"Morning Rant.....er..Coffee"

*Content Warning. Adult Language*

Lt. Dr. Klaus Fienberg, CMO
Lt.(jg) Dr. Jack Slen, Pathologist/Generalist(NPC)

Location: 10 forward, 0700 hours

Another Day, another pot of coffee. Klaus looked over his reports. Only 2 days had passed with the chronometers of the ship having gone to 2 months. With that was about a month of research on blocking unusual telepathic intereference from an unknown outside source. All of it useless due to whatever fixed things. Only one thought rang in Klaus' mind.

"I hate time travel."

"You and me both, Fienberg." A white haired man with almost unnoticible beta-trill spots on his temples and down his neck stood at the table.

"Ah the stunningly attractive personality of Dr. Jack Slen. What may I do for everone's favourite 'bastard-case' today?"

"Nothing...Just came to ask you why nothing *NORMAL* ever happens on the god damned ship? Think back. We get into a big brawl with the Damned insects and Breen and afterward, despite all we lost, all the damage they did, and *STARFLEET COMMAND HAS THE WHOLE FUCKING THING COVERED UP.* Then After that, there are these crazy memories...and after all we do to try and stop them...they stop on their own and what seemed to use to be 2 months *WAS TWO DAYS!*"

For once in his life, Klaus agreed with his hotheaded....contemporary. "Yes..I wonder that myself. But I believe it comes with the job. And stranger things have happened. You weren't aboard for Quenton. Something strange happened there, no one remembers, but everyone knows it happened."

"Exactly what I'm talking about." Jack nodded, slamming a finger on the table.

"Would you like some coffee, Jack?" Klaus put a hand out torward the pot of decaf coffee.

"No, None of that Decaf crap for me. As a matter of fact, I'll be right back."

He got up and walked over the replicator, ordering scrambled eggs on toast, and a bottle of hotsauce, with a hot cup of caffinated coffee. He returned and started to eat. "Egh....You ever notice the tinny taste replicate food has sometimes?"

"Yes, Jack, But I feel you'll go into detail anyway."

"Well, it tastes like crap you Cocky German bastard..." he continued, a clump of food in his mouth and pointing his fork at Klaus.

Klaus smirked. "Don't forget who has 2 pips and who has one and a half pips."

Jack rubbed his forehead. "So, *sir*, what about all our research."

"I've had it recorded for future reference. Might be useful should we ever need to block telepathic influences on the majority of the crew."

"Cocky *and* Competant." Jack tapped his fingers on the table, eating his breakfast.

"Jack, you're the only one who thinks I'm cocky. You realize that right?"

"Cocky German bastard...."

"Of Memories, Medicine, and Purple Oceans"

Ensign Eytan, Medical Officer

Trill,
February 2382

Eytan leaned forward over the balcony and smiled as he looked out at the sea. He'd never seen purple oceans before coming to Trill, not even in the Delta Quadrant. The sight of amethyst waves crashing against sun-golden beach was, as far as Eytan was concerned, unique in the galaxy. Admittedly there was still a lot of the galaxy that the young Brenari had yet to see, but he could at least say with confidence that he had seen a lot more of it than many other people his age.

As a warm breeze blew through his long brown hair, Eytan closed his eyes and tried to see it through his mind, concentrating on the sight that had been in front of him just moments ago. His heartbeat and respiration slowed as he tried to focus his mind's eye. He thought he was beginning to see something, a slight glimmer of sunlight and a haze of purple--

"Enjoying the view, I see," came a voice from behind Eytan, startling him out of his thoughts. He turned to face the speaker and smiled, nodding slightly as he responded.

"Yes, sir," he said. "Trill is a beautiful planet, Doctor. Thank you for allowing me to stay at your home while awaiting the Galaxy's arrival."

"Nonsense, it was the least I could do," Dr. Mazrin Nox replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. He came to stand beside Eytan and looked out at the ocean, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath of the salty air, a smile on his tanned, weathered face. "Besides, how could I refuse the request of a Starfleet doctor, especially one so eager to learn about Trill medicine firsthand?" he added. "Though I don't think that either of us expected your lessons to go on as long as they have..."

Eytan shrugged. "The Galaxy was supposed to arrive at Trill over a month ago; apparently they had a little trouble while en route." He smiled. "To use an old Earth expression," Eytan was fond of learning and using expressions common in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, "whatever it is, it's probably 'par for the course.' For them, at least. In my limited experience, starships, especially ships of the line, seem to run into a new problem on an almost weekly basis."

"Don't I know it?" Mazrin responded with a chuckle. "I was Chief Medical Officer of the USS Galileo for twelve years; I saw my fair share of strange and bizarre things. Speaking of the strange and bizarre, Eytan, what did you think of the Tenaran ice cliffs?"

"What's so strange and bizarre about the Tenaran ice cliffs?" Eytan wondered. He had returned from a trip to the ice cliffs the day before.

"Well, nothing I suppose, now that you're no longer near them..."

"Funny," Eytan muttered, turning to face the sea again.

Dr. Nox grinned and patted his young boarder/student on the back. "Lighten up, Eytan!" he admonished. "If you're going to behave like that while you're aboard the Galaxy, you're not going to make very many friends."

With a sigh, Eytan turned to face the elderly Trill doctor again. "Sorry, Doctor. Sometimes I forget that when people seem to be insulting me, they're more often than not just making a harmless joke. You think I'd be used to it by now after all these years, but..." he shrugged. "Old habits die hard."

"Indeed. Or old fears do, anyway," Mazrin responded, his voice taking on a gentler tone. "The Devore are far, far away, Eytan. I sincerely doubt that you'll ever see another one of them again. You shouldn't let your experiences with them in the past guide your life in the here and now."

"I know that, damn it!" Eytan growled. "How many times do you think I've told myself that, Mazrin? I've been free of the Devore for almost six years, but I will *never* forget what they did to me, to the Brenari, or to my family!" His gloved hand gripped the balcony hard as Eytan fought to keep the memories of those painful days from resurfacing.

"And no one expects you to," Mazrin said reassuringly. "But part of life is acknowledging what happened in the past, accepting it, and moving on. It's the only way we can grow and learn."

Eytan scowled at his friend and folded his arms across his chest. "I thought you were a physician, not a psychiatrist," he grumbled.

Mazrin grinned. "My friend, psychiatry is just another form of medicine! Remember, they didn't have any counselors aboard starships when I joined Starfleet. The medical officers often had to pull double-duty as counselors back then. You and the rest of today's shipboard medics have it easy." He laughed as Eytan rolled his eyes at that. "Now, unless you have anything else to add to this delightful little counseling session, Mister Eytan, you and I have another lesson to get started on." He put his arm around the young Brenari's shoulders and turned him around, leading him back inside. "Now, where were we last time?" he asked.

"You were teaching me about how benzocyatizine is used to adjust the levels of isoboramine in joined Trill, and also about benzocyatic regimens," Eytan replied.

"Ah, yes! Well, if you thought *that* was interesting, my young apprentice, just wait until you see what I have in store for you today..."

"The Rite to remain silent"

Ensign Saul Bental
Intelligence Officer

"That's right. Thank you SO much."

Saul flicked off the communication display, and spun toward the other Intelligence personnel who waited for the conversation to end. "We finally got the weapons list from the freighter. Took long enough to convince them that we have clearance."

From the far side of the room, came the voice of Ensign Dupont. "This should wait Saul, we're getting signs of more incoming darts."

"Swell." Saul muttered. "Nyoko and Philippe, threat assessment, deliver it directly to the bridge's Tactical console. Novitz, start going through the recordings of Captain Adair's interrogation, we'll see if there's anything useful there. I'll go over the list with Seren."

With that, Saul crossed the hall and sat next to the Vulcan informatician. Seren looked satisfied, as much as a Vulcan could look satisfied. He had all the reasons in the Galaxy to be satisfied – after all, he and Saul were the one who initially figured that the freighter carries weapons and not fruit.

The list of weapons they were reviewing was compiled by Commander Henderson's away team. Most of them were constructed in a way that would fool any sensor grid that didn't inspect them close enough, and others were held in cases that masked their contents. It was a nasty arsenal.

"Speculations?" Seren asked.

"Either these weapons were delivered to the Dreshayans, or to the Dreshayans' enemies, or stolen from the Dreshayans. There's a fourth options which I do not believe – that the Dreshayans were simply trying to steal a delivery unrelated to them. They might be arrogant bastards, but they're not space pirates."

"At least, their government does not openly support piracy." Seren nodded.

The two of them decided that the best course of action was to try and locate the source of the weapons. It wasn't an easy task given the fact that the ship was rapidly approached by enemy craft, but Saul already assigned men to handle that threat and there was no point in just sitting back and waiting for the fight to end before getting back to work.

Saul let Seren meddle with the source of the biogenic weapon, and concentrated on the more conventional weapons. Some of them were Orion-made, others cheap imitations of Federation and Romulan weapons. Nothing of top quality, but even cheap weapons could kill.

The, he noticed the symbol one of the crates. The away team took photos of their findings, and the crate was in the fourth photo. Saul asked the computer to enlarge and enhance the image a couple of times, until there was no doubt.

The insignia of Siave Shuni export-import incorporated.

Shortly after battle of Havras, Saul ran into that name. Siave Shuni was one of the companies involved in the cash flow that lead to the Triad's activities, mainly to the Hydrans.

It was also, unknown to everyone else, a company indirectly owned by the Bental family.

Saul was sure the company was only involved in credits laundry, since the only way you could maintain such a company for your personal purposes was to keep it away from any visible illegal activities. Arms dealing? That was certainly something no Bental would use such a company for.

Something was wrong here.

Saul bent his head forward, to rest his forehead on his hands in despair.

Just then, the Dreshayans darts leapt out of warp, enlarging the subspace rift. Saul's forehead never reached his fingers.

* * * *

Bounce a ball.

Sprinkles of water on his face. The hovercraft humming beneath his legs, plouging through Utrecht III's ocean.

"Arms. That's what's hot. Weapons, man. The fastest way for fortune."

Saul chuckled. "Two fifteen years old arms dealers. I can see THAT happening."

He's been there before. Last attonement day, just before the battle began. He dreamt of this place, of this scene. Now, it seemed much more real, much less like a memory. Soon, his friend will tell him that He is a Bental, and like half of his family-

"… like, half your family must be in the weapons dealing business."

That was far form accurate back then, and since Saul kept a close eye on his family's activities, he knew that it was far from accurate even now. But perhaps he missed something?"

"I'd like to think of myself as a merchant Bental, not a crimelord Bental. Not that there are any Bentals who do anything illegal, of course. Everything we do-"

Suddenly, the ocean's floor lit, and the light rushed up and up until finally bursting through the waves, blinding the two of them.

* * * *

"Everything we do is legit."

Saul tightened his hold on his coat. Embedded into the coat was the hidden, dormant communication system. It was made out of nanites, tiny agents embedded into the fiber. They complemented the seemingly innocent communication bracelet on his left hand.

Saul touched it with his right hand. The bracelet wasn't an implant, unlike the implanted bracelet he had when he was seventeen. No, this bracelet allowed him to communicate with the Special Observations craft in orbit of Oranara, which was cleverly disguised as a non-aligned, civilian merchant vessel.

The special observations program was Saul's first posting. He was perfect for the job, which required officers who knew how to mingle into a crowd, barter with merchants, and act in a very non-Starfleetish way. The Special observation program gave Starfleet the ability to collect non-covert Intelligence from neutral worlds which wouldn't allow Starfleet agents to roam freely.

This was his final mission on the special observation program. After the fateful meeting with the contact, he will be removed from the program and transferred to Earth to the prestigious role of Intelligence analyst.

He was not going to relive this if he had a choice.

Saul turned around to live the abandoned alley he was in, just when he heard steps behind him. Instinctively, he turned around.

"Hello." He said, his voice altered so that his accent would sound Ornaran. The Ornarans looked much like Humans, so they didn't need to alter him too much to make him look local.

"Merry meet." Came the other man's voice, in a painfully familiar accent. Saul was supposed to meet the man in order to complete a transaction – the Special Observation craft was masked as a merchant vessel, and to maintain that cover they had to conduct trade. The man was a representative of an organization which imported medicine that helped the Ornarans fight their addiction to drugs, in exchange for some goods which the Oranaran government didn't want to export.

Saul's meeting with the man was his own initiative. He thought he could gain some extra profit, and the meeting was preceded by some shady dealings with other Ornaran merchants and companies.

And now he was here, and in front of him was a man he never expected to meet here.

The Human narrowed his eyes, a single brown curl falling on his forehead. "You look familiar.", he said.

To a Starfleet agent acting undercover in an alien world, these words sounded like 'If you don't mind, I'm going to give you a Cardassian mask and release you in the capital of Bajor."

In reality, Saul hesitated, denied, quickly finished the transaction, and left before the man realized that Saul's resemblance to a past employer – Saul's cousin Ronald, as they later found out – was not a coincidence.

Of course, Saul reported the encounter. Of course, the craft's commander determined that this encounter could blow their cover and perhaps close the entire Special Observations program. Of course, they decided it's better to eliminate the threat than to take the chance that the man Saul encountered would report his presence to Ronald. Of course, in the aftermath, it was decided that it was a risk to carry Saul along for more missions, and that his personal endeavors could be risky for the mission. Of course, they had to conduct a stealth raid, and get rid of the man first in order to prevent any possible connection between the craft and Starfleet.

It was the last time Saul Bental killed a man.

There was no reason to go over that whole charade again.

"You shouldn't have said that." He said simply as he drew his hidden weapon and squeezed the trigger in one fluent motion.

A flash of light filled the alley, slightly more radiant than weaponsfire. The man vanished, and so did Saul.

* * * *

The Galaxy floated alone in space, with no evidence of the recent turmoil.

Saul sat in his office, the toll of leadership finally taken off his shoulders. There were still many things occupying his thoughts. He was trying to compile recent events and findings into a single, coherent report to the relevant Starfleet Intelligence elements, but his mind kept drifting back to the dreams he had during the last several days.

Or couple of months if to ask anyone who wasn't on the Galaxy at the time.

Again, he replayed the encounter with Ronald's ex-employee in his mind. It was one of the moments which made him crystallize his agenda, and which eventually determined his course of action.

Saul glanced at a display which showed a three dimensional representation of their ship's route. The dot at the end of the line represented the Trill star system.

Saul clenched his left fist. So much of his plans rested on how he will handle the events on Trill. One mistake, and his agenda – and life – will be forfeit.

Saul coughed, moaned slightly, and return to his work.

He'll be ready for Trill alright.

"The Lies Of The Pathetic"

Ensign Saul Bental, Intelligence Officer

Ensign George Kastanza, Engineer (NPC)

LOCATION: Intelligence CIC

George sniffed as he straightened his uniform and entered the Intelligence offices looking for Saul. He would let this Saul know what Nara was doing. Well, who he wished Nara was doing: himself-Mighty George.

"Excuse me sir." came a slightly annoying voice, "Are you supposed to be here?"

George, in his smirky way answered, "Why, lass, of course I am. I'm here to see my good friend Saul!"

The raised a brow in a very Vulcanish manner. "We're very busy right now, plus you can't enter without escort. I'm sure Ensign Bental would rather you see you off duty."

George put a hand on his chest, "My dear, this is personal business I'm sure he wants to hear right away!"

George passed the woman, and almost immediately spotted Saul Bental. The man, wearing casual cloths instead of a uniform, was approaching the Japanese officer.

"Nyoko, I need to--"

George took a wild leap hoping this was Saul, "Saul buddy!" He slapped Saul's back a bit hard and loudly stated, "My friend, we must talk!"

Immediately, the Intelligence officer stepped back sharply, out of Kastanza's reach. "Ensign, I have no idea who you are, and unless it's urgent I'd rather find that out only six hours from now when I'm done here."

Kastanza thought a moment. If he waited, he'd likely go to Nara and she'd tell him it all wasn't true. Well this was an intelligence department, and George definitely had some. Maybe not the kind they wanted, let alone needed, but they didn't need to know that. "Well, buddy ol pal, I have some very interesting information for you."

Saul maintained an uninterested, slightly arrogant posture. Inside, however, he was curious. The man wanted to deliver him information. It could by anything from an 'ingenious' proposal for a new Intelligence gadget to a business proposal to the missing puzzle piece in the Hydran money trail enigma. Well, it won't cost him Latinum to at least hear the man.

"Nyoko, I'll take the escort on this guy.", Saul said. The Japanese officer pouted at Kastanza, as though saying 'I still think I'm right mister, you just caught Saul on a very good mood', and went elsewhere.

Saul lead Kastanza into a door adjacent to the entrance. It was a small room, with two spartan chairs and a single circular table. It was meant for meetings just like this one - when a guest comes to the Intelligence department, but there is no reason to actually let him in where all the classified materials are available for any curious set of eyes.

Saul sat on one of the chairs, resting his feet on the table sloppily.

"Go ahead, I'm listenning, Mr..."

George sat, "George Kastanza at your service. There's a pretty young thing we both know. She goes by the name of Naranda..." Oh what was her last name. Something about a well? Ah, "Roswell."

Saul simply nodded. A thought crossed his mind - what if this person, who might be from security or engineering, somehow intercepted his conversation with Grok the Ferengi? Then again, if that was the case, then the confrontation would have taken place a long time ago. What is the piece of information, then?

"I hear she comes to see you? Am I correct?" George mocked.

Saul shrugged his shoulders. "You sound like you know the answer. Get to the point."

George smirked at the man, "She comes to see me too. I dont know if you've gotten her to go very far, but I'm here to tell you..." He leaned in to whisper, "If you hadn't, you have no idea what you're missing!"

Saul slowly moved his gaze from the ceiling to George's receding hairline. Despite the indifferent appearance, his mind was racing. This man came all the way down to the CIC just to tell Saul that Nara was involved with him as well. If that's the case, then...

"Explain to me again, why did you come to tell me that? Are you going to ask me to give her up, or to fight over her? I still don't see your point."

George sat back, "I'm not sure what's up with you and her. If you don't care, then I suggest you let Nara know so me and her can move on. If you do care, I'm here to tell you that there's not much fighting can do. We do great together. Or rather, we do each other great." He smirked.

"Well, I happen to be one of those who don't steal other people's girlfriends." Saul replied, shifting position on the chair. Well, he truly never stole anyone's girlfriend, but he didn't steal any available women either.

"BUT you know, I somehow get the feeling that this isn't the case. If the two of you were truly involved, then Nara wouldn't come to see me, you know? She's not that kind of girl."

George snorted, "Do you know that for a fact then? Do you know she also sees Miramon and Klaus?"

"Besides, if you've gotten far with her." Saul interjected, "You HAVE to know about the mark. You know what? If you know about the mark, then I'll go and tell her that she can date only one guy at a time, and back off. Do you know about the mark, George?"

George looked blindsided for a moment and caught himself and nearly choking, yet trying to sound matter of fact, nodded, "Of course."

"Is that so?" It didn't take an Intelligence officer specializing in interrogations and body language reading to spot a liar. "Then what is its shape? And where is it located?"

George's throat suddenly went dry as his mind raced to figure out an answer. Then he got an idea and shot back, "And how do YOU know about the mark?" He sat back feeling pretty proud of himself. "I don't believe I should tell you. She's pretty private about it. I had to convince her it was beautiful so she'd not be self-conscious about it in bed."

Saul grinned. "Well, you can guess how I know about the mark. It's not like she's going everywhere and telling people about it. Last chance man, before I call your bluff."

George narrowed his eyes. This little man was really annoying him. "Fine." He scratched his almost bald head, "It's on her left bun. A brown thing the shape of a snake head."

Before the words finished rolling off George's tounge, Saul broke into uncontrolled laughter. He was laughing so hard that pretty soon he found himself on the floor somehow.

George looked at him flustered, "What is so funny!?"

The Intelligence officer in front of him was trying to restrain the laughter, nearly choking. "Oh, you DO realize I made that 'mark' thing up, right? Maybe she does have a distinguishing birthmark somewhere, but I wouldn't know it since I never saw her naked, and probably neither did you. I don't know why you're trying to trash Naranda's good name by telling me she's a slut, but I know better."

George tried hard to keep it on, "If you never saw her, how would you know? For your information, she DOES have a mark!"

Saul's hand hovered over his commbadge. "So you wouldn't object if I contacted her and asked her if she indeed has a mark, right?"

George jumped up, "I told you man! She's very private about it! She'll hang me if she knew I told you!" It was suddenly very hot in the room.

"Wouldn't she hang you for going to me and telling me she was messing around with you, with Ensign Terrik and with Doctor Fienberg?"

George tried to speak, but kept choking. "I....I....YOU!!!! She.." He was now sweating like a pig.

Saul slowly rose from the chair. He suddenly looked very weary, and tired. "Listen, George, you've wasted enough of our time. If you don't have enough free time to play with... kaki... then I would love to ask your superior to give you more interesting work. That should get you off playing children's game."

"Why does everyone threaten me with going to my superior!" George stated when he finally got his voice.

"Probably because your mother is too far away." Saul muttered beneath his breath. More loudly, he said "You know where the exit is.", and without waiting to hear George's answer left the office.

George looked at where Saul stood very put off. He walked out the door past the other officers with a red face and wondering if he had convinced Saul.

"Hunter's New Prey"

Ensign 8-ball Hunter
Ensign Saul Bental

The funny thing was, 8-ball went to school with the guy. She saw him in the corridors occasionally. She had even ended up in a memory from years ago with him. Now, when 8-ball really wanted to find Saul Bental, she seemed to have no luck running into him.

Until one day, one sunny, shining day (or would have been if they had been on a planet near a sun) 8-ball ran into Saul in the hallway on her way to the holodeck. The Intelligence officer was glancing at some sort of report, apparently oblivious to the approaching trouble.

8-ball smiled to herself. Mischief was fun.

Awhile ago, she had met Nara Something-Or-Other in ten-forward and promised to mess with Saul's mind a little on Nara's behalf. Though the girl probably didn't even remember such an impulsive promise, 8-ball did and fully planned on carrying through. After all, it sounded like fun.

She walked straight up to Saul, who had been, until that moment, not aware of her. "Hi," she said to him. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"Inconsistency in Hydran-related credits flow and several intercepted communication." He grinned at her, "And what is yours?"

8-ball inwardly sighed. She kept forgetting that Saul was one of those clever males (there were so few of them) and was therefore less likely to start stammering and stuttering the second any young woman started yelling at them. This was annoying. After all, 8-ball figured that God made men dumb for a reason. Besides, it made her job to freak him out harder, and 8-ball tended to disapprove of any extra effort on her part doing anything.

"You, at the moment," 8-ball snapped at him. "I've been talking to a certain friend of yours recently. A nice, young, very attractive woman who seems ever so slightly unhappy with you and your masculine, egotistical, utterly testosterone filled lack of ability to commit."

Saul blinked. This was totally unpredictable. Not there was anything expectable in being yelled at by the Chief Anthropologist.

And if that's not enough, he wasn't sure to which nice, young, and very attractive woman she was referring. The 'Unhappy' part matched Nara more closely than Branwen, but he was not going to take the risk. If he would give her the wrong name, she probably would impale him on some Vulcan spear or something.

"She didn't ask me to commit..." Saul said carefully, "And even if she did, it would probably be a mistake. I'm not the kind of person you can rely on."

Saul sighed. Admittedly, that was true. His other dealings, both Intel-related and agenda-related, would probably cast a shadow on any relationship. Not that it would prevent him from having one, being a romantic guy. His inexperience with women will be in charge of THAT job.

"What's in it for you, anyway?", He inquired.

8-ball raised an eyebrow. For a second there or two, she had been starting to feel a little bad for Saul. He looked all lonely and pathetic, saying he was unreliable. Then, remembering how ALL guys she had ever met used that kind of excuse as for reason for a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am kind of relationship, she pushed away all sympathy.

"You make it sound like I'm getting a profit out of this," 8-ball said, pretending to be hurt. "Can't a girl just want to see that everybody is happy and loving and married by Valentine's Day?"

"Actually, she can." Saul said softly, a smile emerging on his face. "And I appreciate it, even if I don't celebrate Valentine's."

Then, a scary thought crossed his mind. What if 8-Ball was asking because SHE had an interest in Saul? She never showed any interest in the past, not on the Academy and definetly not during his time on the Galaxy, but still these matters of the heart were often kept within the walls of the soul, unseen by the universe outside...

Saul shook his head, to drive the scary thought away. There was no way 8-Ball was referring to herself. If there was the slightest chance, Saul would already run away screaming like a little Ferengi girl seeing a Tax collector for the first time.

8-ball raised an eyebrow. For a moment, an expression of pure terror had passed over Saul's face, and she had an idea why but decided not to pursue it. She'd never get anywhere if she did that. Instead, she got back to her original agenda.

"Well, you're right," 8-ball said. "I do have my own ulterior motives. I'm only here as a courtesy, mind you. I know you and Nara have something going, and I'd like her to be happy, so if you can get your act together and make her happy, then that's fine. However, if you're going to be the typical male and promise lots of nice, happy things EVENTUALLY and in the meantime refuse to make any sort of commitment and act like a total ass. . .then I'll just have to see to it that Nara's happy in somebody else's arms." She smirked. "Preferably mine."

So that was it, Saul thought. She was referring to Nara, and she had something 'on' the Engineer. She never gave any sign of being... like that... during the Academy, although she did have a reputation of a rather naughty cadet.

And yet.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," 8-ball said, "I'm not. Nara's a pretty good looking girl, and my luck with men of late hasn't been noticeably high. And just because YOU might be terrified of the idea of dating me, doesn't mean other people are."

"I didn't...!"

"Yeah, I saw that look. I think Nara's ready for someone who can do something more than just thrust, rinse, repeat, and let's be honest here, I'll bet all the latinum I've ever seen that I'm a touch more experienced than you." 8-ball smiled. "Nara still wants you, of course, but she isn't going to wait around forever, so if you don't get your act together then I'll step in instead. And trust me, Saul, I really can work wonders with women who are tired of men."

"I'll keep that in mind." Saul murmured, and only years' experience of controlling his body language spared him from blushing.

8-ball smiled wider and then impulsively kissed Saul on the cheek. "It's been fun talking with you!" she said cheerfully. "We should do it again soon!" She gave him a quick wave and said walked off down the corridor, grinning ear to ear.

"I am not terrified of the idea of d.. dating you!" Saul shouted after her.

8-ball stopped dead in the corridor and her wide smile turned into an evil grin. Granted, this wasn't part of the mission, but how could she resist something like that?

8-ball turned around. "Prove it," she said.

"You just want Nara to be jealous, aren't you?" Saul shot back, undaunted.

But the mischievous anthropologist was already out of sight.

The Intelligence officer moaned. First Kastanza, now 8-Ball. Someone was massing an assault on him. If only they knew - if only Nara knew - why he was so reluctant about making an actual move on the attractive Engineer..

If only he knew...

8-ball turned the corner and rubbed her hands in an evil, gloating manner. "My work is done," she said to herself, and went off to celebrate in the holodeck.

"My boyfriend !!!!"
 
2nd. Lieutenant Branwen London
 
Ensign Saul Bental

The mission was finally over.  Now Bran had some time for herself.  It had been a while since she had seen Saul. Yet she had been thinking about him, and the fact that Nara had been so vague about it.  It was something she wanted to find out more about, what was the connection between those two. Who was he really, and did they fit together.  Bran was still in love. Love at first sight something she had never thought she would experience herself.  It made her happy, happier than she had ever been in her life.

Now she stood in front of her tiny wardrobe, trying to pick out an outfit. She wanted to do and surprise Saul, not that she had any idea of what to do together, and when it came to it neither of what to wear.
 
Her subject of thoughts was, at the moment, on the holodeck. Saul Bental never liked holographic recreations. As much as they imitated reality, and as much as they gave you a sense of reality, it just wasn't real.
 
Saul preferred to travel days and even weeks in space in order to reach a particular acquatic planet, for example, rather than recreating its oceans on a holodeck with the wave of a hand.
 
But assuming he wasn't going to take her anywhere public, fearing that Nara might see them, the holodeck was his best choice.
 
He didn't know why he was concerned about Nara knowing he was meeting Bran, since the two of them weren't involved or even dating... but deep inside, he felt rotten about it.
 
And then there was Bran. She was a woman of contrasts. A naive psychologist, and a vulnerable Marine... something just didn't fit. It was Saul's profession to identify people's nature, and in Branwen's case it was not easy.
 
Well, that's why he was going to meet her, no? To get to know her, and to give her a chance to know him - and escape once she realizes what a mistake it was to regard him, Saul Bental, as her knight in shiny armour.
 
Finally having decided on something simple, and arranging her hair the way she liked it.  Branwen arrived at the holodeck. Her heart was beating wildly, this was her first official date with a guy, and she wanted everything to be perfect tonight.
 
As she entered, she found herself on the rim of a seaport in the middle of an ocean. The seaport, as far as her eyes could see, was a kilometer in diameter. Its central part was part submerged, part above the water, and around it there was the rim on which the two of them stood, and to which two dozens of small hovercrafts were attached.
 
The rim was spotted with benches, cargo crates and ropes. Narrow catwalks attached it to the central part. Saul was sitting on one of the benches, the descending orange sun giving his face a slightly dark shade.
 
"Welcome to Quala Nyestro, Bran.." Saul said as soon as he heard the arch close behind him.

She gave a little gasp. "It's perfect, Saul."  Then again she would have expected him to pick something perfect.  "As a child one of my few joys was to watch the sea."  She gave him a dazzling smile.  "How did you guess."
 
"I didn't..."
 
In fact, Saul tried to avoid making it look like a date. In fact, he dismissed several other locations which he thought of as romantic before selecting this one. He chose it mostly because it was relaxing, but not too Kitschy.
 
Well, he failed.
 
"I love the ocean myself, too.", he admitted. "Whenever I get a shore leave, I usually try to find a location where I could sail or row a kanoo. I spent a week here during my voyage from Utrecht III to earth. The ocean on this planet is spotted with marinas. It's amazing how a non-acquatic culture can sustain itself only on resources provided by the ocean and underwater minning..."
 
Saul caught himself - he was not here to lecture about sea-life, as much as it interested him.

"Fascinating.  That is what I like.  You see, something else we have in common."  She smiled.  "So, what do you have planned for us do today?"
 
"Nothing really." Saul admitted, "I just thought this would be a more... easy... environment to meet than ten forward or one of the observation lounges. Of course, there are the various activities the seaport offers - we can take advantage of those once I bore you."

“I don’t think you will bore me.” Bran sat down. “Tell me more about yourself, Saul. You know more about me then I do about you, I think.”
 
"What fair is far, but first..." Saul made an odd sound, and then a round, metallic ball floated out of one of the center's windows, and headed toward them. It came to a stop just next to Saul head, bobbing up and down in mid-air.
 
"Robotic waiters - the kind that doesn't take tips. I will have a Terran orange juice, please."
 
Bran laughed delighted. “Fantastic.”She said. “The same for me, please.”
 
The robotic waiter floated back to the center to deliver their orders, and Saul looked at Branwen once again. "So what would you like to know?"

“Anything you want to share. Your hobbies, your past, anything.” She looked at him.
 
Saul scratched his chin. Which parts of him did he want her to know? Well, hobbies were certainly easier than the past.
 
"Let's see.Other than sailing, I'm an avid fan of strategy games. In fact, I just recruited an officer to the secondary Intelligence squad - which I lead
- by losing to her in a strategy game! Other than that... I like to travel, it's part of the reason I joined Starfleet. I can also talk for hours about history and politics, and... ummmm, and I'm fascinated by exotic alien pets, but hey - we're all allowed at least one perverse hobby..."

“I love strategy games, we did them for officer training.” She said, “I am not too bad at them myself. And I love to travel and see new places. So what is it like to work in Intel?”
 
"It's amazing. It's an entire universe. When most people hear 'Intelligence' they imagine this secret agent conspiring and working undercover, potentially with a trail of admiring girls following his trail, and with a set of super advanced gadgets hidden in his coat."
 
Saul chuckled inwardly. As far as the gadgets and even the girls thing were concerned, he wasn't far from the Intel stereotype.
 
"But the truth is that the better parts of the job are using your mind. Most of the Intelligence officers are responsible for gather, processing or researching the Intelligence, instead of playing superheros. You have a sea of details, and you have to fish those important parts which will aid the commander make the right decisions. For example, we were the first to realize that the Danner's Fold freighter was carrying weapons instead of what its official papers claimed, just by piecing together several puzzle parts."
 
'Well, aren't you full of yourself.' Saul concluded in his mind.
 
"It Sounds interesting.  Do you know why so many people seem to dislike intelligence, I know my sister does."

"Because", Saul gave her a mysterious grin, "We're always have ulterior motives..."
 
"don't we all." Bran answered.
 
"And what is it like to be a marine? And a psychologist to add to all that?"

"It is a challenge.  I love being a marine, and I love being a psychologist. How to mix the two, I think I am getting there.  I have already made some friends on the ship, and the Navy is starting to trust me, they have already assigned one naval patient to me."  That was something bran was very proud of.
 
"Navy", Saul asked, mildly surprised.
 
"Yes, remember the two branches of Starfleet."  She teased him.  "Navy and marine."
 
"It's just that I never regarded myself as a naval officer... I mean, unlike the Naval powers of, say, 18th. century earth, Starfleet is the main organized force of the Federation, not just a branch. I don't know."

"Maybe you guys see it that way.  For us it's like we have to prove ourselves over and over again.  For me in a new profession for a marine it's even more difficult.  I will have to work very hard.  Fortunately I like a challenge."  She looked at him.  "I still find it so amazing how you came into my life."
 
"Me too."
 
And it was true. Deep beneath the layers of the street boy, cunning merchant and secretive Intelligence Officer, lay a soul which was still a fool for princess and dragons. Even though he hated to admitted it, the role he took in Branwen's dream - that of a protecting knight - touched him in a very deep way.
 
The question was, would the knight in the shiny armor survive the clash with reality.
 
"I wouldn't call it a sign from heaven.", he said, gazing into her brown eyes, "But there must've been some sense behind the 'casting' in the dreams.
My own dreams were very symbolic - with a path linking between them, a path which eventually lead me... somewhere interesting. So it can't be totally random."

"To me it was a sign from heaven."  She leaned closer.  "I've never had a boyfriend, never fell in love, and there you were, you were perfect.  I think God must have meant something with it."  Her fingers brushed his as she gazed into his eyes.
 
"Branwen..."
 
Part of him wanted to break away, to power a bucket of ice-cold reality over the marine's head. Another part wanted to lean forward, and just kiss her gently on the lips and to hell with the implications.
 
"You do realize I'm a Jew.", he suddenlly found himself saying, "And a very unreligious one... My only faith is that our own actions is the only thing that can bring us success or failure. Or love. The rest... is incidential."

“I ran away from home because of intolerance. I am still a very religious person, Saul. But I will accept anyone if they will me.” It was not completely true but he didn’t have to know everything straight away. “I believe a higher being brought us together but you can believe what you think.” She came even closer. “You are special, that is all that matters.”
 
Saul patted her hair. He inhaled deeply. A thought surfaced in his mind - Branwen smelt different than Nara, and her odur was now mixed with the simulated smell of the sea around them, rich with salt and chemicals.
 
This was wrong, and yet this was so right. Saul was torn inside, and he knew that the longer he'll remain unresolved, the worse it will get.
 
Suddenlly there was something in his throat. He turned his head away sharply, and caughed several times.
 
"Sorry."
 
"What is it?"  Bran asked gently.  "Does this make you nervous?"

"No." The correct answer was 'yes', of course, but the cough had nothing to do with it. Somewhere in the back of his mind Saul suddenlly felt like he was forgetting something important, but that though faded as he set eyes on Branwen again.
 
"You're really pretty, you know that Lieutenant?" He asked without early warnning, his voice shivering slightly.
 
"So are you, sir."  She leaned even closer and brushed her lips against his.

The sensation was incredible. They only touched gently, and for a short while, but in Saul's mind these few moments lasted for decaded. His heart races, free from all the chains of self disciplene.
 
When they finally broke apart, he opened his eyes and forced a sly grin, which would be the easiest expression for him at any normal day.
 
"'sir'?"

"You called me Lieutenant."  She teased him.  Branwen didn't want this moment to end.  She crawled closer to him and put her arms around his waist, laying her head on his shoulder.  She felt completely at ease sitting there with him watching the sea.

Saul took a deep breath once again, and smiled. The wramth of the body so close to him was very comforting, and he tightened his own hold slightly, feeling her even closer. There was something extremly selfish at what he was doing, he knew, on the border of taking advantage. But this woman next to him, although naive and fragile in the eyes of a random bystander, was a mature young woman, and an officer, which could make her own decisions.
 
If she decided to get close to him before finding out into what trouble she was getting, it was her own right.
 
His fingers ran through her hair, and as his gaze wandered back to the horizion, he suddenlly realized when and where was the last time he sat next to a beautiful girl and watched the sunset, although that last time they didn't hug.
 
It was back on Sakaria, with Nara.

"I think I'm going to like having a boyfriend.  I never thought I would be able to do this before I met you."  She confessed.
 
"Are you kidding? You are nice, you are smart and you are good looking. If the Galaxy wasn't loaded with supermodels, you would've been grabbed by one of the other guys the moment you set your foot on the deck."
 
Well, that didn't come out too good, did it?
 
Then, the full details of Bran's last sentence sank in.
 
"Also... I think we should take it slow, you know? You barely know me, I don't think I earned a 'boyfriend' status yet." Saul added, trying to sound coherent witohut much success.

“Why not? You saved me from my father. Nobody ever dared do that. And as a bonus you are kind, handsome, intelligent. I don’t know why Nara tried to put me off you.” It just slipped out. “That’s my roommate.”
 
Saul paled slightly, and coughed again. This time, it was nervous cough. A milisecond later, his instincts caught up with him and he assumed a calm facial expression.
 
"I know Nara, of course. I even went with her to her home on Sakaria - it's a very nice place, although it is torn by a bloody war. She loves it very much even though she isn't Sakarian herself. I had some business there. We've been in contact ever since."

“So you guys are friends, why would she warn me against you then?” Bran asked puzzled while she stayed comfortable in his arms.
 
"What did she say?"

“She wouldn’t say anything specific. She was really vague.”” Bran looked at him. “You guys… you guys are not more then just friends, are you?”
 
"Honest answer?"
 
“Of course.” Bran looked at him.
 
Saul sighed. It was against his nature to tell the truth in this case, but holding her in his arms like that, and the trust she expressed, prevented him from lying to her blatantly. Instead, he did what he was a professional at - giving only a small portal to the truth, one which provided the view Saul wanted to give.
 
"She is not an ex-girlfriend, if that's what you're asking." He told Bran.
 
“I do sense a but.” She said quietly.

"No buts." Saul lied, "We're simply quite good at confusing each other."
 
She smiled happily. “So nothing stands in the way of you becoming my boyfriend.” She kissed him again.

Saul wanted to bury himself. Not only that he didn't determine, inwardly, which of the two truly astounding women he preferred, he also needed to keep Nara's trust for very selfish reasons, at least until they reach Trill.
 
With the lack of anything better to say or do, Saul simply remained silent and gazed stoicly ahead.

Bran in the meantime was blissfully happy in his arms still cuddled around him. “My sister will not believe this. She is despairing that I would ever fall in love. I told her I would wait for the perfect man. You will like her I am sure of it.”
 
Saul simply nodded in despair. At this point he just hoped the marine won't pop up a wedding ring...
 
Bran began to kiss him more intensly now, trying to feel under his shirt. As soon as he felt her fingers on his skin, and against a part of himself which was eager to see where will she lead them next, Saul stood up.
 
"Branwen... I almsot forgot the new shift scheduele - I have to go or they'll think I went AWOL. I'll... talk to you tomorrow?"
 
"Of course we will talk tomorrow." She was still in the seventh heaven. "I love you." She whispered as he left.

"In The Wrong Profession"

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Control Officer

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

Miramon’s Quarters

Miramon had literally just dropped himself onto his bed and closed his eyes when he heard the door chime go off. He mouthed a silent curse, but sat up all the same. "Computer, Lights!" The lights activated in the room and the Bajoran blinked slightly as his eyes spent a moment readjusting to the sudden illumination. He stood up and headed for the door. "Come in!" he said quietly.

Nara looked at Miramon and smiled weakly, "Hey. Am I interrupting anything?"

Miramon shook his head and motioned for the Engineer to step in. "Come on in, Nara."

Nara walked in and turned to look at him, "I might seem awfully silly, but I wanted to talk about what happened in 10-4ward. Saul isn't talking to me."

The Bajoran nodded and collapsed onto the couch, indicating that Nara was welcome to do the same. "Yeah, I figured as much. Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee? Hot Chocolate?"

Nara paced, "No thanks." She finally sat on a chair opposite. "Have you seen him since you've been back?"

He shook his head negatively. "Alas, no, I haven't. What's going on this time, huh?"

She sighed, "He won't talk to me. I try to go to his quarters and....He's avoiding me." Nara leaned back, "He probably saw that note before I was able to delete it."

"What note?"

"Bran was telling me how she met her imaginary friend, and somehow it was Saul and how she's so in love and has a boyfriend." She leaned forward, "She has NO idea!" Nara shook her head, "I sent him a note with a sarcastic sounding congratulations and a warning that if he hurt her, I'd give him a vasectomy. Or something." Nara winced and put a hand to her head, "I don't know if I'm jealous or worried he's going to hurt her."

Miramon raised an eyebrow. "He mentioned the whole thing with her when we were talking about the Memories, but he's not said anything to me since then. And I don't know. I'd say you're not worried, otherwise you'd be talking to her and not me. Or perhaps you'd be in the middle of dismantling the locks on Saul's door and then throttling him."

Nara grinned at that last thought, "Oh I've been tempted." She stood and paced again. "It's all of those really. I told her to be careful. To get to really know him before she gets her hopes up. I'm also telling myself the same thing." She sat again, "I just thought there was something between us. That chemistry thing." She shook her head, "I was wrong. Maybe he's just a charmer and I let it mean more than it did."

"Or maybe it means more than you're currently thinking as you talk yourself out of it. Think of that?"

Nara looked at him strangely, "Oddly enough, that made sense." She smiled. "But I don't want it to mean anything. I don't WANT to have any feelings for him. He obviously doesn't want me to. He doesn't even seem to want to be my friend."

Miramon chuckled softly there. He had the reverse of that story. "Or maybe he's avoiding you because he feels the same and doesn't either think he's got a chance in hell or is just extremely nervous, and doesn't want to face you and screw things up. I hate to sound like the old man here, but trust me, he's not shutting you out because he doesn't like you. I can tell you that much."

Nara narrowed her eyes, "You men are all....dorks."

"What makes you say that?" he asked with a slight smile on his face. Nara likely hadn't anything to say, so just added that to break the conversation slightly, so she didn't leave the conversation so open. He was a little amused by her last comment - very much reminiscent of his sister's thoughts on the subject, too.

"Well you guys always say women are complicated, but you don't see me....." Nara was about to say something about seeing her do the same thing, but she was. "I am. I'm doing the same thing. I don't want to accept how I feel about him because I'm scared he'll hurt me." She furrowed her brow, "And he will. Look what he's doing to Bran; leading her on like that."

"He might not be leading her on, Nara. I don't think he knows what he is doing, the Prophets give him strength. But then, neither do you. In a different way."

Nara leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair and put her chin on her hand, thinking. "Love stinks."

Miramon smiled broadly at that. "I couldn't say. But relax. My experience suggests thing'll work themselves out one way or another. Either he'll turn to you and you'll end up hitting it off, or he'll turn to her, in which case, he's taken and you can leave it alone and get back to living peacefully."

She looked at him, "Can I?"

The Bajoran shook his head, his smile disappearing to be replaced with a look of curious concern. He leaned forward and tapped Nara on the back of her hand. "Nara, you've known him for a very short amount of time. These things strike quickly and you recover from them quickly enough. Kinda like the Terran cold, but without the sneezing."

"Well what till then? I can't let this end without him knowing how I may feel." Nara couldn't believe she was even thinking of talking to Saul about it. She wasn't sure HOW she felt. She just wanted to give him a chance to let her trust him.

"I can't give you any advice beyond that one, Nara. You probably know more about these things than I do. I'm merely the impartial observer in this one."

Nara sat back and smiled to him. "Thanks."

Miramon shrugged. "No problem. All part of being a Starfleet Officer, this counseling stuff."

Nara rolled her eyes, "My mom's a counselor."

Miramon raised his eyebrows curiously. "You've got family in Starfleet?"

"Both parents. Dad's an anthropologist." She stated simply.

"My parents both live on Bajor, with my sister. They don't even like Starfleet or didn't until the Emissary was found to be a Federation officer."

Nara smiled, "Interesting. Strange how common people can be seen at such high esteem by some people."

Miramon nodded. "Well, it'd be the same with Humans and a prophet of God, or something like that. He's as close as most Bajorans get to the Prophets, before death."

Nara looked at him. She felt like he knew her, but he had only seen a few of her memories. He didn't know the whole story. Do Bajorans have warrior heroes?"

"No. We're mostly a peaceful race. We only fought during the Occupation and Dominion War out of necessity." The Bajoran looked contemplative for a moment - his assessment was true, but given the past few decades, was it really true of them now? But still, they were full Federation members now, so it wasn't as though they needed to fight any longer.

"Sakaria was attacked once, and while we don't put emphasis on training warriors like the Klingon Empire, we do make sure we have them ready. Now there's just a civil war." Nara wondered how the peace talks were going now. She subconsciously twisted her hair in her fingers as she thought about it.

"Have you been back there recently?" Miramon asked, curious. He'd never heard of Sakaria.

She looked at him, "Remember the memories about the battle and the interrogation? That was only about a year ago. About 6 months before I got this assignment." She smiled, "Then a few months ago when we went on shore leave. I went home, which was in a safe zone. You saw that one too." The smile faded, "The one with Saul by the tree."

"So not quite as vicious as one would have thought from the interrogation. I hope never to visit that planet."

Nara frowned, "It's really a beautiful place. Most people are wonderful. In every people, there are people who want more power than they should have. I'm from Sakaria. Am I so bad?" Nara smiled hoping he didn't think she was.

The Bajoran shook his head. "No, but you do have an angry streak. Doesn't take a Betazoid to see that."

Nara smiled, "Oh. That's the human blood. Well, Betazoids get angry too, I’m sure. I know my mom does. Especially at Dad."

"Your mother is Betazoid?" Terrik was one of those people not used to people of half-blood. After all, there were very few Bajorans that married members of other races, so it was an unusual thing to see on the Home world.

Nara laughed, "My mother is Betazoid. My father is Terran. So blood wise, I'm half Betazoid and half Terran. I was raised Sakarian." Nara wondered what he would think of that.

Miramon looked thoughtful at that one. "You have three heritages to draw upon, then?"

"If I choose to."

The Bajoran smiled and sat further back on the couch. That was interesting, certainly. However, they were deviating from their original topic quite significantly, so he thought it might be a good idea to try and catch the woman off-guard and see what she came out with. "So, what's your next move with Saul?"

"Next move?" Nara sighed, "Well, I'm not sure there IS a next move. What about Branwen?"

"Well, what about her?"

"Saul apparently has her thinking he wants to date her. What's she gonna think if I....I dunno, go after him? I'm not even sure I want to go after him. Yet it bugs me thinking I can't."

"Well, what would you do if it went the other way?"

"What other way?"

"Well, if Branwen ended up going after Saul? What would you do, or think?"

"She likes Saul. Since I don't even want to acknowledge how I feel about him, what right do I have?"

"Well, what right does she have to prevent you expressing your feelings, Nara?" he asked. Inevitably, to his mind, they were all free individuals, and it wasn't as though Saul didn't possess feelings for Nara - or had the potential to, anyway.

"She doesn't. She doesn't even know how I feel." Nara laughed, "I think I got her worried about me actually."

"How?"

"She was asking me about it and I said I just didn't know how to feel. I told her she can date him if she wants, but to be careful not to get hurt."

"Sounds like you were giving her permission to run over your feelings." he observed. "You know, maybe that's not such a bad thing. This has been bugging you a lot, clearly. Maybe you need out."

Nara looked confused, "Knowing Bran, as little as I do, she'd step out if I asked her to. Maybe. I don't want to do that to her. Out of what?"

Miramon shrugged. "This whole thing with Saul. You two almost had a good argument in Ten Forward. And it's clearly getting you down."

Nara mumbled something. "I just miss him."

"Yeah, but why? How bothered do you think he is?"

Nara frowned, "Well likely not at all." She leaned forward, "Why does he get all flustered sometimes when we talk though?"

"You may just find he's aware of your feelings. Or maybe there's something involved that neither of us know about. I don't know."

"I just keep thinking about that bomb. I can't let it go."

"Bomb? What bomb?" He thought about it for a moment, then remembered what Nara had said in the memory jump. "Oh, THAT bomb! Why didn't you ask him about it?"

"I did. He claims it was something the creature brought in or some memory shifting thing."

Miramon frowned. "Your tone says you don't believe that, or aren't willing to accept the possibility."

"I wish it were the creature. That would be simple. I also know better. It was uncharactistic of this creature. It plays with our minds, and not once other than that did it place an explosion or cause pain other than what was already in our or other's memories."

"Now you're speculating. You can't base certainties regarding the actions of the creature you sensed based only upon the things we experienced. In your case, you did experience the explosion. Because others did not is not sufficient evidence for you to say that it did not. And to make the leap from there to suggest that Saul was somehow responsible is really unjustified."

She crossed her arms and sat back pouting, "You sound like a Vulcan!"

The Bajoran looked extremely serious as he spoke, though his voice did nothing to indicate annoyance or anger at Nara's assumptions, merely a sense of concern. "Besides which, I don't see Saul wanting to cause you harm. And until I grow points on my ears, you'll have to take it as being typical Bajoran common sense. Call me old if you wish, but you can't go accusing people of things like that without the appropriate evidence to back it up."

Nara sighed, "I've never been very feminine. I mean I'm a girl and there are just natural things that come with that, like emotions." Nara laughed as she was sure he had seen evidence of that now. "I've never been frilly feminine though. So why when I'm with him, I feel all..." She couldn't think of the words.

"Feel all what?" The Bajoran wasn't a mind-reader, nor was he empathic, so this clearly required a little prompting on his part.

She let out a breath and took another, "Like a princess. That's what he calls me."

Miramon smiled and sat back in his chair. "So why worry about what happened in these memory jumps? Do your feelings not come first?"

She still didn't smile, "But he's someone else's knight."

Narrowing his eyes, Terrik looked a little confused, trying to sift through his memory to try and work that one out. Knight was not a term he was familiar with. Eventually he just gave up and looked at Nara with an exasperated by slightly amused expression. "Okay, you're gonna have to clear that one up for me."

Nara realized knights were mainly an earth thing. "Well, in medieval times on earth, knights were like warriors. They fought to protect the King or Queen and their land. They were noblemen. Branwen apparently had an imaginary friend and during the memory jumps, I can only guess that when Saul appeared, she thought it was her imaginary friend. I can only speculate on that. She didn't really explain anything other than her imaginary friend was Saul."

"So what does this have to do with you and Saul, precisely?"

"I'll be the evil queen that keeps them apart."

"Why would you do that? Are you sure they want to be together?"

"Right now Branwen is up the wall crazy about him."

"And Saul?"

"He's not exactly an open book, remember?"

Miramon nodded. "I know this. But has he not said anything yet? Has this Branwen woman said anything?"

Nara sat back with arms still crossed and now crossing her legs, "Branwen told me all about how she's so excited. Saul has said nothing."

"So we're stuck between a rock and a hard place, as the human expression goes. What's your plan?"

Nara looked at him, "Plan?"

He looked slightly confused at that one. "Well...yeah. You do have a plan, right?"

"To what? Break them apart? I'm not like that."

"Well, until Saul says so, they're not really together, are they?"

"No. I need to find someway to tell him how I feel." She looked shocked, "Do you realize how incredibly frightening that is!" She blurted out. She then laughed, "I've run head first into battle. I've smarted off in interrogations knowing full well it would likely be a deadly blow. And the thing that terrifies me is talking to Saul."

Miramon smiled and nodded appreciatively. "Not to worry. I'm still shy around women myself. Hard habit to break unless you're married."

"So how do I tell him?"

"I suppose you just go up to him and be honest. Delaying will only prolong things, and if he's not yet in a relationship with Branwen, you may miss the opportunity to tell him and do something about it before he does, if you don't see fit to act quickly."

She sighed, "I'm beginning to hate when you're right."

Smiling, the Bajoran couldn't help but be amused by that one. "Well, treasure that. It's a thing of rare beauty."

Nara nodded and smiled, "And so modest to boot."

"Hardly. But seriously, you better talk to him before you miss your chance. Which means you ought to be knocking on his door instead of throwing observations on my personality at me."

"Are you kicking me out?"

Miramon laughed. "Yes, absolutely."

Nara stood and looked at the door, "I still have no idea what I should say." She turned back to Miramon, "Should I like, take a gift or something?"

"I dunno. Might make up for the clear signs of nervousness, the underlying suspicions and the general paranoia..."

She frowned, "I have given him a hard time. What could I bring him though?"

Miramon shook his head with a warm smile curling his face. "I was kidding. You'll probably put him really off-guard if you do that, so I'd just go as you are, right now and have a word with him. Be nice."

Nara put a nail in her mouth. She wasn't a nail-biter, but suddenly she was very nervous.

"Stop doing that! You'll only make yourself more nervous!" he snapped. "Get a grip of yourself here, Nara."

Nara's eyes were big as she got more and more scared, "Just jump in there shooting." She told herself. "Works for battles."

Standing up, Miramon stretched a little, then looked down at Nara, who was beginning to look more and more hesitant by the second. He sighed a little, then lowered his voice a little so it didn't sound as harsh. "Look, go and see Saul before you make yourself more nervous and miss your opportunity altogether. You'll only regret it later if you don't."

Nara gave one last look at Miramon, "O....K." She stepped out the door and stood at the threshold staring at the corridor. Suddenly she forgot where she was or how to get to Saul's quarters.

As Nara left and headed out the door, waiting until it had finally hissed closed behind the woman, Miramon completely dropped back down onto the couch with an exasperated sigh. "If I wanted to spend my time talking about things like this, I'd have signed up to be a Counselor instead of a pilot."

"Mental Taxis and Top Ten Lists"

by
Lt. Jasmine Heloi
Vanguard Executive Officer

[Jasmine's Quarters]

She blinked in the sudden brightness of her quarters as she stepped through the door. The light did not help the massive migraine that she still was suffering thanks to the events on the freighter. Being driven insane was not exactly on her top ten list of things to do before she died. Then again, neither was loosing her mental shields among a large group of uncontrolled aliens or not being in a fighter when the ship she was on was attacked.

Suddenly, Jasmine realized that she'd probably need to amend that top ten list before long. Perhaps, if she added something like - not getting invaded by an extradimensional entity again, or avoiding getting shipped to a mental institution. Then again, after the various things that had happened to her while on the Galaxy, she'd probably be violating those items within the month.

The Betazoid didn't so much as sit but collapse upon her sofa and stare at the picture of the Illallallani Falls on Betazed. What she really needed, she decided, was a vacation. Again. Find out what Wes was up to, grab him and drag him home. There would be two purposes behind that visit, she decided - one, vacation. Two would be to visit some of the experts on mental abilities and see if there were some way for her to fight off another such entity should it happen again.

She wasn't, after all, some sort of mental taxi service for the random alien. Heloi rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. If she started spouting off nonsense again like 'two by two, hands of blue' she was going to check herself into the nearest mental institution and let it be. There was, after all, only so much anyone could take of insanity before it became the truth. Her one brush with it was more than enough for her.

Jasmine shook her head and closed her eyes. That reminded her, however, that she needed to personally thank Tarin for helping her fight off the Other before it was too late. Though how one exactly went about that was hard to imagine. Somehow, bringing chocolate chip cookies and a card that said 'Thanks for saving me from going insane' seemed a bit much. She seriously doubted that any card maker - from Hallmark to Galactic Greetings - carried any 'saving from insanity' cards.

'Eh, I'll figure something out,' she shrugged. Jasmine couldn't exactly be expected to have complete command of her mental facilities after being poked and prodded by medical, having her brain invaded by an extradimensional entity, and 24 hours without sleep. Right?

"Right," she answered herself out loud. Opening her eyes, the fighter pilot stood and headed towards her bed. She'd figure something out in the morning. Right now, sleep sounded much better.

OOC: Slight backpost, just wrapping up.

"Respect"

Commander Cass Henderson, Executive Officer
Lieutenant JG Cora Dobryin, Chief Intelligence Officer

with... Captain Stravo, Ship's Master, SS Danner's Fold

****

Transporter Room,
Deck 3,
SS Danner's Fold

"Go ahead, Stravo," Henderson said, pointing the mountainous Nausicaan in the direction of the transporter pad. Thankfully, Corran Rex's Vanguards had already beamed most of the crew of the freighter away to the safety of the USS Galaxy. Draco Valmont was out of his hands, and soon the Nausicaan captain would be too.

"This is my ship, human. I wish to be the last one off if she is to be scuttled," the ship's master growled. "Whatever you may think of me, I have pride in my vessel."

Cass nodded and shrugged, "Well, it'll be your funeral if you're not on the pad when the Vanguard are ready to beam you out. Cora, if you'd like to go first, I think we can give the man a few last moments alone with his ship."

"Are you sure, sir? I don't want to leave you without appropriate backup if that should change." Cora would let Henderson make the final decision but she had to say it.

"I think he probably understands the ramifications of a phaser cannon impacting his ship with him onboard," the executive officer replied. "It's really not a difficult concept, right Stravo?"

The Nausicaan nodded. It hadn't been a good day.

"Understood, Commander. If he doesn't, he'll learn quickly. See you back aboard the Galaxy." Cora moved towards the transporter pad, ready to assist if needed. Right until the moment the transporter beam caught her in its grip.

"Well, Stravo. I'll be going now. Don't wander far. The Vanguard will make one last pass in one minute," Cass said, turning to face the Nausicaan, "And that's one shuttle I wouldn't miss." He saluted the Nausicaan and stepped onto the pad. A moment later, he'd been caught in the beam.

****

Main Transporter Room,
Deck XX,
USS Galaxy-A

Cass watched as the Nausicaan arrived on the transporter pad a moment later. The other man looked stricken, and Cass gave him a brief nod of respect before he was lead away by a couple of ensigns from Security.

When the room was empty, Cass turned to Cora. "Well, I'm glad he took my advice," the exec said, "I think Stravo turned out to be a fairly decent guy. A smuggler and a gun runner to be sure, but at least willing to work with us when it came to saving his crew."

"They all go wrong somewhere and regret it later, but you're right. At least he decided to work with us. I've witnessed too many that go just the opposite," Cora responded.

"Yeah. An uncommon Nausicaan, if there ever was," he nodded. "I want you to know that I think you did an excellent job over there. Very efficient, very capable. Considering who the Director and Assistant Director are these days, you're a credit to SFI's training programs."

"Thank you, sir. I'm there to do my job and do it right, no matter what anyone else says. I'll have the final report from the Intelligence side on your desk as soon as I have it finished," Cora had to smile, slightly relieved to hear that someone had noticed her potential. "If that's all, Commander, I should check in with my department before I leave Ensign Bental in charge for the evening."

"Sounds good," Cass nodded, and offered a salute, "We should talk sometime. I'll catch up to you while we're at Trill. Now then, I too could use some sleep, so think it's about time we part. Good night, Miss Dobryin."

He walked off into the ship, knowing that it would probably be a couple more hours before he could actually sleep.

Note: Throwback to a time when Bikers were Real Men.

"Highway to Hell....er.....Trill"

Lt. Dr. Klaus Fienberg, CMO
and quite possibly....Biker?
Lt.(JG) Dr. Jack Slen, Pathologist and the straight man.

Soundtrack: ACDC - Highway to Hell

Everything felt right. There was no danger....as wel as there should have been, but the physics applied to the chopper were realistic. It was a red standard chopper. A realistic recreation of an Orange County Chopper circa 2001 on the Earth Calander. It seemed to glide accross the ground.

~Wow, I wish I had one of these when I was a teenager.~

The road appeared to be a stretch of highway from the southwestern region of North America. It seemed to stretch on forever...and technically it did. The recreation was almost perfect. "Almost" because the safety protocols were on. His costume was pretty good. A worn leather jacket with the Flag of the old United States of America adorned on the back, a long sleeve white button down, and worn blue jeans. Oddly enough, Klaus felt the need to have his rank pips on his collar. He cruised along, alone. But there were 2 other additions to the costume. What appeared to be old Flight Goggles circa the 1940s and a big brown, half smoked cigar. The power of the holodeck was almost unimaginable. A wonder of modern science. Klaus had actually felt speed like this once or twice, and the Holodeck was doing an awesome job spewing holographic wind in his face.

The Cigar was hard to do at first, but Klaus understood why his father loved them so much....but also why they were considered dangerous to ones health.

The sky was clear and the ground flat save for some high plateaus in the distance.

The fun may have, or may not have, been coming to an end. the door opened up behind him, and certain special someone walked in.

"What....the....hell?"

Jack Slen walked in, protected by the safety protocols and standing on the moving road.

Klaus took a quick look behind him and drooped his head, almost skidding out. He stablized, and spoke. "What is it Dr. Slen, I'm....preoccupied."

"Well...aren't you a little young for a mid-life crisis?" He asked with a sharp tounge

"This isn't a mid-life crisis. I'm only 33." Klaus bit back.

"Well, what do you call smoking and riding a motorcycle in the holodeck?"

"It's not a motorcycle, it's a chopper!" Klaus shouted back, in a not-so corrective manner.

"See! Thats what I'm talking about! When you went off duty earlier, you were giddy like a kid with a new toy or some crap like that." Klaus grunted and continued his cruise, trying to speed up, but stopping, realizing it wouldn't help.

"So..what....having a guy trying to kill you isn't enough excitement for you."

Something snapped in Klaus. "FREEZE PROGRAM!" He hopped off the frozen motorcycle and ran up to Dr. Slen, grabbing his uniform. In a hushed, yet angry voice. "HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT!"

"When Al heard I was being assigned to the Galaxy, he told me to keep an eye on you so some guy named Gunther didn't kill ya...Chill out! We're all friends here..." Klaus let go and turned around. Jack wiped the holohgraphic dust off of his chest. "Jeez, Klaus..."

"It's a sensitive subject..."

"So...what does Kay Know?"

"Yes. She does....but I would prefer it to not be very well known." He was totally calm now.

"So, You smoke now?"

Klaus took the cigar out of his mouth..."Apparently so. I was wondering if you were ok.....I heard that the Slen Symbiote was still on Trill....He might have been joined...but I've heard nothing about that."

"Now....there's where I end the conversation. We'll be needing you to come back on duty in half an hour. Enjoy the midlife crisis...."

"IT's *NOT* A MIDLIFE CRISIS!! I'M ONLY 33!!"

"Sure...whatever..." Dr. Slen walked out and the doors closed.

Klaus quickly hopped back on the motorcycle. "Resume Program." He went the motorcycle's maximum speed for 15 minutes.

"Preoccupations"

Ensign Saul Bental, Intelligence Officer

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Control Officer

Lieutenant Klaus Fienberg, Chief Medical Officer

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

Since Miramon had chatted with Nara back in his quarters a while ago, he'd felt quite preoccupied with the situation at hand. Though he wasn't comfortable acting as the intermediary, it was quite clear that if somebody didn't step in, the situation wasn't going to resolve itself, since Nara was simmering nicely between wanting a relationship with Saul and wanting to take his head off around neck height, whereas Saul seemed either blissfully unaware of Nara's feelings, or just very cautious about his own approach. One of them needed a firm amount of nudging in the appropriate direction, and the Bajoran had a feeling Saul was the one most likely to respond positively to a little nudging.

As it was, he was just heading over to Intel with a firm game plan in mind, though how he was supposed to get a private chat with Saul when there were likely to be other Intel officers in the room with him. That probably wouldn't prove to be a very comfortable affair for any of them, though it would certainly generate some gossip around the ship. Though, now he thought of it, that could be conducive, since Saul and Nara might be embarrassed enough to actually do something about it for a chance. Nah, not really. Wishful thinking.

He stepped into the Intel Offices with a firm tread, the doors swishing open as though they needed a good greasing and closing almost as soon as he'd stepped inside. He spotted the officers inside turn to see who was invading their private space when he came up with the perfect pretense for being there.

"Ensign Bental, I wanted to have a word with you regarding a particularly sensitive topic which might prove to be of some interest on a professional level."

Well, that was at least a half-truth - if they didn't sort this one out, Nara was going to kill both of them, which was certain to put a damper on anyone's career.

"Miramon!"

Saul Bental was sitting next to a complex, looking computer console, discussing a chart with a gaint Vulcan NCO. His face seemed to be either flushed or slightly tanned, but otherwise the Intelligence officer seemed fine. He beamed at Miramon, and whispered in the Vulcan's ear before leaving him to continue the work on the chat alone.

Saul closed the gap between him and the Bajoran Flight Controller in a couple of wide steps, and pressed his shoulder.

"It's good to see you. Come, let's talk in the interviews chamber."

The two of them entered a small room next to the entrance to the CIC. As the door closed behind them, Saul turned toward his friend, a puzzled look on his face.

"Is this anything urgent? I was going to see you at dinner time anyway."

Miramon nodded, but shrugged off that particular observation quickly enough, instead sitting down in one of the chairs and double-checking to make sure the door was shut. Time to get right to the point.

"Well, I've just been talking with Nara. Mind if I ask what your stance is, right now?"

Saul sighed, almost moaned. "Get a number."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was approached by this guy called Kastanza in this very room. He came here to tell me that he and Nara were hitting it off, but that was a lie - it was more like he was trying to see if I'm interested in Nara or not. Then, I was nearly assaulted by 8-Ball, who had more or less the same question. And now you."

The Intelligence officer smiled sheepishly. "Either she's paying you all, or she's being so miserable half the ship comes to her defense... I fear both options."

Miramon's half smile spoke volumes, but he raised his hands to indicate that Saul had the wrong idea. "From what I've heard, Kastanza's doing all the chasing, and Nara has all but flattened him. I didn't hear about 8-Ball, but you know what she's like. Definately not a diplomat. And actually, I'm more here on your behalf than on Nara's."

"Someone I can trust, finally." Saul smiled weakly. His own world was one where betrayal was a legitimate tool, and was always taken under consideration. "I'm listening."

Miramon nodded. "Your main problem, or so it seems, is that nobody, including Nara herself, knows precisely where you stand. Hence, you're going to have her friends trying to find out what your stance is because they want to help out. And so do I, but effectively, you've got to go one way of the other. Either you like her, or you don't. You're going to have to make a snappy decision."

"It's not that simple. Nothing ever is." Saul replied softly. "Let me tell you a little secret. I don't know where I stand either. My personal file probably says that I adapt very quickly to new situations, but right now I'm torn between two young ladies - both which I'm fond of, but which will have very good reasons to change their hearts. Branwen doesn't know the 'real me', and Nara... well, let's say that whether I like her or not, I'm going to give her reasons to dislike me because of work issues."

That was one was to call the plan he had formed in his mind regarding Nara and the contract, the plan that'll take place once they reach Trill. Of course, that was a thought he couldn't share with Miramon, and being an Intelligence officer, withholding information from a friend wasn't new to him. Still, as he actually spelled out his fears, he began to wonder if there was something else that he refused to admit, even to himself.

Was he afraid of falling in love?

Saul shrugged his shoulders. "So right now, I guess I'm just waiting to see if I'm right or not... or something."

Miramon looked at his friend with a very curious expression, narrowing his eyes as a memory returned to him of an earlier conversation they'd had on the same topic.

"You know, that's the second time you've said you'd have problems with Nara over a work-related issue. From what I can tell, it's the only thing getting between you right now, isn't it? What's going on?"

"I can't talk about it." Saul responded sharply. He suddenlly felt faint, but that feeling passed as quickly as it emerged.

Miramon's replying smile pretty much indicated what he thought about that. Saul was good at being evasive, but the Bajoran was stubborn and usually persistant where most people would have given up on the point. Still, that was something they'd finish up later, when they had time.

"Okay, so we won't talk about it now. But you better resolve that point soon, because if not, you might miss your chance with Nara for good. And I don't believe for one second that that's what you want."

"I don't know what I want, Miramon, that much is obvious. But I thank you for your advice, truly."

Saul appeared to drift for a moment, then his eyes focused on Miramon again, "Besides, I didn't get the chance to tell you I was glad the Derayshans didn't turn you and the shuttle into Bajoran Qetsu soup."

Miramon nodded his thanks. It was nice that somebody cared, though thankfully he wasn't dead so nobody had to undergo that awfully long death chant to make sure everybody knew it.

"Thanks, Saul. But then, they were using outdated technology. No match for Fed. technology, you know that."

"Of course, but we needed to be careful whereas they didn't care about the rift. Plus, you were piloting a shuttle, and the bad guys were flying 'Darts'.", Saul indicated.

The Bajoran shrugged. Old news, where he was concerned. After all, he didn't exactly have a front-row spectator seat for the game - he'd been one of the players.

"Still, you're not going to run me off the oft-beaten track here. You are gonna need to make some sort of decision about what you're gonna do. Everyone here seems to have an idea other than you. Heck, for an Intel officer, you sure don't know the things important to you, do you? Or are you really that much of a workaholic?"

Saul scowled at that one. "Well, I happen to know what is important to me.", he stated, then caughed. "And yes, being a Starfleet officer and doing my job correctly is important to me. There are other imp... ahem... important things, if you recall our little trip to Bajor when we helped apprehending Rosenthal, and Nara-"

Saul coughed again. The scowl grew deeper as the caugh didn't stop. He reached for his mouth with his hand, trying to politely surpress the noise, but then an unusually vicious caugh came, and when Saul lowered his eyes he realized his hand was now covered with drops of blood. The blood wasn't completely red; It had some solid blue-purple lumps in it. Saul's gaze moved from his hand to look at Miramon.

"Nothing to worry about. With all the rush I forgot to take..."

Though he'd seen people cough up blood before, the Bajoran was a little alarmed by this one. Blood was red, not red with several other colours. At least, not where humans were concerned, anyway. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then jabbed a finger in Saul's direction. "What's going on, Saul? Forgot what?"

"Medicine."

Saul carefully sat down, and caughed again. He looked up, suddenlly reminding Miramon of a beggar with the pleading expression on his face. And then, without any warning, the Intelligence officer closed his eyes and fell backwards.

Miramon shot forward and grabbed the human by the arm, though it didn't stop him falling, only helped him to pivot slightly and not hit the ground with such a resounding slam. The Bajoran lowered the man to the ground, then grasped him by the shoulders and shook him lightly.

"If this is meant to be a joke, it's not funny. Stop playing around!"

The human didn't move, aside from a slight shudder as Miramon shook him the first time. The flight control officer used his thumb to pry open on of Saul's eyes, which were very much vacant and would have showed a lot more of a reaction had the man been conscious, which he clearly wasn't. The Bajoran felt stupid. This wasn't somebody playing a joke on him or trying to melodramatically change the subject. Thinking quicker, the Bajoran tapped his commbadge and waited but a second for the link to be established.

"Terrik to Sickbay. Medical Emergency, Intel Offices. I need someone up here stat."

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

The alert came in directly through Klaus' comm.

["Terrik to Sickbay. Medical Emergency, Intel Offices. I need someone up here stat."]

"I hear you Terrik. I'm coming down myself."

Klaus pointed two of the medtechs. "You and you, with me. Now." They bolted out of sickbac and into a turbolift. "Deck 8, Intelligence CIC. NOW."

The lift closed and sped away. They transferred through the seperation plan then when up to deck 8. As soon as the doors opened, they burst ouf of the turbolift and down the hall. Klaus calmly rushed in.

"Hmm...Mr. Bental. What happened to him?" Klaus asked while checking his vitals.

Miramon's concerned face turned to the Doctor as soon as he entered the room, and the Flight Controller stood up and twisted to his feet in a singular motion, since Saul was now laid down on the floor, his head propped up by Miramon's uniform jacket. The Bajoran motioned to the comatose human, his face telling pretty much everything.

"I don't know what's wrong with him, sir. We were talking, and then he coughed up some blood and collapsed. It was all very sudden. Will he be alright?"

"He's breating normally...his blood pressure seems alright.." He noticed the blue tint to the skin. "Hm....that's...not right. Get the stretcher ready!" Klaus pulled out his tricorder and started scanning, immediately picking up unusual compounds. Compounds that aren't supposed to be in human blood.

"These....Bolian....what?" A thought flashed in Klaus' mind, Saul's medical records. "Hurry!" The medtechs lifted Saul onto the stretcher. "Go! Move!"

~Why Saul....why didn't you take your medication!~

Miramon looked significantly bewildered as this was going on. He lightly took the doctor's arm to get his attention, even though it was clear the man was occupied. Still, the Bajoran did want to know what was going on.

"Doctor, please, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry. Doctor's confidentiality. Just know that he'll be fine. I'm not going to let him die."

Sighing, realising he'd never get past the doctor's sense of confidentiality long enough to find out what was going on, Miramon simply nodded at the CMO and watched impassively as the medtechs heaved Saul onto the stretcher and carted him off to Sickbay. Before allowing the doctor to follow them, the Bajoran held the man by his shoulder to stop him from departing. "Doctor, keep me informed of any changes in his condition, please. Let me know when he wakes up, if you would. And thanks."

"Don't worry, I will" They moved into the turbolift and Klaus stared out with endless concern as the doors closed.

"Devil Went Down To Jhorjah" Part 4

(Takes place twenty minutes after 'Part 3')

Principal Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Imperial Attendant K'vala Mahask

Secondary Characters

Sevok, Vulcan club patron
T'sel, Sevok's shipmate
Hraask, V'kala's Klingon husband

****

Jhorjah
Dahnyehl City
Tcharlee's Place

Victor was certain that if Commander Corgan were here, he'd be able to clear everything up in short order.

He'd been forced to signal the Attendant that he was detained - without combat - and that she was on her own when it became apparent that he'd attracted too much attention to himself with the question that Sevok had asked to just brush the Vulcan off and follow her. That kind of recognition was not what they needed, nor was it the sort of thing the man he was supposed to be would seek either. They were here to make contacts, not enemies, even casual ones.

That was why Victor had allowed the Vulcan to invite him back to the table where his fellow Vulcan companions sat to finish their conversation; and why he now found himself in the unusual position of wanting James Corgan to walk through the door. No one he knew had slept - or done other things - with as many different women of as many different species as the Commander, and if there was anyone in Victor's experience that could answer Sevok's questions, James would be the one.

Unfortunately James Corgan was off with the Galaxy, doing Q only knew what, and Victor was trapped here on his own, trying to answer a question that he literally had no experience with the topic of. All things considered, a fight would have been better - at least Victor would have understood that.

He took a sip from his drink, looked around the table at the expectant, impassive faces, and surrendered. He'd just make something up. At the very least, he doubted that Sevok or any of his companions, had ever done the things under discussion with a Klingon either. "You want to know," he said slowly, "if, based on my experiences with my wife, Klingons make the most... passionate... of lovers?"

Not a difficult question to answer - if he'd ever done that with the Attendant. The problem was, of course, that he hadn't. She'd tried to kill him several times, but.... He smiled as an idea came to him. There was a way he could answer the question and not sound like he had no idea what the Vulcan referred to - all he had to do was talk about the Attendant's passion for violence and everything would be just fine.

"Yes," Sevok nodded. "With the exclusion of those races, like the Deltans, which exert pheromonal control over their partners, as I previously stated."

"Then I would say that the answer is 'yes,'" Victor nodded. "She is the most passionate individual I have ever known. Her passions drive her - and me - to places that I have never been before." This planet and conversation came immediately to mind.

"And these passions you share, they are... stronger than normal?"

"So strong that I have occasionally thought I might die from them," Victor assured him.

"Indeed?" Sevok asked, eyebrow raised. "I thank you, Captain Todeshändler."

"You're welcome - but might I ask how you got started on this survey?" Victor gestured with one hand to Sevok's fellows. "Not to be offensive, but it isn't a topic that I would normally associate with a member of your race. I've always thought of Vulcans as more... reserved."

"No offense is taken," one of the others, the only female present, assured him. "It is an understandable question."

Sevok nodded, "T'sel is, as always, correct. I was a student of galactic relations in my younger days, and, based on readings of several race's philosophers, formulated a theory that the relations between the galactic powers were, in essence, extensions of the act of sexual congress between them. I seek to examine the relations between interspecies couples for evidence that will confirm or deny the theory."

"You think that intergalactic diplomacy is simply all about sex?" Victor asked.

"It is, I admit, a non-traditional thesis."

"I'm sure it raised a few eyebrows back home when you proposed it," Victor agreed.

"That would be, as you humans say, 'a safe bet,'" Sevok nodded. "It was that which led me on my current path."

The female Vulcan, T'sel, gave Sevok a look that silenced any further words. "Are you here on business, Captain?"

"Yes and no," Victor replied as he suppressed his desire to know why the Vulcans were here - or even if they were Vulcans at all. It wouldn't be out of the question for a group of Romulan agents to try something like this to make contacts and pick up information. "We've some cargo to sell, and some specific purchases to make, but once we're done with that, the business portion of the trip is over." He took a drink and added, "I don't suppose you're in the market for textiles or spices are you?

"No," she replied. "Not this trip."

"Worth asking, anyway," Victor noted. "Have you..." He frowned as he watched all of the Vulcans at the table look up and behind him. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"Yes," T'sel nodded.

Victor started to set the drink in his hand down and turn. From the way she'd said it, the problem was his and not theirs.

"You!" a gruff Klingon voice bellowed before he'd turned enough to see who or what was approaching, "human!"

Without even having laid eyes on the speaker, Victor somehow knew that this was going to be Hraask, the real V'kala's husband. It was the only thing that made any sense if he accepted that the worst possible event that could occur was about to, and nothing about this mission gave him any hope of that not being the case.

"Yes, you, human!" the speaker bellowed again. "I say you lie!"

For just a second Victor wondered why no one else had days like this - and then he remembered that there wasn't anyone else like him to have them. "Me?" he asked as he stood up. There was no way he was going to start a fight with a Klingon sitting down. No one deserved that kind of an advantage. Even Leo Streeley could win that way.

"You!" the speaker - if what he was doing could be called 'speaking' and not 'bellowing' confirmed. He was, of course, a Klingon. Taller than Victor by a few inches, and heavier by more than a few pounds, he reminded Victor of nothing so much as a younger, slightly leaner, and much better-looking version of General Kragg. There was no physical resemblance to the late unlamented General, but the way he held himself was strikingly similar.

"About what?" As if Victor didn't know.

Hraask shook a fist at Victor's face. "V'kala is *my* wife! She would never marry a pathetic human weakling like yourself!"

A talker; Victor couldn't believe it, the man was actually a talker. Most Klingons would have started swinging - or shooting - the minute they laid eyes on him under the circumstances, but Hraask wanted to talk and not fight. Victor let the layers shrouding his inner self fall away and it was Death that smiled. He didn't mind talking - but that wasn;t the only thing he was going to do today.

Victor threw the contents of his glass into Hraask's face without a comment as the Klingon's eyes widened under the impact of Victor's expanding presence. Hraask bellowed in pain as the synthehol seared at his eyes, swung once wildly, and then folded over and slammed face-first into the floor as Victor kicked his ankles out from under him and jerked down on the front of the Klingon's collar.

"Idiot," Death remarked, and then looked over one shoulder at the Vulcans. "Perhaps we can talk another time," he said in a voice that sped several patrons on their way with greater rapidity, even though the ones he addressed showed no sign of reaction. "I'm afraid that your companion would say that his diplomatic relations have moved into the break-up phase right now."

"Perhaps we will," T'sel agreed calmly. "Do you require assistance?"

The smile on Victor's face widened. "Not for him - but thank you for the offer. Perhaps we can talk again later."

Hraask growled and started to stand up, but fell again as Victor kicked his supporting arm out from under him, and then methodically stomped on the hand that had drawn a disruptor, sending the weapon skittering away under the tables. "None of that now," Death admonished. "No wonder she chose me over you. A real man wouldn't need a disruptor to settle this."

Hraask bellowed again and surged to his feet as Victor danced away. "Little human bastard!"

"About that," Victor observed as he ducked a swing and reached up to the side of Hraask's face. "She was very explicit in her descriptions that you came up short in a number of ways by comparison." His fingers slid along Hraask's head, caught on his right ear, and clamped down. "For instance..." He jerked once, felt the resistance give, and brought his hand away and out of the spray of blood that followed it. "...there's the matter of only having one ear..." Victor held out his hand to display the formerly-attached item in question.

"What?" Hraask stopped and snapped a hand to the side of his head. "You..."

"No, yours actually," Victor corrected. "Here, you dropped this." He tossed the bloody ear back.

It hit Hraask in the chest with a 'spat', slipped and started to fall, which forced the Klingon to snatch at it to keep it from falling. Hraask stared at it in disbelief, and then brought his now-bloody hand down to look at that. "You..." he whispered, in a mixture of confused disbelief and rage. "You..."

"There were one or two other things she mentioned as well," Death chuckled with Victor's voice. "Places where you came up short - or didn't come up at all, depending on how you wanted to look at it." Death's smile widened. "If you could look at it, that is. She suggested using a micro-sensor array."

Hraask's face darkened until it was a shade of purplish-black rarely seen outside of the Terran vegetable eggplant, and spittle flew from his mouth as he roared something incomprehensible in Klingon.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that, can you try it again in... well, some language a sentient speaks anyway?"

Hraask charged.

The rush was too fast to avoid, and too powerful to resist as the enraged Klingon slammed into Victor, the impact strong enough to pick him up off his feet and carry him along across the floor for several meters before he was driven into a wall with bone-jarring force. Hraask backed up without releasing Victor and drove forward again, still yelling as he crushed Victor into the wall - which shattered under the impact and precipitated the pair outside the building and into one of the city's many meandering alleyways in a spray of wood, plaster, and brick.

The shift in position as he and Hraask rolled across the alleyway was enough to let Victor break the hold his stronger opponent had on him and kick him away. With the distance gained, he scrambled back and hammered a kick to the side of the Klingon's head while Hraask was still down. The blow sent Hraask sprawling in the trash on the alley floor and gave Victor the time to back up and look around.

The alleyway was three, maybe four meters wide, and ran for three times that back behind Hraask before it turned to the left. Six meters behind him it exited out onto the street by the front of the club, and the sounds from that direction suggested that the alley mouth was already full of passerby eager to see the rest of the fight that had attracted their attention. Behind Hraask's rising figure and to the right was the hole that they'd made in the wall on their way through, a similar crowd filling it.

Not the best place to fight an enraged Klingon, but it would have to do. Victor stepped in again as Hraask shook his head and got to his feet, taking his opponent's right arm at the shoulder and elbow, and whirled him around to slam the Klingon face-first into the wall where they'd come through. Victor managed to repeat the movement, breaking the Klingon's nose this time, before Hraask threw him off and whirled about, blood dripping from his nose as well as his missing ear.

"Now we're showing signs of improvement," Death chuckled in a version of Victor's voice that made several bystanders draw back from the hole in the wall. "Just a little more work and you'll be handsome enough to put the other targ to shame in the pen tonight."

Hraask's bellow filled the alley as he rushed forward swinging.

Victor picked off the first three blows, had to take the fourth because he was out of position, and caught Hraask's arm on the fifth as it slammed into his side. He spun the Klingon off-balance and kicked him in the side of the knee hard enough to send his opponent to the garbage-strewn floor of the alleyway again. "Apparently," Victor suggested, "you have as much trouble *standing* up as she said you did *keeping it* up."

Hraask growled wordlessly and lunged forward to take Victor's legs out and drop him to the floor of the alley. Snarling, he swung once, then again, to knock Victor back down as he started to rise, before he commenced a series of alternating handed blows punctuated by grunts. "My... wife... my... woman... not... yours... never... yours... human!"

As he was rocked under the trip hammer blows, Victor struggled to scrabble his arms free, finally managed it around the fourth blow, and used them to blunt the impact of as many of the others as he could. A head butt into Hraask's already-broken nose bought Victor a moment's respite to catch his breath and deliver a pair of blows of his own to the side of Hraask's head on the site of his missing ear. "You're not listening, are you? Oh wait - you can't, can you? That was something else she said you couldn't do well."

The Klingon screamed, shook his head, and slammed Victor back against the floor of the alley in response. "Shut up, human!" He seized Victor's right arm with both hands and wrenched. "She never said those things! You lie!" Victor's right arm dislocated at the shoulder with a muffled 'pop' and Hraask dropped it to wrap his bloody hands around Victor's throat. "I'll shut your lying mouth forever!" Hraask cried out as he clamped down.

Blood roared in Victor's ears and the dimly-lit alley darkened around them as Hraask throttled him, but Death's smile never wavered. Victor jerked his left arm free and speared his fingers into Hraask's undefended throat to back the Klingon off. As Hraask gagged and reflexively reached for his throat, Victor laughed once as his hand dropped to Hraask's wait.

"Stop laughing, dead man!" Hraask coughed as he reached for Victor's throat again. "Stop laugh..." The final word cut off in a rising, shrill tone as Victor's hand clamped down on his assailant's privates and twisted savagely.

"There was also that only having one testicle problem," Death chuckled as he savagely twisted Hraask's privates again and shoved the agonized Klingon off him to lie writhing on the alley floor. "Combined with your size deficiency there, she said it impaired your already poor performance to the point where she couldn't tell whether you were coming or going."

Hraask started to straighten out and reach for Victor again, but before he could do more than sit up awkwardly, Victor had rolled onto his left side and kicked Hraask solidly in the face once to knock him back down again. As the Klingon hit the alley floor, Victor swiveled and kicked him in the side of the head three times in rapid succession, and then a fourth after the Klingon had gone limp - just to be sure. "See what I mean?" Death whispered as he stood up. "We were just getting started and you're already spent."

The thing wearing Victor's face looked over at the hole into Tcharlee's and smiled in welcome. "Anyone else?"

A throaty laugh answered him and the Attendant slipped past the other onlookers through the hole and out into the alley. "Marvelous, just marvelous," she laughed as she looked down at Hraask.

"No then?" Death whispered, ignoring her. "Pity." He looked up the alley and then down it, stepped back to open up some space between himself and Hraask's motionless form, shook once like a wolf shedding water from its coat, and was only Victor again. Only then did he acknowledge the Attendant's approach.

"You might have mentioned this before," he suggested, with a frown. Keeping secrets like this one wasn't going to help get the job done - especially if there were any more conveniently forgotten previous husbands lying around.

"Was there a need to?" the Attendant asked in her V'kala voice as she stepped over Hraask without another glance at him and trailed a hand down Victor's cheek. "You were... magnificent."

Victor supposed that expecting her to follow a complete disclosure regimen was about as likely as Starfleet making him an admiral. On second though, possibly less likely. "That's why you married me, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

"Mmmm...." The Attendant murmured wordlessly as she ran a hand up his chest and kissed him. "That must have been it."

Victor growled and let the kiss carry him away for a moment only breaking away when she pressed herself against him and brushed against his dislocated shoulder. "Business first, pleasure second," he reminded her.

"Better both at the same time," the Klingon woman laughed throatily as she let him push her back.

"If you can manage that, yes," Victor agreed. "But it doesn't work out that way most of the time." He reached up and steadied the dislocated shoulder with his left hand. He needed to do something about that before the adrenaline wore off.

"Oh, you're hurt, husband." The Attendant smiled and reached for the arm. "Let me help."

Even though he had a good idea of what she meant by 'help,' Victor nodded once to stay in character and braced himself.

Her hands slipped along the arm, tested the muscles hardened by the twice-daily workouts that Captain Brhode had mandated and Victor had never stopped, and stretched the arm out with strong hands. She leaned in close, kissed him again, and abruptly wrenched the arm back into place just as he started to respond to her, never breaking the kiss.

Victor hissed in release from the pain as she pulled back from the kiss, and laughed. "Did you find what we were looking for?" he asked.

"What was that again?" the Attendant teased, as she slid alongside him and worked an arm around his waist.

"You know what I mean," Victor growled.

"Remind me," she teased in a low purr. "Seeing you fight like that made me think of... other things...."

Victor let himself smile as Erik would have and turned into her for a hungry, savage kiss. Moments later, as he worried her ear with his teeth, he whispered, "Did you find the location of the weapons dealers from Geerik?"

"Oh, that," the Attendant panted in an imitation of lust that would have earned her honors at any acting workshop as she let him push her against the wall, one leg curled around his for support. "I... know where to go, yes..."

"Then let's go and be done with this," Victor murmured before he pulled away." The sooner we're done with that, the sooner we can get back on the Shabradnigdo and get back to doing what we should be doing." He smiled. "You want that, don't you?"

The Attendant's laugh carried down the alley as she let him pull her away from the wall and to her feet. "More than you know, husband." She turned slightly and took a step down the alley. "Let's be done with business and move on to... better things," she purred back at him. "This way."

Victor reached out and caught her by the belt, moved up next to her, and released her. "Lets," he agreed as they started down the alleyway.

It would be good to stop pretending and be Victor again.

ROGUE

"Rogue: Disaster!"

With
Captain Daren M'Kantu and the bridge crew of the USS Galaxy.

(OCC: My apologies if I dont have your character traits down exactly.)

Time: Hours from the planet Trill
Location: The Captain's Ready Room, USS Galaxy

Captain Darren M'Kantu sat in the chair behind the large desk in the Ready Room, the same storied desk that his predecessor Captain Price once sat behind as he planned the evacuation of doomed planet Ursid. There was still a scuff mark from the heel of the infamous Captain Bhrode's famed Hirogen skin boots. He glanced at his own reflection in the viewport, then let out a deep cleansing breath, wondering again what mark he would leave upon the desks surface. Wondering what legacy he would leave upon this ship's rich history.

Sealed off from the hustle and bustle of commanding a Federation starship, left alone with nothing but his thoughts, the Captain picked up a data pad and activated his personal log recording program.

"Captain's Log, Stardate 50502.28: Nearly a week behind schedule, both the crew of the Galaxy and I are eager to reach Trill. Their rich culture and long history I find almost as interesting as I do the violet colored waves that lap against their beaches. Hopefully I will be able to devote some time to a closer study of..."

The Captain paused as the communicator on his chest chirped.

[Bridge to the Captain.]

M'Kantu frowned slightly, instantly recognizing the voice of the ship's executive officer, Commander Cassius Henderson. He brought his dark fingers up and tapped the highly polished surface of his badge, all the while trying to rein in his irritation over the interruption.

"If this is in regard to one Leo Streely again Commander, I think I will have him fed to a Gorn." he uttered, remembering his last encounter with the self professed "free spirit" of the ship, where Leo had wanted to license out the Captain's likeness for boxer shorts.

[Captain, you... need to see this...]

Since coming aboard the USS Galaxy, Daren M'Kantu had discovered that his First Officer was not prone to overreaction to any situation. That made the grim and somewhat angry tone in his voice a cause for great concern.

All thoughts of solitude behind him now, he strode through the adjoining doors with the padd still in his hand to find the bridge eerily silent. His first officer was standing firm, arms crossed and jaw dangerously set. His smoldering eyes glared towards the viewscreen. Counselor Dallas, seated at the left hand side of the Captain's chair, had what appeared to be the onset of tears welling up in her eyes. Others were shaking their heads in horror as they too focused on the images just across the captain's right shoulder.

Daren finally looked at the screen and felt his breath pulled from his body.

A Federation based news broadcast was being transmitted on the viewscreen and their cameras were focused upon an enormous black cloud that was rolling through the crystal blue sky, nearly as high as the mountain in the distant background. What once appeared to have been buildings now looked to be nothing more than flaming heaps of rubble.

Bodies lay scattered in the thick ash that covered streets like freshly fallen snow, partially covered by brick and stone. In the distance could be seen a woman clutching the lifeless form of what may have been her brother, father or son. As the camera panned the landscape, rescue workers could be seen dragging burning bodies from several buildings.

M'Kantu's sharp eyes noticed one common trait amongst the victims and rescue workers: they all had distinctive markings.

Trill markings.

The padd tumbled from M'Kantu's hands.

"Dear God.." he said breathlessly, momentarily dropping the hard outer shell of command that all Captains find themselves obliged to wear.

The reporter, who's voice had only moments ago broken into sobs, now had regained his composure, and began to speak once more.

"Again....if you are just joining us... tragedy is unfolding. We have unconfirmed reports that a starship has crashed into the planet Trill. What you are seeing now is the capital city of Leran Manev, home to vast libraries, museums and some of the most beautiful architecture on the planet. Now, devastation is as far as the eye can see. Entire city blocks have been laid to waste. Flames are spreading. There are countless injuries as many are still trapped beneath collapsed structures. Casualties are being estimated in the thousands. No word yet from the Symbiote Commission or President Durghan. We're going to go live to Kal Sigg who is actually at the scene..Kal..."

The screen switched to a scratchy and grainy video of a man holding a microphone, covered in dust and soot. He looked over his shoulder and cupped his ear.

"Can you hear me? Can you hear me? My ears are still ringing. I can still feel the impact of the ship hitting the planet. The debris is making it hard to breath...Jesus, I have never seen such hell. There are people crying for help...sirens..."

A sudden explosion to the reporter's left toppled a wall. The camera could just make out Kal throwing his hands up in the air before the image went black.

Over at the operations station, several relays came to life. Lt. Iniaru, the red headed Ops officer danced