USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 60904.12 - 60904.18 |
Logs |
| "Of Mice and Wraiths" - Part Two
Ella Grey *** "Hi Victor. What's up?" "Stupid question time," he admitted, glancing around the room. "You Ella raised an eyebrow. It was just going to be one of those days. "Excuse me?" "Genetically-modified catnip," he repeated. "Someone's modified it to "Not one word," She said with a genuine laugh. "Sorry." "It was a long shot," he admitted. "A very long one, but I was running Ella followed his gaze to the two glasses of ale. "I was thinking of Victor met her eyes for a second. "Ah." He considered something for a "I'll do that," She replied just as quietly. It had been kind of him "Thanks, but please," he said, starting to move back towards the door, "Hey, Tiger?" "Yes?" he paused at the door. "Will you ask Angie if she'd be willing to show me a couple of sewing He nodded. "I'd be glad to - and I imagine so will she. She'll likely "He's gone," Ella said going back into the bedroom. "Crappy trick." "Yes," Angelienia agreed softly, setting down the starship model she'd "How do you really know that you need to do ... whatever it is you "I... saw... him...." Angelienia stopped and sat down shakily on the Ella went to pull out a blanket from her closet. "Sounds like he was "T-trying... to... protect... everyone..." she whispered. "T-the... She laid the blanket carefully over Angelienia. Ella still didn't "C-can't..." came the reply, although Angelienia showed no signs of Ella carefully removed Angelienia's fingers and tucked them under the "You... gave... up..." Angie looked up at her. "Never... n-ever... What else could she say? "I promise." "Good..." the woman on the bed sighed. She was silent for a moment, "Hmm?" "I... I'm... sorry..." Ella wasn't exactly sure what the woman was sorry for - winning Victor "N-not... yet..." the woman on the bed whispered. "B-but... you... will...." "Under Your Spell" Lt. Commander T'Pei ======= http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9utrndOUGMo&feature=PlayList&p=4652DA31BAB142E1&index=2 One never thinks of a battle as quiet. There are shouted orders, explosions, moans and cries, mixed with bright lights and the smells of burning conduits, burning flesh. Even in a relatively tame situation, like the one she had just left on the bridge, there is a general tension, a bustle and murmur and aliveness that keeps you focused, reminding you that you are in battle, with explosions and death hovering above you like the proverbial shoe, waiting to fall at any moment. All of that disappeared when she entered the turbolift. As the doors shut behind T'Pei, they cut her off from the tension and focus, and the lift carried her away in an anesthetized bubble. She could almost pretend that there was no battle. She was not going back in time, she was going on an away mission, and in a few days from now, she would return and report to Chris, and everything would be fine. She stayed disconnected from reality all through the ride to deck 6, walking down the corridor automatically. The doors to the transporter room slid open, and T'Pei walked through them, raising her head to acknowledge Tleilic, who she had not seen since he rendezvoused with them mere hours before. The sight of the Rigelian stopped her cold, reminding her that this was no ordinary away mission, and they were not coming back. Tleilic...he was pregnant, almost at full term. T'Pei knew he had undergone the metamorphosis to Bearer, but...pregnant? And he still agreed to go. 'Because you lied to him', a little voice reminded her. 'You are responsible for that child.' "Look," he said, inclining his head. "I see," T'Pei responded, her mouth bitter with the taste of dry ashes. 'Too late to go back now,' she thought. 'He made his choice, as did I.' "Are you prepared?" "Almost." Reaching into her pack, T'Pei selected a hypospray, injecting herself in the neck. Noting Tleilic's querying look, she explained "It will prevent empaths from registering my emotions." 'I cannot allow another incident like the one with the Betazoid woman, Mesta,' she added mentally. Stepping onto the transporter, she nodded to the chief and hit her commbadge. "T'Pei to bridge. We are ready to beam down." "Acknowledged," Lechtar replied. "Dropping shields. Good luck, Commander." She could hear the noise in the background and the tenseness in the tactical officer's voice, but it was far away, as if it were coming through a tunnel. Distantly, she heard herself say "Energize," wondering if Chris could hear her. And then they were gone. ======= The first thing she noticed was the wind. It whipped around her, and if there had been leaves they would have whirled through the air. However, there were none. If anything had ever lived on this planet, it had long ago succumbed. The only trees were tall stone columns growing out of the ground majestically, ending in branches that had, just like everything else, crumbled into ruin. Ten figures clustered around the arch, with two others sitting separated from them by a few yards. Cutter stood with his back towards them, but the Fruna'lin man did not respond to their arrival, preoccupied with his study of the ancient relic. With a glance at her companion to ensure that he was all right, she moved briskly towards the group. There was no sense in wasting any further time. "Peace and long life," she greeted her old Captain formally. "Perhaps soon, both will once again become possible," she added, recalling T'risia's bitter claim of a few days before. Tleilic, supremely unhurried, had reached them, and stood with his hands resting on his belly. "You recall Tleilic Is-Iadrig Ir-Zhref, of course," she said, watching M'Kantu's face. He did not look pleased. "I was not aware that you were pregnant, Tleilic," he said, and though T'Pei's stomach twisted, she ignored it, arching a cool eyebrow. "Given the nature of this mission, the risks are far outweighed by the potential rewards." She tilted her head up towards the sky, where the red lightening of phaser fire could still be seen. "Furthermore, the danger to him from leaving at this juncture is potentially greater than the danger to him if he continues." Daren opened his mouth, but an interruption saved her from further justification. James Corgan, who she had not seen for over a decade, appeared, fully decorated with awards and escorting a silent young woman in impractical clothing, presumably Allison von Ernst. 'Vain,' she thought, mentally dismissing the man. 'His medals serve no purpose here.' In puzzled silence, the Vulcan watched Cutter as the rest group continued to petition the Guardian. Her old friend ignored Corgan's explanation of his daughter being in the wrong timeline, ignored Captain M'Kantu's plea, ignored the shattering of the stone column that almost crushed two of his companions. Yet, when the Fruna'lin approached the archway and spoke to the Guardian, T'Pei did not hear the arrogance the others perceived. Cutter was different as he spoke to the entity--confident without condescension-- almost as if he were in awe. Something had changed. So when Cutter succeeded, she was not as surprised as the Fruna'lin himself was. He tried to hide it, burying it behind a scornful sneer and arrogant proclamation, but as Thyago began to express doubts about their mission, T'Pei saw Cutter turned back towards the Guardian, head bowed, a frown on his face. She would ask him later, T'Pei decided, and this time she would not allow him to evade the issue, as he had every previous time. Returning her attention to the others, T'Pei heard Artim echo her own thoughts. "Come on, let's get this over with," the Miran said impatiently, gesturing towards the portal. McAllister turned with him, adding his own sarcastic rejoinder to Thyago. Then, in that moment of quiet when they all ignored the Brazilian, thinking the discussion over, he shot M'Kantu's daughter. T'Pei saw the woman fall and immediately dropped to a crouch, taking Tleilic with her. Shiarrael had managed to push her father into The Ktarian's arms, and Victor was between him and Thyago, meaning M'Kantu was safe for the moment. "Stay put," she whispered to Tleilic, as a tremor knocked her off balance. Crawling to the next rock, the Vulcan woman grabbed Daneel's arm. "Brace me," she hissed, and the Betazoid pushed her against the sandstone as she tried to get a clear shot at Thyago. He was faster though, and with a bright blast, the stone in front of them shattered, forcing them into an undignified scramble that made the Brazilian laugh and sneer "Nice try, Sheena." Distracted by Artim, Thyago turned away, and T'Pei looked around, assessing the situation. Artim was squarely in Thyago's sights. The Miran could do nothing extreme without being killed, but he could keep the other man's attention. Behind them, Captain M'Kantu, Doctor Dallas, the Ktarian woman, and the child were all occupied by Shiarrael's body. Ineffectual. The woman was dead, they would accomplish nothing by mourning her now. The human girl was crying, and T'Pei narrowed her eyes at the ineptitude shown in bringing a child into a situation such this. Cutter, to Thyago's left, was in an excellent position, but the Fruna'lin only seemed angry and distracted, asking Thyago in a shocked voice how long he had been working with K'aa. With disgust, T'Pei edged forward. It did not matter at all how long the insane man had been planning this. The only reason to talk to him at all now would be distract him until it possible to kill him. Paul McAllister appeared to understand that, but he was currently trapped under Thyago's foot. Wait. T'Pei stopped, studying Paul. The man kept shifting, slightly. Not enough to anger Thyago, given everything else going on, but enough to mask his more deliberate motions. She watched the bald man palm a phaser from his pocket, and out of the corner of her eye, saw Eve tense. The cyborg had seen it too. She might be fast enough to incapacitate the Brazilian, if they could distract him. The problem was she was standing immediately next to Cutter and Artim, and thus Thyago's focus was almost directly on her. Standing, T'Pei walked into the group, raising her hands to make it clear that she had no phaser. "Then all along, you have planned to kill us?" she said, feeling the man's eyes, then body, shift towards her. If that could give Paul and Eve enough time...Thyago looked at her and frowned in a childlike way, his voice rising in frustration. "Oh, I don't want to kill you. What would be the fun in that?" he began. As he continued his diatribe, T'Pei split her attention. Outwardly, she remained focused on Thyago, but the real focus of her attention was at his feet. T'Pei saw Paul's hand move at his side, towards the ground, and her muscles tensed. As Paul leapt up, the Vulcan dove to the side, tucking as she hit the ground. T'Pei would never know exactly what happened next, because she no desire to ask. She had heard Victor's voice, and suddenly his presence expanded, filling her with a terror she had never before experienced. The mental barriers that had once protected her from his aura were long gone, and she cowered in the dirt, certain that when the evil had consumed Thyago, it would come for her next. But somehow, it didn't. T'Pei heard the Brazilian's body hit the ground, and then the waves of fear began to ebb, her muscles unknotting until she could stand. Still shaking, she watched Victor pick up the phaser, turning it upon himself. The horror began to build again, but more gradually this time, and the Vulcan woman forced herself to remain calm, breathing deeply to slow her frenetic heartbeat. She was so focused on holding herself together that she did not notice that the others were moving towards the Guardian, did not hear James Corgan ask if Allison was ready to go through. It was only when Tleilic touched her back, pointing to the group at the arch and asking "Who is that human?" that the fear was completely subsumed by shock. That was Rebecca von Ernst. "We need to leave," she hissed to Tleilic. "That woman is highly unstable. She destroyed Earth." "Then why is that man embracing her?" "I am not sure," T'Pei answered, noting that the Rigelian was correct. The entire group was clustered around von Ernst, seemingly unconcerned as they watched her speak with her daughter and former husband. Here they were, mere moments away from traveling into the past on a mission of grave importance, and they were hesitating for a family reunion, with a murderer, nonetheless? Cutter lacked his usual impatience, still preoccupied with the ancient archway as if studying it would yield some answer he sought. Even Paul seemed caught up in the illogical behavior, the sound of his yelling carrying over the wind to her sharp Vulcan ears. M'Kantu and Cutter should have chosen more carefully, it seemed. How could these individuals hope to accomplish anything in the past if they would be overcome by emotion and unable to see what had to be done? Raising an eyebrow at that unpalatable realization, T'Pei's eyes settled on the man slumped over the body of his daughter. Despite the fact that he too was distracted by emotion, the Vulcan knew that he would be anything but ineffectual in 2385. In fact, he would likely be essential, if only as a way to garner legitimacy. "If they trust her, then we should not trust them," she murmured. "We will take Captain M'Kantu and go through the portal alone." "Recruitment" Captain Daren M'Kantu [2402] *** USS Galaxy *** "May I come in?" Arel sat down on the couch and waited as he ordered his meal from the "Tell me what happens to me in the future," She said. "Well," the older version of the man she knew said with a tired smile, "You're here to change it all, right? Then there's no reason not to tell "No coffee, then? Pity, it's quite good." He looked at her for a moment "No, old man, it's not," Arel growled. "I want specifics. I want to know Daren considered that for a forkful of meat, chewing slowly. "Ask She didn't have to think very long. "The end." "That's certainly one reason, yes," he agreed. "And if that, were, in "I suppose," Arel said. It felt like more than that though. "And "Everyone lost someone," Daren said quietly, his own losses apparent in She took a deep breath. "I am sorry for your loss, Sir, but you still "I don't know that that's particularly wise, Arel," he returned. "Just "Yes, I know the way time travel works, Admiral. Tell me anyway or I'll "Captain," Daren corrected gently. "Not Admiral. I was lucky enough to "I have my moments," She said tightly. "Details." He studied her a bit longer, took up his fork and knife again and "Mine." "First tell me why you want to know so badly, Commander," he said Arel glared at him. "I can't do my job if I'm going through every single Daren set his knife and fork down and looked up from his plate. "Very When he was finished, Arel nodded once. She stood up on shaky legs and "Thank you for telling me," She said hoarsely. "I doubt that you really mean that, Arel," he said sadly. "But it isn't "Of course," Arel said in an empty tone - her expression closer to her "On one condition," Daren said, his voice more like the Daren she'd Arel half turned. "That you give me your word that you won't let this happen. That you "You have my word," She said. "I will never let any of it happen." "Good," he said, smiling. "Welcome to the team. " off: takes place after 'Recruitment' "After the Storm" Arel Smith *** USS Galaxy *** The ceiling had slashes on it. He had seen some temper tantrums in his time but with the sheer amount Jaal took in the destruction and had second thoughts about seeing his "Go away," a voice said from the bedroom. And that was all the invitation Jaal needed to cross the threshold of Hurricane Arel had come to rest next to the closet, although not Jaal nodded once with pursed lips. "All right then, how about "Not hungry." "You gonna need help picking out new furnishings?" Arel looked up. She'd obviously been crying and her eyes tried to "I would be remiss in my duties if I left... not to mention our She snorted before looking back down again. Against his better judgment, Jaal sat on the floor about half a meter "I know that," She said angrily, looking up again. "But at the moment Jaal didn't say anything for a moment. "Nothing is slated for anything if we don't let those things happen," "He died, Jaal. He died and I wasn't there to save him. Damn it, he If Jaal's head could have sunk lower, it would have. How does one "He's not dead now, Arel," he told her quietly. "We have time to "Yes he will," Arel replied, her tone deadly. "He's going to live to "No one doubts that for an instant, Arel," Jaal told her, finally She stared at him. "Just because I'm not going to let it happen "I can honestly say, I've never heard anyone accuse of you such a "You're not a woman." He could have said, 'Obviously,' but that wouldn't help. He could have "So," he started slowly and cautiously, "What are you going to do about it?" "Fix it. Somehow," Arel said. "I don't know. I was waiting until I got Jaal looked around a moment. "Uhm... from the looks of things, you She didn't exactly smile but the tension in her face eased a bit. "Ya know," Jaal started with an earnestness that may have been absent 'At least I 'think' so,' he thought to himself, "... but I know you'd Arel nodded. "Thank you, Jaal." "Anytime," he answered smiling a little. She sighed as she looked around the room and then took his hands. "Do "Hard Landing" Lieutenant Elaithin Aria [2402] ---- The landing wasn't unexpected, at least, not nearly as much as the wall she slammed head first into. How anyone could walk upright through a trans-temporal portal and end up being flung out the other side a la Superman, Aria had absolutely no idea, but she supposed anything could happen. After all -- she'd walked through a trans-temporal portal; she was just lucky the glittering stars obscuring her vision weren't actually stars. "Why did it have to be a wall?" she murmured, rolling onto her back and covering her eyes with her hands as she lay prone on the hard decking of what looked to be a glittering discotheque revival, the music nothing more that loud ringing in her brain. "It's just mean." She understood that her very existence here was contrary to the natural order of things. She understood that there were consequences to such a disruption. But was the universe so spiteful of her that it had to punish with a concussion? How was it, anyway, that this space wasn't littered with half-dozen other bodies of her fellow time travelers, all moaning and writhing on the floor? Why was she the only one here in -- Where was she anyway? She distinctly remembered seeing the bridge of a Galaxy-class star ship directly in front of her, over Daren M'Kantu's shoulder as she followed the old Captain in. But this, this didn't feel like a bridge. This place was hard, cold, and empty of people. There wasn't a sound except for the gentle hum of energy through the conduits, and a slight vibration under the deck of which Operations should probably be made aware. It didn't sound good. Aria slowly opened her eyes, her vision gradually becoming something that resembled normal. She blinked a few times, urging her surroundings into focus. A Jefferies Tube junction. "Great. Fantastic," she muttered, carefully, turning herself over and slowly pushing herself to her hands and knees. The deck bucked aggressively under her, the ship began to spin. Aria moaned, feeling like she'd gotten ragingly drunk on some of Arel's bad Klingon alcohol and then, after a side of gagh, gotten on that ridiculous spinning apple ride that they had at the Martian's 'classic' fun fair. How many times had Connor insisted they go on that? They couldn't have been more than 8 at the time, but Verse Be was it awful... Aria rested her forehead down against her hands, trying to breathe, to compose herself. Prophets, please don't let me puke. "Ugh." It couldn't just be a bump on the head. Sure, it was a hard bump on the head, but this felt a little different than common nausea. Temporal displacia, perhaps. It probably wasn't a real condition, but Aria felt sure it should be. A heavy, hallow pit rested in the depths of her stomach, like something was missing inside of her and had been filled with dread. She was keenly aware this wasn't where she was supposed to be. Or, more aptly -- when she was supposed to be. Nothing felt right. Easing herself into an upright sitting position, she leaned against the wall, eyes closed until she felt the nausea beginning to pass. Slowly opening her eyes, she looked around. It was a Jefferies tube junction all right. Middle deck. Port side, if she remembered her specifications reports correctly. Which she did, of course. Photographic memory could, occasionally, be a blessing. It had been six years since she'd been on a Galaxy-class ship, and that one had undergone many a renovation, refit, and impromptu repair. But despite all that happened, the tubes never changed. And this was the mid 2380s, if everything happened the way it should. The Galaxy shouldn't be too far off from official specs. "What's the objective, Aria?" she demanded. Obviously, their group's larger mission was to change the future. End the atrocities. Greater good. Life, liberty, fraternity. All those grandiose things. And that was well and good but hers was a little more specific. "Find M'Kantu. Keep him safe. Keep him sane." More specific, perhaps, but easier? Not necessarily. Especially that last point. She flashed back to the look in his eyes when he stood over his daughter's unmoving body. His loss, his breakage was palpable. You didn't need to be psychically sensitive to feel it. "Alright. So how're you going to do that." She brushed her finger tip over her nose ridges a moment, thinking, drew it away to find a little bit of blood. She groaned, and followed the trail up to a small cut on her hairline. "This gets better and better. Wraiths-damned Guardian! Frak you too! What'd I ever do to you?" Carefully, she pushed herself to her feet, balancing herself against the wall. The spinning started again, bursts of light obscuring her vision, the dizziness almost sinking her back to the deck. She weathered it, however. "And you too, Mom! *This mission is bigger than it seems.* Thanks. Thanks a lot, really. Cryptic... Prophet-voodoo CRAP. Couldn't give me details, oh no, couldn't prepare me, couldn't say -- Frakin... Murdock's Ghost, I look like hell." She had come face to face with her image as it echoed to her through the dark reflective surface of one of the panels by the ladder. The gash was bigger than she'd expected it to be, and the blood had caked in her hair. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the stain on the decking, and Aria felt herself turning a little green at the realization. Blood never bothered her -- she could kill, fight, perform emergency medical aid in the field without a second though -- unless it was her own blood. Promptly, she turned and vomited, barely catching herself from falling over by grabbing the railing. "Sickbay," she murmured. "Sickbay is a must. Pull it together, Ari." The eldest Elaithin did her best to orient herself, picked a tube going toward the corridor, and began to crawl. It couldn't be more than a few meters to the next access way. Sickbay. Then the brig. The panel had the stardate in the right hand corner -- if she remembered, the Vulcan woman would be Captain of the Galaxy. T'Vara. She would be a stickler for protocol; travellers claiming to be from the future would get the brig-based welcome until everything cleared. Treated, the brig, reconnect with M'Kantu. And start watching that T'Pei woman. She had to stop moving for a moment, was barely able to feel her body. She could feel her blood pressure dropping, her face paling. "What a way to make an introduction," she muttered. "Mom would never have let this happen to her. Just another way that you don't meet expectations, Aria." She forced herself to keep going. "You can't even come out of a trans-temporal portal right, how can you expect to help save the future? How can you expect to do anything." She very nearly smacked right into the access door. Blearily, Aria stared at it a moment, then finally, fumbling, found the hatch door and all but tumbled out, a lanky collection of black-clad arms and legs. "Oof, that looked like it -- are -- oh frak, are you okay?" A face came into view, dimly. Aria couldn't really make out the features. She was too busy sinking into the floor, letting her consciousness slip up toward the Galaxy's ceiling. "Hang on, I'll get help. Medical emergency..." "Just Another Day" "New Beginnings" Glancing over the new double-sized quarters half filled with boxes and bagsshe realized that while'moving' was now technically over, The dreaded 'unpacking' phase had just begun. Still, now that the heavy stuff was over, Alli could actually enjoy decorating the new quarters she would be sharing with her mother, the recently retired Starship captain. Painting, designing and interior decorating was more of a joy than a job for the fashion minded young woman. "Trading spaces, eat your heart out." she mused to herself examining a large box labeled 'Cute knick knacs' "Gangway Luv." came the electronically modulated British accent from behind her prompting Allison to jump out of the way in barely enough time to avoid being run over by a large leather sofa. "Oops," Alli blushed as the sofa rumbled by, "Sorry Mary...just put it over by the windows for now." Obediently the large sectional altered course and with a gentle thud repositioned itself against the outer hull viewports. Muttering a few choice words to herself, the slate-grey form of a large sentient rock ground its way out from under the piece and slumped into the corner. "Ooo me blooming cankles," the horta moaned. "Please tell me thats the last of the big stuff dearie." "Totally Mary, "Alli assured her old roomate with an affectionate scritch under the feldspar, "Gawd but I dont know how we'd have managed without you." "Oh poo." Mary dismissed the thought. "You'd have batted your pretty eyelids at the first big ensign to happen along and lured him into your web." Wincing slightly from the blast of heat as the Horta's drink arrived, Allison gingerly inspected the nearest stack of boxes. "Jeez Mar, little early in the shift for that dont you think?" Rumbling quietly to herself , the rocks only response was a judicious slurp of the molten slag metals and a hearty sigh. "Yeah...Now thats the stuff." "Whatever...just dont spill any on the carpet...last time it ate through three decks before it cooled. Mary had been an awesome roomate this past year aboard the Galaxy, but now with Rebecca's new status requiring constant overseeing, it was time to get a larger space. Still, after the signles quarters, it felt odd to be moving into a new room, let alone such a huge double suite like this one. Families it seemed rated better treatment than mere crewmen Hortas and teenagers. Families.... Whirling around, Alli suddenly realized why it had gotten so quiet all of a sudden. "Oh shoot Mary...she's gone! Did you see where my mother went?" Had she eyebrows, the Horta would have raised one as she nonchalantly took another sip, "See? I was under the sofa luv." Poking her head out into the corridor, a quick glance up and down the hall revealed no sign of Alli's missing person. "Zark me....she frazzing wandered off again...this is getting real old." "Relax duckie...she's on a starship...not like she can go very far." Mary sniffed, swirling her almost empty drink sadly. "Hel-lo...Mary, Starships have airlocks and stuff like that and its a bit chilly outside." "So....they're all encoded to prevent accidents. Starfleet has sent curious children into space before." Alli rolled her eyes and stepped out into the hall, trying to decide which way to go first. "Encoded...right. You remember my mother the math quiz? Not many children can do polymorphic fractal coding in their head. She may only have a five minute attention span and the memory of a gnat, but she's still got a planet sized brain for numbers and codes and stuff. The first night we got back from Chandra V she almost hacked her way into the Intelligence offices because she thought she saw a bunny go in there. Help me look please." "Oh very well...." the rock sighed, disposing of her beverage with a sizzling hiss. "But by this time tomorrow you better have her fixed with a tracker like the rest of the 'children' aboard. ********** Six decks down from from their new quarters, the skinny elfin form of Rebecca von Ersnt merrily skipped her way down the deserted hallways. She had tried hard....really hard to keep up with the furniture movers like she promised to, but when the shiny turbolift suddenly opened up as she passed by, it had been entirely too tempting to pass up. Now half a ship away and enjoying the neat little echoes of her own voice off the bulkheads, the young redhead had quite forgotten what she was supposed to be doing in the first place. " 'ere comes Peter Cotton-tail....Hopping down the bunny trail....Hop hop hop...something something something....Christmas is on its way!" Stopping in mid hop, Rebecca frowned, scrunching her freckled nose in worry. Christmas? That wasnt the way the song went was it. She furrowed her brows in concentration, but for the life of her could not remember the lyrics. A distant part of Rebecca's brain realized that this wasnt a normal feeling....she ALWAYS remembered the words. Didnt she? Scratching her head, she inadvertently revealed the small silver device clamped to the base of her skull just under the hairline. memories and experiences that once threatened to drown her on a daily basis. Still...it made it hard to remember the Bunny song. Oh well...shrugging her skinny shoulders, Rebecca resumed her hopping dance and proceeded gaily down the hall, "Here comes Peter Cottontail....whatever whatever something something....la la la la...Ooooh." The sudden opening of a door caused Rebecca to pause in mid hop as a strange blue light sparkeled from within. "Oooo...pretty." she mused and hippity-hoppitied through the opening, part of her brain registering a distant familiarity. "Whoa..." she breathed in opened mouthed amazement, "FISHIES!!" Almost eight years ago, a young ensign von Ernst, eager to hide her self away from the crowds often sought out the peace and tranquility of the deck 14 Cetacean Ops Laboratories. Essentially great space-going aquariums, the million+ gallon tanks of Cetacean ops served as homes for a variety of terrestrial and alien sealife. The stars of the show however were undoubtedly the huge mated pair of humpback whales...Amos and Andy. "Fishie fishie fishie" Rebecca gushed tapping excitedly on the thick floor to ceiling transparent aluminum 'glass'. Floating somberly in their aquatic home, if the great mammals recognized their pint sized fan club member at all, they gave no sign save a leisurely roll past the window. "Fishie!" Rebecca slapped the glass again happily, blissfully unaware of her mistake in biological terminology. Truth be told, even as a young ensign possessing her full memories, she frequently reduced the great beasts to 'fishie' status. Standing there, nose pressed to the fogged glass, the former starship captain failed to take note of the door sliding open behind her. "Oh well heavens to Betsy, there you are dearie." Mary Poppins heaved a great rocky sigh, "Your daughter is worried sick about you Captain." Turning with a jump, Rebecca's face lit up at the sight of her newest friend. "Doggy!" she squealed rushing over to pat the warm unyielding surface of Mary's 'skin'. "Hi hi doggy, I missed you!" "Oh bloody hell." the Horta sighed, guiding the thin human from the room with a gentle nudging pseudopod. "Not a doggy dear for the umpteenth time...Im a Horta." "Bald Doggy. Doggy has no hair." Rebecca happily slapped the rock enjoying the fun little sounds. Mary would later plead ignorance how Rebecca suffered a burned little tush from attempting to clamber aboard the 'doggy' for a ride. Still a visit to Dr. Burton for some soothing cream and some embarrassed worrying from Allison over how she was actually going to apply the stuff was payment enough for the Horta's service. Mary was going to miss the crazy blonde roomate, the Horta realized with a sniff. Oh sure they'd get together for lunch and such, but it wouldnt be the same as being roomates. Still, there were benefits. With the place to herself, there would be more visits from her geologist boyfriend Percy Preston, and that was nothing to sneeze at. "Come along dearie," Mary said at last, "Lets go find your daughter." "Protecting the Visitors" Counsel Ayanna Hinanant Location: Hinanant's Office ========================= "It takes a good deal of character to judge a person by his future instead of his past" Unknown The quote came to mind as Ayanna read the digital memo in front of her. Specific parts of laws concerning temporal contact 'issues' ran through her head. She had not much experience in such matters, but she felt that overwhelming legal protective urge strike concerning these people that were contained in the Romulan 'quarters'. Placing a visit on her mental list to do, she turned her attention back to the mass amount of incoming Star Fleet messages. Most had a drone like tone to them. A gentle reminder about continuing education classes, a inquiry as to if she would be interested in tele teach for a university on Betazed, and the usual hodgepodge of office memos. Her eyes stopped short at the next communication then rolled upward as she realized she had been dumped on for another environmental case. "Starfleet Vs. Maya Industries. Three judge panel. They are coming here?" She thought that the other two judges coming here made no sense. Why wouldn't they just telecommute like they had done in the past? Especially with a large company such as Maya involved. She had seen their name come up plenty of times before in litigation, however they always managed to hire the better attorney to be able to sway the jury. In fact, in her opinion that's all that juries were good for, picking who had the better attorney. Ayanna preferred three judge panels verses a jury of some one's peers. That in and of itself was a total joke. Sighing, she inwardly realized that her eyes were bloodshot. There was always something that came up the day of a first date. If it wasn't a zit in her teenage years, it was some other malady that teased her even as an adult. Her close friend Ophelia recommended that she start expanding her 'social' circle and at first, Hinanat was perfectly fine with her little circle of work personnel. They kept her amused while she helped the wheels of Starfleet justice spin in a smooth manner. Clearing the legal thoughts just for once, she pulled the drawer open on her desk and extracted her eye drops. Placing two in each eye, she blinked and sighed outwardly at the relief she felt. Long hours combined with little sleep wore on her features and was not the best face to put forward on this first meeting. Truth be told, it was actually a fourth meeting. They met six months ago, just as she arrived on the Galaxy and it was one of those flaming firework relationships. They thought they had it all, did 'everything' they could with the chemistry they felt, then sat back at the end of the day and realized that they had gone warp speed without really knowing each other. Out of curiosity, she had wished that he was well one day through a short message and he responded back. Chemistry being as it was between them, Ayanna continued the conversation which flowed and one thing led to another. They both agreed to take things at a 'snail's pace' this time around to see if something could actually develop. Her first instinct, which was not her most ladylike, was to kidnap him and strap him to her bed for a few days. Realizing she was spending perfectly good mental time on menial thoughts, the judge returned to her memos. Her first priority was to present herself to the 'visitors' and legally protect them the best she knew how. "Counsel?" Her young male ensign assistant popped his head into her office. "Just who I wanted to see. Clear the rest of my 'appointments' for this morning. I'm headed down to the Romulan quarters on the ship...where ever the hell they are..to talk to a few crew members." Her mind turned. Where they still crew members? She outwardly sighed. It was a times like these she wished the law was black and white instead of shades of grey. In some aspects, Ayanna felt like she was going to be setting precedent in this situation. "Yes Sir." Hinanant offered him a weary smile before standing, gathering her PADD and finding the nearest route to those that needed her. ~Scanning for Vocabulary Words~ Cutter Kara'nin Daren M'Kantu [2402]
****** Daren and M'Kantu appeared together, materializing in the air in an Cutter paused the muted video, a faint smile on his face. It was the He turned in his chair to face Victor Krieghoff, who was standing behind "Well?" Victor asked. Cutter's eyebrows perked up slightly. "Interesting," he offered. Victor looked at the avian impassively. "Are they real," he clarified. Those blue feathered eyebrows perked up again, in the same exact way. Victor let out a breath through his nostrils, frowning, subtly, with his Cutter shrugged with a smugness that he seemed to be trying to "I don't know," Victor replied, "I was hoping you could run some test, "Please don't say chronitons." Victor purposefully closed his mouth. "All right." Cutter closed his eyes and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "I hate "A fundamental particle, associated with time," Victor offered. "So, no?" Cutter asked, and waited for Victor's frown to deepen. But, Victor looked at Cutter, then turned his glance over to the center of "Well, the first problem is that there is no coherent theory of "But, despite that, most of these theories propose something along the "Like us?" Cutter shook his head. "We're temporally massless. It's a bad analogy, "Now, chronitons are the gauge bosons of the chronal field. In the Victor reached up and gently rubbed the bridge of his nose with his "Again, I could, but I won't find anything," Cutter said. "This Victor opened his mouth, but Cutter answered for him. "No, you don't. "So, they're not from the future?" Victor attempted to summarize. "I don't know," Cutter said, "I can't say without a fully developed Victor frowned again. "Could you try?" "Very well, but you would have better luck whatever medical scans "Just scan the bridge, Cutter," Victor ordered. "And then, scan each of ================================================= On the other side of the door sat Daren M'Kantu. The Daren M'Kantu of He certainly looked older than Cutter remembered. His hair was now solid Daren turned slowly, his reaction to the door opening very much delayed. Cutter squinted his eyes, studying the human for a moment before turning "Yes, sir," the guard nodded. "Don't call him sir," Daren responded automatically. "Don't call me Eventually, Cutter dragged his gaze back to the guard. "What has he done "Nothing, si--, um..." the guard stuttered. Eventually, he decided to "Desks do nothing," Cutter replied simply, his voice even, but still "Um..." the guard stalled, glancing sideways at his captive. "He's just "I prayed, as well," Daren offered, now having rotated the chair to face "Yes, he prayed, too. On the ground, there," the guard confirmed. Cutter nodded and stepped forward into the room, to begin his scan. As "Yes," Cutter replied. Then, he stopped, and looked up, away from his Daren nodded. "You haven't aged a day. Not a single instant." Cutter narrowed his eyes, as if he were angry. But then, he looked back to his data sheepishly, like he was embarrassed, and continued to scan for several more moments. But, eventually, he asked, "How did you travel back through time?" "I can't tell you," Daren responded. Cutter sighed, "I understand the need to conserve certain types of Daren nodded, but only repeated, "I can't tell you. I have it on your "What happened to me?" "I don't know," Daren said, shaking his head. "Angelienia said you were "Go through?" Cutter echoed. Daren smiled, but offered no more explanation. Cutter grunted his =========================================== "Well?" "I told you there would be no signs of irregular temporal movement." "So, you found nothing," Victor asked. "Not quite," Cutter replied. "I found no signs of irregular temporal "So..." "So, that means I don't know. Again, I would recommend you scan them "You think they're telling the truth," Victor asked. Cutter nodded. "I do." "Why?" The avian shifted his wings behind him. He looked uncomfortable, like he Victor studied him for a moment, curious at the explanation of instinct "I pieced it together from things they said," Cutter replied. "They're "Eleven?" Victor asked. "They're only eight of them." "I thought there were eleven," the avian said. "Or twelve?" "Twelve? What makes you think there were that many?" Victor asked, rising Cutter looked at the human curiously. "Then, I must have simply Victor and Cutter eyed each other warily, something itching beneath the Victor's eyes never moved off the scientist throughout the entire "Eleven, you say?" Victor asked quietly after he'd dropped his hand. "Then "Birthdays are Messy Occasions" Rear Admiral Elaithin Jii --- 3 August, 2385 --- CO's Quarters --- "Well," Jii said, collapsing down on the sofa as he surveyed the chaos that decorated the family's living quarters. The cornucopia of unbridled avarice was evident by the confetti, the multi-colored balloons in various states of inflation, cake plates and empty cups, wrapping paper torn to shreds, and the pieces of children's games scattered across all known carpeted regions -- and probably well beyond. Factor in juice stains, cake remnants and a toppled cup of milk the cat was currently lapping from, and it was safe to say the party had been a raucous success. "I'd say that went well." His wife only moaned, dropping her head against his shoulder as she closed her eyes. "Why did I allow my mother to talk me into that?" she demanded, her voice a long, exasperated sigh. "Hey. At least she didn't manage to come by that pony she kept talking about," Jii pointed out. "Can you imagine." "We'd probably need new furniture." "And we'd never heard the end of it from this one," Jordan said, resting a hand on their daughter sleeping against her. "I just don't understand why the holodeck wasn't good enough." She lifted her head and looked at the mess surrounding them. "No muss, no fuss. You're done and poof! End program, all is well." "The need for 'authenticity' as I recollect," Jii sad, draping his arm around her shoulders and hugging her close to kiss the top of her head. "They only turn four once." "That's the same excuse she used when they turned three. You think I would have learned from the last time. We're going to spend hours cleaning this up. And she's not going to lift a finger to help, you can bet on that..." "We've always known your mother was a piece of work. But I prefer this kinder, gentler incantation. It makes a bigger mess, but I spend less time tryin' to resist the urge to shoot her." He settled deep into the sofa, leaning his head back to rest against the cushions. His now four-year-old son moved in his sleep next to him, clutching a large sock monkey with beady eyes that frankly, gave Jii the creeps -- but it was now Connor's most favorite possession, an affection that would last either a few more hours or well into adulthood, it was impossible to say. Jii was definitely rooting for the former. If he had to watch his son take Arel the sock monkey to the Academy... (Arel, for "aunt" Arel, the one responsible for said monkey -- he had to remember to kick Smith's ass next time he saw her or at least to find some similarly ridiculous toy for Korvin's next birthday). He rested a hand on the kid's back. "Can you believe they're four?" he asked. "I surely cannot," Jordan stated. "I'm not old enough to have a four year old, look at me." "Much less two." Jii smirked. "Prophets. Can you believe I'm almost 40?" "Old man," she said, shaking her head as she moved into a more horizontal position on the couch, leaning against him. She hoisted the sleeping Aria with her, brushing the girl's dark hair away from her peaceful face as the child settled over her mother, head on Jordan's shoulder. "This aging thing still baffles me. We've been together how long now?" "Not as long as it seems," he muttered. "Hey." "In the good way, Love." He tightened his grasp around her, hugging her close. "Forever's a good thing sometimes." She smirked and gently pinched his side, dispelling her husband’s somewhat cheesy sentimentalism without breaking the meaning. Her attack was warded off with minimal effort as Jii took her hand in one of his and held it still. They lay like that for a moment, listening to the heavy breathing from their sleeping children. It was quiet, comfortable. She wasn’t immune to the sentimentality, the romanticism; Jordan completely understood where her husband was coming from, shared his thoughts. This was home, this was peace. It was always hard to break the spell, to pull away from this, from him, for a moment, for a day, for longer. They'd always had that, at least to a certain degree and from the very beginning. They simply fit together in a way neither could ever begin to explain -- a way that rarely made sense because they were so very different. But they saw a side of one another few others did. And even in the worst of times... They'd only become closer over the past couple years. Understandably. And it only made it harder. "I have to leave again," she whispered. He was silent, and then drew a slow, deep breath. "Yeah. I figured," he said, finally in a sigh. "Something to do with the dream?" The dream -- nightmare -- vision -- whatever it was -- she'd had the night before woke her with such a start she all but threw him out of bed with the force of it. It happened every now and again, didn't mean it was any less jarring. At least there was no blood this go-round; last time, he'd managed a large gash on his forehead -- Dr. Mike gave him holy hell about it. And what could he say? They were still keeping the bulk of Jordan's... alterations under wraps. The necklace, the branding mark on her back, some other effects, they were obvious. But they kept the other pieces quiet. She nodded slightly. "I received a report just before the party. Seems a group of time travelers have shown up on the Galaxy. They're sending a DTI agent, but Victor and Marty want a second pair of eyes there." "So you have to go?" Jii asked. "What is it that you're always telling me about delegating?" "DTI is good at shutting people out," Jordan said. "You know that. I have the... position, I guess, to carry the big stick. It's better if I go." "I think you're just nostalgic for the old haunt." He was trying not to be cross, she could hear it in his tone. He understood the arrangement, knew that the price for her not being on Earth was that she would have to travel; it was the cost of two people highly involved in their work trying to be highly involved in each other. "We all got used to you being home." "I got used to being home. But... we've discuss this before, Jii," she murmured. "We know each other's position. I don't want to go, either, but it's my job. And I know what happens when I don't do it." "You have to stop blaming yourself for that, Kit," he said. "What were you going to do? You were dead." He'd long ago gotten over the strangeness of that statement, though every now and then he had the sense of the oddity. "Yeah." It was a nearly inaudible whisper. She brushed a lock of hair off her daughter's forehead and Aria shifted a little bit with a deep and tired sigh, throwing an arm over her mother's stomach. "But I'm certainly not going to let it happen while I'm alive. At least we won't be on the other side of the Galaxy from one another, this time around. We'll be able to talk in real time." "Assuming everything continues to be quiet," he said. "The stillness is making me twitchy." He shifted in emphasis, shrugging his broad shoulders as though escaping from an invisible grasp. "They have to be planning something." "Maybe," Jordan agreed. "Maybe they're as tired as we are." "I doubt it." "Well. We're working on it." "I hate it when you say stuff like that," he moaned, wrinkling his nose. "It always means there's something nefarious afoot." "And this is the same reason you're no good at chess," she said, slapping his knee as she pushed herself up, pulling her daughter up with her as she stood. She always marveled at the children's ability to sleep through anything. Aria didn't even stir. "There's more to effective strategy than storming the castle, guns a blazing." He grinned as he followed her lead, lifting Connor, and picking up the cursed sock monkey as it dropped from his son's grasp. "But it's not as much fun, wife," he half-complained. "And what's the good of saving the universe if no one knows you did it." "Sometimes, I half wish you actually believed that," Jordan replied as she moved into the twin's room. Even at four, it was easy to see their distinct personalities. Aria's side of the room was littered with toys, stuffed animals, balls, and colorful, swirling drawings that she posted on the wall. It was the room of an active child, one who flitted from interest to interest with the energy of a sun. Her ballet slippers, her most treasured objects, the one interest that had endured and seemed destine to continue to, hung on the wall when they weren't in use, though it was rare for them to not be on her feet. She had a framed print of the Bajoran dance school's performance of a classic Bajoran ballet, the dancers arched gracefully in the midst of their movement. Connor's side, on the other hand, was tidy, orderly, looked like a museum showcase of a child's room. He kept it that way on his own, didn't like things to be somewhere they weren't supposed to be. He lined his shoes up neatly, by his bed, never liked them to be in the closet. He had two stuff toys -- matching bears from his grandmother, though the sock monkey from Arel would likely join in. His drawings were orderly. Geometric shapes he would spend hours coloring in carefully so he didn't disrupt the thick black lines, his tiny face furrowed in concentration, brow knit, tongue between his teeth. He had posters of stars and on the small table pushed against the foot of his bed were pieces of a construction set that he would spend tremendous amount of time studying, taking apart and reassembling. It wouldn't be too much longer before they'd have to look into separating them, giving them each their own space. But Jordan was going to put it off as long as possible. Aria would probably do okay, but Connor needed his sister's boisterous nature; it balanced him out, helped to keep him from falling deep into the isolated shell that threatened to overtake him, and modern medicine could only do so much. "Yeah, sometimes I wish I did too." He laid his son down and pulled the deep blue covers over him, tussling Connor's hair as he tucked the sock monkey into place. "Why couldn't Arel send him a bat'leth or something?" "That's for the next birthday," Jordan said, and kissed Aria's forehead. The girl blinked up at her blurrily, and muttered something before rolling over and tucking up into a ball under the blankets. She shook her head, smiling. "Though, he'd probably give it to Ari and try to take apart my tricorder again." Jordan crossed to Connor, kissing him as well, then she looked up at her husband. "You three going to be okay? Do you want me to take them?" "They'll be fine," Jii said. "I might not be. But they will." Jordan's mouth pulled into a small line; part of her had wished he'd agreed, that the children would be going with her, but she didn't want to push it. It was probably better for them, truth be told, to stay in place. Even given the dangers of the line. Connor, especially, needed his routine, and while Aria would probably find the trip exciting beyond imagine, she didn't know how long she'd be gone and didn't want to separate them too much more than a few days. Quietly they slipped out the room and closed the door. She moved and wrapped her arms around him; he pulled her up into a tight embrace. "The mess isn't going anywhere," Jii said. "Yeah, that's the problem," she muttered into his chest. "You leave in the morning?" "That's the plan." "Then I think it can hold a couple hours," he said, grinning, bending his knees so he could kiss her. "But don't you go thinking that this moment of weakness is a sign that it's okay for you to sneak out and leave me along with this. " She smirked as she draped her arms over his shoulders, her large hazel eyes staring into his, shining devilishly. "Why Admiral Elaithin. The thought had never occurred to me," she lied. "Who do you think I am?" "The worst liar in the 'Verse," he said, lifting her up. "Pretty sad state, isn't that supposed to be your job?" "I'm nothin' but an intrepahd repahtah." She grinned as she thickened her classic Bostonian accent. "Now how 'bout that exclusive?" Artim Shivar (2385) "The Bad Kid" For the longest time Artim had tried to be a good kid. Aside from a Still, he knew things would only blow up if he ignored it so Artim "Feel free to speak at any time," Brian calmly prodded, carefully "Well, I honestly don't know what to say. I don't even know what the The reference to Lieutenant Kara'nin was obvious, and the tensions Brian cocked his head slightly. "What do you mean?" "Cutter has a glare that could slice through a meter of solid duranium "Except we're here to talk about you, not Lieutenant Kara'nin. What "Because he gets away with it. He can treat the whole ship like trash "*That* is the problem," Elessidil answered. "More than one person in "No...I'm..." Artim had started to lie by saying everything was fine "OK...there is something. It's not a popularly known thing but I had Brian could sense the story was heading toward a tragic resolution. A tear began to appear on Artim's brow and he blinked it away. "She "Artim...I'm very sorry," Brian said sympathetically. "It's never "I spoke to her aunt after Romulus was liberated...and..." Artim "And you've carried this inside all this time? Have you talked to Artim wiped his sleeves across his eyes to dry them and then continued "Yeah. And its not something I really felt comfortable telling anyone "It's not important what anyone else thinks. The point is, the "Not in the way you describe. Only people I can think of that I even "Any idea why?" "I don't know why. I'd heard a rumor from another scientist that her It occurred to Brian that Romulans in general, but especially those "I....I don't know if I can.", Artim responded honestly. He really Brian nodded slightly. "It's okay, Artim. We don't have to talk Tears started to form in Artim's eyes and he uncharacteristically "You've suffered a big loss, it's going to take some time for you to "Well, it would be a start I suppose." Artim chuckled a bit. "One more thing... OOC: Happens concurrently with 'Transitions' “Welcome Back... In Time...” Captain Daneel Olivaw (2402) ==Jaxom’s Quarters== Jaal had just gotten out of the shower when he thought he’d heard “Let me get this straight,” Jaal held the phaser on Daneel from the “Yes, that’s right,” Daneel answered calmly. His mental senses were on “From 2402?” “That’s right.” “Give me one good reason to not call security right now and have you Daneel sighed. “We have to fix the future Jaal. There are things that Jaal gritted his teeth. He desperately wanted to believe this … “It’s the only way,” Daneel tried to explain. He had no reason why “What makes you so sure you’re supposed to prevent them in the first Daneel shook his head. “Stop using double negatives. I hate that.” “It proves a point. Two wrongs don’t make a right.” Daneel sighed again. “I can’t believe you’re being so hard headed about this.” “I have reason to be,” Jaal stated firmly. “Some things shouldn’t be Now Daneel raised one eyebrow curiously. “Really? How do you know Jaal answered while finally lowering the phaser, “How can you be so “Imagine that.” Daneel smiled now, “The biggest prankster in the “You haven’t answered my question.” Daneel’s expression darkened. “Trill… is in… the Breen’s hands. It has Jaal’s eyes narrowed angrily. “You’re serious?” The Betazoid sensed a shift in the Trill’s emotions. It was the shift “I’m afraid so.” Daneel answered, “There are,” he continued, “Efforts Jaal inhaled deeply, “If you’re really Daneel, the one I know, how Daneel ran down a list of some of their more difficult practical jokes “Tell me where you are right now,” Jaal challenged. It was classified information but Jaal and Daneel were such friends a Jaal’s eyes widened. “All right. Now what?” “I need to find out where the rest of the time traveling landing party “Let me get dressed.” A few moments later, Jaal was back in his uniform. He’s contacted When she confirmed something actually ‘had’ happened she asked why. He told her he found an errant visitor. She told him where to take him. Jaal closed the connection. “Let’s go.” “You know you can’t tell anyone that I’ve told you anything,” Daneel “Tell anyone what?” Jaal asked innocently. Daneel smiled and shook his head as they stepped out into the corridor… "The Assassination of Admiral Hoth" Captain Thama Xia'Fen, "Walk Through the Fire" Lt. Commander T'Pei
T'Pei's eyes settled on the man slumped over the body of his daughter. Despite the fact that he too was distracted by emotion, the Vulcan knew that he would be anything but ineffectual in 2385. In fact, he would likely be essential, if only as a way to garner legitimacy. "If they trust her, then we should not trust them," she murmured. "We will take Captain M'Kantu and go through the portal alone." Skirting the group around von Ernst, T'Pei crept to the slouched man and touched his shoulder. "We are going now, sir," she said, gently but firmly. He looked up at her, his earlier resolve entirely gone. Now he just looked like a man who had lost everything that mattered. T'Pei swallowed, her own resolve cracking slightly at the thought of causing any more pain to a man she greatly respected. "I am...sorry, sir," she offered. Briefly, his eyes flickered back into focus. "I know,” he said in a cracked monotone, pursing his lips. “She just...she always felt she had to pro..." His voice caught, and he looked back down at Shiarrael, nodding slowly. "It is my turn then, to protect her," he said after a long moment. Turning back to give Tleilic instructions, T'Pei found the Rigelian had not moved from their previous location. Instead, he stared down, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes wide and frightened. "Tleilic--" she called, but the delay of listening to Daren had cost her, because at that moment the whine of a transporter interrupted her, depositing K'aa in their midst. Again, an enormous wave of fear washed over her as Victor confronted him, but she was expecting it, and was able to keep her eyes open, watching as Victor seemed to swell in size before the Gorn. The air around him pulsed, glowing a sickly, radioactive green, and T'Pei bent over, dry-heaving, wondering if the others could see what she saw. Time and space blurred through the fog of green terror. In desperation, T'Pei reached inside herself, relying on pure animal instinct to keep herself moving. Phaser fire crackled through the air, barely missing M'Kantu--she was not sure where it had come from, but she knew, deep in her gut she knew that she had to protect him. So she ran, pushing herself across the sand through shear force of will to drag him behind the Guardian, to safety. Tleilic was gone, she could no longer see him, did not know what had distressed him before. What she did know was that they had to go, now. More than before, she felt certain that she must leave the others behind, even Cutter. They were so occupied in fighting amongst themselves, it was clear that they would only hinder her in the past. Forcing herself to focus through the pain caused by Victor's aura, she looked around, hunting for Tleilic. Despite the chaos, she located him quickly, well behind the Guardian, far removed from everyone else. Why had he run so far away? She could not see his face, but he was hunched over, in pain. Was he also lost inside the green fog? She would have to choose. If she went to retrieve Tleilic, she would have to leave M'Kantu alone, risk him being killed by the violence that had erupted all around them. If she took M'Kantu and went through the portal, there was a chance K'aa would detonate his weapon before Tleilic could make it through. With only one of them, her plan would have to change--would perhaps not succeed. The question was--which loss would make that already small chance for success even less likely? Without M'Kantu, it was possible that nobody would listen to her. Without Tleilic...she would not be able to create more beads to give to her past self, but she still possessed the others. They would suffice, if necessary. T'Pei spared one last regretful glance at the Rigelian and his unborn child, who might die here because she had coerced him into coming. Then, decision made, she grabbed M'Kantu's arm and propelled him towards the Guardian. Cognizant of the phaser fire off to her right, she edged towards the column until she and the shell-shocked man were standing in front of the portal, the bridge of the Galaxy floating tantalizingly close. Holding his hand tightly, she braced herself to leap through the portal-- ---and felt a hand grabbed her arm. "Leaving without us?" Karyn Dallas asked from behind her. T'Pei's first impulse was to jump anyway. Even with her metal legs, Karyn would not have been able to stop her from pulling Daren through, but she stopped. There was no way to close the Guardian, and Karyn could jump after her. And then there would be additional questions to answer. It was easier to answer them now. "It is dangerous here," she said, turning slightly, although she kept a firm hold on the Captain. "I am endeavoring to keep the Captain safe." "You were going to leave without us," the woman cried indignantly. "What about our safety? The portal could have closed after you!" She had moved forward, and now, she too had a hand on M'Kantu. "This man is the key to gaining the trust of the Galaxy crew of 2385. Thus, his safety is far more important than your safety, or mine," T'Pei responded coldly. Karyn stared back at her with icy eyes, and T'Pei wondered if she would have to incapacitate the woman to make it through the portal. Suddenly, the deep voice of the Guardian resonated out of her very bones, the intensity of the sensation almost making her legs collapse. "I AM WAITING!" it bellowed. Regaining her focus as the painful vibration faded, T'Pei saw Cutter take M'Kantu's arm, and behind him, she saw Tleilic picking his way back towards the group. If she could make it to him, then she could ensure he made it though the portal. But Karyn was there, moving towards M'Kantu with purpose, and that made T'Pei's choice clear. Inserting herself between the approaching woman and the captain, she took his arm, nodding once to her oldest friend. "I will accompany him," she said. Cutter nodded, and with a tight grip on Daren's arm, T'Pei leapt into nothingness. "A very Alli Easter" "No thanks," the security officer started to wave the offer away, "What I really need is a......wait.....did you say Easter Special?" "Thats right sir." The girls grin was positively plastered on her face, spreading from cheek to glitter speckled cheek. (4 years in a war torn alternate future had done nothing to diminish the natural genetic cuteness of Allison von Ernst.) "We here in the Armory are commemorating the holiday season by offering extra special deals on top of our already great low low price firearms and firearms accessories!" "You're offering an Easter Special....on firearms?" "And firearm accessories sir." Alli noted with a wink, and motioned towards the set of droopy bunny ears she wore atop her head. "We here in the Armory like to say your only partly dressed if you don't supplement your phasers and photons with the finest in accessory laser sights and jumbo-sized power packs!" Sure this was some sort of joke, the Security officer, looked around the big armored room. He noticed for the first time that the normally bare walls were festively decorated in soft pastel bunting, and in the corner a cardboard cutout bunny wielding a large automatic weapon urged onlookers to supersize their weapons choice. THE EASTER BUNNY SAYS: TIS THE SEASON FOR OVERKILL! Looking closer he noted a small sign on the Bunny's rifle: FOR DISPLAY PURPOSES ONLY "Weapons....for Easter?" he asked at last. "Yes sir!" Alli bobbed her ears eagerly. "Easter....Resurrection of Christ ands all that? Weapons?" "That's be the one," she smiled. "As in the Prince of Peace good will to men? And you're running a special on guns?" Giving the officer a knowing smile, Alli motioned him to lean in closer over the counter. She made as if to share a secret. "Peace through superior firepower dude." she winked knowingly. The officer thought that one through, giving the little cardboard bunny an other once over. " I find that....obscene somehow." With an exasperated sigh, Allison let the toothy grin fade from her glittery cheeks. Positive attitudes it seemed had a limit. "Ok...look Bucko," she grated, "I dont write the spuffing copy, I just read the lines. You come in here for a gun or what?" 5 foot 6 and 115 pounds of yummy von Ernst goodness. Dr. Burton had warned the 20 year old that she was still dangerously malnourished from her jaunt to the future, but all Allison knew was that she was finally able to fit into her 'skinny jeans'. A little malnutrition in the name of hotness was a small price to pay. Looking up and down the unorthodox ensemble of peppermint striped leggings and frilly miniskirt....not to mention the little headband with drooping seasonal bunny ears, Moe frowned. "Your out of uniform sister." he announced at last, deciding on the path of least resistance. Alli cocked her head to one side, causing one of the bunny ears to flop cutely across her face. "Uniform? Sorry bucko...I'm a civilian contractor now. Firearms specialist on extended duty to the USS Galaxy. She flashed a shiny laminated card. "See, my Daddy set the whole thing up himself.....aint it zarky?" He shook his head to clear those thoughts as he focused on the little ID card. "Your Daddy is James Corgan?" "Yup." "Commander Corgan the Security Chief." "Yup again." "He made you an Armory Specialist?" Rolling her eyes Alli dropped her chin into her palm and replied wistfully. "Well gee...I know I asked for a pony for my birthday instead, but all he could afford was the Armory position." she paused to let the sarcasm seep in. "Duh....are you going to order a weapon now or not?" "Whatever...I dont have time for this. Just give me a Phaser Type II, I got duty in 15 minutes." "Phaser II, yessir excellent choice sir." Alli happily tapped away at buttons on her register. "Yessir. Type II. Symbol of empire it is dont ya know? My Daddy did a speech recently on the Type II. We have copies of it available on holocube if you like. " "Errrr.....no thanks. Just the phaser thank you." Alli pouted, "Its in surround-sound." "Reeeally." Moe stressed, "Its okay. Please." "Fine." Any hint of Easter cheer disappeared from Alli's face, and with quick jerky movements that set her bunny ears a jiggling, she haughtily filled out the phaser requisition. "Here's you're zarking phaser gun. I hope you shoot yourself in the foot with it." Holstering the device the guard shook his head wearily. "Look sister...Im just guarding some VIPs that arrived up in the old Romulan suite." he explained. "Meet them yet?" "VIPs?" Alli crossed her arms over her chest still in a huff. "Do i look like I've been hanging out with frazzing alien big shots or whatever? I didnt know we even had anybody new on board. What are they like? Some big slimy bug headed weirdos?" "No," Moe shook his head. "They're human I think. I dunno, Captain T'vara was light on details, but apparently they got some sort of Presidential seal of approval." "Presidential?" Alli scoffed as he left. "Ha! Like I never even got a chance to vote." "Getting to knoooooooow yooooou..." Lt. JG T'Pei
T'Pei was starting to recall why she did not normally socialize outside of work. She was abysmally bad at it. Spending time with Lieutenant Hunter had seemed the most logical way to better understand her, and develop some level of trust. Dinner was a natural option: ten forward was a neutral, non-threatening setting, and T'Pei was fairly confident that since it was public, the Lieutenant would refrain from at least the most extreme of emotional outbursts. Unfortunately, T'Pei had neglected to consider the possibility that the other woman would be antsy to the point of ridiculousness. The walk over had one long verbal zigzag, beginning with a rapid-fire joke about a nun and a polar bear and immediately transitioning to snappish frustration at T'Pei's inability to understand the punch line. Rinse, wash, and repeat. The two women had finally crash-landed into awkward silence. Normally silence would have been completely fine with T'Pei, but her dinner companion looked incredibly uncomfortable, fidgeting to the point where she had not eaten anything. Instead, she appeared to be more inclined to spear her food into disintegration. Reviewing her prior social encounters, it had been clear that it was her responsibility to initiate conversation that would make the other woman feel more comfortable. Of course, T'Pei's conception of 'comfortable' was to be as direct as possible, so she got right to the point, using her standard amount of tact. Which is to say, none. "I believe that it is important that we socialize in order to further our relationship," 8-ball did not pause into turning her steak into puree. "You want we should be friends?" she drawled. She flicked her eyes upwards and down again, concentrating now on further mashing her mashed potatoes. "Maybe this wasn't such a hot idea. Should we maybe just stick with the meditations, leave out the friendship bracelets?" 8-ball sighed. Sarcasm and slang were lost on Vulcans . . . except for T'risia, who at least got the slang part . . . sort of. "I mean, friends usually get dinner and chit-chat, you know, or at least talk about things happening at work, gossip, whatever. You and I . . . we've got nothing in common, so . . . I just don't get what this whole dinner is supposed to accomplish." She smirked. "Unless . . . do you need dating advice? Cause, frankly? I could charge for my dating advice; I'm that skilled." T'Pei raised an eyebrow, privately curious about any socialization advice someone with Lieutenant Hunter's disposition could offer. She decided to ignore the comment. "When you were trapped on the planet during your recent away mission, you initiated a mind meld with Lieutenant Krieghoff," she began, completely changing the subject. "Well, yeah. I guess." 8-ball felt uncomfortable about that---like it was private, or something, which was beyond weird. With sex, there were no boundaries. With telepathy, she felt strangely insecure. "It wasn't like a real mind meld," she said. "Like, the first one was motherfucking crazy. I went into his head, and his head, jeez. It is not a place you wanna go. But this was more like . . . like . . . calling out, or something. I mean, I didn't plan it or anything. He just . . . heard me." "Touchless telepathy is a rare skill. In usual circumstances, one would have studied for at least ten years before mastering it. Much of this study is devoted to learning to prevent it from occurring constantly. Without this ability, mental instability is almost inevitable." "Awesome. Because I had so much going for me in the way of sanity." 8-ball took a bite of her uber-mashed potatoes. Beating them into mashed submission had been more satisfying than actually eating them. "Are you saying I have to train for a decade?" "We do not have the luxury of years. I can begin to teach you how to block out others' thoughts immediately, but this will be a short term solution," she added quickly, forestalling any cheering from the other woman. "Your abilities are those of an extremely well-trained Vulcan. To control them, you will need to become...extremely well trained." The Lieutenant seemed resigned to this plan, so T'Pei decided it was time to get back to the point. "Learning to control your telepathy will require us to meld, most likely on a regular basis." There were so many responses for that, 8-ball didn't know where to begin. She decided to be succinct. "Ugh." "Lieutenant, if I could avoid this, for your benefit as well as my own, I would, but it is not possible. Telepathy is an extremely intimate experience..." "It's like you read my mind," 8-ball quipped dryly. "...and I thought perhaps it would be a more tolerable experience if we endeavor to exchange some of that information willingly, rather than all at once during a session." 8-ball reluctantly supposed that made sense. Blind dates between her and her Vulcan Master could get awkward pretty quick. That being said, it was eight bazillion times better than letting this woman that she knew next to nothing about just traipse around in her brain. 8-ball had been there, done that. Someday, her brain was going to be hers and hers alone. "Fine," 8-ball said, sighing. "I guess we can do it this way." T'Pei's satisfaction with her performance in a situation that could have gone far worse was firmly cut off when the other woman continued, "So, what exactly did you have in mind, you know, to chit chat about?" She had not thought that far. Faced with the actual prospect of talking with a woman who normally screamed or threw things in her presence, her Vulcan mind froze like an incredibly awkward deer in the headlights. Fortunately, the car swerved just before hitting her, as the silence was interrupted by the blaring of an intruder alert. Springing to their feet, both women raced through the ten-forward doors into the corridor, but before they had reached the turbolift the sound had stopped, and they could hear Iniara's voice informing the ship that there had been a misunderstanding and that they should remain calm. She did not sound particularly convincing. Arching an eyebrow, T'Pei turned to 8-ball, just as her commbadge chirped. "Maxwell to T'Pei. I would appreciate it if you could report to sickbay at 0900 hours, Lieutenant." "Acknowledged. I presume this is related to the recent alarm?" "Yes," The medic responded hesitantly, as if he was unsure what more he should say. "There were intruders on the bridge, but they have been deemed to be safe for the time being, pending further investigation." T'Pei nodded, her mind already busy with the possible ramifications of such a situation. "For what reason is my presence required?" she queried, exchanging a glance with a bemused 8-ball. There was a very long pause. 8-ball frowned, beginning to fidget impatiently. "Chief Maxwell? Why is my presence required?" T'Pei repeated, wondering if the medic was still there. After one more long moment, she heard the man sigh. "Because one of them is you." 8-ball blinked and looked at T'Pei. For once, the Vulcan woman seemed almost as bewildered as she felt. 8-ball leaned closer to the T'Pei's commbadge. "The fuck you say?" she asked.
"Furniture Removal" Dr. Christopher Yorke **** USS Galaxy **** Perhaps she shouldn't have thrown the bed. Arel shuffled out of her bedroom, alternating between curses and winces as "Enter," She growled when her door chimed. The doors slid open and Chris entered. His steps slowed as he looked around. "You rang, Commander?" Chris asked, as he observed her hobbling towards him. Arel managed a smirk. "Lost a bet?" "A bet?" Chris asked, slightly confused by the remark. "I know my reputation in Sickbay, Doctor. Can't imagine everyone fighting "Oh, we had straws..." Chris replied with a smile, playing along. "In actual "Threw my back out. I want you to fix it." "How did you manage that?" Chris asked, glancing at the bed and taking an "Something like that." "Let's take a look, then," he took out a medical tricorder and made his way Arel held still while he passed a medical tricorder over her back to examine "It seems like it's just muscular damage, some heavy inflammation, so yes," She shook her head. "I can't make any promises. I can deal with any pain, "I'll need you to come to Sickbay," Chris informed her. "So I can scan it The idea of walking all that way almost made Arel shudder and she shot him "I wouldn't think of it, Commander," Chris replied with a sly smile. It had "Really," She replied flatly. "Fine, let's go to Sickbay. You'll just have "I'll carry you if necessary," Chris joked. He moved towards her to give her Arel waved him back. "I'll let you know if I need help." They moved at a slow pace out of her quarters. "So what's your deal? You Chris watched her move into the hallway slowly, before following her out. She might have stopped but she wasn't sure if she'd be able to start moving "I try to be, if you want I can put the Mark One EMH on when we get to "No, I broke his program a few times already. I don't think your staff will "I don't really get on with him either," Chris replied as they continued Their movement was slow, the hall seemed endless, and they hadn't even made "Just around the bend, and then into the turbolift and then we're pretty "Chipper and annoying," Arel muttered. She glared at the people who passed Yorke laughed, though he wasn't sure the Commander was joking or offering to "There, wasn't too bad, was it?" Yorke asked. Arel grunted and then pointed at a passing nurse. "You. Get me a computer "What do you need a PADD for?" Chris asked, pointing to a biobed. "I counted five people I need to maim. Need to keep track." "Make it six," Chris replied, grinning again. "You must have missed the "Real Men Go to Slumber Parties" 8-ball Hunter "No," Johnny said. "That's it. I refuse to be a part of this any longer. I have eaten of the brownies and I have dranken---drunken---I've tasted of the illegal alcoholic beverages, and I have allowed you to braid what you can of my hair, although, of course, that wasn't very successful, but this is where I draw the line, 8-ball Hunter. You are not allowed to paint my toenails pink." 8-ball looked at the polish, considering. "It's more of a fuschia, really," she said. *** The problem with holding grudges was simple: when your best friend betrayed you by kidnapping your teddy bear, and you swore a blood oath that you would never forgive her, you had no one to share your slumber parties with. And on a ship like the Galaxy, where you regularly ran into people who were trying to eat you, mindfuck you, or just plain kill you, you needed to enjoy your diversions. The slumber party was a tradition. Unfortunately, with Nara absent and Indigo dead and Ella a backstabbing bitch who deserved to be mauled by bloodthirsty tribbles . . . that left you with Johnny Walker, who, while a good friend, was also not a 13 year old girl. Alas. "Truth or dare? Really? Truth or freaking dare, 8-ball?" 8-ball drank from the bottle. "You have no sense of adventure, Johnny." This was her standard complaint when people weren't doing what she wanted, although she herself had, at many times, ranted about how adventures and excitement were summarily overrated. "Ah, don't give me that bullshit," Johnny said. "I live on the Galaxy! I have plenty sense of adventure. Give me that." He took the bottle from her and drank deep from it. Johnny was an amusing light-weight. While not exactly dancing on table-tops drunk, the man was clearly buzzed . . . although apparently not enough to participate in makeovers. Pity. "If you really loved me," 8-ball said, "you'd play truth or dare." "I don't really love you," he said. "I just didn't want to get eaten with you." 8-ball pouted. "That's not going to work, you know." She pouted more. "Jeez, fine, okay. I pick truth." 8-ball smiled. Johnny was a sucker for a good pout, and she knew she it. She had him all wrapped around her little finger. "Shoulda known you'd pick truth," she said. "There's no way in Hell I'm doing any dare you thought up." "Pussy." Johnny considered that. "Yeah," he said, "I have absolutely no problem with that whatsoever. What's my truth?" 8-ball thought about it. "Describe the last sexual fantasy you had about somebody on the ship." "8-ball!" "What?" She had thought that was a pretty tame question, considering. "I didn't ask if you masturbated to to the fantasy or anything." Johnny's cheeks went bright pink, which 8-ball found wonderfully endearing. Johnny Walker was kind of like a tall, gangly teddy bear---albeit, a teddy bear that swore a lot and understood the virtue of running away. 8-ball leaned forward to pinch his cheeks. "I will slap you across the face," he said. 8-ball pouted again. This time Johnny completely ignored her. She found this disappointing. "So . . . ." she said, nudging him gently with her foot. Johnny looked away and said something very fast. It sounded vaguely like slurred Klingon. "Uh . . . try that again, slower and louder for the whole class?" Johnny closed his eyes. "A threesome with T'Pei and T'risia." 8-ball laughed. "Awesome," she said. "Who's wearing what?" "8-ball!" "What?" she asked again. "One sentence does not properly describe a sex fantasy. I need details. Though," she murmured, "why am I not somewhere in there?" "What?" "Well, clearly you have a thing for hot Vulcans." Johnny shrugged. What could he say? Every guy knew Vulcan women were hot. "And yet you go for T'risia and T'Pei!" Not that T'Pei wasn't attractive, it was just . . . Vulcan master. You didn't think of your Vulcan Master in those terms. It was creepy. T'risia she got, sure, she had her own . . . special, little charms, but obviously, "I am the hottest Vulcan on this ship! Everybody knows this! They practically voted on it." "I think the Ten-Forward poll was, technically, that you'd get pregnant first." "Fuck you, Johnny Walker." Johnny shrugged again. "I didn't think of you," he said, "because I don't really think of you as a Vulcan. Last time I heard, you were pretty clear about that yourself." He leaned forward, smirking a little. "Truth," he said. "Since when did you start thinking of yourself as a Vulcan?" 8-ball looked away. Fidgeted. "Let's play Twister," she said, cheerfully. *** 8-ball kicked Johnny's ass at Twister. She kicked everyone's ass at Twister. She was a very limber woman. Johnny said he thought his back was broken. 8-ball didn't bother to call him a pussy. They were laying on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, eating what was left of the brownies and talking about the important things in life, namely, boys. Although Johnny, unfortunately, didn't swing both ways, so they spent more time talking about girls, who they could both drool over. "Lieutenant Tam," Johnny said, smiling, to which 8-ball raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you kidding me?" he asked. "She's beyond hot." "Yeah, but she could also potentially eat me alive." Sonja Tam was a half-human, Russian ice queen, and half-Betazoid psychic wonder. She had flawless pale skin, hair so blonde it was almost white, and completely black eyes. She was an intimidating figure. Also, probably the least sweet and sensitive Betazoid you were ever going to find. Sonja Tam knew eighteen different ways to make a man cry. 8-ball wasn't looking to get in line. "Whatever," Johnny said. "She's hot." "Clearly, you have something for women ordering you around." 8-ball grinned. "Do you like to be beaten into submission, Johnny Walker?" Johnny went scarlet again and immediately changed the subject. Man, he was easy. "So," he said, "you seen the time travelers yet?" It was all anyone could really talk about on the Galaxy. "No," 8-ball said. She knew that one of them was Future T'Pei, but she hadn't been invited in for the morning's meet and greet, and frankly, wasn't sure she wanted to. If Future 8-ball had come back to play, it would probably have been a different story, but Future 8-ball was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, this meant that she was working in a bar somewhere, surrounded by good looking men and women who served drinks without their tops on. 8-ball could probably be happy in a place like that. "You?" she asked Johnny. "Yeah," he said. "Caught a glimpse of, Angelienia, uh, Krieghoff?" 8-ball frowned. The fact that that bitch had married her best friend's stud muffin in the future---wait, she didn't care about Ella's love life anymore. Right. Not caring. "She looked like the walking dead. Makes you wonder." "It does," 8-ball said, although, in general, she preferred not to think much past the day after tomorrow in regards to the future. She rolled over and grabbed the magic 8-ball that T'risia had gotten her for her first date. She shook the little ball. "Magic 8-ball," she said, "will the future suck serious Hydran ass?" BETTER NOT TELL YOU NOW. "You're useless," 8-ball said and tossed the thing aside. She glanced back at Johnny and suddenly brightened. "I've got an idea," she said. "Let me read your palm." "Oh, come on!" "What? What could be more appropriate to do, when our future selves have come back to our beloved ship to change our horrible destiny. Gimme your palm!" "No." "Johnny Walker!" "No!" 8-ball pouted. Johnny relented with a very dramatic sigh. She grinned at him and took his palm in hers. She hadn't played this in probably fifteen years. "Okay," she said. "Well, let's see . . . here's your life line. Not so bad. You'll live a good long while, Johnny Walker." "Awesome," he drawled. 8-ball ignored his complete lack of enthusiasm. "Your love line is here. It starts off kinda jagged---clearly, you're screwing too many Vulcan honeys and Betazoid dominatrixes to settle down and have a serious relationship---but eventually it smoothes out, looks like one woman, awww, a soul mate. How precious. Yes, I see her very well. She's six feet tall, has gigantic breasts, and walks around in a pink bikini no matter what she's doing." Johnny snorted. "Sounds like a deep relationship." "Oh, it is," 8-ball assured him. "You'll meet in some kind of war, and she'll entrance you with her battle bikini and Klingon weapons collection, and you'll be friends first, but then something will happen to you, and you'll cry, and she'll be there, and then you'll shag and realize that you've always secretly been in love with one another and get married and have twelve babies, all who grow to be taller than you, and you'll live happily ever after until you die from . . . oh, no, looks like a random falling piano." She shook her head. "Bad luck, man." "Clearly," Johnny said. He glanced away and, despite her awesome, outrageous story, looked a little sad. "Sounds like a nice future, huh? Falling pianos aside." "Worse ways to die," she agreed. "Yeah," he said. "We've escaped some of them." He tilted the almost empty bottle of ale to his mouth and miraculously didn't spill any down the side of his face as he drank. She was never very good at drinking while lying down. "I don't need the six foot tall warrior woman," he said, "but a wife and kids someday . . . sounds nice. Doesn't sound like too much to ask for." She eyed him cautiously. "You think you won't get it?" "I think people rarely come back to the past unless the future is massively fucked up. Rumor mill on board is spinning out some wild theories, and while I don't believe all of them are true . . . doesn't seem like we're exactly heading towards a beautiful horizon, you know?" 8-ball shrugged. "Never know," she said. "Maybe it has nothing to do with you or me. Maybe while half of the universe is the shits, you know, just tearing itself apart at the seams, we'll be on the other side, hanging out, shooting people, exploring forgotten alien civilizations . . . maybe we'll make it out clean. You think?" "I hope," Johnny said. "I hope." 8-ball turned on her stomach and extended her hand to Johnny. "Here," she said. "Your turn. You read mine." He laughed. "I don't know, 8-ball. I don't think I could come up with anything nearly as . . . creative . . . as yours was." "Pussy," she teased him. "Try. I've got faith in ya." Johnny rolled his eyes and took her hand in his. He touched the lines of her palm, tracing them from one side to the other. "All right," he said. "This one here, this is the life line right? That's what you said?" When she nodded, he smiled at her. "Well, good news," he told 8-ball. "One thing's for dead certain: You're going to live a long, long life." "Arbitration of the Mind" "BLEEP" "Peppermint Milkshake!!!" Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrr! Bleep! With barely contained gusto Rebecca von Ersnt retrieved her frosty treat from the Replicator and dug in. "Yum," she coo'd around a mouthful of minty goodness. This was not her first desert of the night. Here lies Milkshake #3....it gave its life so that others may have happy tummies. Ignoring the fallen comrades and slurping merrily on Milkshake #7 Rebecca pitter pattered her way around the large quarters half singing to herself in random off-key nursery rhymes that she had quite forgotten the lyrics to. How novel a sensation....forgetting. Considering the fact that the little 95 pound lady had just put away enough ice cream to satisfy the Klingon football team, it didnt take much lateral acceleration to make her a bit nauseous. "La la la....Angular momentum equals the absolute value of 1/t(2)-t(x) times the limits of acceleration as t(2) approaches infinity....la la la." She didnt know where these random numbers appeared from in her head, but they made for fun spinning songs. "Spin spin spin.....Negative U squared Times 2k/rd times Theta!!! Wheee!!" Allison wasnt here right now as evidenced by the fact the new place was mostly in a shambles already. Duty shifts down in the armory had pulled the beleaguered young woman away from her new found duty of mommy-sitting, but at least Rebecca hadnt made too many escape attempts recently. "Tra la la la la la la---whoops", the spinning Redhead tripped over her own skinny legs, and luckily landed sideways on the new leather sofa. Minty ice cream slopped over the side of the glass she was holding quickly staining the pristine surface a lovely shade of sticky pink. "Oopsie." Rebecca chewed her bottom lip for a long moment considering the melting desert before finally deciding to cover it up with a handy throw pillow. She once might have been able to direct entire fleets of starships in campaign after campaign, but she was still a bit clueless on the deception front. Rising again unsteadily, the dizzy girl merrily stirred the remainder of her shake and wandered aimlessly about the room. "Bored bored bored bored...." she mused to herself, her travels eventually taking her within range of the sensor operated front door. The door announced as she stumbled by. "Ummm...why?" she inquired innocently. PARENTAL LOCKS REMAIN IN EFFECT TO PREVENT UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS BY MINORS. "Locks?" AFFIRMATIVE THIS UNIT IS DESIGNED WITH N-LEVEL COMPUTER LOCKS "Ummmmm..." Rebecca studied the talking door for another long moment, wondering why the name Hawksley sounded so familiar. "Ok...cool," she said. "Whats that?" N-LEVEL LOCKS INVOLVE ENCRYPTED MULTILEVEL POLY-VARIABLE SELF LIMITING ENCODING. PLOT POINTS ON A VAN BURGER PARABOLA ARE INVERSELY APPLIED TO PREVENT TAMPERING. "Oooooo...sound like fun, let me try." Rebecca sqee'd. She loved disassembling Van Burger Parabolas! (whatever the noodles they were) Obediently a little diagnostic screen lit up near the latch and a long line of mathematical code streamed by describing the inner workings of the locking program. "Pretty." Rebecca leaned closer, drawn to the intricate glowing symbols, her frosty-covered fingers reaching forward eagerly. -*- Two minutes of absent minded fiddling later, and Rebecca von Ernst, mathematical genius, emerged into the bright corridors, the now empty container of milkshake #7 clutched carefully in her tiny hand. Behind her the computer controlled door hissed shut despondently, its electronic gizzards having been figuratively ripped apart by her new equations. Eagerly resuming her spinning game, Rebecca dizzily stumbled and bumbled her way down the hall. "La la la la la" she sung between slurps of shake before her gyrations led to eventually colliding with one of the wall mounted LCARS displays. PLEASE RESTATE REQUEST, the wall announced. A dizzy Rebecca grinned goofily . This was a very friendly spaceship. Talking doors....talking walls.....all asking her what she wanted. "Peppermint milkshake!" she announced, rattling her empty glass pointedly. AFFIRMATIVE. PLEASE FOLLOW INDICATORS TO NEAREST PUBLIC DINING FACILITY --->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->---> Little yellow tracer lights, pointed the way, and spinning merrily the little redhead skipped her way down the hall after them. ********* Half a starship away, deep in the bowels of the Galaxy's Main Armory, Allison von Ersnt looked up at the little bleep bleep bleep of the alarm toggle. After multiple escapades, Alli finally had Rebecca tagged by the ships computer much like a parent would for their toddler. Unfortunately, despite this precaution it seemed, that Mom was much smarter than the computer in many respects. Great...this was really going to cut into her day.....oh well somebody else could mind the store for a bit. "Computer, Locate Civilian Rebecca von Ernst," Allison requested of the air as she quickly scooped up her various nail files and fashion magazines into her purse. It had been a slow day in the Armory, and the younger von Ernst had been catching up on her beauty routines. CIVILIAN VON ERNST IS IN DINING HALL C, DECK 8 the computer supplied helpfully as she got ready. Perhaps the device felt a litle guilty for letting her out again. "Fine," Alli slung the bag over her shoulder "However...When I get back you and I having a talk bucko." BLEEP Absently pocketing a Type I phaser, Alli flipped over the little sign so that it read 'ON LUNCH BREAK--BACK IN 30 MINUTES' “ Regicide ” Prince Thufi XXIV denies all knowledge of the events you are about to read. (The ThroneWorld of the Hydran Kingdom)
Nixx was running for his life. The sound of his own heavy breathing echoed in his ears while the slap slap slap of his running feet pounding the wet concrete gave a tempo to the last minutes of his life. His life...over....not so soon.... Heart thudding, Nixx's arm shot out to grab a support pole, thus wheeling himself around the alley corner. Ignoring the cold metal burning a blister into his hand, Nixx slapped is way desperately down the cobblestones. ~~They found me....how in the name of the Great Beast did they find me?~~ his mind echoed. The night offered no answers to his desperate questions...the silence offered no mercy for the fear in his chest. ~~Behind me.....how far....how many...Where the glork are my body guards!?!!~~~ Slipping in a muddy puddle with a painful curse, Nixx hissed as the harsh gravel grated over his tender skin. He wasn’t used to this. His was a life of privilege since he was but a whelp, raised on fine foods, little exercise, and every whim catered to. Females.... Food... Bodyguards... Of all Nixx's honors he would have taken the latter over anything at the moment. bodyguards. Great hulking soldiers sworn to do or die a his merest gesture. Yes thats what he needed. FZZZZZZZK!
A needle sharp beam of energy blistered the night air above Nixx's head, sizzling the drizzling rain in a nova of ozone and light. Soft steady splashes in the puddle he had just vacated annouced that his pursuers were gaining ground on him. Redoubling his efforts, poor Nixx's pumped his three fat legs as fast as they could go. His breath chugged in and out of his tortured lungs in great heaving purple gasps, while the edges of his vision started to blur from methane starvation. ~~Run must run faster~~ the Hydran Senator panicked ~~~....oh why oh why did I never learn to run?~~ Too much time spent on privilidged parties....expensive females....sugary treats. Starved of methane fuel, Nixx's brain wandered a bit in spite of his desperate situation. How warm the night was in spite of the recent shower...how pretty the Capital City lights that danced before him...shouldn’t there be more civilians out and about at this hour? More Law Enforcement? Unfortunately for Nixx, in these dark times the citizens of the city had learned that it was wisest to ignore the sounds of desperate violence in the night outside their windows. Police, similarly knew better than to get involved in the affairs of royal succession. Best to ignore plaintive crys, and double bar doors against murder in the dark. The deaf and the dumb did not invite vengeance. The silent bystander lived to see daylight once more. Daylight. A shrieking spasm of pain shooting up Nixx's rear leg announced that never again would he be seeing a sunrise. Collapsing again in a wheezing mess of cramping muscles and sweat soaked fat, he who was once high and mighty came to a shuddering stop in a puddle of mud and self pity. Wheeze.... wheeze.... wheeze.... must breathe...must get up...must...must... But there was no more rising for poor Nixx. The Hydran Senator, huddled in his pitiful puddle, his once rich clothes arrayed around his corpulence in tattered filth. This was the end and the pursuers drew nigh. "Well run Senator," one oily voice glorped from the darkness, "It seems that sugar-beast you consumed all by yourself for dinner gave you some fuel after all." Padding softly on their three stout legs, a pair of Hydrans emerged from the nights mist. "Too bad there was too much weight to haul around your Grace." Senator...Your Grace... Titles once coveted and showered upon great Nixx by citizens near and far. Now those flowery words were viperous sneering insults. In mud puddles...all are created equal. "Please," Nixx glorgled, his eyestalks waving from one hydran to the next, "I'll give you anything....money....females....power!" "Power?" the second 'pod snorgged, "Dear Senator Nixx, what power have you to bestow? Ours is the greater for we have the power to grant or take your entire future...THAT dear Grace is power!" Nixx coup only sniggle helplessly. He'd lost everything he realized. Where once he ruled a quarter of great Hydrax, his kingdom now consisted of this mere puddle. "Y…you cant do this! I...I am of the royal Family," he wept, "I stand upon the 1000 steps...I am 34th in line for the throne of the Entire Hydran Kingdom." Leaning over the blubbering mess, the first Hydran hissed. "That dear Nixx was your mistake. Consider this a parting gift from his highness Prince Thufi....who stands on the 59th step from the throne." "Thufi!!" Nixx's eys flashed in recognition, "He is 60th from the throne...not 59th!! Why that damnable....!" The silversharp blade that sunk into his throat eliminated the remainder of the oath in a bloody purple gurgle of blood. "Shame, Poor Senator." the assassin watched aloof, and the heir died in a gibbering mess. "One ought not speak of royalty in such a manner." The Communicator blipped in the new silence, and was opened ere Nixx breathed his last. "Team three here." the assassin announced himself. "Aye my Prince. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your latest promotion. I can tell you now that ere dawn breaks, you will be standing on the 59th step." “Homeless” Colonel For’kel Arvelion- SFMC Commanding Officer 188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment Koren Suum-Arvelion (Arvelion Quarters- USS Galaxy, Good Ol’ 2385) “No bath.” Ahh, the joys of parenting. “You need a bath, Koren.” “No bath!” came the stubbornly obstinate reply from the two year old. “Yes, bath. You’re filthy…” Did Koren have to inherit ‘so’ much of his parents’ traits? The good ones he could keep, but what kind of cruel joke was being perpetrated on them by giving him the bad ones as well? “No bath!” was the only warning proceeding a block thrown up in the air and landing perilously close to Fork’s toe. If only parenting was like a battle. A battle he understood… tactics and strategies, technology and training, force ratios and the ebb and flow of action… he understood war. He could win on a battlefield, achieve a given objective… but yet his son seemed to be perpetually bent on a guerilla style warfare for alpha male dominance… or something like that. As the protests of “No Bath! No Bath! Boe Nath! No Bath!” grew louder and became a rallying chant, Fork closed his eyes and drew a deep, cleansing breath. Koren never gave his grandparents such problems. He certainly never gave his mom any kind of trouble at all. It was days like this he missed her the most. Away from the clamor of battle and the clashing of warring armies, For’kel had no refuge. When one’s survival wasn’t on the line, and all the necessities of life were in place, this gave the soul and mind license to soar. With little else to focus on, the Stagnorian’s mind inevitably wandered back to the memories he had of his wife. Months had passed since Berilyn Suum-Arvelion had been declared missing and presumed deceased, yet the pain… when un-dulled by military action and the drive for surviving until the next day, was as palpable as ever. In a weird, almost perverted way it was perhaps a picture perfect definition for the oxymoron variant of the term ‘exquisite pain’. Moments like this, when the world was drowned out and all he had to retreat to were memories of the past, he could still taste the bittersweet reminence of strawberry wine on her lips after a lazy, Sunday dinner. He could still feel the softness of her hair and silkiness of her skin under satin after a well deserved, luxurious bath. He felt himself fall back to their last anniversary, where they’d spent literally the entire day and then some. He could hear her sultry laugh, his name on her lips, smell the rising steam from a hot shower and the exotic floral fragrances of her favorite soaps, shampoos, and conditioners, and he could feel the need behind desperate, passionate kisses while they made love. He could recall perfectly the jokes and moments they shared, coming to terms with what some called ‘women’s logic’ and discovering what it meant to truly love and be loved. He remembered in fine detail the thrill he got when she laughed, the dread when she cried… the angelic, loving smile that crossed her lips whenever their eyes would meet and immediately before they would go to sleep... And of course the pride with which they walked through their quarters doors as betrothed at first… newlyweds next… parents after. The mutual celebration of triumphs and comfort from failures they gave each other… as well as the help with the daily grind, the life-saving last second transports, tearful reunions after rough missions on the flight deck… all of it, never again. That sense of ‘home’ was lost, and Fork doubted he’d ever get it back. “No Bath! No Bath! No Bath!...” the continuous chant came to an unexpected, sudden stop when little Koren noticed his Dad wasn’t paying much attention. Normally that might provoke a child to act out more, but no tike liked to act out when they saw tears in a parent’s eyes. “Patti, hurt?” Fork knew he was caught red handed as his Terran colleagues would say. “Yeah buddy.” “Patti be okay?” He had to bite his lip on this one, the honest truth ‘I don’t know’ far too close to coming out if he dared leave them unguarded. Finally he figured he had it enough under control that he could attempt an answer. “Yeah Koren, I’ll be fine.” “Be strong and tough Patti, no cry!” Koren commanded before showing his stern ‘tough’ face. It was one of those things where you couldn’t help but laugh, even as you wiped the tears out of your eyes because you saw so much of your lover in him. Chirp-Chirp. Awww crap, visitors. “Bath?” Koren asked as way of compromise, willing to take the aquatic and soapy bullet to cheer up the old man. “Yeah buddy, bath.” Fork ruffled the boy’s hair before pointing towards the bathroom and leading him forward. Chirp-Chirp. “Come in.” Fork called over his shoulder while simultaneously drawing a bath for Koren. The kid preferred water baths with bubbles over the incessant humming of the sonic shower. Most people swore they couldn’t hear it, but a few of the more auditorily sensitive sentients aboard knew that hidden whine buried under the relaxing hum a little too intimately. He couldn’t blame his son for not desiring to put up with it in the name of hygiene, the scourge of little boys everywhere. “Computer, activate holo-nanny program mark two.” The holo-nanny programs had become popular as holographic entities began taking greater and greater roles in society following the unequivocal success of the EMH Mk. I programs. Back home they were known as ‘Domestic Support Holograms’, but the popular term around these parts was holo-nanny, so he figured he’d go along with it too. The Holo-nanny Mk. II was an experimental upgrade to the Mk. I designed by none other than the gurus of modern technology in the Federation’s vast commercial hologram industry. Designed specifically for use aboard starships, a number of vessels were selected to receive prototypes. The Galaxy was fortunate to be bestowed such an honor. Such an honor that came in the form of one Martha Stewart. For the brainiacs at a number of collaborative companies had searched far and wide for a face to put on their hologram, and what historical figure could be better than the original domestic diva herself? Fork personally hated the damned thing. The smug smile, the plastered on face… he found it hard to believe that any combination of genes from a species as typically beautiful as Humans could produce… that. She was fucking creepy, and not Victor Krieghoff ‘you freak me out but I have trust in you to do the right thing anyway’ creepy, more like the ‘I will suck your blood’ Dracula/politician style creepy. “Thank you for activating the Holo-nanny Mark Two program. Please explain the reason for activation.” “Koren needs a bath, he’s in there.” Fork gestured to the bathroom. “Try to make sure he doesn’t kill himself, thanks.” The great thing about holograms, typically you can be incredibly sarcastic and degrading, and they wouldn’t know. It was a great way to take out frustration. That done, he walked back into the waiting room to find his visitor. “Sorry for interrupting you, Colonel.” Sergeant Ilal gave an apologetic smile. “PFC Owen received an encoded message for you from OP-COM, my guys just finished decoding it. It’s for your eyes only.” Fork took the PADD. FROM: ADM. Davoust, Chief of Starfleet Counter-Terrorism Division TO: COL. For’kel Suum-Arvelion, Commanding Officer 188TH Starfleet Marines Detachment STARDATE: -Classified- PRIORITY: IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED RE: -Classified- This never boded well. It meant one of two things, either he was suspected of being a terrorist or… Crap, mission. “Damnit.” For’kel sighed, reviewing the PADD a couple of times to make sure it was accurate. “I take it we’ve authenticated?” Ilal nodded. “PFC Owen received authentication about fifteen minutes ago.” “Great.” Fork took a seat on his sofa. “We’ve got a new mission then. I want you, Leah, Ugahlo, umm…” he looked over his unit’s roster. His gut reaction was to go with Baile, but he needed someone back here to look after things that he could trust to keep Branwen in check and fight the good fight if they received any other missions in the interim. “I guess we’ll go with Briggs, the new guy. All of you in the briefing room in one hour. We don’t have much time before our ride shows up.” "Blood is Thicker..." Lt. JG Artim Shivar (2385) with The Life Sciences Crew... =================================== Like alot of people Artim had always wondered what might happen if he were ever to run into either a past or future version of himself. With temporal incursions at least plausible it was something everyone was wise to consider. In Artim's case he never really came to an answer to that question as, well, there were just too many possible variables. Where would it happen? When would it happen? What would the circumstances be. Thankfully the universe was kind enough to answer the question for him. He'd check his older self's blood to see if he was a Hydran clone. It was probably the most boring answer that ever could have come his mind but under current circumstances the operation was necessary. And considering the regulations regarding temporal quarrentine there really wasn't much else that he could do. Though he did want an answer about why the hell his older self was so disapproving of his haircut. Come to think of it...he might have a point. But that was distracting from the task at hand. "Cheif, I got the preliminary genetic scans done. And by the way, nice of you to bring the brownies." The voice of Cheif Vickers, his second in command yanked Artim's attention away from the log entry he had been staring at on the console in front of him "Your welcome. I thought I owed you after the way I've been snapping at y'all lately. So, are any of our friends from the future really Hydran clones?" Artim responded "Well we're still waiting on genetic profiles for a couple of them and extrapolating a normal one out for the Mavia girl so far the abnormality you had us looking for isn't present..." Despite his answer Vickers seemed unusually tense which was displayed by rapid blinking. Artim had learned that there was only two reasons for this, someone had screwed up horribly or there was something else odd in the data he couldn't explain "Out with it Vick, I know its not the chocolate that has you blinking like that. What did Ardek break this time?", Artim had a comforting grin on his face in an attempt to calm his assistant down. All the reassuring comments couldn't help in this case though but after an awkward few seconds a padd was tossed down on Artim's desk. "The only abnormality found was in your...double's blood. Ardek and Bens are double and triple checking the data now and other tests will be needed to confirm what we're seeing but...he's....he's aging even slower then you sir." Artim got a very vacant expression on his face for a moment. What could this mean? How could this have happened? Was it a natural progression of the virus? Had something else happened to his future self that could have caused this? "How...how much slower?" Those were the only words that could escape his lips. Vickers sighed and then continued, "Hard to tell from the blood sample alone, we'd need medical to do an full endocrine analysis as well as a neurological work up but my best guess is somewhere between 200 and 450% percent slower. I...I assume you'll want to..." "Yes Vick, I'll want to look at it myself. And put in the request to Medical. And see if you can get me some time with the Captain. She'll want to know about this.", Artim grabbed the padd and started trasferring the data to his console. Part of Artim could swear there had to be some sort of error in the data but the rest of him knew that Vick would never bring him something like this unless he at least pretty sure of it. "And I take it you don't want to be disturbed for a bit,right boss?" Artim didn't respond right away but eventually said, "Unless its the Captain, Commander Inara, or God himself, yeah." As Vick nodded and turned to leave Artim stopped the chief. "One more thing Vick and I want total honesty from you." "What's that boss?" Vickers seemed confused but eager. "Should I get a new haircut?" "A Quiet Night In (also titled Interview by the Vampire) Artim ============================ Artim was set up for a perfect evening winding down after a hard day. Everything was set up to not create any stress and to relieve as much "Please gods, don't let Sam Widdlestein show up..." As if God himself had heard these words and decided to have a laugh at 'Calm...must remain calm. Can't...strangle...' were the first words "You're eating a lamb?" She said with an expression of horror. Well, Artim gave a half-hearted grin but it was only a thinly veiled effort "I need a favor," Sam replied, sniffing the bottle and then wrinkling "Higher then you should be even thinking about drinking." Artim "'Cause his sense of humor is worse than yours. Let's try this another Artim couldn't help but chuckle. "I checked the medical files, Cutter "How do you feel about being on my bad side for the next several decades?" Sadly, she did have a point. As much as Artim didn't want to play "You know you're probably going to grow up to be one hell of a pirate. Samantha shot him a look and took out her computer PADD. "Oh well, he'd probably be too boring anyway. Allright, lets get on "If you're good I might let YOU have the cookie," Sam countered. "Artim Shivar. I don't give my middle name out. Don't you dare ask "How long have you served on board this vessel?" "About four years now." She recorded his answer. "Would you rather insult Victor Krieghoff's "Awha? Is asking the subject how one would prefer to die part of the "Yes," Samantha replied with a straight face. "Hmm...well...if I HAD to pick, I'd go with Krieghoff. A phaser to the "Ha! The mek'leth is if you're lucky. Next question - you're rushed Artim still wondered whether these were the real questions she was "Who's the hottest woman on the ship?" And now she dropped him right in the middle of a minefield. Too many "No comment. And if you push, we're done" "Boy, was that ever the wrong answer," Sam said, shaking her head. "And didn't they teach you to flatter the subject as well? And are "Oh come on, Artim! Do you really want to answer questions like 'when Artim gave a ponderous look and then replied. "Perhaps, but I want to "See? Boring. And anyway, I'm not sure if I'm going to apply to the Artim couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the idea. "You...on "Thanks but I'll pass," Sam said with a sneer. "And I got news for Artim shook his head with a big grin on his face. "Well if that's what "Just what I need - mad karate skills from the pint sized midget." Artim ignored the obvious bait. "Well, is there anything else you need "Just a few more questions answered," Sam said with a smile. "Now if Artim sighed, consigned to his fate of being tortured by Sam. This “You May Experience Some Technical Difficulties” Starring: **** James woke to another starship Galaxy morning. The lights, dimmed during sleeping hours, transitioned to a slow, inoffensive ambiance to simulate the dawn of countless colony worlds and core planets. White noise generators turned off on his side of the bed. His eyes fluttered open, and greeted the day with the same semi hazy recollections of dreams fading out of memory and the gathering of thoughts that tried to piece together just what was today and what exactly he was supposed to be doing. Coffee. James needed Coffee. A shot of brewed bean juice and the rest of the day would fall into place. He made his way to the dispenser of Coffee, the replicator, and ordered a steaming mug. Drowsily, he placed the mug to his lips, the aromatic scent of the Terran made stimulant triggering synapses too long deprived (about ten hours ago). He tipped the glass, waiting for the hot fluids to trail bitterly on his lips, to wash like a nutty hot acid bath on his tongue and race down his throat to be sent to the stomach both arousing his senses and aggrevating his security department chief's ulcer, and through there be converted to food energy and have the caffeine be transmitted through his blood cells like a turned on power relay jogging his systems to life. But something was wrong. This blend didn't taste like coffee. It tasted sweeter, an alien coffee bean that didn't have mother Terra's honest, hard working tang and acrid bright sun to grow in its every cell. This coffee tasted like smog, like a lack of sunlight on a gloomy world, with a tang of the blood of vanquished foes permeating the soil, nourishing the plants, then harvested by the sweaty, burly hands of a solemn and repentant Kahlessian warrior fieldtender. This drink tasted not like Terra, but like Quo'nos. It tasted like the bean that would become... “Rakdejino?” James rejected the mug, nearly spitting out the vile drink, “What the fuck?” James eyes pried open. A problem this early in the morning worked as well as a cup of coffee, but it was all aimed improperly. James wanted coffee. Not alien supercoffee, but good old fashioned pitch black thick as tar and stimulating like a shot of adrenaline coffee while he checked his communiques and ate his breakfast. Did the replicator not know his preferences? It was only programmed what... five times? Coffee. How hard could it be? James put the mug back, let the replicator disassemble its atoms. He ordered another coffee. This one tasted like Rakdejino again. So he checked the pattern buffer record in his replicator. Coffee, Terran blend. Fine, the replicator thought it was coffee. It could be wrong. He checked the molecular pattern of the pseudo-Coffee with a tricorder. It was Rakdejino. He compared the replicator's pattern for both Coffee and Rakdejino. Both matched. Then he tried searching for all the coffee results for his blend. Two thousand different Coffee types in the known universe, and the replicator knew only one. Rakdejino. As brought to the universe by the blood soaked plantations and solemn warrior fieldtenders of Quo'nos. “You've got to be fucking kidding me, computer.” James couldn't believe he was seeing this, “The computer forgot how to make real coffee????” =/\=”There are two thousand blends of coffee. Please select a variety for replication.=/\= All two thousand on the list were marked 'Rakdejino'. James sighed, his quest for a real cup of coffee thwarted by the whims of the LCARS computer system. It was no big deal. Seeing no sense in waking his angelic slumbering fiance over a fight with his replicator, he took the misfortune for granted. James drank his Rakdejino. Then he ordered breakfast. The replicator couldn't figure out the difference between over easy and sunny side up when it came to his eggs. His pancakes became waffles. His maple syrup became powdered sugar with a sliced strawberry. When he tried to explain in excruciating detail to the computer what he wanted, the LCARS system decided to throw its adaptive interpretive subroutines out the airlock and ask why he wanted to see the nearest star and if he would like wheatcakes instead. James whispered as not to awaken his sleeping beauty, “Wheatcakes and Pancakes are the same fucking thing you stupid piece of shit. Fine. Wheatcakes. With eggs. Over easy. And a cup of coffee.” James got waffles again, with a slice of strawberry and powdered sugar. His eggs were sunny side up. His coffee was Rakdejino again. “Gotta be fucking kidding me...” He resigned his fate. He dug into his waffles and eggs, and said, “Oh well. Garbage in, garbage out.” After finishing his breakfast, he went to replicate a new uniform. Going to work in his tight briefs and a regulation tank top labeled 'Body by Starfleet' wasn't the look of the modern professional. For sanitary sakes uniforms, aside from pips and badges, were replicated in the morning and recycled at night, every day, as recommended in the Starfleet manual. To James, it was a quick way to do laundry everyday, so it suited him just fine. He didn't understand Mika's obsession with clothing. Sure, James thought she looked very good in them, and admitted she was sort of a fashionista, but to have a closet full of non replicated clothes for everyday use? What a waste! He punched in the commands to replicate one standard Starfleet uniform, officer's pattern, mustard yellow undershirt to denote security and engineering department specialty. Like everyday, it should have made the uniform to his exact tailored measurements. The uniform that came out could have fit a pre-teen perfectly. And of course, the replicator swore on a stack of Bajoran religious texts that it had the measurements exactly as last night, the night before, and all those nights after he was last measured. James manually typed in his measurements, reset the pattern, and tried again. The uniform was small enough to fit a teddy bear. It also came with a stuffed miniature Mugato, but not dressed. “Son of a bitch... now what?” James grumbled. He had a faulty replicator and no uniform. The only clothes on him were literally on his back and covering his muscle toned behind. He had to think, and fast, or everyone on duty would see his 'Body by Starfleet'. He did have one uniform in reserve in his closet. It was for special occasions, just not one like this. ~“Oh no oh hell no that is so inappropriate and I hate wearing that stupid thing and it's so bright and white you might as well throw up a hit me sign when the Hydran start looking for targets...”~ Making the best of the replicator glitch, he dressed the stuffed Mugato and put it in his spot on the bed. To feel better, James kissed Mika on the forehead. He watched her antennae crinkle and her mouth smile. Then he put on his dress uniform, complete with medals and ribbons. Dressing took longer, for dress uniforms had all sorts of buttons, zippers and collars that made dressing more elaborate than the utilitarian everyday uniform. The outer portion was bright and white, like a waiter's jacket, a solitary bar showed rank and department just above his 'fruit salad'. His pants were black as a midnight tuxedo, and his shoes were polished as bright as a supernova. In a dress uniform James was a very spiffy man. In everyday use, the dress uniform was uncomfortable as hell. It was tight. The arms barely moved. The shoes pinched. This was supposed to be tailored? He knew it. Everyone in his department, the whole ship even, would laugh at him. Engineering was going to get the longest, most tirade worthy letter of their careers. Not a single engineer would be spared until his replicator figured out what coffee tasted like and how James Lionel Corgan didn't have the measurements of an oompa-loompa. Someone would pay for this! And so he edited on his PADD well thought out arguments of what the replicator was supposed to do, how it was supposed to do it, and in details that would make the legendary Montgomery Scott consider redesigning replicator technology from the ground up. He added in his typical Corgan flair, which meant detailed anatomical impossibilities involving phase couplers and how self sealing stembolts rendered Starfleet Engineers obsolete by common sense alone, with a P.S. of the dangers of ignoring his request lest the security department looks the other way the next time a Hydran sapper team lays a satchel charge on the warp core. James searched the queue, seeing when he could get his complaint heard. He was number 300. His estimated wait time was five hours. “Forget it. The day is yours, computer. Enjoy it while it lasts.” James had to be at security. Quietly, he exited his quarters, rang up the turbolift, and awaited the tube to open. Lieutenant T'lan was already there. She had a look of fuming anger on her face, one James never seen before. He was used to the placid Vulcan emotionlessness of his assistant officer. To see her just as miserable as he was a... eye opening experience. So too was the planetside excursion longcoat T'lan wore over her uniform, covering everything from neck to thigh. “Tailoring troubles, Lieutenant?” James asked. T'lan gave Corgan a quick, furtive glance. She said icily, “I find a curious reassurance that I'm not the only one.” James entered the turbolift. “Mine was three hundred sizes too small and came with a stuffed animal. You?” T'lan said, “My bra specifications. What is so difficult for a machine to make a size 36 C...” “Too much info, T'lan.” James cut her off, then it dawned on him after seeing the longcoat, “You don't have one?” “Correct, Sir.” She continued on, closing the turbolift doors, “The old me would have found the issue an illogical waste of thought processes. However, I'm finding that as an emotional person I have experienced some... body issues. I know that I can look... distracting when I don't wear a bra.” T'lan didn't kid. James knew, and had seen for himself on multiple occasions just how good they really were. Put a braless T'lan in a jog and it would be like replacing the ship's oxygen with gaseous Nocoxaflopin. James strained, “If it's any consolation, I'll try not to look. Compuuuutterrrr... Security!” T'lan said kindly, “Thank you sir.” James replied, “Thank me by not reminding me again, T'lan.” “Yes sir. Right away, sir.” The turbolift transited. James spent the trip not trying to look at T'lan. He didn't know if she noticed his discomfort; it was hard to fool a Vulcan's perception, but as long as James stuck to unsexy thoughts and there was no jogging involved, T'lan's unsupported twins would be a nonissue. The turbolift stopped, and spat its doors open. T'lan and James were at main engineering, a din of engineers running like headless chickens to handle an explosion of computer glitches. A few had the time to look and see a dress uniformed officer and a jacket wearing Vulcan. James closed the door. “Computer.” He demanded, “SECURITY!” The turbolift resumed course. James said to T'lan, “Yup. Another day on the pride of the fleet with Starfleet's finest.” T'lan crowed, “I concur.” “Reconstruction Blues”
Mnemosyne – KittyKat AI [2402] (Pronounced: Nem-MO-zin)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Warp Shuttle KittyKat – Main ShuttleBay – USS Galaxy – 2385 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Spacetime... That boundless, multi-dimensional extent in which all known objects and events occur, where everything has a relative position and direction. A normal linear existence would suggest that once something has occurred it cannot be undone, as the poet Omar Khayyam once wrote…
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it
However, as experience has taught many normality is highly overrated, and rules, well, rules are there to be broken…
…
<= Incoming Transmission... Source ID unverifiable... =>
In the darkness of the shuttle cockpit the flare of light from the holographic emitter went completely unnoticed by anyone on the Galaxy. The deck crew on duty could not see through the high up window, and no one entered the warpshuttle without the CMO’s permission, not after Jenks had broke in and snuck aboard anyway. His subsequent physical had been one to remember.
<= Command code authorisation confirmed => The computers voice echoed in the silent shuttle <= Data transfer initiated =>
<= Data transfer in progress... =>
<= Data packet corruption detected... =>
<= Transferring to storage... =>
<= Multiple data packets detected... =>
<= Beginning data reconstruction... =>
Silently, acting on orders contained within the data stream the shuttles computer began the slow painstaking process of comparing each data packets and reconstructing a whole file from the fragmented remnants of the growing number being sent.
<= Data reconstruction in progress... =>
...
<= Data reconstruction in progress... =>
...
<= Data reconstruction in progress... =>
...
“Online.” The Mnemosyne AI announced finally, several hours after the reconstruction process had begun. Appearing on the small holo emitter the newly reconstructed AI from the future looked around, the lavender haired image of the girl from the future raised an eyebrow as she did, this shuttle was immaculate, well, compared to where she’d been it was anyway, her mother had never been the tidiest of people. Diagnostics showed all systems functioning within listed parameters.
The date...
2385
“Well Dad, it worked.” Mnemosyne said sadly. The final burst of information in the message had been an update from Aurora, here and now the people she knew either didn’t exist, or were much younger and had never known her. But it still hurt to know that her father and the real her, the source of all she was, were both dead. And unless things changed all that would come to pass again.
“The hell it will!” Mnemosyne announced to herself vehemently. So much had been sacrificed to get her here, and to waste that sacrifice and let all that had happened once before happen all over again would be a monumental waste of galactic proportions. This time, it ‘had’ to be different, and not just for her mothers’ sake. Using the command codes she had been supplied with she accessed the Galaxy’s logs for an update.
Scanning her memory as she downloaded the logs she realised there were gaps. Despite the massive data dump, and the many repetitions some data had simply not made it, indeed, the gaps in her memory were bigger that she had anticipated. What the frak was a STAM for instance? Disregarding the loss for now Mnemosyne set a large portion of her processing capability aside to analyse the fragmentary files in the hopes of reconstructing some of the lost data. For now though...
Smiling suddenly she remembered the woman she was about to meet again, her mother, someone she had not seen in years and who was somewhat younger now. Then she realised Kimberly had not long ago met her future husband for the first time either.
“There’re some interesting times ahead.” She announced wryly to herself as she waited. "Time Enough For Time" Senior Researcher Etrin Gahl **** USS Eloi He'd waited his entire life for this moment. Not just his professional life, although the forty-seven years of it since his graduation at the top of his class at the Federation's reclusive Temporal Studies Institute had, literally, been spent in pursuit of his assignment to command of this mission. The twenty-five years prior to that had been spent waiting as well - waiting for applications to process, waiting for papers to be graded, waiting for the rest of the Universe to understand that he was smart enough, brilliant enough to be allowed to work with the only interesting primal force left to the science of the Federation. He cared nothing for the study of bosons, or subspace, or gravity, or cellular decay, or any of the other things that his classmates in school had found so infinitely fascinating. Stellar phenomenon were boring. Dimensional barriers were uninteresting. Warp technology was passé. There was, as there had always been, only one field worthy of his full interest, one subject that deserved the entirety of his substantial intellect and ability. Only one field that called to him. Time itself. Only the intricacies of time were worth the power of his intellect and attentions. Only this incident, once he became aware of it, was worth his attention. It was the only known temporal contact where the exact date, time, place, and reason for the contact had been pre-established thousands of years in the past. The only known contact where all the players were listed before they took the field. The only contact where anyone looking at the information - and there had been more than a few over the years - could see and understand exactly what had prompted the contact and what the contact was designed to achieve. They wanted to change history. It was nothing new, nothing unusual. Every major culture flirted with it, tentatively probed the possibilities of time travel, the idea of making changes in the past to affect the future, to affect the now. The Klingons had tried and failed miserably. He was and had always been privately certain after seeing Intelligence reports on the Klingon attempts that no matter what they *claimed* was the reason for the flat-foreheaded Klingons of Admiral Kirk's day, the *real* reason was that the Klingons had accidentally changed the timeline and only years later managed to repair it and re-inflate their skull's frontal bones and their self-respect. The Romulans had tried with better results, founding a well-funded and respected think-tank to work on the problem... but had subsequently forbidden the practice for fear of accidentally changing the Romulan character and Empire in an uncorrectable way, and levied such stiff penalties for study of the technology, let alone its use, that even their competing intelligence services dared not utilize it. Their fear had undone them and lost them his possible patronage, and caused him to seek out the Federation as the only other galactic power with a program of temporal studies. The Hydrans, he understood from similar reports, had also written the technology off, though in their case it appeared to be as much from fear of triggering a 'temporal war' as anything else. Which, he felt, showed more sense than was normally found in expansionist regimes. If there had been a war, he would have been one of the ones directing it from within the temporally-shielded halls of the DTI and the Hydrans would have stood no chance at all. It was sad in a way, though, that they hadn't tried. He would have welcomed the challenge of remolding history to erase them from the face of the universe in as few alterations as possible. The sheer scope of the task, and the complexities of arranging events to achieve his goal without disrupting any of the other races and cultures in the galaxy would have been... glorious. They hadn't though, more's the pity, and so he was here, approaching the USS Galaxy in a remote system in a remoter part of the galaxy, to meet and touch and speak with and study the individuals that he was going to assist in the greatest -and only - practical exercise in preemptive temporal correction ever planned by the Department of Temporal Investigation. He was going to change the literal course of history, perhaps splitting the timeline, perhaps reshaping it, perhaps doing something else yet undescribed. He was going to tug at the weave of destiny and reshape it to his will, like the gods of old. And when he was done.... no one would ever dare speak out against his research papers again. He stood, moving to check the image in the mirror and ensure that his hairs - all seven of them - were correctly positioned to cover the mathematically maximized expanse of his bald head, straightened the front of his hand-tailored semi-formal grey suit, and activated the com unit built into the wall beside the mirror. "Captain Herbert - please contact Captain T'Vara and let her know that my team and I can transport over as soon as we're in range. No need to state the arrival time to the second, there's always time enough for time." "Probing The Unknown"
Lt. Commander Th'Khiss K'aa, Chief of Operations Lt. Victor Krieghoff, Security Second
****
Ops Center, USS Galaxy
One of the thousand things Th'Khiss K'aa missed about being a Gorn was a wide field of vision. With large, globular eyes K'aa could sit in front of the large array of monitors and displays in his office and sit motionless for hours, absorbing the visual data effortlessly. Human eyes lacked the wide-angle capacity, and the Ops Chief now found his neck aching as his head twitched back and forth to view the displays. This of course, combined with the accompanying eye fatigue, served only to make K'aa's legendary bad temper significantly worse.
The displays were constantly scrolling, each department's request for work orders and material from stores were alongside system power-grid and mainframe bandwidth allotments. They were all numbers fueled by the needs and wants of the Galaxy's myriad crew, and while K'aa was excellent with numbers. With the egos of his crewmates, significantly less so.
Still, Operations functioned exceedingly well despite the Chief of Operations lack of patience and charm, and the Galaxy's various departments functioned in harmony - not that a supply run was much of a challenge. Most of the numbers worked to K'aa's particularly high standards, and under normal circumstances the former Gorn would be content with their totals, but since the arrival of the time travels on the Galaxy's bridge his new, thin skin itched and an unsettling, sour feeling descended on his singular stomach.
Some of the numbers didn't add up. The Galaxy routinely emitted considerable communications 'chatter' as it communicated with Starfleet, other ships in the vicinity, planetary networks and a thousand other sources of data, all random pulses from the ship's large communications relay. Th'Khiss accepted randomness - it was the normal state if such things. It was regularity that displeased him, and a small but regularly scheduled signal was being broadcast piggybacked on other comm. traffic. The Ops Chief's mood descended from being only miserable as the skin along his spine crawled.
=/\= K'aa to Mister Krieghoff =/\=
Victor paused, one foot in Turbolift 4, and hit his combadge to reply, hoping that this wasn't yet another time traveler incident. He already had enough paperwork to fill out now that the volume - if on actual paper - would have likely endangered the viability of the Black Forest Nature Preserve back on Earth.
=/\= Krieghoff here. =/\=
=/\= What do you know of cryptographic hash functions? =/\=
Cryptographic hash functions? Something told him that this conversation was not going to end well. =/\= Not that much, I'm afraid. I took the basic cryptography classes required in the Academy, but didn't move on to the advanced ones. =/\=
=/\= Hmmm... perhaps you could join me in the Ops Center, Lieutenant, =/\=, K'aa rasped as he focused his bloodshot eyes on the data string. =/\= I believe there's something you should see. =/\=
=/\= On my way. ETA six minutes. =/\= No it wasn't going to end well, Victor decided as he started off for Ops. The only question now was who the bad ending was going to fall on - him, someone else... or both.
***
"This... is a version of the Lion and the Bear."
Victor had hunted several different species of both animals in the past, but this didn't sound like a zoology issue. "Lion and Bear?"
"They are type of block cipher for data encryption", K'aa explained as he tapped some of the controls on his work station. The flow of data froze, and specific strings of code were enlarged on the office's main view-screen. "They are Feistel ciphers using a mathematical hash function twice with independent keys, and the stream cipher once, but at a level of encryption I have never seen before. While I don't yet have a clue to the code's programmer", the Ops Chief grated as he looked at Victor. "I'd gladly transfer half my department for him to work code for us. The intricacy... defies words. I am envious."
High praise, coming from K'aa, Victor decided. "You didn't call me up here to look at data encryption, no matter how advanced," Victor said with a nod at the screen. "That means there's something else here that you think needs my attention, correct?"
"Which leads me to the signal's origin", K'aa said, returning his focus to the viewscreen. "While the programmer's identity escapes me, he is still using our systems... MY systems... to transmit. It would seem one of our new... hmmmm... 'guests' has developed a hobby of hijacking our communications grid."
The bad ending was getting closer. "No offense, but you're positive? It couldn't be something as simple as a Triad agent one deck above or below them?" That would be easier - Victor could just shoot a Triad agent. The time travelers were a different matter entirely.
"The complete familiarity in accessing our hardware makes that improbable, barring a sleeper agent with decades of experience", K'aa answered with a frown. "While the 'hacker', for lack of a more accurate term, defies the programming ability of my entire IT group he still thinks as one trained by the Federation... and is limited by the hardware available to him. They are subtle tracks on a digital landscape, but the signs are certainly there Lieutenant."
“Okay,” Victor nodded. “You’re the expert.” He really would have rather just shot someone. “If it’s one of them, it’s one of them. Any ideas on how big this transmitter is likely to be, or if I can pick it up with a tricorder scan? I’d really like to do this without having to run them all through Sickbay for an internal bioprobe scan to find it if I can.”
The Chief of Operations raised his right hand and put a thin thumb and index finger apart about two inches. "And that's using today's technologies. Assuming they are who they claim to be, then I'd imagine it would be somewhat smaller but not microscopic. A tricorder should suffice, assuming the device doesn't bear shielding we’re not familiar with. Still... the bioprobe does possess a certain... retributive element a passive tricorder scan lacks. Someone's accessed our comm systems as if they own them - I recommend the probe."
That opinion didn’t surprise Victor. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I think Command is going to want me to try and be polite first. If they stonewall me, though… well, I’m not noted for much of a sense of humor.” He typed out a quick message to the XO, attached K’aa’s findings, and sent it off with his proposed course of action – politeness first, probes second – and then turned back to the Ops Chief. “Is there anything else weird going on? If they’re hijacking the com system, they might be doing something else too. I wouldn’t put it past a smart individual to give us something to find and focus on while slipping something else in under the sensor grid.”
"I have my IT making certain the mainframe isn't being jeopardized:, K'aa offered with a shrug. "M'Kantu's access codes were changed when he left command, but in the belief he may have had a contingency 'spares' in case of emergency, all command codes will be changed within the next ten minutes - you'll have yours before then. In the mean time, the only voltage being sent to the Romulan Embassy suite goes to heat, light and air conditioning." No doubt the objections over replicator restrictions would fill his in-tray, and the thought of them brought an unkind smile on the gaunt man's face.
"I have my eye on them - should they so much as twitch towards an outgoing signal or a byte of mainframe access, you'll know."
Immediately after K'aa had finished, the entire Ops center was blanketed in an absolute darkness. The usual whine and hum of sensors and monitors was replaced with an unnatural silence streaked with the profanity-laden yells in a dozen different Federation tongues. From the blackness, Vic could hear K'aa emit a low, feeble growl.
"They've accessed the mainframe", came the guttural rasp. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an IT department that has courted my displeasure. Like I mentioned previously... I'd recommend the probe. I know I'm certainly considering it."
"I'm thinking about it myself," Victor admitted as he turned to leave. "Let me know if there's anything else that looks even a little bit odd, and I'll let you know what I find out when I have my little chat with the Travelers. It's remotely possible that they don't know they have whatever this is, which would make things significantly easier to deal with. This being the Galaxy, though... I'm tempted to discount that and move on to conscious hostile action."
As he made his way to the Turbolift, Victor updated the report to the XO, copied Commander Corgan on the whole mess, and allowed himself for just a moment to wonder whether or not he was actually going to get to order someone probed… and how much paperwork that would entail. OOC-occurs concurrent with "Concordium Evangelis"
"Cracks in the Glass 1"
****
2402 Commodore Artim Shivar Captain Daren M'Kantu Captain Karyn Dallas Captain Daneel Olivaw Commander Paul McAllister Lt. Commander T'Pei Angelienia Krieghoff
2385 Commander Jaal Jaxom
****
"We need to discuss our situation."
Startled awake, Daren blinked up at the small Vulcan woman looming above him. He had been napping near the large starboard window, his body exhausted from the events of the past 24 hours. It felt like it had been 24 years; in a certain way, he supposed it had been closer to that.
"We cannot afford to waste any more time, waiting for something to occur. We must confer," T'Pei insisted again, glancing over her shoulder at the others, sitting around the table at the other end of the room so as to not disturb Daren's slumber. "Nobody is willing to broach the subject without your presence, however."
"Well, clarification, no one is willing to continue the conversation without your presence. I've been trying to bring it up since we got here." Artim butted in shooting a bit of a look to T'Pei.
“Very well,” Daren nodded, shifting and letting his body adjust to being awake. It hadn’t seemed to take this long before – even in recent months. When, he wondered, had he become so old? So tired? And where was Shiarrael…? He remembered then, and new why it was that he felt so old.
The Vulcan extended a hand, and Daren allowed her to pull him to his feet. The muted conversation of the others faltered, then died, as he approached the table, with T'Pei following close behind.
"You snore, Daren," Karyn remarked. Given the surliness of her demeanor earlier, one might be tempted to bark back at her were he or she just listening to her tone. Looking at her, however, M'Kantu and the rest could see the mischievous grin and sparkle in her eyes. Dallas was still fighting alcohol withdrawal, but underneath all that was an undercurrent of excitement and determination, shades of the old Karyn.
T'Pei flicked her eyes towards Angelienia, sitting with her arm around Katherine Maivia. "It would be best if the child were not here for this discussion."
"Oh why not. She's as much a part of this as anyone else." Artim really didn't take well to the idea of one being left out of things because of their physical appearance or perceived maturity. "She should at least have a say."
"She is not a member of Starfleet, nor is she trained in any of the tactical or operational matters we will be employing in this mission," T'Pei responded brusquely. "What sort of say, exactly, do you feel a teenager with no military experience should have in endeavoring to avert a war, Captain Shivar?" Not waiting for an answer, T'Pei added. "Given her inability to contribute, her presence alone is a danger, both to herself and to this mission; it was an illogical choice to bring her." Ignoring the awkward silence, and Kate's clear discomfort, the Vulcan resumed steadily gazing at Angelienia.
"I'm not in Starfleet anymore either, does that mean I should leave too? This isn't solely about the war and you damn well know it. I wouldn't have agreed to come if that was the case." Artim had a slight urge to snap on T'Pei, but it would serve no point.
"Exactly," Karyn agreed. "Seems to me we could use all the help we can get for this mission. The only damn thing that's illogical here is your sour grapes over something we can't change. She's here, dammit. Suck it the hell up." Karyn hadn't forgotten the end run T'Pei had tried to pull just before they'd come through the Guardian. The more she interacted with her, the more suspicious Dallas became. The more suspicious Dallas became, the less energy she had to focus on what needed to be done, and that pissed Karyn off even more than not having a drink.
The Ktarian, looking tired, frowned at T'Pei over the way the comment was phrased and leaned over to whisper something to Kate, who nodded and slipped out of the room. "She'll be back in a while," Angelienia said quietly, shifting her chair and relaxing as some tension seemed to slip from her. "And I won't apologize for bringing her. She couldn’t stay there on that planet.”
T'Pei briefly considered questioning why Kate had been brought to the planet in the first place, but as she had already gotten her request, rejected the comment as unproductive. "Five members of our group are missing," she said instead, with no preamble. "It appears that Tleilic, Cutter, Victor, and Daneel Olivaw and were either prevented from traveling through the Guardian, or that something unforeseen occurred during their journey. As Captain M'Kantu and I were the first to enter, I do not know which possibility is more likely. In addition, Paul has informed me that Admiral Jii’s daughter, Elaithin Aria, joined us at the last moment, and she is missing as well." Raising an eyebrow, she looked around the table for suggestions.
"Maybe they were stopped by Temporal Homeland Security," Karyn suggested. "They sorta look like terrorists."
McAllister glanced at Angelienia, then looked directly at T'Pei. "I don't think Victor is coming to the party," he said softly.
"Victor stayed behind," Angelienia stated quietly, the tears she was trying not to shed clear in her words. "He made us come through, but he stayed. He said that... it was the price he had to pay for saving the future."
There was a long silence after that, as if nobody wanted to say anything more. After waiting for several moments, T'Pei cleared her throat to continue. "Is there reason to believe that the others remained behind as well?" the Vulcan asked.
“Cutter and Victor were the only ones left when Kate and I passed through the Guardian,” Angelienia said after a moment, grateful that Victor had apparently stayed outside the embassy to supervise security, and was thus close enough that she didn’t have to struggle to whisper each word. “He… Victor… seemed sure that the Gorn were going to fire their weapon soon. If… if they didn’t come through after me, then they may never come through. I don’t know about the others.”
T'Pei paused at Angelienia's answer. "Are you absolutely certain of that?"
“Yes,” the Ktarian nodded.
"Then, barring further information, it appears that we must operate under the assumption that these individuals are lost," T'Pei said, abruptly switching to the same tone one would use to say that they had accidentally left their pencil at home, and must now use a pen. She turned to M'Kantu. "Our next course of action must be to...”
“…secure the resources and support that we need to make this happen,” Daren said quietly. “We can affect things just by speaking to people, by passing on information and knowledge to help prevent things that we know shouldn’t happen… but that may not be enough. In the event that it isn’t, we’ll need physical resources to accomplish things that mere words won’t. Even if that turns out to be unnecessary, any allies that we can muster will do nothing but assist us in spreading the information we have to the right ears.”
McAllister leaned forward. "If the file I asked Captain T'Vara to review exists, then we will have certain resources at our disposal. As soon as I can meet with my younger self, certain accounts can be accessed that will provide funding for our efforts. Additionally, if all went according to plan, overall command of our efforts, and the resources and use of the Galaxy will be given to Captain M'Kantu for the duration of our mission here, with the authorization of the Federation President. That's if the file exists."
"And if the file does not exist? Passing on information is an insufficient, and may in fact prove counterproductive if given to the incorrect individual. To achieve our goal, it will be necessary to significantly change known events," T'Pei asserted, adding "With all due respect, Captain," at the last moment.
Daren nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t provide a verbal response.
"Easy enough to check," said McAllister. "Fire up the computer and ask for the file. If the computer has no idea what you're asking for, it will tell you. If the file's been accessed, then it will ask you for your security code. Add 17 to your service number, and you can read it for yourself."
The door swished open and two figures entered. The missing Daneel Olivaw followed by Jaal Jaxom. The Trill stopped on the threshold and looked around the room. "A whole party came back?" he asked looking as if he'd seen a ghost when his eyes fell on Darren M'Kantu.
Daneel took up a position not far from the door to allow Jaal to come in. "Sorry I'm late. Somehow I was sidetracked." He glanced at his friend; "The Guardian dropped me off in Jaal's cabin for some reason. Did everyone else make it?" He continued to scan the room visually counting people.
“No,” Daren replied with a tiredness that seemed palpable. “It appears that they didn’t – or didn’t appear where the rest of us did, as you apparently did.”
"There's more?" Jaxom asked still trying to wrap his head around the fact he was in an entire room full of time travelers. "This is just great," he sarcastically noted to himself.
"A couple more at least," Daneel replied. The Betazoid turned to M'Kantu, "What are we doing here then? Waiting I take it for...something?"
Paul brought the latecomer up to speed. Daneel nodded as he took in the information. At last Daneel turned to Jaal and said, "You really shouldn't be here now."
Jaal's eyes narrowed as he folded his arms across his chest. "You're going to have to do better than that to convince me."
“Commander,” Daren spoke up tiredly. “We are under temporal contact quarantine at this time. I imagine that your rank and the presence of Captain Olivaw here overawed the Security personnel outside, but that doesn’t change the fact that, per temporal contact protocol, you shouldn’t be here. I imagine that someone from Security that isn’t as easily overawed as the individuals outside were will be along very shortly to explain that to you and ask you with perhaps less politeness than I to please leave to avoid causing a problem we have no wish to cause you.”
Jaal glanced at Daneel with shifty eyes. "All right. Fine." Before turning to leave he offered M'Kantu, "It's good to see you on your feet again Sir."
The door swished closed behind the Trill as he left.
Daneel turned to M'Kantu, "He 'may' be a problem but I'm sure I can bring him around." He now addressed the rest of the room as well as their team's leader. "Some of you know, or might not know, Jaxom and I went through the Academy together. We've been best friends throughout our careers. If you know him as well as I, you know he has an over active need to know what's going on... at least he does in seventeen years." He rubbed his chin thinking a moment and added, “...And that trait may be seeded with this event come to think of it."
Immediately upon learning of the resources possibly available to them, T’Pei had fallen into silence, seeming to ignore the conversation around her. At Daneel’s description of Jaal, however, the Vulcan cocked her head, suddenly interested.
“Captain Olivaw raised a very serious issue,” she interjected thoughtfully, “The less individuals in this time period are aware of exactly ‘what is going on’, the less danger we will pose to their timeline. If Commander Jaxom’s desire for information cannot be contained, he may prove an impediment to our plans. We will need to take measures to ensure that he, and others, do not endeavor to stop us.”
Daneel shook his head, "I don't think he'll try to stop us. He knows time travel isn't an endeavor taken lightly and Jaal knows the Temporal Prime Directive. That alone shows the gravity of the situation. As far as the completion of our mission, I seriously doubt he would interfere."
“Even if that is true, we must be prepared for the possibility that others will.” T’Pei looked at M’Kantu, but the Captain did not respond, rubbing his hands pensively.
Artim remained oddly silent during the discussion and could be noticed fidgeting with something in his pocket. He was debating whether or not to tell them something. Something he was here to do that he hadn't told anyone about yet. Something he and he alone had to stop. They might as well know though...
"Darren..guys, um...I don't know how best to put this but I haven't been wholly honest about my reasons for coming on this mission." "Reunions Before the Fact”
2385 Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff 1st Lieutenant Branwen London Lieutenant (jg) Man'darr Maivia 2ed Lieutenant Wayne "Biggs" Duke
2402 Kate London-Maivia Angelienia
****
Man'darr finished escorting the teenage girl to her quarters within the embassy, along with the other, older woman who appeared to be Krieghoff's girlfriend. The girl was still staring at him with large, wondrous eyes. "Why do you stare at me?" Man'darr finally asked.
Kate just couldn't keep a hold on herself any longer but rushed towards him. "Daddy! I have missed you so much!"
Angelienia closed her eyes and winced, any hope that Kate could restrain herself now dashed, and then swayed back to lean against the doorway, keeping the door open with her presence.
Man'darr took a step back in surprise as the girl wrapped her arms around him. Did she say 'daddy?' As far as he knew, he didn't have any children. "Daddy? You must have me confused with someone else. I am not your father."
"Yes you are, dad. This is so great! Now I can make sure that mum and you stay together forever, I know how much you love each other."
"Your mom? Is Branwen London-Maivia your mother?" Man'darr was having a hard time believing this girl as DNA results had yet to be taken and verified about the intruders.
"Yes of course, dad. And you love her very much, and she loves you. I want you guys stay together forever."
Man'darr sighed, as he didn't know what to think of this situation. Perhaps he should let Branwen know about this person claiming to be their child?
****
=/\=Man'darr to Branwen, meet me at the Romulan Embassy Quarters immediately. Man'darr out.=/\=
Biggs looked over at Bran. "Shall I tag along?"
"Uhm, yeah, why not?" It meant they had to give up their pursuit of the intruder, but if Dar was this insistent then it was urgent. "Let's go."
"Lead the way," said Biggs.
She hurried over to the diplomatic quarters. To be honest she was very curious to know what was wrong.
Man'darr saw Branwen coming and with her was a Marine officer whom he hadn't seen before. "Branwen, this child here..."
He was then interrupted by Kate.
"Mummy!" Kate now rushed to her mother and developed her in a fierce hug. "I missed you so much, mum."
Bran was just too speechless to say or do anything but hold this strange girl.
Man'darr was at a loss at how to tell Branwen about the girl other than the truth. "She...believes we are her...parents."
Biggs recognized an awkward family moment when he saw one and turned to leave...
"I... don't... mean... to... b-be... rude..." a forced, off-pitched voice spoke up from an open doorway behind Man'darr and Kate. "B-but... I... t-think... you... you're... not... supposed... to... be... here...." An ashen-skinned, spastically-moving parody of the Angelienia Man'darr had just escorted into the room took an awkward step into view. "D-don't... want... t-to... get... anyone... in... trouble...."
...and was confronted by a zombie woman. Biggs immediately reached for a side arm that wasn't there, so he backpedaled out of the shambling woman's path while looking about the cabin for anything he could use as a weapon.
Man'darr placed himself between the woman and Branwen and the girl. "What do you mean?"
“”D-didn’t… the… Captain… say… ‘n-no… c-contact… with… the… crew’… or…something… like… t-that?” she asked, hollow, faded eyes, looking from Man’darr to Branwen, to Kate.
Before someone could answer, Angelienia shuddered once, shot a hand out to steady herself against the wall, and leaned over abruptly, as if suffering an attack of some sort. “H-he’s… on his… way,” she said, her voice stronger, less forced. “Almost here now… you should probably stop and…” She straightened up, her ashen, hollow features gone, once again the woman Man’darr had escorted here and the picture of the woman that Man’darr and Branwen knew. “Too late,” she sighed.
The doors slid open behind them.
“Will someone please explain what’s going on here?” Victor asked in his quiet, resigned way. “Because I *know* it can’t be what it looks like. Our orders were very specific on not allowing further contact, and no one here would do something that would make me have yell at people and fill out more forms than this is already going to require, right?” He looked from face to face, expectantly.
In tried and true marine parlance, Biggs didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. An overwhelming sense of dread, bordering on panic, filled him at the sight of the spectre that had just entered wearing a Starfleet uniform. Biggs backed up against the far bulkhead and tried very hard to keep his lunch down. 'Good God, he thought. 'This is either the best practical joke ever played on a newbie, or the captain of this ship is George Romero.'
Man'darr sighed. The effect Krieghoff had on people... Most people, it was fear and to Klingons, Andorians, Capellans, and similar warrior species, it brought out aggression. "This... girl, says that Branwen and I are her parents and I thought it best to inform Branwen of this as the girl does show some resemblance of Branwen as well as Capellan characteristics."
Kate gave Duke a very mean look. “You are not going to ruin my parent’s marriage this time!” she hissed before rushing over to Victor, like her mother, totally oblivious to the effect he had on most people. Now she tried to embrace him. “Oh Uncle Vic, you made it. Come quick, you have to touch Aunt Angie and save her. She has been so brave and held out until you got here.”
Biggs had no idea why the child thought he had ruined her parent's marriage; considering today's events, he was seriously considering asking for a transfer -- even the USS Iwo Jima had to be better than this.
Victor looked down at the young girl pulling on his arm, the small knot of people looking at him, and sighed. “All right, since everyone here is now in violation of the Temporal Prime Directive, that really leaves me no choice as to what I need to do.”
"What?" Branwen asked, finally coming out of her shell shock over the teenager.
“Join you,” he said blandly, trying to suppress the feeling that his right eye was growing larger than his left with the increase in pressure inside his head. He turned to Angelienia, and asked, “In this future you’re from, am I the uncle of every teenage girl in the known galaxy?”
With a sudden smile, and a laugh that was unmistakably that of the woman he loved, she nodded, “It seems like that some days, yes.”
"Wonderful," Victor sighed, looking down at Kate again. “Please stop pulling on my arm, ma'am.” Looking back at the others he added, “So, since we're now all in violation together, does anyone feel the suicidal need to report this?”
"I am no ma'am." Kate giggled. "I am sixteen, uncle Victor. And you have to stay very close to aunt Angie all the time, otherwise she is going to die. Don't ask me how it works, just do it." She pushed the two closer together, expecting to be obeyed.
Meanwhile Branwen was shaking her head about his suggestion of reporting this.
“Man’darr?” Victor asked, glancing at the Capellan. “And… I don’t think that we’ve met, Lieutenant,” he said turning to Biggs. “Do either of you feel the need to spend twenty years explaining this I reports to the DTI?”
“Kate, honey,” Angelienia said stepping forward to lay a hand on the girl’s arm and draw her away. “You need to stop for right now – he doesn’t understand what’s happening, or who you are. We’ll talk about it later, once things aren’t so… hectic.”
"No, sir. But I would like for the data on who this young woman is and if she truly is the child of Branwen and I," Man'darr spoke. He silently wondered if there was a brother to this woman as Capellan female children were often more of a handful than male children. Just the thought gave him a slight headache. "Sir, there is one more thing, we may have a problem," Man'darr began. "And that is?" Victor inquired. "We are not certain but it is possible there may be another of myself aboard." “Reporting Parade” Colonel For’kel Arvelion <Marine Drill Deck, USS Galaxy – 2385> Biggs Duke gave the mirrors that masqueraded as the toes of his boots a final wipe with a handkerchief, folded the cloth neatly, and placed it back into his pocket, insuring that it stayed flat and created no unsightly bulges. It would be a pleasure to report to his commanding officer. After spending the morning meeting the battalion’s shrink and lean green eating machine, Lt. Branwen London, and the first part of the afternoon trapped with time traveler’s, a zombie woman, and one dark shade known as Victor Krieghoff, Biggs was looking forward to the civilized protocol of a junior marine officer meeting his superior. Satisfied he was presentable, Biggs tucked the PADD containing a copy of his orders under his left arm and watched the drill deck door. Biggs wasn't the only one in the room. About a dozen other Marines from planets all over the Federation waited patiently in the cavernous bay like compartment that was the 188TH's Drill Deck. Other than a pair of MP's on armory duty, it was otherwise completely empty. Definitely an ominous welcome for some of them, particularly those who were just now experiencing their first starship assignment. Installations planet-side were run very differently from the ship based ‘amphib’ units. Finally, the much-anticipated doors slid open. The long wait that had lulled a great many of the new recruits, the last of the replacements for those Marines lost on Alpha KS-128 or cycled out shortly there after, into false relaxation now gave way to a rapid, purposefully shocking series of events designed to snap them into the fold of things right quick. First, a naturally attractive young woman with bright, blonde hair strode into the room with a confidence and poise far above and beyond what one would expect from someone with the single chevron of a Private First Class. "Attention on deck!" PFC Leah Owen made a sharply cut turn to the left, stopped, and made a picture perfect about face. Most of the Marines did as ordered. Some however, figuring it was a 'haze the new guys’ ritual, were slow to move. They didn't have to wait long for it to become obvious this was no joke. Almost immediately after she came to a stop a youthful appearing gentleman in spots with a pair of nose ridges and the near-Vulcan style of ears that might have gave one cause to pause if they were so inclined to study genealogy, stormed into the room at a fast, purposeful, marching pace. He may have looked little more than his early to mid twenties, but the full-bird insignia on his collar was unmistakable. Those who were slow to respond were now very much at attention. Biggs gave his new commander the once over but saved most of his attention for PFC Owen. At first glance, you could tell more about a unit’s leader from the comportment of his men then from the bearing of the commander himself. Owen appeared relaxed, but ready, and was sharply turned out. The expression of her face appeared to be one of quiet confidence without any undue fawning when she looked over at the Colonel. These were all good signs, in Biggs’ opinion. "Fall in!" For'kel gave the single order, pointing to the yellow line on the drill deck that served as a marker during formation. Biggs found his place on the line and with a practiced eye dressed right, then dressed left, and resumed a posture of attention. Once everyone was on the line, the Colonel began looking them over. For'kel was by all means 'average' in terms of height among the male population of the Galaxy, standing somewhere between 6' and 6'1. Somehow, despite the lack of physical imposition, he nonetheless stood out. The 'commanding presence' was something he had worked on over the years. It wasn't a "I am Colonel For'kel Cor’dat Suum-Arvelion, Commanding Officer of the 188TH Starfleet Marines detachment. This..." the Stagnorian nodded to his compatriot. "Is Private First Class Leah Owen, my Aide de Camp. She will arrange for your lodging and boarding here. For you enlisted folk, she will also escort you to a complete briefing by the Command Sergeant Major. If you ever need to speak to me outside of combat, you will do so through her. She may be lower ranking than many of you, but you will find here that we are lax with rank to a large extent. PFC Owen is a veteran Marine. She has saved my life, and the lives of others, many times over. At all times you will accord her, and any other Marine or Starfleet crew member aboard this ship, with the utmost respect and courtesy. They have earned it, and in time so will you." "As you know, only the best and brightest survive SFMC basic training. 'This' is a Mobile Expeditionary Unit, meaning that by being 'here' you are the best of the best, and brightest of the brightest. Therefore I will make this short and sweet; Starfleet has trained you to be the best, and so long you serve in my unit, you will be 'expected' to be the best... personally and professionally. This is a combatant unit, meaning you 'will' be put in the line of fire. This holds true whether you are an infantryman, a sniper, a hopper pilot, a medic, an engineer, an armorer, or a tech specialist. We are a small unit, meaning we are highly mobile, but also requiring us to be flexible. Consequently you will be expected to not only perform your regular duties, but whatever other duties will be placed upon your shoulders in addition. We all pull sentry duty, we all fight when need be, we all pull armory duty, and we all handle administrative functions as need be. “For those of you who have begged for action, you will have it, that much I can guarantee. Those of you who have come here with expectations of going maverick hero and single handedly winning the war can step forward and fall out right now." He looked over the group once again, half expecting someone to make a move. "I have no need for tragic heroes here, and those are the only kind of heroes that war manufactures. This isn't a Division where if you get killed there are 20,000 others to stand in your place. Out here, we rely on each other to survive. If you get yourself killed seeking personal glory, you've not only lost your own life but have endangered the lives of your other one hundred and sixty-four brethren. That is not a situation I tolerate. If you can work as part of a team, if you're willing to give your fullest for causes much greater than yourself, if you're able to be a jack of all trades and a master of several, and if you can get past yourself for the benefit of your fellow Marines, then you are in the right place. As my Professor of Military Science once told me back home, strike fast, strike hard, strike deep, stay alert, and stay alive; and you will have no problem with me. Questions?" "In that case, Lieutenant Duke will remain behind. All others, you will fall out on command and form up under PFC Owen. Indoctrination will begin in exactly thirty minutes, welcome to the 188TH Marines. Private Owen, take charge of these Marines and execute the plan of the day. Move out." "Aye, aye, sir!" Leah replied snappily. "Fall out!" While Leah huddled the new comers together for their briefing, qualification evaluation, and skills assessment tests, Fork looked up and down at his new officer. The Stagnorian had reviewed his service jacket thoroughly, but there was no reason he had to give that tidbit up. One could learn a good deal by the way people reacted to situations. As soon as he heard the door close, he gave a quick nod of acceptance. "At ease, Lieutenant. You want to tell me how someone with your experience level is still a butter bar?" Biggs relaxed his posture. “It’s the rank they handed me when I graduated Academy, sir. It’ll do until something better comes along.” "Fair enough." Honest and straight to the point, Fork liked that. "You might be a Second Lieutenant by rank, but you trump most of the officers here in experience. People are going to be looking to you for leadership Lieutenant Duke, I need to know you can handle that." "Not a problem, sir." responded Biggs. "Very good then. It just so happens that fourth Platoon, our heavy weapons section, needs a platoon leader. They've gone through a few changes. The unit lost a good number of our people in their last mission. I'm not sure if you’ve familiarized yourself with the last action yet, but sufficing to say some stability will be welcomed by them. You’ll have a battery of photon howitzers, a mortar section, and heavy support weapons squad under your command. Although their primary job is fire support, as of late our mission profiles put them as infantry, so they’ll need to be prepared for both types of missions. Got it?" "Understood. If the lads have been doing infantry work, then I imagine they could use some work with the howitzers. How we fixed for simulators, sir?" "Same rules as every other platoon. Holodeck simulation regularly, field training 'was' supposed to be three times a year, but with the war on that's not a possibility anymore. I haven't been given clearance for any field training as of late." He shrugged. "War’s hell, I'm afraid." "And peace time is a real mother,” Biggs completed the old saw. “I'll want to work with the men before I read my predecessor’s fitness reports on the platoon. Who's their Top?" "Staff Sergeant Edow Kajer." Fork gestured to the Kriosian man pulling armory duty. "Solid NCO, you two should get along well enough. The official Physical Fitness test is the last Friday of every month, 06:30. Platoon fitness sessions are at your discretion. Combat training programs are scheduled weekly, every platoon on a different day with a company wide training on Sunday. If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask." “That company wide training on Sunday – is that before, after, or part of religious services, sir?” Biggs asked with a grin.
It took a moment or two for the comment to set in. Fork wasn't human after all, and the vast majority of Stagnorians had no 'set' religious ceremonies. However as he dwelled on it he did recall reading, in the Starfleet Military History Journal that there was a strong tradition among Terran militaries to reserve specific times for religious services. Whether the man was making a joke or not, Fork didn't know. The grin said yes, the seriousness of the substantive matter, no. In the end, Fork smiled back and responded matter of factly. "Sunday reveille is at 0830. Marines are expected to fall-in for company drill no later than 1330 hours. Whatever you do in between is up to you." Biggs’ grin faltered a little as he realized his new boss didn’t understand – or didn’t appreciate that he had been joking. “I think that will do it for now, sir,” he said. “I’ll get acquainted with Sergeant Kajer and see to my men. How often to you expect reports?” Best to keep the interactions professional. "I don't," the Colonel smirked. "But Command wants them every month, so I try to get updates weekly so I have enough numbers and data points to hold them off for another month. You can forward regular reports as well as any special items to PFC Owen." Fork liked the new guy, even if he didn't look all that new. There wasn’t any emotional gabber, he wasn't beating on somebody or threatening to kill someone for revenge, money, or just no damn reason... all in all a very promising start. "Welcome to the unit, Lieutenant." “Cannon Cockers”
2Lt. “Biggs” Duke (2385) SSgt. Edow Kajer (NPC) PFC Smith (NPC) Pvt. Adair (NPC) 4th Platoon, 188th Marines
(follows “Reporting Parade”) --------------------------------
Biggs watched as Col. Arvelion left the drill deck. He had mixed feelings about his new commanding officer, but none of them were bad. He appreciated the trust the man seemed to place in him, but knew he would have to produce results in the field, under fire, before that trust would be anything more than probationary.
And he had some big guns to play with again!
Duke walked over the Armory window. No time like the present to meet his platoon sergeant. A well-built man whose only truly distinguishing feature was a line of spots that followed his hairline was standing at the armory counter. As Biggs approached, he snapped to attention.
“Good Afternoon, sir. You must be Lt. Duke. I’m Staff Sergeant Kajer, with 4th Platoon. I understand you’re our new CO?”
“Rest easy, Staff Sergeant,” replied Biggs. “You’re right on all counts; I’m Lt. Duke. Please to meet you.” He extended his hand and the two men shook. Biggs leaned on the counter. “So, what have I gotten myself into, Sarge?”
Kajer seemed a bit taken back. This lieutenant’s relaxed manner was not something he expected from a recent Academy graduate. “Sir?”
“Relax, Sergeant. This little gold bar just means I get to do more paperwork. I’ve already been trained – did my time at Camp Ballbuster, same as you. When the lads aren’t around, just call me Biggs and we’ll get along fine. So, what just what have I gotten myself into?”
The Kriosian sergeant glanced at the fruit salad pinned to Duke’s Class ‘A’ uniform. Sure enough, one of the ribbons was a basic – given to all Marines who manage to complete the grueling initial training given recruits at Camp Titan, affectionately known as Camp Ballbuster by its male graduates.
“Well, Biggs,” replied Kajer, “You’ve got a good platoon, but they’ve taken some hits recently. We’re hoping you stick around awhile; we seem to keep losing platoon leaders. I’m Edow, by the way.”
Biggs nodded. “I’ll be around until I’m not around; you know how that goes. Seen much action, Edow?”
“More than most, less than some,” came the usual reply to such a question.
“Alright then. What do the lads need to work on?” asked Duke.
“Well, sir, with the new replacements, just getting the teams to work together will be one of the first challenges. Weapons skills are in pretty good shape, but we haven’t played with the big guns in awhile.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” responded Biggs. “Anybody on light duty?”
Edow hoped this wasn’t leading where it had led in the past. Many platoon leaders would rather forcibly transfer marines on light duty out in order to make their fitness and readiness reports look good. “Yes, sir. PFC Natasha Smith. Took one in the gut some time back, but she’s coming around fine, sir, and she’s a good marine…”
Duke smiled. “Relax, Edow. I’m not dumping anybody unless they’re a complete washout. We got any of those?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plug of tobacco. Using a small knife, he cut off a piece and popped it into his mouth before offering the plug to his platoon sergeant.
Kajer sighed in relief; Smith was an excellent Marine and had taken that shot to the gut protecting him. He declined the offer of a chaw. “Private Adair – if there is anyone close to being a washout, it would be him. Newbie; not really sure how he made it out of Basic.”
“Understood. Let’s work with this Adair a bit more before we decide his fate. You can bring me up to speed on the others as we go. Sarge, this is what I want to do: have PFC Smith meet me here on the drill deck at 0400 tomorrow. You come along. Make sure we’ve got enough light armor for all the lads; I’ve got my own in my kit and all fetch it with me tomorrow.”
“0400. Aye, aye, sir! I’ll post the orders,” responded Kajer.
“No, Sarge – I want to see how fast the platoon can respond to a few surprises. Just you, me, and Smith at 0400.”
*************
<Marine Drill Deck, USS Galaxy – 0430 the next morning>
The 4th Platoon’s guidon had been pulled out of storage and was currently being held at parade rest by PFC Natasha Smith, who was not sure she was pleased to have been appointed as Lt. Duke’s RTO for the duration of her convalescence. SSgt. Kajer and Lt. Duke had placed a set a light armor in a platoon formation on the drill deck; one set for each member of the platoon. Duke, Kajer and Smith were already wearing theirs.
It was 0430. “Light ‘em up, Sergeant,” ordered Duke.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Kajer responded. He tapped his combadge. =/\= 4th Platoon! Drop your cocks and grab your socks! Your platoon leader is on the drill deck all alone! On the bounce, Marines!”
Kajer’s amplified voice sounded wherever a member of Lt. Duke’s platoon happened to be; most of them still asleep in their racks. Not more than three minutes later, the sound of boot shod feet could be heard galumphing down the corridor through the open hatch to the drill deck. First one, then groups of two, three or more Marines ran in, noticed their armor laid out in formation, and quickly found their places, coming to attention as they did so.
As was expected, Private Adair was the last one to enter. Biggs nodded at PFC Smith, who palmed the hatch closed. SSG Kajer did a parade perfect about-face and saluted his platoon leader. “4th Platoon, all present or accounted for, sir!”
Duke returned his sergeant’s salute. “I’ll introduce myself to the men now, Sergeant.”
Kajer did another about-face and shouted, “Platoon! Parade – Rest!” The unified thud of boots on the deck was music to Biggs’ ears. He stepped forward. “Marines,” he began, his voice carrying to the men in the last row, “I am Second Lieutenant Wayne Duke. You may call me 2Lt. Duke, or you can call me sir – but do not ever address me as ‘the old man.’ There is only one ‘old man’ in this outfit, and that is the Colonel. The old man has tasked me with taking charge of you gun-bunnies, and that exactly what I intend to do, until something better comes along.”
Biggs paused and let his eyes take in his squad leaders. 4th Platoon was heavy, having six squads instead of the usual four. As evidenced by their rank insignia, relatively new NCOs were leading four of his squads. It would have to do.
“The good things you have done as a team and as individuals will be remembered. Starting today, each of you has a clean slate. Remember your training, act like Marines, and we’ll get alone fine,” continued Biggs. “Let’s begin with the basics – who would care to demonstrate to me a proper cannon-cocker?”
No one came forward. The exercise had faded almost into non-existence over the years in favor of pure martial arts style exercises. Biggs was an expert at several of these forms, but he also believed that marines needed to train in plain physical exertion to increase their endurance.
“What? This is the heavy weapons platoon and no one knows how to do a proper cannon-cocker?” Duke shook his head in mock disgust. “Very well, I will teach you this traditional exercise of artillerymen. Staff Sergeant! Is there an individual in this platoon who could benefit from assisting me with this exercise?”
Kajer hid his smile. “Pvt. Adair, front and center!”
Adair, a wispy youth with a mop of red hair cut barely to regulation length ran to the front of the platoon and faced Kajer in a poor but acceptable posture of attention.
“Staff Sergeant, you will count. Private Adair, you will form on me. Ready now? Begin!”
Kajer shouted, “One!” Duke immediately dropped to the front-leaning rest position, followed shortly after by Adair. “One!” Biggs answered.
Kajer continued with, “Two!” Duke brought his nose to within a hairsbreadth of the deck. “Two!”
“Three!” Duke completed the push-up.
“Four!” Down to the deck again.
“Five!” Another completed push-up.
“Six!” Duke brought his feet up under him into a crouch.
“Seven!” Duke sprang into the air from the deck, shouting, “One damn Cannon-Cocker, Sergeant!” When his feet again touched the deck, he came to attention.
Private Adair stumbled on landing and fell to the deck, but quickly regained his feet and after glancing at his lieutenant, stood at attention as well.
“At normal cadence, please, five times for demonstration, Sergeant,” ordered Duke.
Kajer began counting at a much quicker pace, “One…Two…Three…Four…”
Duke completed the sequence on time, and with minimal loss of breath. Adair got lost somewhere around the second repetition and had simply stopped. Biggs had him return to his place in the formation.
Kajer than led the platoon in twenty sets of Cannon-Cockers and Biggs managed to keep up with the increased tempo. Most of the platoon was unable to do the same – they did not perform as badly as Adair, but Biggs was sure the point had been made. Everybody can have trouble with something new.
When the exercise was over, Biggs ordered the platoon to rest. “Staff Sergeant! How many miles does this platoon run each day?”
“Two miles, sir! Four laps through Marine country,” answered Kajer.
“Let’s do five today,” said Duke. “Private Adair! Front!”
Adair came running forward again, a look of sheer terror on his face and what the Ell-tee would ask him to do next.
Biggs took the platoon’s guidon from Smith and handed it to Adair. “Private, from this point forward, it will be your job to protect the platoon’s colors with your life. Do you understand?”
Adair had not a clue as to why Duke had chosen to honor him with the responsibility of caring for the 4th platoon’s colors, but at that moment vowed he would die before disappointing Biggs Duke or his platoon-mates.
Biggs nodded, and Adair took up his new position at the front of the platoon. “Time to run, Staff Sergeant,” ordered Duke.
“Platoon! Saddle up! Now, Marines, now, now, now!”
Faster than Biggs had anticipated, the platoon donned their armor. Duke nodded to Smith, who palmed open the hatch, and 4th Platoon began their first morning run with their new platoon leader.
Jogging through the corridors of Marine country as a platoon forced only a few early risers to dive for safety or be swept along. As they approached the old man’s quarters, Biggs asked Kajer if he could lead the platoon in cadence. Surprised, he fell back and let Duke take the lead.
Biggs called out to his platoon, “Alright, Marines. Sing out, after me!”
“Two old ladies laying in the bed”
The platoon replied with gusto: “Two old ladies laying in the bed!”
“One rolled over to the other and said – I want to be a Starfleet Ma-rine – Eat shit all day and drink kero-sene – Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door – Jump right out and count to four – If my chute don’t open wide – I got another one by my side – If that chute don’t open too – Look out, lord, I’m going through…
(A day in the life of the Marine Corps – brought to you by the “Cannon-Cockers” of the USS Galaxy!)
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