"Chance Encounter"

by
Ensign Miramon Terrik,
Flight Control,
USS Galaxy
Ensign Aristi Ferguson,
Flight Control,
USS Galaxy (APC/PCC)

Location: Starbase 212

Aristi never seemed to get a moment's peace. First, she had been transferred off the Prokofiev and onto the Galaxy, which had been exciting and stressful all at once. Then she had met her roommate, who while not openly hostile had definitely not taken well to the idea of a Cardassian sharing her living quarters. And now she had spent all day back on Starbase 212, running around like a headless chicken until she didn't know which way to turn.

It had been a long day, that's for sure. Shopping was hard.

Deftly balancing two boxes in her left hand with two heavy bags cutting into her left forearm, Aristi made her way through one of the many bustling hallways of the starbase. She received more th! an her fair share of stares and dirty looks from the starbase's denizens, who obviously weren't very happy about having a Cardassian around, even one as unassuming as her. Almost equal in number though were the appreciative whistles; today Aristi had worn a clingy Terran-looking dress that best accentuated her body and extensive tattooing. Apparently she wasn't the only one who liked the way it looked on her.

Turning the corner, Aristi attempted to make her way into the next hallway of traffic. But, she realized too late that it wasn't going to work: the throng of bodies was too thick and moving in all different directions. A passing Andorian bumped Aristi, causing her parcels to unbalance. She tried in vain to recover, but a second bump from another passerby was all she needed. Crying out in alarm she fell sideways out of the crowd and onto the neighboring ground.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, trying to right her! self. After a moment she realized that she had taken someone out in her fall.

"My apologies," she began, twisting herself off the unfamiliar pair of legs beneath her. "I'm not usually this clumsy."

Miramon had been headed towards the docking port where his new assignment, the USS Galaxy was currently parked. He was a bit nervous about going aboard - it was, after all, a Galaxy class starship, first of her class and lineage. Quite a move for a second assignment. He had a light grey duffel bag thrown over his left shoulder, but wasn't carrying any other luggage. Though he was trying to watch where he was going, it was difficult to see over the number of people on the deck. Must have been time for food or something.

Moments later, he felt something hit him at some speed, not overly quickly, even though he hadn't expected it - it was more the momentum of the impact that sent him flying.

He hit the floor slight! ly harder than he'd have thought for such a light bump, even if it had pushed him over. He'd taken the hit and fallen to the floor, but had used the flat of his lower arm to break his fall, minimising the impact. His duffel bag fell off his shoulder and flew a little bit away from him, landing with a soft thud, lighter than the Bajoran himself had done. Unfortunately, he was also trapped by the person that had fallen on top of him.

He waited for the slightest amount of pressure to be released on his legs, then rolled out from under whoever had fallen on top of him, before standing and brushing himself off. So much for a clean uniform. Twisting his head tightly to remove some slight tenseness in his neck, the Bajoran reached down and grabbed the other person on the floor by the wrist, pulling her to her feet.

"No broken bones, no problem. Just watch where you're goi...”

The Bajoran broke off. He was staring directly into the face ! of a Cardassian.

Aristi barely noticed the man's discomfort, having long ago grown accustomed to the reaction she provoked in most anyone, especially Bajorans. She smiled warmly, hoping it came across as that and not some 'evil Cardassian' sneer.

"I'm really sorry," she continued, taking a moment to re-balance her packages and push her wavy reddish hair back from her face. "You're sure you're okay?"

Miramon blinked. Not quite the reaction he'd expected, but as this particular Cardassian didn't seem inclined to sneer at Bajoran weakness or make some particular racial jibe, he figured courtesy would probably be the best approach. Some of that fleet training got through after all.

"I'm fine, thank you. No harm done, like I said."

"Well, I'd best be off. Long days and pleasant nights to you, sir." She inclined her head towards him, then smiled once more before disappearing into the crowd.

The Baj! oran had little time to respond to that particular point, though he let the Cardassian go without a fuss, though he was headed in the same direction anyway - the Galaxy's docking port entrance was not that far off. Shrugging, Miramon picked up his duffel bag and replaced it on his shoulder, before setting off to the docking bay.

Not more than a minute or two later, Aristi thought she spied a familiar head moving in the same general direction as her. The crowd was much thinner in this area, so she took the opportunity to squeeze between a few people and over towards her target.

"You wouldn't happen to be following me, would you?" Her voice was light, even a bit flirtatious, as she sidled up to Miramon and began to match his pace. "I could maybe use a little light stalking."

That was an audacious piece of affrontery, especially from a Cardassian, but for some reason, Miramon found it amusing, and chuckled lightly, ! though didn't have time to say anything in reply as the Cardassian interrupted him.

"Or no, wait." She trailed off, her mind processing the various clues. Starfleet uniform, luggage, heading in the general direction of the docking port... "You're headed to the Galaxy, aren't you!"

Miramon nodded. That ought to have figured. It hadn't clicked right away because the Cardassian was not wearing a Starfleet Uniform, but she was, after all, headed in the general direction of the ship, so it was a good conclusion, he supposed.

"Yeah, I'm the new Flight Control Officer, just recently transferred from the Valdemar. I'm Ensign Terrik. Miramon Terrik, actually. I take it you're one of the crew, too?"

Aristi nodded. "Yep. Ensign Aristi Ferguson, also newly transferred from the Prokofiev, also in Flight Control. Looks like we'll be working together!"

Miramon held the reflexive expression of surprise. He! was really going to need to quell the problem he had with Cardassians. ~Long time ago, bud. Get over it.~

"Yeah, sure, I guess we will. If we're heading back, maybe I can help you carry some of those boxes. Might help if you could see where you were going in the future, right?"

"Thank you, that would be a great help!" She handed one of the boxes to Miramon, then turned the second box and slid it under her arm, letting the two bags slide from her wrist into her hand. She was still carrying a good deal, but at least now nothing could get knocked over again. "I guess I did go a little overboard on the spending...but I just had to get something neat for my mum back home, and my roomie doesn't seem to have much in the way of fun stuff..."

Aristi trailed off, suddenly aware that she was rambling. She immediately changed directions. "So, you said you were on the Valdemar, right? How do those Ambassador ships ! handle, anyway?"

Miramon, for some reason even he couldn't consciously work out was happy to oblige the conversational attitude. "Better than I suspect the Galaxy will. She's got a smaller warp engine - intermix chamber is about two-thirds the size, but then, she's by far the smaller ship. A little faster and a lot more maneuverable, but according to specs, not as fast. Should be interesting trying out a larger ship, I think."

He paused a second, trying to scroll through what he knew about other Federation ships. Ah, that was it.

"Prokofiev was an Andromeda class ship, right? Heavy scout cruiser. I betcha those things are easier to fly than Ambassador class ships. Have you ever flown anything like the Galaxy before?"

"I've spent more time than I can remember doing simulations and even got a couple hours at the helm of a real Galaxy class ship a few years back. This will be my first time piloting one for any extended t! ime, though. I'm qualified to pilot anything up to a Sovereign class, though I really prefer piloting the smaller classes. They're much more maneuverable, even if they don't go as fast or get as much respect as the 'big boys'..."

Aristi stopped in mid-sentence as a short beep from somewhere inside her clothing caught her attention. Frowning slightly, she reached inside the neckline of her dress, pulling a communicator pin from within. The communicator beeped again.

"Now what could this be," she mused, depressing the pin in her palm. A split second later the incoming message was relayed.

Miramon's commbadge had gone off at the same time, though he didn't take as long to activate his own one, given that it was pinned directly to the breast of his uniform jacket, though somehow they still went off together.

[All crew members of the USS Galaxy are hereby ordered to return to ship immediately. Re! peat, all Galaxy crew are to report back immediately.] Then the channel closed.

"Interesting..." Aristi looked up at Miramon to judge his reaction.

"Now what the heck is going on? We're not supposed to be leaving yet. Still, if we are, they might have problems if we're not aboard. After you..."

Aristi wasted no time, picking up the pace as she began to weave through the crowd, using her overloaded left arm to carve a passage. As the two made their way down the halls and passageways of the starbase the crowd began to streamline and homogenize, becoming composed more and more of Starfleet types rushing back to their ship, many talking excitedly about the sudden personnel recall.

"...what if it's the Borg..."

"...no, the Klingons are coming..."

Aristi looked sideways, trying to determine the source of some of the silly rumors bouncing through the crowd. Near her two young crewmen, Petty Officers by! their rank insignia, were tossing ideas back and forth as they hurried along.

"...hear it's a Cardassian invasion..."

"...bring their damn Vorta friends..."

"Cardassians, eh?" She raised her voice, grinning at the two crewmen. The pair blanched and veered away as they realized who-- more importantly what-- was addressing them.

Miramon looked at the two crewmen with a raised eyebrow, glaring at them sternly. "That'll be enough gossip from the both of you. We'll find out what is going on when we're aboard our ships. Until that point, keep your conjecture to yourselves. Now, move!"

The Bajoran shook his head as both him and Aristi watched the two shuffle away from them towards the docking bay, obviously trying to put some distance between them and their senior officers.

"Right, that's sorted. You know, I wonder if the transporters are working. We're both bridge officers, so I'm sure we could create an auth! orised transport from here. What'ya think?"

Aristi shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to try." She made her way to the side of the crowd, backing into a small alcove to keep out of the way. She tapped her commbadge, now fastened to the outside of her dress. "Ensign Ferguson to Galaxy. Request immediate beam-over of myself and Ensign Miramon Terrik."

After a slight pause, they received a reply. [This is Transporter Room 4. We're a bit busy down here but will get to you momentarily. Stand by.]

"Excellent." Aristi shifted her packages slightly, waiting patiently for the beam-over. "A Bajoran taking sides with a Cardassian," she mused, replaying in her head the verbal lashing Miramon had given the two gossiping crewmen. "The times they are a’changin..." She chuckled lightly; being around someone who hadn't yet become antagonistic because of her heritage was definitely keepi! ng her in a good mood.

Miramon rolled his eyes as he listened to the commlink reply. Didn't these people know that Bridge officers took priority when requesting beam-up during emergency recall? The standard recall was not scheduled yet, so something was going on, and the Bajoran and Cardassian were the only two flight control officers assigned to the Galaxy. Great if all you're looking for is a drill test, but otherwise, they needed to get aboard.

The Bajoran turned to Aristi and shrugged. "Isn't it amazing how even standard protocols get broken at dock? Stupid way to run this place."

"With the sudden recall, I’m betting the only crew left on board to operate the transporters are inexperienced, probably Petty Officers or..." Her voice stopped as the transporter beam energized.

"...or lower," she finished, catching sight of the very young crewman standing at the transporter controls. ~Good Lord, I must be getting! old.~

"Well, Mister Terrik, welcome to the Galaxy!" Aristi stepped off the transporter pad and headed for the door. She briefly considered reminding the crewman of ship’s protocols, but reporting for duty seemed more important right now.

Miramon nodded, taking a quick look around the Transporter room before following Aristi outside the room, only to be greeted by other officers running around, likely answering a ship-wide station call. His eyes darted around for a moment, then he turned to Aristi.

"Right, I think one of us best go to the Bridge, and as I'm carrying less than you, it's probably best for me to get up there. I'll see you later?"

"You're also the only one in uniform," she stated, taking her last package back from Miramon and stuffing it under her right arm. "Flight officers get no respect in frilly sundresses, I'm betting. Well, once the insanity is over and we're underway, give me a buzz ! if you feel like it. It was really nice to meet you...see you around!" And with that Aristi pushed her way out of the transporter room and disappeared into the hallway.

Miramon watched as Aristi disappeared, muttering a quiet 'goodbye' before turning and heading to the Bridge.

[Backpost]

"Koala Monday"

(Takes place just prior to the Galaxy’s arrival at SB 212)

by Captain M'Kantu,

Lt JG Claire Barnes,

Ensign Kira Murphy (ex-PC)

****

USS Galaxy

Deck 1

Outside Captain's Ready Room

Looking up from as she was leaving the captain's ready room, Kira stopped & grinned when she saw a blond woman walk out of the lift and head over towards her.

Smiling, she grinned, "Hi, I'm Kira. You here to see the cap too? What did you do wrong?"

Blinking, Claire shook her head, "Claire Barnes. I just transferred here, and was reporting in."

"Oh, okay. I'm just reporting so I can leave. Just got a message from my homeworld that they want me back. For all that is holy, I am not sure why, but I am pretty sure your new boss will probably want to celebrate. I wasn't very popular, especially after the rampaging rhino hologram in a portable emitter."

Claire laughed, "You would have cheered things up then."

Pointing back to the closed door, "Oh yeah. Pity I won't be around to get to know you though. He should be in a good mood at least."

Turning, Kira left the bridge as Claire tapped the door buzzer, entering when told to.

Snapping to attention, she saluted, "Lt Junior Grade Claire Barnes, reporting for duty, Sir."

Daren nodded and returned the salute from his position by the window. "At ease, Lieutenant, and welcome to the Galaxy." He moved behind the desk as he talked and nodded to the chairs in front of his desk as he settled into his own chair. "Please, have a seat."

Claire smiled and walked over to the seat, spinning it around before straddling it, "Yes, captain."

"According to your record, you've done the whole 'first meeting' thing before, so I don't know that there's much point in repeating it -," he looked at her, "unless you simply want to go through that again?"

"Sounds good to me.. I'm sure you have better things to do."

"I thought not," he nodded. "Let's just assume that it's over and done with, then." He looked at a PADD on his desk. "You've also gotten good marks from your treatment program, so I don't see any need to go over that ground either. I'll just say that we've got a very good Counseling staff here on the Galaxy, and if you have a problem of any kind, you'd do well to talk to one of them."

"Sure. I was going to put in for regular sessions when I have had time to settle in."

Daren nodded, set the PADD aside, and looked at Claire for a moment. "Tell me, Lieutenant, what do you see yourself doing here on the Galaxy? Who do you see yourself being in a year?"

Claire smiled with a mischievous Aussie grin. "Replacing you as Captain, Sir. After having replaced Lt Cmdr

Corgan, Sir."

Daren smiled. "You might want to wait a few more years for that, Lieutenant. Command isn't all it's made out to be sometimes. You might find another path that calls to you more."

"Hmm.. Maybe, but I believe in aiming high."

"Just remember to not pay so much attention to the goal that you stumble on the path that takes you there," Daren offered. "Now tell me, have you met Commander Corgan yet? Any of the other members of the department?"

"Yes, sir. I checked in at the office, but he wasn't there. I met a few of the others though."

"What did you think of the ones that you've met? Were they people that you feel you can work with?"

"They seem pretty good. Although, a bit distant at the moment due to the officer who died recently. I do believe I can work with them."

Daren nodded. "That's only to be expected; Lieutenant D'Tinya-Bolivar was a good officer, and well-liked in the department. There are a few... difficult... personnel, but by and large, Commander Corgan runs as good a Security department as any I've seen. I think you'll fit in well there after the initial settling-in period." He regarded her for a moment, and then added, "Do you mind a more personal question, Lieutenant?"

"Sure, Captain."

"Why a koala?"

Grinning, she smiled, "I grew up in Sydney, Australia. It is kinda of a big place now, but during holidays, Dad took me camping in the Blue Mountains. I grew up liking animals, and I just picked a well known Australian animal as a pet. The counselors on the Victorious suggested it."

"If I recall correctly, they have a somewhat restrictive

diet. Is that correct?"

"Oh yeah... Three types of eucalyptus leaves is the limit of their diet. They don't even drink water unless desperate. I have some replicated versions that work.

Daren nodded. "You might want to talk to our Chief Botanist, Ensign Miguel Sandoval, about having some non-replicated plants grown. He's got a touch with plants that borders on the magical."

"That's a great idea. I do have a chip with some seeds on it somewhere."

"If needed, you might also talk to Lt. Curtis Geluf, the Ops Chief, about changing the environmental settings around in your quarters for the animal." Daren smiled. "I've always had a soft spot for the creatures after my daughter..." his eyes saddened for a moment, but his voice remained firm, "fell in love with them and demanded one - loudly and frequently - for her sixth birthday."

Claire smiled,

"He'll be fine. I have a small portable holo-projector that is separate from the ship's power systems. I just recharge it when it is needed, so it isn't a drain during low-power or combat modes. Saves on replicating branches and sticking them to the roof, Sir."

"I can see where that would get to be a bit of a chore, yes," he nodded with a faint smile. "All right then, Lieutenant, let me ask you this: Do *you* have any questions? Any concerns? Anything you'd like to ask?"

"Nope. I'm fine, Captain."

"All right then, Lieutenant." He stood and offered her his hand. "If you have any questions, my door is open. And again, welcome to the Galaxy."

The Frustrated Botanist

Ens. Miguel Antonio Sandoval
Jan

Designed initially during the Golden age of Exploration, the USS Galaxy was the first of a series of ships dedicated to the principles of unrestrained scientific thought and discovery. Now almost 20 years since her initial launch from Utopia Planatia, the staff of scientists who bid her bon voyage would have barely recognized her.

Gone were the lovingly graceful lines of the ships original neo-organic streamlining. Gone were the original science-intensive sensor pallets and computer cores. gone was the ship inspired by Pallas Athena the Goddess of Wisdom. Instead the monstrosity that prowled the starlanes was more like one of the demonic servants of old Ares, the God of War.

The hull was scarred and broken by haphazard arrays of heavy weapons blisters, and delicate scientific pallets were replaced by brutish tactical combat sensors. Heavy Shielding and new warp control fins broke the once clean lines leaving the impression of an ancient gladiator studded with metal spikes and armor.

It was an ugly ship on the outside, but what truly broke the heart of Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval was the ugliness in the ship's interior.

Contrary to popular belief, and somewhat sadly disappointing to those that cared, the huge plant-filled interior was not as well equipped or supplied as other areas of the Starship's area.

The Botany and Ecology Departments over which Miguel held sway was one of the most understaffed and resource-poor groups on the vessel.

Starfleet had recently spent untold millions refitting the Galaxy's Combat Fighter wing with new spiffy space-helmets, while poor Miguel was forced to carefully ration his soil analyzing reagents lest he exceed his rather meager budget of resources.

Tactical Department had recently been treated to a 3-day conference at the Federations new 359-Tactical School complete with battle simulation exercises and celebrity guest speakers.

Miguel's last staff meeting came out of his own pocket as he struggled with a flimsy overhead projector in a stuffy crew lounge.

Captain M'Kantu held staff meetings galore expounding on the various focuses on Security and Tactics, while Miguels own Botanical Scientific report on the last mission had probably found its way into the Captains recycle bin without even being read.

Unfortunately for Miguel, his pitiful staff was half the problem.

The USS Galaxy was famous for being top-heavy with rank. At one time during her history no less than THREE full-fledged Commanders were among her senior staff, along with a plethora of Lt. Commanders and the like.

(OOC: CMDR's Hawksley, Dallas, von Ernst--last year)

With all this raw talent and expertise available, it was a sheer joke and insult that poor Miguel, barely an newly graduated Ensign and shipping out on his first assignment ever suddenly found himself as the head of the entire Botany and Ecology Departments.

Obviously the Powers that Be had a rather poor opinion of the Department and could care less about plants.

For Miguel that was the greatest tragedy. For plants and green-growing things were central to his life.

Central to EVERYBODY's life as far as he was concerned.

If one did not take time to smell the roses as it were, then what was the point of any of this?

The bizarre unfiltered blur of starlight as seen through a warp bubble trickled eerily into the half lit interiors of the USS Galaxy's main Arboretum.

The poor lighting had less to do with some sort of sceintific principle than the fact that Engineering had stolen the power to funnel to Tactical for some sort of simulated wargame exercise against the Breen.

~~Or Bean...Been.....Preen....whatever they are called.~~~ Miguel sighed to himself.

The 22 year old native of El Salvador kept his distressed thought to himself however as he carefully measured out a pinch of concentrated fertilizer into a resused beaker.

The Starfleet issued stuff was decidedly sub-par, and instead Miguel was trying to implement a revitalization trick he learned during Senior Year at the Academy to boost the fertilizers properties without resorting to using large ammounts.

Senior Year at the Academy.

Barely 4 months ago in actuality. Wet behind the ears did not even begin to describe Miguel.

Unfortunately for him his staff was even worse.

Apparently there was a practice aboard the Galaxy of passing off the dregs of the fleet from Department to Department until the low man on the totem pole was forced to accept them.

As a newly minted Ensign, Miguel was decidedly low-man.

His entire staff included but 4 persons, only 3 of which were actual crewmembers (the fifth being a civilian). Unfortunately this meant that Miguel did not have enough warm bodies to keep the labs open 24 hours a day. Considering that none of the above had any formal training in the Botanical science made this a moot point.

First there were the two enlisted ratings that kept making goo-goo eyes at each other instead of doing their work. Strangely enough the male was born on Mars, and the woman really was from Venus, which made them the but of many jokes.

That was all fine and everything, but Mr. Mars, and Ms. Venus were also complete lazy-ass's as well. Even simple task such as digging holes in the dirt to make room for new specimens elicited an unending stream of whining and complaining about how hard the work was, or how they might get their uniforms dirty, or how they needed to go talk to a counselor about their inner-Ferrengi or something.

The Klingon petty officer was no better. Transferred in disgrace from Housekeeping, the grizzled alien was the poster child for the Klingon Body Odor Association. He viewed Botany as a hobby of weaklings, and suitable for women and Eunuchs only.

Biting back his Latin pride, Miguel had instead pointed out that the Klingon would get the opportunity to play with sharp objects and dirt, and to think of plants as 'camouflage' instead.

Grunting excitedly, the Petty officer agreed and nowadays spent much of his time hiding in the bushes, and weilding garden shears with the grace of a samurai.

The final Member of the staff, the civilian, was actually the only person that Miguel even felt an inkling of respect for.

Across the old dirt-strewn lab-table from Miguel sat the newest member of his Department, a young fugitive from the Gryphon Asteroid Pirates.

Known only as Jan, this boy was no more than 16 years in age. Slim and pale skinned, Jan looked out onto the world through a pair of deep blue eyes that seemed to carry oceans of feelings within their sparkling depths.

It was good that his eyes spoke volumes, for the boy was also quite mute and seemingly unfamiliar with any sort of sign language or written communication.

In the weeks since his arrival Miguel had spent many frustating hours trying to elicit some sort of response...any response from the lad, all to no effect.

More enigmatic than the lads silence however was the rather amazing abilities that he demonstrated. Twice aboard the pirate vessel Miguel had chance to witness the unearthly ability Jan had to heal wounds by taking them onto himself.

The first had been Botanist himself as Jan healed his severly injured knee, and the second was the near-ressurection of the Pirate Captain who one moment had a bubbling hole where his chest used to be, and the next was standing as fit and healthy as you like.

For the Catholic reared Miguel it was a event like unto a miracle of old.

The Galaxy Medical Department had a different explanation.

"Despite his appearance, he's not human." The Doctor had explained. Of that Miguel had no doubts. Mere humans did not do the things Jan could do.

"Whats more he's not a mute.....not really at least." The Doctor explained further as he ran his tricorder over the youth's neck. "This boy has no vocal chords at all. Not even vestigial ones, and whats more, preliminary genetic analysis indicate thats probably normal for his race."

"Normal?" Miguel had asked at the time. "What race?"

The Doctar had scratched his chin and considered. "Well, taking into account the healing abilities you mentioned, and the lack of speech, I'd say he was a Minarian Empath."

"A what?"

"A Minarian." The Doctor explained. "Theoretically a race of mute empaths demonstrating remarkable healing abilites. The only known encounter with one was over 100 years ago with a female member of the race. The computer had a copy of the medical exam given her by the Medical Officer on the scene, and the boy's DNA indicates a racial relationship."

Since that time a few weeks ago, Miguel himself had looked up the original encounter with the Minarian Empath by the original USS Enterprise. He'd discoverd that the female's name had been Gem, which was too close to Jan for coincidence.

Unfortunately the Empathy was not of the sort typically known to the Federation, and even naturally telepathic beings such as Betazoids, Vulcans and Deltans could not even read Jan's thoughts, or make themselves understood to them.

It was if the boy was in his own private world and was unaware there was even such a thing as communication. He watched events with curiosity, and at length he learned to mimic Miguels chores in the Arboretum, but he never made an effort to speak or interact.

The Doctor had suggested introducing the boy to one of the Galaxy's Engineering officers who was also mute, but as of yet Miguel had not found the chance. What was here name.....Gray? Spray? May? something like that.

Across the table Jan worked merrily dumping enriched soil into a series of pots Miguel had provided for him.

He never seemed to smile or laugh, but somehow he exuded contentment.

Miguel smiled for him. After all, mute or not, he was the only capable member of his staff available.

"Reflection"

Flight Officer Jasmine Heloi
Vanguard Five (XO)

Flight Officer T'Shani A'Akledorian
Vanguard Three

----------

=^= Deck 10: Ten-Forward =^=

Long slender fingers drifted across the keys of the piano and a soft melody echoed through the Cantina. Jasmine Heloi smiled to herself as she played the ancient tune, allowing it's tones to carry her away to a simpler time and place. Here, lost in the music, she felt peaceful and carefree as was not always the case in the 'real world'. The tune she played was a Betazoid ballad that told the tale of love lost and love regained.

Heroes, wizards, elves, and kings all took part in the story from her childhood and she poured those memories through her hands. As the last notes died away into the silence of the Cantina a polite applause began several heartbeats after it's ending. That, to her, was the most telling of her meager talent. The pause was far more eloquent than a thousand standing ovations and she nodded or smiled to those that had chosen to applaud. That was when she spotted the lone blue Andorian at one of the tables in the corner.

Politely declining to continue, Jasmine made her way through the sparse crowd to stand beside her fellow pilot. "Mind if I sit down?" she asked, extending the offer either for a friendly ear or to be simply left alone.

Tish looked up, momentarily at a loss for words, so long had she been looking out the windows of the USS Galaxy's Cantina. Not that there was anything particular to look at: workbees flitting around starships, EVA-suited construction workers, and massive Federation starships in the distance. She had been wondering, pondering all that had occurred, recently. The mission...what had gone wrong...the betrayal...the information...the link to the past and future...

"Hu...what?" she swiveled her antennas toward the figure standing next to her.

Jasmine smiled at the obvious distraction in the other woman's voice. "Can I sit with you?" she gestured towards one of the chairs at the table. For once her long hair was unbounded and it hung in red hued curls that framed her face and tumbled down her back. Brushing back a strand she waited for Tish's reply.

Tish sighed, looked to the chair that Jazz was motioning toward, and bobbed her antennas, in affirmation. "Sure, Jas'."

Once the Betazoid had seated herself, Tish looked back into the vastness of the starbase's interior. "Nice flying out there during the Graveyard Run, Jasmine. Too bad the f'theking avionics blew. I know what *that's* like," she offered a small, friendly - yet sad - smile.

"Yeah, the frelling thing. I submitted a formal request to Starfleet procurement to light a fire underneath those contractors to get that fix out. I would've had that damn Rogue fighter if it hadn't been for the stupid avionics..." she complained good naturedly. "Ah well, there's always the next game. You didn't do so bad yourself, T'Shani, very good flying. At least what I saw before I went blind."

Tish kept her gaze fixed on an EVA'er that was...washing the windows? ~He must be bored...~ she thought idly, while watching the space-suited man wipe-down the transluminum space-window in front of her. "Thank you. Well, if you would like, I'm ordering a Mark XVII Ukthar-Nijek; they're Andorian, Jas'...better quality than that Tellarite garbage on there, now."

"I'm willing to go with anything *other* than the crap that's in my fighter right now. I don't want any of our people stuck out there in that same situation in unfriendly territory. I'll talk with Corran about possibly requisitioning that package from Ukthar-Nijek for all of our fighters. This is the last time I'm flying anything with a Sm'trs label on it," Jasmine replied, shaking her head. "But enough of that griping. How are you doing, Tish?" Jasmine turned towards the Andorian with a compassionate gaze. If she didn't want to speak about what had happened, that was her prerogative, but she was still there to listen. What were - after all - 'Execs' and, even, friends for?

"I'm...*doing*...I guess, Jasmine," she finally turned to look back to her Exec.

Heloi's gaze softened slightly as she took in the full blow of T'Shani's appearance. Her time away from the ship had not appeared to do her any good, especially since it left her with a great deal of ghosts to deal with. As she had observed before, T'Shani had all the appearance of the Tanalya of her people's mythology. A wraith; a shadow of what had been before. The spark of life that had burned brightly inside the soul of T'Shani had been banked, and that concerned the Betazoid to, no-end. "Only *doing*?" she asked in her musical voice.

Tish sighed, bowing her head, slightly, remembering what Toluk had said: ~"*You're soul shall pay for what I have given to you...*"~ And, it was true. She had not only been betrayed, but had done the same, really...hadn't she? Shaking her head, she looked back up at Jasmine Heloi. Funny, how things were. When Tish had first come aboard Galaxy - almost six months ago, now - she had been quite put-off by the Betazoid vid-star. But now....

"How long will you have to atone for the past, T'Shani?" Jasmine asked, arching her eyebrow at the other woman. She suspected that part of T'Shani's absence had to do with the past that she had shared with her on that runabout so long ago. She felt that that absence had everything to do with the now 'Tanalya' T'Shani.

"As long as the blood of my clan is on my hands, Jasmine," Tish forced, through clenched teeth, while flexing her hands.

"Suffice it to say that I do not like seeing my pilots or my friends hurting, T'Shani. No matter what happened in the past, and I do not believe it was your fault. However, I suspect that I have little chance of convincing you of that...But, what matters is that you're not alone," Jasmine said earnestly, even though she knew that she might never reach the other woman. It was best to proceed carefully in situations like this, and it could easily cause T'Shani to go to anger.

Tish let out a long, low sigh, while rubbing at her eyes and then flipping a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. "Jasmine...what has happened to me?" Stopping suddenly, T'Shani realized what she had said; what she had been dying to ask, but had kept hidden... ~what *has* happened to me?~

Jasmine blinked at the question. It was a plea, a plea for help that she could hardly ignore. The Betazoid reached across the table to touch the back of T'Shani's hand, "Why don't you tell me?"

"I wish I could tell you, Jasmine. I do. But, it's classified, I'm afraid." She looked back out to the large window.

Classified. Such a horrible word when it came to the shadows that haunted the mind of her friend. There was little she could do to countermand that question, nay, that order. So, instead, the Betazoid smiled, "Then all that I can offer is a shoulder to cry on...and more to drink."

T'Shani studied the reflection in the viewport of her and Jasmine sitting across from each other. One strong and beautiful; vibrant. The other...frail, pale, and...and...?

Jasmine signaled for another round of drinks. Her companion was silent after her own offer, and the Betazoid sighed to herself as she thought on what had happened. The story of the Tanalya began with a young girl who was hurt terribly in her past. In the woods, a wicked witch offered to take away her pain in return for a small token. That token ended up being her soul...and the young girl became a Tanalya at the command of the evil witch. There were no evil witches here, though there was a very hurt little girl hidden inside the soul of her fellow pilot. Her heart bled for that child, and for chances lost in the past.

An idea came to Tish's mind...something she had heard of, long ago. "Jasmine..." she started, softly.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever..." she chewed her lip, then continued. "I can't *tell* you, Jasmine...but...I could...um, would you really want to know?" Tish didn't know why she was acting this way, around Heloi. There was just something...*calming* about the woman. Something that T'Shani had overlooked before.

The pilot turned to face T'Shani more fully, her hazel green eyes meeting those of her counterpart's as she attempted to glean what the other woman meant. Surely she could not mean for her to read the Andorian's thoughts...surely... "I believe that you need to share it, T'Shani. But I would not coerce you."

Tish shook her head. "No, Jasmine. I..." it was hard for her to admit, "I *trust* you. Gods...you're one of the only few that I do." If you really want to understand...really want to know..." she trailed-off again, looking down at the table-top. For once, the little girl pushed through the tough warrior-shell that she hid behind...for once, the *real* T'Shani A'Akledorian - a tragic ten year old girl - peeked out from behind the reflection that she hid from, to see if she could trust another soul with her secrets...

There were points in time where she wished that she had followed her mother's path and become a mind healer. This was one of them. Jasmine sighed softly as she saw reflected in the other woman's eyes the child she knew was hurting inside. How could she deny that pain? How could she dare try? "You know what you're suggesting, T'Shani. I do not wish to cause you more pain, my friend. To have another enter one's mind can be painful, especially when one fights against the intrusion. It would be against all that I hold dear to do that to you until you know the risks involved." "I..." Tish was about to continue, but was caught off-guard by the sound of the automated Bo'sun's Whistle sounding, followed by,

[All hands to launch stations. Prepare for launch in thirty minutes. This is not a drill. Repeat: All hands to launch stations.]

Jasmine suppressed the urge to curse audibly, and instead she sighed, "They pick the damndest times to do that..." she complained good naturedly.

Tish glanced over to Jasmine and *shrugged* her antennas. ~Oh-well,~ she thought to herself, as both women got up from the table. ~It was silly, anyway...~

"T'Shani," Jasmine said before they left the Cantina, gently touching the other woman's shoulder, "We'll have to continue this later." Without waiting for T'Shani's reply, the Vanguard Exec led the way towards Fighter Country. She'd have to remember to contact Corran to find out what happened during the senior staff briefing...With those thoughts in mind, Jasmine stepped into the turbolift as the doors whisked shut behind her.

(Backpost – The night before recall orders are issued)

“Down the Watering Hole”

Commander Navarre Shinta, Chief Counsellor

Commander Arel Smith, Chief of Security

Lieutenant Shawn Faraday, Asst. Chief of Flight Controll

Lieutenant Medea Sinistrari, Flight Officer / Rogue Eight

Lieutenant (JG) Ariss Edon, Security/Tactical Officer

Ensign Imanol Harinordiquy, Generalist/Hazard 9

8-Ball Hunter

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Walking out of his quarters, Ariss stepped up to the next door, declining to use the chime, he hammered on the door with his hand, shouting as he did, "Hey, c'mon guys, time enough later. Let's go have a drink!" A moment later, Brian and Sarah J came out, looking a little sheepish. Chuckling, Ariss nodded his head in the direction of the turbolift. "Drinks first guys," he said smiling.

… …

Walking through the merchants area on the Starbase, the three chatted, there was a profusion of shops here, more it seemed than on the promenade at DS9. And more bars, without that irritable Ferengi, quark, or someone like him. At least there was a selection of places to drink as well. Their destination though was someplace called 'Earharts', which seemed to be a fairly popular name among Humans for bars, at least so it seemed to Ariss. Walking in, the three headed for the bar, it wasn't overcrowded, at least not yet, but then the afternoon was barely over, shops were just closing. There were though, already a mixture of civilians and Starfleet in here. Seeing a few familiar faces scattered around, Ariss waved once or twice, his attention though, was focused on a recently vacated spot at the bar. Stepping into it, he grabbed the attention of a server, for the first time in years, he felt like getting well and truly drunk!

Raising his voice slightly, he looked to the Starfleet officers nearby, "If anyone's drinking, I’m buying!" He announced.

"Ariss! Congratulations!" Shinta walked over and hugged him. "You richly deserve this."

"I couldn't have put it better myself, Shinta!" cheered Faraday, thumping Ariss on the back supportively. The Lt. had swiftly emerged from a small crowd behind the man of the moment, he had been chatting with a few old friends from the Helena.

“Thanks guys,” Ariss said, a little embarrassed. Returning Shinta’s embrace. “It’s only taken nearly seven years to get bumped up from ensign.” He said with a laugh. "What're you all drinking?"

"A soft drink for me." Shinta's standard answer.

Medea had been off to the side with a long island iced tea when she heard the very nice offer of buying drinks. She giggled and in her usual bouncy manner headed over and ordered the Andorian version of a mai tai. "Thankies.", she smiled at Ariss.

Nodding and smiling to Medea, Ariss turned to the server, "Capellan 'Groz', a large glass please." Ordering a variety of drinks as well, he looked at the server, "Just rack them up right here," he said pointing to the bar before him.

Accepting the glass when it came, he turned back and raised it "Impatri Peslad Tensala" he said, in old Bajoran. "And for those of you who don't understand, 'Long life and happiness' " he translated.

Imanol was the last to join the party in 'Earharts Bar'. He had spent most of the day at the Aquatics centre looking at Aquariums. Ariss had plenty of Bajoran decor in the quarters but Imanol was keen on giving it a more human touch. Feeling pretty happy having just purchased a rare Malcorian baby shark he strode over to the group who were immediately recognisable.

"Hey there Shinta"

"Hey Imanol." She grinned at him.

"Hows Fred? Getting big I reckon..." He offered his hand to Lieutenant Faraday. "Imanol Haronordoquy, pleased to meet you."

"Spoiled rotten by the children. You should come over again." She said. "And you are overdue for another little talk."

"Shawn Faraday", replied the American with a grin, as he shook the hand of the comparatively larger officer.

Walking over to Ariss he slapped him in the shoulder playfully. "Got your message buddy, congrats! but don't think you can order me around now, big shot!"

"Now, would I," he said innocently. Smiling, "Not until I'm confident I can take you out with Hand to Hand combat only." Laughing, he downed half the Groz, then breathed deep as the fiery liquid hit his stomach and ignited a small nova there.

"Excellent, so that means never." he replied cheekily. Sticking up two fingers he signalled for two more of whatever Ariss' liver was battling with.

"Ladies and gentle beings," Ariss said, indicating the row of drinks before him, "The bar is well and truly open!" Picking up a couple of glasses, he passed Shinta her chemically inoffensive drink, and Imanol some Groz. Looking at Shawn and Medea, he raised an eyebrow. "Drinks?" Looking around for Brian and Sarah as well, he wondered briefly where they'd gotten off to, then spied the two, quietly leaning against the bar a little further down, blithely ignorant to the world around them.

"A Guinness would be great, Ariss!" replied Shawn

“Guinness , Guinness,” He muttered, he’d heard of that one, checking the bar, looking for something he’d only seen once. Giving up, he downed the last of his Groz, and waved at the barkeep. “Add some Guinness to the bar here please,” he asked, waving at the lined up drinks before him. Watching as the barkeep poured it, slowly, he turned to Shawn with a confused expression, “Is he brewing that as he pours it?”

"To be honest Ariss, I have no idea. All I know is that it tastes great!" replied Faraday with a slightly puzzled expression on his face.

Picking up two glasses of Guinness as they were deposited he passed one to Shawn and raised the other in a toast. ~ Definitely ‘very’ drunk tonight ~ he decided.

"Ooooh.", Medea giggled, her Andorian mai tai already kicking in quite nicely, "How about something with a lot of oomph? Something that'll have me table dancing."

"Something with a lot of oomph?" Ariss muttered, looking at the selection before him, he selected something neon green and passed to Medea, "Try this one. Hey, Shinta, you sure you don't want something a little stronger?"

"I really shouldn't, I get very silly when I drink."

"Hey, join the club, I plan on getting very drunk, and therefore very silly." Picking up a multicoloured concoction, he offered it to her, "It's more fun getting drunk with friends, right everyone?" he finished, raising his voice slightly.

"I'll raise my glass to that!" laughed Shawn, before he took to downing his pint

Medea sipped the drink Ariss handed her and her face was alight with a beaming smile. "Oooooooh you KNOW what I like!" she near purred.

"All right then." Shinta accepted the drink.

Smiling, Ariss raised his glass and downed some of the Guinness. "Mmmmhh, Good" he sighed in appreciation.

Harinordoquy wandered to the entrance of a bar where some commotion had developed. Sipping his Groz he peered over a merchants stall to see what was happening. A small crowd had formed and some of the starbases security were jogging towards the fracas. It was over before they arrived on the scene, that Arel Smith had one hell of a streak. The cowboy didn't stand a chance. Laughing he rejoined the group. "Oh hey there, I didn't realise you were a friend." He said as he leaned in and kissed Medea on both cheeks.

Medea didn't know Harinordoquy from a hole in the ground for the most part, other than walking past him in the corridors, but she accepted the kisses with a hug hello.

Shinta took her first sip. It probably had been a one-off thing that day in Marks office. It would be OK.

"Guys! over here" Imanol waved the party over to a vacant table which he was struggling to keep clear from the intoxicated hordes.

Grabbing a tray from behind the bar, Ariss loaded it with the drinks he had ordered, and attempted to transfer them to the table, without spilling to much!

"Ariss, before you sit grab two bottles of Spanish Tequila, you can bill me later" Imanol rubbed his hands together. ~Let the games begin~

Medea bounced along to the vacant table, still grinning. "With this many people, we should have a drinking game, like that Terran one, Quarters." she chuckled.

By now Shinta had taken a few sips of the drink and was beginning to take bigger and faster gulps.

"Hey Shinta," Ariss said, ""Need a refill?" he asked, looking at her nearly empty glass

"Yes please." Shinta said with a silly giggle.

8-ball, bored as usual, wandered into Earharts and glanced around. There was a large party of Starfleet officers, mostly of people she didn't recognize, and most of them were already pretty drunk. 8-ball smiled widely. Drunk people were always more fun to hang out with than sober people. You could either get into fights with them and win with relative ease or end up their best friend and get drunk for free.

8-ball walked up to the big crowd of Starfleet. They looked like they were playing some kind of drinking game. "What are we celebrating?" she asked loudly, so at least one of them would hear her over the din. "And can I join in?"

Waving a glass in the general direction of the loaded table, Ariss nodded, “Sure,” he said with a smile, “Grab an unprotected drink and join in. The more the merrier.”

“Hey, Lieutenant,” Ariss said, looking at Medea, “So what’s this drinking game. Quarters?”

"It's simple. We pour shots of drinks and we have to bounce a small coin off the table and into the glass. Succeed and that person drinks the shot." Medea said, "Or we could do the Rigellian version with balancing the coin on the tip of your nose to the count of three then drink."

"Let’s do both!" a very high-pitched voice joined in. Shinta was jumping up and down with excitement.

Medea was grinning her head off. "Oh yeah!" she smiled while inwardly thinking she liked this person. Not many had that much of a sense of fun.

“Both it is then!” Ariss said smiling as well. ~ R!t’syjan! ~ He thought ~ She really knows how to party ~ Finishing his pint, he dumped the glass and randomly picked up another drink. "Hey, Mr L.T Shawn, you in?" Doing a double take he looked at the newcomer, realising he didn't know who in the seven hells... ~ Who? Ah, what the frell ~

"Yeah!!!" Shinta shouted while she downed another drink.

"I wish I had your enthusiasm, Shinta" said Shawn, "Oh what the hell?! Set me up here buddy"

8-ball raised an eyebrow. At least it wasn't going to be hard to drink one person under the table. She grinned widely. "Let's play."

(Backpost – The night before recall orders are issued)

“Down the Watering Hole”

Commander Navarre Shinta, Chief Counsellor

Commander Arel Smith, Chief of Security

Lieutenant Shawn Faraday, Asst. Chief of Flight Controll

Lieutenant Medea Sinistrari, Flight Officer / Rogue Eight

Lieutenant J.G. Ariss Edon, Security/Tactical Officer

Ensign Imanol Harinordiquy, Generalist/Hazard 9

8-Ball Hunter

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Continued)

8-ball raised an eyebrow. At least it wasn't going to be hard to drink one person under the table. She grinned widely. "Let's play."

“Oh yeah,” Ariss agreed, finishing his drink, “Lets play.” Picking up another drink, he signalled the barkeep for refills. Pulling a coin from a pocked he slapped it on the table. "Who's first?" He asked.

Imanol managed a wink at Shinta. "Rights girls and boys" Imanol poured a shot for himself and placed a coin on his nose. He actually managed to balance it for the 3 seconds but failed to get the coin to fall into the glass. "That's damn impossible" He downed is reward with relative ease as the coin was passed along the table.

Medea picked up the coin and tilted her head back to hold the coin on her nose. "Count for me.", she said as she started to make a show of almost losing the coin's balance despite it barely moving on the tip of her nose.

Innocence was jumping up and down. "I want to be next!" She shouted.

Imanol filled his empty glass with the ginger coloured liquid slyly. The game had several people googlyeyed and he was trying hard to catch up. As the coins were passed to him he simply signalled defeat by knocking back his drink. The door which had been quite visible an hour ago was quickly becoming a distant blur. Turning to Shinta he laughed as he watched her burp and giggle at the same time. It was a side of her he wouldn’t see very often so he cherished the moment.

Sliding another coin onto the table, Ariss chuckled, “Anyone elshe got any looshe change?” he asked, “We can all go at the same time!”

8-ball pulled out nearly a handful of coins and spread it down on the table amidst the many, many drinks. She loved to play quarters. Almost as much as pool or poker. Or strip poker.

"Got plenty," 8-ball said. "Feel free to share."

Shinta grabbed the coin and started to play the game utterly failing of course and drinking like mad.

Picking up a coin, Ariss joined in, and had about as much success as Shinta. Grabbing a refill at random, he tried again.

8-ball managed to balance a quarter on her nose pretty well and trumped in her success. Then she tried to balance three coins at the same time. That didn't go over as well. She downed three shots immediately, one after the other, and played again.

"This is so funny." Innocence/Shinta was giggling by now almost not able to stand up any longer.

Putting his glass forcibly onto the table Imanol turned to his nearest drinking buddy. Who it happened to be was quite irrelevant. "WhaasSsuup with yOur face? HIt any bussess on yoUr way heRE?" His head fell onto the womans shoulder and then rested on her chest as he was removed from the conversation and began to snore.

Innocence/Shinta jumped on the table and started to dance in a very childish manner. "It's certainly getting hot in here." She said and started to unbutton her shirt.

8-ball whistled loudly and threw more money at her feet. "Whew, baby! Take it off!"

Smiling sweetly at this encouragement innocence/Shinta threw her blouse into the crowd and started working on her trousers.

Never one to pass up much, Medea finished off her drink and joined Shinta on the table. Playfully unzipping her uniform tunic, she spun it around her head before tossing it to the first pair of waiting hands.

Innocence/Shinta was standing in her underwear now jumping up and down excitingly trying to get more alcohol down her throat in the meantime.

Squinting, Ariss looked up from the now wildly shaking table, desperately trying to hold onto a glass. Any glass, that contained alcohol. “Ohhh, Boy!!” he managed to get out as he saw the ‘Dancers’ on the table

Imanol pealed his head from the bench and watched the proceedings in a daze. The two attractive women flaunting their goods was enough for him to feel a little turned on. Moving his head slightly he caught 8-Ball at a glance. He continued to stare at her longingly.

For 8-ball, two attractive women flaunting their goods was enough for her to feel a little turned on as well. Of course, any amount of alcohol and other people just present in the room worked just as well. She looked back at Imanol and, smiling, stood up and weaved her away over to where Imanol was sitting, plopping herself down almost in his lap. "Hi," she said.

Medea was shaking herself for all it was worth, just enjoying the good times.

Giggling innocence/Shinta started working on her bra strap. All these nice gentlemen were suggesting she do so, obviously it would make them very happy and she liked to see happy people.

"WHOA!!!" Ariss shot bolt upright in his chair. The 'dancers' on the table had just, finally, focused, and he realized just who was dancing on the table before him. Not exactly sober, but no longer drunk enough not to care, In his drunken haze, a couple of things were suddenly crystallizing in his mind…

Shinta and Arel were friends.

Arel was a Commander.

Arel was his boss.

He was here.

Watching.

If Arel finds out!

"Oh Prophets!" Acting on impulse he improvised. Reaching up, he picked Shinta off the table, to the dismay of the loud and rambunctious patrons. Stood there, with her in his arms…

~ Brain to feet, time to go! ~ …

~ Feet to brain, you're in charge, directions please ~…

"Uh Oh!"

"Horse ride!" Innocence/Shinta shouted trying to squirm out of his arms onto his back.

Imanol watched on happily as the cute science officer munched on his neck. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed with Ariss, where was that guys spirit of fun. Anyway, he pulled 8-Ball onto his lap and planted one right smack in the middle of her lips.

"Mmmmppphh!!!" Ariss got out, Shinta's shoulder firmly planted in his face.

Which was about the time that Arel strode into the place. It had been getting loud and obnoxious and the Starbase security, which she had been checking in with, had just been about to dispatch their own officers. Arel had volunteered to check it out first, thinking that it was probably her people. She was sorta right. There were both Miranda and Galaxy officers here. She took in the scene, noticed the booze, noticed the coins, and noticed Shinta's condition.

Arel's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Taking advantage of a drunk woman, Ensign?" Arel asked in a calm tone. A too calm tone.

Looking over Shinta’s shoulder, Ariss sobered up. Better than Caffeine, better than Aerosal, better that Nitron. The sight of your boss, the Chief of Security. Sounding calm, looking… ~ Oh… Boy…!!! ~ “Uh, Uhmm, Ah!”

Arel stared, letting him stutter.

“Sir?” Shifting the still wriggling Shinta over his shoulder, he tried to dislodge her, but she was clamped onto his back like a Denevian parasite.

Her lips twitched but she was determined not to laugh at the silly pair. Or the rest of them for that matter. "Play time's over children. Get back to your ships."

8-ball tore herself away from Imanol to look at the security chick from Miranda. Boy, did she look like somebody who didn't know how to have a good time.

"She's absolutely no fun," 8-ball told her new kissing boy. "We should get her drunk."

Medea 'eep'd and got off the table. She hadn't a clue where her tunic went, but she wasn't going to go looking for it. At least she'd not stripped further than what she did so it wasn’t all that bad. With a parting wave, she hurried off back to the Miranda.

"Relly!!!!" still only clad in her bra and string Innocence/Shinta let go of Ariss and ran towards Arel. "Come and play, these people are really nice."

Arel cringed. Only her aunt ever called her 'relly' and she only tolerated because it was better than some of the other pet names that she had tried to impose on Arel in the past. "You can go and play on Miranda. With your children and your husband. And our friend Ariss here is going to be playing in the Brig if he doesn't start moving. Right now."

"!?!" Ariss got out. Dropping his jacket on Shinta, he looked at Arel. Hiccupping a couple of times, "Do you want a hand with," 'hiccup' "Shinta Sir?"

"Take her back to the ship." Arel commanded. She looked over at the others. "You two! Tongues can be shoved down each others throats just as easily onboard the Galaxy or Miranda or where ever the hell your from. You! Stop drinking NOW!"

‘hiccup!!!’ Ariss got out. Grabbing Shinta’s clothes, those he could easily find, he grabbed her arm and tried to navigate her and himself out the door and back to the Miranda. ~ If only she’d go the way I’m Frelling going ~

It reminded Imanol of his Academy days. It seemed he was pulled out of every San Francisco bar there was along with ten or thirty of his teammates. The professors had the city well covered with informants. Although by now somewhat intoxicated he still had enough wits about him not to antagonise the woman who helped rescue his career. He chuckled at Ariss as he lifted 8-Ball to one side.

8-ball sighed and shook her head. How disappointing. Nothing like a security chief to come and break up all the fun. She didn't even get a chance to get seriously bombed, only tipsy. 8-ball wondered yet again briefly why she was in Starfleet, took one of the last remaining shots left on the table by people too drunk to drink anymore, and grumbled to herself on the way back to ship about security and Klingons and life in general.

Before she left, though, she blew Imanol a kiss. Too cute. It was sad. Oh well.

"The Untouchables"

By

Emmett "90 Year Old Gives Birth to Two-headed Alien Baby!" Bregman,
Documentary Team Leader,
USS Galaxy

James "You Wanna Piece of Me?" Mitchell,
Chief Science Officer,
USS Miranda

*****

When James climbed out of the sonic shower at the exact instant Emmett Bregman had walked in, he, like the journalist, didn't believe there was anyone else there. Tying a large Egyptian towel around his waistline - sonic showers lacked the same feeling of relaxation a hot water shower accommodated - he padded lightly to the mirror to finish the cleanup.

His jaw still felt numb from when Arel slugged it, and he rolled his tongue inside the puffy cheek to revel in the morbid pleasure of aching pain.

Popping open the disposable toiletries case that he'd taken with him, he retrieved a portable razor, toothbrush and paste, a stick of deodorant, and a tube of hair gel.

He turned on the sonic streams to begin his daily grooming chores. He'd hoped to pick up tonight. Nothing like drowning your hurts in another woman's arms for the night.

Emmett sighed when he spotted the other man - Bajoran, or maybe half from the looks of him - in the room. It was rather amusing sometimes realizing the habits that men had developed over the ages - comparing musculature, who could burp the loudest, who had the best women, or who had the best bruises. "Hey," Emmett nodded in greeting, "That's quite the bruise on your cheek."

The Bajoran jumped at the voice behind. Toothpaste squirted out all over the mirror. "Dammit!" He threw it into the sink with a savage grunt.

"You know, it isn't exactly safe to sneak up on a man, Mister. Who is your supervisor?"

Emmett arched an eyebrow, though he'd vehemently deny he picked it up from the Vulcans - logical bunch, very boring. "Hey, calm down there." He gestured at the mirror which had held a rather obvious reflection of him as he had come in, "I didn't see that you were focused on the toothpaste. My reflection's been in the mirror. I'm Emmett Bregman." He smiled shifting the towel and toiletries to his other hand to free one for a shake.

James peered with a cautious eye down at the man's hand. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. He didn't take the proffered hand. This man had snuck up on him. Who's to say he wouldn't try something else? He knew certain species could pass toxins through the cellular membrane. Others had subcutaneous nanites that acted as a network to transfer data. The last thing he needed was a complete download of his biological net.

"James Mitchell. Chief Science Officer of the USS Miranda." His anger somewhat subsided, but tempered by his wary nature, he picked up his smucked up toothpaste, rolled it up and was able to squeeze out the remainder of the tiny tube.

"Ah, Miranda," Emmett replied as if that explained everything. In a way it did. Just about everyone knew about him on the Galaxy, and if they didn't, well, they were peons who didn't deserve to know about him. He was, after all, a journalist. The fact that Mitchell didn't accept his hand didn't pass him - he just cataloged it for later, "I'm a journalist temporarily assigned the Galaxy while I complete a documentary. I might see if I can visit the Miranda and get a few comparison interviews..." He went off in thought for a moment, thinking of the possibilities...

"Oh, wonderful. Just what we need. A tabloid reporter announcing to anyone that'll listen that Starfleet is mostly made up of idiots and midgets. Not that the idiot part isn't true, but... it doesn't need to be public knowledge." He stuck the toothbrush in his mouth, scrubbing. He had to get the taste of that ref's ear out of his mouth.

Emmett's eyes narrowed at the comparison. To think anyone would compare *him* to a tabloid reporter! "Actually, I was thinking of something more along the lines of Starfleet being mostly made up of idealists but if that's what you think...I'll quote you on it."

"Yeah, whatever. Most people think I breathe hot air and spew bullshit out of mouth, so I doubt anyone would take what you say are my words as the truth." Most of what he said was muffled, but he hoped it got across. He spit out the frothy blue paste into the sink. "What possible kind of story can you fish out of someone in the can, Bregman? Doing a comparison on penile sizes against Bajorans?"

"Feeling a little under-sized today, Mister Mitchell?" Emmett queried as he stepped up to the sink. "I'm here for a shower, then back to the tournament."

"If you were here for a shower, you wouldn't be talking to me while I'm only wearing a towel. Good thing I wasn't taking a leak, of which is soon, so I hope you don't get any ideas. You know what they say about men who start a conversation with other men in the can, don't you? Perhaps so, being such a 'notable reporter', hmm?" He tuned his razor to close cut, reveling in the pleasant vibration against his skin.

"Ah, obviously you're feeling some size issues," Emmett pointed out, setting down the pile in his arms onto the sink. Selecting the shampoo, soap, wash cloth, and towel he started making his way back towards the showers. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mister Mitchell, but there are some things that I just don't share." Vaguely he wondered if Mitchell had come out of the closet yet. He did, after all, exhibit the classic signs of a repressed personality. He laughed to himself at the thought. Maybe he should write an article about repressed personalities in Starfleet, since it did, after all, seem to be rather prevalent.

"Yes, well, your attempt to bait me into revealing something won't work, Pee-Wee. I'm a two woman kind of guy. If you're doing an exposé on that area of Bajoran expertise, I'm your man. I know of a few females on Miranda that would even stoop to your level if you're looking."

Emmett couldn't help his automatic reaction. He started laughing, and laughing hard. "Oh how you flatter yourself. I think if you actually *had* two women, I'd believe you...but from what I understand, Mister Mitchell, you don't have any. And that you're well on your way to being the most hated senior officer in Starfleet history. Congratulations, Mitchell. It's actually quite obvious that you're compensating." He was still snickering when he reached the shower stall. Bregman hung up his towel within easy reach, and set down the shampoo and soap.

James shared the hearty laugh. "I think you misinterpreted me, Mr. Bregman. I meant I'm a two women-at-a-time kind of guy. Being the most hated officer on the sector does garner me points with the gals, being the... 'bad boy' I believe is the Terran term? Flattering myself isn't needed. If you're looking for a good scrappy missus, though, I suggest Kitty Jordan. Captain's wife she may be, but apparently Jii isn't living up to her needs, if you get my drift?" He waved his razor in Bregman's general direction. "I don't want that in your report or whatever you're doing. Sharing broads is sacred ground between men, if you are truly one with any sense of honor. Journalism and honor work together about as well as oil and water, but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

Emmett actually turned his head, laughter still sparkling in his eyes, "Been there, done that, almost married her, Mitchell, many years ago. You've really got to try harder next time to come up with something creative." Turning back to the shower, he turned the faucets - waiting for the water, actual water, to warm up for him. Gotta love the perks that they get on these ships.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that? You're a frelling civilian with these two ships combined making over 3000 crew for Prophets sake! But if you're looking for something creative, I know this Denobulan/Andorian pair that do this thing with their tongues..."

Emmett leaned against the tile and arched an eyebrow at the comment, obviously this one wasn't very up to date with the who's who in journalism. "Hah. 'Just a frelling civilian.' Tell that to my good buddies Misters Pulitzer and Oscar." He stuck his hand into the stream of water, testing the temperature. Almost there...

"Like I care about your boyfriends. You must have me mistaken for my mirror universe counterpart. He was just your type, I hear. Loved to get the dirt on people, then embarrass them for no other reason then they reject your advances. I'd go flighty, too, if I came that close to immortalizing your masculinity in that tramp's parked rear. More cushion for the pushing, I guess. Enough to give up women after that one if you came that close to signing off on womanhood."

Emmett started laughing again, yup, it was painfully obvious James Mitchell had a repressed personality. Even his rusty psychiatry skills told him as much. "Congratulations on accepting who you are, Mitchell. There aren't many who would admit something like that, especially to a stranger. Though, might I suggest seeing a Counselor? I understand Counselor Navarre," he deliberately dropped that name, "Is rather good listener." He stepped into the shower, closing the curtain. He could still hear Mitchell, but he did need to clean up prior to his next match.

The laughter faded as the mischievous glint dimmed from his eyes. Bregman was a good opponent to jest with, but he crossed the line when he brought Navarre into the conversation.

"Navarre is a psychotic, manipulative, deceitful bitch who fucked with my head. If you think she's a good listener, then you've got a screw loose in that broken trust you call a brain of yours." He sloshed his way over to the shower, ripping the curtain aside. Grabbing Bregman by the throat, the water curtailing around his arm, he pounded him up against the back wall of the stall, hearing a satisfied crunch as his head connected with the tiles.

"You ever put me and that whore in the same sentence together again, I'll snap your neck, you understand me?" His eyes breathed ice fire, his fingers tight as he used his weight to lock him down, pinning sideways in a purely protective stance. "If you think I'm kidding, try having her husband accuse you of rape, destroying what could have been your only shot at command. I lost Second Officer slot at the least because of them." He applied more pressure on the reddening reporter. "I've got nothing left to lose, asshole." He released the journalist, snarling in disgust as Bregman spluttered.

Black belt training came in handy sometimes, even after one had been rather surprised by the unorthodox entry into his shower stall and subsequent choking. He operated on instinct alone as he hit Mitchell with the lower palm of his hand, shoving the other man away from him. The slick tile of the floor was a bit of a detriment, as was his lack of oxygen, but he was too angered to care. How *dare* he assault him in this manner, it wasn't...well, honorable. His Jiu-jitsu and Karate masters would've had Mitchell on the floor in seconds and in pain for his daring. "Yes," he wheezed, launching a powerful kick towards James' midsection, "You do. You don't want to mess with me, Mitchell. Not like this." Not when he was a double black belt. His goal was to disable and call for security. However, he suspected Mitchell's goal was a bit more final. He silently cursed himself for missing the classic signs of a borderline personality. This man was psychotic. There was no other way of putting it.

He glanced down at the spot where Bregman had slapped him. Panzy. Glaring back at the man in the stall, poised in some 'wax on, wax off' Whooping crane maneuver, James contemplated the 'Whooping Ass' posture, but in picturing the image, he saw something rather distasteful, and decided against it.

"I don't know about you, Karate Kid, but somehow I doubt even you would want to be caught with your pants down wrestling with another man in a bathroom, you think?"

"Ah, but at the risk of sounding like a child, you started it. I just finished it. I'll be finishing my shower now that you so rudely interrupted, Mister Mitchell," Emmett levied a cold glare at Mitchell and began to step back into the shower, "Oh, and if you try to pull any of that again you will regret it. Attempted murder and assault are not light charges to have levied against you. Nor would you appreciate learning just how I earned two black belts. Now I suggest you take your things and return to your starship." With that, he slid shut the curtain again but this time he kept his eyes open and on the curtain.

"It would never have started if you hadn't mentioned that bitch. You took a perfectly good jesting and twisted it into this show of manhood. Whatever inferiorities you got going on in that peabrained skull of yours, mister, it doesn’t compare to what I had to do to survive on Bajor during the occupation. Your kicks and chops wouldn't stand a chance. You may get some licks in, I'll admit, but I can guarantee you the ferocity of my offense would render you an invalid, or worse. You see, I really don't care what happens to me, I've been to hell. You, my friend, did not have to kill your friends to survive, let alone Cardies. I lack compassion. Don't think I haven't danced with your type before." He backed away from the curtain. He knew enough about martial arts to know it's a defensive art, but he'd take no chances.

"If you want to prove you're a big man, you're welcome to try, but I'm not throwing the first punch. I know a weasel when I see one, hiding behind rules and regulations. I'm Bruce Lee! I kill you one punch! You're an embarrassment, Mr. Ninja Gai-jin. Moo Goo Gai Pan, let me beat you up with a wet noodle!"

Emmett just shook his head sadly under the spray of water. He didn't feel like dancing with the devil at this point in his life, nor did he care to push the issue. He knew exactly what Mitchell was trying - to goad him into a reaction, to force him to give in to prove his manhood. He had nothing to prove to that man. He had looked into Mitchell's eyes and seen the eyes of a killer. He, Emmett Bregman, was an a**hole, and he acknowledged that. But, Mitchell...he was something else entirely. A completely new category if anything else. Knowing of Mitchell's ongoing feud with Kitty only made him sympathize with her. "I have nothing to prove to you, Mitchell. It sounds to me like you're trying to prove something to yourself. Compensation will only go so far in this universe, and it sounds to me like you're starting to write checks you just can't cash." He quickly rinsed off, shut off the water, and pulled in the towel to dry himself with. Within a matter of moments, he was back in his loose pants and shirt, wrapping the black belt around his waist.

"I'm not looking to prove myself to anyone; I don't have to. I live, and that's all I need. Fate awaits me more so than anyone else, so what difference does it make to me what happens from one moment to the next? I know I'll move on." The anger slithered away. Bregman was a twit. Obviously too narrow-minded to truly understand the nature of what he was saying. Too wound up in his little world of connections. Big deal.

"To be honest, you just aren't worth the trouble." Remembering he had that date with a hottie Elaysian, he zipped and slid to the lavatory sink to finish shaving. Slapping on some after shave, he admired himself in the mirror. "I can't be bothered damaging these fine features, anyways."

Emmett harrumphed when he stepped out of the shower, "Fate awaits all of us. Don't think you're unique in that alone. Oh, and as a word of advice, from one bastard to another, try not to burn so many bridges down that you're stranded." He stepped over to the sink and gathered his things. After combing his hair with his fingers, he was ready for the next round.

"And don't put trust in anyone but yourself. Bridges don't do you any good if those who built them burn them down at the slightest inclination. I'd rather be stranded than burned."

Emmett looked at the Bajoran in surprise, "Now that's a rather depressing way of thinking, Mitchell. Those bridges can be lifesavers someday. But, to each his own. I can't say it's been good to meet you, but it has been interesting." He rubbed his neck absently, eying the red finger prints in the mirror. He should have the Commander written up for assault, he should have Garth do something about him, but he didn't really feel like he should. Maybe he could write an article on it...

"Wish I could say the same. Be careful what you write up in your tabloid, Mr. Bregman. You aren't the only one with connections." James had cleanly dressed in his best cruising clothes. Martian sand denim, loosely fitting, but snug where it needed to be. Open collared taupe silk blouse, plain white shirt underneath.

"Hope you get the ankle biter. I'll be sure to celebrate for you tonight. Say hi to your Jordan blow-up doll for me." Tossing the rest of his gear away, he padded away, without hearing for Bregman's response. He didn't much care for the immaturity anymore. The guy was all talk and no action. An empty suit.

Emmett watched him leave with a thoughtful expression on his face. On second thought, it might do Mitchell some good to finally get some help for whatever it was that was obviously troubling him. That was certainly one troubled young man. Bregman shook his head and headed out of the locker room. He had a round to do, and then he'd drop a quiet word with Security, or Counseling, or rather Cassius. For some reason, most of the security people on the Galaxy - with the exception of D'Tinya - God Rest Her Soul - couldn't stand to talk to him. He shrugged slightly and decided to get on with it. He did, after all, have a tournament to win.

"Some Peoples Children"

Lt. Circidon Yashanti,
Security

Yehenik Miranda,
2 year old Vulcan/Xanthe hybrid

Dr.James Brooke
Medical

Bored. Bored. Bored.

Miranda let off a small yelp. The sound was enough for her to get the dimensions of the room around her. Also the body temperatures of the doctors and other staff. Her long ears took in all the information, though her 2 year old mind only nominally understood it.

She had heard these sounds before, smelled these smells. Doctors.

"No doftors mhem" she whined, struggling in Circidon¹s lap. "No doftors. Erghh....".

Circ grumbled. She wondered where toddlers learned to squirm. The knowledge must be genetic. "Stop it, you will like this one. He¹s nice. He even has a funny accent." Circ was searching for something to keep the girl interested.. When Miranda was curious she was less grouchy.

"Whafsa axtent?"

"It¹s like...a funny voice. Dr.Brooke is British."

"Thoutsa he was human" Miranda said switching to Xanthi.

Circ looked up and rolled her eyes. "British is a type of human, little one."

"Oh" Miranda said intrigued, and more importantly, still. Thought played across the child's face. Finally, she turned her left ear to her mother and in a questioning tone asked "Whatsa makem humans Brifish?²"

Circidon had certainly talked herself into a corner here. "Funny voices" she said finally, completing the politically incorrect logic loop she had started with her daughter. It was conversations like this that messed kids up years later, Circ was sure.

That was when Dr.Brooke entered the ready room and saw his newest patient. She was quite unlike anything he had seen so far. At two, she resembled a human or Vulcan child at four or five in physical development. Not surprising, Xanthe children grew to physical maturity in only seven years. More striking was her face. It was neither Vulcan or Xanthe. The closest Brooke could figure was pictures of ancient elves in British mythology. Or maybe an imp. Her face was long, narrow, pointed and flat. Huge black orbs took up the forward part of the upper face while very long pointed ears stretched past the back of the kids skull. The body was wiry, but even from here Brooke could see the strength and tone of the little girl.

"Hello Circ," Brooke said, "and you must be Miranda. How are you two doing?"

"Doctor" Circidon said smiling. Brooke was the first person she had dealt that knew her before her fall from grace. He didn't seem apprehensive or concerned about dealing with her. That was good. "I am as good as can be expected. As for Miranda here, well...I think she is fine. That is the problem...I'm not sure."

"Let's go to my office then," Brooke said, "there we can talk without being interrupted."

Circ followed Brooke into his office and handed the data chip. "The best minds on Vulcan have examined her, and beyond saying her birth is so unlikely as to as scientifically defined as miraculous, all they have done is produced data." Circ cocked her head in such a way to express both her frustration and sense of irony.

Miranda for her part was testing her mothers grip. For now Circidon was winning the tug of war her daughter had started with her wrist.

"Vulcan's don't say things like that, it makes me nervous." Circ looked at the pictures and certificates on Brooke's walls, stopping at the Doctors most recent awards. "They actually said you would be the one to decipher Miranda's mystery, doctor. It was one reason I came back. I need your help to understand my daughter's....to understand what she...I just need to know." Circ looked as vulnerable as any new mother, something that ill suited the usually rugged woman.

Miranda eventually got bored with losing to her mothers strength and was now chirping at Brooke in rapid barks. Her long ears fed back the human man's dimensions.. This doctor was not producing candy or toys. Therefore, he was a bad doctor she decided.

"I can surely give it my best try," Brooke said, "I presume they have already done genetic profiling. I'll have a look at that and then we can decide where what's next."

Circidon nodded. "Here is the results from the Yehenik medical lab and the Medical Faculty at Yarek Nor. I also included my medical data from the locked files here on Miranda and gave you access to the Xanthe Information Database set up by the provisional government there." Circ wondered if Brooke knew just how much, and what kind of information she was giving him. "Brooke, look, I know this data...well, there are some people who really want their hands on it. I trust you implicitly..."

"I always treat everything confidential," Brooke said, "as it will be the same here."

"My main concern is that people will go after you or your family to get it. You would be very wise not to share it with anyone, which will make your job even harder. But honestly...you are my last good chance to know how to protect my daughter."

"I'll try," Brooke said, "I cannot promise anything, but I'll try." "And, Circ," he said as they walked out, "welcome back."

Circ smiled briefly and picked up her whimpering child. She was so appreciative she didn't know how to react.

"Lunch"

Lieutenant Yehenik Circidon Yashanti
Security

Captain Elaithin Jii
Miranda CO

You had to take your chances when the opportunity arose.

The reasons for Jii being free where unknown to Circ. From observation it appeared to just be the natural ebb and flow of command that surrounded the man. Whatever it was, he was alone and unattended.

"Good afternoon Captain." Circ could never speak to Jii in a friendly tone. He would always be her captain

"Lieutenant," Jii replied cordially, putting his drink down after taking a sip. Raising an eyebrow at the Xanthe's facial expression, he motioned to the seat opposite him. "Something on your mind?"

Circ smiled artificially as she took a seat. "I just wanted to show you these pictures of the wedding sir. On Vulcan." Circ handed over a PADD. Jii's careful eye for detail noted it was slightly thinner than a normal unit. Newer stock than the ones on Miranda. The pictures were pretty, showing a very happy Circidon. "See here" Circ pointed, touching the PADD and slightly changing the angle "there is Miranda as an infant."

"Still think it was a good name for a kid." he replied, scrolling through the photos. "You seem better, Circ."

The picture altered slightly at the angle showing a video of the Captain and his wife shopping recently at the starbase. Some kind of script scrolled along the bottom.

"Thank you, sir" Circ said happy, not missing a beat. "Wish I knew who took the picture, some relative I suppose." She knew Jii would get the double meaning.

Jii inclined hi head slightly as he ran his hand across his jaw. "Observant sorts, aren't they?"

"Very" Circ laughed. "Great shot of your wife, whoever it was had a real eye for her. I am glad she could make it." Of course, Jordan had not come. In fact, there had never been a wedding in the human or Bajoran meaning of the word.

"I am too." he replied. "You say you're not certain what relative took this one? It seems such an odd choice. Hard to imagine why.”

Circ shrugged. "Who knows, with all those people. Oh, I almost forgot...." Circ reached into her pocket and produced a wadded silk cloth. Opening it she revealed a silver bracelet. In the centre was two intertwined snakes, or maybe lizards, one biting the others tail. The middle of the lizards was a locket. "We found this after the party. My mother in law said it was Commander Elaithins."

Elaithin rubbed his nose ridges for a moment in irritation. "Come on then." he replied, pushing his plate away. "Let's give it back to her - I know she'll love to see you." He'd never much liked shadowplay. The Bajoran preferred a straight fight, and straighter answers, any day of the week.

"Of course" Circ answered. Jii could see the strain in her voice. "Perhaps after my shift." Circ knew she had taken a risk warning Elaithin. She was Miranda crew though, and these were her brothers in arms. But there was only so much she could tell Jii until Jordan clued in. After all, Jii wasn't being watched.

Jordan was.

Circ wasn’t even sure if Jordan didn’t already know. She might have made a mistake. Ah well, life was full of decisions.

"Well, then." he said, turning the bracelet over in his hands. "You'll let me know if you find any more...family photos, of course?"

"If the family sends any more of Jordan, I'll forward them all. Anyway, duty calls sir." her job here was almost finished. Jordan would figure it out. And Jordan was better able to fight this fight than Circ was right now.

"It's appreciated, Lieutenant." he replied as she stood, and looked back down at the PADD. Someone was watching them - or, if he was interpreting Circidon right, someone was watching Jordan. And if Circ felt the need to warn him covertly over it, he had the sneaking suspicion that their attentions were not friendly ones.

As Circ got up, she did her last task. "Oh, Captain Bretta at Starbase One sends her regards. Says that you and your wife are welcome there anytime to see the new facilities. Sorry to interrupt you sir."

"Anytime."

It took all she had to leave casually. Most lunches didn't make Circ sweat like that one.

She needed a long, hot, bath. That would be today's on shift fantasy.

OOC: Took place at Starbase 212.

"Deora Ar Mo Chroí"

Lieutenant (jg) Michael McDowell
Engineer

*** McDowell's Quarters ***

His quarters was dark, except for the faint warm glow of a few lamps. Michael slowly turned around and checked if he hadn't forgotten anything. For now, he would take only the most important things with him. The rest if his stuff would follow later on.

He sat down at the computer console that was located in a corner of his quarters near the entrance. Once more he browsed through the messages he had recorded in the last hours. Softly he mumbled the names for which the messages were meant.

"Mike, Richard, Dhani, Ethan, Rose,...Karyn..." Michael's voice was merely a whisper when he spoke out the last name. Profound sadness found its way into his heart. For a brief moment he though about Shakespeare and how right he was when he wrote that 'parting is such sweet sorrow'. "It was never meant to be, was it?"

Michael tried to overcome the sad feeling that had taken hold of him and recalled the message he received a month ago. A few months before that he had summed up enough courage to request a reopening of his case. It was only his second appeal since that disastrous incident near Starbase 86. The reply of legal branch of Starfleet Command had hit him hard. Just like the first time they had rejected his appeal, saying that there was not reason to look in it again. His arguments were pushed off the table with vague counterarguments and legal details, something Michael could not understand...and even didn't want to understand. Why couldn't they believe he was framed at the time?

Weeks ago it had all became even stranger and more sinister. He had visited the largest Asteroid while enjoying his shore leave when suddenly a woman, who he had never seen before, had stepped up and had given him a PADD. In the short conversation they had she said that it contained important information for him and that he would know where to go once he had read it. Before Michael could ask more she had left again. Not knowing what else to do he had looked up a little café and read everything. The story told was a whole different story of the Freighter accident four years earlier, and an almost unbelievable one at that. Most surprising thing was that it seemed to be a report from Starfleet. If this was true... Yes, if... Michael doubted it, but he had to be sure.

Like the woman said, Michael knew where to go next. It was not that difficult since the information included some general directions should he decide to take the chance that was presented to him - a chance to clear his name.

And now he found himself at a pivotal moment of his life. Still, it was not too late. He could still decide to leave the past for what it was and just go on with his life, trying to make the best of it.

No, he could not walk away from it. He had to face it or else it would keep haunting him for all his life, both personally and professionally. He reached up for his collar, slowly removed the two pips, and placed them on the console. His combadge followed shortly after that.

Michael took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Now the decision was made, it was like a heavy load fell off his shoulders.

He stood up, now with a determined look on his face. After years of living with the public knowledge of that Freighter accident and the disgrace of his demotion, it was now time to reclaim his honor and his life. No more appeals to the Justice Department, no more fighting against bureaucracy,...no more playing Mr. Nice Guy.

--

OOC: Ok gang, I'm out of here. I understand that for many of you this comes as a surprise since there were no (or not many) signs of me leaving, but it's true nonetheless. Though on the other hand, I wouldn't be surprised if you weren't surprised. I hardly was a picture perfect simmer that wrote his character consistently throughout the missions.

By the way, this is not the way how I pictured 'the end' of the character of Michael McDowell. Alas. But, it's an open end, and a mysterious and sinister one at that. He'll just might return. Where this all will lead to? I don't know yet. Think,...Section 31, or something like that. ;-) Should make for a great subplot.

Anyway, I'm leaving the Galaxy sim now for a bunch of reasons (of which I'll will not bother you with now) and move to another, much slower paced sim. Don't worry, me leaving has nothing to do with the sim or anyone who is writing here,...or any of that stuff. But, if you want to know more, just write me an e-mail. There's nothing secret about it.

It was truly great to write with all of you. You all are top notch writers (don't ever forget that) and I can only hope my writing wasn't too boring (lol) or out of place in this excellent sim-group. If any of you wish to keep in touch, or have some idea, or anything, then you know how to reach me.

Ian, a special word of thanks to you for being so understanding and your patience. You can cut 'the umbilical' cord now. LOL :-D

Ps. Angela, you can assume that Michael included a reference to the Holonovel 'Gone With The Wind' in his message to Rose, and that it is ready for use now. Lets say that Michael finished it in the first days on Starbase 212. :-)

Fides Catholicus Vetus

Ens. Miguel Sandoval
Lt. T'Lu (NPC)
Seaman Erasmo Belgrano (NPC)

The United Federation of Planets is a conglomeration of over 150 member worlds spread across more than 8000 light years of space. With each world comprised of one (or more) sentient species, and their prerequisite set of sub-cultures and beliefs it is truly a miracle that Starships can function effectively despite the inevitable cultural differences that arise when these cultures clash..

Deltans for instance are required to take rigid oaths of sexual celibacy before serving among mixed crews, and the sentient green slimes of Borgoras III are similarly required to refrain from following their cultural habits of laying egg-spores in the host bodies of their room-mates.

On a somewhat milder scale the effective union of a myriad of philosophical and religious beliefs into an organized crew was truly one of gargantuan proportions.

Aboard the USS Galaxy for instance, the Deck 10 All Faiths Chapel was a sanctuary of blended design serving everything from the austere practices of Vulcan logic, to the wild religious orgies of the inhabitants of Gem World.

(Although this tended to leave the pews a bit sticky after Kira Murphy got done with them.)

Unfortunately it was this sense of compromise and incompatibility that left the chapel unsuitable for some of the more conservative belief groups which is why Ensign Miguel Sandoval's weekly Catholic Study group met in a simple crew lounge instead.

Believe it or not, despite the best efforts of humanity to purge itself of organized religion, and despite Starfleet unofficial credo of atheism, Christianity still existed on earth.

The USS Galaxy Catholic group was pitifully small (3 members) but at least it did exist, and to those that belonged, it brought a sense of comfort and fellowship.

Born and raised in the city of Zacatolecas, El Salvador , Miguel was perhaps the quintessential example of the traditional Catholic. As a child he walked along the dusty roads to Sunday Mass along with his many brothers and sisters, and took to heart the Divine hope that lay in his Christian beliefs.

Later in the Academy, he found those beliefs challenged on many fronts, San Francisco in general having been an atheistic hotbed for hundreds of years, but nevertheless there were still old Spanish missions to visit and take Communion at, and other members of the community with which to share fellowship.

Life aboard the Galaxy unfortuantely was decidedly more challenging.

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin the Chief Science Officer and Miguel's direct superior was quite bluntly the archetypical image of a Heavenly Angel complete with piercing features and great feathered wings of white. The fact that the Chief in reality only an alien was somehow blasphemous to Miguel who had been raised with the teaching that Satan sometimes traveled in the guise of an angel of light.

Jan, the Minaran Empath Miguel rescued from pirates was himself a sterotype of a Messianic icon considering his powers of healing, and the sense of deep emotion that the lad radiated.

Even now Jan till made Miguels's skin crawl at times.

For now fortunately, only the three members of the Catholic study group out of the 1,000+ Galaxy members were present, and it felt quite cozy.

The second member of the group was of a quite similar background as Miguel. A young crew chief from the Starfighter Wing . . . . . Seaman Erasmo Belgrano was born and raised in the highlands of Argentina on Earth.

He and Miguel shared a bond not only of faith, but also of Latin culture and language, although Erasmo's English skills were much much better than Miguels's own poor grammar.

The third and final member of the group was perhaps the most unlikely of individuals.

Lieutenant T'Lu of Vulcan was a sharp featured female bearing the typical upswept ears and stark emotionlessness of her race's heritage.

When one discovered that she was both a Catholic and a Vulcan, most persons gave her a double take and wondered aloud if that was not some sort of contradiction.

Miguel found T'Lu however to be possessed of a keenly analytical mind, and able to logically debate the merits of Science vs Scripture better than the most aged Theologians.

As she put it, "Just because less than 0.137% of the Vulcan population currently practice Catholicism, it did not mean that the other 99.863% are not in error."

To Miguel that was REAL faith.

With a satisfied sigh, Chief Belgrano closed his Bible on the passage he had just read and the trio muttered amen and made the sign of the cross. (T'Lu doing so with the Vulcan 'V')

"Amen mi hermanos." Belgrano smiled again and leaned back to stretch against the plush lounge chair cushions. "That concludes this weeks study, and I believe next week sister T'Lu will be presenting a study on the book of Leviticus."

"Indeed." The Vulcan female nodded cooly. "I request that in preparation the group reviews the 710 Primary Levitical Laws and the their sub classifications into Dietary and Hygienic practices on one side, and the Temple Sacrificial Ordinances on the other. I will be referncing the doctrines of the 4th Vatican Conference in relation to these topics so it would be prudent to review edicts 237c through 1402-b."

Miguel and Erasmo exchanged mock looks of horror. Catholic or no, a Vulcan was a Vulcan, and the two humans had been hard pressed to keep up with her demanding standards of study.

"Si, am having anticipation at this time for your study already." Miguel said in his typical broken English.

Typically for off-duty affairs he turned off his Comm badge/Translator and attempted to improve his grammar.

"Am being thinking that my heads is being bursting from homework, but am being anticipating."

"I'll second that." Erasmo put in. "Your 'simple' Bible studies are probably more in depth that most Seminary courses but they are interesting nonetheless." The crew chief's English was obviously much better than Miguel's.

T'Lu merely raised an eyebrow. "As any structure is no stronger than its weakest material component, so too the Church must strive to strengthen its individual members in faith. Logic dictates we apply as strict scholarly expectations to our Faith as we do to scientific endeavors?"

The others nodded in agreement although it meant lots of reading to prepare for next week.

"So where are we going to be next week anyways?" Erasmo asked with a yawn changing the subject.

"Next Week? Am having had reserved same lounge as before for study I am thinking." Miguel answered in confusion.

"No no. I don't mean where we are meeting for the study, I meant the where will the Galaxy be? We got cut short at Starbase 212 there, and according to scuttlebut we're heading somewhere in an awful hurry."

"Ah.....apologies. Am having heard is going to Bean Territory."

"BEAN?" Erasmo snorted while T'lu cleared her throat to explain.

"The correct nomenclature is the Breen. A small militaristic collective on the edge of Federation space. There is an 68.2% chance that our deployment may mean that have recently discussed opening Diplomatic relations. The Galaxy and Miranda are both most likely being dispatched to effect those talks."

"Miranda?" Miguel frowned, " Who is Miranda?"

Erasmo chuckled, "Heh...Miranda's a ship. She's was the big gordita of a ship parked next to us at 212. She's probably running a parallel course with us all the way to Breen." Erasmo jerked his thumb out one of the lounge windows, but of course nothing but the streak of starlines could be seen.

"Ah si. Miranda is spaceship." Miguel sighed and blushed. Dangit, but English was hard! Not for the first time he considered giving up and just using his translator all the time.

"Well anyway I got to get going." Erasmo Begrano stood and stretched. "I know quite a few Prima Dona pilots who are gonna be pouting if I don't get some services specs downloaded on their fighters by next shift. Peace be with you my friends."

"And also with you." Miguel and T'Lu replied in the ancient blessing as old as the Church itself.

“Opening Up”

Commander Navarre Shinta
Chief Counsellor

Lieutenant (JG) Ariss Edon
Security/Tactical Officer

USS Miranda – Deck 20 - Arboretum

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wandering around the arboretum wasn't as satisfying a walking around on a real planet, with fresh air and decipate upon decipate of open hills. ~ But at least they're real plants ~ He thought ~ Not some holo simulated facsimile ~. Laying down on one of the patches of Terran grass, he put his hands behind his head, his feet up on a rock and stared at the ceiling. Ever since the other Ariss had come on board, he'd been reliving all the old memories. That 'other' version of his had well and truly stirred up everything in his mind. It was as if all his memories were so very recent, fresh, he could close his eyes and see with such clarity.

Doing just that, Ariss closed his eyes, and remembered. He could look back and hear the voices of people long dead, smell the food cooking, feel the warmth, the cold. Feel the happiness, the sadness. Suddenly overwhelmed, Ariss could feel tears creeping out from his eyes, but he was beyond caring for now. There, in his minds eye, was Shala. He could hear her, see her. Touch... Lying there, he remembered…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I can’t believe they’d actually make you a Ranjen!”

“Ok, enough,” he said, smiling, “That’s the, what, tenth, twelfth, time you’ve said that?”

“It’s still true.” She said, “Have I also said how proud I am of you!”

“Once or twice” he said, still smiling.

“Good” she said as she leaned over and kissed him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“All I’m saying is that when this is all over, all I want to do is settle down and do something normal.”

“Like what?” Ariss asked.

“I’m not sure right now, but I’ll figure something out!” She was smiling as she spoke, even as she wafted away the smoke.

“As long as it’s not a cook” Ariss said chuckling. Taking the pot of the heating plate, he put it to one side. “Tels” he called, “Any ration packs around?”

Waving the spoon at him, Shala advanced menacingly. “RATION PACKS!” she shouted, “My cooking’s, not that bad!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Are you sure, I can postpone and join you if you want.” Ariss was smiling, “It’s not like it’s anything important”

Punching his shoulder, Shala smiled, “Nothing important. Vedek Solis is coming to Temple, and you’ve been asked to hold service. You postpone, and I promise, me, Galis and Tels will get together and make you regret it for a very long time” Picking up her PADD’s she put them in her bag. “Besides, I won’t be very long. The provisional government is asking for resistance leaders to serve in the government, or the military. I won’t be accepting any of the offers anyway. I just want to settle down.”

Nodding, Ariss walked over and embraced her. “I know, so do I love, so do I.” Kissing her he looked down into her eyes, “As soon as you’re done, I’ll see you in Temple”

“I’ll be there. Love you”

“Love you too!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So vivid… so clear… so real… Still crying, he lay there. Remembering…

Shinta had promised Gavin to water his plants. The boy was studying for a test and really didn't have the time today. She didn't mind the arboretum was usually a quiet place in she could use some time to herself.

Coming back she noticed Ariss lying in the grass. With a smile she went towards him, yet stopped when she saw the tears on his face. It was obviously something very personal and Shinta did not want to intrude. So instead of going to him she sat down on the edge of the grassy field and watched him. Later he could decide if he needed her or not.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Edon! Where are you. EDON!”

“Prophets, Araj, keep your voice down, you’re in a Temple. For the love of the Prophets what’s gotten into you.”

“You’ve gotta come with me, quickly! It’s Shala. She’s hurt!”

Dropping his books, Ariss lifted his robes and ran. He ignored the startled looks and calls from his brethren, his mind was on one thing only. Shala!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“What happened?” His voice was subdued. There she was, silent, pale. She was never this still, even when sleeping. He teased her about it, her little twitches, her breathing. But now, she was silent. It was so wrong!. Kneeling beside her he touched her. ~Prophets, please, no~ “What happened? He repeated, his voice breaking slightly on the words.

“It was one of the cell leaders. He got into an argument with Shala. Said she was a coward, a collaborator, ‘cause she didn’t want to carry the fight back to the Cardassians. She told him she just wanted peace. They started arguing, pretty soon, everyone was shouting. Next thing I know, he pulled a knife and before we could do anything, he attacked”

Drawing her into his arms, Ariss cradled her. “Please, No.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ariss looked at the face of the man who had killed Shala. “Who are you?”

He ignored him. He just sat there, looking at the cell wall.

He couldn’t get to him, not only did the guards prevent him, but there was a screen as well. But there were ways around those things. Pulling out a stun grenade from his pocket, he dropped it behind him, and closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened his eyes and removed the protective plugs from his ears.

The guards were down, as was the prisoner. Opening the cell, he put restraints on the prisoner, and dragged him out. He didn’t have long!

Looking down, he pulled out his Blaster.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hearing a noise, Ariss wiped away the tears and opened his eyes. The good, the bad. All those memories were there. All as powerful as the day they happened. Sitting up, he took a deep breath. The good, though… Smiling, he turned to see who was creeping around. ~ Shinta ~ Feeling a little guilty, Ariss realised he’d been so caught up since the other Ariss had come on board, he hadn’t really spoken to her much, let alone…“Hi Shinta. How are you?” He said quietly, still smiling slightly.

"I'm fine and you? That looked pretty intense."

"Just, the past Shinta, just remembering the past." There was a st