"The Regime Change", Part 1

BACKPOST - Beginning of the mission.

Flight Sergeant Jonathan Frost,
Rogue Squadron Flight Deck
Chief Technical Sergeant Olivia Thomas,
Acting Rogue Squadron Flight Deck Chief

The shuttle ride was horrible.

But then again, when are they not? Frost looked about the sorry excuse for a manned spaceship. When were they not? Why, when they were HIS shuttles, goddamnit! The rug on this one seemed old, all the ‘windows’ were smudged, and – worst of all – if he squinted his eyes really carefully and titled his head just right, he could almost swear he saw an ancient coat of paint happily chipping away on the door frame.

He shook his head and crossed his arms; this sort of shoddy work would have never flown on the Akira. Were such a monstrosity to leave the docking bay the technicians and dock-hands would be pulling triple shifts until their ears bleed. A nice, polished, well maintained shuttle says words about the ship it came from. Who in their right mind would marry a girl if her mother’s teeth were falling out, her breath stank, and she seemed to leak fluids? No one, that’s who – because, as we all know, girls wind up resembling their mothers… just as a good shuttle craft resembles the mother ship from which she flown.

An uninterested voice filled the shuttle via the ships intercom.

“We will be docking with the Miranda in two minutes, prepare for landing.”

The old man made an irritated sound and shifted his weight, pretending not to notice the stain on the seat next to him.

-----

Olivia Thomas tapped her left foot impatiently. The shuttle couldn't dock fast enough for her, though she certainly didn't like the idea of what she was doing any more than she liked dropping spanners on her feet. Turning over her charges to another technician, even one as capable as Frost was reputed to be, was hard for somebody like her. You just got... attached.

Olivia had made up her mind to meet Flight Sergeant Frost first and find out just what kind of person he was. She'd fight for it if she had too. After wrenching Wes out of his fighter in the fight with the Borg, she didn't want to leave his squad's safety to just anyone.

----

The hatch to the shuttle craft hit the deck with an unceremonious thud. First off the shuttle, moving a two steps faster than the rest, was one of the oldest men anyone has ever seen wearing a Starfleet uniform; the man before Olivia was gruff, to say the least. His hair was thoroughly gray; his face wrinkled from 40 years of straight service to the fleet.

Frost surveyed the docking bay and frowned. Everything seemed to be moving too slow for his taste. The ground crew was moving at their own pace, it seemed. Hell, some of them were even leaning against the crates they were supposed to be hauling and talking to one another like it was in their job description. He shook his head and began to make a mental note when he saw the liason. He eyed the person he was to replace up and down, trying to size her up.

“Flight Sergeant Jonathan Frost reporting for duty” He saluted with one hand, the other firmly held his transfer papers.

Thomas nodded. This was one of the old salts. He'd been around longer than she'd been alive. There'd be no questions. She returned his salute and accepted his papers. Glancing over them, she checked to see that they were in order, though with his experience, he wouldn't be handing them to her if they weren't.

"I'm Tech Sergeant Olivia Thomas, the acting Rogue Squadron Flight Crew Chief, and you're my replacement. Welcome to the Miranda," she said, trying not to feel any of the disappointment that she knew she would feel.

Frost let the conversation hang a few seconds more than is socially acceptable. He stared into the woman, trying to gauge from her voice the type of person she was. Young, certainly, no question about that – and she seemed to have a casual way about her, despite how she was trying to appear formal. The old man muttered, the last time he had transferred to a new ship was 16 years ago. He felt like a fish out of water.

“Sergeant… ” he nodded, letting his body go slightly limp. He leaned down and picked up his duffle bag – every one of his movements seemed calculated, like he was always in drill. He let her title hang in the air, giving her time to squirm while waiting for the end of the sentence “… I have been told to report to Major Wes Hammond, I do not want to keep him waiting.”

Olivia winced. She'd learn from him, certainly, but she hated having to. She'd enjoyed running the crew while BUPERS searched for a permanent. "Walk with me," Olivia said and started to lead him down the hall toward the lift that would take them to Deck 48, home of the Rogues.

"I'll warn you though. He's in a foul mood today," she said, allowing a smile to creep through her practiced calm expression, "Hammond's a wild Irishman from a colony world near the Breen DMZ. He's a good, solid commander, but right now something's bothering him."

Frost nodded, but didn’t let the conversation continue further. He wasn’t particularly interested in the life history of his commander; if he was a good officer he’d the man’s actions – not his pedigree- show for it. Instead, he asked his subordinate: “How long have you been serving the fleet, Sergeant?” small talk was never his forte.

Olivia thought for a moment. It had been a while. Longer than she'd initially thought. Four years to look good on a resume, then business school, right? She'd found a love in fixing fighters, and had stayed. "Eight years, since I was eighteen. I wanted to do a tour, so I could appreciate it, but I fell in love with the machines and never really left."

“Eight Years” he repeated the words and shook his head – he had been serving for that and thirty two more. Frost was a relic, and even he knew it. As the people on the starships got younger it became harder and harder for him to communicate with him. Everyone that came up in his class was either retired, dead, or an admiral by now – the two enlisted people shared very little common ground. “You are the acting chief of the docks” it wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. Jonathan knew full well she was in charge before he, but he needed to hear her validate the claim all the same… so that he would know who the dock workers and technicians would try to pin the blame on in a few short hours, after chewing them out. In her defense, though, he’d seen worse decks… though he would obviously never admit it to anyone but the Major.

She frowned, knowing where he was going. "Yes. I run a fairly tight deck, Sergeant. You'll find that if a mistake is made, I fix it myself. Right now we're running four person crews per wingpair, with another four manning the control room. Hammond and Joral have their offices over there," she pointed, "And next to them are the pilot and deck crew lounges and quarters. You'll be housed somewhere in there, probably across from me. I'll be your assistant for the time being."

Frost nodded, taking it all in. “and how many wing pairs are there? How many men are off of one shift while the other is on? In the next few days there will be changes made accordingly, but for now, all I want is a report on the dock’s logistics, as well as a duty roster and chart, as well as full and up-to-date personnel reports on all the men.” The sergeant paused a moment, in thought “I will also need a report on each and every individual fighter craft, shuttle, and anything and everything else in this damned’able ship. If it can move, is housed in my docks, and is used by my men I need to know its current condition, when it was made, when it was last repaired, and anything else you can think of, Sergeant.” The old man spoke quickly, asking the same questions he’s been asking his technical sergeants for decades.

"Six, obviously. Half and half, as we're running alternating double shifts. And I have that report largely completed, since I heard you were coming. We're officially only responsible for the twelve fighters, two backups, and four runabouts," her mind raced, accessing the information in her memory and spitting it out, "And I'll have my individual wingpair chiefs start those reports. Should be on your desk by noon tommorrow. If you want, you can look at the old ones, but they're backdated a month."

The Flight Sergeant stopped in mid-step. “And what exactly do you mean, sergeant, when you say we “officially” are only responsible for something? Just what in God’s name do you have on MY deck that isn’t official?” he took two steps forward. “And how did your reports become backdated by over a month? What did you people do down there, play tidily-winks while waiting for your shifts to end? Well, I’ll have none of it. From this moment forth I’ll not rest until all reports are up to date, and all unofficial craft are either MADE official or are jettisoned into space. Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?”

Olivia refrained from sighing. New chief. Hardly an old routine. "Listen, Frost. I know you want to leave an impression, but you need to lighten up before you develop a blood pressure condition. When I said officially, I meant that that's all we're responsible for, on our flight deck. Helm manages the rest of the shuttles. The only thing that we have on our deck that would be remotely unofficial is Hammond's Valkyrie. He's not a fan of the Rogue-Class, so he bought a used one from the fleet. It's registered with the Starfighter Corps, so it's all legit."

"As for the reports, it was Chief Gibbons' policy to do them on a monthly basis, before I even showed up. Hammond brought me with him from the Pennsylvania. That was when the Starfighter Corps was organized and Gibbons retired," she explained, "If you want to change them, it's up to you, but so far, it's been just about fine."

“Sergeant, you listen to me. I’ve been kicking lazy dock crews asses clean across the Galaxy for 40 years now – Hell, I’ve been serving Starfleet when you were just a glint in your daddy’s eye and a buldge in his pants. While you were off kissing Jimmy Nickles behind the bleachers I was in the trenches, with grease up to my elbows and broken shuttles all around. But, we aren’t in the past, are we? Now that I’m here we play by my rules. If you don’t want to play ball, transfer. It’s easy as that. I was brought here by the Major to do a job and I won’t let some… kid FUBAR it up for me just because she seems to think she knows how the world works.” Frost glared at her, daring her to say more.

"Whatever you say, old man. But like I said, we have to work together, and the simple fact is that the crews know me, and are willing to work for me," Olivia said, her own sarcastic temper finally getting the best of her, "So you're welcome to make all the policies you want. I'll carry them out." She shrugged for emphasis, and continued, "... But we need to get a few things straight. I'm a professional, and I don't have anyone to impress, you or Hammond. I'm also a lesbian, so you can keep Jimmy to yourself. And now that we're through all that, I'm nobody's kid, certainly not yours."

She scowled back at him for emphasis, "I don't have an issue with you, Sergeant. The crew's yours. You do with it what you like. But don't take your frustration out on me. Hammond's office is this way." She walked through the busy fighter bay to the door to Wes Hammond's office.

Into The Fire

Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom
USS Miranda

==Bridge==

The Trill spoke one more time, addressing the ship's computer. "Computer, please record status of Commander Brex as incapacitated, and note that I have assumed command of this vessel, as of 13:40 hours of this stardate. Yeoman, note that in the ship's log."

They were words Jaal never thought he’d hear himself speak. He inhaled slowly and exhaled even slower when he finished. ‘This is bad,’ he thought, ‘Very bad.’ As if Taalis’ injuries weren’t enough. He walked to the center of the bridge and looked around. It seemed to him everyone was looking back. No one was without a grim look of determination on their face.

‘Isn’t this what you’ve been working for all this time?’ a voice inside asked, ‘All that training, all the experience, all the studying, all the hard work boils down to this. Now what will you do?’

‘This is not the way I expected to gain command of a ship,’ he told himself. It felt wrong somehow. He didn’t feel he’d earned the right but gained the position more out of dumb luck and circumstance. Up until now, he could always tap his commbadge and say ‘Captain, please come to the bridge.’

Not now though.

‘Not necessarily true,’ the voice said, ‘You earned the second officer’s spot. Everything you’ve done up to now has prepared you for the position you’re in now.’

‘Why don’t I feel that way?’ he asked.

There was no answer.

Jaal swallowed hard. He wasn’t particularly a religious person but he said a small prayer to whatever gods would listen that the diplomatic team on Breen would live through this. Then he prayed again that the Miranda’s crew did.

Commander Jaxom finally sat in the center seat. Somehow the chair seemed larger than it did when he pulled his command duty shift. For the time being at least, the Starship Miranda, and all sixteen hundred lives aboard her - were under his command and right now it scared the shit out of him.

‘I need to stay calm … relax … just a little.’ The last thing the Trill wanted now was to appear indecisive. He knew the crew looked up to him. The absolute last thing he wanted now was to let them down.

**Th’l’ya,** he called to Taalis through their bond.

There was no answer even though he could still feel her through the weakening bond. There was nothing either could do. The latest report from sickbay had her slipping into a coma. Her injuries were severe and neurological in nature as well as physical. The window that they’d communicated since being married was slowly closing. It wasn’t a good feeling. Jaal felt a part of him was slowly eroding away. Alas, there was nothing he could do. It was the worst feeling he’d ever felt in his life.

He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on the apex they formed. He watched the people on the bridge go about their business repair and readying the ship for combat that would inevitably come again.

Cares

Doctor Felicia Khatroweena,
Commander, CMO
USS Miranda

Cat was still wearing her scrubs when she slumped in her chair in her office. She had just passed the bad news up to Jaal. Certainly the man deserved the position, but he certainly wouldn't have wanted it to come about the way it had. No one would have wanted to.

Swinging slightly in her chair, the tension from the surgery seemed to drain away, at least her energy drained away and she felt very weak. She was coming down off the adrenaline rush.

Resting her head on her hands, she felt some eyes watching her, looking up, she saw the latest of her staff, Ry'shan. This mission had had some changes, she had lost Vas. Now Brex was in a serious condition...

As she went to sit back in her seat, her hand knocked the small pile of padds on her desk. The unbalanced pile fell to the floor with a clatter. Reaching over she started picking them up. Reaching out for the last one, her finger hit the activate button and the last file that had been accessed on it opened up. It was some vid-mail from a mother of her newest staff - Doctor Nancy Hannha.

"Commander Felicia Khatroweena, we've never met, but I'm sending you this message because I am concerned for Nay. That is Dr. Ry'shan Nadene Hhanna who should be reporting to you for duty in the near future. I know you've probably had a chance to look at her bio, and I know you're aware of her background, or will be. I just wanted to ask you if you could do me this tremendous favor... Could you please keep an eye on her without her knowing that you're doing so? I'm sure captains may get such requests from parents who are losing their kids to Star Fleet careers, and I never thought I'd ever be in this position to do just that. I lose my daughter... and you gain a doctor."

Nancy nodded her head. "Yes, Doctor, I know... I'm not her real mother, but I have been there for her since I found her 13 years ago. She is sweet and gentle, and a bit too trusting, and this is why I need you to watch her. Keep her safe. I know when you first meet her, you won't believe that this young girl is a doctor. She has that impression, but I also assure you... you're getting the best doctor in Star Fleet."

Smiling, Nancy continued, "Mothers can brag on their little girls like that. Well, this little girl is an innocent lamb, Doctor, and I would like you to keep her from the predatory wolves you encounter on your travels." Pausing, "I don't expect you to respond to this communique. I just wanted to express my concern and my love for Nay. Don't let her know I contacted you. I don't want her to know that I worry about her. Thank you for taking this time to hear me out. Godspeed on your travels."

Cat gave a slight smile, having someone worry about you is a nice thing. To know that someone else cares about you, can be one of the best gifts another person can give.

Putting the padd back on her desk, she reached across and pressed the comms button on her desk, she called for her head nurse and the assistant chief counsellor, Ryley Kincaid.

=/\=Ryley, this is Cat. Meet me in my office, when you can.=/\=

The changes in staff and the situation of being stuck in Breen space, a lot of the crew seriously injured - Cat could see problems, she couldn't envisonage the details, but she wanted to make sure Medical and with it, Counselling were ready for anything.

The New Kid In Town

Jeremiah Leger,
Ensign,
Hazard Team Member
USS Miranda

Nak Labron,
Ensign,
Security Detail
USS Miranda

Ensign Jeremiah Leger was at a loss as he scanned his PADD for directions to the Hazard Team Rooms onboard the massive USS Miranda. It was, after all, his first time on a Pathfinder Class ship and he was sure that he looked like a total idiot standing there in the corridors with his overstuffed duffel slung over his shoulder, a PADD in his hands, and a total befuddled look on his face. His thoughts and mental ramblings were derailed when he felt the deck start to vibrate.

Thud... Thud... Thud...

'My God... The ship is being attacked' he thought suddenly looking around 'Why isn't the ship going to Red Alert? And where the hell am I supposed to go!?'

Thud... Thud... Thud...

The vibrations seemed to stop right behind him and Leger suddenly felt as he was being watched. He slowly turned around and looked up... and up... and up... "Oh my God..." he said, mouth gaping open.

Ensign Nak Labron towered over him, looking down on the surprised human. When he talked it was like a volcano rumbling before an eruption. "Are you lost Ensign?" he asked.

Dumbfounded and wide eyed, Leger managed to only nod.

Labron eyed him. "What's the matter? Never seen a Brikar before?"

"Uhhh... no." Leger managed to croak out.

"Where are you supposed to be at?" Labron asked, continuing his line of questioning. Leger handed him his PADD with his orders on it. "Ah. The new Hazard Team member. You need to be in the security area in the Hazard Team room." he pointed down the corridor with a arm that was about the size of a tree trunk. "Down the corridor and take the nearest turbolift. It will take you right to where you need to be" He handed the PADD back to Leger and contiuned plodding down the corridor leaving the astonished Ensign in his wake.

"What the hell am I doing in the security field when we got people like HIM?" Leger asked to no one in particular, still staring down the corridor Labron went down. He finally shook off his stupor and darted down the hallway to the turbolift he was directed to. "Hazard Team Room" he instructed the computer. The doors slid shut and took him further below decks.

He exited on what he hoped was the appropriate deck and set off for the Hazard Team Room. He found the locker room with no problems at all and even noticed that one of the lockers was prepped for him, new uniform and suit at the ready for him. He opened his locker, tossed his duffel in and quickly changed into his new hazard suit. "Saweet!" he said as he looked over all of the specifications; transporter buffer to hold any number of items including a helmet for his suit, type 3 phaser rifle, and type 2 phaser, personal shields, standard comm badge, power pack, et al... Leger was as giddy as a kid in a candy store. He couldn't wait now to get to training.

He then noticed a note on his locker to report to Lt. Commander Darion upon arrival. He nodded as if acknowledging the order, stowed his gear in his locker and headed off to find his new CO.

Leger had a good feeling that he was going to like it here.

Half Of A Life Is Better Than No Life

Ensign Ry'shan Nadene Hhanna
Medical Doctor
USS Miranda

==Sickbay==

Half of a life was better than no life at all. Ry'shan Nadene Hhanna knew that more than anyone did. She was 28 years young with 14 years she wished she could forget and 14 years she cherished with all of her heart. So half of her 28 years had been wonderful to her...but the first 14 years of her life had been a brutal hell.

Experimentations. Torture. Physical and mental abuse. Isolation. The things she had been forced to endure at the hands of the Seitician's could not compare to her worst days in her life after captivity. As far as she was concerned, there were no bad days. The nights were the hardest, but that was due to the nightmares, and it was the one time when she found herself alone at the end of the day.

She hated to be alone.

Actually, that wasn't correct. The word 'hate' was not in her vocabulary. She strongly disliked being alone. She craved the company of others and aboard the USS Miranda, there was no lack of crew members there. She may dread the long nights, but the mornings were a joy to look forward to. She walked the corridors of the ship on her way to her shift each day with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step. She greeted every one she passed with a wave, a smile, and if they were close enough, she'd put her hand on their arm, or give their wrist an affectionate, heartfelt squeeze.

On this day, however, there was nothing joyous about it. Sickbay was a busy place and two of Miranda's command officers were currently admitted, one critically so. Something had happened on the bridge and then Commander Brex and Lieutenant Commander Narim'Malyki were rushed in. The medical staff, led by Cat...Commander Felicia Khatroweena...did what they could. It had been a horrible explosion, and both officers had received serious injuries.

Some time later, after the surgery, Ry'shan had come to Cat's office to see if she could do anything for her. Her heart ached when she heard Cat reporting to Commander Jaxom, "I've done all I can," Doctor Felicia Khatroweena replied hollowly. "There was severe neurological damage. I've repaired it, but he's not showing any signs of coming around. He may waken in an hour, a week - or never. I simply have no way to tell."

Discreetly, Ry'shan backed out of Cat's office and she went to the unit where Commander Brex was. He was in a Surgical support frame (SSF), otherwise known as a "Clamshell" frame. Ry'shan felt as if the man was being eaten by a mechanical beast, but she knew it was for his own good. Would he recover? She didn't know. But there was one other medical administration that could be done for him.

She went to his side and gently stroked his face, as she could not reach for his hand inside the frame. "Commander," she said softly, "I have not had opportunity to meet with you since I have been on Miranda...but if you should go, you will be missed. People here who know and love you will miss you. So please don't go. Stay with us. Come back to us. Let our lives be blessed with you still in it."

There was no response, of course, but she believed there was a chance he was able to hear her. She spoke to him softly, words of encouragement and hope, and then she promised to return to speak to him again. There were other duties to attend to. There were other patients in need. Ry'shan double checked the medical readouts on the side of the frame. Brex was stable. Cat had done all she could have. The rest was up to Brex.

"Never Again"

By James Mitchell,
Chief Science Officer,
USS Miranda

James shifted uncontrollably in his sleep. Nightmares plagued him, but of the sort he was used to having in the past. There were no machine insects with fluttered wings rending him limb from limb this time. No omnipotent being speaking in riddles to him, no block ruins with unidentifiable writings of a language he felt was long dead speaking in echoes to his psyche.

No, those nightmares had seemingly ceased since he'd taken up with Arel Smith. He wondered if his child was experiencing those dreams now? He din't want to believe the child was really his, but he knew better. For all the banter and machismo the Security Chief was playing up with, he knew the real truth of the matter was that she loved him in some insane, distorted way. I mean, how could anyone love him? His psyche was so one-sided. At least, he thought so. Maybe she just liked pain.

No, these nightmares were about Arel. He kept seeing her die.

He'd only been resting for about 3 hours; the sleep just brimming in limbo between deep and unshakeable slumber, and being 'hyperawake'. The terror of venturing into the fathoms of sleep only to be assaulted by the horrible images frightened his psyche into just coasting along the rim so that he could jolt awake at the first sign of trouble.

Finally, he jolted awake and upright in bed. A sudden urge made him turn and face the window port behind his headboard, the glacial planet drifting peacefully below him, his former posting, the Galaxy, to the left and below.

Curious what brought him to this feeling of premonition, he saw something in the corona of the planet's atmosphere approaching the two ships in orbit, a reflection of light from the planet's surface. At first he thought it to be a satellite. But it approached too fast. Then the firefight began, its first impacts raining down on the shield outside his own portal window.

Moments later, and the ship was rocking from blasts. Outside his window, it became surreal, and he felt a moment of nausea as the ship twisted, crossing paths with the Galaxy that was under it, but now perpendicular and beside. Phaser fire littered the landscape, and debris was floating carelessly by the window from the already destroyed Breen escorts. Fighter crews 'screamed' by, accidental deflections of the shields they came in close contact with. A fighter of unrecognizable design clipped Miranda's shields and careened directly into Galaxy's to be obliterated in fine fashion.

He was truly hyperawake now. The dreams forgotten at the moment as he flew out of his quarters in the dim red lighting to man his post on the Bridge.

****

It took some difficulty getting to the bridge. He'd stopped to tend to injured crew where the shields had been breached - or ripped through in some case by who know what. Could Galaxy have fired her phaser cannon to hit Miranda? He shook his head. No Tactical officer was that bad. Unless, of course, the rumors of the Romulan leading their Tactical team were true. Made one wonder.

Either way, taking detours around, helping where needed... by the time he got to the Bridge, the battle was over. The crew remained silent as they listened to what seemed to be an audio transmission from the surface.

Apparently, there'd been a revolution of sorts, and now the military was in control. Miranda was moving towards the planet.

Arel!

It struck home as the adrenaline of the moment disappeared back into the bloodstream.

She was still on the planet. Had anything become of the landing party? He'd noticed Breen cruisers from what little of the battle he did see from whatever vantage points allowed it from the moment it started in his quarters to the various holes and portals on the way here.

The answer came as he stood frozen just inside the Bridge deck as he took a step towards his station.

[...placing your diplomatic envoys under arrest as per your failure to maintain your... how do you humans put it? ... end of the bargain.]

His heart skipped a beat. Dammit, James! You're tougher than this. Shake it off, wimp! Maybe you'll get lucky and the runt will die in her womb. That'd keep your dirty little secret, wouldn't it?

[...We are only taking measures to assure our species survival in that you do not break this promise as well. Your crew shall be returned, once you have completed the task we require of you. If you do not comply, we shall terminate one of your crew ever hour until you do.]

Pulse rate increased. He couldn't move. By the prophets, he felt helpless! Do something, Brex! Anything! Why isn't someone beaming them out of there?

Because they have a mission to accomplish, that's why. They won't kill them. Not if they want to bring the Federation down on their heads. James gritted his teeth; comfort in the fact the Breen wouldn't stoop to taking such a broad chance. The fear fell away, the worries of a life without Arel Smith being replaced with stolid courage. As much as he showed her such arrogant discourse and apparent hatred, she was the one thing in his life he really only truly cared for, he knew. He pushed away all those that he loved (or was that his host saying that?) because all he ever cared about died. He would rather have her at arm's length alive to care about her from afar, then close and dead.

The situation below made him nervous. More banter between the Breen Thot and M'Kantu. Damn that Captain! He was going to push the Breen over the edge and kill the entire landing party. Was he that irresponsible? Fear gripped him. He still couldn't move from the spot he'd grown roots on.

Then the Breen ship hovering between them was fired upon by two uncloaking ships also of Breen design, and annihilated. The Bridge flew into an uproar of which only Brex could forcibly calm them down about in order to hear the rest.

["You would kill your own people for a revolution? It's more like a coup from this perspective."] M'kantu's voice could barely be heard above the din.

[I will do what is necessary for my people to survive. Now, not a moment to waste. To prove my point, I shall terminate one of the hostages.]

The Bajoran finally uprooted himself from the spot on the carpet that had clamped onto him to dive forward gripping the rail near the Tactical station. His knuckles instantly faded to white.

The very identifiable whine of a disruptor blast echoed over the subspace wave, the shriek that followed barely lasting a moment.

The whole patchwork repair James had made to his failing psyche instantly unraveled in one single moment.

The world halted, save the shriek that reverberated in his mind. His eyes closed, knowing that scream would stay with him for an extremely long time indeed if it were Arel. His entire world crumbled around him. His head drooped, shoulders sagged.

All he tried to do to keep her from becoming victim to his living curse, and he failed. He stumbled, his fingers letting go of the railing, and he fell. Time stretched and the fall went on. Eyes staring at the window portal above, he wondered if her soul had fluttered away into the night. If her last thoughts were of anger and hatred towards him. That was no way to die. Not for her. No one should end their lives so violently and without love. Especially not her. He never knew how much he loved her until now. Now that she might be gone.

He crumpled to the floor, scurrying back to the turbolift, where at once the doors closed; he crawled back against the paneling to wrap his arms around his legs, tightly drawing them to his chest. Bowing his head into his knees, he was racked with sobs.

Never again would he love. Never again.

patent pending

by Turan Trelar,
Quentite engineer wannabe

Turan lifted up another part of the deflector control room's ceiling. The piece like many other before reminded more at a worn out straw hat than at the wall cover of a 24th century space ship.

The fibres protruding from the edges on first sight looked rather soft. On first sight .... on second sight, every of the fiber was able to mutate into a harpoon when combed against the pile as Turan found out when he tried to throw the piece onto a zero-g-carrier.

"Ouch"

Turan dropped the tile back to the floor to look at his left hand. A needle-like piece of fibre - about 4" long over all still stuck in his palm. There wasn't any severe injury. There wasn't even blood. The fibre just punctured the skin and ached like hell.

Carefully, the Quentite engineer wannabe pulled at the fibre. He didn't want any splinter to stay behind in the wound. Again, the pain almost overwhelmed him. But at least, the fibre was out.

As careful as Turan removed the fibre, he lifted up the piece again and laid it on the carrier.

The next part to be salvaged was the one covered with the stained blood of ensign Meowky Haat. One of its edges was snapped upright. With his tip cut away evenly it didn't remind at the danger it bared when unlucky Meowky fell and pinned his shoulder on the blade sharp tip.

"Miss Desoanso? Could you have a look at this, please?" Turan called the female engineer who was there, too, when the ceiling fell down.

>From the far end of the room, ensign Susan Desoandso approached to look at the giant boy who was bending the edge back and fore. With every move, further of the edge's fibres snapped like spaghetti.

"Did you ever think about those ceiling tiles?" asked Turan.

"Not really" answered Ensign Desoandso a little bit annoyed "and there's quite some work to be done, so it's not the right time to look an the ceiling and chat."

"But Ma'am" protested Turan. "with a little more thinking about those tiles, ensign Meowky wouldn't have been injured that severe. May be he wouldn't have been injured at all."

"And you think you are better than the folks who designed the vessel?" Susan wanted to know.

"I didn't say so, did I?" replied Turan. "I think they spent a lot of effort to design the fastest engines, the durablest hull, the strongest deflectors and probably even the replicators producing the tastiest food. They put it all together and covered it with wall covers they had on stock. They didn't expect them to on fine day fall down and injure a crewmen. They expected them to stay there ..." Turan touched the ceiling without even standing on his tiptoes "... forever."

"Your point" admitted Ensign Desoandso. "so what would you propose to change, Mr Trelar?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure" Turan answered "I wouldn't let the decision where the cover breaks or not to random. Could you lend me your phaser once more?"

Susan nodded and passed him her phaser.

"Is it still on the same setting, I used with Ensign Meowky?"

Again, Susan nodded.

Turan engaged the phase and let the beam touch the piece of wall cover lying topmost on the carrier taking care not to cut fully through it. After giving the phaser back to the woman curiously staring at the experiment. He lifted the cover up over his head.

"Watch, what happens", ordered Turan.

First, the cover laid absolutely straight. With every inch, Turan's hand moved towards the piece's center, it bent more. Suddenly, there was a loud crack and half of the piece fell down to the floor, whirling up some dust.

"Look at this", offered Turan, proudly presenting the new born edge. "It's not as smooth as cut by a laser knife. But there aren't any long fibres and not blade sharp tips."

Susan combed her hair over her shoulders and scratched her temple.

"That looks much to easy to me, I must admit" she said quite puzzled "but it's worth presenting it to Lieutenant Suder. But first get this crap and dust out of here so we can reestablish control before our friend out there decide to ride another attack."

Turan nodded "Yes Ma'am" and instantly continued to fill the zero-g-carrier with the remains of the deflector room ceiling cover puzzle.

"Disconnected" or "Big Shoes To Fill" (you pick, i hate coming up with titles)

Cmdr Gail Dawson,
Flight Control Cmdr
Jaal Jaxom,
XO USS Miranda

==Bridge==

Jaal had only sat in the center chair for a few minutes. realizing there wasn't a whole lot for him to do at the moment he stood absent mindedly straightening his uniform and announced, "Mister Dawson, you have the bridge."

He walked toward the Captain's ready room and went in.

Once inside with the door closed the Trill more or less collapsed into the chair behind the Captain's desk. He was suddenly tired and still couldn't believe what happened.

He was in charge for the time being.

Jaal shook his head. **Taalis, can you believe that?** he tested the mental bond he held with his wife.

**Yes, I can. You've worked so hard.**

The commander nearly jumped out of the chair with excitement. He was glad beyond glad to hear Taalis' voice in his head again, but at the same time there was a nagging feeling it wouldn't last.

**Th'l'ya,** she called, **I'm sorry. I don't think I can hang on much longer.**

**What do you mean?!** Jaal asked frantically. **You don't mean that!**

**I'm tired, I need a break. The doctors are doing everything they can. I'm afraid I'm stuck here for the time being.**

**What do you mean ... stuck?** A streak of panic went through Jaal as he realized the bond he'd shared with Taalis since they were married was slowly shrinking.

**It's hard to put into words,** she replied slowly. **I ... have to go for a time. I can't say when ... or even if I'll be back.**

**NO!** The bond was only open enough to let a pin prick of light through. **NO!**

Jaal repeated. **I love you ...**

**I love y...**

The bond was gone.

**TAALIS!** Jaal called in his head to no avail.

**NOOOO!** He cried mentally while slamming both fists into the desktop. "NOOO!" he screamed out loud. He banged his fists on the desk once more. A sharp pain emanated from his left hand where it had been burned by the ops console during the lastest skirmish.

"NO! No! No!" His eyes were closed tight in pain. Not just from his left hand, but from the emotional pain from losing his wife. His head slowly sank to the desk while his right hand still banged on the desk albeit softer and softer. "No, no, noooo!"

He was panting now. Beads of sweat showed on his forehead. Now Jaal hoped that the wall between the ready room and the bridge was sound proofed. 'Kat will be calling soon,' he thought while trying to compose himself for the inevitable call from the ship's CMO. A sudden pang of nausea rippled through his stomach. After dry heaving a couple of times, Jaal got up and made his way to the head.

He turned on the cold water tap and filled the sink half way. Three more dry heaves later Jaal was splashing cold water onto his face. Looking in the mirror he told his reflection, "Get a hold of yourself man. Get a hold of yourself!"

Now he managed to slow is breathing to what was somewhat normal. It would do no good to panic now. The entire ship was depending on him to stay focused. 'Focus,' he ordered his image in the mirror. "Focus damn it!"

The realization that it wasn't just the crew that was depending on him, the whole mission did now. That meant keeping the peace and not letting things escalate into a full scale war between the Federation and the Breen ... and the Hydrans ... 'and' the T'kith'kin. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Ever since he'd been with Taalis they'd been able to draw strength from each other in difficult situations. His rock was gone. Now what could he do?

Jaal had just finished wiping off his face in the ready room's head when the door chime rang. He put his command face back on and straightened himself back up. "Come in," he said with strength returning to his voice. He saw it was Commander Dawson.

"Ah Commander," He said as he cleared his voice a little "It's nice to see you again."

Gail knew he was a liar. Not that he wasn't happy to see her, but he was worried, beyond worried.

"Captain," She said with a little trepidation when she saw him sit a little taller at the word "May I have permission to speak freely sir?"

'Don't call me that,' Jaal thought to himself. He didn't feel he'd been around long enough to be called 'that' and he didn't care about old time Terran naval traditions.

He could not possible know what she wanted, but he always had a policy of communication with his officers. Now they were really his officers whether he liked it or not. "Of course ... have a seat." Jaal tossed the towel back into the head not caring where it landed. Then he took a seat as well.

She smiled as she sat. This was his ready room now. Only temporary, but his. She took a deep breath "Captain, I know how you feel right now. I SAT in that chair, in this office once or twice. I was XO of this ship when Murdock was not here..." And she paused for a moment smoothing her hair "And I know how it feels to see your spouse in trouble."

Jaal listened intently. He took a moment to take this all in. She probably was the only person on the ship who REALLY knew how he felt.

"Thanks. I really appreciate that Commander..."

"Honestly, You can call me Gail. We are not on the bridge. Its okay."

Jaal gave a curt nod, "Right, of course." A small smile grew onto the Trills lips.

Gail decided she REALLY liked this man. "Jaal", she said hoping he would not mind her taking some liberties, "We talked the other day when you promoted me. I trust you, and this whole ship trusts you. It SUCKS that your wife is hurt. I KNOW I dont have to remind you of your duty. You have put it squarely on your shoulders MUCH more than anyone can put it there."

Jaal's head bobbed up and down twice in a weak nod. "Yeah. I know Gail, I know."

"And I'm here to tell you that NO MATTER what happens, this crew is behind you. I am behind you, and I trust YOU with the life of my husband."

It was a small gesture, but one he really appreciated. He did not doubt his ability. He never did. But he DID have the responsability of the whole ship on HIS shoulders now.

And with Taalis's condition unknown....

Now he got what he was waiting for.

=^=Sickbay to the Captain=^=

Jaal looked at the screen on the desk and frowned. 'I'm gonna have to get used to being called that, aren't I?' "Go ahead Kat."

The ship's CMO appeared on the screen. Jaal couldn't remember ever seeing her look so upset.

The Catian took a deep breath and explained. =^=Taalis slipped into a coma a few minutes ago. We tried everything we know of to prevent it. Her physiology is ...well, not entirely Vulcan or Romulan. There's something else in the mix that is making diagnosis and treatment difficult.=^=

Jaal nodded slowly, "I know. She's always wondered about that part of herself."

Kat nodded and continued, =^=She needs someone who knows more about it than I do. I have to suggest we get her to a Vulcan medical facility as soon as possible.=^=

"I understand," Jaal answered with a furrowed brow, "How are Brex and Gwyin doing?"

Kat slowly shook her head side to side, =^=There's been no change in either of them yet.=^=

"I know you're doing the very best you can Kat. Keep up the good work." Jaal told her solemnly.

The Catian CMO nodded. The screen went back to it's usual view.

Jaal pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He sat that way for several seconds. When he finally looked up his face was a couple of shades paler than usual. Gail was a little worried him. Hell she was a lot worried. She stood up and went behind the desk and did something he was not expecting. She hugged him. And he did something he did not expect. He hugged her back. He needed that. And he full well knew this ship was not going anywhere untill they saved the away team. The longer it took.... Gail broke the hug first and went to walk out. Just as she got to the door she turned to the new Captain. "Well, Captain, I say we go and kick some Breen Ass. Are you with me?" Jaal smiled at her "I'll be on the bridge in a minute. Tell your husband not to get to comfy in that chair, it doesnt belong to either of us." She gave him a wink "Yes sir." And she went back to the bridge.

"Reporting In"

Jeremiah Leger,
Ensign,
Hazard Team Member - USS Miranda

T'Chani Darion,
Lt. Commander,
Hazard Team CO - USS Miranda

Fek'Ihr,
Master At Arms 3rd Class,
Master At Arms - USS Miranda

Upon leaving the Hazard Team Locker Room, Leger went straight for the CO's office nearby. As luck would have it for him, Lt. Commander T'Chani Darion was there in the process of reviewing PADDs. He walked straight up to her desk and snapped to attention. "Ensign Jeremiah Leger reporting as ordered ma'am."

"At ease Ensign" Darion said looking up. "So you're the newbie from the Peral Harbor huh?"

"Yes ma'am." Leger replied, handing his orders PADD to her and dropping into parade rest.

Darion took the PADD and examined it. "You got demoted and transffered off as a result of a court-marital hearing on the Pearl. Care to shine some light on that subject? Details on that have been sketchy."

Leger shrugged. "What's to say? A bunch of Jem'Hadar were using civillians and their frieghter as a shield to get near the ship. I fired and destroyed them when they got too close." He said. "Its all in the official report."

"I know of the 'official report' Ensign," Darion said leaning forward a bit. "What I'm looking for is your account that you refused to put into the report."

"Permission to speak freely ma'am?" he asked, when Darion guestured for him to continue he went on. "I made a judgement call. Sure, my orders were to not fire on the freighter, but that was before we detected the Jem'Hadar onboard. Their presence changed the whole situation. I saw that they were going to use the frieghter to kamakazie the Pearl so I made the call as flight leader to smoke them before they had the chance."

"Killing innocents in the process?"

"Better than letting them wax an entire Concorde Class Carrier." Leger stiffened back to parade rest. "Ma'am".

"OoooK" Darion said looking back at the PADD. "You're currently on standby status until we need you. Use the time to get outfitted by in the Armory and to get settled into your quarters. Dismissed Ensign."

Leger snapped to attention again. "Ma'am." he turned on his heel and marched out. 'at least she didn't ask about the Davenport...' he thought on his way out of the office.

He continued out and headed down the corridor a bit and into the ship's armory. He stopped short inside when he saw the Master at Arms sitting there. "Qa'pla" he said in greeting.

Master at Arms 3rd Class Fek'Ihr turned in his chair and grinned. "Qa'pla" he replied. "Come on in sir"

Leger grinned too as he walked further into the Armory. "First a Brikar, then a Klingon. What's next, a Breen?"

"Have you've met Enginner Stava yet?" Fek'Ihr asked.

'Tell me he's joking...' Leger thought suddenly. He cleared his throat. "Er no... I need to get outfitted." He said, handing his PADD over to him.

Fek'Ihr nodded, looking at the PADD. "Type 3 Phaser Rifle and Type 2 Phaser. Not a problem. Anything else?"

"Not unless you got something for hand-to-hand combat."

"Would a D'K'tagh work?"

"I was hoping for something like a mek'leth" Leger admitted.

Fek'Ihr grinned again. "An excellent choice. I prefer dual D'Ktaghs myself, but the mek'leth is a good one to conceal on one's body."

"I know, learned how to do that from Commander Worf." Leger said, grinning back.

"I'll see what I can get you sir." he said, laying the phasers on the table for Leger. Leger holsterd the type 2 and slung the type 3 over his shoulder. "Qa'pla Ensign."

"Qa'pla" Leger replied, raising his fist to his chest in the Klingon salute. He walked out and toward the nearest turbolift. "Personal Quarters, Deck 14." he instructed the computer as the doors slid shut behind him.

"Damaged"

By
Legate Kylar Curran
Federation Liaison Officer
USS Galaxy

Appearances by a few members of the Landing Party.

The Kelvan had remained seated at the elongated table where he was to present the Federation timetable and aid the Breen would negotiate for once they returned from whatever formalities they had insisted were more important than the delegation team that held whatever answers to the questions that awaited asking in suspenseful pretense.

The Federation envoy to Breen, a Commander Chris Thomas, was a disgusting sod. An embarrassment to the Federation, it was quite possible he had permanently damaged any potential relations the UFP could possibly have with the glacial beings who had come out of the habitual shell for whatever obvious nefarious reason came to be.

He clasped his fingers together, tapping against his knuckles in silence. The Starfleeters whispered in their conspiratorial manners elsewhere in the chamber. Legate Pryce-Randall, equally resolute in her avoidance of the minions of the war machine, remained her usual stoic self. There was no need to talk or discuss. They had been prepared just prior to beaming down. It was now up to the Breen to determine their point of strategy in achieving the Federation's aims. If they would only arrive.

It was a calculated move on their part, thought Kylar. Force the other team into a submissive and impatient stance deprived of any news or information from outside. They could not even communicate with the ships above even as they watched the orbital ambush by the Hydrans and T`Kith`Kin. This of course instigated an uproar from the crew currently held in 'invitation' by their hosts, only to be calmed down by the Bajoran captain. In the midst of the debates, the feeds to the screen cut off, leaving them all in the dark without a word from the Breen as to what is occurring outside their doors. The thought of an orbital assault or fragments of starship burning down through the thin atmosphere to crush them into molecular fragments was a touch worrisome.

Then their hosts came barging through the only entrance. Cold air rushed in behind, numbing his cheeks even as he rose to take a step around the curved head of the table. As he opened his mouth in dignified response, the pregnant woman from Miranda came tearing through the air at him to knock him over even as a disruptor blast whistled through the air to leave a scorch mark in the wall where he once stood in front of. He crashed into the chairs he previously sat in, rolling to the floor gripping an ache in his side where he had been unceremoniously rammed into an unyielding seat edge.

Shooting hammered all around him as he scurried into cover. The table was ripped from its moorings and thrown over as a shield by someone. Screams of threats, dares, bodies hit the floor. A Breen came around the edge of the makeshift shield to take aim at Legate Pryce-Randall. Curran dove forward connecting at the knee of the creature, causing it to tumble. He tore at the methane tubes at the back, catching a blast of what may have been nitrogen to the side of his head, where he felt his ear lose all sensation. The window they'd watched the space battle blew out, carrying one of the Starfleeters and a Breen outside.

Then it was all over. The screaming had faded to a morbid silence as the toll was taken of the surroundings. Many Breen lay unconscious about, but more had beamed in and held the Federation team at bay. Jii issues his final command to lay down arms and surrender. Typical Federation coward. A Breen sentry, chittering in its alien language yet to be deciphered by the universal translators, trounced over to Curran, gripping him by the collar and lifting him up off his feet by the scruff of his neck. Eying his dead companion upon the floor and ice crystals on Curran's left side of his face, a flurry of sound erupted from the mesh mouthpiece. He couldn't understand the Breen, but he knew what was going to happen. Kylar braced himself even while gripping the gloves of his captor.

He was bodily thrown halfway across the room in the general direction of the others. Randall was shoved into the circle as well.

Another Breen had the tiny counselor's creature as they were being herded. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the cries of the woman who would think could help him. Now her pet was the liability he knew it would always be.

Still, it was heart-wrenching even to his cold organ to bear witness to her pleading. He now thought he understood the symbiotic relationship they shared, and, seeing none of the other Starfleeters bore he courage t assist their own, it sickened him. He crawled to his feet, blood dripping from a gash in his clean cheek.

Without a thought, he charged the Breen holding the creature.

Surprised at the audacity of the diminutive being, the Breen were caught unawares as the Kelvan speared it with his shoulder in what would be a humanoid stomach. It dropped the furry creature even as it staggered backwards from the hit. A stream of tweets and flew from its vocal speaker in rage. It brought up two hands clasped in one large fist over its head, to be brought down in a smash on Curran's back. The Kelvan grunted as he dropped down several inches off the waistline.

Returning the favour with several futile punches, he finally succumbed to the raining blows on his back from the giant. End result was him laying face down, broken and bleeding on the floor. The Breen who had defeated him kicked him upwards to face the ceiling. He saw then that the animal had found its way back to its owner, but his eyesight was hazed over.

A new Breen arrived just then, laced in the bodice of costume denoting one of higher rank. Seeing the diplomat in a heap on the floor, it approached the Breen sentry, engaging it in communication. They then halted their speech, motionless and anchored in place for a single moment, in thought or transmission.

"That one." The new Breen pointed to the shattered Liaison Officer. "He is of no use to us any longer. Damaged."

The sentry drew his disruptor on Curran and fired. A shriek, short and painful, escaped his lips even as the last light faded from his eyes.

The Breen Commander turned his gaze to the rest of the shocked group. "You are now prisoners of the Breen Confederacy. Your behavior will determine whether your lives are forfeit or not. Take them to their cells. As a sign of what may befall you, we shall leave the body of this one here to remind you of what will happen if you disobey."

"Searching for A Solution"

by:
Dr. (Lt., jg) Phoebe Ivers,
Science Officer/Astrophysicist

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

Phoebe Ivers was in the science lab. It seemed she was always in the lab. Always at work. But that is the way she liked it.

She had an idea, and despite the goings on around her she had to at least try and apply it to an experiment.

So, she had headed immediately for the science lab. And now she sat, huddled over a desktop monitor, a frustrated look on her face knitting her brow. A mine field that made it impossible for a Starship to achieve warp. There had to be a way around it. It was an ingenious device. But it was still just a device. Technology. And there were always ways around simple machinery if one knew where to look.

The problem was, Phoebe didn't know exactly where to look.

She left her seat, taking a long drink of something out of bottle she had replicated afteran hour's work. She turned and moved to almost the opposite end of the science lab. Her dark eyes fixed themselves on a small holographic display; the Miranda and the Galaxy. She stared at the two ships. Two of the most powerful ships in Starfleet. The Pathfinder class Miranda, and the upgraded Galaxy class ship that was the USS Galaxy.

And it just seemed ironic to her that two such powerful vessels could be put into such a desperate situation.

If she could do anything, she would do it.

And that's what the holograms were for.

Her first theory had been to use the ship's weapons- both ship's weapons- to remove the mines, but she learned quickly enough, just from running simulations that that simply would not work. So, she had poured herself over every thing she could find, and read in two hours time on the possible effects these mines could have. And, understandably there wasn't much. At least notihng that someone like Commander Wolfson, Commander Mitchell, or Commander Jaxom would have missed.

But, she had to try, anyway.

That's what the holograms were for. Phoebe had a theory. It was a theory someone may well have already proposed and proved wouldn't work. But Phoebe was going to test it out, just in case.

"Computer... run simulation Ivers-316." she ordered, in her soft, husky voice, that seemed to echo off the walls of the lab, bringing home exactly how alone she was in there. It was a secondary lab, normally used for minor research projects, to keep the main science lab from being overloaded with "non-essentials" during emergencies.

A light-bubble engulfed the two holograms- first the Miranda, and then the Galaxy. Then the ships pulled closer together, and the bubbled seemed to expand around the them, and intensify in thickness. Phoebe smiled, as she watched. So far so good. But this was really engineering stuff. She hoped she got it right.

Phoebe crossed her arms, and slowly brought one hand up to cup her chin as she watched what happened next. The two ships began to move, slowly. The computer did a countdown of the space the vessels were travelling according to the scale of Phoebe's model. The hand left her chin, and she ran her fingers through her long, dark hair. The hand stopped at her ear, and Phoebe curled her neck to push her arm against her chest. In that position she had the appearence of a young girl, trying to cuddle a stuffed toy. Her eyes blinked as she watched the two holograms make their way across an expanse of simulated space.

And she straightened her neck Her arms were crossed again, as the bubble dissapeared from both ships, and the holograms made a clear indication of portraying the vessels as trying to go to warp. Nothing.

It wouldn't work.

Based on the data Phoebe had available, there was no level of shielding that could stave off the effects of this mine field. And the shielding would have to be dropped for the ships to go to warp, even if she did find a powerful enough level that could be applied with the resources available to both ships. At that point, the mine field would have it's effects. And the Miranda and Galaxy would be stuck with a very long journey home.

"Computer, end simulation" Phoebe returned to her workstation, frustrated. She would try again, and keep trying until she was called away- until an alert called her to a different station. Or until she simply worked herself into such a state of exaustion that she could no longer hold her eyes open.

And so it was that, hours later, Dr. Phoebe Ivers could be found, by anyone chancing to enter the science lab where she was working, with her head resting on her arms, and her arms up on the console infront of her. She was sleeping. And she would have been decidedly dissapointed had she known it.

“Adventures in Ops” (for lack of a better title)

by
Ensign Tarin Iniara
Operations, USS Galaxy

The battle was over. Or at least it seemed that way.

For the time being, the ship had stopped rocking. Iniara took this opportunity to release her grip on the side of her console, sliding back into a much more comfortable position in her chair.

It had been too long, she thought as her mind traveled back to her last starship duty. That had been over two years ago…and she hadn’t been stuck at a desk during it, either. Frustration welled up from deep within. She wanted to be tearing Breen scum limb from frozen limb (even if they were trying to be our allies, she mused), not pushing buttons and allocating resources and personnel.

Her console abruptly began to do its best impression of a gaudy holiday decoration, lights flashing rhythmically in an attempt to get her attention. Iniara snapped back to the present, eyes once more focusing on the smooth panel in front of her.

No time for wishful thinking. She had work to do.

Deftly her fingers began to slide across the console, taking care of each request that appeared on the screen, appeasing the console-wraiths so they would quit the light show. Engineering was definitely asking for a lot of juice. No surprise there. Once the guys up top had finished slinging more than thinly-veiled insults at each other, it was the engineers’ duty to clean up the mess they left behind. One didn’t have to be an empath to feel the level of irritation rising in that area of the ship.

“Sir?” Iniara’s head whipped to the left, pinpointing the source of the interruption. A young crewman toting a repair kit had stepped into Ops, and was now looking at her a bit anxiously.

“Yes, crewman?”

“I need to get at that access panel,” he replied, pointing at a large section of wall just to Iniara’s right.

“Fine, go ahead.” She waved him in, briefly wondered what was so important behind that wall, and then turned back to her console.

Silently she mused over how the whole thing got started. This was supposed to have been a diplomatic mission. The last time she checked, the Federation wasn’t quite so violent with their diplomacy. Something was definitely not right.

Ignorance is bliss, the Musashi’s security chief used to remind his staff. ‘When the shit hits the fan,’ as he would so eloquently put it, ‘keep your head down and do your job. Let the guys with the gold worry about the big picture,’ he’d finish, tapping the three gold pips at his neck. It was useful advice, but curiosity was sometimes a very compelling force.

Her left hand hovered above the console, one finger twitching ever so slightly. With a couple keystrokes she could access as much of a situation report as her security clearance would allow. Her curiosity satiated, she could then go back to work. It was certainly tempting, if distracting…

~*Son of a--!*~ The exclamation shot through Iniara’s mind like a phaser blast. She glanced to her right at the young crewman. Elbow-deep in the wall’s guts, he gave no signs of having heard anything.

So that had been telepathic after all. Damn, but sometimes it was hard to tell.

~*Oh hell ow ow BLOODY ow OW OW!!!*~ Every hair on Iniara’s body stood straight up as the flow of thoughts further degenerated and crescendoed into agonized screaming. She froze, hands pressed against the cool surface of her console, all senses on full alert. Being just three decks above Sickbay was not helping.

She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. ~*Bring me--*~ It did nothing to relax the knots forming ~*--losing him!*~ in her shoulders and neck. Ripples ~*Make it STOP!*~ of goose bumps sped up her arms and ~*This one’s--*~ spine as the barrage continued. ~*AIIUGHHH….*~

~Something’s not…not…~ A ghostly finger, as cold as it was fleeting, brushed the exposed flesh at the back of her neck, ~something…~ setting off a new wave of goose bumps. ~is…not RIGHT!~

Dimly she was aware of the slight sucking sound her palm made as it disconnected from the console. The feeling of soft fabric grasped tightly in her hand, the inertia of a fabric-clad object as her arm jerked reflexively backward, and finally the dull thud of hard floor against soft flesh.

Her senses came rushing back to her then. Solid floor against her back. A brief wave of heat caressing her face. Something heavy on her arm, straining the joints of her hand. An acrid smell which made her wrinkled nose wrinkle even more. A loud alarm.

She opened her eyes in time to see a puff of smoke disappearing into the ventilation systems, its source not two feet from where she had been. She mused detachedly over the fire suppression systems, which thankfully still seemed to be working.

~*Holy mo--*~ came the very close, very strong, very jarred thoughts. With deliberate slowness she turned to her right, coming face to face with the young crewman who had landed haphazardly on top of her arm. “How…did…” He stared back at her with wide, spooked eyes. ~*Jesus Mary and Joseph…*~ To her, his thoughts conveyed what his words could not. Much more eloquently than speech ever could.

Wordlessly, Iniara let her tangled legs drop from her chair to the floor, then pulled her arm free as she sat up. She had no explanation for the man, so instead she offered her other hand and pulled him up to a sitting position. “You…what…I...” he sputtered.

Iniara was just as startled as her companion. She knew her reflexes were good…but this was something else. Something unsettling. Instead of fabricating an explanation she just stared back, unblinking.

The inevitable smell of charred flesh reached her nostrils soon enough. “Crewman…your hand.” She pointed at his right arm, the skin of which was bubbling in a very unhealthy way.

“My hand,” he stated, as if he had just realized it was there.

Iniara got to her feet, pulling the young man up with her. “Report to sickbay, crewman,” she ordered in a gentle yet firm voice, hoping that would be enough to get him back in the here and now.

He looked back to the smoking wall and his half-charred toolkit, debating whether to collect it before leaving, then deciding against it. Cradling the injured hand he repeated to himself, “Sickbay.” Then, louder, “Yes, sir.”

Iniara watched silently as the crewman left, then gave the wall a cursory glance and moved to a workstation on the opposite side of the room. She transferred control to the new console and tapped out a brief note to Engineering about her exploding wall problem. She tried not to think about what had just happened, and instead prepared herself for the next wave of requests.

And hoped that she would never, ever do something like that again.

"Just Dust"

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

Ammanalyn Llywhyn Assistant Chief Counselor (and current hostage) USS Galaxy

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

With Kylar Curran out of commission and left to be an example for the rest of the team, there was an odd number. Ammanalyn was alone in a cell -- as alone as a Daedryn could be, anyway. After Kylar had forced the Breen to drop Tampatiaen, he'd shifted into the smallest thing he could and hid inside her clothing, not to emerge until after she was thrown into the cell and he was sure the coast was clear, he'd emerged, returned to his leopard shape, and curled in the curve her body made as she lay on the floor.

The pain from the experience was still reverberating through her psyche. She'd passed out not long after Tam had nestled against her chest, and was only now emerging from unconscious, slowly beginning to feel her body again, slowly feeling Tam's, waiting for her eyes to be able to focus, but not really wanting to move. She felt very disconnected. The rational part of her brain told her she was in some kind of shock, though she couldn't really see herself from outside her body, it was her battered psyche making a projection...

But it was really no good. She closed her eyes again.

It was probably only minutes later that she opened them again, feeling slightly more collected.

It was at this moment, as the fog in front of her eyes began to clear, that she realised the Breen had made sure her cell had the perfect view of Kylar's fallen form: front and center, as though placed there to silently torment her. The Legate's face, bloodied and frozen in the absence of expression with his eyes closed, was turned toward hers. She stared, unable to turn her eyes away, her arm around Tam tightening. He whimpered softly and moved closer, burying his head away from the man's form and into her body. He shrank slightly, trembling, terrified. She, on the other hand, had moved beyond being terrified. In effort to continue to function, her psyche, in its state of shock, was pushing all emotion away. Dimly, very dimly, she was aware of guilt tugging at her, but that was pushed onto Tampatiaen, away from her. It was for him to deal with, for now. Eventually... well. If eventually ever came, she would take it back, see a counselor or speak to one of the Scholars on Daedrice.

For now, she stared, the events playing back to her. Her large eyes opened wide, curiously watching the distinct lack of activity on Kylar's part.

He'd saved her.

Despite everything, all his angry, self important and entirely removed bluster, he'd been the one who acted. He had saved Tampatiaen, he had saved her.

Despite everything.

It was difficult for her to understand. Logically, she could see no reason to it. And beyond that, there was nothing in his psychological profile, the one she had so carefully constructed based on educated and elaborate observations (could observations be elaborate? she supposed they could be, maybe, if they were made of elaborate activities), that said he was capable or willing to do something like this.

Odd.

She had not accounted for it. Not at all.

Perhaps it was the heat of the moment. She had always allowed for him to have the capacity to be caught in such a thing, to react based on basic instincts, to be carried away.

Though it would have to be one very large, very heated moment.

Was this is? Was that what happened? A very large, very heated moment? Or was there something more than that? Or was she reading too much into it? Did she want too badly for there to have been one? A moment that might very well have broken him from whatever "funk", as the humans might say, that he had been in? Did she want, somehow, to have been responsible for a breakthrough? To believe, even for a moment, that she was important enough, that anyone could be important enough, for him to...

But she didn't really want anything at the moment. She didn't feel anything except for a vague curiosity, and a slight tug at the back of her mind. Absent everything else, she had a sudden feeling of awakening, as though another part of her was coming into being: there was a warmth around her that she couldn't place, and a haze around her mind, but she could see through it...

She lifted one hand from Tampatiaen's fur and lifted it spreading her fingers so her palm faced out toward him, blinking, her forehead creasing. Ammanalyn wasn't aware of actually doing this, or why, it was just something that occurred. After a minute, the girl smiled slightly and began to move her hand, very slowly, as though it was on a gentle wave of wind: up and down, fluidly. She then, giggled softly: a muffled, girlish sound, as she wrapped her arms around Tampatiaen and whispered to him, hugging him tightly, large almond colored eyes still focused on the Legate's unmoving form.

"Dust," she whispered, a giggle dancing within her words. "It is all Dust."

"Name, rank and number"

Commander Navarre Shinta,
CCO

"I don't know anything you bastards!" Shinta was hanging from the wall shackled at the wrists. it was beginning to chafe and hurt. She had no idea where the others were, she could only pray they were safe. Shinta was especially worried about pregnant Arel. Her friend couldn't take something like this right now.

Something like an electronic whip hit her on her naked back, knocking the breath out of her.

"Give us information!" Only one of the Breen talked to her, asking the same question over and over again."

Shinta raised her sweat covered head, so tired and pain... "Navarre Shinta, commander, 903..."

Crack!!!

She screamed.

"Give us information!"

"Go to hell, you bastards." Never would she say anything to endanger her children, her husband and her friends up there."

One of the Breen lost his temper and started hitting her in her stomach, her face. Shinta cried out from the pain. Yet her spirit was far from broken, the fools, this way they would never break her. She was trained at resistance, violence might break her body but never her spirit.

She passed out when another violent kick landed on one of her temples.

"Vacation, All I Ever Wanted"

Chief Petty Officer Shivis Stava,
Chief Engineer's Mate (USS Miranda)

****

Egroval Resort, Risa, United Federation of Planet

It was funny. For his entire life, CPO Shivis Stava had felt a strange warmth within him. Maybe that was why he'd never felt comfortable on Breen. Maybe it was that he'd never really had the heart to be as ruthless and treacherous as the 'normal' members of his race. Maybe it was just curiosity.

Whatever the case, Shivis Stava wondered where his family was, how they were faring. Not that he meant his family in a traditional sense, but more the family that had adopted him when he'd enlisted in Starfleet, nine years previous. His biological family was long ago dead, slaughtered in one conflict or another. With treachery being so focal a trait among the Breen, it was simply inevitable.

No, it was the USS Miranda, and everyone he'd worked with that he was concerned for. Concern was another emotion that was usually foreign to the Breen. But the people of Starfleet, while initially suspicious of him, had been fairly quick to warm to him.

Warmth. And there it was again. In the end, Shivis Stava had decided that he craved that feeling of warmth, for the reminder it brought that there were people in the world who cared about whether he lived or died, failed or succeeded. That was the difference between the UFP and the Confederacy.

Which was what brought him to where he was, standing on a beach on Risa. Of course, he was still encased firmly in his refrigeration suit, though he'd donned an oversized pair of terran 'board shorts' that he'd found aesthetically appealing, pulling them on over his refrigeration suit. Hitting the beach had been fun, especially after he'd gotten a chance to play some beach volleyball with a group of terran children. They'd been fearful at first, but when he'd caught a stray ball and approached them, they'd been quick to accept another player, evening their teams.

That had been a few hours previous, and the boys had since gone home. As the sun set, Stava found himself looking up, still wearing his board shorts. His eyes were immediately drawn to Breen. What was happening up there?

Sadly, he had little doubt that the Breen were being anything but treacherous. Racial nature was a hard thing to overcome. Being born different had been his only escape from that world. In any case, his frozen heart was focused on his crewmates.

(TIME FRAME: Takes place during the last leg Battle with the T'Kith'Kin and Hydrans....pesky methane breathers...)

"Sickbay Blues"

Dr. Janelle Reynolds,
CMO
USS Galaxy-A.

And Dr. Klaus Fienberg,
MO
USS Galaxy-A

Main Sickbay

"Doctor Reynolds!" Klaus shouted over the commotion. "I'm Here!"

"Good, I can really use a hand. The nurses are assessing the injuries. The most critical ones are to get our attention first." She motioned for him to take the patient next to them.

"Ok Ma'am," turning to the Patient. "You will be fine. You will survive as long as I'm hear to keep you alive." He proceeded to set the Broken upper-arm as quickly as possible. The patient whimpered with a rubber tube in his mouth to stop him from biting his own tounge off, as Klaus snapped the humerus back into place. He quickly splapped on his reading glasses, and gave the patient an anesthetic hypo, motioning for a nurse to splint the arm. He bolted off to the next patient. Dr. Reynolds had now been working on the same patient for ove! r 30 minutes and refused to give up, "Don't die on me you bastard!" The brave nurse laid her hands on her shoulders, "Dr. Reynolds! Enough, he's dead."

Dr. Reynolds gave a loud sigh and cursed out loud, "Damn it. Damn it all to hell." The nurse covered the patient with a sheet and was taken out of the room. She walked away to her office and cursed again. She took five minutes to pull herself together before walking out and beginning on another patient. She ran her scanner over the crewmember, "Send this one to surgery."

The next patient got impaled in the abdomen, missing all vital organs. This one was lucky. She grabbed the autosuture and sewed him up after cleaning out the wound. A piece of hair fell onto her face which she blew at, trying to get it off her face. She finally brushed it off using the back of her hand.

The crew had been battered pretty badly. A vulcan was wheeled in, and Klaus' expertise was in particular demand here.

The Vulca! n, an enlistedman named Grik,(Which was barely readable, his nametag was partially charred and cracked) had been trapped under a large peice of the hallway near one of the emergency bulkheads that had moved into place following a hull breach. His ribcage was crushed partially, his torso appearing flatter. Yet he was still breathing. His right leg was severed above the knee, his knee cap still gruesomely attached, green. His right arm was broken in 3 places and severely burned. His neck was twisted slightly, and appeared quite bruised and green. He had been trapped for 11 minutes.

After a quick examination, Dr. Fienberg had but one thing to say. "There's nothing we can do for him. Severe internal bleeding, it's a miracle he can even breathe with the condition his throat is in, let alone his ribcage. Get him out of here."

"But he's a Vulcan!" The young nurse didn't have that much experiance with Vulcans.

Klaus closed his eyes, devastated deep ! inside, since he had met Grik several times before. The Young engineer had promise. "Vulcans are far more durable than humans, but they aren't invincible. Even a Brikar can be cracked and shattered. He appears to have had little or no blood flow to his brain, any more than 4 minutes like that, and he has brain damage, that not even a Mind Meld could penetrate. Other than that, his body is in mortal condition anyway. Move him aside..." Klaus paused for a moment, acknowledging his desicion within. "...and make him comfortable."

At that very moment, Grik flatlined. The Nurses and another MO started to rush over. Klaus returned a little order to the room. "Do nothing, he's gone."

Dr. Fienberg took the young nurse aside for a moment. "Crewman.....crewman."

"Holester."

"Holester, I am sorry. But there was nothing we could do for him. I am not the most experianced doctor myself, I've been at it for a number of ye! ars, but everyone sees something new. Other than that, I was at the Medical institute on Vulcan for 2 years. That was incredibly catastrophic damage to a Vulcan. Even if we were able to keep him alive and repair the damage to his body, his brain was damaged beyond repair. He would have been a complete.....how did they used to put it.....A Vegitable."

The Nurse merely nodded and walked off to help again. Klaus began to move to assist another patient that had stumbled in the door.

A Nurse ran to the crewman's side. He held his head with his left hand hand, the other behind his back. His collar was either Red, or saturated in enough blood to change the color. "What happened." Klaus asked as his started to use his scanner on the crewman's head.
"perhaps you had better take a look at this instead..." The right hand was actually a bloody mangled mess, barely attached to the to the wrist.

Klaus felt that for some odd reason, the only way! to keep his sanity was to make a joke. "What did you do? Stick your hand in a malfunctioning transporter?" He quickly flipped out an anesthetic hypo, applied it and motioned for a couple nurses to come over. "Put him under and prep him for surgery. And stop the bleeding on his head." He turned back to the crewman, who seemed to be more than a bit drowsy from the anesthetic. "You'll be fine. Provided we don't get blown out of the sky, we'll have your hand fixed up, and if the damage is too much, we'll replace it." At the moment, the nurses grabbed him and placed him on a mobile bio-bed, and carted him off to surgery.

-I wonder what Malgin will say about him.-

Klaus immediately stepped to the side, needing a 3 second breather, and at the same moment, caught eyes with Dr. Reynolds.

She felt his pain. Losing patients was very hard and it happened even to the best doctors there is. They weren't Gods even though sometimes they wished they were. Her attent! ion was diverted back to another patient.

Fourty percent of his body was burned. The smell of burned flesh still made her stomach turn, something you never get used to. "Get me the Dermoline Gel." They applied it to the burns. Peeling the burned skin off first was a thing of the past. This man was lucky that he was living in this time of medical technology. He was moved to make room for the next. People left and right were being taken to the triage area that was set up to house those who were already treated but couldn't be sent to their quarters.

A young female Ensign was brought in and she was screaming her head off. She had seen her roommate killed right in front of her. As Dr. Reynolds tried to examine her, the patient was thrashing...fighting her. She was very strong and smacked Dr. Reynolds in the face...hard, causing her to step back. It took two orderlies to hold her down. Reynolds cheek bone and under her eye stung but she didn't let that stop her. She tried! to calm the Ensign down but it wasn't working. With her voice raised, "Nurse, I need a hypo of Chloromydride."

The young Ensign calmed down. Upon examination, the Ensign was found to have bleeding coming from her side and something sticking out of it, apparently an explosion sent items flying through the air, hitting her. Scans showed that it wasn't life threatening so slowly, she pulled it out and used the dermal regenerator to close up the wound. It always amazed her how an explosion could propel things through the air with such force behind it...another lucky patient. Dr. Reynolds continued working non-stop.

Klaus was watching as the object was removed. A phantom pain seemed to enter his gut.
-That looks familiar.-

Dr. Fienberg snapped back to reality as an older looking Enlisted man entered the room. His prescence frightened alot of people. He walked in, missing his left arm, bleeding, but not even noticing it. Well, he must have noticed sinc! e the severed arm was in his right hand.

Klaus was just as surprised as the rest, and wished he had that much adrenaline coarsing through his veins. "Nurse.......prep that man for surgery."

Dr. Reynolds had seen some strange things but that took the cake. She took a deep breath. It seemed that the patients kept coming. By this time, most of her hair was hanging down in front of her. She was hot and what once had stung, now was hurting. She couldn't go on. Most of the severely injured had been either seen by them or was sent into surgery so she thought this would be the best time to bow out and take a coffee break. She whispered to the nurse that was helping her, "I need a short break. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my office."

Klaus watched as Dr. Reynolds entered her office, then mended a few more broken bones.

-Hmmm.....That looks like something I need.- He continued to mend random patients.....broken bones, shrapnel, random bur! ns, cuts, abrasions, the whole 9 yards.

Outside the door to Reynold's office. "Ma'am?"

Janelle was sitting at her desk, too tired to move. She didn't look towards the dooorway, "Come on in. I bet you are just as tired as I am. They can handle the injured for a while." She watched him come in and motioned him to sit. She started to rub her eyes but stopped, feeling the swelling around her eye and the top of her cheek. Embarrassed that she got nailed like that, she joked about it, "Rule number one...never stick your face where it doesn't belong." She chuckled at her own joke.

"Duely noted." Klaus pulled up a sleeve, revealing a large welt on his right arm.

He stopped for a moment. He mumbled something. "Grik."

She just shook her head. Her smile disappeared and was replaced with a frown, "God I hate battles. We've lost a lot of people today, good crewmen. I'll never get used to it as long as I live." She felt like throwing something.

"I have been in many a sensless battle myself. I only regret that maybe I was a bit younger. At least then I may have tried to save Grik. But I knew all too well there was nothing to be done for him." He slammed his fist against the wall of the office.

"I'm barely into my thirties, wearing reading glasses, with the demeanor of a bitter old man." Klaus turned around, looking out of the office. Things had died down, and the ship stopped shaking from weapons impacts. "What in God's name has happened to me?"

She stood up and went to him, putting her hand on his shoulder, "I wish I could say something to make you feel better but I'm the last one you should be asking." She tried to lighten the tone of the conversation, "Things could be worse, you could look dorky in reading glasses." She had to admit that the joke wasn't as funny as it sounded in her head, "I'm sorry, my bad. Why don't you sit down and have a cup of coffee or something."

"No. Not right now. I've been trying to go from Coffee to Tea, but it's hard to break an old habit." Dr. Fienberg removed his reading glasses and set them on the desk. "I'm allergic to Retinax V, which is the reason for those glasses. And medical science has been unable after 80 years to come up with a replacement for it. Specifically one that causes no allergic effects.....but I suppose the allergy is rare enough that no one actually cares."

Wandered around the room for a moment. "I could get my eyes replaced completely, or even that old form a refractive surgery. But they wouldn't be MY eyes."
Klaus looked out into Sickbay again. "It's a rough business. But think of all the lives that we DID save. I know it doesn't make us feel better, but it makes it worth in my humble opinion."

She nodded, "I have to agree. It's a good feeling when one of our crew is able to walk out of here. But it doesn't make losing someone any easier either.! " She sighed, "I remember the first time I lost someone. It haunted me for weeks. I almost quit Starfleet and the medical field." Her eyes watered slightly as she remembered that day, "I then realized later that I am not God and I am going to lose patients no matter how good today's technology is but if I can even save one life, I shouldn't quit." She admitted, "I still get torn up inside when I lose someone but that's good, it means I care." She added, "The day I feel nothing inside is when I need to give up medicine." She wiped off her eyes, "Sorry but I still remember it as if it was yesterday."

"You're lucky you didn't know the person as closely as the first person I lost. While I had been a doctor for awhile, I managed to not lose a single patient under my direct care.....that only lasted until my father grew ill. In fact, the illness, a degenerative diasease that appeared to be caused by Light Exposure to certain rays caused by anomolies in a warp core, is called the 'Fienberg-O'Bannyon Neuro-degenerative syndrome.'" Klaus had come the closest to crying in he had been in 5 years. "My parents were in an accident when I was 3. My father was exposed on a short minute and a half to anomolous rays emmitted by the damaged warp core of the USS Rennville. It nearly breached, but the core was ejected. My Mother, on the other hand, was the Chief Engineer and had been exposed for nearly 10 minutes. She had evacuated main engineering and tried to repair the damage herself. My father went in and pulled her out, while the core was ejected via a secondary console. She died several weeks later, an imbolent. My father however, took nearly 25 or so years...I don't even remember how long exactly...but it took him far longer for the diasease to take full effect. I had been trying to find a way to reverse the condition for nearly a year, but he eventually fell into a coma and died under my care." Klaus stopped for a moment, dejected.

Janelle felt his pain, having gone through a loss of her own. She remembered what the counselor told her, "You can't keep beating yourself over the head." She added, "You did all that you could do." She once again approached him, "I hope you are planning to continue to find a cure. You may have not been able to save her father but you might be able to help someone else some day." She walked past him and picked up a picture of her sister and her together, wearing matching outfits...the only bad thing about being twins.

"There have been no cases for 8 years. So there has been no way to study. Just as efficient as delta rays." Klaus noticed the picture. "Your twin. I heard you had one. Don't ask how, I don't remember."

"I think I told you one time when we were talking. After her death, I couldn't take a shuttle anywhere. It's amazing how something like that can make you gun shy about things." She put the picture down, "Kind of like losing a patie! nt." After she lost the patient, the thought of losing another patient scared her.

"No. I suppose. I'm not a fan of Away missions after my combat medic service during the war." He walked up to one of the Displays. "I wish there was a window here. God help me, but I have always found debris fields after a battle fascinating. It's a morbid curiosity but sometimes I can't help it."

"I have to admit that I have never seen a debris field. Never cared to either. Seeing the bodies of crewmembers after a battle is enough for me." She was feeling a headache coming on. She squeezed the bridge of her nose near her eyes, "Today was the worst I have ever seen though."

"It's something that rubbed off on me from an ex-captain of mine. Alberion S. Savage. Particularly warlike. Definitely a Hawk, but of a different kind. He's sort of like a Klingon, but half insane. A man, that has an extreme personality. The kind that rubs off on anyone he comes in contact, wether it ! be chaotic thoughts, morbid curiosities, or an unending sense of Honor. Sometimes all three." Klaus seemed less interested, and looked out at Sickbay. Mercifully for all. It seemed the late entries were all light injuries, minor burns, broken hand and arms, insignificant injuries compared to what came through earlier.

"Things seem to have calmed down. But I have a terrible feeling. It's not over."

She sat back down, "Well, I don't know about you but I could really use a short nap. I mean, if it isn't over, I'll need to be at my best." She could usually work for more than thirty-six hours straight but for some reason, today was mentally draining as well as physically draining.

"I'll keep an eye on Sickbay. And if there's any administrative work to do, I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure? Afterall, you worked just as hard as I did."

"I may have hated work as a child, but I do not now. Besides, I want my own sickbay some day, Any sic! kbay really. I dare say I wouldn't mind being on the Sturmovik, but Kay probably wouldn't have it." Klaus smiled the first time since he woke up the prior morning.

"Well, if you need a good reference, let me know. I'm sure I have a lot of clout. Besides, with your record and performance, I think they'd be glad to give you your own sickbay."

Klaus moved to the side slightly. "I wouldn't mind staying right here though. Something seems to just.....hold me here. Not Kay though. As much as she'd hate it, she'd stay with me."

"Oh, I see. Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind." She looked over out in sickbay, "Looks like it's getting busy out there again. I think I'll hold off on that nap."

"No....something binds me to this ship. And yes....our calling..well...calls."

"Infallible Logic"

by
Lt. Ella Grey

****

Ella Grey wrinkled her nose as she looked into the bathroom mirror and then attempted to wipe the grease off of it with the back of her sleeve.

Of course, since her sleeve was almost as dirty as her face it wasn't really effective.

The engineer sighed. All she wanted to do was sleep. But she also didn't want to get grit and grime all over her pink bedsheets and comforter. Ella could almost hear her mother screaming in her head for just thinking about it.

Ella rocked back and forth on her feet. She frowned, closed her eyes, and wondered if someone would come over and make the decision for her.

But, finally, she shook herself and then started to peel off the dirty uniform.

The Galaxy may have been immaculate on a normal day, she thought, but during a disaster it's parts still tended to have enough dirt to terraform a planet.

Don't think about planets, Ella then told herself firmly. That would lead to thoughts about Victor and then concerns about Victor and then hysteria about Victor and then...

Just stop it, she warned herself. Victor was fine.

He had to be fine because he was Victor.

And with that infallible bit of logic, she coordinated her legs to step out of her pants, removed the rest of her clothes, and walked shakily into the sonic shower.

****

Sleep would have been nice about an hour ago, Ella thought as she buried her head under her pillow. Hell, even a nice, dozy sleepy feeling would have been nice.

But no, her mind was refusing to rest, deciding that now was the perfect opportunity to rehash every thought she'd ever had.

Ella gave a loud growling sound, fortunately drowned out by the loud moaning that was coming from Indigo's room (which was another source of irritation although she really couldn't blame her friend for wanting to celebrate their survival with her boyfriend.)

She just wished that Bill weren't so vocal.

"Oh, Indy!" Bill was saying. "Oh!"

Ella rolled onto her back and threw the pillow to the side.

She was going to have to figure out something for the communication with the engineering staff during a crisis. When it was normal paced, everything was fine and understandable. But during an emergency, they didn't have the time to decipher her charades. And she was tired of getting irritated looks thrown her way.

That was going to be great to try to figure out, Ella thought sourly. How to accommodate Engineering without sacrificing any values.

"Oh!Baby!"

Ella plugged her ears.

Curtis had mentioned in passing something about taking a runabout to look into some mines. At least that would get her out of Engineering for awhile. And it was easier to communicate with three people instead of thirty.

"Yee-haw!"

"Yee-haw?" Ella mouthed to herself in disbelief.

Her father's fifty-third birthday was coming up, which was just another occasion for her mother to throw a big party, snub whoever had pissed her off this year, and set Ella up on another date from hell. Maybe she'd be nice this year and wear something that passed for decent in society. Her dad hadn't been happy with the sheer violet backless number she had worn a couple years ago. Or the black one with out the midriff the year before that.

"Oh!Baby!" Bill repeated himself.

Ella rolled eyes.

Victor was down on the planet.

Victor was down on the planet and no one had heard from the away team in awhile. Someone had even been killed, she'd heard whispered around her department. It might have been Victor.

It couldn't be Victor, Ella argued with herself. No one could kill Victor. He was...Victor.

"Ohhhhhhhhh....." was followed shortly by "Ahhhhhhhh...."

Ella crossed her eyes. At least there was one place on the ship that she could go to and not be followed by the sounds of machines or wannabee cowboys.

*****

Victor's quarters, of course, were silent.

She wandered over to his bed, crawled under the covers, and held onto the next pillow tightly.

He'd be back. He'd be okay.

He had to be.

She stayed there, awake, until it was time to get back to work.

"The one where Phoebe meets Jordan"

by:
K. Jordan Elaithin (Cdr.)-
Intelligence Liason
Dr. Phoebe Ivers (Lt. jg)-
Science Officer

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

Jordan rubbed her neck softly where the hypospray had been moments earlier. She had decided to kill two birds with one stone and check in on Brex the same time that she had to get her weekly injection from sickbay: a coctail of prenatal vatamins and other good things along with whatever the hell it was that helped her sustain the pregnancy. They'd explained it to her upwards of a hundred times but she was beginning to think that human biology wasn't all too dissimilar from a ship's engineering: she was just incapeable of wrapping her brain around it. In the end it just seemed to boil down to the idea that it works because it works. Too much faith was involved and there was very little up for debate. What was the fun in it, really?

Brex wasn't doing particularly well. All given, he wasn't doing particularly bad (ie he wasn't dead) but he certainly wasn't on this side of stellar. She'd held his hand and spoken to him, though she wasn't sure what good it did. He was in a deep coma, after all. It was the least she could do. He had been a great friend to her when she hadn't had any around for a time, and it was something she could never hope to repayno matter how long she sat at his bedside.

She felt next to useless on the bridge and pretty much the same about of useless elsewhere. The injection always made her tired so she had decided she'd head back up to her quarters and turn in until someone needed her on the ship blew up. Either way...

She sighed and stepped into the turbo lift, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall, trying to figure out if she looked pregnant yet. She decided she probably didn't, that she just looked like she was gaining weight which might not necessarily be a bad thing (though, as she'd told Karyn in numerous sessions, it depended entirely on one's point of view whether it was a good thing or not).

Before the lift had moved more than a deck, the doors slid open, and a tall, dark haired woman entered. She had an elegant gait, with her hands folded behind her back. Long hair adorned her shoulders, and she was tall. Her dark eyes fell on Jordan as soon as she entered the lift, and a small, almost imperceptible smile came on her face.

"Excuse me." she said. "Are you on your way to sickbay ? I don't want to hold up the lift." her voice was deep, and throaty. And she had an accent that was quite obviously British.

"No, just coming up from it, actually," Jordan said, opening her eyes and smiling slightly. "Meditating in the turbo lift a moment, that's all."

The woman, who wore the royal blue uniform of the science section, stood next to Jordan, leaning herself against the wall, as well. She gave the order for the lift's destination. And then introduced herself in a voice that sounded tired, and overworked. Not at all an uncommon sound on the Miranda at present.

"I'm Doctor Ivers." she said. "Phoebe Ivers. I don't believe I've had the pleasure. I'm with the science section." her manner wasn't quite Vulcan, more like that of an old-fashioned school teacher. Quiet, and somewhat serene, if a bit dry.

"Jordan Elaithin, uhm..." Jordan had to pause a minute to think of her rank. She rarely went by it and hardly ever wore a uniform. "Commander, Intelligence Liaison, actually, hence the black get-up I suppose. You come on board just before this mission?"

"Yes, at the last layover." Ivers replied. "I'm surprised we haven't met before. Elaithin...." she paused a moment, herself. "The Captain... your husband ? Then I suppose congratualtions are in order." her smile widened. It didn't take long for Phoebe to get to like someone, and there was something about Jordan she liked. But at that moment even she couldn't put a finger on it.

"Yeah, my husband," she said, the word bringing a small smile to her lips, though the worry for him reflected in her eyes. "We've, ah... been together almost three years now. Married for about about year and a half or so... give or take, so it' not really a new thing especially. He's a good man though, a great Captain, you'll see that pretty quickly." Jordan brushed a hand through her rather messy hair: the curls were being unruly. "Have you had much dealings with your department head yet?"

"Just from reading the reports of his command of the Miranda during the Galvanis incident I have a great deal of respect for Captain Elaithin." Phoebe said. "One of the main reasons I was overjoyed at being transfered