"Smert' Shpionam" ("Death to Spies")

Major Wes Hammond,
Rogue Squadron CO/Rogue 1, U
SS Miranda

Flight Officer Jasmine Heloi
Vanguard Squadron XO/Vanguard 6,
USS Galaxy,

Pilot Tyten,
Flight Officer/Vanguard 5,
USS Galaxy

Ensign Doctor Mark Mnementh,
Medical Officer,
USS Miranda

Ensign John Ramirez Jr
Flight Controller,
USS Miranda

Thot Prann,
Squadron Commander,
Breen Triad Lead
Gravnor

Crewman Felger,
Liaison Officer,
USS Galaxy

--------------------------
USS Galaxy,
Transporter Room 3
--------------------------

After gathering the volunteers in the USS Galaxy's third transporter room, Wes Hammond, as the senior officer on the delegation, briefed the group. As he went over the intricacies of being onboard a vessel belonging to a technically hostile government.

As he rattled off the briefing he'd prepared, he looked over the assembled officers. He was a little surprised that half of the team consisted of fighter pilots, and another two were helmsman. (Though he recognized the Andorian as the former Chief Science Officer of the NX-07, which the Miranda had encountered on it's Gamma Quadrant tour, which had been Wes' first mission with the ship.) The medical officer was the only officer who probably didn't know how to fly.

Ending his talk, Wes left them with a few words of wisdom. "I think I can sum this up with these words. Keep your eyes open in every possible way." The mission was a trifecta. Diplomacy, Intelligence, and Counter-intelligence (looking for signs of treachery).

Tyten took a deep breath and steadied himself. He could not believe he had been chosen as one of the few that would be going over to the Breen ship. If he denied that part of him wasn't nervous, he'd be lying. When the Breen had joined the Dominion in its war against the Federation, it had changed things significantly. He had lost several friends to their seemingly unstoppable weaponry. The Breen were ruthless and heartless murderers. He wasn't being a bigot in his thoughts, only observational.

Checking his tricorder for the seventeenth time, he looked to the others for some sign that they were feeling as apprehensive about this as he was.

Jasmine leaned against the bulkhead, using it's solid strength to help bolster the emotions that she was feeling at the idea of going literally into the lion's den. A small smile appeared on her face as she thought how lucky they were that none of them were named Daniel. She looked at her wingman and smiled reassuringly. At least they were together.

The Betazoid looked at the others, her eyes lingering as they were apt to do on Wes. She privately thought he looked incredibly handsome in his uniform, and her smile deepened at the thought. She could only hope that this little recon mission would be peaceful...and not result in any type of fire fight.

They could say peace negotiations all they wanted, but she was taking that phrase with a rather large grain of salt. She almost, almost, wished that she could read Breen thoughts - then, perhaps, she could help her crew...even though it was against all her family's teachings.

"Now, remember, look them directly in the eye... if you can find it that is..." Crewman Felger, a representative of the Liaison Corps seeing the crew off with last minute instructions, touched a finger to his lips. "I'm not even sure if they have one eye, or ten, to be honest. Oh, how I wish I were going with you! Racing off into danger, guns blazing... going out in a haze of fire and bullets!" His face lit up in excitement while he shook his hands in a parody of handguns of the past; thumbs up, forefinger out, making POW effects. When Tyten, his Bolian features frozen in a grimace of stoicism, shared a glare with his XO, Heloi, directed at the crewman, they both shared a spoken thought out loud concurrently.

"SHUT UP!"

"Sorry..."

Wes shook his head.

Leaning against the wall next to Jasmine, he briefly gripped her hand. With everyone's nerves on edge, he was glad that the other pilot would be along.

Though their dinner date had been canceled by the sudden recall, they'd formed some sort of a bond since then, communicating via subspace most evenings. Together, they waited for the signal to beam over to Thot Prann's ship.

Ensign Mark Mnementh, Medical Officer from the Miranda stood tall and confident on the Transporter Pad. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and certainly one his parents would take pride in back in their Daystrom Institute decorated offices back home in Michigan. Being part of the peace envoy to Breen was noteworthy enough, even for them. But that was not Mark's interest in this mission. His interests, of course, were scientific.

The Breen were the acknowledged galactic authorities in all kinds of cryotechnology. Peaceful relations with the Breen could open up an exchange of medical knowledge that would spur innovation and research and thus have incalculable benefits for the entire galaxy. Of course, how far down the road those benefits were, Mark could not tell. It was definitely a leap of faith believing that these peace overtures had no ulterior motives behind them. The risk was evident, and Mark's primary responsibility was to treat and look after the others should their situation become precarious, dangerous, or life-threatening aboard Thot Prann's ship, while trying to obtain as much intelligence as possible. To that end, Mnementh carried with him his physician's field kit, which contained a medical tricorder, several hyposprays, and various medications among other equipment. He had also secreted away some herbs from Ba'Ku that he hoped would seem innocuous enough and not be noticed by the Breen scans. As a medical officer, he expected some leeway on this mission and tolerance from the Breen, but anything could happen. So just in case, Mark also carried a micro-capsule of a specially programmed group of nanites in his distal sub-molar that Dr. Khatroweena was kind enough to implant. All he had to do was tap his teeth in a coded sequence and exhale hard to release the nanites. As Mark stood on the transporter pad, waiting to be beamed to Thot Prann's ship, he desperately hoped it would not be necessary to use the nanites.

John's first away mission, and what a mission it would be. He'd been on the Miranda for little more than a year, as both a Cadet and now an Ensign. There would be a long way to go for him, but he anticipated a good future with that ship. This mission to the Breen ship. Trifecta, the Major had explained in his briefing. Although he had never had much interest in joining Starfleet Intelligence, despite his fathers suggestions (or because of those suggestions), he did enjoy getting involved in some holodeck recreations that were of this nature. Old Earth Movies about the Cold war and the British Secret Service were something that he'd seen a lot, and knew that if it came down to it, the only experience in this he had was from watching those films and replaying them. "That won't get me far", he muttered, not realising he'd spoken out loud.

--------------------------
Transporter Control Unit Aft,
Triad Lead
Gravnor
--------------------------

[Initiate Level 3 Bioscan on Federation arrival] The organic infused communication arrays on the Gravnor, the lead ship in the triad assigned to intercept and guide the two Starfleet ships echoed throughout the ship. The Breen shared all intercommunication within the triad in a method that some would associate with a Borg hive. The Breen bristle at the insinuation, of course, for they are in control of their cybernetic implants. They retain their individuality and use the technology purely for efficiency and productivity reasons. In a fraction of a second, several dozen key commands were relayed, initiated, confirmed, and enacted.

[Restrict access to all essential sectors.]

[Map genetic structures of the Federation personnel.]

[Implement quarantine procedures throughout Federation access points and mapped route.]

[Evacuate known air-breathers toxins from mapped sectors.]

[Initiate Command level lockout codes to Tactical, Engineering, Bridge, Auxiliary Control, Life Support.]

[Implement EVA procedures.]

Thot Prann, his neural implant connected through the web of arrays on the Gravnor, absorbed the activity preceding the transfer of personnel between the two ships.

[Boarding parties prepared to disembark.] A lone thought in the orderly chaos issued by the Thot broke through the monotony.

[Verify tactical status, verify intelligence, protect.] Prann issued his last commands to the boarding parties.

[Energize.]

And then they were gone.

"Possibilities"

Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin
Lieutenant Corran Rex

Lieutenant Corran Rex was always awed by the Stellar Cartography lab aboard the Starship Galaxy. It was, very likely, his favorite place on the ship. It didn't take a counselor for him to realize that the large open-air room, with a constantly-running holo of local space would be a comforting environment for a starfighter pilot. He didn't get to come nearly as often as he would have liked - difficult to find a reason, sometimes, and it was almost always in use by some member of the science staff.

"Commander Ka'ranin?" he called out into the orange lit room. It seemed to be full of rotating mist around his knees glowing from the reflected light of a large red orb projected off in the distance. It was obstructing his view of the small walkway out into the center of the seemingly infinite room.

"Kara'nin," a voice corrected, bellowing out for the center of this universe. Rex could see the alien silhouette several feet in front of him, his large wings readjusting, light reflecting off the edges revealing thier white-ness. The movement gave away his position. "It means 'new blood,' 'ka ranin' is an emphatic order for me to make something. And I am only a lieutennant."

"Sorry about that." the Trill replied with a slight wince. "I could have sworn the ships manifest listed you at a higher rank. Maybe you've been promoted and no one told you?" he asked with a grin.

His opinions were deemed less nessecary than than all the other department chairs; he clearly wasn't worthy of any attention, let alone a promotion, Cutter thought. This current project, slowly morphing into, essentially, the redevelopment of the planetary formation model from scratch, if he were capable of completing it would likely only merit a, 'Oh, neat,' from the Federation scientific community at large. Finally, he turned, looking at Rex over his shoulder, "Do you need something?"

"Right, then." he acknowledged. "I didn't see you at the staff briefing, so I wanted to find out if you had any information on the Breen System. If things go wrong and my pilots are going to have to fly into a furball, I'd like to know the local geography, so to speak."

~Caves, this guy seems a little.. Tense.~ Corran thought, wondering which of his other voices would reply.

Predictably, it was Vorrin. ~I think you're right, kid. Maybe he needs decaf.~

"That information would best be obtained by Tonik," Cutter said, returning back to his work.

"Well yes, that's true." Corran admitted with a nod. "Of course, he's not here. He's probably out with Gin." the pilot joked, trying to alleviate the scientist's mood with humor.

It did not appear to have worked.

With a heavy sigh, Cutter relented, "Very well." He reached towards the table console and grabbed what looked to be a personal eye-screen display device and placed it on his head. He lifted his hands in front of him, like

he was about to conduct an orchestra, and they started to glow, shining veins running up and down his twelve fingers, crisscrossing in a web over his palms. Rex could see now that the scientist was wearing a set of controlling gloves.

Cutter's hands suddenly jerked flat, and the slowly animating universe surrounding them froze; his fingers typed at an invisible keyboard and giant

floating screen appeared between the two men, a file registry. Saving the current program, he brought up another, Breen.

The orange mist dissipated, being replaced by a thinner blue-green fog that filled the room. Suddenly, a gas giant slowly moved through Rex's hips, meandering along its gravitationally bound path.

~ Fascinating. ~ the voice of Jalen, his first host, and a scientist himself, observed. ~ a truly interactive control interface. I question whether it could be adapted to..~

~Jalen, I'm trying to pay attention here. Your observations in my head are not assisting.~ Corran mentally observed patiently, knowing what the scientist was like.

~My apologies, Corran~

"The planet Breen orbits a dead star, a white dwarf, nine-tenths the mass of the Terran sun, temperature of 11730 Kelvin, radius just slightly less than Terra," Cutter began to recite. He flipped his hand, palms towards his face and slowly moved them inwards. The image before them followed, zooming in so that the star in question grew from a pinprick to about the size of a soccer ball.

"The cloud you see around you is formed from remnant hydrogen and helium gas from the pre-existing star, existing at vaccuum-like densities. With a temperature of over ten thousand degrees, the dwarfs Wien wavelength is in the low ultraviolet and therefore provides enough high frequency radiation to illuminate the gas," Cutter explained, he sounded very bored and slightly irritated.

~Very curious. White dwarf systems are... Exceedingly rare. Could you inquire for more details?~ came Jalen's mental voice once more.

"Lieutenant," Corran interrupted. "I'm told that white dwarf systems are.. Exceedingly rare. From what I recall, there aren't any known instances of life evolving naturally on one, is there?"

Cutter didn't flinch at the address of rank, something that he almost certainly would have objected to normally. Conciously, he was not aware of this ovsersight. Instead, he simply cast a slightly surprised look towards the fighter pilot, not expecting him to know any science. "There are a small handful," he corrected, "but, yes, you're right, they are very uncommon. I'll explain."

He cupped his hands, as if grabbing a ball of the gas, then pushed it to his left. The universe shifted, sliding down until the white dwarf that stood before them was replaced by a ball of ice. "This is Breen. It is located only one-seventh of an AU away from the star. It is not clear how this is possible," he explained, all contempt falling away for a moment and his scientific curiousity coming to the fore, "the pre-existing star, in its

elder giant phase would have surely engulfed any planet at this distance, frying away all the atmosphere and other volitiles, destroying any life which may have lived there. Typically, planets that are not devoured by a giant star are, if any change occurs, let loose from orbit and cast off into interstellar space, due to the heavy mass loss that occurs in the formation of a white dwarf. Breen would have had to have fallen in, a paradox. The current popular theory suggests that the Breen star was part of a binary system and that during the generation of the dwarf, the tenuously bound system was destroyed and the two stars drifted apart. Breen would have been a planet that orbited both stars at once, in a very large elliptical orbit and was caught by this star during the break up, eventually settling into this configuration. The question arises, then, how was life able to form in such an inhospitable system, survive the destructive nature of white dwarf formation and the transition into this orbit? This dwarf is only a few hundred million years old, certainly not enough time for intelligent life to spring up from scratch. Unfortunately, the single physical scientist stationed at the Breen Embassy is allowed to perform only very limited passive scientific probing; we will likely not be able to find an answer to this problem any time soon."

"From what I hear, we couldn't be able to trust any observations of anyone on-planet already anyways." the Trill snorted before the Fruna'lin continued.

"Well, I doubt the astrophysical community would allow the Science Coucil to assign someone they deemed incompetent to a post of such scientific importance. But even if that were the case, all equipment configuration and accompanying raw data is required to be sent to the Council data servers, so, it can all be verified by later researchers. The only thing to worry about is misguided interpretation, which I admit, is often the plague that prevents progress," Cutter replied, clearly expressing his views on the 'popular' theory, albeit in a very indirect manner.

"The planet, like I said before my digression, orbits at a distance of 0.14 AU. This is at the outer edge of the ecosphere, giving Breen a temperature of about 150 Kelvin. Breen is earth sized, however, and still geothermally active, giving it an average temperature of about 165 degrees, or just over a hundred degrees below the freezing point of water. Liquid water does exist, several miles below the surface of the ice oceans, which is home to some aquatic life." Cutter performed the zoom-in motion once more, increasing the diameter of the planet to thier hieght, about six feet. "As you can see, the star, from this distance, is considerably dimmer than the sun on Mars, so its days are like twilight. It has no moon, but the gas that fills the system casts light equal to two full moons. Neglecting the extremely low temperature, this makes agriculture extremely difficult. despite many years of operation, scientists in the Embassy have been able to learn very very little about the Breen and thier ecology, but I am not qualified to speak on those subjects anyway, and that's not really what you are interested in anyway, is it?"

"I doubt anyone will be shooting up little ice farms." the Trill replied sardonically, still fighting against Jalen's observations. The Breen system itself, the scientist in him thought - or maybe it was the poet - was as much a mystery as the people it had spawned. Jalen's thought's, however, were increasingly distracting him from his conversation with the science officer. It was starting to give him a slight headache.

"The second major body is a gas giant," Cutter said, zooming out and shifting the universe once more. In view now was the planet that had aquainted itself with Rex earlier, a large yellow ball of hydrogen. "It orbits at a distance of 7 AU and is accompanied by two major moons, and over a dozen minor planetecimals. The larger moon is very icy, and there is a Breen colony located here. There are colonies on most of the moons, but the major one is here. It is not very large because the temperature is only twenty degrees above absolute zero, about half as warm as Pluto."

"Other than that, the system is relatively devoid of resources, no other planets, no planetecimals, no asteroids, no Kuiper belt or Oort cloud. This is likely the reason the Breen are so expansive in nature, in order to obtain resources they lack within their home system."

Jalen leaped to the fore then, and the Trill's entire body language shifted.

Instead of the relaxed pose of a fighter pilot, he now had a much straighter and stiffer posture, and his practiced eye looked over the hologram before him. "Has the possibility been considered that the system is artificial?"

As Rex tensed, Cutter seemed to relax. Scientists really are their own species, comfortable only around thier own, interested in only their culture. "Not in any publication that I'm aware of. The chances of that seem ... remote, at best. The Breen clearly do not have the technological capability to create a planetary system or affect major terrestrial bodies in any dynamical way, and all the evidence we have, though small in quantity, suggests that the species developed in this system. And of course, there would seem to be no motive for that, as there are planets with similar properties in natural systems," he said, easily throwing the idea away.

"Motive not to us, perhaps, but to those who may have had a hand in it's creation, it could be entirely different." Rex interrupted, holding a forefinger aloft.

"Well," Cutter offered in return "I suppose its no worse a theory than the commonly accepted idea. Though it is possible, for Breen to develop in that way would require very specific initial conditions. If it is true, the Breen have won one of the most improbable of lotteries."

"Then why has this notion acheived such acceptance, if it is as unlikely to occur as you suggest?"

"I should actually review the evidence before I strongly criticize," the Fruna'lin said, a disclaimer, subconciously weakening his position in face of the challenge. "But that model uses some now-obsolete dynamics and is ... just not thorough. It does not take into account the interactions between any other planetary bodies, and we know, obviously, that there was at least one more in the initial system, the gas giant," he said, waving his hand through the holographic gas ball. And there's no star that can be reasonably traced back to a binary partner, though that would be very difficult to accomplish after several hundred million years."

"Clearly an inaccurate assessment, then." Jalen nodded with Corran's head, seeming somewhat self-satisfied.

"Why do you suggest that the system is constructed?" Cutter asked, his curiousity finally getting the better of him.

"It's only a hypothesis, mind you." the Trill replied. "And a slim one at that. It'll need more consideration. But consider the evidence. A white dwarf star, which rarely spawns a system of accompanying planetary bodies, with planets, but none of the other things we typically see. As you say, no Kuiper belt, no Oort cloud, only the one planet... Nothing else? Are there any naturally-occurring instances of such in your recollection? They aren't in mine. After all that, as unlikely as everything else... This world supposedly spawned life? I'm not a Vulcan, but even I can tell that is some... Rather long odds, as Corran would say."

"Well, the remarkable thing is not that this star still has orbiting planets, but one so close in that still plays home to the life that would have had to arise before the death of the star. Larger bodies, like the gas giant, originally at a sufficiently large distance away can maintain thier atmospheres and gravitational bind, smaller bodies would be tossed out, so the loss of the icy asteroids isn't all that odd. It is odd that there are no other gas giants in the system, true, since they always form in groups. But, like I said, it is a mystery," the Fruna'lin responded. "You didn't really answer why, over all other possibilities, you think the system is artificial?"

"I'm not sure." the Trill confessed, beginning to pace. "It's simply the matter that it seems as likely as any other explanation. And I hate to see a good theory discarded without consideration."

Cutter sighed, raising his blue feathered brow. "You must spend a lot of time considering then."

"It just seem likely that it's a natural formation. Call it a gut response, I suppose. " The Trill simply shrugged. He was going to say more, but the sound of an all-hands call interrupted him.

["All hands, this is Captain M'Kantu. We have entered Breen space, and are being escorted to their homeworld. They are sending observers to come aboard, it'll be best to simply stay out of their way. Maintain yellow alert status. Bridge out."]

Rex shifted back to Corran then, and the Trill put a hand to his temple. "I'd best get back to the fighter bay then. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Cutter simply nodded, and returned to his work.

[BACKPOST] Occurs prior to arrival in Breen space.

"Rumble in the Jungle"

Primary Characters:

Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian
Chief Tactical Officer
USS Galaxy

Ensign Miguel Sandoval
Chief Botanist
USS Galaxy

****

Arboretum
USS Galaxy

****

A dark figure stalked between the dense foliage of the Arboretum. The artificial lighting across the ship's non-essential areas had dimmed to simulate evening, as if such a thing were possible onboard a ship that never slept. Overhead, stars raced past, their distant, pin-prick light making the thick, fibrous leaves that formed a canopy over the path stand out, blacker than night itself.

It wasn't exactly safe for Savar to be wandering around the Arboretum at night. Tekri was still lurking, still observing him, still biding her time, and the ship's botanical gardens would be an easy location to carry out her mission. However, given what tr'Khellian had been hearing lately, he was more likely to discover Sub-Centurion Tekri and Lieutenant Commander Corgan in a rather compromising position than to come under attack from the Tal Shiar assassin. Besides, he was always on his guard, and Krieghoff was never far behind. Sometimes, often, in fact, Savar simply craved an escape from the sterility of grey bulkheads and the artificiality of the ship's revolting decor.

A faint rustle in the bushes out on the Rihana's right came to the attention of his sharp Vulcanoid hearing. The Sub-Commander froze, listening. There was the sudden glint of light on metal, and a figure began to rush out of the foliage, straight at him.

Reacting on instict, years of training at the hands of the warrior-monk employed by his family as head of household security took over. He barely bent his body as he sidestepped, twisting his right arm in a short, powerful arc to catch up the figure blundering towards him. Sweeping his leg around, he used his assailant's weight to twist them in the air, a squawk of surprise issuing from shocked lips as the figure span.

Footsteps pounded along the path as Savar brought down his other arm in a quick chop which instantly felled the disoriented attacker, who slumped to the ground, badly winded. Tr'Khellian was thrusting forwards by the time Krieghoff exploded into the clearing, and was about to ram his fist into the would-be assassin's windpipe. Simultaneously, there was a masculine cry of protest from beneath the adrenaline-drenched Romulan, and the Sub-Commander's arm was restrained with a grip that that of Death himself.

"Let go!" Savar bellowed, an icy chill spreading down his upper arm, where Krieghoff was choking off his circulaton. Immediately he suspected a trap, a conspiracy, and struggled to get away before the assassin could recover and deal him a mortal blow.

"Lights," Krieghoff barked.

Illumination was duly provided. Lying prone and dazed on the ground was not Tal Shiar agent Atole Tekri, but a swarthy-skinned, frightened-looking young man in Starfleet uniform. "It's just Ensign Sandoval," Victor pointed out, in his flat, unemotive voice.

"He had a knife!" tr'Khellian protested, still trying to get away.

Krieghoff released him. He nodded to a fallen implement lying a few feet away. "Pruning scissors, sir." A pause. "Used to trim the plants."

By this time, Miguel had scrambled backwards, eyes wide as he stared at this mad Romulan. Savar, feeling both peeved and foolish, waved at Krieghoff dismissively and brushed himself down. "False alarm then," he said, gruffly, the after-effect of the adrenaline rush beginning to manifest itself in unpleasant trembling. "I apologise, Ensign. Are you alright?"

The real question however was if Miguel's undershorts were still 'alright'.

What had begun as a realatively innocuous trip up to the Arboretum to check up on some recently transplanted Andorian Moon-Blossums had turned into something out of RAMBO vs GODZILLA.

The blossums, in fact, had been performing better than expected, and Miguel had been in the midst of trimming back some errant growth with his ever present garden snippers when somebody reached into the bush where he'd been working and literally turned his world upside down.

Miguel hadnt even registered that he'd been attacked when he suddenly found himself flat on his back, (crushing a poor little plot of dandelions beneath him) looking up at the dark outline of a snarling alien silohetted against the Arboretum skylights.

The poor botanist was still working out whether to feel sorrier for himself or the crushed dandelions when yet another snarling antagonist burst from out of nowhere to join the fray.

~~Madre de Dios~~~ Miguel swore to himself, ~~~They've turned by gardens into some sort of Galactic wrestling league!~~~

"Ensign?" Assailant #2 repeated.

"Si...I uh.....who? " Miguel replied intelligently. Part of him wanted to get up and inspect the damage done, but another part of his brain advised him that if he got up....they'd probably just slam him down again. "Uh...you are not going to hit me again are you?" he asked unsure of the answer.

"No, of course not," snapped the scion of the Romulan ruling class. He glared at Victor until the security officer backed up then withdrew tactfully, then looked back to the fallen and dazed botanist. "I am sorry, Ensign," he repeated, then thrust his hand forwards. Miguel flinched. "Please, let me help you up."

Uncertainly, the latino did as he was asked, and was soon on his feet, brushing soil from his uniform and picking the remnants of squashed dandelions off the seat of his pants.

Savar felt thoroughly ridiculous. Miguel was just a youth, barely old enough for his commission, frightened and hesitant. The Romulan looked into the wide, honest brown eyes of the Chief Botanist and felt instantly ashamed for having assaulted such an innocent, as if he had kicked a child. "I am extremely sorry, Ensign Sandoval," tr'Khellian said again. "I.. over-reacted." Over-reacted? Elements, if Krieghoff hadn't restrained him, Sandoval would either be dead or undergoing an emergency tracheoctomy and tr'Khellian would be in the brig! Savar put his hand out again, more gently this time, trying not to startle Miguel, offering to shake hands, which he hoped was the appropriate ritual of conciliation. "I am Sub-Commander tr'Khellian, the Acting Chief Tactical Officer."

~~~Sub-Commander? What in the name of the blessed Madonna is a Sub-Commander~~~ Miguel tossed the strange rank around in his head, a panicked expression washing over his face.

Back in the Academy Protocol 101 Lecture he'd been taught the Official Starfleet Ranking system of Lt Commander, and Full Commander, but nobody ever mentioned 'Sub' Commander before.

Miguel got the sudden uncomfortable feeling like he was caught unprepared for a pop-quiz in rank structures.

~~~Estupido!~~~ he berated himself, ~~~You are a 6 month old Ensign. . . . if the senor has 'commander' anywhere in his title he probably outranks you....even if his rank was 'Polka Dot Commander.~~~

Miguel straightened into a semblance of attention.

~~~Besides...~~~ his brain reasoned, ~~~He is obviously a Vulcan, and its always a good idea to treat them respectfully.~~~

He reached up to tap his communicator/translator pin. It wouldnt do to stumble over his poor English in front of a Vulcan.

"S. . .S . .Sandoval, sir." he answered, still trying to catch his breath, "Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval." He paused a moment. "Uh.....Botanical and Ecological Sciences."

Savar smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, concerned that Sandoval was still worried about further blows. Given the Botanist's mistaken apprehension of him as a Vulcan, the smile probably served to further disconcert him. "A pleasure to meet you, Ensign Sandoval, though I am sorry it was not under.. less violent circumstances."

Miguel experimentaly flexed his painful wrist. "Uh....is there anything I can help you with....uh...sir?" he gestured lamely at his pitiful display of smashed flowers.

"Ah... no," tr'Khellian said, glancing abashedly at the crushed petals. There was an awkward silence. "I am sorry about the flowers." More silence. "You are responsible for the arboretum?" tr'Khellian asked.

"Uh, yes, sir."

"Excellent," Savar said, with a genuine smile this time. He loved the arboretum, spending much of his off-duty time here, and the idea that he had assaulted its caretaker made him feel all the more foolish. "I very much enjoy strolling here, Ensign. Starships can be so -- what is the word? Alienating." He smiled again at the irony of him using such vocabulary. "When all our shoreleave seems to be spent on iron monstrosities like Starbase 212, this is the closest thing to planet-side we have, the closest thing to nature." Tr'Khellian glanced around and let the silence enfold them again, in a pleasant way this time, the soft trill of the night-loving insects the only background noise. "You've done a superb job here, Ensign Sandoval."

Unsure of how to respond, Miguel only nodded. To be honest he was quite displeased with the sorry state of affairs the Arboretum found itself in thnak to poor funding, but perhaps........just perhap such nuances were not apprent to the novice plant lover.

"We...we are glad you like it....meaning my staff and I." Miguel replied.

After a half second pause, he ventured further, "So sorry to interrupt sir, but if you are being interested in the subject, I am expecting some Vulcan flowering cactus plants to arrive in a few weeks. Perhaps. . . .perhaps you would care to assist in properly tranplanting them?"

He pondered a moment and continued, "Also I am hoping to be leading a Botanical expedition down to the planet Bean when we arrive there. An extra hand is always welcome."

Considering the sad state of Miguel's staff, any extra hand was actually desperately needed.

"You mean *Breen*, Ensign," Savar said, rolling the 'r' on his tongue, "not 'Bean'." The Romulan's face clouded and took on its default status: brooding. "Frankly, I am surprised that any sort of Botanical expedition is possible - it seems unlikely that anything would grow in that frozen demon pit."

"The native plants are.. very hardy, sir," Miguel replied.

"Hmm. They'd have to be," Savar remarked drily. "Sadly, my presence will be required on the Bridge at Tactical. However, do let me know when the cactus plants arrive - I would be interested to see how you handle them." Tr'Khellian had still not picked up that Sandoval thought him a Vulcan - the difference between the two peoples was so marked that he would have difficulty in believing that anyone could make such a mistake. "Anyway. I must be going. Apologies again for the.. uh." Savar gestured lamely to the developing bruise on Miguel's head. "And the.. uh." The same gesture, towards the flattened dandelions, before another abashed smile and a hurried exit - stage left.

"Touched by an Angel "

A joint post by Mek and Chris

Starring:
Ella Grey,
Asst. Chief Engineer (USS Galaxy)

Jan,
Minaran Refugee (APC, USS Galaxy)

*****

One hundred and Thirteen years ago, the United Starship Enterprise under the command of James Tiberius Kirk settled into orbit above the dying world of Minara.

The worlds sun was a dying ember of the dullest red, its resevoirs of nuclear fuel long since depleted. The sun was preparing to become its own crematorium, preparing to flash into nova and take all its planetary brood with it into oblivion.

The Enterprise, arrving initially for the soul purpose of rescueing a stranded research team and thereafter documenting the systems destruction, soon became embroiled in a Maciavellian scheme by which the soul surviving inhabitants of Minara had become the pawns for a race of advanced aliens known as the Vians.

The Vians, for reasons they never explained, had elected to preserve only one of the multitude of Minara's indigenous species from the oncoming hellfire of the Nova. While on the surface this seemed noble, the methodology of the Vians soon was revealed to be positively grotesque, with torture and suffering straight out of Poe's darkest nightmare being quite the norm.

In this the Vian had selected a young Empath by the name of Gem to become the lab-rat in their maze of horor. The woman was tortured and teased in an effort to condition her to become 'worthy' of salvation from the Nova.

Quite unintertionally, Kirk and his fellow officers became embroiled in the midst of this nightmare, themselves being tortured and bruised almost to the point of death in an effort to tempt Gem into using her inate healing abilities to save them.

The fact that such exertion of this healing nearly killed Gem herself was of little consequence to the cruel Vians.

In the end, the waif-like Gem sacrificed herself to save the life of the Enterpirse's ships Surgeon, Dr. Leonard McCoy, but before she coooould be saved, the Vians bore her off to their otherworldy realm.

What happened next has always been a matter of conjecture for Starfleet.

The Minaran sun did in fact go Nova barely 27 hours later, and the USS Enterprise thorughly documented the complete obliteration of all life on that once beautiful planet.

Of the native race of Empaths however nothing more was ever heard.

Had the Vians lived up to thier promise and rescued the species?

Were the Empaths still held as test-subjects for the Vians mad experiments somewhere out in the universe?

Or were Gems people extinct? Destroyed in the fiery inferno of their suns last gasp?

For 113 years Starfleet waited for an answer.

*****

Unfortuantely for Ella Grey that long awaited answer came wandering around the corner and ran smack into her face sending them both crashing to the deck in a tangle of arms, legs and scattered data PADDS.

She made no noise as she fell but her face grimaced as she stupidly put out her hand to break her fall. Her wrist didn't break but it sure as hell was sore a second later.

And then she realized that her head was simply *throbbing* in pain.

Jan, the last son of Minara, and the newest addition to the Galaxy's civilian complement sat on his rear quite dazed from the blow and tenderly rubbing a sore chin.

That chin may have explained what had smacked into Ella's forehead, and why she was seeing stars.

Then again, she could be seeing stars because of the fact that whoever she ran into was drop dead GORGEOUS.

The Minarans (not that Grey had ever heard of them) were an innately fair and graceful race, and Jan was no exception. Though obviously a bit on the young side, it was equally apparant that his was slim and well proportioned with pale unblemished skin. Most striking howeer were the azure blue eyes that flashed out from under sandy blond hair were as deep as oceans of sparkling starlight.

Ella blinked a few times to make sure she wasn't hallucenating. Hot damn, she thought.

The lad gave his chin one last rub and then took in the fallen Ella with his piercing gaze. his pale features melted into the very essense of concern and apology and with the grace of a ballet dancer he rolled forward onto his knees to extend the Engineer a helping hand.

They both stood in one fluid movement and Ella was reminded of a memory when she danced with a talented young man at her introduction to society. Too bad she had been too young and stupid to do anything about it then. She smiled and pulled out her computer PADD. *SORRY, I WASN'T WATCHING WHERE I WAS GOING.*

The young lad's intense gaze did not waver for an instant as Ella was painfully tapping out her apology. Unfortunately for her, it also didnt waver when she tried to hand the small screen over for him to read. Those eyes didnt even glance down at the PADD leaving her feeling 'left hanging.'

She waggled the PADD a bit to try and get his attention to no effect. It was only when she gently poked him in the stomach that Jan broke his gaze and glanced down at the small device. Some more waggling landed the screen in his hands, however it quickly became obvious that the youth had no idea what to make of it.

Another one who can't read, Ella thought with a sigh. Where does the Federation find these people?

Jan slowly turned the PADD over and over in his hands, studying the smooth gray plastic of its makeup carefully. He gingerly touched the glowing blue text of Ella's apology with hesitant finger and jumped a bit when it made a soft BEEP.

Jan's eyebrows shot up in amazement and he tapped the screen again.

BLOOP.

A wide smile spread over his pale features and he shot Ella a look of sheer fascinated joy.

Ella raised both eyebrows as her eyes widened.

BEEP BEEP BLOOP BEEP BLOOP BLOOP BEEP BEEP BEEP BLOOP..........

Much to Ella's shock Jan's fingers danced over the PADD with delight and now her message looked something like this: *SORRY, I WASN'T WATCHGHSH S @$$FGGG%%###GGSG4#$$%@!!(4 DJ3 3(($$S%F** WHERE I WAS GOING.*

Oh dear, Ella thought.

Jan seemed on the verge of tears with delight over his new beeping machine, but at a sudden thought, a look of worry passed over his features. It was almost eerie to watch how the lads every emotion was so openly displayed on his face and mannerisms. With a deliberate slowness he one hand into a pocket and came up with palm closed extending it towads Ella. The look on his face was one of sheer wonder and reverance as if he somehow held a tiny Ark of the Covenant in his hand.

It opened to reveal.......

......a single crumpled up leaf ?

Ella tilted her head as she looked at it and then looked at him with a puzzled frown.

Jan watched her, apparently with baited breath to see how she reacted to his precious 'gift'

She looked at the product of her unintentional exchange. Somehow she thought he'd come out with the better end of the deal. Ella forced a smile and then pointed to his perfect chin, wondering if it hurt like her head. She raised her eyebrows.

Obviously the poor lad didnt understand. Gestures and facial expressions seemed to make no sense to him and he merely watched the finger she was pointing with, as if to observe if she was going to do a trick with it or not.

Ella shook her head and then sighed. Why, why did she always get stuck with the weird aliens? And why didn't he *SAY* something? She put the leaf in her pocket.

Jan watched with fascination as the neon lights of the corridors danced in the golden strands (she'd recently highlighted it) of Ella's shaken hair. Experimentally he tried to 'toss' his own hair but to little effect. By this time Ella was looking at him strangely, her head tilted sideways in confusion. Jan tilted his own head in imitation, adopting his own bemused expression.

Ella tilted her head in the other direction.

Jan mimiced her, bobbing his head sideways with a slight grin. Perhaps this was a new game.

She laughed, shook her head, and then decided to extend her hand for a handshake.

Jan, still caught up in all the head bobbing, hadnt been expecting the sudden arm extension, and actually jumped back a bit in surprise. It was still painfully apprent that it meant little to him, and Ella was 'left hanging'.

While she wondered idly why she was wasting her time with this kid (gorgeous though he may be) Jan's playful expression suddenly melted away into one of pained concern.

His eyes widened as though in shock, and for an instant Ella thought she could see the beginings of tears glistening amidst those azure oceans.

~~Are you okay?~~ Ella signed and then realized that he couldn't understand.

Jan took a step forward slowly, his face a mask of concern, and slowly, with infinite care and grace reached a slender hand up to touch his throat.

Ella got the immediate impression that the lad had just become aware of her own mute condition, her painful history becoming instantly clear under his intense but sad gaze.

As with the Betazoids, Ella felt her stomach clench and her heart begin to pound at the thought of someone just "knowing" what was going on inside her head. Her facial expression lost most of its usual friendliness and her eyes hardened.

Tenderly, a single tear rolling down his pale cheek, Jan moved his hand from his throat and moved to reach to touch her own frozen vocal chords.

She blinked and immediately stumbled backward, not going very far because of the wall behind her. Ella turned to frown at the wall and then turned back in time to bite back a startled 'no' as the aliens hand closed around her neck.

Images flashed before her eyes and emotions danced free around her head.

Arms that grabbed her from behind. Awakening in a dark room.

Fear.

The endless singing she'd had to endure. Her raw voice.

The sound of her bones breaking and the stench of the alley.

The hands tightening around her neck.

Pain.

So much pain.

That horrible sense that something had been stolen from her or maybe the realization that she'd never had it in the first place.

Anger.

Flint screaming for mercy as Daro defeaned him.

Fear

and Pain

and Anger and Fear

and Pain and Anger and Fear

and Pain and Anger and Fear

and Pain and Anger and Fear...

...and then suddenly it was less.

It wasn't as if it was gone, Ella Grey didn't quite believe that it could be completely gone but somehow it was less.

She came to, her forehead pressed against the alien's forehead and her hand clenching onto his. She'd been crying hard, she realized, and so had he. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, as did hers, and she wondered if his face hurt as much as hers.

But she felt better, she realized. She felt better than she had in a long time. How odd.

Ella smiled, even as the tears still ran, and hoped he could sense her grattitude, since there didn't seem to be a way to thank him properly.

Jan stepped back shyly, his trembling fingers sliding off her throat and returning to his side. Those blue eyes were veritable oceans of pain and suffering as the horrors of Ella's experiences bounced around the Empath's mind.

He swallowed hard. The pain stuck hard in his own throat as the memory of the attacker's grasp tightened its grip around his windpipe. He fought. . . . oh how he had fought but to no avail.

Jan. . . .who had nevered uttered a word in his life, wept at the memory of the songs he could never again sing. His voice was Ella's, or was it the other way around?

He swallowed hard again, and this time a bit of the pain went down.

A deep breath and the panic of that long ago night was exhaled into nothingness.

At last the drying trail of tears that matched the sparkling drops on Ella's cheeks were all that was left of the shared experience.

They stood face to face.

Neither had uttered a word, but they had communicated all the same.

"Something Strange..."

Lieutenant JG Mack Turner - Engineer at Large

----------

** Just before we drop out of Warp, into Breen space **

=^=
USS Miranda,
Deck 40: Main Engineering,
Duty Engineer's Office
=^=

"Sir, it's doing it, again." a female voice announced.

"What?" Mack looked up from the terminal, where he was *supposed* to be studying the latest FTL geometry modeling concepts that CDW had uploaded to the Miranda's core-control computer before they had left Starbase 212. *Instead*, he was still pondering the offer Nyota Armstrong had sent to him.

Blanking the screen, Mack swiveled his chair to face whomever had entered his temporary (for the shift, at least) office. Staring back at him was Crewman (First Class) Katy Sender; barely over the recruitment age and on her very first cruise out of Basic Training. Mack looked her over for a moment, and sighed: she couldn't have been a *day* over eighteen, or at least it seemed to him. ~And these *kids* are running one of the most advanced warp cores in Starfleet?~ he asked himself, rhetorically. ~C'mon, man, you're not an *old guy*, either, eh?~ his subconcious reminded him. Dismissing that thought with a shake of his head, he beckoned for her to come into the office. "What are you talking about?"

He was *cute*, but Katy did her best to remind herself that not only was he a senior Comissioned Officer, he was also her Duty Chief. ~Still...~ her mind briefly wandered at the notion of maybe 'bumping-into' him at the Cantina...or maybe the Arboretum...

"Hello?" Mack tried to snap her out of the *daze* she seemed to be in. He noticed that she did that often, or was it only around him? He shook that thought away, as well. "Space Command to Crewman Sender, respond please?" he tried not to laugh as his VISOR registered an immediate increase in her face-temperature, across the IR band.

Katy fought down the weight of embarassment and blushing, thanking the Good Madre that he wasn't Betazoid... ~Or *is* he?~ she fretted for a moment, realizing that she really didn't know that much about him, since she had come onboard at Starbase 212. ~Oh, dear lord...~

Trying not to make the young girl feel any more stupid than she must have already felt, Mack tried another approach: "Katy, the *what* is doing *what* again?"

~Hmmm...I like the way he says my...~ she quickly tried to regain focus as all kinds of thoughts swirled around her head. "Oh! Um...the warp field grid emitters are fluxing, again, sir. I did a Level Four diagnostic, but it's not hardware - or even software - related, or so it seems...I think..." she paused as she realized she had started to babble.

Mack just raised his eyebrows, and motioned for her to stand beside him.

Reluctantly, she did so...he even smelled good...

"Katy, show me what you're talking about, please," Mack said, trying not to intimidate the...somewhat flighty...young woman. He chuckled to himself, remembering *his* first time as a new Ensign, at the ASDB.

"Y-yes, sir."

Mack sighed, "Look, just call me Mack, okay? Unless I have three or more full pips and claim that these are *my* engines, I'm not 'sir', got it?"

"Yes, s..um, Mack," she smiled. It was a *cute* name, too.

Shaking his head once more (he didn't pretend to have any *clue* as to what went on in the head of the post-adolescent young woman), he motioned for her to upload the contents of the PADD she had carried with her into his computer terminal. In doing so, she leaned slightly over the console - and in front of Mack - to tap at a few buttons.

Mack held his breath as a lock of her honey-blonde hair fell from where it had been tucked behind her ear. She was so close, he thought he could even smell the shampoo she had used that morning... ~Coconut?~

Katy couldn't help it, but as she was leaned over the terminal and in front of Mack's face, she could feel his warm breath on the skin of her neck, sending tingles all the way down her spine. Slowly, she backed away, trying to catch her *own* breath and command her heart to stop pumping so hard. ~Katy! Get ahold of yourself!~

Mack shot her an inquisitive look, as he noticed her body temperature, suddenly rise. "Katy, are you...allr..."

*BEEP*

Instead of finishing his sentence, Mack looked back down to where Katy's file had suddenly appeared...

"Whoa...what is this?" Mack asked as the schematic of the Miranda's and Galaxy's warp geometry displayed on the screen. But something was...off.

Pushing the strand of hair back behind her hair again, Katy leaned beside him again, accidentally rubbing shoulders.

"Oops, sorry, s..erm..Mack," she quickly backed off again, yet still near him. Continuing, "That's what I wondered. I've never seen anything like it. And if you look here..." she reached across and tapped another button on the panel... "you'll see that it fluxes even *more* the closer we're getting to Breen space."

Mack studied the readouts, power outputs, and field-layer sub-harmonics. ~All within spec~ he reasoned. Crewman Sender's intial diagnosis was correct: it wasn't the result of either the Mirand *or* the Galaxy. It was something...

"External?" he asked out loud.

"Yes. That's what I was thinking. Like some sort of generated subspace...'shadow', I guess," she chewed on her lip, in thought, as her ice-blue eyes darted to first the cieling, then the bulkhead, then to Mack...

"And...?" He prompted once again, as she seemed to go trance-like once more.

Blinking rapidly, she shook her head, "'And' what? I don't understand, M..Mack." She liked the way his name felt on her lips...

Mack stood up, and punched a few console buttons, transferring the data schematics to the tri-dee holoprojector in the alcove nearby. Usually, the device was used so that an engineer could more easily *visualize* some component or circuitry for field work. But it suited this little 'adventure', quite well.

"You said a *generated* subspace shadow, right?" he queried as his hands started moving rapidly across the control board.

"Yeeeaaah..." she answered timidly, not sure where he was going with this.

"Well, I think you're on the right track." he stated simply, as he reconfigured the data being displayed.

"Really?" she brightened a little at the compliment, then frowned, "I'm still not sure what I've *discovered*, though." ~He has nice muscles...~ she errantly thought as she watched his arms move and work under his uniform.

"Yes, really. Look," he said, pointing to the finished model. "Computer: run simulation with augmented calculations."

The familiar tri-tonal chirp issued from the computer, as a time-lapse model of both the USS Galaxy and USS Miranda 'flew' through holographic 'space', overlayed with thin sheets of color that represented the nested, interplaying warp field of both vessels.

As the scene played, Katy watched closely as her initial model now flew through in a hologram. Watching the field-geometry closely... "There!" she exclaimed, pointing her finger towards the tiny representation of the Miranda.

"Computer: pause simulation at time-reference zero-two-two-one."

Again, the familiar chirp of compliance, followed by a quick 'rewind' to where Katy had noticed something, then a motion-pause. Studying the field representation, "Tell me what you see?"

"A Cochrane-wave distortion, Mack," she concluded.

Mack nodded his head, while noticing that she was relaxing a little. "Yes: a Cochrane-wave distortion. See how the outermost layers of both lobes are seemingly 'stretched'? That's outside of the parameters of the field focusing grids. So..." he let the conclusion hang, hoping she'd pick up on it.

"So..." she chewed her lip for a second again, studying the models, and how the elliptical anomoly affected both ships, but not in a way that would be caused by either of their *own* generated fields from causing the effect. She looked back up to Mack, and wished for the hundreth time that she could see his *real* eyes... "Something strange is following us?"

Mack nodded again, "*And* leading us, as well, it seems. What else do you know about Cochrane waves?"

"'The Cochrane-wave effect is created by two polarized, yet opposite compression-dialation subspace fields coming into direct contact with each other, effectively cancelling out the opposing fields.'" she smiled while quoting something from one of the textbooks she had read.

"Good...good. What else?" he prodded her to think, further.

"Well...if the wave is strong enough, it can either *push* a mass - like a starship - further and faster...or it can totally cancel out the nested layers of a warp field, instantly dropping the ship back into realspace and sublight speeds."

"Yep. So, what's your conclusion, Katy?"

"That the Breen don't want us getting to *friendly* with traveling in thier space, Mack."

"It seems so," he finished, while closing and saving the representation. He had to show this to Commander Wolfson when she came on-shift in the next thirty minutes.

"Good job, Katy. I owe you a drink. Dismissed."

She beamed, inside and out, while standing to attention, "Aye, sir!" Turning, she picked up the PADD she had brought along, and marched herself out of Mack's office.

Little did he know, she would be holding him to that offer...

“Sleepless”

Lieutenant (JG) Ariss Edon

Ensign Abigail Syl

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

Stepping into sickbay, yawning, Ariss looked around. Despite the late hour, main sickbay was always manned, even if it was just that weird EMH. Seeing a medic, he stepped over. "Evening Ensign," he greeted the young Trill, "Wondering if you could help?" ~ Prophets, who is she? ~

Looking up from where she was working, Abigail nodded to the man who had entered, "Hello. Certainly. What is the problem?"

"I was wondering if you could prescribe something to help me sleep. Haven't been able to get to sleep for the last few nights, and I really need to catch up on some sleep!" ~ How ironic. Me asking for drugs, and yet berating Shinta for attempting the same. ~ He thought. ~ This is different though, I just need sleep ~ “Whatever’s going on, I'd like to be fresh for it!”

"I will need to perform an examination first. In most cases, there are clear medical and/or psychological reasons for being unable sleep." Picking up a tricorder, she opened it up and motioned him over to a bio-bed, "Just come over here and I will start. Have you been under a lot of stress recently? Has this happened in the past?"

Stepping over to the bed, he sat and nodded. "This has happened before, but only for one night, two at the most, and not since," pausing he squinted at the ceiling for a second, "the Academy. It's been four nights in a row now. I just can't seem to shut down and stop thinking! Stress, no more than usual, for the job… …!"

"Do you drink alcohol, tea, coffee or caffeinated drinks in the evening?"

"Alcohol, occasionally, amounts vary depending on where I am, and who I'm with. Typically a beer or two though, if I'm with friends. None recently though. No caffeine either, I can't stand tea or coffee"

"I do have some suggestions that may help. Sexual intercourse can have a relaxing effect on some people. There are also relaxation techniques such as meditation or yoga. Warmed milk also helps as it contains an amino acid precursor that boosts serotonin in the brain."

Raising his eyebrows, he felt a flutter in his chest, ~ Uh! ~ "…I, meditate daily, sometimes twice a day already. It usually relaxes me, but not lately. And warm milk just makes me gag, sorry... And what's Yoga? Isn't he some small green guy in a Terran 2D? My old roommate collected those old 2D's, most weren't that relaxing!"

Abby grinned, "Yoga is a psycho-physical discipline with roots going back about 5,000 years. It was developed in India on Earth. Even though I am a Trill, I find that it helps a lot. Have there been any incidents involving mental blending or telepathy? That can sometimes can issues with sleeping.”

“There was something a while back. A Telepath from the mirror universe came on board and, well, it’s all on file,” he nodded in the direction of a terminal. “Since then, I’ve been, remembering, a lot. It hasn’t been bad, just memories, scattered, sporadic.” Looking at the Doctor, “Nothing major though.”

Running a scan with the tricorder, she spoke "Hmm.. I am detecting elevated levels of acetylcholine and pregnenolone, which could explain the memories. They are both neurotransmitters and would explain why the memories are surfacing. I think that visiting the counsellors and getting regular medical treatment here will help."

“Uh, well I have started speaking to a counsellor recently regarding the incident, and the memories aren’t, well most of them aren’t that bad, I’m just able to remember with a lot of clarity, sometimes though, especially when I’m tired, I can’t 'stop' remembering, that’s what seems to be keeping me up. I’ve tried exercise, relaxing music, work, mental puzzles, Altorian brain teasers, you name it.” Smiling at her, “Guess I just need to find my mental ‘off’ switch!” For some bizarre reason, he found himself contemplating a question someone at the Academy had asked a Trill once. ~ I Wonder. Just how far down ‘do’ the spots go? ~

"Hmmm... There are medications we can try that will slow your brain down."

"Slow my brain down? Literally? That wouldn't affect my coordination or response time if a red alert was sounded would it? Personally I'd rather not resort to drugs, but I'm running out of ideas. And I need some sleep!" He finished with a smile.

"Well, there always alternatives. We could do a surgical lobotomy, but then, you might not remember much. Or we could try a sedative before bed. Or have Counseling try hypnosis."

Unable to help it, Ariss laughed out loud. "There are some who'd say the lobotomy's already been done!" He said, still chuckling. "I've never considered hypnosis before," he said, "how reliable is it, and does it depend on the person doing it, or the person its being done on?"

"I am not sure. You will have to speak to the counsellors about that. I can give you something to help tonight though."

“That would be great. Thank you.” He said sincerely. “I’ll be speaking to Commander Navarre soon, I’ll mention this to her then.” Watching as Syl got out a hypo and prepared it a thought occurred to him. “How soon will this take effect, I mean, will I have time to get back to my room?” He said with a smile.

Abby thought for a moment before replying, "You should wait until you are lying down. That stuff will take down a charging rhino before he has made two feet. You might also want to let your superior know to send someone with a bucket of ice water if you are late."

Laughing again, "Thanks again." He said with a smile, ~ Ice Water ~ He thought with a chuckle. Standing, he made a quick decision, and spoke before his brain could intervene, "Would you. What I mean is, Would you like to... " ~Frell~ "Would you like to have a drink some time? When you're not working that is, the cantina, or somewhere." Ariss stumbled out, flushing slightly. "Just to chat, y'know?" ~ Grozit Ariss ~

"That sounds good."

More than a little surprised, Ariss was confused for a second, then, "Great, I'll uh," Rapidly trying to remember his shift roster, " Thursday, about eighteen hundred?" he asked.

Abby smiled, "That will fit for me. I would love it."

Getting off the biobed, Ariss picked up the hypo. With a smile, “Great, see you Thursday then.” With a slightly bemused smile on his face he wandered out.

Abby grinned as he left before heading back to some medical texts she had been skimming.

“Deck 14.” Ariss ordered the Turbolift. Leaning on the wall, he smiled slightly, ~ Where did that come from ~ he wondered. Still smiling, he left the lift and walked slowly to his quarters…

Dropping onto his bunk, Ariss looked at the Hypo. Drugs were usually the last resort for him, ~ But today?... ~ Looking at the ceiling, he smiled. Raising the hypo to his neck, he felt the pressure as it injected it’s contents into his artery. Dropping it onto the floor, ~ I wonder how lo… ~

"Positioning"

Flight Officer T'Shani A'Akledorian -
Vanguard Three
Tech. Sgt. Peter St. Valentine (NPC)

----------

=^=
USS Galaxy,
Deck 39: Vanguard Squadron Flight Deck,
Hangar Three
=^=

"<RHOOZ>!"

*THUNK!*

"<FRELL>!"

*CRASH!*

Technical Sargent (First Class) Peter St. Valentine had just sat down to enjoy his lunch, a turkey and swiss on rye sandwich with dill pickle on top. He had also planned to write a letter to his sister Kathryn, who had just become a commissioned officer and was serving on the USS Hatteras.

That's what he *thought* he was going to do...

"Goddamned, Greenblooded, son-of-a...!"

*BANG!*

Yep, it was 'The Blue Bitch', as his techs had taken to calling the *lovely* T'Shani A'Akledorian. Man, she had a temper...and a big chip on her shoulder. And Peter, unfortuneatly, had the *privilege* of being the lead technician on her Bonzai fighter.

Sighing heavily, Pete set down his sandwich, switched off the PADD, and got up from the break-room table, to try and see what in the Grace of God was going on, now.

Trying to put on his best smile, he walked up to T'Shani, who had her head stuck up into an access panel on Vanguard Three's belly. "Is there something I can help you with, Ma'am?" he tried to keep his voice even, while noticing that she was standing on her tip-toes, probably trying to reach something inside the fighter. ~I hope she's not trying to mess with the swirl-chamber, again,~ he worried for a moment, before noticing that she was too far fore to be messing with that system. ~Thank god..~ he quickly offered a small prayer to whatever patron saint who was watching over them...

T'Shani was barely aware that someone was standing next to her. She was trying not to take her anger at Savar and Krieghoff out on her fighter. ~The *nerve* of those two! Fucking idiots!~ she exclaimed to herself. She *thought* that she'd find some solace in coming down to the fighter bay, maybe to do another simulation where she got to blow up something...BIG. But no: instead, she came in to find that a whole bundle of wires, boxes, and miscellaneous componentry was either hanging from - or sitting below - her fighter. ~What in the names of the Great Gods was going on here?~

Pete didn't like the look of things. Sure, most all the pilots knew their fighters, inside and out. But his crew had been pulling double-time trying to get the new avionics package that A'Akledorian had ordered installed into her fighter. And now she looked to be fucking things up! "Um...Ma'am, you might not want to..." he moved his hand to tap her shoulder, to let her know that he was beside her.

Bad move...

Still oblivious to anyone else (and having her head literally stuck into her fighter), Tish was somewhat surprised to feel something touch her on her shoulder. Quickly, she grabbed the hand...

~Oh, shit.~ Pete thought...

Twisted it...

*CRACK!*

And pulled *whoever* it was forward, using the person's momentum and body-weight to throw her 'assailant' to the deck...

"MY HAND!" Pete wailed, while noticing the odd angle it was turned to...

And quickly kneeling, saddle-style, over the person's chest, while holding both his arms together, *above* his head...

"Flight Officer! Let go! Letgoletgoletgo!" Pete cried through gritted teeth as he thought he also heard an unhealth *POP!* issue from his right shoulder as she pinned him...

And brought her face withing millimeters of his, snarling at him...

Pete tried to blink back the tears of pain, while another part of his mind commented on the odd position of T'Shani on top of him, her hot breath panting on his face...

"What the *FUCK* do you think you're doing, Mister?" she growled dangerously at him, as her chest pushed into his, and her thighs squeezed tighter around his midsection.

"I...I...I..." he stammered, while catching the deadly glow from her amber eyes. "I heard you, and...well...um...didn't want you to get hurt or...break something...or...OW!"

~Tish...Tish!...T'SHANI!! Let him go!~ a part of her mind yelled at her. Acquiescing, she released her grip on his hands, and relaxed her hold on his chest, moving her hips up his chest, a little...and smiled.

~Thats....*freaky*~ Pete thought to himself, while trying to quell the pain in his hand. As she moved up his chest, she placed a palm on his ribcage. ~She really looks quite sexy in that flight suit...SHUT UP!~ his mind fought with itself.

Tossing her silvery hair behind her with a flick of her neck, Tish's antennas bobbed in amusement.

"Um...Ma'am?" he looked *up*, past her thighs and...*ahem*...well-shaped chest, to see her face staring down at his, "Would you mind, um...getting off me?"

Tish flashed one more angry look at him, dismounted, and grabbed him by the right arm, causing it to loudly *POP!* back into place.

"Ow!"

"You better get that looked at, Sargent. And next time, please tell me when you plan on tearing my fighter apart. And *don't* surprise me."

"Y-yes, Ma'am," Pete stammered, while noticing that the rest of the flight deck crew had were watching and snickering at their 'exchange'.

"After that, make sure that the positioning isn't screwed, okay?"

"The wh-what?" *That* comment caused some...*interesting* images to float through Pete's mind...

"The *pOse-iSH-On-EEng*," she spelled-out slowly, as if talking to a Menargian larva-worm. I don't want the new package throwing of my weight distribution." Glancing him over once more, "I...apologize about your hand, Sargent. Go get it fixed."

That was all he had to hear. "Yes, Ma'am!" And he quickly scurried away.

~The boys are gonna be talking about *this* for weeks,~ he thought to himself, as he ran for the nearest turbolift...

"Rage Against the M'Kantu"

[follows on directly after 'Contact']

Primary Characters:

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Commanding Officer
USS Galaxy

Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian
Acting Chief Tactical Officer
USS Galaxy

****

Bridge
Deck 1
USS Galaxy

****

"Breen cruiser decloaking dead ahead." Savar's voice rang out across the Bridge, immediately followed by an automatic warning klaxon, rapidly silenced by the Romulan. "They're hailing us."

"Set up a split-screen with the Miranda," M'Kantu ordered, standing up and eyeing the viewscreen. He would, however, let Elaithin take the lead in this initial contact.

Tr'Khellian did as he was ordered

"Federation starships, I am Thot Pran. Disengage your warp drive, lower your shields, and power down your weapons. We are here to escort you to Breen under impulse only."

"Not advisable," Savar snapped, automatically. "The Breen vessel is running at the equivalent of yellow alert."

M'Kantu was silent as Captain Elaithin began to negotiate with the Breen. Much to Savar's evident disgust, the Bajoran commander conceded, and M'Kantu signaled the Rihana clearly to lower the Galaxy's own shields, as Miranda shed her own defenses.

"I thank you for you consideration." the Breen coldly replied in his mechanical tone. "Compliance in navigating our territories requires an observation team comprising of three of our personnel to assist your piloting into our sector. This is per starship. Failure to comply will result in termination of relations, and an interminable act of war on your parts. Comply."

At last, M'Kantu spoke up.

"Only if we in turn send our own observation team over. We'd like to think you are acting in good faith. So are we."

"Do you not trust us? It is we who have invited you. We are offering trust to the Federation. Is it not your way to be trusting as well?"

"Based on our recent histories, Thot, there is enough distrust between our peoples to justify the inability to blindly hand over trust. I will lower my shields and power down my weapons, but I will not allow any transports over to by bridge without equal representation on your own. Take it or leave it. Like you said, *you* called us. I don't have to be here."

There was a dead silence for several long seconds. Pran was evaluating or in contact with his government for direction. The situation was tense and the next words would finalize the direction.

"You have 5 Rihannsu on your ship, Captain. There is one aboard the larger vessel. What is the meaning of this? And there is one on the other one as well. This was not part of the agreement. They must leave."

Tr'Khellian's eyes narrowed at the grotesque figure on the screen, his guttural voice mangling his words as he issued his demands. His mind jumped back to his conversation with Curran a few days ago. The Legate had wanted his advice as someone who would understand the Breen mentality better than these soft-hearted, soft-headed alpha-quadrant fools. The Breen clearly were keen to cancel out that advantage.

"The Rihannsu are part of my crew, like it or not. All valued as equally as any other member of this ship, Thot. I sincerely hope you do not suggest I beam them out into deep space, do you?"

"That is an option, yes. But if you are so concerned with their well-being,' the sarcasm dripped like honey on a warm day, "There is a planet on the way where we can deposit them for the time being."

Tr'Khellian's face could have curdled fresh cream. He glanced down at the huge Tactical arch and fantasised briefly about launching a tricobalt device at the Breen vessel which would have smashed Thot and his hideous compatriots into their composite atoms and spread them across half a sector.

"Out of the question. They come with us, or we leave."

"Frankly," Captain Elaithin interjected, "Either our entire crews are welcome, or none are. The Federation would be most displeased if they had sent us all this way for nothing. I don't imagine your superiors would look too kindly on it either."

"Fine, Captain, but they are not to be on the Bridge while our observation team is on board, and they are not to take part in any negotiations."

Savar's eyes went wild and wide, his face contracted into a stern, murderous rictus. His knuckles went white as he gripped the edge of the arch.

Daren knew he'd pushed far enough. Having the Breen acquiesce this much was a feat indeed. Having his Romulans given free reign on the ship while the Breen were on board was another.

"Very well. We await the exchange with great interest. Five minutes." The screen went blank.

"FVAH!" tr'Khellian bellowed, smashing his fist down onto the Tactical arch with almost enough force to crack the plexi-glass surface. The Bridge crew, startled, looked at the exchange officer, and saw a man filled with the wrath of ancient gods, shaking with shame-filled rage. "How can you do what they say?" he shouted, accusingly.

M'Kantu shot a look at tr'Khellian. "My ready room, if you please. Number One, assemble our observation team."

Tr'Khellan strode thunderously towards the Captain's ready room. Before the doors had shut he was already shouting again, his voice ringing out across the Bridge.

"How dare you?" he demanded. "How dare you acquiesce in their demands?"

"Calm yourself, Mr tr'Khellian!" Daren snapped angrily, rounding his desk.

"I will *not* calm myself, Captain! I am sickened unto death of your two-faced hypocrisy and cant! 'All valued as equally as any other member of this ship', you say? Well, clearly not! All this racial equality and all the other shit you preach and ram down our throats, it's all just lies and expediency!" Tr'Khellian had maintained his fearsome volume, and the tall, well-built man was now gesticulating wildly, barely able to remember to speak Standard as two years of resentment and discrimination burst through his facade like a tidal wave of indignation. "Two years I have served this ship - two years of dedicated and flawless service - longer even than *you* - and at the first sign of trouble, you throw me off the Bridge to please those frozen-hearted, murderous bastards?"

"Sub-Commander," Daren replied, his voice angry but no longer uncontrolled. "If I have order you to gain control of yourself again, this conversation is over. I can be talked to, reasoned with, influenced by persuasive arguments, and occasionally I will tolerate strongly-worded statements of opinion. What I will not be, however, is screamed at by a subordinate officer." He leaned forward slightly. "I have fought against and alongside Rihannsu since I joined Starfleet, Sub-Commander. I have negotiated with them, eaten with them, gotten drunk with them, and on two occasions been propositioned by them. But I have never been screamed at, and I am not going to start now."

He straightened up. "You have as much time as you need to regain control of yourself, Sub-Commander. I'll wait until doomsday if needs be, but this display is beneath you, and we both know it. Remember who and what you are, Sub-Commander. No matter what else may happen, no one can take that from you unless you let them, and I don't believe that you're the kind of man that will let that happen." He folded his arms and waited, eyes on Savar's.

"Who, and what, I am, Captain?" Savar echoed, his voice now an icy hiss, far more dangerous than his shout of rage. "I'll tell you who I am, Captain M'Kantu, since you never bothered to take much of an interest. I am Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian, sole heir of the House tr'Khellian, one of the four great Houses of Fire, holder of the prestigious Senatorial seat of Aihai." Tr'Khellian's voice was resonant with wounded aristocratic pride, as if by his words and demeanor he could recapture his faded glory and take back the heritage from which he had been exiled. "I have commanded ships, fought countless battles, razed cities and conquered worlds. That is who I am, Captain. As for what I am, I am an exile, condemned to serve Starfleet in whatever capacity I can be used and abused. I've served this ship for two years - not a flaw, never faltering. I have fought against my own people to keep your ship and your crew intact."

Savar eyed M'Kantu evenly. The explosive rage which had knocked aside his carefully-constructed facade a few moments ago had subsided into a deep sense of affrontery and the nagging hurt of sadness. "You claim to have known some of my people, Captain. But you know nothing of our ways and nothing of our sensibilities. Serving on this ship, serving always hundreds of light-years away from what I hold dear, is a daily torture to me. I am degraded, distrusted, denigrated - and now, by you, disgraced." He shook his head mournfully, his arms folded across his expansive chest. "You might dismiss me from your Bridge, but you cannot dismiss my grievances so lightly."

Daren waited for Savar to finish and shook his head. "No, Sub-Commander, that's not who you are; all those things: an exile, your father's heir, all of it, those are conditions imposed on you externally. They have nothing to do with *who* you are - that comes from within you, not without. He placed his hands palm down on his desk and leaned forward. "The man I've fought beside, and died beside isn't any of those things. He's intelligent, opinionated, observant, skilled, and proud - but not undeservedly so. He's been placed in a situation that is, to say the least, difficult, and has not only survived, but excelled. That's who you are."

Contrary emotions tugged at Savar's will. Part of him, the proud part which craved approval and was susceptible to flattery, preened itself at these rare complimentary adjectives from the African captain. Part of him, the cynical, angry exile, railed against this nonsensical psychobabble and saw clear through M'Kantu's attempts to quieten him.

"How can you say those things?" tr'Khellian finally said, in an exasperated tone, throwing his hands up. "How can you talk to me about serving alongside Rihannsu and respecting them and speak in that way about me, when all you have shown me is coldness, and now, by ordering me away from my post to satisfy those rasping reptiles, our common enemies, contempt?"

"I can say them, Sub-Commander, because they're true." Daren straightened up. "Now, would you like something to drink while I answer the rest of that?" He moved to the replicator. "I'm having coffee. Is that acceptable, or would you like something else, perhaps a more familiar beverage?"

"Nothing for me. Thank you." Tr'Khellian watched M'Kantu cross placidly to his replicator, and found the man's pleasantness and reasonableness infinitely irritating. He had the distinct sensation that he was being handled according to some Starfleet 'how to handle "difficult" people' training course, which of course simply shoved him into a disrespectful pigeonhole and trivialized his grievances. He stood there, arms folded, and waited for M'Kantu to justify his spineless co-operation with the Breen demands.

Daren returned to his desk, took a sip of the coffee, and then set the mug down on the desk. "I agreed to remove you from the bridge, Sub-Commander for four reasons. One, because I was ordered to come here and, if possible, secure a treaty with the Breen. Personally I find that possibility to be somewhat remote, but there's always a chance this is a genuine offer, and that chance is worth exploring. Second, because it disarms the Breen, removing an excuse they would have used to demand more concessions from us, like not sending a security team with the diplomatic party. Third, because it's what I believe they expected me to do, and it reinforces their opinion of us as weaklings that have no stomach for confrontation. Fourth, because it frees you up to do what I want you to do: man the tactical station in the Battle Bridge, out of sight of the Breen, where their observers can't see you and anticipate your actions should it be necessary to fight."

That certainly knocked the wind out of tr'Khellian's sails, although the cynical side of his character immediately countered that M'Kantu had simply bought time to think up the fourth reason by fiddling with his replicator. "That's all well and good, Captain," Savar replied, levelly, "but there is a reason why the Breen are afraid of having Rihannsu near them when they are on our Bridge. We see things in a different way to you humans. The way the Breen think -- it is totally alien to how your minds work. Their culture is totally opaque to you. They fear that I, or the Rihannsu on the Miranda, may see through their ruses."

"We don't know that there are any ruses to see through yet, Sub-Commander," Daren reminded him diplomatically.

The Romulan frowned tempestuously. "You can take it as a given with the Breen. I was glad you at least listened to my warnings at the briefing, instead of dismissing them." The words 'like that moron Elaithin' didn't have to be spoken, they were implicit in his tone and facial expression. "My staff have already begun to work up contingency plans should the situation turn sour. I have instructed them to work on a worst-scenario basis and have two people working on deadly reprisals."

"I see no reason to tell you to stop, Sub-Commander. I would expect nothing less from any officer of your caliber. If you require additional resources, let me know and we'll divert them as unobtrusively as possible to prevent the Breen from noticing." Daren looked at him for a moment, coffee in hand. "I will also authorize your use of the Galaxy's internal monitoring system to observe the Breen from the Battle Bridge and utilize your superior knowledge of their culture and methods to watch for signs of treachery." He reached down and picked up a folded slip of paper and handed it to Savar. "Your authorization code to access the monitors, Sub-Commander. I will expect a full report daily on your interpretations of their activities."

Tr'Khellian frowned again and looked out of the window. The Breen cruiser was pulling alongside the Galaxy, and the 'observation' team would be beaming over shortly. The fiery indignation burning deep within him was well on its way to being quenched by M'Kantu's dogged reasonableness. "I will follow your orders, Captain," he said, finally, looking back to M'Kantu, "but you must see it from my perspective. How would you have felt if they had demanded the removal of all personnel with black skin?"

"Irritated, angry, frustrated - just like you. But I'd order the personnel to stand down anyway, because I believe this mission is more important than my personal pride. Just like I think you would have, if our positions were reversed. Is there anything else, Sub-Commander?"

"Whilst I am here, Captain," tr'Khellian said, "I recognize that this may not be the appropriate time, but since I am airing my grievances the context is correct." He folded his hands at the small of his back, assuming his customary, statuesque pose. "The Tal Shiar agent sent to this ship to assassinate me is still at large. I am still living my life in daily apprehension of imminent death. I find it impossible to believe that reports of Lieutenant Commander Corgan's sexual relationship with Sub-Centurion Tekri have not reached your ears." Savar's tone was even but icy, frost glinting on every precisely-articulated word - a far cry from his raging, stuttering Standard at the beginning of their confrontation. His composure was fully restored at last. "It is absolutely intolerable that the man most responsible for the preservation of my life is cavorting on a nightly basis with the woman plotting to kill me. I demand to know what you intend to do about it."

"A justified concern, Sub-Commander," Daren nodded. "Commander Corgan will be explaining himself and his actions to me as soon as his duties escorting the Breen observers allow. If I find his explanation lacking, then he will be relieved of his duties until such time as he is given the opportunity to explain himself to a disciplinary board. In any event, for the duration of the mission, I will transfer responsibility for your safety to another officer and remove the Commander from the line of command for your security detail. Is there an officer that you wish for the position, or would you like me to select one?"

"Lieutenant Krieghoff," Savar replied, without hesitation. "He has shown himself to be one of the most tireless and ruthlessly dedicated officers I have ever served alongside." Tr'Khellian thought back to that enounter in the gymnasium showers, when Victor's mask had slipped, and he had seen what truly lay within the apparently-human man. The shock had been enormous, as Savar's Vulcanoid heritage had largely prevented the dread chill of death which Victor carried around with him from penetrating into the Tactical Officer's mind. Tr'Khellian could recall few occasions when he had been more terrified than that moment, trapped, naked, defenseless, with Death himself. But Krieghoff would never use his brutal and emotionless destructive power on Savar, not whilst tasked with his protection. Instead, the predator would be turned on Atole Tekri, and Savar had no doubt that Krieghoff would rather die than let that Tal Shiar dog triumph. "I trust him with my life, Captain."

Daren raised an eyebrow. "Krieghoff. Interesting choice. All right, Sub-Commander. Krieghoff it is." He reached down and tapped out some commands on his LCARS panel. "Done. Is there anything else that I can do with regards to that situation?"

Tr'Khellian felt somewhat amused that his choice had irritated M'Kantu, and wondered what the issue was between the Captain and Krieghoff. Certainly he wasn't a typical Starfleet officer; the man's record was highly questionable. But if M'Kantu was as reasonable with Victor as he had been today with him - what was the real issue?

"I trust you will let me know the outcome of your interview with Lieutenant Commander Corgan, Captain," Savar said, with a short, icy smile. "I have nothing else to raise at this time. If you'll excuse me I ought to be getting to the Battle Bridge."

Daren nodded, and rose to return to his own position on the Bridge. "Actually, Sub-Commander, if I might impose on your patience - would you be willing to stay at the Bridge and make a scene of outrage at your dismissal for the Breen Observers? I believe that they would be less likely to suspect your actual assignment if they witnessed such a diversion..."

Tr'Khellian considered this. Part of him liked M'Kantu's thinking, but part of him wondered whether the whole preceding conversation had in fact been a fatuous ruse to shut him up and make him feel less indignant about being removed from the Bridge. Part of him also thought that deterrence was needed against the Breen, and that they really ought to know that someone was working on a large self-detonating device which would ravage the surface of Breen if anything happened to the Galaxy or the Miranda.

"I believe it would be wise to let the Breen know that we are ready to make reprisals should any harm befall our personnel or vessels. Otherwise my contingency planning will be pointless - it will serve no deterrent effect." He exhaled noisily. "However, you are the diplomat, Captain, and not I. If you believe a little 'play-acting' now will strengthen your hand later, then so be it."

"Thank you, Sub-Commander," Daren nodded. "And I do believe that the Breen might need a reminder that we do not intend to sit still and be a target is in order. A god deal of diplomacy, after all, is the art of reminding one's opposite number that the object trained under the table at them is, indeed, a phaser." 

"This Game of Knives"

By
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan

And
Sub-Centurion Atole Tekri

Location: Crew Quarters.

Soundtrack: "Rocksteady" By Remy Shand "Love Unlimited" By The Fun Lovin' Criminals

The covert message, from Tal'Shiar control station #198328629358293… (actually, it goes on for quite a long time) to Atole Tekri, agent (omitted due to confidenciality, not even Tekri knew her agent number), came as a surprise to Tekri. It also drove home the urgency of her mission.

With all due respects, Tal'Shiar missions varied in length, due to the preparation time needed (among many other factors unique to mission type, environment, etc). Atole Tekri's mission, a yet unspecified espionage and assassination mission to all but herself, Ramir Omar and her controller, the length of time needed could also vary based on environmental and sentient factors. There was the consideration of Starfleet's almost anal control of encryption, their fastidiousness to duty and security, and their caution towards anything Romulan, which barely balanced out the Federation citizen's penchant for being open minded. Being that Tekri, a novice on her first mission, a young, fresh flower yet blooded on her first assignment, and being that she was stuck on a military vessel, a mission that a veteran would have balked at taking a mere decade before, this was not an assignment she could easily accomplish in a few short weeks.

In fact, a few months have already passed, and she was stuck. No luck on the computers, her mark was more wary than she anticipated, and her controller was already showing the first signs of impatience, feigning patients to counterpush urgency upon her.

It was the discussion with her controller that brought more focus on her mission, but that in itself was a paradox, because before she knew it…

Atole Tekri, Romulan matahari, found herself in James Corgan's bed.

It was the second night of the Galaxy's course to Breen, and the second time Tekri and Corgan made love, under the naked starfield in open space, made separate by the forcefield acting as a liberal porthole view from James Corgan's living quarters. She wanted to find the answers to solve her mission inside his eccentric, addled mind, but found herself instead finding shelter in his caring arms and cotton bedsheets. She didn't pump James for information, though during her trip to his quarters she had to remind herself of her task and repeat what she had to do, but instead allowed James to do the pumping (a naughty grin escaped her lips upon that thought). Business was cast aside when they caught each other outside his quarters, eye to eye, green to gray, a gray and black suited human in a sexually imbibed mental game with the sultry Romulan seductress, both found themselves losing the match, then losing to each other.

Tekri noted that the more they meet, the less time it took to make physical contact. A certain amount of trust, tenuous at best but small enough to function as a relationship, began to form. It was true, the human adage. Once James found that she wouldn't bite, he became less resistant.

If only his words were not as guarded, Tekri hoped. Personally, they only knew bits about their respective pasts. James knew of Tekri's merchant family and a potential marriage she escaped from by joining the diplomatic corp (a slight shifting of words, nothing majorly changed), and she knew James was a musician, surviving the war that nearly bled her beloved empire dry, and had been in Starfleet ever since. But still, not much was known about each other, though for physical attraction's sake, it did not matter. Tekri's willingness to be friendly and coy towards the security chief drew him, and Tekri likewise stayed due to the lengths he would go to please her.

Please her he did! In bed, James kept a measure of control, but also went out of his way to make her pleasures a top priority. In bed he lived to serve, and that was the kind of man Tekri liked. Not only would she be satisfied, he would be easier to manipulate. A twist and a pull, a pout, and James would have to ask what was wrong, and Tekri would in turn have to tell him what to do to rectify her displeasure. Such an arrangement would go beyond the bedchamber.

Atole did agree with James on one point, that somehow their relationship had to be more than sex if she was to make James more useful. James still seeked something more. He always asked and searched, and while at first those questions frightened her, she became use to James inherent curiosity. She understood that humans were not so stringent when it came to mating as compared to Romulans, but also knew that humans still wanted to 'connect' with other people. Atole's initial mistake was to think that she could have sex with this one human and get everything she needed. Such was not true. James would need some work and some time, but with his willingness to give, Tekri envisioned wrapping James around her finger in no time.

Some thoughts of guilt did arise when she thought of manipulating her thoughtful, considerate lover. But then again, she was Tal'Shiar, and it was her job to seduce and destroy. The guilt was fleeting.

As she rested her head upon her lover's chest, listening to the odd rhythmic thump of James' heartbeat, feeling the velveteen sheets and his warmth on her naked skin, breathing out byproduct sighs of relaxation, and feeling the heat of her own body radiate off as a after-effects of their lovemaking, Atole Tekri felt quite content. To have James' arm around her shoulders, cradling her gently while she relaxed on him felt peaceful and pleased.

It was a feeling Atole had to keep under control, lest she became too used to them. An odd paradox of being focused and distracted, doing her job yet throwing too much enjoyment into it.

James Corgan decided to break their silence, and said, "Atole… where did you learn that?"

"Learned what, James?" Tekri turned her head to James. From his waved, light blonde hair, trimmed short and combed meticulously, to his crystalline gray eyes that lost all their harshness and haunting fright to give way to a more gentle soul, to his chest tattooed with angelic beings and encroaching darkness in which the angels fought off, Tekri thought of James as a bridge between the wild rebellious and the definite gentleman. His muscles were not originally his own, for Tekri imagined a far skinnier youth made large and athletic by years of Starfleet physical training regiments. An odd, yet handsome young pup on the outside, hiding so much more (some, though she didn't know, was territory she dare not cross).

In true young, human fashion, James followed up his question. "You know… that thing… with your hips… while we were…"

Tekri traced her finger on the bridge of his forehead, "Romulan secret. We have a crude name for it. I don't think you want to hear it. What about when you bade me to be on top?"

James laughed, "We have a crude name for it too."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." "Reverse cowgirl." "Mechari vicegrip… roughly translated."

"Well… what can I say? That was good." "So were you."

Tekri and James tittered together, enjoying the moment, forgetting the rivalry they dared not speak out loud. Tekri's finger kept tracing up and down his forehead.

"This is so odd…" Tekri whispered, "A species without a forehead ridge." "Some humans call it plain." James said, "They can be rather… jealous of other species." Tekri cooed, feeling his forehead wrinkle, "Oh, it is not plain. You humans have the unique ability to wrinkle your foreheads." In surprise, James asked, "You can't?"

"No, I cannot." "Oh yeah? Prove it."

Tekri flexed her brows, up and down. Her birdlike forehead ridges shifted up and down, but the thickened cartilage did not allow the skin to wrinkle up. James looked upon her face in fascination, admiring the ridges and her razor sharp eyebrows move.

"I'll be damned." James breathed in amazement, never knowing how true his prophetic words were after the meeting between M'Kantu and tr'Khellian, "Not a wrinkle."

Then both of the lovers laughed. The weight of their respective assignments melted away, and true exploration began. Learning even the subtleties of their foreheads was fun, lighthearted and fascinating. Gone was the weight of what was at stake. A life, one she was going to take, one he had to protect, one he had to find out WHO. Then there was her life, the Tal'Shiar position she held, and what failure would bring on her. James in essence felt rotten to the core. He was betraying the trust and good name he fostered over the years, bedding with a Romulan slut of all things, to save said life (whomever that may be). Staying close, learning more about the woman than he cared to admit, James found himself wondering if it was worthwhile. Was it worthwhile to stay with Tekri, keep close, warranting the occasional sexual liason to find out whom she really is and what she was going after? It seemed a dangerous game of knives, and James sensed a stabbing in the works. The thought occurred to him that James should pull out, not see the seductress forever, before he was burned, killed, or stripped down to Ensign.

"Tekri…" James suddenly steeled himself, ready to shuck her off, "I still can't get over the fact that you drew a weapon on me." "Oh?" She sighed, faking offence.

"I just want to know why." Tekri responded, not a far stretch of the true in introspect, "I am an attaché. I have documents and secrets of the Romulan Star Empire. You are a security officer, a big… handsome man… wanting to learn my secrets." "Touche." James agreed, trying his best to squeeze out another lie (and feeling black and oily for doing so), "Rest assured, your secrets are safe. I won't betray you… I won't lie to you… I will never… ever… harm you." Tekri was a better detector of lies than that, and though it registered as bold, she kept silent for the sake of their night and her mission. "Alright. I will not draw a weapon on you again." James jested, faking a smile worthy of an actor, "Who said it was a bad thing. It was our first time, right? I made a lot of bold promises the day before, and that day we made love beside the whale tanks. How can I be sorry…" He choked back the words to contradict his romantic line, "…I have no regret about it. We shouldn't be sorry about enjoying ourselves. Maybe about how it affects our duty… but not that we shared each other and liked it." "You still worry about duty?" "Don't you?"

Pondering Corgan's point, Tekri replied, "I do."

Taking it as a subliminal cue, James said, "I can see how you can." Corgan slid under the sheets, hiding completely in their veil, eliciting a glance of curiosity from Tekri. She could only guess where James was going, for he used her entire body when they made love. A tickle to make her laugh on her leg, or a bite on her neck to make her sigh, or even brushes against her skin. No part of her was off limits to him.

Tekri giggled, "What are you doing?" "Page 76. Definitive Manual of the Intimate." Corgan's head popped out of the sheets, and Tekri found James right on top of her. Corgan's gentle, if pained and guilty smile, cheered her heart, and didn't cease her giggling. "Be right back." He said, as he dived back into the sheets.

"Hey… what are you doing?" Tekri wondered, "James? What are you…."

Then she stopped asking. Her voice found itself caught in her throat, as a wave of euphoria crept from between her legs. She sighed, gasping raspy breaths as she twitched and shifted.

"Ohh… keep reading." Tekri moaned, then squeaked in surprise.

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

The next morning, James Corgan marched into security a new man.

A guilty, bandit of a man, regretful of his actions. He was no stranger to what was being done with Tekri, and sometimes when he looked back at their night, he didn't care. But when he did care, the burden of his decisions wanted to crush him towards suicide.

But, he had to admit, a night with Tekri was wonderful. And not only that… it was going to save someone's life. Little to Tekri's knowledge, James became bait, willingly dangling himself as a juicy and helpless prize for the Romulan agent, and since it went as far as sex, the game became quite dangerous… but all the more rewarding.

His first stop at the security office was Lieutenant T'lan, and her team.

"Did you catch her?" James Corgan asked.

T'lan nodded, "2:00 hours. After you went to sleep. She went into your home console and used a codebreaker. She now has your code." "Did you change the code?" He asked, concerned.

T'lan confirmed, "I did."

"Good work T'lan." James patted his Vulcan subordinate on the shoulder, looking at T'lan's console and the surveillance work on Tekri from last night. His guilt magnified tenfold, knowing that he was about to entrap his lover. He hid his feelings with a venomous sting, and said, "We have that b*tch in our trap now."

“Home Sweet Home”

Cole Slaton - Rogue Squadron

The light was dim only partially bringing the cell out of its seemingly never ending darkness, he’d been dumped here, rather unceremoniously, after his trial. Court-Martial, it wasn’t the words officers generally like hearing and Cole was no different, he was just glad they weren’t at war or he’d be looking at a long drop and a swift stop with a noose around his neck.

His eyes were open staring up at the ceiling unmoving, unblinking, as if he could see through the bulkheads, conduits, the many levels of the starbase into space beyond. “Are you with the land of the living?” a familiar voice asked bringing him back into the cell, which in itself wasn’t the kindest of things to do.

“Near enough...” Cole whispered moaning as he forced himself up into a seated position. Major Daniel West in full-dress uniform stood the other side of the humming force field that prevented the young looking lieutenant from leaving. “Major...”

“I think we can dispense with the formalities Cole, at your trail was another matter... you knew that right?” It was his eyes that showed he didn’t want their friendship ended, and he though it already had. He quickly mirrored Cole’s smile quickly adding a sigh of relief of his own.

“Am I a free man?” he asked before quickly adding. “Or is my life still run by those bureaucratic asses at Starfleet Command?”

“The good news is they haven’t taken your wings...” He paused knowing that was what Cole was most concerned about; he’d known him too long to miss it. “... now the bad news... they’ve taken your bars, demoting you to Second Lieutenant.”

Cole nodded as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees sighing heavily. It was what he’d been expecting, frankly he’d thought it be worse.

&ldqu