By Lieutenant Commander Ethan Suder

"Modifications"

*** Engineering ***

Lieutenant Ella Grey
Assistant Chief Engineer

Lieutenant Commander Ethan Suder
Chief Engineer

"Staff Meeting"

'Commander Suder strolled into his office. He had spent the last few hours going through reports in Main Engineering where he could observe his staff as they worked. The ship appeared to be running within normal parameters. But he wanted to make sure that it was running as perfectly as was possible. Kind of like asking a child not to grow up. It was close to impossible. What with all the action the Galaxy had seen, even if they got the specs of the ship up to scratch, no doubt it wouldn't be long before something happened to the ship that would cause damage.

Ethan sat in his chair and pressed a button on his desk. Clearing his throat, he spoke, "Suder to Lieutenant Grey?"

It took a moment for her to respond. She had gotten into the habit of interfacing her computer PADD with the engineering consoles, it was easier than snapping or snagging someone to answer for her, but when he called all her PADD's had been full of important data she didn't want to take the chance of erasing. Finally, she tracked down one. *SORRY FOR THE DELAY. YES, SIR?*

Suder hesitated and looked down at his desk. In the background, all he could hear was music. He was learning a new and very strange approach to ease his problems. He had tasked himself with hearing certain songs that would remind him of the good times and something to look forward too. So far it was kind of working. Although the music seemed to slow as he remembered that Ella was of course, not communicating by normal means. Interesting to find out why, but another time. When it was required.

"Lieutenant," he spoke at last, his voice gently, but to the point. "Could you meet me in my office please?" he asked.

*I'LL BE RIGHT THERE*

He sighed and turned in his chair until he was facing his desk again. The whole time he clung to a data padd, turning it in his hands as he mentally measured it. Just something to play with really. He gently began rocking in his chair as the music continued to play in his head. His head slowly began nodding along as well. He expected Ella to be in any second now and so quickly got to his feet. He placed the data padd he had been holding on the other side of his desk incase she forgot to bring one of her own. He then slid another across his desk, one with information on it. He strolled over to the replicator.

Ella knocked on the wall to announce her presence. She gave a friendly smile and sat down in the chair, noticing the PADD's placed before her. Luckily, she had her own. She watched the Chief warily but tried to keep the anxiousness out of her eyes and her emotions calm.

Ethan returned to his desk with a cup in hand and some thick blue Betazoid beverage. His usual drink. He sat down and looked across the table at the Assistant Chief Engineer. "Just a couple of things I wanted to go through, but I thought we could start with you." he explained, still looking at her. "Anything you need to report, crew performances, any issues of any kind?"

*NO, SIR. NO PROBLEMS ON MY END.* Ella replied. Only that you make me uncomfortable, she thought and then winced to herself. Betazoids, as a general rule, made her uncomfortable. She didn't like the thought that there could be someone poking around inside her head.

Ethan could sense that Ella was a little uncomfortable. But this wasn't the time to be cuddling with people are trying to convince them that he was really a soft puppy that just wanted to get on with people. If she was uncomfortable, then she'd probably be on the tip of her toes as well. The best way for the moment to ensure that everything was done to best possible standard. There would be time to get to know each other later.

He leaned forward and looked at one of the data padds on his table. "Ok then." he said at last, breaking the long silence. "There are going to be a couple of minor changes on the duty roster soon. I'll let you know them as soon as I've completed them."

Ella nodded.

"I've been going over the reports of the maintainence carried out over the last couple of months. It's not bad." he said standing up. "But I think it could be better." he said with a straight face. He strolled over to a panel on the wall and pressed a button. A display of the mighty Galaxy appeared on the large screen. "The reports are pretty much the same. Work carried out on each section of the ship, adjusted and modified to suit the required parameters. But I want more. I want each system checked and double checked. I want people to start coming up with ideas on how to not only repair or replace a component, but how to make sure that it's flawless. Every time a ship is attacked, systems go down because the power grid can't handle the pressure. Everytime there's an incident, there are multiple overloads. People get injuried and to be frank, it increases our work load more than I would like."

Ethan pointed at several locations of the Galaxy where EPS power conduits were located and generally the weak spots of the ship. "I want to increase work load in these areas. As I said, I want systems checked and double checked. I want ideas regarding the power systems and how we can improve on the current modifications by the end of the week by any and all Engineers. I know there are only a select few of us that I have allowed to work on the EPS conduits so we have our work cut out. At the moment, the only people I want working on them are you, me and Lieutenant McDowell. The other Engineers can work with Tactical, Navigation and even Medical. I want Engineers to not only do their job, but really make a job out of it."

Ella glanced at the image while doing the calculations in her head. Right now she usually worked double shifts, which would allow more than enough time for her to finish the workload he was suggesting. *ITS DO-ABLE, SIR.*

Ethan gave a nod of agreement. "I hope so, Lieutenant." he replied softly. "Until I finish working on the duty roster for next week, assign who ever you need for the jobs for the remainder of this week." he ordered. He moved back to his chair and sat down again. "Once the work has been completed, I would like to congratulate the Engineering department. It's going to be tough and hard for us all to get this ship to those specs," he said pointing at the wall mounted display. "And they'll deserve a break. You know, like a party or something. I'd like to keep it under wraps, but if you could organise it with Lieutenant Michael later on when we've nearly completed the work, I'd appreciate it."

A party, Ella thought. Lord knew they would probably need one. She'd never really planned a party outside of society functions back home, and most of those under the eagle eye of her mother. It could be fun. *OF COURSE, SIR. I'D BE GLAD TO. IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE?*

Ethan thought for a moment and sipped some of his drink and just look at his Assiatnt Chief. "I think that's about it. Make it so." he ordered.

Ella gave a jaunty salute, smiled, and then left.

Ethan watched Ella leave and then turned to his computer and made a few notes...

"Fear and Loathing on Risa II"

Lt. JG Dr. Klaus Fienberg

Location: The Beach.
Time: 1900 hours The Night before departure.

A Young starfleet officer approached Dr. Fienberg.

"Dr. Fienberg? You ok."

Klaus twitched a little then opened his eyes. "Oh....my head...Ensign? You're in uniform."

"Yes, It's time to go Dr. Fienberg."

"Ok, I'll need to pick up my Belongings."

"Lt. MacFarland took the liberty of Bringing them aboard."

Dr. Fienberg staggered to his feat. "Damn, I hope she isn't mad at me....Don't wanna be on her badside."

"Uh Sir....don't make me want to pry."

"Good, don't ask. Ok...to the local transporter." Finally noticing it was night out

The Ensign Hesitated."Sorry sir, we're late as it is, we're to beam up right from this spot. We leave tommorrow. By the way sir, we have a new Captain."

"Yes, I know. I hope he's less of a hot head then Brhode (Pronouced Wrong.)"

"Sir. It was pronounced Brhode (pronounced correctly)."

"I KNOW Ensign....I't just that my time here on Risa, to use an older more vulgar term, sucked."

Unbeknowst to the starfleet men, Pat, the evil Transvestite Bartender was behind a due with a blowdart gun. Pop, one right in the back of Dr. Fienberg's Neck a split second before beamout.

As soon as the two were aboard ship, Dr. Fienberg collapsed from the traquilizer dart in his kneck. Engraved on the dart was a single tiny phrase. "From Pat."

"Only A Key Away"

[Takes place 25 minutes after 'Lions and Lunches']

Principle Characters:
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Bridge
Captain's Ready Room

Victor paused, straightened his uniform jacket, and buzzed the door, fully aware of the eyes all fixed on his back. He was used to that, used to them being there, and even the knowledge that most, if not all, of them would be openly hoping the Captain was going to transfer him off-ship failed to cut deeply enough to reach him.

He'd let himself hope that this wasn't going to happen, that he wouldn't get the call as he had so many times before - and then he'd been reminded why hope was something that he didn't have room for, why it was for sheep and not tigers. One more call, one more meeting, one more transfer, one more new posting. He'd been here before too many times not to know what was coming. There were no surprises left any more.

"Enter."

The new Captain had a good voice, Victor reflected as he moved forward, the door sliding aside at his approach. Strong and even. It would have been nice to have seen where it would have led him.

****

Daren watched as Lieutenant Krieghoff entered, curious to see what it was about the man that had produced the most contradictory personnel jacket he'd ever had the privilege to read. Reprimands issued, reprimands rescinded, transfers, conflicts with virtually every crew and superior officer he'd ever served with... the list ran all the way back to the Academy. The man was even shipped off of Cardassia Prime for being too dangerous, in Allah's name. What could he possibly be like in person to produce the file he'd just finished?

Krieghoff took exactly two steps into the room, and Daren knew.

It hit him like a slap from a wet towel, a feeling that he knew well. He'd felt it when he fought the Borg at wolf 359, when he'd seen the video of the dockyard facilities where June had worked after the Breen assault during the War, and every time he thought about his daughter's unknown future. Fear.

The file hadn't exaggerated after all. It was like staring into the face of the beast, feeling it beat down on you like the hot sun he recalled from his childhood. His heart was racing, his breath short, and he realized that he was shifting position to make running away easier without having been aware of it. He was trapped in the room with a killer, a monster, a predator... and he was the prey.

Daren took a breath, forced it past the fear, and stood up. He'd beaten his fears before, and he wasn't going to let this one win either. It did explain the file though - and why there were warnings about letting a Betazoid serve in close contact with the man. In a way it was fascinating. Was he doing it on purpose? Could he turn it off at will, or was it always on, always doing this to the people around him?

Krieghoff stopped at the required distance from his desk and snapped out, "Lt. Krieghoff reporting, sir."

"Lieutenant," Daren began slowly, "at ease." He took a step around the desk and frowned as the primitive part of his mind howled at the idea of approaching closer. "I suppose you're wondering what the purpose of this meeting is..."

"No sir, I already know." Krieghoff's voice was oddly flat, almost Vulcan-like in the lack of emotion he released through it.

"Do you?' Daren frowned some more. He'd have to speak to whoever leaked the information to Krieghoff. Things like this were supposed to be kept private.

"Yes sir. It's about my transfer." Krieghoff turned his head and regarded Daren with unreadable eyes. "I was expecting the call, sir."

That was a surprise, or maybe not considering the number of transfers the man had received. He'd certainly know that a new Captain would review the files of his crew, and Krieghoff's had so many flags on it that it would be at the top of the queue. Psych Evaluation flags, disciplinary flags, special duty requirement flags, command warning flags, individual reviewer's notes and insight flags - the file liked like a Christmas tree on the LCARS screen.

No, the fact that he was considering transferring Krieghoff wouldn't have been a surprise, he decided. Now that he'd seen him in person he understood part of the problem, but there were other things in the file that bothered him more than this did, no matter what his pulse was doing. Death, primarily. Krieghoff was a magnet for it - death followed him wherever he went. Sometimes - most often - at his hands, but often just to the people around him. Daren wasn't certain he wanted the man anywhere near the crew of ship he was commanding. And that was on top of the psych evaluations that all agreed that Krieghoff had a set of standards for the application of lethal force that a Klingon would consider excessively loose, and applied them in a manner that a Romulan would think ruthless.

Daren picked up the small box from the desk beside him and took another step closer. "The first thing I want to talk to you about has nothing to do with a transfer, Lieutenant." He snapped open the box and extended it to Krieghoff. "For service above and beyond the call of duty to the Federation and the crew of the USS Galaxy in eliminating the threat posed by the Defiant-entity this vessel encountered earlier this year, I have the pleasure to present you with the Bronze Star."

Krieghoff blinked once, and then looked down into the box at the decoration and its accompanying ribbon. "Why?" he asked after a moment, having made no move to accept the box.

Of all the things that Daren had heard when he'd presented medals and awards to crewmen during his career, that was a first. No one had ever asked why he or she deserved a medal, much less with such an obvious lack of understanding. Krieghoff might be able to terrify someone by walking into a room, but he was no actor.

"To recognize your efforts and reward you for them," Daren tried to explain, feeling a bit helpless. How did you explain something like this to someone that clearly didn't understand it?

Krieghoff looked at him for longer without blinking than Daren was comfortable with. "I don't need a reward, sir," he finally said, his voice still that emotionally-scrubbed monotone. "I didn't do it for one. I killed the Defiant because it was a threat, not because I wanted someone to notice me."

Daren's pulse sped up as Krieghoff spoke, the man's presence suddenly pressing at him like a stiff wind. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?"

"I said I don't need a reward, sir," Krieghoff repeated. "Keep it; give it to someone that needs it. I don't."

"Lieutenant, I don't think you understand..." Daren began, but trailed off as he saw Krieghoff's eyes change as if something terrible moved behind them and felt the pressure from his sheer presence increase yet again.

"I understand, sir. It just doesn't matter. I killed it, and I'd kill it again if I had to. It's gone, it won't be back. It's over and done with. There's no need to thank me or reward me. It's what I do."

It was amazing, Daren reflected, how the man's voice could change so completely and yet never change. He hadn't raised it, hadn't altered a single inflection, but it was totally different.

"That's why your pulse is racing now, sir," Krieghoff continued. "Because on some level you know that's what I am."

"Lieutenant," Daren essayed. "You're very close to..."

"No I'm not, sir. I'm just stating a fact. I'm a killer; it's what I was born to be. I can't hide it, I can't change it - so I don't bother. Things like me were bred out of the human race centuries ago, but here I am. I terrify people by walking past them, because on some level they know what I am. Predator. Killer. Monster. Call it whatever you like, I'll answer to it. There's no point in not doing so, they're all true."

For just a moment Daren heard another voice, one he'd known and walked with all his life, one that everyone knew and walked with - and because of that, he understood where the fear came from. He'd been wrong before when he'd thought that death followed Krieghoff wherever he went. It didn't have to follow him, because it was already there. The man in front of him *was* Death, and the part of his mind that was still a running homid on the plains of the Serengeti knew it and was trying to urge him to flee.

"I don't want the nice shiny medal sir," Krieghoff was saying when Daren came back to himself. "It's not why I do this. Like I said, keep it for the next person that needs it."

'Lieu..." Daren stopped, irritated with himself at the shakiness he knew Krieghoff could hear in his voice. "Lieutenant, that's not the point."

"Of course it is, sir." Krieghoff interrupted. "I've been here before too. 'Have a nice shiny reward, son, and, oh, by the way, here's your new assignment.'" He shrugged. "Easier for everyone if you just do it and be done with it, sir. More honest, too. We both know that's what this meeting is really about."

Krieghoff had him there; that was exactly what Daren had planned to do. The fact that Krieghoff knew it made the gesture meaningless, though. Daren pushed at the fear still gnawing at him to get room to think and nodded. "All right, Lieutenant. If that's the way you want it." He set the box containing the Bronze Star down on his desk and picked up the one next to it. "It is also my privilege and duty to present you with the Dedicated Service Ribbon for ten years of service in Starfleet." He left off the rest of the sentence where he asked if Krieghoff would refuse this decoration, too.

Krieghoff looked at the box for almost exactly the same amount of time that he'd examined the first one - and then reached up and took it. "That's a real award, sir, I'd be proud to accept it. Thank you, sir."

Daren blinked. The man would refuse the Bronze Star, but accept a 10-Year Service Ribbon? Mechanically, he reached out and offered his hand to the Lieutenant, shaking the younger man's hand as he repeated the familiar phrases Starfleet demanded on the occasion. "Starfleet thanks you for your dedicated service, Lieutenant."

Krieghoff to speak until the older man had withdrawn his hand. "We both know that's an exaggeration, too, sir, at least with regards to any member of the fleet that I've served with."

How could the man stand there and accept this so easily? There was no anger, no remorse in his voice. Daren knew Krieghoff was no actor, which meant that the words he had just uttered really had no emotional context for him. They were just words, describing facts. He'd known Vulcans that would have envied that level of detachment. "Lieutenant, I think that..."

Krieghoff curt him off again. "No sir, you don't. You're just saying that to try and make one of us feel better about a decision we both know you've already made" He turned to face Daren, meeting his eyes squarely. "Is there anything else, sir?"

Daren shook his head. Even if he'd been going to try, Krieghoff had cut his legs out from under him with that last remark. The man was right, after all, he *had* been trying to make someone feel better - and both of them knew who it had been. "No Lieutenant, that will be all."

"Very well, sir. I'll be waiting for the transfer orders." Krieghoff came to attention, turned, and marched out without another word.

It was several seconds after the door closed before Daren was able to get his pulse under control, a fact that irritated him to no end. The man had done nothing worse than walk right up to the line separating insubordination from correct behavior, a line Daren himself had tread along a few times, but Krieghoff had managed to do something that no Starfleet admiral had ever done: intimidate him.

He moved back around his desk and sat down to look at the still-open box containing the Bronze Star. Idly, he called up the regulations and determined that there was, as he suspected, no provision for an officer to refuse a medal once Starfleet had given it to him. They might refuse to wear it, but it was entered into their record regardless, and nothing, absolutely nothing, ever escaped the files of BuPers once they got their hands on it - they were worse than a black hole.

He looked at the file still waiting on his LCARS screen - Krieghoff's file - and the notice of availability for transfer he'd already appended to it. The man had been right; he had been going to transfer him, make him someone else's problem... and just the memory of his presence in the room was enough to confirm that as the right decision.

Daren reached up for the key to send the notification - and stopped. What if he was wrong? What if, despite all indications, there was a reason to keep Krieghoff aboard? He'd spoken to no one - not the man's superior, not the Ops Chief, not even the Chief Counselor. What if this was an uninformed decision?

He looked at the file again, almost sent the notice - and them stopped. No. If he was going to transfer the man, then fear or not, death or not, he at least deserved a fully informed decision to do so. Besides, Captain Brhode had requested the man's transfer to the Galaxy personally, he hadn't been randomly assigned here, and that meant there was *something* about Krieghoff that he wasn't seeing. Whatever John Q might be, he was no one's fool - and Daren wasn't going to make himself look like one without at least knowing the reason why.

He tapped the key to store the file and message with a 'Pending' flag. Maybe the information he needed would be forthcoming in another interview. Maybe something would happen on this mission that would explain things. Maybe... maybe a lot of things. Krieghoff would wait for now. After all, his transfer was only a key away.

Lieutenant Commander Ethan Suder,
Chief Engineer

Lieutenant (jg) Dhanishta Eshe

"Hormones in the Cargo Bay"

Ethan Suder continued to unload one of the cargo containment units. As he pulled out each piece of junk, old unneeded debris and other useless components, he threw them onto a pile on the floor. His sleeves were rolled up and his hands getting dirty from old scrap components that once served a purpose on this very ship.

Every now and again, he would look over at Dhanishta. Conversation had been small thus far. They both knew what components they were looking for and were both getting on with their job.

A sweat broke out across Dhainshtas forehead; she paused to wipe it away on her sleeve. She had noticed the Chief's odd glances at her and she was beginning to get frustrated. She didn't know weather she was doing something wrong, or not in the manner he'd like, maybe her hair was messed up! She had no idea. A thought crossed her mind, maybe she could use telepathy to find out, but the thought popped out of her mind as quickly as it entered, she never used telepathy to read another's thoughts, only to communicate with her sister. Its not that she couldn't, was just that she thought it was wrong.

"Something wrong Chief?" she asked picking up another chunk of scrap metal and hauling it over to the designated 'scrap pile'. Ethan looked over at her as he threw another large piece of crippled bulkhead to the side. "As a matter of fact there is." He sighed and rubbed some sweat off of his head with his arm. He hesitated a moment longer and then came out with it. "I have this... problem. I tore my sleeve on my uniform a few moments ago." He said pointing at his sleeve where the fabric had been ripped. "I kinda liked this uniform. Been through a lot, you know?"

"I see." Dhanishta replied blankly as she continued to trawl through the pile before her. She understood why Sark, her Vulcan mentor, didn't teach her the finer arts of small talk. Wasn't that he, they, couldn't was just that it was pointless. Part of her longed for that back.

Ethan found a small object that he was looking for and began fiddling with it. He moved over to the other side of the cargo bay and put the object on a pile of things he could use. He looked up at the wall and then turned and looked over at Dhanishta. As he strolled back to the garbage heap, he crossed his arms. "So why Starfleet?" he asked. "I mean, you're good at what you do, but there's something that, I just can't put my finger on." He explained, probably making no sense. "So why join Starfleet, you could probably work anywhere that involves Engineering, construction, why here?"

Dhanishta looked up. She held his gaze for a moment. Though she was stunned by his sudden questioning of her career choice, she didn't look it.

"I joined Starfleet because I wanted to work amongst the stars." She replied simply, and truthfully.

Ethan shrugged and continued working. Not much of an answer, probably one of the many answers that most people gave when asked that question. He sighed and began lifting the larger equipment. "I see." He said simply. If she was going to play this game, he could play along and spend the next few hours in silence, but thought it would be socially good for her to get to know her boss and good for him too. "Can I ask why you prefer the Vulcan way of life to that of which you are?"

She stopped what she was doing and stood up straight, giving Suder her full attention.

"How did you come to that presumption?" she asked.

"The lack of communication and show of emotion, not that I expect everyone to be hormonal. You seem to have adopted their life style, work, work, work and don't talk. No show of emotion for whatever reason, another Vulcan trait. Call me old, but I've known many people, come across many different species, and it's not hard to distinguish most of them. Do you act like a Betazoid or Trill would. No." He paused and looked at Dhanishta. "I don't mean to offend you, just something I noticed."

"I'm not offended." She said, "I was raised by a Vulcan, it is therefore logical that their 'traits' as you call them, are present within me." She paused for a moment and then continued, "Is that something that bothers you, Sir?"

"Not really." He admitted quickly. "Was just wandering why is all. It's healthy to talk, to feel. Part of living. That is of course unless you are Vulcan." Ethan sighed and continued with his work.

Dhanishta stared at Suder for a moment, ~Hey, I do talk. And I feel. As to why join Starfleet, you could probably work anywhere that involves Engineering, construction, why here? Why is it that it always comes down to Vulcans? So I was raised by one, why does everyone fixate on that? Maybe its just men, what ever species, they just can't comprehend a female with self control. ~ She sighed too and began to remove a large beam from the pile.

"Maybe you're right." Ethan mumbled. He threw a large collection of junk over to a pile and took a deep breath. Further attempt at conversation seemed pointless, then it came to him. "You know, we never did get to finish that competition a while back. I think you should have it, the trophy that is. After all, you did beat me, declared a rematch, which was interesting, but not necessary."

"Right about what?" Dhanishta asked, ignoring his mention of the tournament.

"About you being raised on Vulcan. Of course it's only natural that you would act they way you had been shown."

She gave him a suspicious look.

"If you'd prefer I could kill you, and then take your rank."

"Unfortunately, this isn't a Klingon vessel, and there's no reason to dispute my command abilities." Ethan paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "At least I don't think there is." He looked back at Dhanishta and then continued with his work. "So I'll drop the trophy into my office, pick it up when you leave your next shift." He suggested throwing some more useless junk across the bay.

"The trophy is where it belongs." She replied closing the subject.

"Losing because I was distracted is fair enough. I don't mind. But to just win because you ran off to save lives." Ethan shook his head, "I don't agree. It was my mistake that cost me the match. The result of the rematch isn't something I would congratulate myself with. You beat me, you deserve to have it. Besides, I have one."

"Very gracious Commander, but I'd prefer to win a trophy... at a tournament, rather than be given one because you need the extra room."

Ethan tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. He was not expecting that come-back. "So let's decide who should take it home. Holodeck three later. No distractions, no running off.?"

She thought for a moment, she didn't want to offend him by turning him down, but now just wasn't the right time, she had something more important to do.

"I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that one. Perhaps another time?"

Suder shrugged again. "Sure, later." He said. Ethan continued working and found several more items that he could use. He continued to work in silence, with no more questions to ask and the feeling that small talk wasn't going to happen, he felt that there wasn't much left to say.

She could sense his disappointment through his body language, but there was nothing she could do. Her career depended on one sub space communication, as dumb as it sounded. She felt disappointed, and again it all came down to Vulcans, one Vulcan in particular... Sark.

"But then, you also grew up on the," he paused as a few memories of things gone by drifted through his head. "The Klingon Homeworld." He said quietly. "Yet you don't act like them either. So why chose the Vulcan way of life when you've been shown both?"

She regarded him for a moment not sure of his sudden interest in her upbringing.

In truth she was beginning to get annoyed. She threw part of an old console that she was holding down on to the scrap pile and turned sharply to face Suder.

"How many Klingons do you know in Starfleet, Sir?" she questioned, but she didn't wait for the reply, "Not many I'll bet. Klingons and Starfleet don't mix too well, they are a warrior race and exploration is not really their style. Do you know what happens when a Klingon gets mad? They go into a trance like state where their ferocity runs unchecked. They do not usually recover from this state until they or their opponent lies dead. There are many Klingon traits which are present in me as there are Vulcan traits." She paused for a moment, "I also spent a few years on Trill, perhaps you would like to analyse that too, 'Commander." Throughout her outburst her tone remained the same.

Ethan stood still for a moment and looked at the newly promoted Lieutenant Junior Grade. He smiled slightly and looked over at the console she had tossed aside. "You know you remind me a little of someone. She had a temper on her too." He trailed off and looked back at Dhanishta. "As I said, I didn't mean to offend you. Just want to know who you are." He said with a straight face showing no emotion. "He frowned and looked at the remaining work to be done. "Forget it." He said quietly.

Dhani thrust her hand to the bottom of the pile of metal, noticing something of use. She reached in further, turning her head away so her shoulder was level with the top of the pile. Her fingers fumbled around for the object. Finally she had hold of it and began to lose her balance.

Ethan, quicker than even he thought possible was behind Dhanishta in a heartbeat after noticing that she may fall further into the pile. He hesitated, and then placed his hands gently on her hips to keep her balanced as she persistently attempted to grab the object.

An unusual sensation ran through Dhanishta as she felt Suders hands grip her hips, she could feel his warmth through her uniform, she lost focus for a moment as it sent tingles up and down her spine. She regained her balance, with Suder's help, and realised that she was now stuck.

"Pull." She called out to Suder.

Ethan hesitated for couple of seconds and then began pulling Dhanishta by her hips. He felt little uncomfortable holding her in such a way and had planned to let go until she asked him to pull. He started pull gently at first, then getting firmer to get her out.

As she began to break free from the pile she felt something scratch her arm ripping her uniform, a sharp pain ran through her arm and she yelped slightly,

"Pull harder," she cried, "I'm stuck." She groaned wincing with the pain.

Suder raised an eyebrow and almost half smiled. If he had a holocam, this would make a good picture to go up in Main Engineering. He shook the thought out of his head and pulled hard and quickly.

She groaned again as he pulled harder feeling the metal dig into her arm. Finally she was free and they both landed on the floor with a thud.

Ethan frowned for a few seconds as his head began to ache. It didn't take long to realise he was led on his back. His head had obviously hit the floor on his tumble with Dhanishta. As his vision cleared he felt something brushing his face, something soft and some what tickly. There was something dark covered most of his view and to the sides were the bright lights of the cargo bay. Then he focused on the dark image. Dhanishta.

She lay with her head on his chest for a moment, she hadn't been in this position for quite some time and it felt extremely comfortable. She could feel something dripping down her arm and she began to giggle. Lifting herself up slightly she looked down at Suder,

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Ethan forgot that he wasn't breathing and began kind of panting, struggling to get the air into his lungs. He raised his eyebrows and gave a nod. "I'm fine. You?"

For a moment she just stared into his eyes, she brushed her hand across his face, almost affectionately before rolling off his chest so that he could breath. She could tell that her hair was somewhat disarray and pulled out the clip letting her hair fall around her face. She sat next to him and continued to giggle.

Ethan pushed himself up on to his elbows and looked at Dhanishta. "You should probably get that checked out." He said nodding at her arm. He then noticed the giggling. "What's so funny?"

She put her hand to her mouth and continued to laugh, shaking her head.

Suder got to his feet and straightened his uniform. He held out a hand as a gesture to help Dhanishta up.

She took his hand and almost fell into him as her laughter shook her body.

Ethan grabbed Dhanishta by her arms in an attempt to get her to stop laughing. He shook her gently to get her attention. "Lieutenant, what is it?" he asked, more demanding this time.

She shook her head again, and took a few deep breaths. She straightened up in his grip and looked at him through a vale of hair.

"Nothing Sir." She stammered still smiling, "Just that..." she began to laugh again. After a minute or two she cleared her throat and shook her head so that her hair fell over her shoulder.

"Sorry Sir." She said looking up at him.

Ethan frowned and released her from his grasp. He slowly turned away and moved over towards the pile of junk to continue work. "Dhani.. Dhanishta.. Lieutenant, better get yourself down to Sickbay." He said as he began lifting more garbage off the floor.

She surveyed her arm briefly, "Nah, it's just a scratch," she concluded, "I' ve got to go to sick bay later anyway, I'll get it checked out then. Besides we have work to do." She walked back over to the pile and continued to haul out the unwanted components.

Ethan frowned at her refusal to get checked out. He made several mental notes and continued working. His mind quickly became occupied with many unwanted thoughts. He worked quietly, getting on with the work that needed to be done.

Dhani continued to work, glancing at Suder every once in a while.

"You've got to admit, that was funny." She said breaking the silence that had grown between them.

"I mean just think of the people who would have paid to see that!" she said trying not to laugh.

Ethan glanced over at her gave a nod. "I could probably think of a few." He replied. "But then this is an every day occurrence on the Galaxy. More or less anyway. You know about the Galaxy right, nicknamed the 'Love Boat'." He paused and straightened his uniform again. "With good reason to I guess." He said frowning again and staring at the pile before him. "I doubt there's many people that haven't dated or made out with someone else. The ship has a raging, sexual, hormonal atmosphere to it. That scene would more likely turn people on rather than get them laughing their little Starfleet boots off."

"I see." Dhani replied with a more serious tone, "Then we must tell no one. Do you understand?" she said brandishing a small piece of metal that used to be attached to bulk head. She gave him a serious yet playful look.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant. You wouldn't be the first person not wanting to be seen in a compromising position like that. Besides, who would I tell?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said wandering over to him, her hips swaying slightly, as she toyed with the sharp object in her hand, "maybe the entire senior staff. Or maybe you'll just note it in your personal logs."

"Yeah, right." Ethan said unenthusiastically. "Chief Engineer's personal log, today Lieutenant Eshe fell on top of me and laughed hysterically. And I'm sure the Senior Staff have better things to do than to listen to me attempt to tell them a humorous story." He said, giving her his full attention. He smiled and then pointed at the metal she was carrying as she strolled towards him. "Besides, if I wanted to tell someone, I don't think you could stop me. You'd be on the floor before that."

"Really," She said raising her eyebrows, "the floor hey!" She smiled as if she liked the sound of that, "One day you'll find out." She threw the object to the other side of the room, it landed square in the middle of a piece of mettle which was jutting out of the scrap pile.

"Maybe." He replied quietly. He continued lifting the heavier pile of scrap metal. Things had certainly brightened up since they had started working in the cargo bay. Thank the Betazoid gods for small favours.

"Former Power Memories"

Lt. Cmdr. Dr. Vladimir Malgin,
Chief Surgeon

Lt. JG Dr. Klaus Fienberg

Location: Main Sickbay

Dok decided to quickly log something in his medical journal. A habit he started to pass the time between patients. He hummed a little ST to himself in the process.

However his thoughts about what to log were stopped by a person entering the sickbay with his usual hurricane speed. Vladimir Malgin threw his glance at Dok and grinned, switching course to face him. "Well, well... Mister Fienberg... I thought that on a shift you oughtta work, not make some weird noted about your weird life..."

Klaus jumped like somebody pinch n' twisted a spot on one of his asscheeks. "Uh! Sir! I was just logging something to...uh..." He was totally speechless.

Vladimir's eyes narrowed "Your loggin' is sloggin' the job, Mister Fienberg. So may I patiently ask you to do the following... First - shut up your stinking mouth. Second - Leave computer alone, leading to the third - STOP LOGGING ANYTHING! Fourth - get back to your job and if you only dare to show your nose to me while NOT working - you will spend the rest of your miserable, foul, pathetic life brushing toilets clean with toothbrushes! Got it?!"

Dr. Fienberg regained a bit of composure and didn't move, but he had no intention of continueing with Malgin standing right there. "Uh....sir, according to...."

"No 'uhsir' me! Don't point to any accordings here! You have just got one thing to accord here - me, me, me! And don't dare to make a step away from me as I am a continuous nightmare, not a snapshot of it!"

"Understood sir.....I was just trying to add new techniques and ideas to improve my per---"

God, this guy was making Vladimir boil even hotter than hot. He almost yelled at Klaus in higher-than-usual tone, almost forgetting the reality "I! SAID! SHUT! UP! I am the boss here! I am your personal God, whose orders you will obey! Now stop tinkering with 'techniques' and get away!"

Admitting defeat, Klaus merely nodded.

Without any further outbursts, Vladimir accepted Klaus's nod and, after threatening him with finger, walked to another room of sickbay... Thinking only that it was good that Klaus didn't remember (or was too afraid to remember) that Vladimir was no longer CMO...

"Would You Like to Dance?"

by Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Federation Officer

With additions by: Karyn Dallas

"So, Mr. Curran, are you excited?" Ambassador Galali had a grin from ear to ear. He nodded to every single female crewman who passed, his arms swinging about the air flamboyantly. The jewellery adorning his fingers gliittered in the bright light fixtures that ran in an endless path down the ceilings of the Galaxy corriders.

He wasn't even looking at Kylar in the pleasantry. He was a man with a focus elsewhere, obviously. His foppish lavender robes whisped across the carpet as he, Curran, and his entourage made their way to their destination - Transporter Room 2.

"Not quite as excited as you obviously, Ambassador." Curran glided alongside the Risian, in complete opposite contrast. His posture straight, hands behind his back clasped tightly together, clammy. He felt ill-at-ease. He had to take yet another transporter trip. The little alcohol he had was making him queasy as well. Hopefully, he wouldn't lose control of his stomach contents on the way down.

"You do look at little green, Legate. Do you wish to stay behind? I'm sure Ms. Dallas and I can handle it on our own. Now where is that young lass...." His voice faded away as the shock of what he implied hit the Kelvan like a bucket of cold water.

"No, Ambassador! I will be... quite alright." He nodded, as he tinted a touch greener. "And yourself? You are flushed. Has the alcohol affected your faculties?" He hoped deep down the Ambassador would take a bit of a rest before beaming down to the Observation Post.

"Oh, yes, it has, Legate." He smiled a flash of pearly white to a pretty little number that passed. She gave him a curt nod, and this seemed to urge him on. Galali turned on a heel to follow her, but Curran had to touch his arm to keep him from chasing her down. The entourage following behind the two of them couldn't be affected though. One handed a small brown statue to her and whispered something that made her blush.

"Then let us contact the Observation Team and re-schedule, Ambassador." He gently took the Risian's arm, who had resisted or ignored his earlier touch. He tugged a bit.

"Gods, what for? How are they going to fix my bladder? That darn Ale makes me pee like a sieve sometimes, I tell you...." Kylar felt a migraine coming on. All he wanted to do right now was strangle this idiot with one of his tentacles. But no... he'd been in this form for so long, it was too painful to alter back. Damnable Terran DNA. It was a parasite on his system.

"Ahh... here we are." Curran keyed open the Transporter panel. He'd altered shipwide protocols when they'd first been notified of First Contact. New procedures dictated that all transporter controls were to be locked down to prevent any potential unauthorized beamdowns and contamination.

The door slithered open, and Galali passed through, mumbling. His entourage followed behind, each carrying varying cases. He knew two of those cases were of Risian Amber Ale. This was going to be a long night. Curran waited outside to keep the bulkhead open.

"Well, Ms. Dallas isn't here yet, Mr. Legate!" Curran cast an angry glance down each end of the corridor. He'd give her five minutes since they were a bit early. "While we're waiting for her, I'm just going to use the head..." The sound of fluids could distinctly be heard drumming against the material of the toiletry. Curran closed his eyes and shook his head. The least the Ambassador could have done was close the damn door.

Karyn made her way to the transporter room, the smile all but plastered on her face. While she knew diplomatic missions were par for the course for command level officers, this was to be her first diplomatic incident since lanjep, indeed her first Away Team mission since that horrible mission. She'd thrown up this morning just thinking about it, but she knew she could no longer allow her fear to keep her from leaping over this hurdle.

But it certainly didn't help matters that Curran was to be her travelling companion. After everything they'd been through together, Kylar still saw her as everything weak about humanity. To add insult to injury, this mission was an opportunity for the smug bastard to remind her just how badly she'd screwed up diplomatic relations. If it weren't for the fact that to not go would give him the satisfaction of being right, Dallas was not sure she would have stayed with things this far.

And then she caught sight of the smug bastard staring impatiently at her as she came toward them. She was about to mutter something snide when the womanizing Risian Ambassador emerged from the refresher. His eyes fell upon hers and his lips curled into a leer. What had once would merely annoy her, now brought with it a rush of fear and hypervigilance.

She cast a quick glance in Kylar's direction, but he moved not one inch to acknowledge her reaction even though if any man could understand what she was feeling, it was he. Karyn literally had to stop and tell herself to focus on the present before she trusted herself to speak. "Hello, Ambassador. I'm-.."

"Ms. Dallas, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've, I've heard a lot about your exploits." He seemed almost apologetic at his last comment, but Karyn found he'd managed to get a rather secure grip on her left hand in the process. Stifling her irritation and her immediate apprehension, Karyn once again cast a glance in Curran's direction.

The Risian immediately let go of Karyn's hand and both watched as a huge, mischievious grin spread across his face. He waggled a finger in both their directions. "Aah, I get it. So you two are--ah???" He let the unanswered question hang in the air, but he was clearly enjoying the possibility, and for all Karyn knew, the mental images.

"NO!" The denial was so loud and so in synch that it startled the Risian's good humor for a moment. Then the smile broadened. "I get it. You all and your regs... Don't worry, I'm not going to tell a soul."

"I think we should go. Now." said Karyn, afraid she was going to kill them both and REALLY create a diplomatic incident.

They all climbed onto the transporter pads. Chief Petty Officer Jensen took up his usual place on the transporter control platform. Galali and Curran were up front, Dallas, and the rest of the entourage on the back units.

"Coordinates fed in and locked, Legate. All systems are nominal." He reached over to tab an intercom switch. "Captain M'Kantu, the Delegation team is awaiting confirmation of beamdown by your order." Curran's eyes glittered. He wasn't keen on implementing that protocol, but it was required on Ambassador Mol's signed orders. All First Contact procedures had been re-written since several Captains recently took it upon themselves to break them as they felt needed. But that was why he was here, wasn't he? So, redundancy was set in place, for Starfleet had felt fit to remind the Diplomatic Corps that Ambassadors in the past had taken advantage of their powers, as well.

[Thank you, Chief Jensen. We have optimal weather conditions. Enjoy the clear skies, gentlemen. Temperature is 84 Degrees Fahrenheit, humidity is at 87%. Good luck. We'll be monitoring your lifesigns at all times through your transponders. The order is confirmed. Initiate beamdown.] Curran glanced to the unit that was beneath the cloth of his uniform on his forearm. He only had to tap it twice to get automatic beamout.

The familiar tingle of the transporter took him, crawling over him like a million ants. He felt his stomach take a leap, and then the image of Chief Jensen faded into nothingness.

"Delegation team on their way-" Suddenly, an impact rammed the ship with a force that sent Jensen sailing across the room, cracking his head on a sensor console. The inertial dampeners screamed as they tried to re-balance the ship, and blood streamed over his cut eye.

[Jensen!!! Get them back!!! Get them back, NOW!!!] M'Kantu's deep baritone voice virtually screamed through the intercom at the Chief. He tumbled and scrambled to the console, glaring warning lights all across the board. His fingers quickly reached the unit, before he had even gained his footing. The ship groaned underneath him ominously. He deftly ran his fingers over by habit. He'd been through this a hundred times in both real-time and simulation. His mind clicked in a half-second later. It didn't even register the commands M'Kantu was giving in the background. He only focused on getting his people back.

[Chief.. Tell me you have them back!] He could hear warning audibles from the Bridge scattering over the commband. He punched the console, running through emergency protocols, to no avail. [CHIEF!]

"I'm sorry Captain. They're gone. There's nothing left to lock onto." He slumped. In all his years, Chief Jensen had never lost a crewmember in transit.

****Let's roll this back a couple of minutes on the Bridge****

"Thank you, Chief Jensen. We have optimal weather conditions. Enjoy the clear skies, gentlemen. Temperature is 84 Degrees Fahrenheit, humidity is at 87%. Good luck. We'll be monitoring your lifesigns at all times through your transponders. The order is confirmed. Initiate beamdown."

On the viewscreen, the planet rolled lazily below them. Its beautiful blue oceans, swirling around inlets, the lush green jungles and vegetation patching over 75% of the planet. M'Kantu silently wished he were on that team. So much like home Quentin seemed.

"Keep a permanent sensor lock on the Delegation team, Mr. Geluf."

"Aye, sir. Sir, I'm picking up explosions all along the planet's surface!"

"The planet..!" Jeremy Savoie pointed at the viewscreen, and M'Kantu followed the line to the center.

An explosion rippled out from the beamdown point. It rippled out like a thermonuclear explosion, enveloping the planet.

[Delegation team on their way-] A shockwave slammed into the Galaxy, lifting it off its axis. Crew tried to brace for the impact on the bridge, but without any luck. Savoie and Geluf were both thrown from their seats.

Lights flickered on the bridge, auxiliary kicking in and casting an angry red glow about everyone's faces, disguising the pallor on some.

"Jensen!!! Get them back!!! Get them back, NOW!!!" M'Kantu slapped his communicator without knowing what else was going on around them. She ship wailed like an old unoiled machine. She was fighting back.

"Damage reports!" Feedback squealed as departments called in and overloaded circuits. Boards exploded around them. M'Kantu glanced up to Tactical when no reply was forthcoming. Henderson was sprawled on the carpet, blood streaming from a darkening wound in his left temple. He was fiercely burned down his left side and still smoking.

"Von Ernst!" The lithe redhead was brushing herself off in her XO seat. She snapped to attention. "Get up there and find out what just happened!" She scrambled as per orders, seemingly unfazed. It was eerie.

"Chief.. Tell me you have them back!" He pulled himself into his Command Chair. His consoles were still dark.

"Geluf, get me some power over here." The Kerelian had already pulled himself back in to his console. His work was cut out for him in re-routing power all over the ship. M'Kantu's consoles flickered to life. The viewscreen was charged with static, though.

"Medical Emergency on the Bridge!" An acknowledgement blinked on his console. They were on their way.

"CHIEF!"

[I'm sorry Captain. They're gone. There's nothing left to lock onto.]

The dark man twisted to catch Rebecca's eye.

"Over 400 injured... 13 dead... 8 in Engineering. Maintenance was being performed on the warp conduits. Plasma ruptures killed them instantly when they were vacuumed to space."

"The Away Team? Any signal from their transponders?"

"None, Captain. No lifesigns at all. None whatsoever on the planet. It's dead. They're all dead."

The viewscreen flickered to life for one long minute, before shorting out.

Quentin was burning.

Lieutenant Commander Ethan Suder
Chief Engineer

"House on Fire"

Ethan Suder opened his eyes and frowned. He looked up at the console he had just been flung into and then around Engineering. Several consoles still shot out sparks like fireworks. There were several fires burning away, most of the lights were down. Most of the Engineering staff were laying on the floor, and shocked as his was. Some weren't moving at all, others crawled around, crying out in pain. There was a large amount of gas being vented into Engineering to stop the fires, others were just leaks from some sort of malfunction with the environmental controls.

*** Several minutes earlier ***

Engineering was quiet as usual. Not that Ethan was expecting the place to be a house on fire. ~ That would make a change ~ he thought. He looked up from the console and glanced at the main ship display screen. Everything was running well. A lot of work had been done to the higher specs he had ordered a short while ago. Not really any major problems were highlighted. Several smaller problems, replicator glitches and the sort. Nothing major, within the next hour, there wouldn't be a problem on the ship.

A loud thud crashed through Engineering. The lights went down and Ethan lost his grip on the console he was stood at. For what seemed like a good few seconds, he couldn't even feel the floor beneath him.

Then there was another thud. He heard a loud crashing noise and felt it too.

He opened his eyes and saw a console next to him. The control pad had been smashed and lay in pieces around him. He slowly reached up, grabbed the console and pulled himself up, slowly. Still feeling the ache shoot through his body, he looked around.

Just about every Engineer had been thrown across the room. Some were lucky enough to land on the floor with no injury. Two Engineers lay slumped over a console they had fallen into. Three lay on the floor. Three that had been working up on the upper level. He looked up and saw several small fires burning away towards the warp core.

"Matthews, Sota, Jackson!" he called out.

The Engineers he had called managed to get to their feet and looked at the Chief. He quickly pointed to the upper level.

Ethan moved over to the master systems display console and glanced quickly to ensure the three Engineers were on their way to the upper level. Finally, he managed to access the ships display screen. There were highlighted red blips flashing all over the ship. Damage seemed quite heavy. "What the hell happened?" he asked.

Delphino turned from her station and looked at the Chief. "Sir?" she called out.

Ethan turned from her and quickly waved a hand at her to ignore his earlier question. He began working on stabilizing the systems in Main Engineering. He wasn't comfortable with fires, the overloading systems, the gas venting into the large room. He also focused on co-ordinating efforts throughout the ship. Whatever had happened, the ship had taken a lot of damage.

He pushed a buttont he console and leaned against it. "All Engineers, report for duty!" he commanded, quietly, but forcefully. He then continued, "Medical teams to Engineering." His voice seemed to echo, a clear sign that the Medical and Engineering teams had been called.

He would need all the help he could get to keep the ship together from whatever had happened...

"Aftershock"

Lt. Ella Grey

Ella lifted a shaking hand to her forehead and winced.

Gash, she decided. Stings. Not large but who knew how deep? She pulled her hand away and tried not to focus on the blood. Probably nicked by some of that console over there, Ella thought as she looked up at all the debris in Engineering.

Up? Why was her perspective different, Ella wondered and frowned. Oh. She was laying on the floor. Couldn't have that. She rolled gingerly to her side and then pushed herself up on all fours, finally coming to sit upon her knees.

She gave herself a once over but everything looked intact. Why was her legs tingling though?

Because you're sitting on them, she told herself.

Get a grip, Ella, she thought sternly.

Ella looked around, trying to focus past the gas to piece together what the hell had happened.

A loud noise.

The lights going out.

Explosion.

Screams?

Pain.

Gravity.

Her whole body ached. Ella ignored it and brushed her hair out of her eyes then inhaled sharply as she accidentally touched the gash again. She was thinking about looking around for the emergency medkit when she heard Suder. "All Engineers, report for duty."

Maybe later.

“Pain.”

Junior Member Of Senate Ramir Omar.

Ramir Omar walked to the holodeck with a feeling of confidence. As he had just been allowed to leave from his quarters then he was feeling rather triumphant. He thought of all of the wonderful pleasures that he had experienced at Risa while he smiled at a young female lieutenant.

Suddenly then the ship shook and Omar was flung against a bulkhead. He recovered quickly from the unpleasant surprise but then a plasma conduit exploded.

Unfortunately then Omar was very close to it.

A large piece of a bulkhead carved into his left leg and had it not been for his military training then he would have of screamed with utter agony. He fell to the floor as his face was quickly covered with plasma burns. He then felt large amounts of green blood pouring out of his left leg just as a transporter beam located him.

"Combining Threads"

Major Saladin Bolivar,
Intelligence

Lt. JG Ahdjiia D'Tinya,
Security

Saladin was seated in the lounge watching the stars as he ate silently, the dreams came back again, of the woods, the cabin, the woman.. who looked remarkably like Ahdjiia D'Tinya, all veiled and the spiders.

Ahdjiia was off shift when she headed for the lounge. She'd already changed into her civilian clothes, with her ornate spiderwebbed lace veil over her head and a simple caftan. Security hadn't had much to do as of late, but she didn't mind it that much. It pretty much balanced out with how manic things had been before with Mudd and the androids.

She saw Saladin sitting alone and joined him.

He looked over at her and started at the veil, just like in the dreams. "Hello."

"Hello.", she said with a smile, her face still visible through the webbing pattern.

He smiled back and sipped his drink, "Lunch time for you?"

"I'm off shift.", she said, "It's been quiet."

"That is a good thing, it was too busy before this."

"Indeed it was.", she said with a nod.

"Has anyone heard from Mr. Mudd?"

"Not that I know of.", she said, "As long as he does not come our way again, I do not mind."

"I would not mind him being executed myself but then again I have been told I am not Starfleet."

"I missed the chance of throwing him out the airlock."

"As did I." He smiled back, "So, why did you seek me out?"

"Just wished to see you.", she said.

"It is appreciated." He nodded, "I find myself wishing to see you more and more."

"Is that so terrible?", she teased.

He raised an eyebrow in supreme irony, "No.... Not for most species...."

"Oh?", she asked, her raised eyebrow visible.

"I am not Terran human, where this relationship would be celebrated, in my culture I am not supposed to get involved with non nietzchean females." He looked at her, "I am supposed to have my wives chosen by me and approved by the Matriarch."

Ahdjiia nodded silently. "I see.", she said softly.

He looked at her, "But at the same time, it has been said, by the progenetor, that if you find something you feel strong enough conventions be damned...."

"I should let you think of your choice then.", she said. Despite all that had been said and done, she still felt hurt at the loss of her family and people from her choice to roam the stars, and Ahdjiia didn't want Saladin to know how painful that experience could be.

He put his hand on hers, "Do not leave... my people are not as harsh as things were in the old days. We no longer eliminate babies who had been thought defective. You would have to pass the Matriarch's approval. "

"What tests would be required?", she asked.

"To prove your worthiness to bear my children, to determine your strength, tenacity, courage, discipline and your achievements."

She mulled it over in her head. To be truthful, when it came to Chrysalians, Ahdjiia was probably the fittest and strong willed of them by having carried on this long with the choice she made. This was just part of that choice that she never regretted. "I would take the tests.", she said simply.

He blinked, "You would?"

"Yes.", she said.

"Then I will teach you the ritual greetings, when we go to my clan's homestead.

"I will study diligently."

"And... of course the important thing."

"Oh?", she asked again, with a raised eyebrow.

"Us..."

"I figured that was part of it.", she teased.

He took her hand, "Then I guess we should have our first date sooner then later."

"Indeed."

"This afternoon, perhaps I can teach you some of that swordplay I promised...." Then he paused, "If you can get some metals, I can forge you a proper blade."

"That would be nice.", she said with a smile, "What metals would be required?"

"A metal I've programmed in called Mathryllion, a light metal that can cut through anything...."

She frowned thoughtfully, "I've never heard of Mathryllion?"

"It is one that few know off my world. I put it in the replicator, so I can forge weapons if I need to."

"How much would be needed?"

"Say two ingots, about 20 pounds total.... to make a proper set."

Ahdjiia nodded. "I will bring them."

"I will meet you on the holodeck so we can forge your blades."

Before Ahdjiia could reply, the ship shook fiercely. The call for all engineers to report for duty was announced.

"First First Contact"

Sub-Cmdr Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian

Personal Log

"We have arrived at the planet Quentin, where we are to make what the Federation calls 'First Contact' with one of the races who inhabit this world. Apparently, they have recently developed warp technology, and it is Federation policy to approach them only when this milestone has been reached. I am puzzled by this restriction. The Romulan Empire has a long and illustrious history of expanding to include more primitive species and bringing them the benefit of our culture, civilisation and technological advancements. The Federation prefers to jealously gate-keep its knowledge and refinements, choosing only to contact other species when they become a significant threat, it seems. Of course, they claim that these policies are there to 'protect' the primitive species from 'contamination' - but, of course, as soon as First Contact is initiated, 'contamination' occurs immediately and exponentially -- this really is a poor excuse! They cite cases in the past where entire cultures have been altered drastically by a few careless acts, as if this justifies their mean-spiritedness. The fact is, if they had chosen to instead make contact with the backwards races and enlighten them, their futures would have been bright instead of bleak. But no, the learned Federation knows best. Every planet must go through the same cycle of destruction and deprivation that worlds like Earth endured. Such nonsense.

"Yesterday I performed a tactical assessment of the races of Quentin with the assistance of Lieutenant Geluf, who seems to have gradually overcome his shock of having a Romulan on his bridge. Never have I seen a world of such contrasts! The Quentishari, the most backwards of Quentin's peoples, live in mud huts and houses made of wood, utilising the most basic of tools and weaponry, whilst the Quentites have just broken the warp barrier! What is more bizarre is that the Quentishari apparenly *choose* to live in this manner, regularly launching pointless attacks on the Quentites for their choice to embrace technological advancement. Obviously, the Quentishari are neither a threat to the Quentities or to us. The Quentites, however, although they have recently dedicated their research almost entirely to warp field studies, are not without armaments. An in-depth scan of the surface revealed numerous armed bases, and the research centres and launch site are all heavily guarded. They have developed primitive nuclear weapons in theory, although their offensive capabilities are extremely limited. With a population of a little under four million, the Quentites pose little threat to Starfleet vessels. Nevertheless, it is quite understandable that the Federation would wish to engage with these people before they begin arming their warp vessels with nuclear warheads. I made a full report to Captain M'Kantu - who remains taciturn in his dealings with me.

"Perhaps the most bizarre facet of this mission is its reliance on a Risian ambassador, who --"

Suddenly the ship lurched horribly, and Savar was thrown from his seat on the couch, landing awkwardly on the floor. Frowning deeply, he struggle to his feet and looked immediately towards the window as warning klaxons blared in the corridor outside his rooms. He grabbed his uniform jacket from where he had left it on the back of a chair, and pulled it on as he strode towards the door. Whatever had just happened, it had blown the inertial dampners offline - and that meant the Galaxy was either under attack or had been damaged by a major spatial event. Either way, instinct had taken over, and he was headed for the Bridge.

He arrived to find the air filled with a thin smoke which grated on the lungs. A fire had recently been extinguished at Science Station Two. It was then that tr'Khellian looked down and saw the stricken form of Cassisus Henderson sprawled across the floor, his left side horribly burned. His attention was rapidly taken away by an icy voice. Its owner was the ship's returning XO, who tr'Khellian had not yet met, but already knew by reputation. The conversations about Rebecca von Ernst he had 'overheard' with his superior Vulcanoid hearing had painted a fearsome picture. Manning the Tactical Console, she looked oddly emotionless, bathed in the glow of the red alert lights.

"None, Captain. No lifesigns at all. None whatsoever on the planet. It's dead. They're all dead."

All eyes snapped to the main viewer as it flickered to life momentarily. The skies of Quentin were aflame.

Savar stepped immediately towards the Tactical console. "Commander," he said, neutrally, alerting Von Ernst to his presence. She looked at him for a moment, a strange glare in her eyes, almost like angry resentment, before relinquishing the station. As the Romulan took over, a medical team arrived on the bridge and rushed to Henderson's side. Within moments, a blue shimmer had engulfed the fallen Tactical Chief and the nurse in attendance, whisking them away to Sickbay.

"Captain," Savar spoke up above the clamour, "shields are down; dorsal phasers are offline. Damage is consistent with a high-yield explosion emanating from Quentin itself. Sensors are not picking up any other vessels in the vicinity, though I would recommend a tachyon scan when the deflectors come back online."

Savar's pulse was racing. Although instinct had carried him thus far, he was now acting on intellect. He felt alive! In the heat of an emergency, he was at the heart of the action. It felt unreal, somehow, and bizarre not to be where M'Kantu was now standing, issuing orders, rallying his men, getting the defences back online. He knew nothing of what had just happened, or what had caused the explosion, and it was strangely limiting to be at the Tactical console now, unable to demand input from others, as if somehow tunnel-visioned. But, by the Elements, he felt alive!

"Exact source of the explosion?" the African Captain demanded.

Savar patched easily into the ship-to-shore sensors and raced back through the sensor logs. He frowned at what he saw. Apparently the First Contact delegation had beamed down, and at that precise moment, at the precise beam-down co-ordinates, a massive explosion had occurred. Sabotage, his mind rang out, in a reflex reaction. The delegation had been ambushed upon arrival. But no. The Galaxy was heavily damaged; and from what he could see on the sensor grid - from what von Ernst had said - the planet's surface had been dedicated.

"Sensor logs indicate the epicentre was the beam-down co-ordinates for your delegation," the Romulan replied. He looked up from his console to meet M'Kantu's gaze. "The damage sustained to the Galaxy and our subsequent trajectory confirm it."

Savar saw M'Kantu place a hand across his mouth as he turned back to face the dead viewscreen, a gesture he did not recognise - perhaps an unspoken order for him to be silent. The Romulan looked back down at his console and began trying to estimate repair times to the Tactical systems. Technically, this was a pointless enterprise, since without any immediate threats, M'Kantu would not prioritise tactical repairs - but Savar was not to know this. For him, restoring the ship's defences would be the primary, all-consuming goal. Without shields, the ship was a sitting duck, and there was still the possibility of a cloaked vessel nearby. Perhaps a tricobalt device had been detonated in Quentin's atmosphere. The offensive possibilities were endless, and his mind was already filling with analyses, but M'Kantu seemed not to want to hear them. He was issuing orders in a subdued but authoratative voice to scan for survivors, for all medical crews to report to their stations - everything but scan for saboteurs! The longer this went on, the more irritated tr'Khellian became. He abandoned calculating repair times and watched the African as he moved back and forth, demanding status reports, bureaucratic rubbish..

Unable to stand this any more, the Romulan gripped the edge of the tactical arch until his knuckles turned white with the effort to control his passion. "Captain," he barked, "I insist we restore power to the deflector shields as a priority. We are currently defenceless, and we *must* run a scan for cloaked vessels as soon as possible."

"More Horror"

Lt. JG Dr. Klaus Fienberg

Simultaneus to the events of "First First Contact"

Location:
Dr. Fienberg's Quarters,
Deck 7
Junior Officer's Quarters.

Dr. Fienberg lay in his bed, very much asleep during his preshift nap. A bizarre habit he developed since his stationing on Galaxy. His dreams of sweet peaceful life were shattered by immense shaking and jarring of the ship that threw him to the floor, and a sharp piercing pain his abdomen.

He pulled the pain out of his belly finding that it was an artifact that was passed down in his family since the 1950s. An old Scalpel. The blade had cut clean through and left a considerable bleeding wound. Klaus sat there, partially incapacitated and tore off a peace of his sheet, wrapping it around his abbdomen, bunching a bit of it at the point of the wound. Homemade bandage. Simple first aid. By now, a very shaken Ren had come to his master's side. Smelling the blood he reared slightly, moaning a little.

Klaus knew full well he wasn't the only injured member of the crew, but the shock of the impact with the floor and the bleeding held him in place. He staggered to his feet, pulled his pips and combadge of his uniform and placed them one his current set of clothes, a turtleneck and slacks.

He tapped his combadge and in an strained, painfilled voice, "Medical, It's Klaus, I'm on my way."

Dr. Fienberg staggered out of his door, leaving Ren behind. Into the Turbolift, and down to deck 12.

Dr. Fienberg staggered into the already crowded Sickbay clutching his wound and limping. The Clean, almost perfect, wound caused by the scalpel had become very painful and bled quite a bit. A Nurse rushed to Dr. Fienberg, "Lieutenant!" Before he could grab Klaus' arm to guide him to an empty bed, he put his hand forward to stop him.

"No! There are others that need your help more than me."

He immediately proceeded to assist with the most recent patient to show up other than himself, all but ignoring his own injury.

"Death. . .De ja Vu"

Starring Rebecca von Ernst

(with snips from Lee and Ian's posts)

"The planet..!"

The startled cry yanked Rebecca von Ernst's brown eyes up from the quarterly progress report she had been composing.

(Honestly, why did Starfleet care how much Toilet paper Bolian Crewmembers used on a daily basis)

Inexplicably, the soft cloud shrouded mantle of Quentin was slowly being peeled back by a rapidly expanding ring of incandescent nuclear fire, its atmospheric gases boiling away into space.

~~~I've seen this before. . . . .~ Rebecca barely had time to form the thought and lean forward in horrible fascination before the floor reached up and slapped her across her freckled face.

Suddenly finding herself sprawled on the deck with an impressive headache, Rebecca painfully attempted to gather her legs beneath her, while her dazzled brain was wondering if the flashing lights were coming from her the bridge Emergency lighting, or if she was just seeing stars.

"Noodles. . .what a jolt." She whispered. . . .or did she only think it in confusion?

"Jensen!!! Get them back!!! Get them back, NOW!!!" M'Kantu was screaming into his chair's armrest, and Rebecca could barely hear the Transporter Chief's fuzzy reply over the ringing in her ears.

~~This cant be happening . . ..~~ she thought. ~~Not. . ..not again.~~

Standing shakily on skinny legs that refused to stop trembling, Rebecca gaped at the hellish vision that unfolded before her on the static filled viewscreen before her.

Fiery tendrils crept their way across Quentin's surface like a thing alive. This was not the first time the farmgirl from Minnesota had watched a world die. This was not the first time an entire population of sentient beings had been swallowed up in halo of purging flames before her eyes, the very oxygen of their world fueling their destruction.

~~Nar Hallas..was like this~~ The 5 year old memory came back to her fresh as the day it had happened.

---------Young Ensign von Ernst. . . .Helmsman aboard the Defiant Class USS Victory froze at her post in the midst of a pitched battle with the Lyran Hegemony over the contested world of Deltia III. . . . Nar Hallas as the Lyrans called it.

The Victory had cornered the Enemy flagship in low orbit over the lush world, and demanded surrender from the stricken ship. That was not to be. While the panicky Ensign von Ernst sat frozen, ignoring a critical order from her screaming Captain, the Lyran Battlecruiser detonated its primary Matter/Antimatter Bottles in low orbit thus igniting the atmosphere and scouring the surface clean of all life.

The Nar Hallas antimatter fires which had burned hotter than a stellar core looked similar to the ones that now race across Quentin.

15,000 Federation Colonists had died then. . . . . but this. . . . . . Quentin had MILLIONS. . . . .

~~Not again. . . ~~ her mind cried out in silent agony.

"Von Ernst!"

The deep rumbling of M'Kantu's voice cut through the visions of past horror and brought Rebecca back to the bridge of the Galaxy.

Alarms were blaring. Savoie and Geluf were both strewn across the deck, and from the strange feel in her inner-ears, she could tell gravity was fluctuating.

~~~Noodles girl wake UP!!~~~ the Ice Queen hissed in her brain.

Straightening suddenly, Rebecca banished the Farmgirl, and let the Queen take over. A blank look of unconcern washed across her pale features, and few, if any on the bridge took notice of her brief brush with De'ja'vu.

~~4 Million casualties are irrelevant to the current situation~~ Her mathematical mind informed her quickly, ~~~Cancel them out as superfluous data and begin primary calculations..Assess damage and assume Tactical command of the situation.~~

". . . . . . . up there and find out what just happened!" The captain was yelling at her, his orders confirming her own internal assessment of the situation.

Trotting lightly in the variable gravity she made her way up to the arch, casually hopping over a fallen comrade along the way.

De' ja' Vu again gripped Rebecca with its eerie tentacles as she settled behind the faux-wood tactical arch and lightly touched the cool displays with a thin-fingered caress.

-------

Lieutenant Rebecca von Ersnt aboard the original USS Galaxy had stood in this precise spot hundreds of times before in her role as ship's Chief Tactical Officer. Once again she found her 5-foot stature too short to easily reach many of the glowing displays. Rebecca found herself wishing idly for the large metal bar-stool that she had originally used years ago to remedy that problem.

~~No time now.~~ she chided herself, and stood on tip-toes, stretching to bring up a status display.

~~. . . .Threat board . . .. Structural Integrity . . . . .Shields . . . . .~~ Her Watery brown eyes ran quickly over displays she knew as well as the back of her hand.

~~~. . .Damage report. . . .Casualties ~~~ she scanned it quickly just as M'Kantu was turning back to her.

"Over 400 injured... " she reported in clipped fashion. "13 dead... 8 in Engineering. Maintenance was being performed on the warp conduits. Plasma ruptures killed them instantly when they were vacuumed to space."

The Ice Queen Persona was unconcerned with the deaths, but anguished instead over the valuable equipment losses.

Inside her mind, the Farmgirl screamed a silent internal scream at the inhumanity of it all.

Throughout it all her face remained an unreadable mask of intensity. The glowing instrument lights tracing eerie patterns across her pale features hiding the internal struggle.

"The Away Team?" The Captain asked, " Any signal from their transponders?"

Rebecca shrugged, "None, Captain. No lifesigns at all. " The Queen made a mental note to request replacement personnel at the next Starbase.

The Farmgirl whimpered at the memory of each comrade's face that she would never see again.

A silent presence at her elbow drew her attention and her eyes flicked over to rest on the tall slim form of the Romulan exchange officer. "Commander," Savar said, neutrally, piercing her with his own intense gaze. She looked at him for a moment, a strange glare in her eyes, almost like angry resentment, before relinquishing the station.

Giving the console one last loving touch she stepped aside and returned her attention to the devastation below.

The viewscreen flickered to life for one long minute, before shorting out. Quentin was burning.

Or was it just her damned soul that was in flames?

"If I was boss.........."

Starring

Rebecca von Ernst

(Before the Meeting)

Staff Meetings..ugh.

Commander Rebecca von Ernst privately dreaded the almost prerequisite exercise in collective buffoonery that was Staff Meetings aboard the USS Galaxy.

To be accurate she had attended 86.2 mission briefings since her commissioning in Starfleet (The 0.2 was an early adjourning due to Klingon attack) , and to her recollection not a single one had in fact been necessary to the day to day functioning of the ship.

Not that Rebecca had a lot to say in the matter, but she had given a lot of thought to how she would run things if SHE was Captain.

Rule #1 would be . . . . . DON'T BUG ME .

The last thing she wanted was an unending stream of frivolous reports and inquiries that could be resolved with a little common sense and elbow grease.

For example. If you wanted the Chief Engineer to perform a Level 2 diagnostic on some warp-field thing-a-ma-jig , why go through all the trouble of bringing him up from the depths of the ship to give him the order. Just wire him a memo and consider it done. If he misses the note then he obviously isn't paying attention to his job.

And once its done, don't bother me with the details, just put it in a report, and I'll read it if I'm curious.

Rule #2 would be NO MISSION BRIEFINGS.

It was bewildering to Rebecca how Captain after Captain preferred to host a little 'fireside chat' every time a communiqué from Starfleet came in. Ensign Nobody down on Deck 42 didn't need to know what was going on in the Captains head, and neither did anybody else for that matter.

To Rebecca's mind, the Captain should give the orders and the crew follow them without discussion. Quick, efficient, and quiet as mice.

Unfortunately, that was not to be the case, And Rebecca found herself slipping silently into her accustomed First Officers chair at the Captain's right hand side.

She hadn't really gotten to speak to the Captain personally during the previous weeks, but perhaps he shared her view on how to run a ship.

Every morning Rebecca's crisp little status reports were in his IN BOX for his perusal, and if he didn't choose to ask her about it in person, it just meant she was doing her job right.

Keeping the ship running smooth and the Captain free of distractions was her job...and that included not distracting him herself.

Suppressing a small sigh, Rebecca snuggled deeper into her chair and prepared for the briefing.

Hopefully it would not be too distracting to her schedule.

"Hell To Pay"

[Takes place immediately after 'First First Contact']

Principal Characters:

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Sub-Commander tr'Khellian

Secondary Characters:

Commander Rebecca Von Ernst
Lt. Curtis Geluf

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Bridge

Daren barely glanced up as his First Officer was relieved at Tactical by the Romulan exchange officer that had come aboard with him, his thoughts totally focused on what had just happened. An entire planet was dead - a first contact with a civilization on the verge of expansion into space gone terribly wrong as the Quentishari were wiped out - and a team of his officers had died with them, caught in the burn-off as they beamed down.

Not the way he wanted the first - or any - mission of his new command to be remembered, but that choice was out of his hands now. The only one left to him now was to find out why this had happened in order that it didn't happen to anyone else.

"Captain," the Sub-Commander spoke up behind him as Von Ernst moved to assist Geluf at Ops and get damage control started, "shields are down; dorsal phasers are offline. Damage is consistent with a high-yield explosion emanating from Quentin itself. Sensors are not picking up any other vessels in the vicinity, though I would recommend a tachyon scan when the deflectors come back online."

"Exact source of the explosion?" Daren demanded without looking away from the burning planet below them. He knew what it had looked like, but he had to be sure.

"Sensor logs indicate the epicenter was the beam-down co-ordinates for your delegation," the Romulan replied. He looked up from his console to meet M'Kantu's gaze. "The damage sustained to the Galaxy and our subsequent trajectory confirm it."

Daren frowned and rubbed fingers across his mouth as he processed the information. If the beam-down point was the epicenter of the blast that had destroyed Quentin, then that narrowed the possibilities. There was nothing he could do about it now, but once the ship was in order... then there would be questions he needed answers to - that both he and Starfleet needed answers to. He turned his attention to the ship's condition, trying to determine what was left operational and what he could depend on if this had been enemy action.

A minute passed, then another, and his thoughts were interrupted by the Sub-Commander again. "Captain," Savar snapped urgently, "I insist we restore power to the deflector shields as a priority. We are currently defenseless, and we *must* run a scan for cloaked vessels as soon as possible."

Well, Daren reflected, neither were unusual suggestions - or even bad ones - but both were a bit premature given the amount of damage the Galaxy seemed to have sustained. He turned to Tactical. "I'm aware of that possibility, Sub-Commander, but there are limits to what I can accomplish. If this had been the result of an attack from hostile forces, they have had ample time to make their presence know. Indeed, the sooner they were to do so, the greater the chance that they would have to disable or destroy the Galaxy... but we have seen no such activity."

He gestured invitingly. "Answer me this - were you in command of a hostile force and had just created this situation, what would you do? Would you wait for more than four minutes to delay your attack?"

Savar gave a slow blink. His grip on the console tightened at this enormously offensive question. The man in control of this entire ship would clearly be doing nothing to help alleviate the view of 'the Romulan' as 'the enemy'. Imagine you had destroyed an entire planet and massacred its entire population, Sub-Commander - what would you do then? Just hypothetically of course!

"You are assuming, Captain," tr'Khellian responded, with a dangerous edge to his voice, "that the force in question intended to harm the Galaxy physically. That is unlikely to be true, as any competent tactician would have followed through with an immediate assault on your vessel."

"So we are not at risk," M'Kantu remarked, as if the issue were resolved.

"Captain," Savar said, as M'Kantu's head began to turn away, "your ship has apparently just caused the extinction of an entire planet. Are you so willing to accept this that you refuse to investigate alternative causes?" M'Kantu infuriated him. It took all his faculties to keep his anger under control. How he wished he were in command, rather than this condescending oaf!

"Mister tr'Khellian, our first priority is to stabilise the Galaxy and tend to our wounded," the Captain replied.

"If I *wanted* to disgrace the Federation, Captain," Savar said, narrowing his eyes slightly as he finally gave in and began to play M'Kantu's repulsive little game, "what better way than to implicate its flagship in the total annihilation of two species and the entire surface of a non-Federation world?" He leaned forwards intently, fixing the African with a steely gaze. "Are you willing to accept responsibility for this, Captain? Or will you prioritize the deflector array to allow me to search for those who might have sabotaged your 'First Contact'?"

"Sub-Commander," M'Kantu replied evenly. "Whether this was, indeed, sabotage or not, whether there are ships out there as we speak or not, do not make the mistake of thinking that I do not know what my responsibilities are. As the ranking officer and commander of the Galaxy, I am solely responsible for the conduct of the ship as a whole - good or bad. So yes, I am prepared to take that responsibility; I was the moment I swore my oath and accepted my first command."

Savar tried not to sneer at this self-righteous ode to responsibility. It seemed M'Kantu was willing to accept the simplest explanation even if it meant his career being destroyed - a bizarre attitude for any starship commander. The Africans was already offering himself up for sacrifice.

M'Kantu nodded towards the viewscreen. "If there are cloaked ships out there, Sub-Commander, we're in no shape to engage them right now, and if they realize that we're scanning for and have found them, they'll turn on us to keep that information from being broadcast. We should, however, be able to track their particle emission trails easily enough once we *are* in shape for a fight - and if they're cloaked and moving slowly to avoid detection, they won't be able to out-distance us in the time it takes to make ready for that possible fight."

He glanced at the Ops console. "Number One, do you have a preliminary estimate on repairs?"

"Two hours, sir," Von Ernst answered mechanically. "We have approximately half our personnel injured, and we've lost personnel in Engineering." Her hands moved over the Ops console in a precise fashion, sharing the controls with the Ops officer. "I can give you sensors in 47 minutes assuming no further damage was sustained and not yet reported."

M'Kantu turned back to Tactical. "Forty-se