"Patience"

The Commander watched his crew go about their business. This, the Command Center, the very pulsing brain of his mighty vessel seemed almost alive. It had taken much to secure this command - many years of planning an effort. But it was now his. And now, he had the ear of the queen. This current plan was his, from start to finish. It's success or failure would determine his future.

And in truth, to a degree, it was. His people had disdained the primitive form of technology favored by so many of the lesser races years and years ago. The smooth, chitinous surfaces were alive, though they had no soul. Vessels were grown, cultivated as carefully as a budding flower. Each different in it's own respect.

This was one of the mightiest his people had ever created. It would not be brought low by the Federation vessel as it's predecessors had. Their superiority and might would be fully proven, and the universe at large would understand that they were a galactic power. The Miranda would be dealt with. The others would deal with it's companion ship, the Galaxy. They had their own issues to resolve, and he would not hold that against them. These humans and their allies were a meddlesome people...

His thoughts were interrupted as an underling approached.

"Commander, sir." the youngling spoke, antennae twitching nervously. "You wish to be apprised when the Federation vessels arrived at the Breen homeworld."

"Yes, that's true." he said, looking to the young one expectantly.

"They..they have arrived."

"And how goes the deployment?" his eyes never moved from the screen, which shoed an image of the pristinely frozen nearby homeworld of the Breen.

"The devices will be fully placed within forty-eight hours, and ready for activation very shortly afterwards." was the quick reply.

The Adlan was well-informed, the Commander decided. He would spare him for his earlier hesitation. "Excellent news, Adlan. It pains me to rely on such ... Oddities. Our life forms were never meant to be combined with technology in such a manner, but even I must admit to their effectives. Instruct the technicians to complete their duties as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Commander." the Adlan responded, and began to walk away before performing an about face. "Commander, our allies also wish an update on our progress."

"Inform them, then." was the reply, as the Commander resumed his thoughtful stance.

Patrick Weber "Ray, when something asks if you are god, you say YES!"

Lt Cole Cantrell

Cantrell's quarters.

Splashing some water in his face, Cantrell looked at image in the mirror and grinned. He was a free man again. He felt a little bit disappointed. Freedom didn't have the quite the taste he had been hoping for. But that would come. Once he was off the ship he would vanish, slip into the shadier parts of society, maybe start smuggling or take up contract killing.

He twisted around just enough to see the bandage taped to his skin between his shoulderblades. That little white patch was the only telltale sign of his newly aquired freedom. His ace up the sleeve. Swiftly he ripped it off, revealing the thin scar Jaal had made in order to reach the datacore. A savage smile looked back at him in the mirror. Maybe it didn't taste as bad as he had first believed. He was free.

Cantrell grabbed a quick shower, going through his options. Getting off the ship wouldn't be too much of a problem as soon as it came back to a starbase again. Hell, he could probably make some sort of arrangement to get out whenever he wanted to. He would just have to feed Jordan or Eliathin some bullshit lie. For all they knew he couldn't lie. But both seemed to be intelligent people so that would have to be a last option.

Wrapping a towel around his waste the cyborg leaned heavily against the sink. He could feel the energy in his mind build up. He was not a man used to sitting still. Like his counterpart here in this universe he had spent his whole life going from one end of the galaxy to the other, usually with malice and pain in his wake. His neck cracked loudly as he rolled his head from side to side. There would not be any time to go to the holodeck. Besides, what would be the point? The holodeck was no challenge to him any longer.

Maybe an awaymission would do him good. If nothing else it would let him size everyone up. See what this universe was all about.

Taking the guns with him would be out of the question. He had a fairly good idea why Eliathin had picked him. If things got ugly, then there was no one onboard the Miranda that could match his combatskills. He was simply stronger, faster and could take far more beating than anyone onboard. Not to mention it would be a good time to get rid of him if that was what Elaithin and Jordan wanted. Too bad he no longer had to do what Eliathin told him.

The cyborg grinned savagely again and put pulled the uniform on. Man it was ugly! As soon as this was over and done with he'd replicate some of his old gear. How the hell did these people expect to make an impression on others when dressed in pyjamas? A duster, some bodyarmor, holsters and his guns. Now that would be fighting in style. Not this pansy do-good fighting.

Since getting released from sickbay after fighting his counterpart, Cantrell had spent a lot of time studying the file of the man he was supposed to be. A Starfleet Intelligence operative. A full combat cyborg. The more he had read about him the more he despised him. The man was nothing more than a brutal beast, fuelled by a hatred he no longer understood. A weak man, but Cantrell also understood why he had lost. That was something they had in common. Unnaturally strong and violent survivalinstincts. Every being had a survival instinct, but with Cantrell it was stronger, more primitive. It caused his mind to think clearer, made him deadlier than ever when his life was on the line. Still the two was not alike.

To Cantrell, his mirrorverse counterpart from the USS Miranda was a weakling. A coward who refused to accept what had been done to him. Instead he let his inner demons take control. But like any animal a very dangerous opponent when pushed into a corner. Just like himself. They would meet again, but then he would be the one setting the rules.

He looked forward to that day. Defeats left a bitter taste in his mouth, but for now he would settle with planning his revenge while waiting for the moment to get the hell of the Mir. Checking one last time he had everything he needed, or rather could bring without getting to much attention from the Breen, Cantrell tapped his badge to hail Commander Jordan. It would not do to leave the ship without getting instructions. Not that they mattered. But it was what the real Cantrell would have been forced to do.

"Cantrell to Commander Jordan." his dark voice rasped through the intercom while a sly smile formed on his face. Showtime.

"The One with Two Commanding Enemies"

Ten Forward...

Jordan moved through ten forward, pausing to get some fresh fruit before she moved into the dining area. She caught site of Rayna O'Grady on her own, looking crestfallen and wholly, depressed. Jordan sighed softly; she'd heard the rumours of everything that was going on and wasn't quite sure what to believe, but, Rayna looked like she was about to jump out a window or crawl under the table and cry. This was looking to be a new role for Jordan, an irony she certainly appreciated as she moved toward the woman's table.

"Mind if I join you?" Jordan asked. "Everything else is pretty well filled." She offered a small smile.

Rayna had been avoiding Jordan and Arel since they reminded her of what wasn't going to be. She looked up but didn't smile back, "It's a free ship. Knock yourself out."

Jordan sat, despite Rayna's rather cold reply. "I'm sorry about everything, Rayna," Jordan stated. "About Mike and about the baby. I know how that last one is, it can't be easy for you, especially with everything else going on."

Annoyed, "Look, I said you can sit down here but don't start acting like you care. It's a little late for that. Besides, what would you know about losing a baby?" Rayna sighed.

Jordan sighed mentally. So it was going to be like that, was it? Well, no one said this would be easy. But. Jii was always encouraging her to make friends. Or at least, make peace, with other members of the officer staff. "I lost two pregnancies before we managed to keep this one," Jordan said, softly, organizing the fruit on her plate by color: strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, Bajoran shanae fruit (a bright purple color), oranges, and peaches, in that order, on a round. Not even Jerri knew about the miscarriages, and she'd told Jii reluctantly. But Rayna would know; she'd be able to empathize even if she didn't particularly show that. "And this one... it's still up in the air. It could go to term, my body could kill it tomorrow." She looked up at the security officer, managed a small, sad smile toward the other woman. "So I understand... and I do care."

She and Jordan may have had their differences but Rayna wasn't cold hearted. She was surprised and felt somewhat bad. Rayna waved over the waiter, rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache and then looked at Jordan, "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Rayna ordered another drink. There was an awkward silence between them until the waiter approached, "I'll take another one of these." The waiter was going to say something but held his tongue and walked away. Rayna thought about what it would have been like to carry a baby for so long then to lose it. As a mother, she felt for her predicament, "I hope everything works out for you." The drink came and Rayna stared into her glass.

"Yeah, we'll see I guess," Jordan said, watching Rayna. She looked so... sad and broken. Her hair wasn't as shiny as it used to be and the creases of her face were deep and shadowed. She had bags under her eyes. If she was sleeping, it wasn't well. "Do you, ah, need to talk or anything?" Jordan questioned. "Or someone to help with the kids? I know you and I aren't exactly on the best of terms, hell... let's call it as it is: we hate each other, right? I mean, maybe we've never said it in so many words, but... there's definitely no real love between us, under normal circumstance. And... well, I'm sure there's a hundred people crawling over themselves to be your friend and help you out and I bet those in counseling are just drooling over this, right? " Jordan smiled slightly. "But I'm here if you need anything, okay? Like I said, I know a bit how it feels, and... I promise not to like you any more than I already did, how's that?" She offered a Cheshire-grin, though it slowly melted as she watched Rayna drink from the glass.

Rayna couldn't stand all this niceness spilling out of Jordan but on the other hand, she started to doubt if maybe she had her all pegged wrong. She wasn't even sure if she really hated her. After all, what did Jordan do to her besides stick up for her husband that day in the brig? She wasn't the one who had anything to do with Jii's decisions to have her step down. He did that all on his own.

Rayna had two choices. She could get up and walk away or stay and try to make up with this woman who seemed so set on winning her over. Rayna decided to stay. Mike had been trying to get her to make friends on this ship but Rayna didn't want anything to do with friends. It took Mike's disappearance to make her realize how important it was to have friends. Rayna swallowed her pride or it was the liquid in the glass of hers causing her to become soft. Either way, Rayna broke her silence...

"I don't hate you." She took a big gulp of her drink, "I don't even know you. My fault, I guess. I've known Jii for a long time. Even served under him on the Galaxy back in our Security days. When I found out that I was going to be working with him again, I thought it would be like old times and it was...at first. Then everything went downhill from there. Things changed and then you came along and Jii seemed to change too. Now, I feel like we've been traded in for a new shoe or something."

Rayna cleared her throat, then took another drink. She fought back the tears, "I guess I resent you. Hell, maybe I am even envious of you, I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything right now except that Mike has been gone for three months and Jii hasn't said one thing to me about him and he was supposed to be Mike's friend."

Rayna finished off the last of her drink and waved the waiter over for another one. He hesitated but Rayna reminded him that she was off duty and for him to keep his place. She then looked at Jordan, "Now you know."

"Maybe..." Jordan began. "Maybe he just doesn't know what to say?" she asked. "Especially since he was Mike's friend and he is your friend, too. And it was such a hard decision for him, asking you to step down." Jordan took a slow, deep breath, and released it just as slowly. "It just began to seem like you had different priorities, maybe and..." She was encroaching on dangerous territory and she shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't hate you either, Rayna, I just sort of figured that you hated me and I would return the favour. I guess I saw it more as an adversarial lack of a relationship than anything else; not like a James Mitchell thing or whatever." She chuckled softly. "I mean hell, kinda what you were saying, maybe I was a little envious. You know how women are. Between you and Heather Snachez and several other women, it's like Jii has a half dozen big sisters looking to beat me up.

"Besides all that... I entered into the senior staff under different circumstances than most, as the captain's girlfriend at the time, and I don't know. The reception wasn't exactly warm." She smiled thinly. "People had me pegged as something, who was I to even try to prove them wrong?"

"We finally agree on something. I know what people think about me but they are completely wrong. I gave up a long time ago trying to convince them otherwise."

Rayna always had this reputation of being a strong, tough broad because that is what she thought they expected of her as a security guard. Only now, people were finding out that she was far from that person she once portrayed. That wall she kept up was knocked down the day the search for Mike was called off and she had to face that he might not ever come back.

"I guess the secret is out now. I see how people look at me. They all have this look of pity." She took a drink once more then when she put it down, she looked into it once more, "Poor Rayna, poor pathetic Rayna." She shakes her head then gulps down the last of the drink.

"Hey, it's better than some ways they could look at you," Jordan said. "At least they don't look at you like you're psychotic. There's always a silver lining. I've been in intensive therapy for a month and change now, so..." She shrugged. "Don't know how much it's really helped, but hell, whatever. We all have issues. Some of us just have different reasons for it. Some of us have more concrete reasons for it. But we cope. We get better. And sometimes we have to rely on other people to do it and give up giving a shit what they think about us because, you know what I've found? Those of us, like you and me, for instance, who pretend we couldn't possibly care less about what everyone else thinks and says? We're the ones who care the most. I just... I've done a lot of stupid shit in my like, Rayna, tried to cope in a lot of stupid ways, and they only hurt in the long run. Alcohol, drugs, food, starving, cutting, sex... it just makes it worse, so... if you need anything. At all. Even someone to be angry with. Or... to commiserate with. Or to talk through the whatever with. Or hell, sit there and be silent with. Let me know. Alright? We don't have to become the best of friends or anything. But maybe we can be two people who know what some really shitty stuff feels like."

Another glass was brought over, "Maybe. And you're right about one thing, alcohol doesn't help in the long run. In fact, nothing can. But it makes me feel better for the moment." She started on the next glass, "I just hope to God that you never have to experience the loss of your husband. Losing a child is bad enough but losing both at the same time?" She didn't need to finish her sentence. Jordan's expression said that she made her point.

It was obvious that Rayna was plastered. She spoke with sarcasm, "So, now that we have this new found friendship, what ever shall we talk about?"

Jordan took the glass out of Rayna's hand pretty easily and dropped it -- threw it more likely -- onto the floor, where it shattered as she stood. "Getting you the hell out of here before you fuck up anything that you still have going for you," Jordan stated, taking Rayna's arm with a strength surprising from someone who was as stick thin as the Intelligence Officer. "Don't even think of protesting, Rayna, or I'll use my top-secret intelligence immobilisation techniques and drag you, unconscious, to your quarters."

Unconsciousness, that was exactly what she was trying to achieve. It would be a hell of a lot better. She yanked her arm from Jordan's hold, "Top secret intel...intel immo something my ass. I see, you think you can push me around because you are married to the Captain."

Everyone was watching as this went on, "For your F.Y.I. if you must know, I can't fuck up anything more because everything is fucked up already. So go ahead and do your mumbo jumbo shit or leave me the hell alone."

"Oh get the hell over yourself!" Jordan exclaimed, grabbing the woman again, firmly, and practically dragging her out of the cantina which was, frankly, a feat. "You haven't fucked anything up, you've just let shit take over your life, and if you think Jii would touch this with a ten foot poll, you don't know him at all like you think you do. So stop acting like a child; I swear that Toryl is older than you're acting right now." Jordan cursed as Rayna O'Grady became heavier. She vowed then and there that this savior thing, it just wasn't for her. Rayna was the last one. Jerri was one thing, but this was the only stranger intervention she was going to do. Ever. This was it. "You know, Rayna, you make me look like a happy and pleasant drunk."

They stumbled and Jordan turned her ankle, cursing again.

Rayna fell, amazingly managing not to take Jordan down with her. She noticed all eyes watching them, "What are all of you staring at?" She then looked over at Jordan, "Damn it. Just stay away from me Jordan." Rayna stands up, a little unsteady on her feet, "Or something really bad will happen to you too."

Rayna started to leave only to be stopped by security who had been called. Rayna stared at one of the men under her and sighed, "Great, just f*n great."

Jordan glanced to her side and another security officer stood beside her. "The best intentions," Jordan muttered.

"Commanders, you're going to have to come with us, for causing disturbance and public intoxication." The Lieutenant looked first at Jordan and then at Rayna. "Don't make us have to force you."

------ The Brig ------

Jordan sighed and leaned her head back. Jii was on the Starbase in meetings. This was just another in a long line of... but this time, it really had been best intentions. She hadn't meant anything to happen. She glanced over at Rayna who was laying on the bed.

"I'll take the blame for this," she said to the other woman. "It's fine. We'll come up with a story... I started buying you drinks because I know the feeling and then I said something and you got mad and I got mad back... We were so loud, the witnesses wouldn't be able to tell one way or the other who started it or who said what... You have too much on your plate right now. But you should get help, Rayna."

"I need help, pshaw, I have plenty. Shinta won't leave me the hell alone. I think she enjoys the power trip or something."

"Huh. Maybe she does, I hadn't thought of that before," Jordan mussed. "I probably would if I was able to call someone crazy and whatever..."

Rayna sat up, "Look, I appreciate the fact that you are willing to take the heat but I don't need you on my conscience too. I'll take what I deserve. Besides, your husband expects this behavior from me. Plus, you have to live with him, I don't." Rayna laid back down with a sigh.

"Ha. This is true. He expect it from me too, though. AND he has to live with me, not with you. He'd be easier on me." She smiled slightly. "Rayna. I don't know what Shinta's intentions are, or anyone else's. I've all but given up trying to speak for other people and reach conclusions of their ends because it just drives me crazy and--" She paused, closing her eyes a minute, putting her hand to her forehead. "Oh fuck. Can I get some water?!" she shouted toward the forcefield. "And some biscuits! Please?!"

Rayna smiled as she shook her head and laughed to herself. She wasn't a stranger to morning sickness and she could tell that Jordan was suffering majorly from it. If Rayna could only count the many times she spent sleeping in the restroom on the floor next to the toilet. She, at one point, had made a nice bed in there. She remembered the days when she couldn't even lift her head without hurling. With the twins, she didn't experience it as much but it still was the awful part of being pregnant...

Her smile was replaced with a sad expression. She looked like she was going to cry. Right now, she'd be getting just past the nausea and starting to enjoy the pregnancy. She looked over at Jordan and felt envious once again of her. She was a reminder of what wasn't going to be and this made her feel empty inside. Rayna got up with a loud sigh or more like a growl and moved towards the forcefield, "Hey, butthead, I'm still your boss and I rank higher than you so either get this girl what she asks for or when I get out of here, you will be wishing you had."

Rayna stood there for a long moment then threw her hands in the air, "Well, I tried." Putting her hands on her hips, "Maybe if I throw myself into the forcefield..."

Commander K. Jordan Elaithin
USS Miranda RPG

and

Commander Rayna Lamar O'Grady
AS/TO USS Miranda RPG

"Mumbling"

Ensign Paulo DiMillo,
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer

Paulo sat at his control station. He was still unsure of what happened that night between he and Cora. Though right now was not the time for thinking of that.

Paulo looked down at his panel and read over the information he had. This whole situation with the Breen had him jumping through hoops trying to gather information. Paulo still didn't understand why the Breen wanted to talk. All the information he had sitting in front of him didn't tell him a frikkin thing.

Paulo took the PADD from the crewman walking by and looked at it. It was just the latest data feed from SFI, and Paulo would look at it later.

"Why?" Paulo asked himself as he looked over the information he had for the 20th time. "The whole Breen system is messed up to start with. Considering that it should not exist, it was stable and in no danger. There has to be something else," Paulo kept mumbling as he kept looking over the information. Something just didn't fit. -- Major Pete "Aceman" Shaw Hazard Team XO/Hazard Six USS Miranda-B

Ensign Paulo DiMillo
Assistant Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy

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

Major Wes Hammond,
Rogue Squadron CO/Rogue 1,
USS 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 Pran,
Squadron Commander,
Breen Triad Lead
Gravnor

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

It had taken a brief moment after his molecules reassembled for it to happen, but there it was in it's overwhelming presence. The cold. Though it was obvious that the Breen had made accomodations for them to be present within the hostile enviroment that they normally existed, one thing they couldn't eliminate was the cold.

Surprisingly, it didn't have the psychological effect on Tyten as he had thought that it would. No complaints, no snide remarks, not even a passing joke crossed his mind. He simply stood at attention staring at the Breen delegation standing before them.

Wes was considerably more casual about their appearance. Dressed in his flight jacket, Wes took a far more casual stance on the platform. The penetrating cold was going to be a nuisance, but not one that he was unaccustomed to. His native Corvallis had unpredictable and often frosty weather.

Jasmine shivered slightly as her body attempted to adjust to the temperature change. Of all temperature extremes, cold seemed to bother her the most. She had been born and raised in a temperate to jungle-like environment - even after all her years away from home and in Starfleet she was far more comfortable in those climates. Her flight jacket was welcome warmth, but she suppressed the urge to close the jacket in front of the Breen. It was too much of an admission of weakness, at least she suspected it would be in their eyes. As the only female on the observation team, she figured that she would be one of the ones watched the most.

"Follow." A single, solitary Breen stood awaiting the arrival of the Federation 'observation teams', its khaki garb devoid of any markings previously recorded in earlier encounters or recovery. The form-fitting uniform was riddled with infused overlays of cooling arrays. Cybernetic implants in its palms were partially visible as it gestured the general direction of a dark corridor it passed under.

"You are to remain in the assigned sections upon our arrival at the designated coordinates." The universal translators, affected by the intense cold, were hesitant in delivering the speech. The humanoids breaths hung misty in the air even as they cast suspicious glances at each other while stepping off the platform.

"Failure to comply will result in immediate and severe consequences. Termination of life signs would be imminent."

Ramirez had to try as hard as he could to quell the urge to leap off the Transporter pad and throw their Breen hosts a few right hooks. He had been after an away mission for so long he didn't want to get himself grounded, he wanted to be able to put the past behind him, like the Breen were trying to do. 'But I'll be watching them,' he thought, 'If they give me any reason to, I'll knock 'em down so fast they won't know what's hit 'em'.

[Bioscan filters complete. Processing results... Processing...] The Breen Web, encompassing all the alien crew as they were joined with the core as its central processing node, shared the information throughout the interned crew. Thot Pran, interlaced by neural interface, took on the vocal component of the essence of the core.

[Nanotechnology detected. Infractions extracted from subject while in matter stream. Technology routed to development for further testing. Continue]

"Any weapons you have carried have been extracted or nullified during the matter stream transport. This will be your only infraction warning. Compliance." Under the overly large protuberant helmet, the voice, even though mechanical as it emitted from the translators, still foreshadowed an emotion of resentment. Its helmet shook with each syllabic chitter and whistle in emphasis of points that could be construed as anger.

Jasmine suppressed the urge to check for the multi-tool that she usually carried in her jacket pocket. It's familiar weight was gone, even though it was not necessarily a weapon. At least she had several back on the Galaxy, but she couldn't help the momentary resentment that flowed through her veins at the realization that it was gone. She mentally thanked her lucky stars that she had dealt with some of the more trying individuals in show business for many years before she encountered the Breen. Then again, he made Lola Porter - a particularly unpleasant publicist - seem to be a mere lamb in comparison.

As one of her friends used to say in a sarcastic voice, 'Ah just FEEL the love.'

Mark Mnementh's expression remained stoic as he considered the implications of the Breen officer's statement that any weapons had been extracted or nullified during the matter stream transport. Was it bravado? Was it a bluff? Had they detected the nanites and removed them? How thorough was the Breen's transporter and filtering technology? Could they have gotten all the nanites? Could only a handful have escaped? Maybe a few that had bonded to the inside surface of the capsule in Mark's molar remained? But if the Breen had succeeded in removing the nanites it was most unfortunate because those nanites would have found their way into the Breen's communications system and transmitted a homing beacon and a warning to the Miranda and the Galaxy should this observation mission head south. But if just a few somehow did remain, would they be enough to send a coherent message to the Miranda and Galaxy? Of course, the matter was moot now. There was no way to tell without trying the coded sequence and releasing the nanites, and unfortunately, warning had been served. Lucky for Mark, only the coded tooth tapping sequence that would have released the nanites could activate their programming. Without activation, they were simply inert, undifferentiated micro machines. Thus, there was no way for the Breen to discover their programming or intent. Mark smiled. His parents would have been proud of that detail. Should the Breen ask Mark why he possessed the nanites he could simply explain that they were a dental treatment. Now the only question remaining, in Mark's mind at least, was whether or not the contents of his physician's medical kit were intact. But be that as it may, now the away team was truly on its own.

As the crew were led throughout the dimly lit corridors, a condensation formed even as they shivered in the glacial temperature. Un-noticed by the forward-facing Starfleet officers, a green glyph glinted on the array of the Breen who had become their unofficial tour guide.

[Shar'or has been imprisoned. We have been betrayed. Initiating detainment and interment procedures.] A pair of Breen security guards fell into step behind the crew, disruptor rifles held at waist level and pointed directly at the backs of the Starfleet crew. The lead Breen halted, turning to face the humanoids as they in turn faltered in their silent step. Two more like security guards fell into position behind him.

"You have betrayed our trust. We sent over our observers in good faith, and you in turn take them prisoner. This will not be tolerated. You will be terminated and your ships destroyed."

~Fuck...~ Hammond thought to himself. The crew of the two ships knew better than to do something like that with so many of their own onboard the Breen vessels. This had to be a bluff. It was too unsubtle.

"Woah," Jasmine said, stepping forward, "Let's not be so hasty here. Why don't you tell us what happened and we can handle this in a..." She was interrupted by a sharp prod with a weapon.

Ramirez felt the weapon against his back, he still tried to resist that urge he had to release some frustration on whoever it was who held that disruptor to him. It was common sense, the fact that he would be killed by one of the other Breen Guards, that stopped him from doing so.

~What the hell?!?~ Mark thought. Did he miss something. They had just beamed over. Neither Captain would pull a stunt like that on an invited diplomatic mission.

[Shar'or has transmitted her command codes. Belay countermeasures. Continue with pre-planned disposition of the observers.]

"There is hope for you yet, Starfleet. Your release of our boarding party was a sign of intelligence and forethought. We will continue on our present course of action. Thot Pran awaits your presence in his control node." Without waiting for a reply, he again turned his back to them and stepped into an access chute. The five guards interspersed themselves throughout the human chain as they climbed the well.

Wes shook his head. That had been a little heavy handed a show of force. He'd have to ask Elaithin about it later.

Heloi suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. It was always entertaining when the self-styled 'bad guys' decided to insult the 'heroes' of the story. Any moment now, she was expecting a Doctor Doom, or some other super-villian to arrive and explain just how evil they were and just what horrendous and easy to escape death was planned for them.

Jasmine thought it was rather entertaining how much reality mimicked fiction, especially when it came to the generic Breen. They were the classic bad guy. Bad tailors, raspy metallic voices, overblown sense of self - check, check, check.

'Clever,' the Betazoid thought as the Breen separated the Starfleet officers, preventing conversation or coordination. Even though they were technically on the ship as a symbol of peace, she could not help her urge to regard her visit as one of war. Cold, the war might be. But war all the same. She kept her eyes open and scanning as they climbed, categorizing what she saw with both a fighter pilot's and engineer's regard. Information was always useful...and if they did attempt to keep them separated well, there were ways around that.

Tyten walked up to Jasmine and whispered so only she could hear. "What the heck was that all about? One minute, they're ready to blow our heads off, the next we've made a 'wise choice'? Kind of gives you that ol' warm place in the heart to know that we're dealing with a race capable of gutting us clear through that has a multiple personality disorder."

The trouble with their orders to be diplomatic was that they couldn't guarentee that the other side was going to abide by the same rules.

Mark approached Tyten and Jasmine from behind and putting his hands on both their shoulders', inserted himself between them. "Just stay cool," he said.

"Uh, hello," Tyten whispered. "Have you checked the temperature in here lately?"

Mark supressed a chuckle, but his bright green eyes danced with amusement. "It's probably just a test. We're observing the Breen, they're observing us. I bet they're gauging how we're going to react if provoked. What we do here and how we react may be reflected in the Breen government's dealings with our Captains."

"That makes sense," Jasmine whispered.

"Right," Mark agreed. "So be alert, stay confident and use logic. If the Breen threaten us, this mission heads south instantly. So if the Breen aren't ready for swift and severe retaliation, we are all probably pretty safe."

"I think it's safe to say, Doctor, that that's generally a good goal," Jasmine nodded slightly.

Wes, who'd been standing on the other side of Jasmine, leaned over, deciding he'd heard enough. "Everyone cut the chatter. We're no doubt being observed by security recorders, so even your whispers are suspect. Let's put our best face forward and try to act like diplomats.

Ramirez could hear the conversation, just about, and to have the higher ranking officers saying that this mission could go down the pan at any moment was something that he took comfort in. If it did go arse over tit, then he knew that he'd certainly be up for the fight that would present itself. He just wasn't sure how much faith he put in the Breen to avert that situation.

The climb upwards took several long minutes. The cramped corridor, reminiscent of a Jefferies tube at a 45 degree angle, suddenly widened as a port juncture opened above the leading Breen.

Thot Pran, ensconced in his neural interface centered within the mist enshrouded central node, elevated his steel-layered seat so as he could bear witness to the visiting crew. An opaque shell had been encased over him, to keep his form from the Federation-types beady eyes. His helmet was firmly in place though, outside the chamber his body resided in. Dozens of monofilament fibers extended from his headpiece, only noticeable by glints of the freezing mist as ice particles came in contact with them.

"Stay clear from the consoles. Do not touch anything. Any queries can be directed to Rey'an." Rey'an upturned one palm up, close to his side, indeference to his identification. "Arrival at Breen in 42 of your Earth minutes."

"Thank you, Thot Pran," Wes said in the Breen's native language, though he suspected that the pronunciation was somewhat off. Given the differences in their vocal structure, it was a hard language to master. Finally those classes at the academy had paid off. Turning back to his group, he motioned for them to spread out across the bridge. "You heard him. Keep your hands to yourselves." The Breen would appreciate the reiteration.

"The New Security Officer"

By:
Ensign Adora Watkins

Adora had gotten aboard the Galaxy when they came to Starbase 212. She was nervous about being onboard, since this was her first posting fresh out of the academy. All of her stuff had already been taken to her quarters, so she was all set to meet up with the Chief of Security and get her duty assignment. As she walked through the halls, she kept catching little bits of peoples conversations about the Breen and them teaming up the Miranda for this mission. It was all quite a bit for her to understand. When she finally got to the Security Chief's office, she knocked on the door hoping they were there so she could talk to them.

OOC: Hope this is okay for my first posting. Just wanted to say hi to everyone and will be up for JP's at anytime.

"May the Best Pilot Win"

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Vanguard Squadron Commander,

Ensign Elijah Faraal,
Flight Controller

Ensign Sh'laran,
Flight Controller

Ensign Miramon Terrick,
Flight Controller

Rex entered the Flight Control department's briefing room shaking his head slightly. Galaxy was, at present, without a senior pilot, and the Captain had... requested.. That he oversee that department until a suitable chief was found.

Ass such, one of his many duties was pilot evaluations. The three officers waiting on him were some of the best pilots on the ship, and two of them had only made it aboard just before the orders recalling everyone from leave had come. Ensign Sh'laran, an Andorian, had an.. Interesting background. Ensign Miramon, a Bajoran, was a former resistance fighter like so many of his race. And Ensign Faraal had been aboard Galaxy for some time already, though he was often the quiet type. Faraal was also one of the pilots aboard ship who were on Vanguard's 'fill-in' roster - pilots rated on the Bonzai class of Starfighter that could pitch a hand when needed.

"Good afternoon, Ensigns." the Lieutenant said, leaning on the table. "Mister Sh'laran, Mister Miramon, let me take this opportunity to welcome you aboard the Galaxy."

The Andorian's antennae twitched in mild amusement as he leaned back in his chair, putting down the PADD of star charts. "You're sure that this is a ship, right? Last I remembered, starbases weren't even this big..."

Miramon couldn't stifle the resulting chuckle. "It's not quite that big. Last time I checked, a Freedom class starbase has 690 decks, while a Spacedock would have 1200 decks. On a ship of 42 decks, I hardly think a Galaxy class constitutes a Starbase. I, for one, would not wish to try and pilot a Starbase. They don't tend to fit them with engines."

The Trill raised an eyebrow, though he certainly agreed with the assessment.

Sh'laran turned slowly to him, eyes aglow with amusement. "Someone else want to explain to this guy where I come from?"

Miramon shrugged. He wasn't really interested in the background - they had the briefing to focus on. With the situation aboard ship, now was not the time to play around with histories, false pretenses and arguments over knowledge and experience.

"I'd rather we got on with the briefing. I can review your service record later, if that would perhaps improve things, but as it is, I'm sure the Lieutenant has better things to do than listen to us banter."

Corran chuckled at that. "True enough." he said, and placed the PADD down behind him. "Here's the deal. You three are the top-rated non-starfighter pilots aboard this ship. With Lieutenant Savoie's departure, the Captain has asked me to appraise all of your performances, and make a recommendation as to which of you will be suitable to be the new Chief and Assistant Chief of the Department. Until that decision is made, though, you'll report to me. Any questions?"

Miramon shook his head. He figured the situation wouldn't be too clear cut - heck, this was a Galaxy class ship they were talking about. "No sir."

"Well then." Corran smiled. "Let the contest begin."

"Hunt Club" Part 1 of 2

[Backpost]

(Occurs just before the recall from SB 212)

Principle Characters

Lt. Commander Taalis Jaxom
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

Starbase 212
Level 71
Detwiller's Antique Weapons

While Taalis didn't' feel 100% to be leaving the ship, she needed to just not see the same corridors and faces for a few.

Out of habit, she started perusing the stores and one in particular set her eyes to glittering. An antique store specializing in weapons of bygone days. Considering she'd picked up a scimitar and spear that had originated on her birthworld, she was definitely interested if she could find a mate to the scimitar.

Without a second thought she headed on in.

****

Starbase 212
Level 71
Scaring the passersby

Victor found visiting Starbases, like visiting Risa or one of the other traditional leave planets, an exercise in pointlessness. They were jammed full of people that had no experience in dealing with something like him in abstract, and less in dealing with it in person. Most simply fled - blindly or not - when he passed by, although there was always the odd Klingon or Nausican that reflexively reached for a weapon to fight back with.

The latter was why he always avoided taking leave. He had no desire to kill someone - or be killed, which was always a possibility in a fight - simply for walking down a corridor. That simply wasn't a valid reason for most circumstances, at least not to him. Death was serious, not to be given - or received - for frivolous reasons. Monster he might be, killer and predator he certainly was, but carelessly casual about his work he wasn't.

He wouldn't be here at all, in fact, were it not for two reasons. The first was simple enough: Angelienia. She'd been trying to see him for the last three days, ever since she'd gotten someone to explain what had happened to D'Tinya to her - he assumed it to be O'Rourke at one of their coffee klatch get-togethers - for the purported reason of 'helping him through things.'

He'd be damned if he was going to hide in his quarters from the woman, and had taken the opportunity to leave when she was called out to be part of some fighter exercise in the ship's graveyard with the rest of Vanguard Squadron. Even with the stares and the running, it was better here, at least for a time.

The second reason was more personal, though he doubted that any of his shipmates would understand that: So'ka had messaged him that there was an antique weapons dealer aboard the Starbase that had a chemical propulsion rifle for sale that he claimed was a 'Krieghoff .617' and had wondered if there was a connection because of Victor's rifle back in storage on the Galaxy.

That would have been enough to get Victor out of his room even if Angelienia wasn't trying to get into it. There was only one Krieghoff gun-making family - his - and no Krieghoff had made a rifle in .617 caliber in the last 300 years, which meant that the weapon was either a fake - most likely - or a true antique - far less likely. One way or the other, he'd find out.

He checked the data on the wall against the address So'ka had given him, realized that he was just around the corner from the shop, and smiled, the expression making a pair of ensigns on leave turn abruptly and head the opposite way. A few steps and he could see the shop - Detwiller's - and the window displaying a collection of antique hand weapons that interested him not at all. Three more steps, and he was in the doorway, waiting as his eyes adjusted.

****

Starbase 212
Level 71
Detwiller's Antique Weapons

Taalis had been perusing some of the Andorian tricrossbows, and had just picked up a rather nicely balanced firearm. She thought it might be a rifle or shotgun, always got those two confused.

She felt the presence before hearing the door open, and raised an eyebrow. Something about it was much like a psi's calling upon their ability for added 'oomph', but far too subtle to be a psi.

Intrigued, she turned around calmly and looked to see who it was.

Victor nodded to the woman at the counter, glanced at the rifle in her hands and dismissed any possibility that it had been the one So'ka had seen. "I'll wait," he said with a frown. "It may take a while."

Taalis set the rifle down, still watching Victor with a raised eyebrow.

"Please, go ahead. I'm looking for something more hands on."

Victor nodded and stepped up to the counter as the nervous clerk eyed him, one finger near the store's 'panic button' to Station Security. "Y-yes, sir?" the man asked warily.

"Chemical propulsion rife. Terran. Double barrel. Top break action. Caliber .617 Krieghoff."

The clerk relaxed slightly. "Ah... yes, sir, we have a rifle of that description. Very valuable piece. Let me call it up on the holodisplay here and..."

"No."

"S-sir?" The clerk's hand was back at the panic button.

Victor's frown deepened. "No holograms. I want to see the rifle."

"Ahh.. that's a valuable piece, sir," the clerk essayed carefully. "We don't normally..."

"Bring it out." Victor's voice was flat, without emotion, but as unyielding as tritanium. "I'll wait."

The clerk gulped, looked towards Taalis, and then nodded once and scurried back in to the back of the store. "I'll... I'll be right back, s-sir."

Victor watched him leave, frown undimmed, and glanced over at the store's other occupant. "Longer than I thought. Sorry."

"Not a problem," Taalis smiled, showing fang, "I've just never been a projectile weapon sort." A wave of her hand sent a tulwar gliding off the wall and into her hand, "Now something like this...now one can properly hunt with this or a good spear."

"Depends on what you hunt - and how." Victor appeared unconcerned by the telekinetic display. "Terran lion, yes, the Masai hunted them with short spears for centuries. Cappellan Power Cat... no. Not with hand weapons."

"It's all in the technique.", Taalis smiled, "Anything is possible with a hand weapon."

Victor frowned and looked at her. "No. There's at least one animal that can't be taken that way, and a good many that shouldn't be, not if things are supposed to be equal."

"Equal is meeting fang to fang and claw to claw," Taalis said, now starting to rather enjoy this discussion, "Ranged weapons put a buffer of safety in that takes from the immediacy of the hunt."

"Any fool can stand off and start shooting from a hundreds of meters away with a rifle until they hit something, especially if their target is a herdbeast of some kind," Victor replied. "That's not hunting, that's not real. For it to be real you have to be on foot, in the bush, and hunt something that's hunting you back in its territory. One predator hunting another. Live or die. That's real." He turned towards the counter. "For that you can't use just any rifle, you need a weapon designed for the task."

The nervous clerk scurried out of the store's recesses, an oblong metal case in his hands. He set it down and fumbled the latches open. "H-here you are, s-sir."

Victor looked into the open case, frowned a bit more, and reached inside it to lift out the rifle.

The weapon he withdrew looked nothing like the other rifles in the shop's displays to Taalis. It had two barrels laid side-by-side, no magazine or cocking system, and no signs of any mechanism to cycle the action - or anything that looked like an action for that matter, just two external hammers, one on the outside of each barrel. It was crafted with clean, simple lines; the barrels a dark metallic blue except for spots where wear had polished it down, and the wood of the stock a dark chestnut brown.

Victor turned the weapon over in his hands several times, stopped to examine places on it closely, and finally worked some control out of sight to Taalis that caused the barrels to hinge down where they joined the receiver, exposing the interior of the barrels which gave Taalis an idea about the size of the ammunition the weapon must fire.

Victor examined the weapon in this configuration for another minute, and then snapped it closed and lifted it up to his shoulder to sight down the barrel at a point on the back wall out of line with either Taalis or the clerk. "Where's your range?" he asked abruptly, without having lowered the weapon.

"Just to the l-left, s-sir," the clerk pointed. "But we don't have any ammunition for the weapon..."

"I brought my own."

"E-excuse me, sir?"

"I brought my own," Victor repeated as he lowered the rifle and hooked it over one arm in a casual gesture that bespoke of long practice and reached into his jacket to withdraw two rounds of metal-cased ammunition of a size that Taalis thought larger than strictly necessary for any weapon.

"Ahh... This is a very valuable item, s-sir," the clerk began. "I don't know if..."

Victor's frown darkened and he leaned forward, the indefinable sense of menacing presence surrounding him magnifying to push at the suddenly white-faced clerk hard enough to make the man take a step back. "Open the range," he repeated in a low growl that had more in common with a tiger's rumble than a human's words.

The clerk turned without another word and ran to the range's door to start keying in a series of commands.

The sense of presence emanating from Victor had pushed out to fill the shop and press against Taalis with an almost palpable force while he spoke to the clerk, and it maintained itself as he turned slightly towards her and spoke. "Two shots and I'll know. Then I'll be out of your way."

The presence wrapping around Taalis felt familiar in a way, almost comforting. But that could've been from what aftermemories from her still fairly recent situation. "I was rather enjoying our discussion of hunting. Even thinking of challenging you to a display of ability on one of the holodecks here."

He looked at her for a moment, and then shook his head. "I don't have a reason to kill you, Commander. I don't hunt sentients without one."

"I was thinking something along the lines of simulated quarry, whoever proves the better hunter sort of thing."

"Ah." He started to respond further, but was interrupted by the clerk. "It-it's ready, s-sir."

Victor nodded to Taalis, "This won't take long," and moved to the door of the range as the clerk retreated back to the safety of the counter. He paused at the controls, checked the settings, and sent a look towards the clerk that made the man move towards the back of the shop again. Without comment, Victor worked the controls to alter the setting - to Taalis' eyes, it appeared he increased the wall's shield protection and the microtractor controls for bullet captures, while decreasing the safety levels to an alarming, although not non-existent, level - and stepped inside without any effort to seal the door.

"Hunt Club" Part 2 of 2

[Backpost]

(Occurs just before the recall from SB 212)

Principle Characters

Lt. Commander Taalis Jaxom
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

Starbase 212
Level 71
Detwiller's Antique Weapons

She could see him load the rifle through the open door, raise it to his shoulder, and fire one round. The discharge, less the sharp crack she'd expected and more of a roar, filled the shop and spilled out into the corridor outside, and the muzzle flash extended past her line of sight, at least half the length of the rifle. Victor rocked back slightly with the recoil in an obviously practiced move that absorbed what had to be punishing recoil without forcing him back, frowned, and raised the rifle again.

The second shot was as loud as the first, and had the same results. When the smoke from the weapon's discharge cleared, Victor was standing in the doorway of the range, the weapon broken open again. He extracted the two expended shell casings, apparently unconcerned about the heat that had to be radiating, and blew through the barrels to clear them of smoke before he set the casings in his jacket pocket again. "I'll take it."

"You... ahhh...." the clerk stammered. "That is an expensive piece, sir... are you sure...?"

Victor's frown returned in full force. "I'll take it," he repeated. "Charge it to commercial account Krieghoff Industries One Three Seven Niner, authorization code Victor Gamma Five."

The clerk looked at him dubiously, but keyed the request in - and then straightened up and nodded as the computer cleared the transaction with a cheery 'ding.' "Yes, sir, Mr. Krieghoff," he replied, voice still shaky. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Despite the frown, Victor nodded. "Place my name on your contact list for any further acquisitions of this sort. If unable to contact me, contact Klaus Gustav Krieghoff at the number listed on the account."

The clerk made some notations, nodded, and reported, "That's done sir."

Victor turned to Taalis as he started back towards the counter. "Sorry for the delay, Commander."

"No apologies needed," Taalis said, "Interesting firearm."

"Not interesting," he corrected as he tested the barrel's temperature with a finger, "Unique. Made in 2057 by Gerhardt Danner Krieghoff on Terra for Adolph Hertzog Krupp of the Kruppwerkz Conglomerate."

"And interesting can't be unique as well?" Taalis asked with a raised eyebrow.

"'Interesting' is a word that Counselors use when they mean 'why are you allowed to walk around and interact with normal people,'" Victor replied, in something closer to the flat and emotionally void voice he'd used when he'd first arrived at the shop. "Not a word used to describe a work of art."

"True.", Taalis said, "Though I don't quite see how a firearm could be a work of art. Perhaps you can enlighten me?"

"I don't know." Victor looked at her for a moment. "What is art to you?"

"A well crafted blade, how a body moves in combat, to me, that is art."

Victor nodded, and looked at her penetratingly for a moment. "You're 5'8", about 157 pounds. Krupp was only an inch taller than you and no heavier in build. He reached out and lifted one of her arms, eyes gauging its length. "Your reach is almost the same." He released her, and reversed the weapon without closing the action, offering it to her. "It will be a little off since it wasn't made for you, but you should be able to tell a difference between it and any common rifle."

Taalis took the rifle respectfully since it was easy to see the reverence Krieghoff held for the weapon. Her eyebrow slowly made its way up her brow as she carefully closed the action and weighed it in her hands. "This is unlike any rifle I've held," she commented.

"It should be. It was made expressly for a man of almost your height, build, and reach. In his hands, it would be weighted and balanced perfectly, like a living extension of his body." Victor nodded at the weapon. "Sighting will be easier as well, the rifle should fall naturally into a near-perfect sight picture when you shoulder it. For Krupp it would have been perfect every time."

Taalis did peer down the sights and nodded more to herself in seeing the proof of Victor's words.

"Unlike most rifles, this one is sighted in at only 10 meters. The sights aren't adjustable, but will work as designed out to 50 meters, after that the shooter would need to ignore them and shoot from experience with the weapon."

"With such as this, one would be a fool to miss with it," she commented.

“Anyone can miss, Commander. A sudden shift in wind, dust in the eye, an unexpected movement by the target, - there are a thousand reasons why. That’s why you have to be in close, to give your opponent a chance to take advantage of your mistakes just as you have a chance to take advantage of his.” He tapped the rifle’s barrel. “You only have to shots, and at less than 10 meters, you’ll almost never get more than one off. If you miss…” He shrugged. “Sometimes you get the tiger, sometimes the tiger gets you.”

"Or where I came from, the sandworm does."

"How large to these sandworms get?" Although his voice hadn't changed in its even tone, there was a hint of curiosity and interest in Victor's pale blue eyes.

"Newly hatched...easily the length of this store," Taalis said, "They move under the sand like a fish swims in water, track you by vibrations. Only soft spot on them's in their outer mouth. The inner mouths they've got have a good reach."

"Do they surface to attack their prey?" The interest was definite.

"Sometimes.", Taalis said, "Lot of times just the inner mouths come up and pull you down before you have time to scream. The outer mouth's more like a beak, splits into three when it's open. Full grown one could use a Nausican for a toothpick."

"Hmmm. Do they burrow through rock? Or just soil?"

"Sand, and if you can get up a big enough rock, you can hopefully outwait them if you're quiet enough. Smaller rocks they can either grab you with their inner mouths or just swallow you and the rock. They do spit far with the rocks though."

"And they're only native to your homeworld? Nowhere else?"

"Never seen them anywhere else, so I'm figuring that's the only place for them. I've got a holodeck program of my world with them in it to keep in shape."

"Hmmn." He studied her for a moment, and then appeared to make a decision. "Would you be willing to make a copy? I can offer a trade - I have ... a number... of hunting programs that would be suited for your style of hunting."

"Certainly.", Taalis said with a soft smile, "Though in my opinion it works best with the safety protocols on minimum or off. So you know; my birthworld's a harsh desert, one to make noon at Vulcan's Forge look like a pleasant spring afternoon."

He shrugged. "You go where the prey is. There's no challenge in anything else. I'll have to see about the settings. Ship's regulations forbid disabling the safety protocols completely. I normally classify them as training programs and turn the protocols down to the limit."

"The program's quite accurate, at highsuns the sand does melt into glass in parts."

Victor nodded. He'd need to make some studies on the effects of the heat on metals before he took his rifle into an inferno like that. "What do you want in return? I have a complete library of Terran, Andorian, Vulcan, Centauran, and Klingon predator species, as well as a number of others like the Cappellan Power Cat."

"The Power Cat does sound interesting. Do you have any others like that?"

"Exactly, no. The Trandisharii Spine Wolf and the Kelonian Razor Beast both hurl specially-adapted spines or quills at prey, but no other predator I have hunted is adapted to fire bolts of electricity or energy at prey. I have programs for both of those as well if you want?"

"I certainly would," she smiled, "I just hope the program of my homeworld is worthy enough for the trade."

"I've never hunted there," he answered, as if that made perfect sense. He held out a hand for the rifle. "Where should I send them?"

"Commander Taalis Jaxom, Miranda."

"Krieghoff. Victor Krieghoff. I'm on the Galaxy."

"I had a friend on that ship.", Taalis said, "But she is no longer with us."

"Recently lost?" Victor asked as he turned away and settled the rifle in the case. "Or further back?"

"Recent. We once were in Security together."

"D'Tinya." The name was said in a flat, contextless tone, as though he were merely observing a dry fact.

"Yes," Taalis said, "Did you know her?"

He nodded once as he closed the case and turned back. "She was a good officer. She made good choices; even the last one. The others don't understand that."

"Then they didn't know her as well as I or the others we served with.", Taalis said with a nod.

Victor shrugged. "They don't want her to be dead. They'd rather it had been me instead. It wasn't my day to choose, though, it was hers."

"Our time comes when it does," Taalis said, "Always has been that way, always will."

"They were born sheep, and even if some of them have made themselves into wolves, there's still a sheep inside them, somewhere. That's the part that doesn't want her to be dead - and does want me to be. Sheep don’t want to die, don't want to be alone - it's part of their nature." He studied her for a moment, his pale, almost colorless eyes seeming to look inside her. "You're not a sheep, I think. Maybe your homeworld burned it out of you."

Taalis wasn't about to explain how she was the way she was, the tale itself even had her shaking her head once the truth was known. "You do rather remind me of the people from home," she said, though she knew that was an impossibility because of his eyes, "Rather refreshing to find another who has no illusions about the way things are beneath the surface."

"I've known what I was since I was a child, Commander. When the sheep around me were developing their illusions about the way the universe works, I never did because there was no point to it. Just like I never bothered to try and find a way to hide what I was, there was no point to that either"

"I'd wager you had trouble with the Ethics class at the Academy as I did," she smiled, "And being honest with one's self is a rare thing these days."

"Any day, Commander." He looked at her for a moment, and then offered, "The instructor called for a counseling review after he read my final paper. I believe he referred to me as a 'homicidal psychopath' in his complaint."

"Mine assigned me a tutor. Thankfully he was Klingon and coached me on what answers were best to give to pass."

"They tried a tutor, but I wouldn't say things that weren't true, even to pass their course. They put a Vulcan doctor in my head, instead."

Taalis winced, recalling what it was like to have a mindmeld forcefully done. "Not a pleasant thing."

"I lived," Victor said dismissively. "It was worse for the doctor, I think. He used some obscure discipline and rode around in my head for two weeks, watching me, before he decided I was something they could let wear the uniform. I think he went on leave right after that and took the Kholinar."

"I have family that have undertaken it, I still feel it's a retreat from the world."

"Retreat is always an option, Commander," Victor observed mildly. "Just not one that everyone can accept."

"True.", Taalis said, "I've been fortunate to not have to do that."

“Never dismiss it, Commander. Sometimes retreat is the best option. There’s no shame in it if done for the right reasons. Retreat is not the same as flight.”

"Where I was born, retreat usually meant death. So naturally I avoid it as much as possible."

"Understandable. I was born on a Starbase. Fewer places to run there than on a planet."

"I would imagine your first time on a planet was quite an experience."

"I was four. I don't remember it. My mother tells me that I ran into the undergrowth as soon as I realized there were animals in it and wouldn't come out for hours because I was stalking them." He smiled humorlessly. "Even then I knew what I was."

"I guess I'm the only one who finds that story cute," Taalis said, "My first planet other than my birthworld was Terra, and I found the trees intimidating."

"It was water for me - open water that stretched out further than I could see, and was deeper than I could dive. You don't see that on starbases."

"I thought it was a hallucination to see that much water in one spot,"

Taalis chuckled, "It had been more water than I'd seen in my life."

"Seeing it from space and from the shore aren't the same thing," he agreed.

"What did you think of your first time swimming in it?", Taalis asked.

"I was unwilling to swim in any water that I couldn't see through until I was 10."

"I was uneasy going in farther than knee high my first time. I didn't know what to expect from that much water."

"I did. Things lived in it, and if things lived in it, there were things that hunted them - which meant they would hunt me if I were in the water. That's why I refused to swim where I couldn't see them coming."

"Have you tried hunting the larger predators in the water, like sharks?"

He shook his head. "No. I leave their world to them, just like I do the Asteroid Worms of Kratos. The hunt can't be equal because of the difficulties in adapting myself to their native terrain, so I let them be." He lifted the rifle case. "Likewise, chemical propulsion arms aren't designed for either environment, and that is how I hunt."

"Have you tried other weapons, or just stick with the firearms?"

"It's the way my family has hunted for 695 years, Commander." He hefted the case again. "Always with weapons that we've made ourselves." He shrugged. "I haven't spent the time to learn proper use of a hand weapon, and the things I hunt can't be taken with bare hands. It's what I know."

"Tradition is one thing I can't find fault with," Taalis said, "And for that long, even for the longer lived races, that is quite a respectable time."

"The family does other things to support itself besides make rifles now, has for the last few centuries, but we have always hunted - that hasn't changed." He glanced at the forgotten blade in her hand. "Do you make your own weapons?"

"I have, but not now.", Taalis said, "Mostly I look for the ones that were crafted in days long gone on my homeworld. I haven't been able to figure out the metal used. It's unlike any I've seen before."

"Is it replicatable?" Victor asked curiously.

"Not quite.", Taalis said, "I can come close to the hue, but nothing to the durability and strength. I currently have a blade that's similar to a Terran Manchu broadsword and a spear that's entirely crafted from it."

"If you haven't already, try looking at the composition of the alloy and see if there's a percentage of latinum in it - it doesn't have to be much, even on part per million will disrupt the quantum level scans needed to replicate something. It's how we keep our products unique."

"I don't recall seeing latinum in the scans, but I will double check that. Would it be too forward if I sent the report to you for your opinion?"

"If you want, but I'm no metallurgist," he warned. "I just make rifles."

"But you have more knowledge than I, and while I could go to Sciences, I don't want them tearing apart what I have to analyze it."

"All right," he agreed suddenly. It was plain enough to him that her vulcanoid heritage was blocking the effect he normally had on people, and he saw no reason to alienate anyone that he could actually talk to. "No promises, though."

"None expected," Taalis said with a soft smile, "Considering your respect for weaponry, I trust that over any scientist at this point."

Victor nodded, looked at her for a moment, and then offered, "Do you want the tutorials that go with the hunting simulations? They'll be larger programs, but you might find the information on the animals and their habits useful."

"I'd like that. Thank you," Taalis said.

"I'll send them over today. They'll be on isolinear chips - I don't like storing my programs in the ship's computers where other people can access them. Someone would get hurt."

"That's how I keep my programs saved," Taalis said, "Best to avoid accidents."

Victor's response was cut off by a voice from his combadge. =/\= All crew members of the USS Galaxy are hereby ordered to return to ship immediately. Repeat, all Galaxy crew are to report back immediately. =/\=

"Hunh. First leave time I've taken in ten years and we have to leave early. I told Counselor Dallas this was a waste of time." He nodded to Taalis. "I'll send the chips before we depart, Commander."

Taalis raised an eyebrow. She and Jaal had plans for this leave and now it was looking like that was out the window if one ship was getting called. Not soon after the Miranda's crew was recalled as well.

"I shall do the same.", she said to Victor.

(Backpost- takes place before Miranda/Galaxy enter Breen space.)

"Roulette"

by
Ensign Tarin Iniara,
Operations,
USS Galaxy

Location: Holodeck Four, USS Galaxy

Red lights pulsed silently, alternately illuminating and deluminating the hallways of the USS Galaxy. Two Jem'Hadar warriors marched in formation; their near-identical features making them seem like twins. The pair made their way out of sight, and the area fell silent once more.

Seconds later, a small panel popped outward from the wall. Two arms poked out, setting the beige panel down softly before withdrawing back into the wall. A moment later a pair of legs appeared, then a body, head, and finally arms again. The figure crouched next to the wall, drawing what appeared to be a machete out of the hole from which it had exited. The panel was replaced as quickly as it had been removed, and then the figure was on its way.

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

Just a little further, Iniara thought to herself as she stalked along, stepping lightly to avoid making any sound. She moved quickly, keeping close to the wall in a semi-crouched position, weapon held firmly in front of her.

The hallway terminated in a T intersection not far ahead. Iniara paused at the junction, flattening against one wall as she checked for stray Jem'Hadar. Satisfied the hall was empty, she slinked around the corner and continued on her way.

Finding the correct door, Iniara tried the lock with no success. She pulled the access panel away from the wall, then bypassed the locking mechanism. The door made a loud swishing sound and then popped open slightly. Iniara clenched the huge knife in her teeth then crammed both hands in the small opening, forcing the doors apart far enough so that she could slip through them.

Cargo Bay 3 was pitch black save for the pulsing red alert lights filtering in from the hallway, lighting no more than seven or eight meters of the expansive bay's glossy floors. It made the glowing red beacon hovering in mid-air-- her ultimate objective-- that much brighter.

Iniara forced herself to look at the black ground around her feet, waiting a few moments as her pupils adjusted to the lack of light. Staring at either the beacon or the partially open doors for too long would cause her irises to clench up, ruining what little night vision she had. And unlike most humanoids, the holographic Jem'Hadar had no real minds to detect, so she would have to keep alert for them the old-fashioned way.

She took a few tentative steps out from the wall, keeping close to some large square containers that sat off to her right. She stepped lightly, all senses keyed up to detect any sign of movement.

Iniara stopped at the edge of the row of containers, checking her progress with the beacon. To her annoyance it now seemed to be further away: before it had been hovering squarely in front of the main cargo bay doors, now it seemed to be taunting her from the far left corner of the room. It would probably keep moving away from her as long as she stalked it in this manner, which left her with one other option.

With barely a second thought, she shot out from the relative safety of the containers, sprinting towards the beacon. It would only take her a few seconds to cross the open room; with luck nothing would happen to slow her down.

A split second after she began her flight the cargo bay lights surged on, causing temporary blindness. Her determination fueling her, Iniara kept her pace without flinching, and so she was almost on top of the first Jem'Hadar when her eyes finally adjusted to the lights.

The soldier, armed with a machete identical to hers, lunged at Iniara while slashing down with his weapon. Iniara dodged left and narrowly avoided the blade, before slamming into her opponent with her right shoulder and using the force of her body to push her weapon deep into his abdomen while pushing his bulk out of her way.

She barely had time to withdraw the machete before the second soldier attacked. This one sliced horizontally towards her neck, a move she quickly blocked with her own weapon. The impact made a loud, echoing clang and sent a jarring vibration down Iniara's arm. She stepped back, swapping the machete to her other hand and crouching down as the Jem'Hadar tried a second attack, lunging towards her with his blade pointed straight at her throat. Adrenaline now surging through her body, Iniara planted two hands on his torso, using his momentum to carry him above her head, into the air and back to the ground near where the first soldier had landed.

Not too difficult, she mused as she grabbed a second weapon and resumed her sprint towards the beacon, which was now less than 15 meters away. Like an insane red beach ball the beacon began to dance away, but at this pace she would eventually catch it.

That is, if there hadn't been any more Jem'Hadar in the vicinity.

Less than ten meters from the beacon, Iniara felt something pass close to her left cheek, too close for comfort. She glanced over her shoulder to see another Jem'Hadar running after her, his arm extended forward from having thrown his own weapon at her. Iniara turned back towards her goal and barely had time to notice the machete embedded in the beacon before she was knocked completely off her path.

A fourth unarmed soldier tackled her from the side, grasping her around the waist and landing heavily on top of her as they both hit the ground, weapons clattering to either side. Iniara's back cried out in protest and she inhaled raggedly, lungs fighting to regain some of the air that had been forced out from the impact. The soldier released her waist, rising up just enough to deliver a hard blow to the side of her face. Iniara tried dodging to no avail, and took the brunt of the impact right on her cheekbone. Stars exploded in her vision as she began to spit curses at her assailant.

Reeling from the blow, Iniara felt around on the ground for a nearby weapon, in the process taking a solid punch to the gut. Her hands found one of the machetes just as the soldier reared back for a third blow. She slashed wildly at the Jem'Hadar, somehow managing to open a deep gash in his throat. Dark blood spilled out of the wound, quickly mixing with the milky ketracel white from the now severed feeder tube. Alarmed, the soldier grabbed at his throat, giving Iniara enough of an opportunity to kick him over and almost get to her feet.

Barely reoriented, Iniara was tackled from behind by the Jem'Hadar who had thrown his weapon moments before. She fell forward, skidding along the slick floor towards the beacon, now barely two meters from it. She picked herself up off the ground, her sole objective now being to close the gap and get hold of that cursed thing.

Iniara stepped forward, reaching her hand out to grasp the beacon when a sudden flare of pain exploded in her sternum and spread throughout her body. Shocked, she looked down to find a good length of steel machete poking out of her chest, courtesy of the neglected Jem'Hadar behind her. She staggered forward a few steps, mind reeling in disbelief, and fell forward into the glowing light of the mischievous red beacon, dragging it down with her. A moment later everything went black.

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

[Mission accomplished.]

The perpetually congenial computer voice brought Iniara back to her senses. She opened her eyes, only to come face to face with the glossy black floor of the holodeck. Rolling over to her back she sat up, grimacing in pain as she rubbed the spot on her chest where the holographic blade had been just moments before. That was the problem with pushing the holodeck's safety settings to their lowest allowed level: it gave the user maximum realism without the nasty side-effect of death, but if you weren't careful you would definitely feel it in the morning.

"Computer, display results." A translucent screen appeared in front of Iniara, who at the moment was content to remain seated on the holodeck floor.

PROGRAM: TARIN ROULETTE

RESULTS

RUN KILLS/ENCOUNTERS INJURIES TIME OVERALL

06 7/12 5 0:13:40 72%

[SHORT DISPLAY] FULL DISPLAY

EVALUATION?

The last word pulsed slowly at the bottom of the screen. Iniara stretched one arm out, poking it.

[Processing evaluation. Knowledge of Galaxy Class decks eighteen through twenty two lacking. Average performance with weapon. Suggest further practice with close-range weapons and study of Galaxy schematics.]

Iniara rolled her eyes. She had set the program to choose a random weapon to increase the challenge, but she hadn't expected such a crude weapon. Her talents were primarily in energy or projectile based weapons: phasers, rifles, shotguns, all the way down to basic crossbows or even slingshots, and she was better in close quarters without a weapon than with one. Close-range weapons were definitely a weak spot. Maybe she would have to take the computer's suggestion and get some more practice.

[Never turn your back on a Jem'Hadar warrior.]

That much she should have known, and she silently reprimanded herself for allowing that last one to get the best of her. "Thank you, computer," she replied sarcastically, getting to her feet. The translucent screen followed her up, staying at eye level.

[Gratitude is not required.]

Iniara snorted. "Save results, reset simulation. Display program parameters." A moment later the text on the screen disappeared, to be replaced by several sets of options.

PROGRAM: TARIN ROULETTE

PARAMETERS

LOCATION ENEMY WEAPON ENEMY WEAPON

DS9 CARDASSIAN CLOSE RANGE CLOSE RANGE

[GALAXY] CHANGELING ENERGY ENERGY

INTREPID HIROGEN PROJECTILE PROJECTILE

RISA [JEM'HADAR] [RANDOM] RANDOM

STARBASE KLINGON NONE [SAME]

DIFFICULTY 7

BEGIN?

Iniara scanned the options, mostly satisfied with their current configuration. She paused, cocking her head to one side, then switched the enemy weapon option from SAME to RANDOM. In response, the difficulty rating clicked from 7 up to 8. She shrugged to herself, then poked the blinking BEGIN? at the bottom of the screen.

The room went black and another screen, similar to the program's control screen but much smaller, appeared in front of her. The screen stated plainly her next destination: BATTLE BRIDGE. Iniara tapped the screen in acknowledgement, causing it to dematerialize. Seconds later a circular metal pan with a wooden handle, no more than a foot in length, appeared on the ground at her feet. She groaned; apparently the computer thought it was being funny by giving her a frying pan as a weapon.

The simulation began once more, the Galaxy's familiar walls coming into existence with the familiar red alert lights beginning shortly after. As she moved off, Iniara hoped that this round of Jem'Hadar opponents would be equipped with drinking straws or plastic martini swords.

Kat Andrews - sundancekat@mossgreen.net

Ensign Tarin Iniara,
Operations Officer
USS Galaxy

"Dinner and some qaraDa gham"

Arel Smith
Mike O'Neil

*****

Arel scowled out at the bits of space that weren't blocked by either the Breen ships or the USS Galaxy and then took another sip of her grapefruit juice.

After several days of taking her meals in her quarters, Arel had said several Klingon words on the matter and had decided to come to the Cantina. Not that she really wanted company but the walls of her quarters were starting to feel a bit cramped.

She was getting the strongest urge to start buying things to spruce the place up a bit.

Damn hormones.

"Zaphod," Arel called out to the bartender, raising her glass. "Another. And fill it all the way this time."

She looked over at the man nearby her again, annoyed that her attention was drawn to him. There was something about the guy that just seemed familiar to her, and it was irritating. Arel finally gave in and gave the newcomer a steely glare. "Do I know you?"

The human male looked up from his meal, a piece of tlhImaqaH in hand. As he sat there just then, clad in his duty uniform with its grey shoulders and gold collar, he could have been anyone aboard, passed for any number of human enlisted men. It wasn't his appearance that set him apart, though. It was something in his eyes, something in the set of his broad shoulders - A certain absolute confidence that never left him, whether he was battling phantom warriors on the holodeck, or a faulty ODN shunt on Deck Thirteen, a sense that harkened back to the rough men of Qo'nos. The corner of Mike's mouth quirked upwards in a slight grin.

"No." he answered simply. "You don't. I'm Petty Officer Second Class Mike O'Neil. You're the security officer, aren't you? Commander... Smith, right?" Onboard a ship, everyone knew the senior staff. It was a simple matter of survival, knowing who was in charge of what. The enlisted men were supposed to know the top officers. It didn't work both ways, though - There was no practical way it could. Therewere over fifteen hundred officers and enlisted aboard the Miranda. Nobody could be expected to know them all, especially if they weren't in their department.

"Yeah." Arel said and then turned her attention back to her drink. As far as Klingon food went, tlhImaqaH wasn't that bad but she still wasn't very fond of the smell. Maybe because Kern always had to eat it at every meal. She suddenly missed her old friend very much. Well, maybe not so suddenly.

Mike was much the same way. He loved tlhImaqaH, and while he wasn't quite so bad as to eat it with every meal, he always had it with qaraDa gham. It was like having a hamburger and fries to him. One simply went with another. Having something else would just be strange - Though most would say that having a strawberry shake with something that looked like octopus legs pretty much put him overthat line anyway. "Care to join me?" he asked. "No one else will, and I prefer not to eat alone."

Arel shrugged. "Why not?" She moved over and sat across from him. And then couldnt help but scowl down at his food. She leveled a look at him and then quickly flicked out one of her hidden knives and speared one of his tlhImaqaH. Arel took a bite and frowned at the taste. "Not prepared right. Half skinned. Tastes better warmed."

"What do you really expect from a Federation replicator?" Mike grinned broadly. Raising both hands, he held them up for her, palms out, then turned them around to show her the backs, his sleeves sliding down slightly as he did. Then, slowly, he tapped the insides of his forearms against the edge of the table - Making a dull thunk. Tugging down his left sleeve, he let her see the open hilt of a small throwing knife of Andorian manufacture. "Out of the past four ships I served on, three have been boarded in combat - Two by the Jem'Hadar, and one by the Borg. They're insurance." he explained. "If you can guess where the phaser is hidden, I'll let you have my dessert."

Arel cracked a smile. "Given your food preferences, I think I'll pass. What kind of phaser is it?"

"Type I Hand Phaser." he answered. "The small one we use for away missions when we don't want to show off our weapons."

"Hidden pocket in your pants." Arel guessed.

Mike shook his head. "Nope. The first place people look when they search you is in your pants. I'm a little more creative than that." Leaning forward, he reached up and fished the tiny little so-called "cricket phaser" from the special pocket he'd sewn in under the collar of his uniform tunic in the back, using the thick gray fabric to hide it from a physical search. "Too bad... I was thinking of having strawberry cheescake for dessert, Commander." Mike took a big bite out of the octopus-like leg he was having for dinner.

"An odd follow up to qaraDa gham" Arel told him. Though she was one to talk. As a teenager, she had forced herself to eat the minimum amount of Klingon meals and then had often snuck into her room for freeze dried food or sometimes into town for the food vendors. She'd never met a human who had a good eye for Klingon food before.

"You're an interesting person, Petty Officer Second Class Mike O'Neil." She decided.

Mike grinned, bearing his teeth in that predatory grin that was mostly the province of Klingon warriors. Reaching back with both hands, he snagged the pocket with an ever-so-slightly longer than regulation fingernail and pulled it out to slip the phaser back in. "I certainly do my best, Commander." he joked. "Though I do think some of my crewmates might substitute the words "insane" or "crazy" for interesting. You'd think with a mandate to explore the galaxy that Starfleet officers would be more open-minded about qaraDa gham... And qagh! Do you know how hard it is to get good qagh on a starship?"

"About as hard as getting a decent jug of bloodwine."

Mike leaned forward conspiratorially. "I know an Orion merchant who's willing to supply me with qagh on our next stop-over. All I have to do is name the base, pony up the latinum, and it's mine...And I'm talking any kind of qagh. Torghud qagh, mIcha' qagh, etlhul qagh with the little feet... Even wIStng qagh packed in fresh targ's blood, and he'll get it to me fresh! The problem is he only deals in bulk units, and even if I eat it morning, noon, and night I can't eat that much qagh before it goes bad and dies. You'd think someone on the crew would be adventurous enough to try, but no!" He slapped the table, less out of anger and more out of sheer boistrous, good natured enthusiasm. He was simply getting into a story he enjoyed telling. "Not a one. How about you, Commander? Would you fancy splitting a bulk unit of wIStng qagh with me? We can go fifty/fiftyon it and it won't go to waste."

Arel grinned. The man was reminding her more and more of her old friend with his enthusiasm for food. "Klingon cuisine has never sat well with my stomach. We're more acquantainces than anything else. But you find me some decent bloodwine and I'll go in with you. I'll have cause to celebrate in a few months and, who knows, I might start craving gagh soon as well."

Mike laughed, a warm, deep sound that boiled up from somewhere inside him. "Then I have you." he laughed. "I have you now. Commander, if you look on the cargo manifest under O'Neil, Michael J. Cargo Code 226-B you'll find an entry for Consumables - Ethnic, Alcoholic. When I left Borath, I made sure to lay in a stock, and I've brought it with me from post to post. I'm down to a case and a half - Thirty six bottles, but I still have it. Bloodwine... 2309. There IS no finer vintage!" he declared proudly. "How would you like half a case for your celebration?"

She laughed and then reached out to grasp his arm in a shake. "Deal." She smiled again, which felt odd to her since she couldnt remember the last time she had smiled, and then stole another piece of his tlhImaqaH. Yup, she must have been missing Qo'nos more than she thought. "So you come from Borath?"

Mike shook his head, absentmindedly pushing the bowl of tlhImaqaH closer to the middle of the table so they could share it better. "No. I come from Montreal, a city on Earth's North American continent." he answered. "I spent a little over a year and a half in the monestary on Borath, though. I needed to find myself. I traveled to Bajor, Vulcan, Andor... I even went to Ferenginar in search of answers, but Borath..." Mike took a sip of his milkshake. "Borath is where I found them. It's where I found myself."

"Lucky you." Arel replied. "I grew up on Qo'nos and I still havent found myself."

"Not especially lucky. It was a long trip, and by the time I arrived on Borath, I was out of latinum, out of things to sell, and out of luck. By that point, I was selling my services as an engineer in exchange for passage on starships headed... Well, anywhere. I'd become an interstellar hitchhiker without direction or purpose. I went into the monestary on Borath because they were the only ones who would hire me on, and I wasn't ready to go back to the Federation yet." he explained. "You never find yourself where you think you'll be. In fact, you never find yourself. Instead, you're the one who gets found." He took a long sip on his milkshake. "One of the monks told me that, and to tell the truth, the last part still doesn't make sense to me, but the first part... You won't find yourself where you think you will. Meaning always comes from the places you least expect it."

"Wow," Arel said dryly. "That's the kind of saying they should tattoo on someone's ass."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, I know. Real fortune cookie stuff, that one. What do you expect from monks?"

"Indeed." She took another look at his plate and realized the octopus looking thing, what he hadn't eaten anyway, was starting to look good. Arel shook her head. Damn hormones.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mike O'Neil." Arel said. "I'm going to get going now before the baby starts demanding some of your qaraDa gham."

"The pleasure was all mine, Commander." he replied, rising to his feet. "I'm just glad to see someone on the crew has the stomach for a good plate of serpent worms. I'll send a message to my contact with the next batch of personal transmissions, and he'll have it ready for us by the time we reach Starbase. One bulk unit of wIStng qagh sound okay to you? It's my personal favourite."

Arel nodded. "Agreed."

Lieutenant Commander Ethan Suder
Chief Engineer

The silence in Ethan's quarters was the just another reminder of how things seemed to be steadily falling apart. The news just kept getting worse. Each day seemed to bring another dark cloud that would happily sit over his head and rain on him all day. Despite this, he tried his best to show the positive and motivated side of himself. The fun side, if there were such a thing.

Glancing over to his desk, he sighed and frowned at the data padd that sat squarely in the middle of his desk. The duty roster awaited his attention. He would have to get round to it sooner or later, but something in his mind kept telling him to take some time off, relax, or at least try to. Walk around the ship, read a book, go to the holodeck, anything.

Re-assigning the shifts was a slight pain with the illness of Dhani. She was good at her job sure, but changing people's shifts patterns didn't always go down well. Not that anybody ever approached him about it. But things had gone downhill since then.

The departure of Michael McDowell was a hard event. His closest and best friend, the only living person who knew him better than anyone, had left the ship. His plans on trying to get Michael promoted to Join-Assistant Chief had gone out the airlock. Sure they'd stay in touch via sub-space, nonetheless, Ethan was another man down. It wouldn't be impossible to replace the Engineer, sure they'd get some new kid in who thought the world of him or her self, but no one would be able to replace Michael. Nor would they ever try, Ethan thought.

Things hadn't seemed all that different in general. But no longer could they discuss the days events and problems over a drink, or go down to the holodeck and just have some relaxing fun, or talk about Karyn or anything like that. Ethan wouldn't be able to play on Michael's paranoid imagination anymore, there would be no more jokes.... except via subspace.

And to make things worse, taking the Galaxy into Breen space was just hitting the iceberg at full speed. Ethan's mind was full of doubt. These are the people that they were at war with after all. Sure the Dominion was involved, but their all the way over in the Gamma Quadrant, so not much of a problem. And what about the Cardassians? At least they managed to grow a backbone and help out towards the end of the Dominion war. He had a lot more respect for them than the Breen. Cardassia had done a good job thus far of rebuilding itself. But the Breen, they just huddled away back into their own space as if nothing had ever happened. If they were that interested in peace talks, then why not meet at a neutral point in space, or within the Federation itself. Think about the logic, the Federation stood for peace, the Breen stood for fridge men who had a habbit of shooting at people. Not warp science, but clearly someone sat behind a desk didn't have his- Ethan stopped his mind for a moment. The man behind the desk. Price. What a Captain he had been. He wouldn't mind one day catching up with him, even after the distasters he had thrown into Ethan's life. But that would happen sooner or later. But why would Price order such a thing?

Ethan sighed again with frustration. The duty roster could wait, he wanted to relax first. Not that it was going to happen, but it was worth a try.

His thoughts once again went to the man down. Michael. He just hoped that he managed to get his problems sorted out and maybe return to the Galaxy. Or maybe he'd get a position as Chief somewhere else. Either way, Ethan sent his best wishes.

TBC

note about Michaels departure, dreams and the thoughts of going into Breen space for diplomatic reasons, yeah right!

Note how he stills holds no respect for them due to the war, at least the Cardassians finally found the spine they needed to step up to the Dominion and Breen. They had done a good job of rebuilding Cardassia, but what remained of the mysterious Breen???

Can't sleep, so go walk throughout the ship, go round fixing things that haven't been gotten round to yet.

"Dinner with whine...I mean wine."

Cole
Arel

*****

He was sitting at one of the tables in the mess, it was a stones throw from where he had his last meal, hell anything was better than a five-by-five cell and that god awful humming that came from the force field. Kept him awake all through the night. He lifted his whisky taking a sip of the single malt, he had several bottles hidden within his quarters, one of those was standing on the surface of the table. “1910...” Cole whispered licking his lips. “An excellent year...”

It was an acquired taste, it was one of those things that people either hated or loved, everyone had a malt that was right for them, it was just finding it. Cole was one of the luckier, he loved whisky full stop. Didn’t matter what make or year. It was the same with Blood Wine. He still remembered the first time he drank that, blew his mind clear from his head and had to wait three days before it retuned sufficiently enough to communicate, he had to wait another day before he could walk or rather stumble out of his friends house.

“What a night...” he said with a smile leaning back against his chair. It was then he saw her, a security officer and by the pips on her shoulder she was high up, possibly even the assistant chief or the chief herself? He shook his head, he’d heard she was a looker, but damn!

“Hello...” Cole said with a warm smile rising up as she passed close to his table. “Care you join me for a glass?” He picked up the bottle nodding at it.

"No." Arel said without pause as she passed his table. She sat down a few tables away, ordered a drink, and then started reading her computer PADD. She justified reading a story in public because it was about a prison break. It just had to be educational information, Arel rationalized.

Besides, she needed to relax.

He tooked up at the ceiling for a moment as if looking for inspiriation, when it didn't come he grabbed the glass and headed over to her table sitting down without an invitation. "Well good, more for me..." he said with a smile filling his glass half full before putting the bottle in front of him.

She might have been nicer if she weren't coming off a long shift, all throughout which it had been hinted that she shouldnt' go down to Breen. She probably would have even been cranky to the interesting human she'd met the other day who liked Klingon food and wanted to be a Borath monk but then again she wasn't so sure. "You always this cheerful?"

"You always such a bitch?" he asked raising his eyebrow with a slight wink and grin. "I generally try and keep a smile, though there are times when I frown, not very often I grant you but it happens. think the lat time hell froze over... Been getting calls ever since about that red devil complaining, you know he whines like an old lady?" he chuckled taking another sip of his drink.

Arel set down her PADD and raised her eyebrow. She wanted to say something threatening and rude but she really, for the life of her, couldn't think of a response to that.

"You got a name, Sunshine?" Arel asked with a frown.

"Cole..." he said with quick bow of the head taking another sip from his glass.

"Arel Smith." She said. "Now shut up and let me read in peace."

His eyes continued staring at her like they could see through the PADD she was reading, she had issues there was no denying it. ~A challenge?~ he thought to himself though for the life of him he didn't know why he thought it in a French accent. "What you reading?" he asked leaning back on his chair relaxing into the frame of the chair.

"Security report." Arel lied unconvincingly.

He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "For a security chief you've got a lot to learn about telling porkies," he said using a human expression which he sometimes came up with.

"A novel about this guy who's been incarcerated for twenty years or so." She admitted grudgingly. "I want to see how he gets out but I havent gotten that far yet. Its strictly educational reading."

"Nothing like a good book..." he said with a nodding as if to emphasize the point. "Personally I prefer fantasy books, can't get enough of them... that and how they saw the future, the way humans write is quite impressive, though Klingons do have a certain flare for battles."

Her interest was piqued but she couldn't admit to being an avid book reader. Her image was bad enough lately. "Klingons do write very good battle scenes. I hear that Andorians do as well."

He nodded slightly waving his hand in the air. "Andorians aren't bad, but they're not good. Perhaps its that blood-lust they get when they fight, or just the blood-wine... they have something that makes you believe, that makes you want to be there in the battle to feel what they feel." He shrugged. He'd a great part of his life with Klingons living on Qu'Nos, they were a complicated people, not as complicated as humans, that was an impossibility, but they had their moments.

"If I were to read a lot, which I don't mind you," Arel interrupted herself sternly. "then I think that I would choose mythology and folklore as my favorite things to read."

"Mythology..." he said with nod rubbing his chin as he thought. "Interesting... which are your favourate?" he asked looked through the almost empty glass at Arel who was still pretending to read the PADD in front of her.

*I* don't read. I just said if I were to read..." Arel said and pushed a random button on the computer. "Oh, I don't know. Probably Greek, Norse, Aztec, Klingon, Vulcan, Bajoran, and Trill."

"Norse...? Vulcan, who can you put them in the same category, let alone sentence, as the rest? They're crap!" he cursed shaking his head in dismay.

"How can you say that?!" Arel exclaimed. "Those are the best bloody stories. My father used to..." She glared at the man's smile. Dirty rotten trick, Arel thought.

"I'm surprised you could stop goggling at me long enough to form coherent sentances." Arel said testily.

"Its a gift..." he said flatly. "You know doing two things at once, I know women have trouble doing it... speaking with someone and looking at them... at the same time..." He'd always classed sarcasm as the weakest form of wit, but there were times it slipped through. This was one. "If you don't want people staring at you, you shouldnt be so beautiful, or you should join a monastary and life in solitude."

Arel blinked at the last bit, which halted the nasty things was going to say to him. That was the last thing she expected to hear today, not when she felt like she had just been dredged through...well, just not looking pretty. She turned it around in her head, tried to see if there was some underlying jab, and then shrugged it off.

But a monestary? Puh-lease, as Sam would say. Arel rolled her eyes.

She was a tough nut to crack, no wonder people stayed as far as a ten-foot barge pole from her, it was one of the things that attracted him to her, like moth to a flame, a signal beacon calling a ship into harbour. "What did your father do again...? I didn't quite catch it..."

"Because I didn't tell you." Arel replied and then shrugged. "He's a historian. Specializes in Klingons."

"Oh... that 'Smith'," he said with nodded draining the last of the whiskey from his glass. "Nice bloke, a bit too focussed on his work for my tastes, but then suppose you'd have to be dealing with Klingons." He smiled shaking his head remembering the good old times, the bar fights, the duel fighting, the phaser gunfights. ~Paradise~

Arel almost choked on her drink. "*You* know my father?"

Cole nodded as recalled the first time he'd met him. "I met him, its quite hard to miss the only human in a hall full of klingons. To say it was shock would have been an understatement, since there weren't any other 'friendly' faces around we hit it off, though I'm sure if it were anywhere else we'd have walked right by each other without a second glance." He chuckled remembering how many bottles of blood-wine they ended going through. "That was a night to remember, I introduced him to one of my favourate drinks. Blood-Wine... I'm not sure if he ever thanked me or not..."

"It really is a small universe." Arel spat out. Who knows when her father had been drinking with this man. Probably when Arel thought he was dead.

His eyes squinted slightly as she spat the words out, almost like they were a bad taste in her mouth, it was a response he wasn't expecting. "Your not on the best of terms I take it..." he waved his hand. "You don't have to answer... just take a little advice. Don't waste the time you have, he won't be around forever and you'll regret every day when he's gone."

Arel forced a laugh. "I've already been down that path."

Cole nodded knowing what it was