.

Which dropped completely from her face as she saw the wraith in front
of her. That was the only way to describe the woman that was currently
hugging the wall for support. Pale skin wrapped around bones, she was
almost transparent, floating, her eyes surrounded by shadows that -

"Angie!" She exclaimed, moving quickly to catch the pilot before she fell.

"E... Ella?" the figure said slowly, as if the word were being forced
out past an obstruction, or having to be carried across a vast
distance. "El... Ella... G... Grey?" Normally brilliant green eyes
that were now faded and washed out looked at Ella from inside hollowed
sockets. "I...."

"God, what happened to you?" Ella asked. She started to call for Sickbay.

"N... No...," the woman reached out in a series of jerky, awkward
movements and covered Ella's combadge with one shaky hand. "No...
use... c...calling... doctors...."

"You can't be serious! Look at you." She felt for the woman's pulse
which was beating almost like an afterthought. "Something is wrong
with you, Angelienia."

"O-of... course... t-there... is...." The words were as slow and as
painful to hear as they seemed to be for her to speak. Angelienia
leaned back against the wall of the lift car and stared at Ella for a
moment, seeming to gather strength to add, "I'm... dying...."

"All the more reason to get you to Sickbay," Ella snapped. She
couldn't let Angie die, she just couldn't. Victor would never forgive
her.

"T-they... can't... help... m-me...." The words were somewhere between
sad and defiant. "N-no... one... in... this... t-time... can... for...
l-long...."

Ella felt her whole body pause as she stared hard at the woman. Funny
how she'd assumed this Angelienia was theirs, even though she had
heard about the time travelers who had shown up on the bridge. She
supposed it was because she had prepared herself for seeing someone
she knew who was now older, not someone that looked like the walking
dead. "You're not our Angelienia, are you?"

"That... d-depends... on... what... y-you... mean... by... 'our'...
El-Ella...." she whispered back, sounding like one of the zombie
characters from a terrifyingly bad movie Ella had been forced to sit
through with 8-Ball a year or two back.

"This is the USS Galaxy, 2385," Ella replied in what she thought was a
masterful impression of 'calm and steady.' "Right now you're a
Vanguard, call sign 'Angel.' You and Victor are in love. Who can I get
to help you?"

"I... was... a... am... all... of... t-those... things...." The words
rasped as the lift doors closed behind Ella. "Now... and... in...
t-the... p-past.... Just... in... s-same... time... now." Faded eyes
looked into Ella's, hungry for... something. "I... h-hated... y-you...
once," she hissed raspily. "S... so... m-much...."

The image of Victor and Angie still together in the future hurt more
than she would have liked. "Ditto. I'm calling Victor."

"N-no..." a jerky, spastic hand reached out, fingers clawed, and
covered Ella's combadge again. "No... need... not... dead... yet....
Please... I-I...c-cant...."

Ella exhaled. "Fine. We won't see him yet."

****

Getting Angelienia back to Ella's quarters had been a bit tricky. She
would have probably been able to throw Angie over her shoulder but
didn't want to risk having to explain what was going on. Luckily the
corridor had been empty and now the future Angie was now lying on her
couch. Ella kept checking to make sure she wasn't dead.

"Why are you here?"

The living dead woman lay there for so long without answering that
Ella wasn't sure that she *could* answer, then, without warning,
halting, forced words started to answer her. "S-same... as...
t-the...others.... F... fix...th... things...."

"What are you here to fix?"

Again the answer seemed to take a long time to arrive, although
whether it was the effort required to speak or a decision-making
process, or both, was impossible to tell. "Him."

Ella snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that." She went to the replicator
to get the woman some water. "So what do we do now?"

"I... I... talk...t-to... some... people.... Then... I... die...."

She started to place the glass in Angie's hands but then decided to
hold the cup herself. "Drink. Slowly." Ella watched to make sure Angie
wouldn't choke before continuing. "Who do you need to talk to?"

Angelienia's head jerkily turned, taking her eyes away from Ella and
turning them to the wall. "..Y... you." The admission sounded as if it
came with the piece of the Ktarian's soul that had torn out with the
effort to say it. "O... oth... others."

"What are we messing up your future or something?" Ella started to
joke before an idea occurred to her and she felt her grip tighten on
the glass. "Is he ... okay?"

"I... no... maybe..." Angelienia whispered, grief clear in what was
passing for her voice. "He... stayed... has... t-to... b-be... a...
all...." She stopped speaking and hung her head for a moment, resting
- and crying - as Ella realized an instant later. "...have... to...
be... believe... he's... alive...."

This was beyond messed up, Ella thought as she set the glass down and
awkwardly patted the shoulder of the future lover of the man she
loved. "Then he is. I mean come on, it's Victor. He'll be all right."

"N... not... any..." There was a pause, and she nodded, the act making
Ella worry for a second that Angelienia's head was going to fall off
and land in her lap.

"Why don't you tell me what you need to tell me and then we'll find
the others," Ella said in a comforting tone. After we visit Sickbay,
she added mentally.

"D-... Don't... You... c-can't... g-give..." one shaky hand clenched
suddenly into a fist, as if acting on its own without command "...up."

"Of course not," Ella replied. She had no idea what the woman was
talking about but it seemed like the best idea to keep her calm.

"O-on... him..." Angelienia continued, as if she'd not heard Ella.
"Never... give... u-up... on... him.... he... he... needs... y...
yo... you...."

Ella flinched.

"This... hurts... m-me... more..." Angelienia whispered. "T-trust... me."

She was silent for a few minutes - probably one of the few times in
her life that it had taken all her willpower to remain so - before
standing up and moving to her room. When Ella returned she had a small
bottle of Romulan wine. "Want some?"

An odd expression crossed the Ktarian's face, but she nodded once
rather than speak again.

"Angie," Ella began after a very long drink from the bottle. "You
can't possibly believe that I belong with Victor."

"Did... didn't... say... t-that... S-said... never... never give...
up... him...."

Another drink. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Means... never... give... up..."

"I'm trying to get over him," Ella said evenly. "I'd think you of all
people could appreciate that."

The woman on the couch was silent for a moment, and then let out a
small sigh. "I... ris... risking... everything... a-already...
d-doing... t-this..." she stopped again struggled for a second, and
then whispered out, "...please...."

Ella crossed her arms over her chest. "So, just so I'm understanding
this right - do you mean 'never give up' as in never give up 'cause
one bright sparkling day you'll be together at last ... even though
he's deliriously happy right now with someone else? "

"I... don't..." she trailed off, shakily, and then seemed to come to
some internal decision. "I... c-can't... tell... y-you... Afraid...
make... things... worse... understand...? P-please... understand...
do... doing... best .. I... I.. c-can... l-like... this...."

~~Then let me find someone to help you, damn it~~ Ella's hands snapped
in frustration. She hadn't signed in awhile and the movements felt
slow and clunky which only made her angrier. ~~It's not fair! It's not
fair to just show up here and give me hope which might not amount to
anything, AND have to feel sorry for you as well?~~

Ella reigned in her hands by clenching them in fists. She waited until
she was relatively sure she wouldn't start signing, or swinging,
before she relaxed them and carefully reached for her drink.

"You know, I'm not sure what's worse," She said in as conversational a
tone that her vocal patch would allow. "That I practically
gift-wrapped him for you or that you're better for him than I'll ever
be."

The sound that Angelienia made might have been from rage, but her eyes
told the truth of the source - it was despair. "He's..." Her hand
balled into a fist again, shaking, as her tears started to flow again.
"He's... I... you..." She took a sudden, sharp breath. "I...
couldn't... save... him..." she forced out, the pain, grief, shame and
anguish behind her words clear even through her halting words.

Ella sighed. She knew what she had to say and it wasn't fair. "Then
we'll find a way for you to save him this time around. Drink your
ale."

"Not...not... me...." The words were softer this time as Angelienia
carefully used both shaking hands to pick up her glass. "I...
not...s-strong... enough... You... stronger...."

"We'll have to agree to disagree," Ella said, rubbing at her temple.

Angelienia abruptly took a deep breath - the sound somewhere between a
gasp of surprise and a sigh of relief.

"Angie?"

Almost as quickly as Ella could process the shift, Angelienia's skin
was regaining a normal, healthy color, her hands stilling, and the
hollow, gaunt look to her body was shifting, filling in, as if she
were healing and literally coming to life in front of Ella's eyes. She
took another breath - a normal one this time - and smiled... only to
have her eyes open wide in horror and look around frantically. "No,
not now," she said, her voice the one that Ella recalled. "Not here,
like this - I can't...." She looked up at Ella, panicked. "He's close
by - maybe coming here... hide me, please? I can't, not yet, not
now... please?"

There was an old fashioned knock on her door and they both jumped.

It was pretty obvious who was at the door. "Okay, go into the bedroom.
He won't go in there."

Ella watched in amazement as the woman walked easily into the other
room - not a misstep or shudder in sight - and then shook her head.
She relaxed casually on the couch before calling him in.

"Ella?" Victor paused at the door. "Do you have a minute?"

7251