"Flashbacks"

Attache Richard North

Richard North collapsed into the chair behind his desk in his 'office'. It wasn't really an office per se, but it was efficient for what his job would require. He quickly sent out a message to all of the Senior Officers saying that he would like to meet with them at their earliest convenience to introduce himself and to tell them about his job function on board the ship. Before he could send out his finished work a flash of blinding white light came over him.

* * *

Lieutenant Commander Richard North ducked down behind a large rock and scrambled to press his back against it. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think the Romulan soldiers saw him. He looked over at his assistant team leader and signaled him to get the squad behind cover. North took off his helmet to help reduce the chances of his being discovered, took a deep breath and slowly exposed his head enough to get a decent look at the situation.

He didn't like what he saw. At first glance it only looked like there was a fire team, but no such luck. Instead there were at least two squads of Romulan soldiers cautiously advancing towards their position. North ducked back behind the rock and slipped his helmet back on his head.

"Williams," he hissed to the team demolitions expert.

Williams went from the prone position to a crouch and quickly made his way over to the team leader.

"Sir," he whispered as he got up to North.

"Got anymore demo charges left?"

Williams nodded. "Six charges left, Sir."

"Good. Work with the engineer and see if you can devise some sort of...trap to place for the Romulans, or a distraction. I don't care what it is. Don't use all the charges. I don't want to engage these guys, they are not part of our mission objective. I'd love to be able to sneak around them, but, I don't think it's possible. See what you can do."

Williams grinned, "Always a pleasure to kill some Romulans, Sir." "Carter, move up," North ordered his ATL.

The assistant team leader came up from his position and dashed over towards him.

"Sir, ATL Carter reporting as ordered."

"Thank you, Mr. Carter. What's our position."

Carter didn't even need to look at his tricorder. "We're about seven klicks south-southwest of our objective."

"Teacher's pet...all right...let's try to move on as quickly and as quietly as possible...we're here to do a ghost army op...we don't want to get into a fire fight with the Romulans because that will tip our hand. Williams and the engineer are working on a way to devise a strat---"

* * *

Cadet Captain North stood at stark attention before the desk of Admiral Tenant, Professor of Starfleet Science.

"God damn it, Cadet Captain North, I expected more out of you. You are the student leader of the cadets on this campus, you're supposed to be above the silly prank you and your buddies pulled. I can understand a little rivalry between sports teams, but spiking the football team's sports drink with Kentucky Bourbon has gone a little bit too far in my opinion.

"You've got one of three choices to make here son, I'm only going to go over this once. You can disenroll in the program, but you lose all your scholarship money and you have to repay the Federation what they've spent on your education, most likely as an enlisted man. You can hand over your Cadet Captain pips and step down as commander of the cadets. The final option I'm going to give you is to take six points of demerit on your record, you'll most likely not get any of your top picks for a branch assignment, lose out any hope of getting on a ship that a cadet of your caliber should be on, like that new Galaxy class vessel, the U.S.S. Galaxy. You'll also be given an official reprimand place in your file...you have twenty minutes to decide."

"Fade To Black" Part I

By Lieutenant JG Tarin Iniara, Operations Chief

Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Operations Officer

A delicate sound of chopping caught the attention of the officers at the scientific xenobiology laboratory, which included a small section of botany and ecology. An entire array of alien flora and fauna laboratories was added to the ship after the last refit, and with the lack of an arboretum, it was only a matter of time before Jamson found a suitable and hospitable place for his plants. *chop chop* he continued caring his favorite plants while whistling to himself. Botany, plant biology and physiology were as dull as Quantum Physics, but he found refuge and peace of mind in plants; and for the everlasting 'Klingon' crusader, it was just another way to keep the ghosts within. "Excuse me, Lieutenant. My name is Kay McFarland, I'm in charge of the labs on Gamma Shifts." She extended her hand.

He raised an eyebrow before shaking her hand. "I thought this was Delta shift."

"It is indeed," she nodded. "But I've exchanged shifts with a colleague, Susan Deiper?"

"I'm..." He wanted to say he was new, but couldn't spit it out. He'd been assigned to the Galaxy before, as the Chief of Operations and Executive Officer and found it hard to admit he was starting all over again. Pride, logic and common sense pushed each other aside until eventually the strange staring translated into a word. "New. I don't know Susan Deiper".

"Oh...I thought I didn't recognize you. I'd like to think I know most of the crew members but you never know......" She continued on and on about the many crew members on board, and it wasn't too long before Michael wished to get back to his plants. His young plants were now rebelling in his mind, fighting the elder ones, creating a mass battlefield of impressive beauty and colors. "I'm actually an Archeologist...... and I see you're interested in plants. The man you should speak to is Miguel, he's the Chief of Botany and Ecology. I'd love to show you ship-" was all he needed to snap out. Jamson was becoming irritated, when this smiling junior officer was just studying for her administration exams at the Academy, he was commanding starships around the galaxy. Fortunately for the both of them, the ship rocked pretty hard, spreading all sorts of science equipment around the lab.

"What was that?" McFarland asked surprised. They were lucky enough to be standing next to a large table, and grabbed it in the commotion. Something was wrong, inertial dampers were not aligned; they could the feel the entire ship turning around.

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

Time was standing still, as both Kay and Michael glanced around in disbelief. "What's happening?" she asked again. Everyone around them disappeared, including some of Jamson’s plants.

Michael kept to himself, he tried thinking of the reason, the source for all of this. He snapped his fingers "The new warp engines!" and looked straight at Kay who faded in slowly front of him. "Lieutenant????” He tried to get a hold of her, but it was like grabbing air.

"Jamson to Operations!" He tapped his com badge. No response. "Jamson to anyone! Can anyone hear me?" Something was terribly wrong. He had to find out what happened, why everyone disappeared and what happened to his beloved Lyaaran red carnations.

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

Blissful sunlight warmed the grey stones of the courtyard. Iniara instinctively knew this place before her eyes had time to adjust to the sun. She was home again.

Squinting against the glare, she looked down at her hands. A child’s hands. She ran them along the smooth fabric of her dress, feeling the softness of the colorful silk. Most children her age would never have had such luxurious clothing, but as her mother had always told her, daughters of the Seventh House of Betazed wanted for nothing.

Iniara stood, noting how it felt to be a child once more. Everything was so much larger; being in this tiny body the house’s central courtyard seemed almost cavernous. Slowly she moved towards a door, passing into the shadows that blanketed one wall.

The house was cool, its darkened interior relaxing and inviting. Iniara walked through its halls deliberately, savoring everything she could from this long ago time.

Laughter like soft bells filtered down the hallway. Iniara turned, catching sight of her younger sister, her wispy white hair done up in tiny braids. “Papa’s almost home, Nini, come help me with Glydias!”

Inwardly, Iniara grimaced upon hearing her childhood nickname. But she felt herself pulled towards the younger girl, who was struggling to keep the barely walking Glydias on his feet. Giggling in spite of herself she took her brother’s free hand, and together the three of them made their way to the house’s main entrance.

Barely a minute later a sleek silver car pulled into the circular front drive, depositing its single passenger before speeding off. Her father, Tarin Barel, was just as she remembered him: tall, strong and always smiling. “Iniara! Kaeylia! Glydias!” he called out, dashing up the stone steps to his children.

“Papa!” Iniara squealed as she felt herself lifted into his arms, pure happiness washing over her. She angled her head upwards, looking into eyes which were almost exactly the same color as hers. “How was Melara? Did you get to see Uncle Reiziger?”

That wasn’t right, she thought, replaying the words in her head. But her father kept smiling anyway, as if she could do no wrong. After all, she had always been his favorite.

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

"Michael!!!!" someone yelled behind him. He turned quickly, ready for a fight and to his surprise it was Ra'veek, an old Naussican school friend. He looked up and was astonished to see the old glass canopy which surrounded the outpost, his home. "This is impossible..." he said, amazed.

"Wait up Michael!" Ra'veek caught up with him. He ran all way from his house, and was still breathing heavily. "Where's....Koloth.....?" He was still panting.

"I have no idea..." Michael barely answered back. 'Koloth' Michael was having a hard believing all of this. Koloth was also another school buddy, Klingon, Michael's best friend for years to come. It was his House who took Michael under his care when the young child wanted to learn of the Klingon ways. It was Koloth's uncle who told Michael stories of the great warriors of Stovo'kor. It was his father who invited Michael to Qo'nos for the so called summer vacations. Where was he? Michael couldn't remember that day, it was still very unclear.

"Come on! We’re late!!! We have to get to school early or Dhael and his group would catch us!" Ra'veek grabbed Michael and started running. "Dhael?" Michael stopped for a second before joining up with Ra'veek. "Yes...Dhael, what's wrong with you?" he asked. It took Jamson several seconds before he remembered who Dhael was. He was an older boy, Romulan, who used to beat the hell out of Michael and his friends. The only one who stood against them and won, was Koloth and his Klingon friends.

"Come on Michael!!!" Ra'veek urged Michael to keep running. "Oh oh...." He took a step back.

"Where do you think you're going?" a tall figure approached the two kids from the nearby alley. He was a big Romulan thug, accompanied by another group of bullies which consisted of a couple of Andorians, another Romulan and a Pakled. "Naussican and Human scum," he continued.

"We have to get to school!" Ra'veek said to Dhael.

"School? Why do you think I care? Where are my credits Ra'veek?" Dhael grabbed the little Naussican boy by his shirt.

"Let him go, you treacherous green blooded Romulan!" Jamson returned the favor.

"Eh? Where's your Klingon buddy, Jamson? He's not around to protect you!" Dhael was still holding Ra'veek.

"Let him go!" Jamson said angrily.

"What are you going to do about it?" Dhael threw the Naussican boy to the ground and pushed Michael away.

With a simple kick to the groin, and a following uppercut, the little Human child sent the Romulan to the ground. Both the Andorians, and the Romulans were surprised by this move. The Pakled however, didn't appear to understand what was going on. "You're going to be sorry, Jamson!" Dhael wiped the green blood from his lip. "Get him," he pointed to his friends.

They had large sticks, metal rods and stones, but still they fell one by one as the little Terran kid embarrassed them all. "You call yourself Andorians? You are a poor excuse for warriors and shame to your clan," Michael remarked with contempt. The Pakled just stood and watched while Jamson moved to Dhael who was now frightened after this brutal fight. "Where are you friends now, Dhael? They all ran away except for this dummy over there!"

Michael leaned and grabbed the bleeding Romulan by his throat. He wanted to squeeze but felt something wasn't quite right. He slowly calmed down, and his mind was clearing up. The same day that Dhael and his buddies met Ra'veek and Michael, they came back home really bruised and beaten up. This wasn't real. He looked up once more, this dusty old outpost, his old home, was destroyed by the Borg, and only a few escaped. He was one of the lucky ones to be away with his grandfather in Klingon space. This wasn't real...

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

Despite what one might have thought, a carpeted floor was no softer on the tailbone when the impact was great enough. It was this which Iniara noticed first, standing and rubbing the spot in irritation. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the low light.

The setting looked familiar enough: beige and grey walls echoed the familiar design of a modern Starfleet ship. But that wasn’t right. Hadn’t she just been on Betazed? How had she fallen so hard, and back to reality of all places? This was ‘reality’, wasn’t it?

“What is going on?” she asked, bewildered, to the walls around her. Always impassive, they gave no answer, no clue to the mystery. Though, she mused, it would have been no less odd if they had.

Without preamble, a bolt of fear shot through Iniara. Suddenly she felt alone. Very alone. “Hello?” she called out tentatively.

“Hello?” The lights flickered, but still no one answered. Slowly she began to walk down the hallway, senses alert. A minute passed, then two. She picked up the pace, jogging along, encountering nothing but the soothing, impersonal walls of the ship. But if she couldn’t find anyone by searching conventionally, she wondered, perhaps her telepathy could help?

Nervously, tentatively, she reached out with her mind. Without warning a huge, all-encompassing mind bore down upon her, its seeming weight inducing a sudden feeling of claustrophobia. A sickening feeling from which there was no apparent escape.

Panicked, Iniara shot through the halls with renewed fervor, desperately seeking someone, anyone. This was something she was not prepared to face alone.

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

"This isn't real!" Michael punched the Romulan scoundrel. "Where is the Galaxy?" He continued beating him. "Where are all the crew members??!?! Answer me!!!". The Romulan villain didn't reply, he just stared back at Michael. Where is everyone? The science officers, where did they all go? Where was Iniara?

The last strike while thinking of the Bajoran woman caused a white dazzling flash. Jamson was no longer home, he was sitting in the middle of an empty room, a starship's room. He couldn't recognize the ship he was on, nothing here in this empty room was known to him. He cautiously moved to the door, and stepped outside as if he was crossing a noisy crowded street on Cestonia, at Cestus IV. He looked to the right, then to the left. The corridor was dark, and it was impossible to look beyond. Choosing his left side, he started walking slowly, and prepared himself to anything that might come his way. Minutes later, he could hear loud footsteps from afar, someone was running. Jamson who was already at ready state instinctively reached for his Dak'tah, but alas...it was missing! He would have to use his hands, a hand to hand fight! What could be better! He’d tear the flesh out of his opponent, or die trying to do so.

Out of the darkness appeared Iniara, frightened and pale. "Iniara?" the disappointed paladin imitator said surprisingly. "You look like a scared targ'!"

Iniara skidded to a halt in front of him, almost losing her balance in the process. Her breathing was fast, ragged, as she forced herself to speak. “Michael? What are you doing here?”

~Sex and Violence~

Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin

Ensign Saul Bental

The Fruna'lin Crew

Cutter awoke, his face smashed into a pillow and his mind filled with displaced confusion. The last thing he remembered was a flash of bizzarre sensor readings and then being thrown forward into the wall. Someone must have sinced deposited him in his quarters, he rationalized, to recover. He opened his eyes and his vision cleared, revealing the digital readout of a clock a coupel decimeters away. 12:47?! Cutter was shocked by the time. He had a performance in less than an hour!

He jerked awake, shoving his body up away from the bed. A realization struck him then - the clock readout was in Mika'Kardi, his native language. But that didn't make sense, he didn't have a clock like that in his quarters since...since...wait, these weren't his quarters! Where was he?

In one quick movement, he spun and sat up in the bed. He was in an efficiency, decorated cheaply but densely, like a seasonal apartment. To his left was a small kitchenette, a large pot sat unwashed in the sink and several glasses and two bottles of nectar, one empty, the other only half gone, sat on the counter. A small ache in his temples suggested that he was partially to blame for that. In front of him sat a dresser parked next to a door, the bathroom, he assumed. In between sat a table and chair and a cluttered shelf, filled with books and pictures and small figurines and a drum. The wall was plastered with posters, mostly emotion pieces that didn't show actual scenes but instead lines, shapes and colors, though there was a poster of the skyline of Rami City, a pose of Arkedi's famous father, Lok Nitel'rajek, shirtless, and another unnamed male nude. To his left was a large floor to ceiling window, he could see the spire of Karakiolo Archopolis. He could hear music emanating through the glass. A movement drew his gaze downward to the bed and all of a sudden, he remembered whose apartment this was and what he was doing.

"<What time is it?>" she mumbled as he climbed out of the bed. She had blue hair, like him. It was longer than most, down to her neck; he wondered briefly how it could grow so long without pluming out. Unlike him, the blue carried down through her wings and she had raven tips, suggesting her lineage was from closer to the poles than he was.

"<Late,>" he said as he searched for his pants, "<A third past twelve.>" There were 144 minutes in an hour on his planet, his species counted by twelves instead of tens. She sat up in bed and watched him silently as her sleep slowly fell away. Her skin was flawless, gorgeous, though her eyes had a funny tilt to them. Her lips were still red, the paint unsmeared, Cutter assumed that it was a semipermanent subdermal paint. She stretched, extending her arms above her head and her wings across the room and allowing the sheet to fall away. Cutter watched this, stealing a look at her sexy flat stomach, by far her most attractive feature and, because he was such a stomach man, the thing which first drew him to her last night.

"<Where are you going in such a hurry?>" she asked as Cutter pulled on his trousers.

"<I have a performance in less than an hour,>" he explained, "<A farce.>"

"<Oh? Your troupe must be talented to book a performance in the first week,>" she said, referring to the month long festival Ra'Kenara Kamil, the birth of beauty. "<Are you the lead?>" she asked, hoping she could brag later about her romp with high talent.

He laughed, "<No. I have a small part, but I'm actually the tech director. Do you know where my shirt is?>"

She made a little noise of appreciation. Creative artists were less recognizable than performers, though still highly respected, she could still brag. "<No. There are your forearm braces,>" she pointed to two leather cylinders tossed in a corner near the window. "<It's probably mixed in with mine. Was it expensive? You should just go shirtless.>"

He shrugged, agreeing as he slipped on the braces and pulled on the criss-crossing leather ties. She got up and walked towards him, sliding up against his shirtless, though otherwise clothed body. "<Sure you don't have time for breakfast? Or at least another romp?>" she asked, running a hand lightly over his chest. He stalled, so she kissed him and began to draw him back to bed.

Cutter had to really put forth an effort to break the kiss. "<Yeah,>" he laughed lightly, "<I don't want to, but I really have to go.>"

She folded her arms in a silent pout as he moved away. "<Where's your show?>"

"<Zhalek stage. You should go. We can do something afterwards.>" He picked up a blue kewk fruit from a small basket on the counter. "<May I?>"

She nodded and began to get dressed herself. "<Have a good show.>" He smiled and turned to leave. As he opened the front door and began to step through, someone gripped him and jerked him back.

"<What are you doing, stupid? They'll see you!>" Zan shouted, though no louder than a whisper. It was dark, she and Arkedi stood side by side against a stone wall, Zan was saddled up against a corner.

"<Sorry,>" Cutter apologized, drawing a curious look from Arkedi. He was tugging on the front of a shirt, adjusting its fit after been pulled on so harshly. It confused him, for some reason he felt he wasn't wearing a shirt a moment ago. Zan was ever so slightly peeking around the corner and Cutter could hear loud voices coming from some distance away. He crouched by Zan's knees and peered around himself. There were two men, a small ferengi, too well dressed for a stroll through an alley and a very young human.

The Ferengi was speaking, "How dare you, boy. You have no authority to order me around. Mr. Vajna and I had arranged a meeting tomorrow at 10. He was going to pay sixty strips and then I was going to leave this Hoo-maan infested rock. Now you're telling me to --"

"To wait." said the young Human. He was a teenager, probably no older that thirteen - Cutter found it hard to assess his age. The boy folded his arms, and tried to look slightly intimidating. "A wise Tellarite once told me that some times you just have to wait and the best fruit will just fall into your arms. See what I'm saying?"

The Ferengi did not look happy at all. "You are a treacherous one, aren't you?"

"No, I'm just someone who wants a little more, you know..." the boy made a gesture with his index finger and thumb, which represented profit in the Ferengi body languages. Then again, almost every gesture the Ferengis had was related to profit one way or the other.

"For the time being, Mr. Vanja wants me to get one of the five rings to an artifact expert in the other side of town. He asked me to choose which ring, so that you won't give me an authentic one whereas the rest are fake. I promise not to take the most costly-looking one, though." the boy smirked.

"Just hand it over to you? How would I know that you and Mr. Vanja aren't going to rip me off?" The Ferengi seethed.

"I value my life, and they won't be worth a cup of Gagh if I'll rip Mr. Vanja off. As for Mr Vanja himself, he's a totally legitimate trader who only wants to make sure he is given the correct goods, and has no intention to hurt his own reputation by stealing from his... 'clients'."

The boy cleared his throat. "Besides, everything we do is legit."

"I will come along, then." Said the Ferengi.

"No. My instructions are to disallow any contact between you and the expert." the boy said simply. Then, they stepped out of Cutter's sight.

Zan stepped out into the alley, her knee almost hitting Cutter in the face in her excitement. Arkedi rushed out behind her, grabbing her wing, "<Where are you going?>"

"<The sikolotal are in there, weren't you listening?>" she snapped.

"<So are they. What are you going to do? That brown imp is armed,>" Arkedi replied, his tone as harsh as hers. Cutter stood silent, watching his two friends. He was confused, his mind recalling subspace, sex and thefts, none of which had anything to do with one another. His mind seemed to be jumping around uncontrollably. Suddenly, a door opened and Zan and Arkedi came rushing back, shoving Cutter back and resuming their places around the corner.

When the boy came back, he was alone, and one of his hands was inside his coat. He lifted some sort of metallic board that was left on the ground next to a large inactive recycle bin. The board came into life, and its bottom began to glow in green. The boy climed on it, and began to hover on it in their direction.

A wing swished out as the boy passed, Cutter, surprised, realized it was his. The human collided with it, the limb landing just under his chin, and his board went flying forward into the air. He landed on the ground with a hard thud and immediately, the other Fruna'lin acted. "<Cutter!>" Arkedi exclaimed while Zan dived for the stunned boy. She pulled open his coat and reached into the pocket, searching for the ancient ringed blade weapon he took from the Ferengi.

"You won't... find it there." The boy coughed. He sent a furious stare directly at Cutter. "Are you mad, angel boy? Do you have any idea who am I?"

Cutter looked at the child, recognition dancing around the edges of his mind. "Itu," he said, his mouth functioning much like his wing a moment ago, beyond his control. "No."

The human tried to lift himself up, but Zan shoved him roughly back to pavement. Her violence was startling to the two peaceful male aliens. "That Feregi stole a priceless historical artifact from the Fruna'lin," Zan snarled, her English was accented, but magnitudes better than what Cutter or Arkedi could speak. "You're working with him, you're just a thief, like him. Why should we care who you are?"

"Well!" The boy said, still on the floor, "I'm the nephew of Paul Bental. You mess with me, you mess with him. Now, I'm sure we're all sorry about this accident, and can move on with our lives."

Despite his bold words, the boy was obviously shaking, and his fight to hide the tears of pain was clear to any sentient being with eyes.

"<Zan! Leave him alone, he's just a child. Humans his age are like babies, he probably only learned to walk last year,>" Arkedi spoke, trying to pull the woman off.

She stood, pulling the boy up with her and gripped his arm so he couldn't flee. "<Well, I'm not going to let him go!>"

"<What are you going to do?>" Arkedi asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. He was upset, constantly challenging her. The violence and crime disgusting his ideallic sensibilities. "<What are you going to do, Zan? Beat him like some mindless barbarian? Kill him? I'm not going to be party to your Ganwa savagery.>"

Her eyes grew wide at the cheap racial remark then viciously angry, silently glaring at the violet haired Fruna'lin for several moments. "<Then we'll take him with us. If he won't help us, then he won't be able to help them.>"

Cutter was uncomfortable, watching his two friends attack each other. They had only recently met through him. But the familiarity of the situation was more powerful, itching his brain like a pack of fleas. He circled around his friends to get a closer look at the young boy. "Saul?"

The boy fixed his gaze at Cutter, and said, "Angel boy, you do realize that the last time we did this, you three got us in a world of trouble, and only this kid's connections and admirable resourcefulness kept you from becoming chicken soup?"

"Las time?" Cutter asked. His voice was strongly accented, he quickly seemed to become more confused at the sound of his own voice than the situation.

"Dwa?" Arkedi turned suddenly at the question, but before Cutter could respond, Zan jerked the boy away and moved around the corner.

"<Come on!>" she spat. Arkedi looked Cutter in the eye, his emotions unreadable or, rather, too many displayed at once, Cutter couldn't pick them out. He swiveled his head, deciding something, before turning and running after Zan. Cutter followed, too, rounding the corner of the alley.

When he caught up, he saw that they were now in a circular chamber, about ten meters wide. There were the three of them, the boy, two Ferengis, and a tall, gaunt man wearing a cloak.

"Where is it??" the man's voice boomed, and he drew a scanner. In the shadows near the chamber's walls, three armed men could be seen guarding the exits. At least one of them was Nausicaan.

"I know it's in this chamber, the radiance is clear." Mr. Vanja said, sneering. "But unless someone steps forward and hands over the 'property', I will scan you one by one until we find who is guilty.

"Don't look at me, everything we do is legit," Saul quoted, then leaned over and whispered a single word toward Cutter, who was nearest to him. "Po'oren."

The Fruna'lin gave the child a curious look, then turned to whisper to Arkedi. He looked at Cutter, bewildered. After a moment, Cutter coughed the word rather conspicuously. Zan, quicker than others, picked up on the scheme and whispered it to Arku. Vajna eyed the creatures curiously before turning to Saul with an accusing stare.

"You know how crazy alien biology can be." Saul proclaimed. Behind his back, he threw a tiny package to Cutter.

Po'oren was a children's game from Fruna. How Saul knew about it, Cutter had no idea. Basically, it involved a group of Fruna'lin standing in a circle, and passing a small ball to each other, and a single Fruna'lin in the middle who tried to guess who the ball was passed to. The ball was very small, and the Fruna'lin used their wings to camouflage the passes of the ball. Eventually, the boy in the middle would guess who had the ball – if he was correct, the current holder of the ball replaced him in the middle of the circle.

"Well, I'll check you first, if you're so legit, Bental." Mr. Vanja aimed the scanner at him as though it was a weapon. The scanner chirped.

"Clean.", Mr. Vanja hissed.

Cutter flapped his wings, as though he was slightly nervous. The package made its was to Arku's hands. Mr Vanja spun sharply, and aimed his scanner at Cutter. Everyone were frozen for a few seconds, and then Mr. Vanja hissed once more.

"Clean." He was obviously unsatisfied. Arkedi flapped his wings, and Zan stretched hers as though she was relieved.

And so the package went. From Arku to Zan, to Cutter, to Saul, to Zan once again and then back to Saul. Eventually, after scanning everyone twice, Mr. Vanja gave up, allowed them to leave unharmed, and began to bark orders at his minions.

As Saul exited the chamber, he quickly opened the package, took out one of the small ringed blades, and elegantly dropped it into the pocket of one of the guards.

They were already in the streets when the yelling began, followed by the unmistakable sounds of weapons fire.

Saul turned to smirk at Cutter, but before he could complete the motion white light engulfed to two of them, and he found himself once more on the stony road, in the darkness.

"Christmas Cheer"

(Backpost. Takes place a few days before Christmas.)

by

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineering

Ensign Aristi Ferguson, Flight Control (APC)

Location: Ten-Forward Lounge

"Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat!" A slightly off-key voice filtered down the hall, preceding its owner, a very festive Aristi Ferguson. Something had put her in the spirit, since on a whim she had replicated an oversized red Santa hat, and seconds later had ordered a dress to match. Now she was bouncing down the halls, singing bits of Christmas songs, making sure to pass on the festive mood to anyone she passed. After all, a good mood was definitely preferable to a bad one, and after recent events it seemed like a lot more people needed cheering up. "Please put a penny in the old man's hat!"

And what was Christmas without egg nog, she thought to herself, making a quick turn into the already crowded Ten-Forward lounge. Apparently she wasn't the only one feeling festive, as the whole room had been decorated for the occasion and was bustling with more than its fair share of off-duty officers.

"I'd like a tall glass of ice cold egg nog with peppermint schnapps," she stated, having just caught the bartender's attention. For his part he barely reacted, having long ago become used to the eccentric Cardassian.

Of course the schnapps in the drink would be synthehol, but it was the taste that mattered most. She turned to observe the room, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her tasty beverage.

Nara looked up from her table and laughed out loud. Too loud. She caught herself in a split-second, quickly glanced and no one really paid her any mind. Yet, she slightly blushed and looked back down at her PADD. A moment later, she glanced back up to be sure the lady in the red outfit was still there. She was and Nara laughed, though more silently this time. The sight was so abnormal.

Aristi grinned. A reaction! She snatched up her drink just as it arrived and made a beeline for Nara's table.

"Now that's the kind of reaction I was looking for!" She beamed at the woman. "One can never have too much Christmas cheer!"

Nara looked up to find the woman there. Her mouth was about to explode with laughter, but she willed herself to speak, "So that's what the outfit is for?" Nara smirked. It wasn't anything personal at the woman. It was just one of those shock things. Now that she had come over to Nara, she decided to begin some banter. If she thought she would offend this woman, she would have simply nodded, but the Christmas woman seemed to be ashamed of nothing.

"Definitely! Just trying to spread the love while I still can, before I have to wait another year for Christmas to roll around." Shifting her glass to her left hand, she extended her right to Nara. "I'm Aristi. Mind if I join you?"

Nara shook her hand, "No, not at all." Nara motioned to a chair. "Who said you have to wait for this Christmas, though? I think some people would be mighty glad to have a morale officer with such demeanor."

"Hmm, morale officer. That sounds like a good idea; maybe I should look into that." Aristi took a gulp from her glass, then leaned over towards Nara as if she was about to read the text on her PADD. "You reading anything interesting over there?"

Nara smiled, "Some headlines from a Sakarian news post."

"Sakaria?" Aristi's forehead wrinkled in thought. "I don't think I've ever heard of Sakaria before. Is that where you're from?"

Nara nodded, "Not many people have. It just hit the databases a few years ago and if you've been out of the Academy longer than that, you'd likely never heard of it. We're a planet in a neutral zone. Their natives are very private. My parents and I are honorary citizens."

"Really? Interesting..." Aristi trailed off in thought, one finger absentmindedly stroking the bony ridges along her chin. The proverbial light bulb went off in her head and she snapped her fingers together, finally recalling the planet's name in her head.

"Wait, Sakaria! That's the planet with the--" She paused abruptly, lowering her voice. "With the war? Sorry, I know it's not a good thing to be known for." She smiled sheepishly, hoping her companion wouldn't be offended.

Nara nodded, "Well, the war several years ago, it's hard not to be known for. We're not even sure why we were attacked. There were other planets with plentiful resources. We tried to fight our own battle, even after countless offers from the Federation to join them. Prideful people, Sakarians are. My father somehow ended up saving them, though, and became their hero. I was a warrior in the civil war that broke out a few years ago. We're in peace talks now." Nara realized she was rambling on, "Sorry about that." She waved her hands and smiled, "Continue with your merriment! Don't they say Merry Christmas for a reason?"

"Indeed! Peace on Earth, good will towards men, all that good stuff. Granted, that little adage is a bit limiting nowadays..." At this Aristi cocked her head to the side in thought, "...but the sentiment is essentially the same. Christmas is a good time to get together with friends and family, remind them that someone still cares and loves them, no matter how irritating they may seem. Plus, in the middle of all this fighting and death it feels good to have a little break where we can sit back, relax, and forget about life's problems for a while."

"Ooh, now it feels like I'm rambling. Guess I just can't help but get caught up in the merriment. So, do you have any plans to celebrate or anything?"

"I'm part Terran, but, no we don't celebrate the Earth holidays. I see no harm in participating, however. A little girl decorated my door the other day." Nara smiled remembering the little girl who would be a brat were she not equally as charming.

"I think her name is Samantha? I passed her on the way here; I think she was still putting up decorations. Cute kid. I think I confused her though."

Aristi took another deep drink from her glass before switching gears. "But hey, I'm having a small Christmas party in my quarters tomorrow night. You should stop by if you're not busy."

Nara nodded, "I just might."

"Excellent! I'm up on Deck 2, and we'll be starting as soon as Gamma shift ends. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bit more cheer to spread before I retire for the evening." Aristi stood up from the table, carrying her glass with her. "Take care, and I will see you later!"

Nara smiled, "See ya." Nara watched amused watching the woman prance out. She shook her head still laughing as she looked back down at her PADD, then decided after such merriment, not to read depressing news and instead went to people watching with an amused smile on her lips.

'Ghosts of Autumn Past'

by

1st Lieutenant Autumn Hayes

2nd Lieutenat Branwen London

A light breeze drifted down the dimly illuminated corridor; A silent entity blessed with perfect human form, flashes of human memory . . but vastly alien motives. The figure moved with purpose, graceful in the shadows it now favored over the light and warmth of sun-filled skies. She was a creature of darkness now . . not some legend or folktale come to life, but a being of flesh and much, much more. The dark was not essential for survival. It was not necessary for a tactical advantage.It was certainly not theatrical. It was simply preferred.

In the wake of the cool night wind came the storm; Twelve wraiths, nightmarish apparitions completely innocent of their part in this epic tragedy yet eternally tainted and forever damned. Pale, expressionless faces, unblinking eyes long dead to emotion faced forward with single-minded purpose.

Where the first figure moved with a supple elegance almost too beautiful to behold, those trailing behind did so with a mechanical, uneven action. It was a mockery of what they had once been yet in that stride there was an undeniable inevitability. Like the tide they were remorseless and virtually unstoppable.

The corridor ended in a T-junction, where the lead Borg glided to a halt as three more figures passed in front of her. Two of these were a perfect match for those behind her . . the third . . a dark haired human . . soon would be.

With a sneer of cruel contempt the female Borg watched the prisoner struggle desperately against the iron grip that held him. A grip that would soon take hold of every fiber of his being with soul destroying efficiency. Even now the man was experiencingmthe first incomprehensible moments of his rebirth; injected nanoprobes coursing rapidly through his system. All too soon the intoxicating smell of fear would be gone and for the first time in his pitiful life he would truly belong.

Turning left and proceeding was all the command her strange parody of an honor guard required. Had she demanded it however, they would have remained motionless in place forever. This world could die. It's sun could burn itself to ashes and still they would linger . . Mysterious sentinels of an ancient civilization.

Navigating the labyrinth of corridors was a simple matter for the female Borg; she simply followed the distant whisper of her Queen. The soft, seductive caress of that mind was like a beacon in the night . . powerful . . illuminating . . and in a way only those in the collective could understand . . comforting. It was the limitless mind and will of the Borg Queen that truly held things together.

In her embrace the Borg found purpose.

As she neared her destination the 'chosen one' felt a subtle change in the Queen's voice. 'Could a voice smile?' She wondered, before removing such a flight of fancy from her mind. Such thoughts were dangerous. Not because the Queen would punish them but simply because they were a link to a past life which should be forgotten. Forgotten and buried.

The whispering grew louder as the approaching Borg reached the chamber that their Queen had made her private quarters. A series of symbols on the huge double doors indicated who the true rulers of this quadrant of space were now . . the strange patterns glowing with a faint iridescence that provided the only lighting in the area. Under the powerful symbol, vague traces of the previous occupant of the room beyond could be seen. But rather than erase the earlier markings . . the great seal of the federation . . the Borg had simply stamped their own presence over it . . totally obliterating it.

As if acknowledging the Borg's presence the impregnable doors slowly opened and she stepped confidently inside, unannounced yet expected. There was no surprising the Queen . . not here. This was her domain and nothing escaped her notice. Entrance to this room may have seemed easy but looks can be deceiving. Only two beings could enter this room and live . . and both were present now.

Stepping down gracefully from her specially constructed alcove . . in her own way a goddess emerging from a forest pool . . the Borg Queen smiled at this, the most special of her 'children'.

"You've been busy . ." Her pale features could have been carved from marble.

The lithe figure bowed slightly. "I live to serve." She answered simply.

Warm laughter filled the room as the queen slowly circled. "And how well you serve." Her green eyes glowed appreciatively. "We are most pleased." The Queen's voice flowed like honey. "We have taken the temper of your steel . . and found it to be all that we dreamed it would be. All that I dreamed it would be." This last statement was a personal benediction. A blessing. "Do you know what the last, scattered inhabitants of this planet call you now?" The queen asked, though she never expected an answer. "They call you the Angel of Death. To them you are the stealer of souls."

The Queen smiled at the image. The Borg had been right . . and she herself was justified. Fear had it's uses . . and this being before her was a most effective instrument of terror.

"What they believe is irrelevant." Eyes bright, like a flash of sunlight followed the Queen. "Soon they all will be Borg."

The Queen abruptly stopped her pacing, her own emerald colored eyes intensely amused. "Of course." She smiled, showing perfect, white teeth. "Thank you for reminding us . . " Under the suffused green lighting of the chamber the Queen's features appeared totally alien. She was all things cold and perfect and immortal, forever young and frozen in the flush of beauty.

"You have done well today." The silky voice returned. "Already we can feel the distinctiveness of those you have brought to us . . enriching us. We are all closer to perfection now."

"We lost many drones on our last hunt." The was no accusation in the voice, it was merely a statement.

"Yes, we have felt this loss." There was a profound sadness in the Queen's eyes. "But that is what it is to be Borg; they live on in us and are never forgotten." Turning she moved slowly across the room, her fathomless mind deep in thought. "We had not expected such resistance." She admitted. "But then perhaps we should have."

"It is not the scattered survivors who are posing the greatest concern." Like a liquid shadow the figure appeared at her Queen's shoulder. "It is this planet." Once, long ago those words would have been spoken with passionate pride and longing. "The hunters are most efficient in tracking down their prey but the planet seems to be throwing everything it can in our way." There was a touch of frustration in the normally calm voice. "Fifteen Borg alone were struck by lightning on our latest hunt. Another five were swept into the ocean by freak waves."

A slight hum filled the room as one section of the wall opened at the Queen's silent command and almost immediately the room was filled with erie flashes of light and the faint booming of distant thunder. Stepping cautiously up to the window the Queen looked out upon a night sky choked with dark, angry storm clouds. Tendrils of energy crackled across the surface of the forcefield, briefly illuminating her impassive features.

"Have you ever heard of the Gaia hypothesis?" She asked finally.

"The concept that the earth is a single being made up of every living thing on the planet?" Joining the queen at the window the golden-eyed borg marveled at the awesome display. "You believe that the goddess is . . resisting us?" It was an intriguing concept.

"Gaia, though I do not believe she exists, is one vast sentience." The irony of that was not lost on the Queen. "She guides, shapes and protects the balance of the planet. She is patient, wise and for the most part understanding, but sometimes she is also very strict. Sometimes she sacrifices a part of herself for the greater good."

"And humanity believed that because of the danger they posed to their world that Gaia would turn on them?"

"It was not a popular belief." The Queen responded. "But one cannot help but wonder . . " It may have been a trick of the light, but the deep green eyes seemed to rise and fall with the swelling black waves in the distant bay.

"It is irrelevant . . we will adapt."

"No . . " Barely a whisper. "She will." Lifting a hand to lightly touch the wheat colored tresses of her companion a faint, motherly smile touched the Queen's lips. "When was your last regeneration cycle? You look tired."

"Three days ago."

"Then you are overdue." Gently guiding her protégé, the Queen lead her to her own, personal alcove. That there was no resistance offered was a sure sign of fatigue. Behind them the windows slowly closed, once again leaving the lighting subdued. *Sleep well* The Queen's hand caressed the youthful cheek fondly, just as her voice was a caress in the mind.

It was an ignorant belief of those not of the collective that the voice of the Borg was a soulless whisper echoing from a cold, dark place. It was the belief of those of limited understanding. The Queen and her protégé shared a bond unlike anything most other races could imagine. Like twins in the womb they communed at a deep level of pre-conscious intimacy. Thoughts and emotions were as one.

Being Borg meant never being alone . .

Suddenly Branwen was in some kind of hallway. She didn't recognise any thing, yet the atmosphere was pretty frightening. There were alcoves. Her heart started beating faster, BORG! How had she ended up amongst Borg. Branwen only knew them from frightening stories told that the academy.

Drones walked past her, she had nowhere to hide. And yet it seemed like a didn't see her, she held her breath as one drone walked completely through her body. What was happening here, was she dreaming?

Her form seemed to blur, speeding the young marine into another room where Branwen suddenly recognised someone. In one of the alcoves seemingly asleep was her boss turned into a drone! Bran moved towards her trying to shake her awake. "Ma’am wake-up! We have to get out of here, I am here to save you. Ma'am please wake-up!"

Within soft, pale features, framed by waves of golden hair, eyelids fluttered softly with the return of consciousness. Then, ever so slowly the eyes opened, shaded perfectly to the dawn of a new day. Awareness was instantaneous. There was no lag as the mind struggled to orient itself . . no lethargy of body. Such weaknesses had been purged.

Everything seemed . . perfect . .

Except that she hadn't felt this way in more than five years . .

Lightly stepping down from the alcove, her movements barely a whisper, Autumn glanced around the room expectantly. As always she was surprised not to see her queen close by, for that was the illusion her voice created in the mind of the Collective. Even after all this time Jennifer's musical voice still echoed in her thoughts . . haunted her sleep.

"Lieutenant?" The lithe figure noticed Branwen for the first time. "If this is some psychological trick or a new form of therapy then I am going to be very, very angry."

"No ma'am." Yet Branwen knew that if this was somehow a memory she didn't want to talk more about it with Autumn. "I don't know what is going on, just moments ago I was back in my own childhood in Wales and Dr Ti was there with me." It had been a memory and yet looking at her taped finger she realised it had really been broken. So there was danger. "I have to get you out of here, ma'am. Can you move?"

"What makes you think I want to leave ?" Autumn took several slow, measured steps away from Branwen.

"You cannot stay here, ma'am. They will take away your free will." Branwen said gently. "There is nothing for you here, no family, no friends, no career. And I need you, remember."

"It's just a dream, Lieutenant." The gold-flecked eyes scanned the room, finding it both familiar and comforting.

"No, it isn't just a dream. You have to fight it, ma'am." She held up her bandaged finger. "Look at this, my father broke it in a dream. Yet it is still broken. You have to snap out of the memory."

"If it is a memory then how can you be here?"

"I don't know exactly, ma'am. The doctor was in my memories, so was another officer I think. They helped me cope with my memories. You have to fight, you are not a drone. Please fight it." Branwen said gently.

"Of course I'm not a drone." Autumn countered. "Do I look like one?" In truth the fair-haired marine didn't. In this particular future, a future she hoped had been avoided, the Borg were somewhat different.

Some of them at least.

"No." Bran said reluctantly. "But you don’t look like yourself either. And you seem to be under their control somewhat, ma’am. Maybe they haven’t gotten around to adapting you completely yet. And that shouldn’t happen. Will you come with me and run away?"

Autumn couldn't help but laugh at her young companion's words. "Where would we run, Branwen?" Her eyes glowed brightly. "If this is a memory then it's one I've learnt to live with for the past five years. If it's a dream then I'll survive the horrors and awaken as normal. If it is something else . ." She hesitated, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps I'll finally get the chance to say I'm sorry."

"Say sorry to whom, ma'am. " Branwen asked curiously.

"To the friend I betrayed . . then murdered in cold blood." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Is that friend here now, ma'am. Still alive?" Branwen was thinking more like a shrink now. The other woman's pain was so obvious.

A simple nod was all the answer Autumn was willing to give. "I agree with one thing, Lieutenant." The golden eyes turned serious. "You can't be here. If, as you say, a person can sustain injuries in these . . memories . . then you can't be found."

"I am not going to leave you, ma'am. If we get out of here, we get out together. So we had better think of a way to break out of this memory."

"How did you escape from your own memories?" Autumn inquired. "Did you have any control over them?"

"I don't know exactly. Maybe just by thinking of something else. We could try that. Think of a better place, both of us." Branwen urged.

Autumn closed her eyes and tried to find that one moment in her life when she was totally at peace with herself. The more she searched however, the more she came to realize she was already there . .

------

A lone Borg drone approached the solitary figure standing motionless at the center of the huge transparent dome. Outside the protective forcefield strange, mysterious mists swirled around, changing color every few minutes. One moment the fog would part, dissipating into thin, almost translucent vapors, the next they would darken into hues of cobalt blue and gray.

*The planet continues to resist* The drone commented silently. No . . not drone. The term hardly did justice to one such as this. But then many terms were being redefined these days. Most of them due to the extraordinary will of the woman who's presence dominated the entire room. The being who provided the starkest evidence of the phenomenal change that had encompassed the collective.

"What news on the device?" The seductive whisper halted the visitor at a discreet distance. Words were not necessary, the speaker had other means of accessing the information. Speech was merely a luxury now. A comforting memory. A habit.

"It is ready . . . my Queen." There was a momentary reluctance in the honorific. Another habit yet to be broken.

Turning slowly the Borg Queen smiled fondly, a radiant smile that reached her eyes. "Still the willful girl I once knew." She observed, walking closer.

"Still." Eyes of molten gold returned the gaze.

Tenderly, the Queen lifted her hand, laying cool fingers against the soft skin of the other woman's cheek. "That is what has made you what you are. That is why you have been elevated above all others. That is why you are cherished so."

"Many others had the will to resist." It was meant as a statement but the Queen immediately sensed the underlying question.

"No." Her tone was firm but there was no harshness in it. It was the voice of teacher to pupil. Parent to child. "Most resist out of fear and stubbornness. Very few have the will . . the capacity to understand the magnitude of what is offered to them." For a moment the fathomless eyes flickered into the distance and in response to that silent command the dome slowly darkened. Powerful holographic imagers then filled the room with a slowly turning starfield.

"The universe that we once knew has ceased to exist." The Borg Queen's voice was powerfully convincing. "The human race is gone . . or nearly so. Those few souls that continue to struggle against us do not yet realize that they are already dead. They live in a dream, yet that dream is a prison . . a lie. There is no hope. There is only inevitability. There is only Borg.

Red lips pursed and a gentle breath escaped, causing thousands of tiny holographic stars to swirl out of their paths. The message was dramatically clear.

"This mockery they call life is an affront to all we have become. To all we strive to become." Slowly spinning around, her graceful movements further proof of recent Borg evolution, the Queen continued in earnest. "We stand in the open heart of eternity. All paths are open to us as long as we have the desire . . and passion to walk them." Her jeweled eyes glittered with contempt. "That is both the folly of humanity and the lack of vision of our predecessors. Humankind was forever held back by their conscience . . concepts of right and wrong. Their dreams have always been petty. "

"Yet we owe them much." The once lightly tanned skin now glowed with a ghostly, translucent quality.

"Yes." A momentary flicker of remembrance passed over the Queen's beautiful features. "Though I do not mourn she who I once was I do honor her. Some of the memories I posses of that other life repulse me but I cannot deny what she gave me." Now firmly back in the present she continued vehemently, her eyes glistening in the pseudo - starlight. "But we are so much more now."

"Some of us at least." The lithe figure stood motionless, her posture relaxed. It was the perfect ruse for the violence that lay within. "Not all of us could be . . chosen."

Tilting her head slightly the Queen regarded her companion with open curiosity and more than a little scorn. "It is a strange mood you are in today." There was a mild reproach in her words. "This . . melancholy has no place in our thoughts. Remove it at once."

A slight pause, then . . "I will comply."

Not entirely satisfied the Borg Queen searched the still youthful face for futher signs of disquiet. "You have proved my point far more dramatically than words ever could." Once again the smile slipped easily into place. "The strength of the Borg has always been it's unity. One mind, one purpose." The last words echoed in the minds of every drone on the planet. "Were we to openly embrace total individuality for all then chaos would ensue and that which is our destiny would be lost." The classical features of the Queen were proud. "Those like us are necessary to provide the dream. The vastness and unity of the Collective will make those dreams a reality."

"It shall be as you say." The words were uttered with conviction, yet the speaker still managed to keep an air of defiance about her.

The Queen noted this and accepted it. To do otherwise . . to try and tame the spirit that existed within the girl was to abandon all that the Collective hoped to gain from her. Left as she was she was the perfect tool.

With a flash of insight the Queen suddenly realized what was behind her young companion's strange mood: She was restless. The Borg had augmented her natural skills and turned her into a warrior without equal. And that had taken away the very cornerstone of her former life . . a challenge.

"Soon will be presented with a challenge worthy of us." She smiled knowingly. "Those who would deny us our destiny are on their way and we should do our best to greet them in the proper fashion." Showing perfect white teeth the Queen gazed upwards, through the transparent bubble and into the heavens beyond.

"Resistance will be . . . amusing."

-----

Autumn blinked, amazed that she had so easily been embraced by the memory, or perhaps how easily she had embraced it. "Now do you understand?" The golden eyes fell on Branwen.

"This happened to you? This is why you were watched by shrinks even after a year. You were turned into a Borg. How did you escape, how did you come back, ma'am?" She felt a lot of empathy right now for her boss.

"Understand what?" Autumn turned to find the Borg Queen staring at her curiously. Obviously she was unaware of Branwen's presence . . she had to be or the marine counselor would be dead by now. Killed at the Queen's command but by her own hand.

"Nothing . ." She wasn't about to give Branwen away. "Just agreeing, my Queen." It was the kind of haughty thing she would have always said.

"Think of something else, ma'am. Help us get out of here." Branwen urged. She was frightened, yet she wasn't going anywhere without her boss.

It was time to take a different approach, Autumn decided. This place, whatever it was seemed to have a purpose and she hoped Branwen had fullfilled hers. Perhaps the other marine had been drawn here to act as a witness, so that someone, somewhere would finally understand. When she closed her eyes this time Autumn simply willed the lieutenant out of her 'dream'.

"Jen . ." She opened her eyes once again and turned to face the Queen. "We need to talk." There was sorrow in Autumn's eyes as she spoke but her voice was determined. She finally had the chance to rid herself of the ghosts of the past.

Branwen was suddenly back in her own time waking up in her bed on the Galaxy she had a lot to think about. First she thought it had all been a dream, yet when she found out her finger was really broken she began to think differently. And sleep would not come again that night.

"Introductions and Comparison of Notes"

Second Lieutanent Branwen London, Marine Staff Psycologist

Ensign Emily Fellbaum, JAG Officer

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

Library-

Branwen was sitting quietly with a cup of tea and an old-fashioned book. One of the secret hobbies. Growing up in a non-computer environment she still preferred the feel of a real book. And every chance she had like this free evening she found some books and just read. Not many people came to the library so she was usually alone.

Emily was going to go nuts real soon if she didn't get out of her small office soon. It was nearing the end of her shift anyways so she decided to go down to the library to induldge in a good book for a bit. She loved reading the classics, especally if it were a real book instead of a fabricated PADD. She entered the library at a brisk walk and selected one of her favorites- War and Peace. It wasn't until she plopped down into a chair that she noticed someone else in the room with her. "Oh... I'm sorry." she said. "I didn't realize someone else was in here."

"That is okay, ma'am. I can leave if you want some privacy." Branwen was already halfway to her feet. Her Welsh accent dominant as ever.

"Oh no! Please, no need to move on my account." Emily said, practically shooting to her feet. "I didn't mean to imply... er... after all, you were here first. I just didn't mean to disturb you."

"Thank you ma'am." Bran smiled.

"I guess I should introduce myself." Emily said with a smile. "I'm Emily Fellbaum. New JAG Officer aboard the ship."

"Branwen London, marine staff psychologist."She introduced herself in turn. "JAG officer, how interesting. Didn't know the ship had one." It was one of the few mixed branches in the military.

"Newest innovation of Starfleet: A JAG for every home!" Emily said with a smile. "I didn't know that the Marines were sporting their own psychologists now."

"I'm an experiment, ma'am. I am one of the first, and certainly one of the first to serve on a ship. I am a qualified combat officer as well, so I can make myself useful when I don't have patients. I haven't had one yet. And not very likely to get one with Marines." She smiled.

Emily laughed. "That's almost like saying that there will never be a need for lawyers." she said, "I'm pretty sure that the stress that the Marines go through you'll have them lined up outside your door in no time."

"But they don't like to admit it. It will be like pulling teeth. And there are only 6 marines onboard including myself.

Another chuckle. "I don't know personally who I'd want to avoid more: my dentist or my psychologist." she said. "No offense or anything."

"Why do people hate psychologists so much. We are only there to help and make life easier. I really don't understand it." Branwen said honestly.

"Maybe its because people have to face the truth eventually when they talk to one. Same thing goes with Lawyers. We've been hated since the beginning of time." Emily offered. "Besides, at least people don't look at you as if you were spawned from some dark hellhole." she sighed. "So when did you come on the Galaxy?"

"Just a few days ago, I am still trying to get settled. And you, ma'am?"

"Oh please, drop the ma'am." Emily said with a smile. "I think I might be younger than you are and I'm fresh out of school. I just transferred on back at Starbase 212."

"I doubt it, I am 23 fresh out of training myself. And with you navy types I find it safer to call everything that moves ma'am or sir. I don't think us Marines are very popular on the ship."

"I for one am happy that you all are on here. I keep hearing stories of what happened back during the Dominion War and the Borg Incursions." -shudder- "I'd hate to think what would happen if you weren't here."

"You are." Bran smiled happily. "I am glad to hear it. Most people have been nice to me. So tell me more about your job. Why would someone need a lawyer on the ship?" She was really interrested.

"Oh you know, disobeying orders, bar fights, whatever. Sometimes you get a really high dollar case like intrepration of the Prime Directive, or some kind of war crime or what have you. That sorta thing. And being JAG means that I can either be prosecutor or defense. Its really cool." Emily explained.

"Cool. A classmate of mine at the marine academy selected JAG. I like that it is mixed. I wish more departments could do that. When I was doing my rotation at the naval hospital not everybody was nice to me to put in nicely."

That caught Emily's attention. She cocked her head slightly to the side. "Why is that?" she asked.

"Don't ask me. Maybe they are afraid that marines will steal their jobs, or they really think we are to stupid to do anything right." She sounded a little bit bitter.

"That sucks. We should all be working together instead of fighting amongst ourselves." Emily frowned. "I don't get why people are afraid of the Marines taking their jobs."

"Maybe that is because you are in JAG and you are used to working with marines. You might think different if it was your job you were worried about." Bran admitted.

"So what made you choose the marines then?"

"My sister is in the navy and I wanted to make it on my own. She is a commander, XO on a ship. I don't like favoratism." Bran said simply.

"So it was the Marine Corps huh?" Emily asked, then cringing for stating the obvious.

"Yes." Branwen smiled "it was indeed, I don't think I would make a very good lawyer."

"My whole family has been in the Law business since before time began it seems..." Emily said. "Was kinda expected of me, but I have no regrets. I like being in JAG."

"Good. So what kind of books do you like, I take it you like books coming here?"

"Oh yea..." Emily said, letting her eyes drift amongst all of the real leather bound books on the shelves. "I like the classics from ancient Earth, and some of the old Klingon texts are facinating as well. How about you?"

Bran giggled. "I like romance stories. Don't tell anyone."

Emily smiled. "Your secret is safe with me." she said.

"Memory Jumping - Part II"

Ensign Naranda Roswell, Engineering Officer

Richard North, Attache Officer

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Control Officer

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

Nara was mumbling, "Daddy. Daddy, where are you?" She lay there feeling pain and weakness. She looked up and saw an old man. He didn't speak much. She had been there, she didn't know how long. This was the third time she was taken out and interragated and beat close to death, but not quite. Just enough to make her wish she were dead. "Why don't you say anything?" She heard her tired voice ask the older man.

"Child, what can I say?"

She sighed. The old man must be an invalid. "Why did they take you?"

"Does that matter?"

She was getting annoyed, "Can't you answer a question without another question?"

"It matters not to you why I am here. It only matters to you that you fight your way out."

Nara was silent. He was right. The first hours she was here--the only time she had any strength--she fought to get out. She hit walls, she fought guards who came to settle her down. "I'm in no position to fight."

"But you still want to. You cannot control everything. You must see your own weaknesses and stop running full throttle without looking at consequences." She winced. The two men that died. She looked over at the other corner and saw two men in Starfleet uniforms. Miramon. Who was the other one. She had learned hard lessons in this cell. She learned being arrogant is not the same as being confident and that charging ahead without thinking was not bravery.

She tried to stand to go over to the man, but just then a guard came in. They picked up the old man roughly and he let them. She screamed, "Let him go! He's done nothing!" The old man caught her eyes and she was silenced. He was taken away and she watched the doors as she knew what sound would come moments later. She closed her eyes and dropped her head as she heard the phaser fire and the sound of an old man dying.

North surveyed the scene before him and blinked hard. "The hell is this? I don't remember ever seeing anything like this before..."

Miramon looked past the man that had questioned him a moment ago, seeing someone else within the scene, looking as confused as he had felt earlier on, in their first 'memory jump".

Without looking over, Nara spoke weakly, "Of course not. It's my memory."

The Bajoran looked down at the woman, with a curious look on his face. "Nara?"

Nara sighed and looked up. Her face was swollen with bruises and infected cuts. Much like the rest of her body which was clothed in a sack cloth like material. "Yes."

"What the hell happened to you?"

She leaned against the wall, "I'm a prisoner of war." She stated it simply. Seemed to pretty much cover it. North looked at the woman. "You sure as hell don't look like one to me. And believe me, I've seen a few POWs in my day." Miramon nodded. "And I've lived on a planet where the entire population was brutalised and subjugated in a similar way."

Nara shrugged causing pain to shoot through a shoulder and she cringed, "Well, in some wars interrogations are cruel and brutal."

North chuckled. "I bet the interrogation you recieved was mild compared to some of the stuff I've been involved with...believe me...it's crazy stuff...is there anything I can do to help you?"

The Bajoran looked slightly confused at the whole mess, and the other guy didn't appear to be in a better state. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and looked closely at Nara. "Forget that for the moment. Nara, where the hell are we?"

Nara shook her head, "This is a memory. It's not really happening. Sure feels like it though. In this memory we are in a prison on an island in Sakaria. Two years ago."

North cocked an eye brow. "That sounds vaguely familiar to me...but why is another question.."

Miramon nodded his head in agreement. "Indeed. This is the fifth memory we've been in, and I'm still no closer to understanding what is going on here. How about you?"

"That creature." Nara looked at the tiny window at the top of the very high wall. "It'll be dark soon."

Cold...loud...speed...what in the hell was going on? North looked down and then remembered what was happening...it was the final game of the NCAA Frozen Four...freshman year...3 minutes left on the clock. Quickly ticking towards an overtime...

Standing amongst the audience, Miramon suddenly looked around in confusion, then snarled angrily. "This is getting on my nerves."

Nara looked over to Miramon, "Hey, I'm out of prison. This is fine with me." She touched his arm, "Yea, annoying too." She looked at North, "Your memory?"

"Yeah...NCAA Frozen Four...UMaine Black Bears..my team...versus Minnesota...long time rivalry...right before the clock runs out, about 3 seconds left, I flick a game winning shot in the net...top shelf..."

Shaking his head, Miramon looked almost amused, quite the contrast from his momentary burst of anger. "Why here? Of all the places we could have gone, why here?"

"This thing keeps us jumping around. Random memories, ours, others, and random people meeting...." Nara sat down wearily.

North shrugged "I dunno...I guess I'll never forget this day as long as I live...a blessing and a curse...my father died in a hospital bed at the exact same second I scored the goal....weird, isn't it?"

The buzzer sounded, signalling the time out was over. "Well...I'll see you guys in about three minutes..."

Miramon shook his head and muttered. "That's assuming we stay long enough for that."

Nara sat down, "What IS this game?"

Sitting down next to her, the Bajoran shook his head. He didn't know either. "I have no idea. Looks like they're fighting with sticks to get that thing rolling around on the ice."

Time ticked down...2:30....2....1:45....1:15....45...30....20...North caught the puck and tore off down the ice...skating towards the goal.

Nara leaned on Miramon's shoulder not caring what it looked like. She just wanted a shoulder to lean on. "Sounds barbaric."

He slid past a defender...10....the goal seemed almost out of reach...almost...North wound up...and fired the shot into the goal...the puck above the goalie and into the net, a loud horn blast sounded, signalling the goal. North lifted his arms in triumph as his teammates mobbed him...

The Bajoran looked surprised that Nara would touch him so freely in such a manner, but didn't bother shaking her off. Then the horn sounded and he ducked reflexively, wondering what the emergency was. "Wha...?"

Nara jumped up startled hearing the horn and looked over to North. "Why are they attacking him?"

"I don't know. Should we help?"

Nara was about to jump over the bench, but stopped, "Yes, but we can't. If we tried, it wouldn't work."

Miramon sighed, then nodded. "Alright, alright. Now, what do we do about this damn travelling?"

North couldn't help but to grin from ear to ear, he pumped his fists up in the air and then fell to to the ground and looked upward to the heavens...seeing nothing but the faces of his teammates.

"I don't know." Nara kept watching the mob, waiting for North to appear.

"And now he falls over. I hope he's not dead or anything." Miramon noted with a slight amount of concern in his voice.

Nara laughed, "He can't be dead. If he died in this memory, well...we wouldn't even be here." Nara scanned for North. She smiled, "No, he's fine. He's very happy."

North stood up and skated back towards the bench, raising his stick in the air in victory. "This was awesome...but...uhhh..." he pointed to the two Starfleet Officers walking down the tunnel from the locker rooms. "In about two minutes...those two are going to tell me that my father is dead..and I'm going to go back out there and dedicate my MVP trophy to his memory...And that's probably something I'd rather not relive...how do we stop this damn memory?"

Nara frowned and shrugged, "We don't. We jump around without willing."

Miramon shook his head despondently. "Damned if I know."

"Hold on - why not try and concentrate on a particular memory? See what happens?"

Nara nodded, "Worth a try. What memory do you suggest?"

"Anywhere but here...I'd rather be leading that interrogation of..." A small holding cell...gray walls...a Romulan prisoner in the middle...torture instruments on the right, and three guards behind him.

Miramon looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded decisively. "How about something we all have seen, from different perspectives? A battle, an event - something we were all present at."

North turned to them. "I think I might have figured something out...but I'm not sure..."

"What?" Both Miramon and Nara answered simultaneously.

Nara looked around. She grabbed Miramon's arm frightened. It was too much like her time in interrogation. She whispered, "Not again."

North looked back at the Romulan prisoner, and then at his comrades. "I think if you concentrate on a specific event in your life, wheter it be good or bad...we'll be transported to it..."

"It could be your first day of elementary school...or the funeral of a close friend or relative..call me crazy...but...I think it might work.."

Nara ignored North, too caught up in her own memory that his had sparked. She clung to Miramon as if her life depended on it.

Nodding enthusiastically in response, though looking down at the prisoner, his face twisted in disgust and horror, but ignored the feeling as he felt Nara grab his arm and seem to want to take the arm with her, as he could tell from the sudden lack of circulation that he was feeling all of a sudden. "Whatever works best, but can we do something sharpish, please?" he said in a tight voice, trying to shake Nara off, but failing

North looked at them. "Come on...you've got to have something...because I really don't want to do this all over again...I almost killed this guy..."

Nara couldn't feel Miramon's arm anymore. She was strapped to a chair. She felt a hand hit her.

"Where are the weapons stored!?" The interrogator yelled.

Nara screamed, "In your bumhole!"

As a reward for such an answer, the man used a small knife to cut Nara's shoulder with a swift action, causing her to cry out in pain.

Rubbing his arm to get the circulation back, Miramon wasn't paying particular attention to their new surroundings, but was brought immediately to attention with the scream. He looked up and saw Nara tied to a chair, the room dark and foreboding. He wanted to move and assist, especially when he saw the cut of that knife, but was restrained by the knowledge that he couldn't change what had already occured, so simply looked pained and angry.

North turned his back on the situation. "No way in hell I'm watching this...."

Miramon looked over at North, then snarled at him angrily. "Come on, man. Concentrate. Let's get out of this one, alright?"

----time lapse: 5 minutes----

Nara sat with her head slumped and her shoulder bleeding as he yelled another question and hit her again. Before he could yell out again, another voice interupted. "We don't want to kill her. Leave her. We'll return her to her cell for two days." With that, they left. Nara was in too much pain to do anything than sit and wait for someone to push her up and out to the cell.

North shook his head. "I killed guys that do that sort of stuff to you...I killed them for fun...sounds horrible...but...they deserve it..."

Miramon nodded fierce agreement. "And if we'd been able to, we'd have done so then, too. How do you feel?"

"Oh...I would have fucked them up good before I killed them though...bring them as much pain as they brought to their victims...maybe even more so...but...Nara...are you okay?"

Nara shook her head slightly and tried to speak through swollen lips. "No." Wait. Who were these guys. They weren't here before. "Who are you?"

Miramon's eyebrows raised in confusion. "What? Don't you remember?"

North looked over at Miramon. "They beat her up real good...she doesn't even remember who we are..."

"This I can see. Not helpful."

Nara tried to look up, but her eyes were blurry and it was dark. She let her head fall back down letting her hair cover her face.

"Nara...you gotta open your eyes...come on..." He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly lifted her into a semi upright position.

Looking at Nara's battered face, there really wasn't much more a conclusion you could come to. "This is great. This is just what we needed. She's hurt, and we're stuck in this god-damn nonsensical situation. Brilliant!"

North looked over at him. "It could be worse..."

Miramon's fury was obvious, and frankly, it felt alien even to him, but the odd bar fight at the Academy had soon taught him to pay attention to it, if he had a use for it, and frustration was ever a good time to vent some anger.

North gently patted Nara's cheeks. "Come on, open your eyes. Nara, honey, you've got to open your eyes...we're not going to hurt you."

In the memory Nara wanted to sleep. Which she did, but not at this moment. She opened her eyes. She saw two men in front of her. Stafleet came? They weren't allowed to interfere. North and Miramon. She let out a heavy breath. It was a relief and annoying at the same time. She spoke through swollen lips and a brain that wanted to sleep, "Can we try your idea now?"

"Anything you want..."

Miramon's anger cooled down a little, and he kneeled down beside Nara and North. "Alright. Where to?"

Nara almost cried, "I'm so tired of this."

"Awkward Moment"

Attaché Richard North, Liason Corps

Ensign Emily Fellbaum, JAG Officer

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

North cradled his mug of coffee in one hand and his stack of PADDs with other hand as he used his elbow to press the chime on the door to the JAG Office. He heard a female voice from the other side telling him to come in. The door slid open and he stepped into the room. The woman's back was turned to him.

"I'll be with you in a moment, I just need to find a file..." she said.

North placed the stack of PADDs on her desk, and took a sip from his coffee. When she turned around North was immediately taken back by her beauty, so much that his coffee mug slid out of his hand and smashed onto the floor, sending the hot liquid onto his boots. "Uhhh...sorry about that...I'm Richard North...I was just....uhhh...dropping...uhhh"

Emily put a hand to her mouth to try and conceal the big smile on her face while she chuckled lightly. "Dropping things?" she offered jokingly as North made every attempt to redeem himself. By the looks of it he was failing miserably. She dug out a towel from under the clutter on her new desk and offered it to him so that he could wipe up the coffee that was now all over him. "Its ok, I'll get us another cup." she said as she made her way over to the replicator. "How do you take it?"

"Uhhh...take what?" he asked as he tried to soak up the mess.

She grinned and tried not to laugh. "You're coffee, I mean." This North guy was really tripping all over himself. She thought it was cute.

"Lots of cream, lots of sugar."

Emily ordered the coffees and then handed one over to North and took her own to her side of the desk and then proptly sat down. "Its nice to meet someone else finally from the Liason Offices" she said. "I'm Emily Fellbaum" she said by way of greeting.

Richard carefully placed his coffee mug on the desk and then sat down in the chair. He picked his mug up off the desk and took a sip from the coffee.

"Nice to meet you as well...figured I'd drop by...drop my...uhhh...my...uhhh...coffee all over your floor..."

She chuckled and then eyed the stack of PADDs that North had brought in and hoped that they ALL weren't meant for her. JAG certainly came with a ton of paperwork. "So what can I do for you sir?" Emily asked with her sweet smile.

"Uhhh....well...I....forgot...what I had actually came here for...I know it has something do with this pile of PADDs." Beads of sweat poured down his forehead as he tried to remember what he had come by to discuss. Then he finally remembered. "Well, I remember now...first of all I came by to introduce myself...and I also wanted to drop off some reading material regarding civilian law."

Emily groaned a bit at the thought of even more PADDs to go through but quickly shrugged it all off. "Well Mr. North, you can relax, I'm not going to bite." she said with a sweet smile. ~much...~

North leaned back in his chair, feeling a bit more at ease than when he had first came in. He picked up his coffee mug and took another sip from it. He placed the mug back on the desk and folded his hands on his lap. "So...tell me a little bit about yourself."

"Not much to say really." she said, leaning back and taking a sip of coffee. "I just got out of Advanced Law and the Galaxy is my first posting. Before that it was the Academy, so that pretty much sums up my enitre Starfleet career." She took another sip. "So how about you?"

North leaned back in his chair. "Well, I played hockey at UMaine, and I guess we won the NCAA Frozen Four four years in a row while I was playing, and I guess I was the MVP...all four times...but that's pure speculation and rumor. I got my degree in Political Science...was the Cadet Captain of our ROTC Batallion...then I was an Admiral's Aide until I could get a posting....served all 11 years in Intelligence....medical discharge...served one term in the Senate...now I'm here.."

"So why only one term of Senate if you got elected then?" Emily asked, now intrested in this. "And what exactly did you do in Intel for so long?"

"I only did one term because it was a campaign promise. As for my role in Intel...you can read about it...I'm really not at liberty to discuss any of what I did, because most of it is top secret, but if you have the clearance..."

"Haven't recieved my official clearance yet. But It'll be something I'll check into." North shrugged. "Hey, would you like to meet up some time for dinner...outside of the work environment?"

Emily smiled. "Sure." she said. "When is a good time for you?" North grinned. "How about tomorrow night at seven?"

"Tomorrow at seven then." She said smiling. "See you then."

"Memory Jump, Part III"

Ensign Naranda Roswell, Engineering Officer

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Navigation Officer

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

Nara's feelings of frustration were extremely understandable at this point in time, and Miramon more than shared them. He was getting slowly angrier and angrier at this turn of events - all he wanted right now was to be sitting in Ten Forward, meeting Saul for dinner at their usual time for a chat and a good meal. But all they were doing was this pointless jumping around - and there seemed to be no end to it.

He stood up and pulled his uniform jacket straight when he realised they wereno longer sitting in that damp, dark little prison cell that they had watched

However, there seemed enough of that already. Someone snarled something in Andorian, from what he could tell, and he turned around only to see this blue fist connected to a rather tall Andorian heading straight for him. He didn't even have time to dodge it, and the fist connected full on with his jaw, knocking him backwards and into a table. Now he remembered where he was. Third Year at the Academy, bar-room brawl. How it was they got here, he wasn't sure, but he'd needed something to release a little aggression, so now he had the opportunity.

The Andorian advanced on him and snapped out another punch, but Miramon had stood back up and seen it coming well before it got close, so threw his right hand out in an edge-or-hand strike to the wrist, knocking it away before he raised his leg and snapped out from the knee in a front kick which took the Andorian just below what would have been the navel on a human. Before he had chance to do anything else, he was suddenly grappled by two burly humans, friends of the Andorian, at which point the room erupted into a match that was both verbal and physical in nature.

The pain suddenly gone, Nara relaxed. The emotions still there, but she looked

up as she heard a commotion. Miramon was fighting. "What's this about?" She sighed rolling her eyes, knowing they couldn't help and from the looks of the place it seemed like some testosterone inflicted thing having no real reason.

Miramon had no chance to say a word as he was forced on the defensive in order to get rid of his current attackers, but tried to dig himself out with all the force he could muster. When eventually he did, he managed to glance quickly at Nara and motion for her to duck before he was grabbed from behind and thrown bodily onto a table.

Nara ducked just in time. She quickly went to a corner close to the door. All she could do was stay out of the way. "Ok, whenever you get done with this, can we PLEASE think of a better memory?" Nara knew he couldn't hear her as she mumbled.

Miramon knocked his opponent off him and rolled off the table to stand next to Nara. "Well, this is a fight wherein I had several bones broken and a long lecturing for from one of my instructors, so any time now would be really good, thanks."

"So it's up to me!?" She sighed and thought, trying hard to bypass quickly any that came her way. Then she remembered. She was standing in the kitchen at their cabin on Sakaria cooking. She was careful to remember the day before she and Saul went sailing, so as to not have the memory him interfer. This day she was alone. Alone on her home planet. In the memory, she looked out the window and saw Saul lazily leaning against a tree.

She frowned thinking of how complexed she felt about him.

Miramon glanced at the new surroundings, and smiled at Nara. "Thanks. I owe you." He followed her gaze curiously, and saw someone extremely familiar by the tree. "What the...Saul? How'd he get here?"

Nara smiled, "He's part of the memory. I was coming home for shore leave and he came along. Something about business here. We met here. Tomorrow we have the most relaxing day sailing." She laughed, "I almost forgot. We also had a huge fight before then." Nara shook her head, "Let's try to stay here though. Try to figure this out."

Miramon laughed delightedly. "Well, well. I was supposed to be having dinner with him in Ten Forward about now, too. What a coincidence. So, what's the real story?"

Nara looked at him. "You know Saul? What story?"

"Well, yeah. We met aboard the Valkyrie, and he was with me when we dropped down on Bajor. He's a great guy. And you're not answering my question, oh evasive one." Miramon's smile was bright and his eyes indicated his amusement, but he kept his laughter in check.

She looked back at Saul, "I don't know anything about him." She frowned and turned away from the window. "He's not very open. One minute he's this fun quirky guy, and the next he's all nervous and seems to wish to run away."

Miramon nodded. "Yeah, that's him alright. But he's a great guy anyway, and after all, if he weren't, I wouldn't spend my off hours with him. Do you two talk much?"

Nara shook her head, "I even went to his quarters once. Didn't know what to expect, just wanted to be with him I guess. We did small talk and decided we just couldn't get very close. Then we just watched a movie."

The Bajoran laughed at that one. "He and I need to go and have a pep talk some time. Anyway, shall we?"

Nara looked at him, "Pep talk?" She added, "Did I tell you he came to one of my memories?" She looked at him curiously. "Shall we what?"

"No, you hadn't mentioned that one." Miramon noted calmly. "I hope he's not in as much of a mess as we are...were, I mean. And I meant shall we go on? This is your memory, after all."

Nara shrugged, "That's why I picked this one. I didn't do much. Just cooked, ate and sat around thinking." She nodded, "I did have a lot to think about." She smiled, "But in my real mind it's all settled, so now it's just a long plain boring memory." She cocked an eyebrow, "Good choice?"

She walked back over to the stove to stir the soup, "Something odd happened in the memory and I bet it was because he was there."

"I won't ask why. But at least this is better than the last one you dredged up. I hope you don't mind me being so forward, but I really wouldn't want your memories after having seen that last one. I'm amazed you're all in one piece."

Nara looked at the spoon stirring the soup for awhile. "I go about doing this and doing that. Too busy to get close to anyone. Even myself." Nara spoke it from a memory of someone telling her that. She added the part about herself.

Miramon sat down and arched an eyebrow at her as he did so. "Maybe you're running from yourself. I can't say I'd blame you, given what I've seen of your memories, but there have to be good things for you to focus on, surely?"

"My best friend, I had to leave behind when I joined the Academy. There's letters, but hadn't seen him physically in so long. Conzalas was a friend, my partner really. Technically, my second in command, but we were friends. I confided in him. Then I got here. Saul was the first person I thought I could risk being a friend with, but I won't be open to someone whose so closed."

The Bajoran shook his head negatingly. "He's not really closed, Nara. I just figure he's patient with revealing himself to other people. He hides things, like you do, but you're both alike in that regards."

Nara started pacing, "A bomb went off in my memory. I have a strong feeling Saul had something to do with it. That alone raises SERIOUS questions about whether I can even trust him."

"So you'd judge a man based on something which he might not even have had something to do with, in something which occured before you even met?" Miramon demanded, gently, but with a slight edge to his voice all the same.

"A bomb was nowhere NEAR that memory." Nara sat down and looked at Miramon, "He's an intelligence officer. He conducts this weird trade business on the side. He flipped out when I told him I had telepathic abilities. He's hiding something."

"Well, so are you, just in a different way to him." the Bajoran offered nonchalently. "Seriously, forget it. He's a good friend, and he doesn't seem to want to harm anybody unless he has to. Hell, he can't even fire a phaser as well as I can. Does that make me a dangerous person?"

"What makes its so complicated is I want to tell him so much, but he's got this wall." She looked back at the window. From that angle, she couldn't see him, but she knew he was out there. "I'm having feelings for him I'm sure I never had, and I'm scared to have." She shook her head, "I'm sure I shouldn't have. How could I have feelings for someone I barely know?"

"The thing is, I didn't realize all that until now." She got back up to stir the soup. Her mind was racing. It was hitting on another memory.

Miramon shook his head. "I don't know how that's possible." He smiled reassuringly, or at least as much as he was capable of, but the whole conversation had dampened his mood slightly, in comparison to how he had felt when they had first arrived, but he couldn't help but think that something about it all of it did sound admittedly strange, and it disturbed him more than he would have willingly admitted, certainly to Nara, and more than likely to Saul.

The soup turned into a console panel. Nara looked at it strangely. It read, "I'll see you tonight." She looked around. She was at a table at a cafe at Deep Space 8. "Mike Gersaze"

Miramon looked around curiously as soon as he realised the scenery was different, then looked across the table he was sitting at and narrowed his eyes slightly at the girl sitting there. "Who are you?" As soon as he spoke, he gasped slightly in confusion - his voice sounded different. Younger than it had been. He turned his hands over and his narrow eyes widened in amazement. Some of the calluses had gone. He was younger - physically so. Yet, he remembered every event up to and after his 33rd birthday. What the heck was going on?

Nara looked back at him. "I'm Nara." Nara's brain felt fried. Exams were yesterday, but now they had a month break. There were other memories floating in her head she couldn't gather. The man in front of her looked famailar, yet she knew he didn't belong there. "Who are you?"

The Bajoran couldn't help but smile ruefully. He'd not recognised her, for that matter. "Miramon. Miramon Terrik, from the Galaxy? Remember?" It was the second time she'd forgotten who he was in all their time of memory jumping - was he just the type of guy that you could forgot easily? It would certainly explain why, at 33, he hadn't married or even so much as been in a relationship since that rather brief one at the Academy which had ended in tears, at least for the woman involved. He never did understand that. Still, he could soulsearch all he wanted when they returned to the ship. "Anyway, Nara, where the hell are we this time?"

She blinked looking at him. Her 26 year old mind couldn't help but find him attractive in a 22 year old body. She blushed looking down. "This is Deep Space 8. About, oh 5 minutes before my first date ever."

Miramon cursed in the only fluent Bajoran he'd used in weeks, irritated. "You mean I've gotta sit here watch you and your date have dinner or something? Boy, I can't wait to hear the conversation on this one."

Nara laughed, "No. We can go somewhere else. I guess the conversation about Saul reminded me of this. We tried talking, but it didn't flow well. I wasn't as closed as I was now, but I was nervous." Nara shook her head, "We can return to the past memory, unless you got one."

"I've had enough of Saul for a minute, and besides, since he was there, I don't think I can trust your cooking, either. There's not many other memories I'd care to access, though."

"Trust my cooking?" Nara was a bit offended by that. "What's wrong?"

Miramon raised his hands defensively. "Well, I just meant that, well, with Saul around, you never know. Besides, my palate is still mainly Bajoran."

Nara sighed, "Eating anything would be like eating something in a holodeck. You didn't really eat it. Besides...." She stopped talking, seeing Mike come up. She quickly thought of another memory. She sent a telepathic message before it all swtiched, ~Sorry. All I could come up with.~ And then there she was sitting with Saul on a couch watching "Point Of No Return."

Sighing deeply, the ensign was beginning to feel resigned at all this jumping. Skipping, skipping, eternally through the past. He wondered what would happen if they ran through all of their memories. Maybe they'd replay them again? He looked at over at Saul and Nara sitting on a couch, watching whatever was on the screen in front of them and sighed. He did say no more Saul. How he was going to explain that he'd eavesdropped on their date when he next saw his friend, he didn't know. He looked up and rolled his eyes. "Alright, what did I do to deserve this? By the Prophets, this really isn't fair."

The credits were rolling. Good timing, Nara thought, knowing Miramon wouldn't like to be here. Good thing she said goodnight and simply left. She began to walk out the door and looked at Miramon making sure he was behind her.

The two walked out into the corridor of the ship that both of them knew as home and Miramon stopped and leaned back against the wall of the deck with a sigh. He smiled slightly as he watched Nara looking at him with a curious eye. "Look, I'm home, and I'm me again. 33 years old, not younger. You think I'm gonna complain about being here now, even if we're in the wrong time?"

Nara knelt down beside him, "Why are you troubled by Saul suddenly? You just told me he was a good guy." Nara sighed, "Never mind. We can discuss that when we're out of this."

"The Red Circle." Part 1

Ensign Airaul Taern, Tactical Officer

The warmth almost rolled over his tingling skin as Airaul forced his eyes back open. He could taste the sea on his lips, a sensation that made his throat clench and tears well to his eyes. He knew it wasn't right. He knew that there shouldn't be a coastline... and not just any coastline, but the one that the Revalis Sylaen's palace watched over from just a short distance away. The coastline that he had grown up with on his homeworld.

He turned, forcing himself out of the mesmerised silence that the familiar coastline had cast over him. It was all wrong. There wasn't supposed to be sand and sea...and the warmth. It felt delicious on his skin...so perfect...it just wasn't right.

"Airaul!"

Lifting a hand up to shade his eyes, he saw a man running toward him...but it was the voice he recognised more than the distant figure. He gave a simple wave to indicate he had his attention, not trusting himself to call back yet.

"Sylaen! He is at the docks! They were ambushed by Malanian soldiers...they are under attack!" Trelna called to him, waving an arm to call him over.

Yet, Airaul simple stared for a long moment, confusion on his features. "I...I know..." he whispered to himself...and he did know. All of it...he already knew this day.

"Hurry, Airaul! Sylaen needs help!" Trelna shouted, already turning and running back the way he had come.

The words shook Airaul out of any shock that had halted his movements the first time he'd heard them. He started at a sprint, instinctively reaching for the hand held projectile weapon strapped to his leg, pulling it free. He checked the ammunition without thinking, sliding back into using the weapon as if he had never had to take it off.

He knew the path to the docks like the back of his hand, having spent far too many days as a child playing on the coastline instead of in lessons. He had run this path before...holding the same weapon... entrusted with the same task. Yet, it felt real and not like a dream...just as real as the first time. His heart pounded with each heaving footstep...the same fear clutched at his throat. It felt surreal...and yet, all too real.

All doubts of what may or may not be happening left as he reached the docks. Sylaen...the once emperor of the Malanian Empire and now emperor of the Sylaen Islands...was on his knees. There was grim determination on his sweat slicked, pale features as he held his sword fast despite two others pressing down against it to try and break his strength and resolve.

Airaul lifted his weapon without thought, firing with an unwavering hand as Sylaen's men tried to keep the others back from their leader. One of the enemies pressing down on his friend's sword recoiled sharply back with shock and force before falling down, the escaping crimson blood staining the pale sand.

Sylaen turned his head to look at Airaul with surprise, but was rewarded with a slender, short blade being thrust into his shoulder for his moment's distraction.

"Sylaen!" Airaul watched with horror, but even as he stared with shock he knew that he had already known it was going to happen...and still, it didn't stop the way his heart beat painfully in his chest with fear and how the nausea built up inside him. With a harsh curse, he reached up and pulled one of his short swords free as he ran forward to the man who had stabbed the Revalis and leant over to finish the job. He put all of his strength into the blow he delivered to the soldier's middle, a harsh shout from the physical effort it took from him escaping.

He lifted his gun, firing at another soldier that was sending one of his own men off balance. He gave a sharp jerk of his head to indicate the freed man should see to Sylaen as he threw the gun to him. Reaching up, he pulled the second short sword free, turning sharply in time to block the sword of an attacker. He pushed up sharply to knock it away and off balance for a moment and didn't even think twice as he crossed his own blades and lifted them to his neck, pulling back fast to cut his throat. Airaul stepped over the fallen body as he focussed in on his next target with hard eyes. "Get him back to the palace...now!"

"Yes, Sir!" Trelna called back, helping to get a hold of Sylaen with two other men.

Airaul spared a single glance in their direction to make sure they had a clear path before turning back to the others. He recognised the face of the man he was about to kill...and yes, he knew that part too. He ducked to avoid the curved blade that was slashed at his face, bringing one of his own swords up to force his arm in a sharp and uncomfortable angle. Alarm suddenly ran through him. Yes...he knew this...he knew that a smaller blade was about to lift and slice at his own arm, and yet...as much as his mind screamed to move to block it, his body was reluctant, attempting the same move he had the first time round instead and almost as if it was of it's own accord...and there *had* been a first time round, he was sure of it.

The blade cut into his arm just as he knew it would, making him back off with a sharp hiss of pain...he also knew that it would be a scar that would remain with him. He grabbed the hilt of one of his well balanced and slender swords as if it was a dagger, pulling his good arm back and letting out a grunt of effort as he threw it like a javelin at the shocked man only a long stride away from himself. The force as it lodged in his stomach sent him stumbling back before falling down in defeat.

Airaul almost sneered at the fallen body as he moved to him, pulling his sword free again. He took a breath, glancing around at the others. There were still more to go...he knew that most of them would be killed by his own men, that he would receive more wounds and at least one more long term scar from this battle, but also that they would let three of the enemy live to deliver a message to their Lord of Malania. And still, despite knowing what would happen, despite knowing exactly how it would all go...it all felt so real that something inside Airaul made him lift his sword and run forward to make sure it *did* happen so...

"Some Sentience May Occur..."

By
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security,
USS Galaxy-A

Location: Holodeck

On Earth, this would be the Clam Digger's Blues Bar in New Orleans, Earth. An old, smoky bar and grille showing the wear and tear of ages, the Clam Digger was the place to be for the resurrection of blues music during the late twenty second century. The greatest acts in Blues music history, influenced by the previous war and the following recovery, tempered by men who studied the previous works of blues legends (BB King being a prime example), all went to the Clam Digger during the blues resurrection's infancy, until their popularity became too big for such venues. Even during the blues resurrection's peak, the Clam Digger was known for showing upcoming, talented acts in the city known for its eccentric musical history.

On Earth, it would still be standing with the same wear as it had ever presented itself, a quaint and rustic atmosphere that added to the bemoaning of blues musicians.

On the Galaxy, it was a holographic recreation, taken from various photographs during the height of the second blues resurrection. An artificial, if immaculate, recreation.

In a smoky corner, on the stage that presented hundreds of up and coming talents, James Corgan and his '97 Fender Strat duelled against Willy 'Weasel Boy' Wallace, a guitarist and singer from the same era as the bar. He wasn't a blues musician, but one taught in the school of punk (The Clam Digger didn't limit itself to just blues). A mop of messy, curled brown hair down to his neck ringed Weasel Boy's head, resting it seemed on a greasy black leather jacket overtop a wifebeater shirt. His jeans were shredded like artificial chaos; straight cuts that hung down strands of denim fabric, but the cuts were too neatly arranged to be natural wear.

James, more formal yet just as sloppy at the time, was in his uniform, minus the overshirt, his grey tunic much more comfortable in the holodeck's stuffy setting.

In Weasel Boy style, Willy kept fending off Corgan's sonic assault by adding speed, while James kept up by adding complexity to his tunes. The wailing of their respective guitars hammered the walls, a cacophony of horrid discord that would assault the senses of most aliens and a majority of human beings. But this was rock and roll. It wasn't meant for every listening palate. It was meant to be aggressive, loud and angry. Beauty only came at rare times, and very sparingly, between pissed off rants and guitar solo's.

Weasel Boy scraped the slide down the neck of the guitar, ending the duel in a gut-wrenching squeal. James Corgan did the same, bare fingered and painfully. His fingers and hands were red from forgoing the luxury of a slide and a pick.

"Nice show, ol' boy!" Weasel Boy rasped in his tobacco ravaged, insufferably cockney accent, slapping James across the shoulder.

"Heh." James humbly accepted the compliment from the legendary rock star. His attentions were distant now that he wasn't channelling them through his music.

Weasel Boy was an empathetic holographic program. Programmed with upgraded subroutines descended from the Vic Fontaine holo-entertainer, Weasel Boy had an uncanny knack for knowing and understanding flesh trapped sentients. Some would say that Weasel Boy, much like the Vic Fontaine's before him, was a sentient being himself. Subroutines clicked together, as the hologram watched Corgan's subtle yet peculiar mannerisms, and came up with a solution.

Engage in conversation. Try to get to the root of the problem.

His subroutines told him to do it.

"C'mon lad." Weasel Boy took a drag from his cigarette, wadding up the spent butt in an ashtray, "You're doing alright, but something's not on the right. Gimme an earful. Tell me what's up."

The cigarette smoke swirled eerily around Corgan, like a ghostly halo (smoke always drifted towards non smokers, holographic smoke included). His attention went back to Weasel Boy. No surprise in the hologram's amazingly human question, just an indifference, a resignation, like a man resigned to what fate dealt him.

"What's it to you?" James asked the hologram, "We've been jamming for only a few weeks. I don't know you that well. And besides, you're a hologram. How can you sufficiently comment when I give you an answer."

"Oi... I may be a hologram." Weasel Boy lit up another smoke, puffing aggravated clouds of burnt tobacco in the air, "But let me tell you, I come from a long like of smart bastards, and I'm not talking about the fleshsack that got dumped in the East River after the mob didn't like his concert in '83."

James snapped out of some of his indifference. "You... know that you're a hologram?"

"Damn straight, mate! Next gen, smart, self aware, able to please the birds... but that's beside the point, lad. I wanted to know what was eatin' you, and you're not telling me jack sh*t. Don't leave me hanging... tell me!"

"Alright... alright." Corgan, annoyed, told Weasel Boy a brief snippet of what was on his mind, "Career problems. I followed a hot piece of ass, fell in love with her, and ended up getting burned for it. You should know what it's like. You... I mean the man you're playing, went through the same thing in '83. You should know that!"

"Right... mobster's daughter." Grumbled the punk rocker. The cigarette flopped as he twitched his lips, dislodging a long, hanging chunk of ash to fall on the already dirty floor. "Don't tell me you got the mob on ya."

"No, nothing like that. The Mafia no longer exists on Earth... hasn't in over two hundred years. Orion syndicate would be our equivalent, but I'm thankfully not in trouble with them. No... my girlfriend... was a Romulan spy. Exotic alien woman. You would be dumbstruck."

"Ohhh..." Chuckled Weasel Boy, "Wild in the sack, was she?"

"You bet your ass! But what really sold me was that she wasn't some ruthless b*tch. She actually cared for me. She was there when nobody else was. She adored me! And I adored her back... even when I knew it was wrong. But you know what? I f**ked it up. As usual, I f**ked the whole thing up."

"Oh, and how did you do that?"

"Well... the Captain found out. The man she was supposed to kill snitched on me."

Weasel Boy slapped his knee. "Haaa haaa hhhaaaaa! That's good! What else?"

"Well... she then tried to kill the stupid bastard... but then I had to stop her. Stop her! It was the mother of all breakups! We had a..." James stopped for a second to chuckle. Morbid and sad as the memory was, James couldn't help but loosen up in front of Weasel Boy. The irony of his relationship with Tekri didn't escape him. "...we had a PHASER FIGHT right there on the ship, in the middle of a Breen boarding!" James smacked himself on the forehead, "Who knows why it had to be then, but... but..." Then his jovial attitude died down. Downcast, James looked at the growing pile of Weasel Boy's cigarette ashes on the floor, "...I had her captured... and she escaped. Out of my control. I had a fight with her, damn near killed the b*tch... and for what? To save the life of an unappreciative motherf**ker who managed to get himself in a coma anyways?"

Choking up, James continued in increased hysterics, "What was I to gain? I lost her when I chose between my duty and the love of my f**king life! Almost everyone else I loved either changed, screwed me over, or just plain left before I had the chance! But not her! She stuck by me! She was the one who comforted me in those hard times! She was there to encourage me. She was there as a lover and a friend. And if she didn't have to try to kill that arrogant f**ktard, if she wasn't a goddamn spy, we would have been together."

Weasel Boy shrugged, "What would that accomplish? Together or not, she would have been damaged goods being a spy alone."

"I would have had her." James stated matter of factly, "I made the choice to be intimate with her. F**k, that already killed my career before I was caught. My career is dead now. I'm now forced to stay in this position forever... or get sent to the nearest deathworld in my thermal underwear and minus one half pip! Wallace... I lost it all because I tried to be a good sport, I tried to do what was right for all concerns. But one impulsive act f**ked everything over. Now I no longer have the girl, my position is tenuous at best, and I have nowhere to go. If I just sold out, I would have at least had the girl. A healthy exile out of Federation space, but at least I'd be with her not giving a f**k about Starfleet anymore!"

"Whoa!" Weasel Boy forced James to halt, "What gives? Didn't you save somebody's life? Aren't you supposed to be the bloody constable or something?"

"Chief of security, but I know what you're talking about. Yes, I saved an @$$hole's life. In the end, I did the right thing... wasn't able to convince Tekri not to do it... but I saved Savar's life."

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do?" Weasel Boy asked.

Corgan replied, "Yes. So? My point is I was stupid. I already f**ked up. I could have salvaged a decent relationship out of that mess while still receiving the inevitable. But no... I had to be a f**king boyscout, and lose my career anyways. F**k honesty! Nice guys get rogered. The lyrics to you fifth Billboard #1 hit say so. Who am I to argue?"

Weasel Boy laughed, to the chagrin of James, but the rocker wasn't laughing out of spite. He was chuckling like an old man, a fifty year old seen it all rockstar. "Boyo, you're regretting letting that bird go. Old story, even in my... his... the real Weasel Boy's time. You're not actually going to get yourself dishonourable discharged for a dame, aren't you?"

"Yeah... too much of a p*ssy to do otherwise."

"For f**k sakes lad, quit beatin' yourself up! Look at me!" Weasel Boy redirected Corgan so that their stares locked, "I can tell in you, being one of the most advanced holograms in the bloomin' quadrant, that you're an honest person. You're a good person. You do nice things for people, and yes, sometimes a nice person gets burned for it. My real life counterpart was thrown in the bay, and you know why? Because he had no scruples. Trust me... bad people get it worse in the end. You did the right thing, the honest thing, and the loyal thing. It may not be rock and roll, but I'm sure you can live with it a lot better than ditching your mates to go shag some Romulan sn@tch on the other end of the neutral zone."

"Hey, watch it pal." James growled, "Tekri wasn't just a piece of ass. She was my girlfriend, and it tears me up to have to move on after what she did."

"Sorry, sorry mate." Weasel Boy gave the 'hands off' salute, "My subroutines say I have to swear so damn much every day. Didn't mean to be crass, just what I do is all. Hell, boy!" Weasel Boy gave a jovial slap on the shoulder, "You're lucky. You have good memories of a fine woman... and hopefully some pictures to show the boys..."

James reluctantly shrugged, "A few 8x10's of her in a black nightie. Went well with the hair. And yes, we did have some good times. Shame it had to end."

"There you go! Look on the bright side! That's the spirit! HAH! Were you good to the lass?"

James had to reflect on that, "Aside from the gunfight... yes I was."

"Gave her a chance not to whack that poor yank?"

"Yank? Huh?" James had to reflect on Weasel Boy's peculiar slang.

"I mean... that Romulan fella."

"Actually... yes! I told her not to do it! I dropped hints, and when that wasn't working, I just outright told her not to, and that I'd help her avoid the consequences. And you know what? She still went through with it. I may have f**ked things up by getting involved with her, but I did give her plenty of chances to opt out, but she didn't."

"There you go! Her fault the relationship didn't work. She knows you're an honest fella, and asking her to do her job would have conflicted with yours."

"True, but what about the aftermath?"

Weasel Boy paused, "That, my man, you'll have to handle on your own."

"Yeah..." James sighed whistfully, his breath spreading the pile of ash like leaves in a fall wind, "I risked it all for her... and I lost. She walked out, and I took the fall. Damn... cruel, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Weasel Boy nodded, "But what are you going to do about it?"