"Politalk" - Part I

Commander Cassius Henderson, Executive Officer

Commander Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/Second Officer

Lt. Commander James Corgan, Chief of Security

Major Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO/Vanguard One

Lt. Doctor Klaus Feinberg, Chief Medical Officer

Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Intelligence Officer / Lily Squad Leader

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Controller

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Deck Ten, Forward
USS GALAXY
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Aboard a Galaxy-Class starship, the area known as Ten-Forward was a place for many things. Most notably, a recreational lounge and mess hall, but often used for other venues. It was also often a place for discussion - and, indeed, most of the gossip on the ship started in this particular room.

Today, however, the discussion had turned to politics - not so uncommon an occurrence - but the disparate numbers of officers and crew had turned the discussion rather interesting.

"So," Miramon was saying, a cold glass of Iced Tea in one hand. He was sitting as always next to Saul Bental, but his voice was loud enough to be heard by the other people at the broad table and the nearby bar. "we've got all these major power-hungry factions running around - Breen, Romulans as usual, T'Kith'Kin and what have you, all of whom are aggressive towards the Federation in one way or another. Now, given that, is it realistic for Starfleet to maintain a diplomatically-minded policy? Why not instead apply aggressive tactics against such groups, allowing the Federation to exist because nobody dares challenge it? Just as a hypothetical discussion, of course."

Karyn, drinking a glass of lemonade sans alcohol or synthale, swirled the contents of her glass and thought about the Ensign's question for a moment. "Job security?" she deadpanned. "If we go around giving people bloody noses, doctors and counselors would be a joke, really. More than some people already make them anyway. "But seriously, if all we're about is aggression, we're no better than the people we claim to despise."

"I'm not suggesting that we go so far, not for a second. But I mean, look. Regulations tell us that we approach every situation on a diplomatic tack. But with a little more common sense, you'd think we could at least fire first when it's obvious things are going to get ugly. And why is it diplomacy is always the first and last resort? If Starfleet had acted when the Cardassians had been so aggressive towards my people during the Occupation, we'd have been out of that mess a lot sooner. Instead, they went through 'diplomatic channels'. So thousands of my people were subjected to torture and death. How does that reconcile with Federation policy?"

Not insensitive to Miramon's feelings, Karyn chose her words carefully. "Unfortunately, it all comes down to politics more often than reality. The Federation, at least if policy is any indication, is loathe to enter a conflict they don't have an exit strategy for. If we break it, in short, we're expected to fix it, or we become targets. The Federation is not going to get aggressive if our security isn't immediately threatened or if we think we don't have the resources to win. Speaking personally, it's not that simple to read people. Predicting ugliness is never an exact science, and once we fire the first shot, that bell can never be unrung. The truth is, we'll do anything to save lives, and at least with conflict, you're guaranteed more loss of life. If there's a way to prevent that, we go for it."

"If a fight can be avoided, I say by all means avoid it. Why kill anymore. We've all seen far too much death in our days." Klaus sipped coffee as usual, his doctor's teal jacket over his class-A. But he unfortunately saw himself on the fence at the moment. "I say that if there is a way. Any remote way to attain peace without too many concessions, then do it. I regret to say, however, that I believe that this... triad, of powers will be difficult to deal with without a fight. But conflict should be held professionally, and quickly. Perhaps quick tactical strikes on vital resources to mimize casualties on both sides."

Sharing a table with Cass Henderson, Corran Rex took this opportunity to weigh into this discussion. "I didn't get to fight at Havras with the rest of you," the Trill pilot started, "but I lost enough pilots there for that to make an impression. This - triad, as Klaus calls it - clearly isn't interested in peace. I'm all for every day I go without firing a shot, but I still don't understand the Council's thinking. People are going to find out about what happened, and that the Federation has three new, extremely dangerous enemies. When they do find out, it's just going to be worse."

"I agree with Corran," Cass chimed in as well. Initially he had been planning to sit back and observe. The topic of the discussion interested him, and he was curious to learn everyone's views on the subject. However, Corran had managed to catch him watching, and draw him over and into the discussion. Thankfully, he was out of uniform, so at least there would be that to remove him from his position as executive officer. "If I had my way, we would prepare, and strengthen our borders with the Breen and Hydrans. To a degree, we are. But at the same time, I don't agree with some of the more... vocal members of the admiralty. Preemptive strikes are not the answer. Not yet."

"Were my father still alive. He'd agree with you Cass." Klaus sipped again, his eyes on a blank spot on the table. "It pains me so much to think about the situation we're in. The Federation, I believe needs to be more cautious about it's defensive needs however. They want to fight us, and will likely look for any excuse." His head rised and he smiled. "How I long for simpler times."

"No such thing, Doctor." Miramon said simply.

Saul, which until then only listened and tried to stay out of the conversation, finally spoke up. "Yes. The last time times were simply, us humans were hunting wild buffalo with spears and stones, I'm afraid. I totally agree with Commander Henderson's take on this, but let me play the devil's advocate for a moment..."

Saul took a sip of the orange juice, glad he managed to get everyone's attention and was not ignored.

"Are pre-emptive strikes really that bad? Let me remind you that the fleet was weakened tremendously after the Dominion war, and did not get back to full power. This means that today, more than ever, we have to rely on wise strategy and minimum losses. After the Battle of Havras and recent assaults on various Starfleet outposts, we certainly have Casus Belli against the Triad. The question is, what do THEY plan?"

"Ah, yes. Casus Belli, the occasion for war. Yes, we do, but at the same time, we're not prepared right now," Cass replied, pausing to drink deeply from his coffee. "Since the Dominion War, we have managed to recover much of our strength in ships, but the sheer loss of tactically experienced officers will take many years to recover. Which is why the Federation Council's current stance is naive. We cannot deny what happened, and we do need to prepare for a conflict. As Corran said, the Triad is not interested in peace."

"If they are," Corran interjected, "They've got a damned funny way of showing it."

"Just a historic example of succesfull pre-emptive strikes I recently learnt in a military history course.", Saul said, "At the Human year 1967 A.D., the state of Israel on Earth was threatened by its neighbours, and war was imminent. It was a matter of days, months at best, and everyone knew it. They didn't have a 'Battle at Havras', but border skirmishes got stronger. The Israelis knew that if they weren't going to play smart, the next war might be the last. So one summery day at June they commenced a sudden attack against their opponents' airports and within a matter of hours vanquished the majority of the air forces of their opponents. The war lasted for six days. SIX DAYS gentlemen, before fire was ceased and the state of Israel came out victorious."

"Normally, I'd agree with Saul. Decisive strikes work wonders. Hell... if we didn't press on near the end of the Dominion War when we saw the chance... we would still be fighting."

Suddenly appearing like a wraith in the mists, James Corgan made his presence felt with his words of conviction. As one of the few veterans in the room that saw the worse aspects of warfare, he felt as if he had to give some insight.

He also felt that political arguments, as well as religious banter, were the best ways to piss people off, but that was a risk he had to take.

"True, but then again there are cases where decisive action failed miserably. You can bring up the case of the Americas Offensive instigated by the Eastern Coalition during World War 3. They thought they could wipe out their enemy with a surprise attack too... only to have their asses handed to them as they squandered their numerical superiority to keep their small gains on the Americas front. Eight days of fighting brought small gains... after that it was many bloody years without an inch of gain. Sad, that."

Corgan introspectively looked at everyone, his voice as confident as it was somber, "I do not look forward to war, and I would not desire to seek it as well. However, I would not want to stand idly by while others are oppressed. So my view on whether or not the Federation should be more... 'hawkish' or 'dove...ey' is that both are inanely stupid. You can fight for what's right without charging in at every little provocation. And you can foster peace even if you decide to charge into an area with phaser rifles at the ready. It's just a matter of standing up for what's right... its just that working out when you should fight and when you should not that's tricky."

"I guess it all comes down to the question : Whether the fleet should invest its resources in war machines or exploration.", Saul commented, "Offensive or defensive stance - against the Triad, the Dominion, whoever - is just a result of the current situation, and I hope the admirality is good enough to know how to act and react. I think the big question is whether we're going to see more warships come out of the shipyards, and more battalions of marines - or more exploration expeditions."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Corgan quipped. "Our production facilities are pretty good. At least now our shipbuilding infrastructure is modernized thanks to the war. Besides, most of our exploration ships were designed to fight off most alien war vessels. Our exploration ships, for the most part, can match tonne for tonne with most alien warships. It was when we built an ACTUAL fighting vessel that we showed what we are capable of. Do you remember the shock of seeing a Defiant class in action for the first time? It scared the hell out of most people to know we could make something so savage."

Saul shook his head. He had no doubt that Starfleet had the technology and the capabilities to do both fighting and exploring. "And yet, I do hope that eventually, Starfleet will return to the way it were prior to the Dominion war..."

"Were they ever really that way, Saul? I don't think so," the executive officer shook his head. "Just before the Dominion War, there was talk of war with the Klingons. And before that, the cold war with the Cardassians. No, there hasn't been a time of primarily exploration for... a long time." {To Be Continued...}

“How to tell if she likes you”

(Takes place immediately after ‘A Place In The Queue’)

Principal Characters:

Lt. Ella Grey
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

~~So,~~ Ella signed as she continued to eat some of the Indian dish Victor had placed before her. ~~Do I get to learn who the mysterious 'she' is?~~

"Which 'she?'" Victor returned, as he speared another Guntaba.

~~The one you went on this mission with.~~ Ella replied. She wasn't sure that she really wanted to know but then again she wasn't sure that she didn't want to know.

"Oh." He shrugged. "I assumed that made its way around the ship before I left." In fact, if he were a betting man, he'd place his entire savings on it. "The Attendant."

So that was who Angie had been harping on about a while ago. Naturally, jealousy reared its ugly head that this Klingon woman had been spending all this time with him but, at least, it wasn't that psychopathic pilot bitch. ~~The one who likes you?~~

“No.”

Certainly spends enough time with him, she thought. "You just don't understand women." Ella spoke, laughing.

“She promised to kill me, Grey,” he pointed out. “I would think that even the Klingons find it a bit difficult to develop an interest in a corpse.”

"Klingons always threaten to kill people." Ella said with a shrug.

“Then what was stabbing me in the lung a sign of?”

Ella's eyes widened and she almost choked on her food. ~~What?!?! Why? How did it... did you get it fixed?"

“No. It filled with blood and I almost drowned in it.” He gestured at his left side absently. “I have a new one now.”

Ella goggled at him.

Victor looked at her expressionlessly. “Is something wrong, Grey?”

"Well, YEAH, something's the matter. That... that bitch." Ella spluttered, absolutely furious. If only she had the skill, she'd hunt down that woman and show her some of the techniques Daro had shown her. But since the Klingon wasn't there she turned her anger on Victor. ~~Why can you NEVER stay out of trouble?~~

With a frown Victor shook his head. “I get paid to find it Grey. It’s what I do; you know that. I find it and deal with it so it doesn’t find someone like you.”

Someone like her, Ella wanted to grumble. ~~Well, why did she do it?~~

“Because I did something she didn’t want me to do, Grey.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve been stabbed. It wasn’t even the first time I was stabbed on this assignment.”

Ella pushed her plate away back after finishing the last bite. ~~I don't want to hear about it anymore tonight.~~

“All right.” He tilted his head to the side and regarded her for a moment. “You sound upset, Grey. Why?”

~~Because I don't like feeling angry at you.~~ Ella signed, scowling.

Grey was angry with him? Victor turned the idea over in his head, but couldn’t quite grasp the reason for it. Was it something he’d done?

Something he’d said? Finally, confused, he asked, “Why?”

~~Its been a long day, Victor.~~ Ella signed, purposefully ignoring the question. ~~I'm going to get my overnight bag and then get some sleep.~~

Ah, Victor decided, that was it. The night demons. It had been months since he’d been here to keep them away, and Grey might not have had a good night’s sleep in all that time. That would certainly make her tired and angry for little or no reason. “I’ll clean things up and unpack a little while you’re gone,” he told her as he stood. “You’ll want to sleep on something more than a mattress.”

I'd sleep on a rock as long as you were here with me, Ella wanted to say. And ALIVE. Damn the man. But she couldn't make herself say either.

~~All right.~~ Ella signed.

OOC: Current day. I'll continue Curran's Lost and Found backstory during free writes and/or flashbacks.

"Pomp and Circumstance"

By Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Liaison Officer

*SMACK*

The glove followed up the initial impact on the cranium of its opponent in a rain of blows that tumbled the Ekosian to the mat. Still the lithe figure squatted over the humanoid to jab him several more times in the padding around his face, giving him a swift kick to the sides as he was pushed away by the stand-in 'referee'.

"Whoa, stand back there, Johnny Lawrence! No one to impress here, man!" Curran fell back into the neutral corner of the ring, pounding his gloves together in anticipation of the kill. He clicked his tongue against the mouthpiece that slipped in and out between his teeth.

In the recreation area of the Emerald Princess, Curran had hitched a ride when his sabbatical to Kelva II had come to an end, as semi-fulfilling as it was. The merchant liner had crossed paths with a Kelvan light cruiser, at which after a heavily delaying inspection of the liner facilities by the Kelvan customs squad, the Liaison Officer was allowed - or rather the ship's crew had been ordered under threat of impounding - to board the liner and assigned quarters of reasonable comfort.

Now, several weeks later - as liners were hardly ever found to reach speeds past Warp Four - they were but a day out of port at Starbase 212. Only after reporting into the Diplomatic Corps post at 212 had Curran been informed that he would be accompanying a Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor as she was shuttled to Starbase 212 herself to be transferred to the Galaxy. She was already on board the Princess and prepared to receive him.

That was approximately five Terran days ago. Since then, he'd introduced himself to the inept bureaucrat. The meetings ongoing with her and her staff did little to put the Kelvan at ease. Her demands and obvious loathing for his offices and their newly engaged powers over Starfleet were more than obvious to those trained in reading them. Humans were so predictable.

His orders were clear. He was to attend to her needs while in transit with the Galaxy to her relieving Commodore Jerdberg of his command of Deep Space 5. All other duties while on board the USS Galaxy were secondary, even those of Captain M'Kantu's. Starfleet and Federation civilian interaction would be left to those personnel in his department that he had yet to interview and determine capabilities.

The Ekosian wobbled to his feet, shaking off assistance from the referee who was quite forcefully trying to have the beaten opponent retire. Curran smacked his gloves together once more and snapped the mouthpiece back onto his gums.

Shifting his feet into position, he showed the humanoid no mercy in a left jab to the stomach followed by a solid sideways uppercut that dropped the alien's hands to his sides as he slowly tilted back on the balls of his feet, swaying. Kylar's eyes danced back and forth with the motions of the male, then shoved him backwards with two solid blows to his chest. The Ekosian fell motionless to slam into the mat with one bounce, and then was still.

Immediately medical personnel swarmed the being. Curran never waited for the decision. He knew he'd won. He was sated for the moment.

He left the ring with nary a glance back.

*****

After showering off and cooling down, the Kelvan consulted his agenda. Yet another meeting with the Admiral was upcoming. Thankfully he was able to purge the majority of his negative emotion with kickboxing match earlier. The rage he felt at the inadequacy of human logic had been quelled for the time being. At least until he was through with this meeting.

Dressed head to toe in the black formal attire of his office, Curran approached the double-doors of the regal quarters the Admiral was taking advantage of while on board the liner. Her connection with the Captain of the independent liner had allowed her to take ownership of the grand cabins, displacing the Ambassador of Pacifica and his family from the entire floor. The diplomatic relations in the event could only be listed as horrendous. How Starfleet could condone such an act from one of its top-level officers was insulting to the institution.

Padding the lavender carpets of the corridors empty of all personnel except her personal guard, he was continually stopped and inspected for anything and everything. He was finally at the doors that would take him to the Admiral's quarters, and for the umpteenth time, he was ordered to partake in a head to toe DNA and inspection scan. He understood the reasoning behind the scans, but if Proctor were this paranoid, she should have taken a Starship.

As mentioned before, humans weren't that bright. Yet another reason to conquer them. They needed guidance in determination and efficiency. Taking a luxury liner to your destination was both inefficient and dangerous for an Admiral of some importance. He mentally shook his head as they ran their scans over him.

"He's clean. I'll need your authorization papers." As per regular and routine duty, the Kelvan passed his isolinear chip containing his appointment date and topics of the meeting. The huge Capellan - they make wonderful security officers - slipped the chip into his scanner, watching as the data scrolling on the screen matched his own. His partner, an equally powerful Horta due to its acidic capabilities, watched him carefully. If he could assume it was watching him. It shuffled in what Curran always thought was hungry anticipation. He wondered how long it had been since it 'disposed' of a perpetrator.

"Admiral, Legate Curran has arrived. Do you wish to see him now?"

[Let him enter, Lieutenant.] Such a dry voice for a female. Almost sounded husky.

The Capellan stepped back, passing back the chip. "Enter. Admiral Proctor is waiting in the receiving room." The double doors shimmered away. Holographic forcefield. That costs credits, most likely. The Captain and ambassador must be having words on compensation right about now. Neither one would be satisfied with the Admiral's annexation of the most prestigious quarters on the ship, but knowing her friendship with the Captain, one never knew. Pacifica had a lot of influence in tourism affairs, though. It could prove more costly for the owner/captain than he anticipated.

Curran stepped into the enormous lobby that swept out to a seating area regaled with pillows and cushions of a scarlet shade aligned symmetrically amongst a series of divans and other seating arrangements. An old-fashioned grandfather clock chimed against the far bulkhead, signaling a time on Earth of what humans would term 'lunchtime'. An open portal, grander and more expansive than a viewscreen looked out upon the stars ahead as the quarters was situated just above the Bridge. Above him, a concave dome expanded outwards, its surface painted with a variety of idols from many worlds. A rather overlarge chandelier decorated with hundreds of gleaming crystals dangled and sung a chime of soothing delight hung from the center of the dome.

The rest of the room was a vista of ancient Terran history of approximately 500 years previous. During the French Renaissance at or around the time of the Industrial Revolution if he wasn't mistaken. Terran history was certainly not a strong suit with him, nor should it be. Paintings of celebrated artists hung in strategic positions around the room, head sculptures of popular strategists stood at attention at equal distances from the monstrous fireplace that had a roaring fire within.

"Just in time for lunch, Legate. Please, have a seat." Curran glanced to the voice from the left, recognizing the Admiral immediately. Her hair was cut short, shoulder length, wavy and dark. Her frame, of average build, was fairly attractive, but otherwise not very noteworthy. She was of course dressed in her casual Starfleet attire.

Olivia Proctor slipped into one end of a button cushioned divan, tucking one arm over the 'rest, the other along the crest long top. Casually crossing her legs, she postured herself as a diva, smiling without sharing the emotion. Cold and practical. "Sit." It didn't take much to decide she wasn't asking, so the diplomat uneasily seated himself in a Louis XIV inlaid chair.

'Livia clapped her hands, and from out of a pair of alcoves a pair of servants emerged carrying serving trays wafting with sensuous aromas. Setting up minor tables with which to pick their food off of, the waiters settled individual plates of roast targ fresh off the grill, cold meats, vegetables, cheeses, and various wines. Quite grandiose, and a waste of resources.

Whyever do humans desire such flamboyancy? It was imbecilic. This Proctor was all about... things. The twenty-fourth century doctrine of casting aside materialism was lost on this one. Her infatuation with items was likely costing her membership in a circle of power at Starfleet Headquarters, so they cast her out so far along the rim, 'things' were much harder to come by.

Still, DS5 was the vanguard against a Hydran incursion. A strategic standpoint. Starfleet had already lost outposts along the Typhon Expanse; a military presence was at a low-point. The station was so far out of the safety of Federation territory, Starbase 212's taskforce would take days to reach it in time. Only a daily pass of Border Patrol craft and an occasional starship in the area were its real external defenses. Proctor must surely realize she's expendable in taking control of the station. Starfleet had likely written it off as a viable tactical point, receding the Federation borders even further.

The Liaison Corps' Diplomatic personnel were stretched thin trying to hold planetary governments within the Federation. Any more losses would be even more detrimental. Member planets were losing faith in the Federation's ability to protect them, and the politics have been steadily progressing in this direction for well over three years now.

So why send this idiot out along the important stretch that bordered the Romulan Star Empire and Hydran Sovereignty? It made no sense to Curran, but it was a chess move by someone else. The Kelvan picked at a carrot, twirling it as he thought of a dangling root just out of reach of the burro. Proctor was the burro, and DS5 was the root.

"... need staterooms located as nearby the main bridge as you have them, Legate." Admiral Proctor was waving about a stalk of celery in one hand, a flute of white wine in the other. Curran waved off a server who proffered him a glass of the same liquid. Alcohol was not tolerated easily in his system. Only under extreme and well-prepared situations would he imbibe, but not here. Not when this try-as-she-might tactician was analyzing him.

She'd been droning on while he was in thought. He did this often. Much she had to say was hardly worth ingesting. Tales of tactical genius that were not hers to be credited with, candy-coated stories that were so obviously not true - or if they were, magnified into something outrageously unbelievable it was difficult not to laugh in the wrong places. It was all... humans would call it... 'bullshit'. She knew of the Kelvans taste for strategy, and attempting to impress him, most likely. It was an utter flop.

So, he tolerated her, as he was ordered to do, and took his stresses out in the recreation deck. The Ekosian was an unlucky target of a story relating to her singlehandedly leading a contingent of starcraft into Havras to save the Galaxy. He knew she was never there in the first place. Sitting in a safe room on a starship that was the rear guard for deMercereau's taskforce, watching the battle from a viewscreen terminal.

It was this utter distaste for her not entering the field of battle and taking credit for doing so that made him want to vomit. It was likely the only battle she faced was in which lie she would tell each moment. Put a phaser to her head, and she'd likely crumple under the stress.

"... need access to the ship library systems at all times. Inform Operations on the Galaxy...." Ramble, ramble, ramble. He'll make sure, all right.

"The Guest VIP quarters on Deck 3 have been set aside for you already, Admiral. All will be attended to when we arrive."

"Yes, well, I have requirements that will need to be met in that nature, Legate." Setting down her never-ending glass onto a diamond-rimmed coaster on the heavily wooden-inlaid coffee table, she produced a PADD from behind a vase of orchids that in themselves gave off a rather delightful aroma.

"I've completed my list of requirements, Legate. Please be sure they are met." She pushed it across the table to the Kelvan, who raised an eyebrow as he caught some of the details.

"Daily intelligence reports, personnel files, fresh fruits, mint on pillow..." He clenched his jaw. The Galaxy was not an inn! Starfire episodes? Ridiculous. He was a diplomat, not a butler! Of course, she likely was doing what she could to demean his offices. Starfleet Admiralty were not keen on the Liaison Corps intruding on their domains, at all.

"I... will... do what I can, Admiral." Oh, how painful this assignment would be. He hoped for a Capellan during his next bout in the recreation deck.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you will. Now, how about a game of Strategema?"

Kylar groaned inwardly. Another game he had to 'play dumb' on, and let the Admiral win.

Thank god, they would be at Starbase 212 within 24 Terran hours.

"And the memory remains"

By 2Lt. Jebidiah Baile
Furies Red Team Leader

USS Galaxy ----------- In a hostile place

The thin cord wrapped itself around the throat of the Cardassian without a sound. Only too late did the powerfully built Cardassian notice what was happening. Baile slammed his knee into the lower backside of the alien in front of him and pulled at the ends of the cord with all his might.

It was a butal way to die, but firing a weapon would set of the sensors. The Cardassian was strong, as all Cardassians, but Baile had placed his knee in the right place and continued to pull backwards.

His arms ached from exhaustion, his body burned from stims. Suddenly the Cardassian went limp, but Baile kept the cord tight around the neck. It had cut deep into the neck of the enemy, blood oozing out when he finally let go.

The body dropped to the ground, landing on the back, the face twisted in terror and pain. Baile crouched low and started to search the pockets of the corpse when the eyes opened and a hand grabbed his. Then nothing but pitch black darkness opened up around him.

His hands clawed at the opponent, struggling to get away from the dead hand. Something was wrong, he could feel it, but at the same time he had to get away from the hand. He pulled with all his strength, but the hand wouldn't let go.

A sense of helplessness crept over him, making him furious and terrified at the same time. He pulled his gun, not caring if the enemy found out the special ops team was there or not. Dead people was supposed to stay dead.

He lined up the gun with the stubborness of an injured Grizzly, slowly, ever so slowly, the gun moved towards the head of the Cardassian, its grin slowly disappearing as the gun came closer.

Some marines didn't like to use phasers for various reasons. Baile was one of them. That is not to say he didn't use them, he simply preferred other guns. Handguns hadn't stopped developing just because phasers were introduced. Quite the opposite.

Guns from the 24th centuary had about as much in common with guns from the 20th centuary as catapults had with artillery. Sure, the idea was the same, but hardly the end result.

Baile's gun was a wonder of modern technology. Light, durable with all the trimmings. It's armorpiercing pullets punched a hole through most armor worn by humanoids and what it didn't punch through the rifle did.

He didn't really know why he preferred the handguns instead of phasers. Traditions probably. Some species were remarkably tough, but that didn't matter at a distance of three inches. No one was that bulletproof. Especially not a Cardassian.

Baile bared his teeth in anger, determined to shot the already dead Cardassian to Kingdom come. With a final feat of strength he pressed the gun against the head of the soon to be dead again Cardassian.

That's when he woke up.

As usual he had just crashed on the bed, hoping unconsciousness would claim him before the nightmares did. He felt the cold metal of the barrel against the temple. For what felt like an eternity, sitting in his bed, he toyed with the idea of pulling the trigger. It would be so easy. One tenth of an inch would do it.

But as usual he exhaled, tired and worn out, and lowered the gun. He clicked the release and the clap bounced down on the bed, silently holding its deadly payload. He watched the clip come to a halt, watching the black metal in the poorly lit room. It reminded him of some of the small ugly bugs in Roth Valley, one of the few places he would never return to even if ordered.

He tossed the gun next to the clip and rolled out of bed. It was hard to breathe, almost as if the cord had been around his own neck instead of some damn Cardassian. Sweat ran down his spine like raindrops, as it always did when the dreams got this bad.

Baile stumbled into the tiny bathroom and turned the lights on, leaning heavily against the small sink, watching the face looking back at him in the mirror. Silently he wondered when he had stopped recognizing the face in the mirror.

"I see the child I was, and lay flowers on his grave.." he whispered to the man staring at him in the mirror. His former CO, Colonel Caileb Smith had said those words once, during a very drunken shoreleave at yet another unnamed hellhole Starfleet had sent them to.

"Tell me.. " he whispered to the mirror. "What do you see?" It stayed silent, of course. The icy water he splashed his face with didn't chase away the demons in the back of his mind.

With an empty look in his eyes he pulled off the drenched t-shirt. There was no chance in hell he'd get back to sleep again. He switched off the lights and stumbled back out into the small room again, pulling on a fresh t-shirt and joggingpants. The room was, with one word, sparsely furnitured. So while most of the ship was asleep, Baile headed down to one of the gyms. The demons never slept.

It wasn't the workout he wanted. It was the pain and the sense of mental numbness when repeating the same move over and over again. So he did push-ups. Ten sets of fifty. Then situps. Ten sets of sixty. Benchpress - five sets of fifteen at 175 Ibs. Crosspulls - five sets of fifteen at 80 Ibs. Triceps - five sets of fifteen at 60 Ibs to name but a few. He followed the routine miticiously, working his body until every fibre screamed at him in exhaustion and pain. Then he repeated it all one more time.

One

The images from Roth Valley refused to give way. Baile gritted his teeth, refusing to give in and let the images fill his head. He had been there once and that was enough.

Two

The sweat stung in his eyes. He concentrated on the breathing, slowly exhaling as he pushed the 175Ibs barbell up.

Three

The shouts from Caileb still echoed in his head. "Take out that floater!"

Four

Barring his teeth in a snarl, closing his hands around the barbell until his knuckles turned white.

Five

"Flea! I don't care how you do it... just fucking kill them... all of them!!" The words echoed in his mind.

Six

And he had. Every single one of them.

Seven

They had deserved it. Every single one of those fuckers.

Eight

Frustration and anger stacked high in Baile. He could almost feel the stench of Roth Valley, feel the stench of blood, entrails, fear and death assault him like it had then.

Nine

He had been an invisible death, a lightningfast plauge killing everyone near. How good it had felt to end the lives of those miserable traitors, watched them realise they were dying.

Ten

Their lives had been in his hands. Just as the people the beasts had slaughtered. And just like them he had closed his hand, crushing them.

Eleven

How many had lost themselves in Roth Valley? How many survived but never came back?

Twelve

His arms wanted to give up. The barbell seemed impossible to lift, but Marines didn't give up. They didn't quit until someone ordered them to. Inch by inch Baile pushed it upwards, his muscles shaking, almost cramping from the effort. The pain was good, it stopped him from thinking about the hell named Roth Valley.

Thirteen

The fury he felt, from both memories and the pain in his body, fueled him, pushed him, gave him energy to push himself to the point of collapse.

Fourteen

A part of him had stayed in Roth Valley. A part of everyone that had been in Roth Valley had left something there.

Fifteen

For Baile it had been his belief in the Federation. It had been eroded over time, but Roth Valley had taken a big toll on it. He still believed in what he did, still believed in the Marines, more than ever. But he didn't believe in the Federation. The ideas that had once founded the Federation had been overrun by the harsh realities of life. With a growl he pushed up the barbell one last time, feeling the sweet relief as the muscles could relax.

He sat up, wiping the sweat of his forehead. The demons were quiet for now, but they would come back.

They always did.

"Time to Leave”

(Occurs after 'How To Tell If She Likes You')

Principal Characters

Lt. Ella Grey

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

Ella sat up in the dark, gasping for air, and quickly kicked back the covers so that she could run to the bathroom. The lights that she called for in the bathroom reminded her of the blinding sun after she had run out of the cave on the desert planet.

She shook her head and tried to breathe normally again, leaning over the sink just in case a sudden wave of nausea hit again.

When she felt the cool touch on her naked shoulder - why hadn't she worn the flannels - Ella couldn't help the revulsion that swept over her or the fear that suddenly took hold. She turned and gasped.

Curtis reached out for her and she couldn't help but shriek as she backed up quickly. She backed up quickly and tried to ward off his hands.

"Don't hurt me, Curtis." Ella cried out, finally able to say the words now that she hadn't been able before. It wasn't the only reason she had gotten the chip implanted but it had been a strong argument.

It was a full minute, while she was trying desperately to become one with the wall, before she realized that she wasn't in her quarters. She was in Victor's and he had come to make sure that she was okay.

And then she realized what she had said.

Oh. No.

"Curtis?" Victor's voice was as quiet and even as ever, but there was an undertone that wasn't normally there, something that signaled that his inner self was closer to the surface than normal. "What did Geluf do Grey? How did he hurt you?"

~~Victor?~~ Ella signed even though she knew now where she was. She had to think fast and that was always fun at three in the morning. ~~Oh! I'm sorry I woke you. I must have been dreaming.~~

"You were dreaming," he agreed. "I want to know what Geluf did that made you do this," he indicated her position against the wall. "Was it after you crashed? Before the Klingons found you?"

~~It was just a dream, Tiger.~~ She signed trying to laugh it off. And though it hurt her to do it, she continued on with another lie. ~~I once dreamed that you were trying to drown me. Doesn't mean anything, just imagery.~~

Victor frowned. "I wouldn't drown you, Grey, you're my friend and it's too slow, too painful. If I had to kill you it would be quick and painless."

Ella forced herself to laugh but it didn't work very well. "Good to know."

"You've never reacted to me like this, Grey, even when you should have." Victor looked at her without blinking. "Why are you doing it now, over a dream about Geluf? What did he do to make this happen?"

"Nothing." Ella whispered.

"No," Victor decided after a moment. "He did something. You never reacted like this to any of the other night demons, but they were old. This is still new, still raw." He took a step back "I'll ask Geluf why." His expression shifted, until there was little of Victor in it and it sent chills down Ella's spine as he added quietly, "He'll explain it to me."

"Victor! No!" Ella yelped, running to block him from the door. ~~I told you it's nothing.~~

"I know what nothing is, Grey," Victor stopped and looked at her, once again wholly Victor. "This isn't it."

Time for an amendment of the plan, she decided. ~~You... have to promise not to hurt him.~~ Ella signed.

"Why?"

~~Because he's my friend too.~~ Ella replied, moving to sit down on the bed.

"Tell me, Grey," Victor repeated, still frowning.

~~When we got stuck on that planet a lot of weird things began to happen; I don't know if you read about it. Corran could control those voices he kept hearing, Cutter- well, I'm not exactly sure what happening with him, and I was so wired that I could hardly sit still. The Professor's hearing became so enhanced that he could hear someone breathing from miles away.~~

Ella broke off to make sure he was still with her.

Victor nodded, his attention split between listening to what Grey was telling him and trying to decide why it bothered him so much that he was hearing this from her. He'd heard it all before, hadn't he? Why was it different now that it was Grey telling him? "I'm still with you, Grey." If this went where he knew it was, Geluf, however, might not be.

~~Just giving you the back-story. I think all that extra sensory perception drove him a little crazy. The dehydration and strange foods didn't help either. He started to think we weren't going to make it and when you're stranded somewhere and need to start over...~~

There it was, what he'd known was coming. "Geluf tried to start over with you," he said flatly, his voice scrubbed clean of what little emotional inflection it normally had. He'd never killed someone that he talked to before; he wondered if he'd miss Geluf afterwards.

~~I got away before anything happened.~~ Ella assured him, as she had assured Cutter and Corran. ~~It's not his fault; he was sick.~~

"Of course he was sick, Grey. They're always sick; they wouldn't do things like that if they weren't."

~~It wasn't like that.~~ She protested.

Victor ignored her. "But you didn't get away before something happened, Grey. You wouldn't have to act like this if you had." Geluf had terrorized her, taken advantage of their friendship to try and cross boundaries that should never be crossed. The kind of psychological scarring something like that left was real, just as real as the physical scars that the doctors had removed after they gave him his new lung.

Ella bit her lip. ~~No, I swear that nothing happened. I got away. You can even ask Rex.~~

"Was he there?" Rexa and Ar'resh were going to be disappointed if he killed Rex before they had a chance to talk to his symbiote. He also didn't understand why she kept insisting that nothing had happened. Geluf had terrified her, had tried to hurt her in a way that only monsters hurt people. How could she not see that his actions were *something?* "Something happened, Grey," he tried again to explain to her.

Nausea was hitting her again but she shook her head. Why wouldn't he just take her word for it? ~~Why won't you believe me?~~

She didn't understand. Maybe it was because she didn't want to see a friend as a monster. It was, he supposed all right. Even if she couldn't see it, he could. He knew all about monsters, and what you did to them so they couldn't hurt anyone else ever again. "It's all right, Grey," he said as he reached for her shoulders and gently moved her away from the door. "I know what to do." Victor supposed that it was for the best that he'd not unpacked yet. After he killed Geluf he'd be moving on again of a certainty.

"I... I...." Ella stuttered. What a bloody mess. How was she supposed to convince him not to go after Curtis.

The flat mechanical voice stopped him. It was horrid, like talking to a machine, worse even than talking to one of the androids that Mudd had brought aboard the first year he'd been aboard the Galaxy. "Yes, Grey?"

"I let him."

She let him? She let him frighten her, terrify her? That was silly; of course there hadn't been anything she could do. She hadn't asked him to do something like that. No one did. "No, you didn't," he assured her. "He made his own decisions, you didn't tell him to cross those boundaries with you."

"No, I..." Frustrated, she pushed her hair out of her face and tried like hell not to start wringing her hands. She looked down at them. "He was going to... and I couldn't stop him so I just... went along with it."

Went along with....? A tiny switch flicked inside Victor's head and suddenly everything was clear and sharp and made perfect sense. Something *had* happened.

Geluf hadn't merely frightened her, hadn't just *tried* to cross those boundaries. He'd done it. He'd hadn't merely done what Victor had done to Karyn Dallas months ago under the influence of the android's pheromones and the Klingon painkillers he'd taken; Geluf had completed the act because Grey hadn't had a hypo there to stop him the way Karyn had with Victor.

"I'd rather have sex with a friend than..." Ella began, and then trailed off as she felt Victor's presence start to swell, pushing at her with a physical force in a way it had only done once before. Her stomach felt like she had been pushed off a cliff. "You didn't know. You were talking about psychological... oh, shit what a mess."

=/\="Computer,"=/\= Victor's voice was hard and sharp, like the blade of a sword, undertones that seemed to carry the cries of the damned skittering along it's edge like light playing along it. =/\="Give me the location of Lieutenant Curtis Geluf."=/\=

=/\="Lieutenant Curtis Geluf has been reassigned off the Galaxy. He is not currently aboard,"=/\= the computer told him.

Thank God for small favors, Ella thought. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him!"

"It won't hurt, Grey," Victor replied, his voice still sharp. "He won't feel anything." Ever. He wouldn't feel anything ever again, not after Victor had found him.

"He didn't understand what was happening." Ella tried to explain. "He was sick.

Hell, he probably thought that I was Kiora."

Victor turned that idea over in his head for a moment, examined it, and then discarded it. "No. He knew." Victor had known. He'd known who Karyn Dallas was, and hadn't cared. If he'd known in that moment of chemically-induced madness and released restraint, then Geluf had known too - he, like Victor, just hadn't cared.

~~Victor~~ Ella signed, because it was less painful than hearing it out loud. ~~Technically, he didn't do anything wrong. I... helped him.~~

"You didn't help him, Grey. You submitted to survive. Rape is still rape." His presence hammered at her harder, almost like a series of physical blows now. "Stop saying that."

"Stop doing *that*" Ella shouted, referring to his presence.

"I'm going to kill him, Grey," Victor said quietly, the shimmering cries of the damned on the edges of his voice dripping to the floor like blood. Like Karyn Dallas should have killed him. Dallas was too devoted to life to do that though, too set on saving people. He wasn't devoted to life though, and he would kill. Kill to protect, kill to save, kill to... revenge.

"No, you're not!" Ella yelled. "I didn't put myself through... that so that you could kill him! I went through with it because he was a friend. If I thought he had been in his right mind, *I* would have killed him. Please, Victor! I want him alive."

"Why?"

"Because he's not a monster!" Ella frowned. She should have known that argument wouldn't work with Victor, who thought he was their King or something. ~~If you care anything about me, you'll let it go.~~

"Why?" Victor repeated, his presence still hammering at her, but growing no worse if it wasn't receding.

"Because his life is mine," Ella told him. "It's not up to you to say whether he lives or dies. It's my choice now. And I. Want. Him. Alive."

Victor frowned and shook his head negatively. Why didn't she see, didn't she understand?

~~Please.~~ She implored. ~~I just want to forget about it.~~ Ella moved to hug him, fought her way there against the push of his presence to hold him tightly. ~~Please.~~

"I...." Victor stood there, unresponsive. He had to kill, Geluf, it was what he did, who he was. He had to protect his sheep, to protect Grey. He had to do what Dallas couldn't and make sure that Geluf couldn't hurt anyone again the way he could. He had to be what he was, to let the things inside him out before it battered its way free and he hurt Grey. He had to... go.

Without a word he reached down and pushed Grey away, afraid that even that contact would be too much, that he would explode with the wash of red that took him when he was overwhelmed by his inner self and tear her apart. His hands shook after he'd pushed her away, and there was a roaring in his ears that drowned out everything. Her had to go, to get away from her, to get away from everything and let what was inside him fade before he became what he'd always feared, what his assault on Dallas had proved him right to fear, what Geluf had become - a monster.

Without a word he turned and picked up the first clothes he came to - the black leathers he'd taken off earlier - and walked out of the room, deaf to what Grey was saying.

He had to leave.

"Victor!" Ella was yelling as she pounded on the door. "Victor! Let me out of here!"

He keyed the lock, and then scrambled it so he couldn't open it again if he lost control while he pulled the clothes on. A few minutes later, he walked out of his quarters without looking back before Grey could override his bedroom door's lock.

Ella's hand flew to the comm badge she’d left on the dresser by the door, ready to call for Security. Her hand hesitated, hovering over her badge as she deliberated. Should she call Security? Or maybe someone else to try to talk him out of it. She didn't know.

=/\="Computer, which direction is Lt. Krieghoff headed?"=/\= She asked the computer.

=/\=”Lieutenant Krieghoff is in Turbolift 4, en route to the holosuites.”=/\=

She dropped her hand, stumped. That wasn't in the direction of either the transporters or shuttle bay. Ella backed over to the bed and started popping her knuckles as she tried to figure out what his plan was.

She stopped. Well, if he wasn't headed for the transporter or shuttle bays now, she could make sure he wouldn't change his mind later. She turned back and activated the LCARS panel I the bedroom and hunched over it, fingers moving rapidly.

"Politalk" – Part II

Commander Cassius Henderson, Executive Officer

Commander Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/Second Officer

Lt. Commander James Corgan, Chief of Security

Major Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO/Vanguard One

Lt. Doctor Klaus Feinberg, Chief Medical Officer

Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Intelligence Officer / Lily Squad Leader

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Controller

-----------------
Deck Ten, Forward
USS GALAXY
-----------------

Stars streaked across the windows of Ten Forward as the Galaxy rushed through space at warp speed. A small group of officers was seated next to a broad table, and some of them occupied the stools of the nearby bar. All of them were submerged deep in the conversation.

The Intelligence Lily Squadleader, Saul Bental, shook his head. He just concluded expressing his point of view on current affairs. "And yet, I do hope that eventually, Starfleet will return to the way it were prior to the Dominion war..."

"Were they ever really that way, Saul? I don't think so," the executive officer shook his head. "Just before the Dominion War, there was talk of war with the Klingons. And before that, the cold war with the Cardassians. No, there hasn't been a time of primarily exploration for... a long time."

"Not to mention the fact," Corran started in once again, sipping his own tea, "That a lot of people think we were responsible for starting the Dominion War - by mining the wormhole."

"That's absurd.", Saul Bental muttered.

Corran offered a shrug. "Oh, I agree. But that's out there. People think the damndest things, sometimes. But while the Dominion was busy attacking DS9, Admiral Murdock's fleet slipped behind the lines to take out those Dominion shipyards. I was aboard the Miranda back then, with the Rogues - that was a tough fight, but I'll tell you - the Dominion wasn't surprised to see us that day. Everybody knew it was coming down to a fight. I think that's what we're looking at again."

"If you ask me, The Dominion pushed us to it. They kept pushing on the Federation until a defensive action seemed required, and they used that as an excuse to attack." Klaus didn't like saying that, but he thought it was the truth.

"I wonder what kind of lame excuse would the TRIAD find for waging a war on us.", Saul said with disgust, "Actually, they don't need any. The Dominion war weakened us, the Romulans and the Klingons; That should be enough excuse for these scavangers."

"Well, The T'Kith'Kin have a hatred for machinery - anything technological they view as an abomination. They've probably only allied with the Breen and the Hydrans as a means to an end. The Breen, well they've always been..." the Trill stopped for a moment, trying to search for the right word. "ornery. For the Hydrans... Well,they've been quiet so long, who in the hells knows what their deal is."

"I remember reading history reports about the Hydrans actually be allies of the Federation during James T. Kirk's era." Klaus interjected. "Strange indeed."

"The Hydrans haven't been seen since Operation: Unity, when the galactic powers banded together to take the fight to the Andromedans in 2310. After that, they dissappeared from the galactic stage," Cass said, then continued. He gave away just enough information to sound credible without giving away that he had performed operations in Hydran space. "The thing about the Hydrans, and they've always been this way, is that their monarchal system mandates that they're the strongest race alive, and must rise to dominance. It's classic racial arrogance for the most part."

Saul Bental rolled his eyes, and he said what he imagined Nyoko Yuuri would say about the Hydrans.

"Darned French..."

"...There are other, more complicated reasons, but that's the most basic. I think for all three races that we're seeing in the Triad, it's an alliance of convenience."

"Making them even more dangerous." Rex replied. "Look - I, obviously, am a Trill. I know a thing or two about obsessive needs for paranoia and secrecy. It's never a good idea. Problems dealt with behind the scenes, without the public's influence, never turn out well."

"If you're talking about the battle of Havras, Major - me, too, don't think that the risk of 'Public histerya' is real, and therefor there should be no reason for us to hide the fact the battle took place. Actually, the more Hawkish Admirals and politicians actually have an interest to expose the battle, because it should grant them the public's support in reinforcing our fighting force."

"As for the Hydrans.", Saul continued, "Without giving away details, there's no doubt that SFI hasn't invested too many resources on them in the past decades. There were hotter spots in the Galaxy to spy on."

"It's not a matter of choosing Hawk or Dove anymore, it's about finding a balance. There are always going to be people who disagree with our policies, but really, with so many worlds to protect, is it any wonder we struggle with what to do next? If you ask me, the brass spends too much time on the appearance of diplomacy, while, excuse me, they fail to see the backbiting and wheeling and dealing right under there noses." Just a hint of Karyn's anger over lan'jep shone through. "I may have taken an oath to do no harm, but I don't mind saying that it's time for a little less conversation and a lot more action from our good friends, the Admiralty."

"Forgive my cynicism..." Corgan added after a long pause on his part from the conversation, "But the Admiralty of this generation has only done major decisions. Only a few of these people have seen major combat. Virtually none of them have participated in any horrors of war. They can argue that they've led men into battle, but they themselves for the most part have not fought rifle to rifle, blood to blood against another foe. So their viewpoint will be either 'hawk' or 'dove', without any understanding of what it's really like when they try to implement their 'policies'. Many of the hawks haven't seen what it's like to be an active aggressor, nor has any of the doves experienced what its like to sit on the fence... and see first hand the results. But we have, many of us have been in trenches, or on burning starships. This is the experience they lack, but we have..."

"I guess in short..." James said, "When it's our turn to lead, we will have insight our past generation will not. I think we here in this room understand that we cannot be limited by such political divides such as 'hawk' and 'dove' due to what we see as the mistakes being done today. I think... if we can survive the policies made by our current leadership, we'll be fine. But for now... we're still their instruments. All we can do is bicker about it in a bar."

"Admiral Price knows," replied Karyn quietly but with conviction. "I know what you're saying James, I do. But I'd like to think we're not completely alone in this fight. Lee probably better than anyone knows what it is we're contending with every day, he knows what it means to sacrifice blood and guts for a cause..." Dallas shook her head. "It's so damn frustrating. I refuse to be anyone's puppet. We have free will here, and Lord knows, it's not as if we've never said 'to hell with policy and done what we felt was right at the time. I swear, I have half a mind to return to SFC and start pounding on desks."

"For what it's worth, Karyn, I'd come with you." Klaus said quietly, his mouth not over the rim of his mug.

"I worked so hard to get out of SFC and get a post on a ship, I'm in no personal hurry to get back there.", Saul Bental said, trying to break the tension with a smile.

He looked around; Most of the people next to the broad table and the nearby bar were far more seasoned officers, who served for quite a long period on board the Galaxy. To hear their concerns about the leadership, about the conflict with the Triad, and about the possibility to go against the word of command made him feel slightly uneasy. Then again, Saul Bental wasn't a man of safety belts. When the moment of truth will come, and actions will be required instead of barside bickering, he won't have any hesitation to join the righteous side - in his opinion, of course.

Pretty soon, the conversation died, and one by one the officers left for their duty or quarters. Eventually, only Saul and Miramon remained, as none of them was in any hurry.

"Strange times.", Miramon said quietly into his glass. Saul noticed how quiet his friend was in the last, more subversive part of the conversation.

"Strange times.", He said with agreement. "As usual."

"Back in the Fold"

Mjr. Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO
1Lt. T'Shani a'Akledorian, Furies Detachment CO

== Deck 5: T'Shani's Quarters ==

< After "Why Men are Stupid" >

["Remember T'Shani, if you are apprehended, we will..."]

She waved a blue hand at the shadowy figure on the holomonitor, "I know, I know: 'disavow any knowledge of your operation or whereabouts'. I remember the deal."

["Good, then I'll see you at the Starbase, when the Galaxy arrives. I have an important package for you. You'll recieve more information in a few days. Goodnight."] With that, the holoemitter blinked off, and the lighting in her study returned to its normal level.

Tish took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly through her mouth. ~I'm back in the fold,~ she thought to herself. And that was in more ways than one. The Galaxy, her contact...

* CHIRRUR-RUP *

Tish got up, moving from her small study, to the main room of her new quarters. Command priveledges were nice: she at least got a decent-size room with a nice view.

As she reached the door, she depressed the 'Unlock' key, letting it slide open to reveal...

Major Corran Rex stood at the door of his former pilot's room, his hands concealed behind him, holding a small gift. Extending it front of him, he revealed it to be a bottle of Dom Perignon, Circa 2332. "Since the phrase is to 'Beware Romulans bearing gifts'," he started, "You should have no problem accepting this from a Trill."

Tish arched her left eyebrow *and* antenna, simultaneously. Standing there, she studied her former CO, and the gift he was presenting. Silently, she sighed; she had been meaning to see him tomorrow, but she was genuinely heartened by his appearance.

"Trying to woo me, Lieu- um... *Major*?" she quickly corrected, noting the gold oak leaf on his collar. ~Well, that explain's Jazz's promotion,~ she thought to herself.

"It's a congratulations." the fighter pilot answered.

"I see," she said, turning back into her quarters. "Thank you, Corran. Though, what's the occasion?"

"For your first command." he clarified. "And you're back in the green, which, while I'm sure makes you happy, doesn't look quite right with your skin tone."

She smiled slyly, her antennas bobbing forward in both a show of gratitude and amusement. "True, but the white has never gone with your spots, Corran," she teased back.

"Care to join me in this little 'celebration' that you have brought with you?" she asked as her fingers unwrapped the gold foil wrapper From around the bottle's Spanish cork.

"Oh," he started, "I think I could be convinced."

*POP!*

T'Shani poured the sparkling champagne into two long-stemmed fluted glasses that Corran had retrieved from the replicator.

Corran held one glass, while the Andorian kept the other for herself. Between the two of them, they were in a unique position on this ship. They both commanded attached units - Corran, the Vanguards, T'Shani, the Furies - that were not, strictly speaking, part of the Galaxy's command structure. Their units could be withdrawn from the ship at any time, finding no support other than the personnel under their own commands, if situation warranted it.

"To your first command," he said, raising the glass. "And to being outsiders on a boat full of Fleeters." he finally added with a grin.

T'Shani smiled warmly, remebering how Corran had - when he was *her* Commanding Officer - often lectured on the importance of being 'nice' To the Starfleet officers, or 'Fleeters'. It had been a hard adjustment for her: she had spent all her life in military and Marine training. The Starfleet Corp was just too... aloof.

Tiliting the glass back, Tish felt the champagne bubbles tickle her nose, as the pleasantly complex sweet/tart taste of the fabled Earth vint enthralled her tongue.

She could feel the effects of the alcohol almost immediately, as a result of her Andorian physiology. This was due in most part that, in addition to a normal circulatory system (two hearts, four lungs, and a plethora of arteries and veins), Andorian cellular structures had the unique ability to transpermeate blood throughout the varying tissues, effectively transporting the blood by 'seeping', for lack of a better word.

Although a great survival redundancy (an Andorian never got frostbite or had her legs go to 'sleep' on her), it was hell when alcohol was introduced: it was absorbed almost four times more quickly than a normal Terran, and twice as fast as a Vulcan.

Pausing, she looked at the still half-full glass in her hand, then to Corran (who had a funny look on his face), then back to the glass. She knew what it would do to her, but... ~Aw, Thook it. I don't care, not tonight,~ she thought. She could use a night to get hammered, *Especially* after what Cass had *done* to her.

As if he was sensing her skepticism at his sentiments, Corran smiled. "It's different when you're in charge, Tish. You've got to make sure everyone under you plays nice. Doesn't necessarily mean you have to." he winked.

"Great. Just what I need: playing Den Mother," she said, while misplacing her step as she walked toward the window.

Corran frowned a moment, taking a look at T'Shani's rather obvious balance issues. "T'Shani, are you allright?"

"Sorry, Major," she grinned (which was strange for T'Shani, to say the least), "I haven't had the luxury of the 'real stuff' for some time," she said, before first draining her glass, then pouring another fill for both her and Rex.

Corran had intended this be somewhat of a bonding experience for the two of them - when she'd been under his command, he's been rather hard on the young Andorian. Perhaps unnecessarily so. This was a peace gesture of sorts, as well as a chance for the two of them to just talk.

If she continued to get drunk at this rate, he mused, she was probably going to get extremely talkative. "You might want to sit down," he suggested.

"Please," she haphazardly waved her arm towards the singular sofa in the center of her room, "sit. I apologize: the Q'Master hasn't gotten to this section for furnishings, yet."

"QM's always a little slow with returning officers," Corran chuckled. "I think he considers it an insult - like they should have stayed here in the first place." he said, pouring himself a second glass.

"So, how's the Vanguards, Corran?" she asked, while taking another sip - though smaller, this time - of her champagne. "I heard Jazz's your Exec." She paused, placing a blue hand to her temple as her antennas stretched back in pain... she was already getting a hangover. ~Good thing it's not Romulan Ale,~ she thought absently, remembering the first - and consequently *last* - time she had imbibed *that*, during Hell Week at Basic. Let's just say that the results were... *entertaining*... especially for the male members of her Recruit Company.

"I've still got a few of the people around from when you were one of my pilots, " he said, "But mostly, it's a lot of new kids. Seems like it's always kids, some days." he was starting to get a little light-headed himself, but champagne always seemed to have that effect. Ah well.

Tish took another swig of the funny Pinkskin drink. It was goooood. It made her nose feel warm, and her head swam in a pinkish-blue haze of, of... well, *something*. Corran Rex was actually kinda cute, she decided through the alcoholic haze.

Suddenly, the slight grin/smirk she had been carrying throughout the night flashed to a serious face. "Do you miss me, Corran?"

"Well, now," he smiled. "That's a loaded question, isn't it?" "Jus, shut up an anzer it, Spotty," she said, some of her words starting to slur together. "Do I miss you as a pilot?" he asked. "Of course I do. You're damn good." Absently, she waved her blue hand in his general direction. "Thas not whad I mean, Rex." "Ah. Personally." he said, and thought about it for a moment. "I'd have to say... Yes. As infuriating as you can be, you do make things interesting." "Intereshing? *How* intereshing?" ~Whoa, this is really getting to me...~

Corran chuckled, the champagne definitely causing him to find more humor in the situation that he probably would have normally. But, then again, even normally.. this would have been pretty damn funny. "Extremely interesting." he replied, emphasizing the first word.

Unabashedly, he cast a speculative gaze over the blue-skinned Marine. "I ever tell you..." he started. "That my last host, Vorrin, had a hell of a thing for Andorian women?"

Tish pointed her flute of champagne at Corran while leaning forward, her left antenna starting to lazily sway in small circles. "I could tell. He'sh got sumthin' for blue, huh?" "Oh," Corran chuckled. "The blue helps. The blue.. certainly helps." he said, and looked at her frankly, stretching out a single finger to stroke one of her antennae. "I think it was the antennae that really did it, though."

"Hu-hugh," she gasped, while a small shiver of excitement ran through her body, from the tops of her antennas to the very bowels of her sex. No one had touched her antennas in such a long time, not since Tron.

"Do you know sh-shal troov?" she asked, as another shiver - this time stronger - ran down her spine.

"Oh.." he smiled. "I'm acquainted with it."

Without words, he moved closer to her, and curved his hand, so that thumb and forefinger could stroke opposite sides of the antenna. Ever so slowly - teasingly, almost - he began to run his hand up the stalk, watching to gauge Tish's reactions. "It's quite... relaxing, I'm told."

She moved closer, while carefully setting the champagne down on the floor. "Hmmmmmmm," she hummed as the amazing sensations ran through her antennas. Closing her eyes, she focused all her thoughts (or as many thoughts as her drunken faculties could afford) on Corran's actions. Within her, she could feel the heat rising within her, and the wetness between her legs.

"It... it's been so long, Corran, I...ah, ah...!" she stopped, midsentence as his fingers ran to the peak of her left antenna's hood.

Corran leaned in then, whispering quietly. "That's okay. I think I can.. find my way around the curves." the Trill said, as he began to kiss the nape of her oh-so-alluringly blue neck.

She sighed heavily as his lips brushed that little spot midway down her neck, drawing pinpricks of pleasure as he worked down lower, toward her breastbone. Reaching up, she quickly pulled at the molozipper at the front of her uniform, while laying back on the sofa.

Following their age old purposes, nature - and the alcohol - took their course as the two became more and more.. comfortable on the sofa.

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

The next morning, Corran awoke, mildly surprised at the realization that he didn't remember them making it to the bed. Then, of course, the buzzing headache at the back of his skull reminded him why he didn't generally drink champagne.

He began to lift his arm to stretch, and then looked down at the tousle of white hair atop a blue head that was preventing his left arm from doing so. He realized then, exactly who he'd spent such an entertaining evening with. "Hunh." he said aloud.

That hadn't been expected, of course. For once in recent memory, Corran Rex had gone to visit a female without something like this on his mind. But then, admiring T'Shani's only partially-covered form, he smiled a small smile at nothing in particular.

They'd certainly gotten to know each other better now...

"Sorry I Was a Bitch"

Cdr. Cassius Henderson
Executive Officer

1Lt. T'Shani a'Akledorian
Furies CO

== Deck 2: Cass's Office ==

< The morning after "Back in the Fold" >

Cass Henderson scratched at his brow for a moment, annoyed by the sudden itching at his hairline. He sat in his office, alone for the moment, taking a break from what would probably be a stressful day. They were scheduled to arrive at SB 212 in three hours. Thankfully, he had just put the finishing touches on his crew evalutation report for Captain M'Kantu, leaving him with three hours to himself, a rarity given his job.

He decided to start by daydreaming, if only for a while. His thoughts turned to his private life, a much neglected topic. As her rolled the ideas around in his mind, he found that the period of neglect had left him with quite a few topics.

Of course, there was Rima. After so long, he hadn't wanted to admit his feelings for a woman that he considered to be at least mildly out of mind. Even though they had recently grown closer, it seemed like their relationship was rapidly settling back into its old patterns.

An then there was Janx. Lieutenant Commander Ekoma Janx, Head Tactical Analyst. She'd only come onboard a few months previously, joining them just before they'd passed through Dreshayan space. Since then, they had talked on several occassions for long periods of time, and had come to find that they had a lot in common. She'd been given a bridge shift recently, which Cass had supervised as part of her bridge certification exams.

She had passed with flying colors of course, but what was more interesting, to him at least (He suspected that Starfleet Command probably only cared about her test results) was that he'd caught her 'making eyes' at him on a couple of occassions. He wasn't sure what to think.

Rounding out his current issues was the 'new' Marine CO. He'd obviously done something to hurt T'Shani a'Akledorian, but he wasn't sure what it could have been. Sure, he had been short with her that night in his quarters, but proportionally, her anger over the incident told him that there was something more going on. That would need to change.

------------
Elsewhere...
------------

T'Shani a'Akledorian was having an... interesting morning. When she had woken up next to Corran Rex (of all people!), she had found much trouble in remembering what had happened the night before. Of course, being that neither she nor Rex had had any clothes on underneath the covers, as well as the empty bottle of Dom Perignon laying on the floor... she had a pretty good idea of what *did* happen.

~No wonder I'm sore,~ she thought as she stiffly walked down the halls of the Galaxy.

Between the headache that still lingered from either the alcohol or the sex (she wasn't sure which, but was willing to bet on both), and her confusion over what had happened, she wasn't looking forward to the day. *That*, and the fact that she was supposed to meet her contact at Starbase 212, a few days out.

As she entered a turbolift and called out her destination, she briefly thought of what she was going to say. She knew that she *was* sorry for the way she acted two nights ago, but still didn't feel that it was *her* place to apologize. Really, why couldn't Cass have been a little more understanding? Standing in front of the door to his office, she depressed the 'Call' button.

Cass blinked and wondered who it could be. Pausing his game of Strategema, he opened the monitor on his desk and turned on the hidden camera above his door.

"T'Shani," he whispered under his breath, at the same time unsurprised and caught off guard. He knew she'd be coming, but he hadn't been expecting it this soon. She'd been very upset, and he had expected at least another week.

Perhaps something had happened to change her mind. He pressed the speaker button on his desk. "Come on in, I'm not busy."

"Rhooz," she swore softly under her breath. Cass must have a concealed scanner embedded in his doorframe. It made sense, though: being a spook. She had secretly been hoping to surprise him; to catch him off guard.

She had no idea what to say to him as the door swished open. Somehow, her mind forced her voice to act: "Sorry I was a bitch, Cass," she said simply.

Now that was unusual. Something really had to have happened. "It's okay, really," he replied, "I was very sharp with you that night. Rima woke me up because she couldn't sleep. And then, sure enough, I couldn't sleep."

Tish let out a breath of frustrated air as she pulled out the seat from the desk, opposite Cass. She *wanted* to still feel mad at him, but really couldn't, especially not after what she *thought* she had done last night. "So, how is your little runaway?" she asked while trying to stall while she thought up a suitable apology.

"I'm never rightly sure. She's fire and ice, you know?" he shrugged, moving the Strategema board over onto a nearby counter, careful not to displace the pieces. Cass sighed, "I think we're probably settling into our old relationship, instead of moving forward. But how about you? How do you like the new command?"

"It's okay," she said simply, deciding she had apologized enough for now.

"'Okay'? Well, I guess compared to *other* work that you've done for the SFMC, it's got to seem like something of a vacation. Of course, I doubt you're really done with those 'other' assignments," Cass said with a confident smile.

Tish fumed quietly inside. ~Why are you so dense!~ she wanted to yell at him. He just didn't *get* it! Well, most men didn't, but Tish was hoping that maybe he'd take a 'hint'. He was just always too wrapped up in his damned intel world.

"I am done, Cassius," she whispered quietly. She had meant to tell him the night she retrieved her chaka. But, well... that hadn't gone as planned. Not with Rima there.

He inclined his head slightly to the left, surprised. "That's interesting. So what made you decide to get out? And I suppose you're being watched, right?" he asked. As interested as he truly was to have her back, this was something that could be important to the ship as a whole. One did not simply retire from SFI, or even SFMCI, especially not her branch. There were always memory wipes or watchers. Usually the first.

"I didn't 'decide' on it, Cass," a steel tone entered her voice. "And I am being watched, but not by who you'd think."

"And I take it that your new watchers are the reason that your old employers aren't watching you. How do you manage to get caught up in these things?" he asked... the shrugged. There were some questions that didn't need to be answered. He knew how she got mixed up them. The same way he did. So he changed the subject. "Do you remember how we met?"

She wanted to tell him everything. At least, everything she could remember. About the dreams that came to her at night, of the man with the strange eyes, and the old man with the glasses, and the strange 'Gray Man'. They would come to her, and say strange things, and...

She shook her head slightly, antennas flexing reactively as she cleared the images from her mind. She forced herself to answer Cass's question. "Yes. In the gymnasium. You were trying to tell me that I was lifting too much. Why?"

"No particular reason," he shrugged. "It just crossed my mind. I've been very distracted these last few weeks. I'm not sure what it is... But, that's not really important. I have a question. When we were in my quarters the other night, and I was harsh to you, you overreacted explosively. I know you're Andorian and all, but I know you fairly well, I think. Is there something more going on?"

~I'm in love with you.~ Of course, she didn't say it, but her heart wanted her to say it. How *could* she say it? He was supposedly happy with Pennington, though there was rumor about him and that new Trill bridge officer. ~Ohhhh, Trill...~ she groaned inwardly, remembering what she had woken to this morning.

"I...I can't discuss it, Cass. I can only say that I *did* overreact, and that I apologize. I...I just hadn't been expecting Pennington there." She paused before changing tack. "Cass, I have a feeling that something... Big... is going to happen, and soon. I don't think this 'milk run', as Captain M'Kantu has called our next mission, will be just that. I don't have to tell you about the Hydrans."

On the edge of her chair, she pressed the palms of her hands down on Cass's polished desk, eyes flaring and antennas pointing straight ahead. "Do you want to know *why* Tanner was forced to 'release' me?"

"I'd be lying if I told you no," he replied.

She leaned back while crossing her arms over her chest. "Deep Shadow, Cass. Guess who's got it now."

"My first guess would be the Hydran Sovereignty," he rubbed his tired eyes. "I could only distract N'Fth'Nor's cruiser for so long and still manage to come back for you."

She nodded, her antennas accentuating the gesture. "Right. And guess who's team took the fall?"

"Ah, that makes sense now," he nodded, then he too leaned back. He needed some distance for this one. "Did I ever tell you how I left SFI the first time?"

She was taken slightly off-guard by the abrupt subject change. Was there something he knew about it, maybe from intel? Now that she was no longer on the project, she wasn't privy to what was currently going on. Deciding to press him later for it, she decided to go along with his line of questioning. "No, you didn't."

"The only part of my personnel record pre-2376 that isn't an outright fabrication is my service at Dalson Center. Doctor Aleksander Leontiev was doing neuro-genetic research that Starfleet Intelligence was interested in," he explained, trying to offer a similar situation to her own. "Unfortunately, so did the Breen. They hit the garrison, which I was sharing command of with another agent."

"He dropped the ball, the Breen breached the installation. I happened to be the only to survive, so I took the fall," he shrugged, "It's not the end, though before getting my SFI commission back, it was frustrating always catching the watchers they sent."

She smirked, her left antenna stretching over her forehead. "It's not the watchers I'm worried about, Cass. It's the..." she paused, wondering how she'd term *them*, "it's the messenger." Suddenly, she stood up, becoming very self-conscious of what she was discussing.

"I've got to go, Cass," she moved to the door. "Call me sometime, or better yet, stop by."

"I'll be sure to," he replied as she headed out. Thought their encounter had left him with more questions than he'd started with, he took it in stride. That was how their conversations tended to be. "Take care of yourself, T'Shani."

She stopped in the doorway and turned to look over her shoulder, a sadness flashing across her eyes for the briefest of moments. "I always have, Cassius. I always have."

The doors closed shut.

"You worry me," he said, essentially to the door. Cass knew that he wasn't good at explaining feelings and was usually too wrapped up in his work. But it was true. He cared about the Andorian woman, no matter how much she vexed him.

And she did often worry him.

"Getting to Know You, Part I"

2Lt. Branwen London
Furies XO and Chief Psychologist

MrSgt. Yan-Se'Mano Ka'me'VaSju (NPC, M. Miller)
Furies Chief Signals Officer

With...

SSgt. Matthew St. Valentine
Furies Aide de Campe

== Deck 4: Branwen's Office ==

Branwen stood there with her boxes. It was the second move within a few months time. Before, her office had been in the counselling section. Not that she had much to do there. Patients were not plentiful, in fact she had mainly seen Naval patients.

She got some of the paintings out, scenes from home. Taking a deep breath, she started to find new places for them.

Then her intercom beeped.

"Yes?" Branwen said.

The crisp voice of Matt Valentine sounded over the intercom. ["Master Sergeant Yan-Se'Mano is here for her appointment, Ma'am."] "Thank you. Send her in."

Branwen did not know if Valentine would also be working for her. And somehow, she was a little bit shy about asking.

Almost immediately, the doors to London's office sighed open, revealing a very tall, very bald, and very exotic, beautiful Deltan woman. Gracefully - as if she were hovering into the room on antigrav boots - Yan-Se'Mano moved opposite the Lieutenant.

"Chief Signal Officer Yan-Se'Mano, reporting as ordered, Lieutenant," she said in calm alien-inflected tones. As a mature Deltan, her second voice (a clear one-third octave higher than her natural voice) resonated with a higher inflection of both interest and nervousness.

Branwen swallowed. Of course she had read that this NCO was Deltan. Yet she was not prepared for her own reaction. The Master Sergeant was properly bonded and shielded. And yet, this tall, sophisticated woman had a presence about her Branwen could not describe. If the Master Sergeant had been male it would have been easy, then she would have felt attraction.

"Master Sergeant, please have a seat." London very much tried to concentrate.

"Lieutenant - Branwen, if I may? - you may call me Yan-Se, if you prefer, or we can keep to rank, if you like. I prefer knowing my commanding officers more personally, if you don't mind," she said, while seating herself in a nearby chair. Her long, slender legs stretched out before her.

Branwen was taken a little bit aback, she was not used to Marines calling superior officers by their first name before asking first. Amongst therapists it was usual. So she didn't really know what to do. Was it a lack of respect? So she decided to be direct.

"Yan-Se, I to would like to know my people better. First I would like to ask you why you called me by my first name, and why you took the initiative. It's not common amongst Marines to be casual towards officers." She looked the Deltan straight in the eye and tried to ignore the strange sensations in her stomach.

~Ah, to be young again,~ Yan-Se thought to herself. She rememebered when nearly, ~No... it couldn't be? Seventy-five years ago?~

She had been a Greenhorn Corporal given her first fire team to command. She could see alot of that *youth* in the Lieutenant: trying to assert authority, but not quite sure of how to go about it.

Shifting her submissive voice to neutral, while adjusting her dominant voice for clarity, she held Branwen's eye. "Lieutenant London," she said clearly, "I had no intentions of disrespect. You have not dealt much with a Del'taan before, have you?" She was careful to not sound condescending. The Lieutenant reminded Yan-Se of her youngest daughter, I'li'No, in many ways.

"No, I haven't." She shifted uncomfortably. She was a long way from home for a girl who grew up hating everybody who was not Welsh. "I read about your species." She could not help but blush deeply.

Her submissive voice shifted again, surpassing her dominant chords. "I understand, Lieutenant. Sometimes in my old age, I must admit that I forget all the proper rules and procedures. I think it wiser to build rapport, than rote response, don't you?"

"I do. And as a therapist I am used to it. Yet as a Marine... " she let that trail. "May I ask how old you are? You don't look that old."

Yan-Se laughed, slightly, the odd two-chord sounding like an old earth windchime caught in the breeze. "I'm asked that all the time, Lieutenant. And, I don't mind. I am, in your earth-years, one-hundred and eight."

"Wow," Branwen said. She thought for a little while, then seemed to make a decision. "Can we speak off the record?"

Yan-Se supressed a bemused smile. The decision to speak 'off the record' was clearly the Lieutenant's to make. Though, the Deltan woman could sense very clearly that there was something more personal... that the Terran wanted to discuss. "Of course, Branwen," she smiled pleasantly, her crystal blue eyes seeming to peirce London's mind and soul.

"My commanding officer seems pretty tough, and she made it very clear that I am on probation. I never expected to be Executive Officer, I have just come out of the academy. I thought I would be focusing on my counselling duties.

"To be honest, I don't really know what to do. I know I shouldn't be telling you this, yet I really need a mentor badly," Branwen looked at her with puppy eyes.

Yan-Se smiled comfortingly to the young woman opposite her. She could swear that this young Terran was, in some ways, a reflection of her younger self. Scared, yet assured. Confident, yet self-doubting. And there was something else... something Yan-Se could sense, a... ~Sadness, a loss of innocence...~ she thought to herself, studying the girl before her.

Branwen noticed the protracted pause from Yan-Se and she shifted uneasily in her seat.

Leaning forward, the Master Sergeant lowered both of her voices to a soft, reassuring tone. "Branwen, let me tell you two things: I - as anyone else - can only advise, if you so wish it," she leaned back before continuing.

"Though, what you will become is what you already *are*, as I have found out through my own... trials. You need no mentoring for that. Only trial, to temper you. I cannot help you with that," she said in finality.

Branwen lowered her head a little bit. She was disappointed, it was not easy for her to ask for help. And even more difficult to be turned down. She wanted to do well, and yet she really had no clue how to do it.

Yan-Se could sense that the Lieutenant was a little crestfallen at her reply, and she could see why. To Branwen, it seemed as a refusal - polite and diplomatic as it was - but in actuality, it wasn't.

"Though," she said gently, her softer voice rising in assurance, "would be priviledged to consider you my friend, in addition to my Executive Officer, if you wish it."

"We are told at the academy not to fraternise with the troops," she mumbled. "I am sorry for asking, and hope I have not offended you, Master Sergeant."

Yan-Se uncrossed her legs and leaned forward again. "Lieutenant, I have two things to say. First, by 'fraternize', I believe the ethics council mean that you are not to involve in inappropriate romantic or sexual relationships with those in your chain command. I am not offering this, as - though I find you attractive - you would not survive any such encounters with me, or any other Del'taan," Yan-Se said, matter-of-factly. As a Deltan, speaking about sex was like speaking of the weather. Unlike humans, she had no hang-ups on the issue.

"As such, a normal friendship based on personal commonalities can be appropriate," she continued.

"Of course I was not suggesting that you would." Branwen blushed very deeply. "We are both women!"

The Deltan chuckled to herself while commenting, "My culture does not recognize such boundaries, Lieutenant."

"Well mine certainly does." Again she blushed. "So you don't need to worry about that."

Yan-Se paused again, studying the Lieutenant with her eyes. Lowering her dominant voice, she again spoke, "Second, if I may say: Though Lieutenant a'Akledorian may seem cold and withdrawn, she is quite the opposite. I served with her during her first tour, several years ago. She is a masterful fighter and strategist."

"She is so experienced. And she expects so much from me. And she also made clear that she will not tolerate any mistakes from me or she will replace me." Bran did sound a little desperate.

"Some experience, yes. But also young. At least, from my perspective. T'Shani's inner light is still hidden, even from her. As long as you don't threaten her, and you work well, she will allow you more trust and freedoms in your command."

"I just wish I knew exactly what she expects from me."

Again, Yan-Se smiled gently. "Ask her," she said simply.

"I will. So are you my highest NCO?"

Yan-Se nodded. "Yes, I am, for the Marines. Flight Sergeant Shavraa is the seniormost NCO for the Starfighter attachment," she said while shifting her vocal tones to a more professional, business level.

"Good. The first few days I would like to go through the day-to-day running with you. Until I get the routine myself. And inside this office first names are okay." She smiled.

"Good, Branwen. I would be more than happy to help you learn the administrative interactions between the Signals department. If I may suggest, it may be wise to call a small meeting of the other department heads that report to you, for introduction."

"Thank you. Yes I will do that as soon as possible." Branwen made notes.

Yan-Se stood up, and shook Branwen's extended hand. As their hands connected, the Deltan instantly could sense the younger woman's feelings... feelings of uncertainty, attraction, confusion, and embarrassment.

The young marine Lieutenant tried not to look embarrassed. She gave the other woman a brave smile. "It was good talking to you."

Yan-Se'Mano Ka'me'VaSju stopped in the doorway, turning back to Branwen. "Branwen," she said softly, "what you are feeling... it is natural, for you. You should not be afraid of it, or ashamed. If you need any help, I offer it to you. Good day, Lieutenant London," she said before the doors slid shut.

She left her Lieutenant speechless.

"Prelude to Galaxy."

By Ensign G'Bat'ea, Tactical Officer

----------
Starbase 212,
Docking Bay Area
----------

The heavy-set Nausicaan drew more than a few strange looks as he sat in the docking bay lounge of Starbase 212. Despite how diverse the culture of the Federation and Starfleet became there were always those who had not seen humanoids of quite that statue before. Which, of course, meant there were a load of people who were immediately intimidated by the sight of his size, not to mention his half-reptile/half-insectoid facial features. Which suited him at the moment, it ensured some peace as he read the data that had been downloaded onto his PADD on his arrival aboard the station.

His posting as a tactical officer aboard the U.S.S. Galaxy had come as a welcome suprise. It was a prestigious starship, and even a junior officer was bound to find himself of use. Being back at a tactical console, too, would be a refreshing change - there was only so many internal security patrols an officer could do before he began to get profoundly bored. He had expected a security posting to a smaller starship, but obviously his recent 'good behaviour' had been noted by Captain Iri on his departure from the Sutherland.

G'Bat'ea had been given the full details of his assignment along with starship specifications, deck listings, basic crew details and current status of the U.S.S. Galaxy. It appeared the vessel had been much more heavily refitted than was standard for a vessel of her age. Not that he was complaining, it would give him plenty of new tactical data and scenarios to study. It might even mean the Galaxy would see a bit more action than standard, and give G'Bat'ea's skills a much needed airing out.

His immediate superior was a Lieutenant (jg) with a lot of outside experience but not long a member of Starfleet - Not too unlike himself, he supposed. He was an Auban - a species that G'Bat'ea was not familiar with, which was unsuprising considering that nearly every day he heard of a species that was a Federation member which he had never encoutered. Starfleet must have been a Xenologist's dream, but for someone like G'Bat'ea who preferred a stable and predictable environment to work in (both from a security and Nausicaan point of view), it could be a little tiresome from time to time.

Unusually the Assistant Chief of Tactical outranked their chief - a Lieutenant Commander with a bit more experience in the fleet. He was of the race at the core of Starfleet - a Terran. G'Bat'ea had grown almost fond of Terran's - they had the same primal urges deep down as Nausicaans, but were much better at controlling them. Compassion and love often threw in complications that until recently were unheard of in Nausicaan culture, but once one found out what particular Terran's were passionate about their behaviour usually became quite predictable - although not as predicatable as the logical Vulcan race.

The other bridge officer of the department was also a Terran. An Ensign that had a reprimand and demotion on file - seemed like a familiar story. Perhaps they would have a little in common to ease their working relationship. Perhaps not.

Both the Commanding officer and Executive officer were also Terran with plenty of experience, as would be expected for the command crew of a ship such as the Galaxy. There was little doubt of their ability and integrity - hopefully neither was as tainted by the recent war as many commanders had become.

Eyeing over the duty roster he had yet to be assigned a duty shift, a task he assumed would be completed after his report-in discussion with his departmental head. After all, these days many command staff preferred to find out the strengths and preferences of new officers before assigning them to duties, lest they be put in a situation they dislike or are unable to fully cope with. He hoped he might get a shift on the bridge, even once a week and perhaps secondary shifts the rest of the time would even be acceptable. Of course he would accept the duties he was assigned, but he believe his experience would be best utilised in a fore-front position. But the choice, he knew, would be his chief's and possibly the XO's.

The chronometer sat before him, high on the bulkhead. So, all that remained was the few hours wait until the Galaxy was due to arrive at the Starbase, and then his new assignment would commence. That gave him a bit of time to switch his PADD back to the analysis of Wolf 359 by Zakdorn Captain Harmati - perhaps this time he would finally finish the paper.

"Daily Downtime"

Commander Cassius Henderson
Major Corran Rex

As he so often did, Corran elected not to go straight to his quarters after the end of Alpha shift. Instead, he headed for the ship's gymnasium. Or, more specifically, the small one-on-one basketball court located in one of the many private exercise areas just off the main gym. One of his hosts, Baledra, had first learned to play the game when she'd attended Starfleet Academy a century ago. Vorrin had actually invested part of his "earnings" in partial ownership of a team on Earth. Corran, though? He just liked to play. He was tossing shots from the free throw line when he heard the door open. A quick glance confirmed it was the ship's Executive Officer, Cass Henderson. The privacy of the one on one court made it a good place to talk, and both's fondness for basketball had lead to many an afternoon spent playing one-on-one. "Wondered if you were coming today." he said, passing the ball to the human. "Yeah. It's been complicated, given that we only have a day more hours before we arrive at Starbase 212," Cass replied, shooting from where he stood, and watching the ball circle and finally sink before closing and securing the door to court. "How long we hanging around for?" Corran asked, catching the rebound, and bouncing it up. He missed this time, the ball teetering off the edge of the rim.

Cass shrugged, "I've got plenty of time today. In fact, I have plenty of time until we arrive at the starbase. Most of my appointments are taken care of until Admiral Proctor comes aboard." Well, that wasn't entirely true. He did still have the dozen Starfleet Intelligence agents that he was handler for, but they took very little time to coordinate, just a spare few hours.

"You Fleet types." Corran chuckled, lining up for another shot. "So damn literal. I meant, "How long are we staying at 212 for?" "

"Oh that?" Cass laughed, heading out onto the court to join Corran. "As short a time as we can manage to keep it to. I'm not all that interested in this milk run taking any longer than it has to. There's got to be something more important for us to do than play transport vessel for pampered, spoiled brat of an admiral."

"Yeah," the Trill replied. "Yeah, I get that. 'Course, most Admiral's are spoiled anyway. But if you think you're going to be bored, imagine how my Vanguards feel? They know this means lots of simulator time for them. I'll be lucky if they don't mutiny on me." he chuckled.

"Yeah, I'll bet. I'll see what I can do to get them some real stick time. Maybe we can detour to investigate some comet or something," Cass offered, picking up the ball and passing it to the Trill pilot. "I'm sure I can run interference for a couple hours while your kids work out their frustrations. How's Anna Lewis shaping up? I remember you mentioning that you were a little concerned about her."

"Kid's good." Rex said, catching the pass, and bouncing it off for a quick shot. They saved the real competition for after their conversations, usually. "Raw, but nothing but time and experience to take that off.'

A strange expression passed over the Trill's face then. "So I had something of an odd night last night." he confessed to his friend.

"Oh really?" Cass replied, snagging the rebound and trying for a lay-up, which bounced harmlessly away. He was better from a distance. "After all the years of experiences that Rex has, you had a strange one?"

"Well, strange is relative." the Trill said, thinking about some of the things that could truly be considered strange. Temporal paradoxes, spatial phenomena, Tellarite mating rituals - now those were generally pretty odd. "Let's say.. unexpected."

"Ah. Now that makes sense. Care to share, or are you just going to be cryptic with me?" he asked, curious. The truth was often stranger than fiction, he'd found.

"I went to congratulate Tish on getting command of the Furies, and ended up sleeping with her." Rex said frankly, catching his own rebound and then tossing the ball Cass' way.

Cass, however, was a little bit distracted by that revelation, and the ball smacked him square in the chest. Fumbling for it, he finally managed to field the ball before it hit the ground. Pausing to catch his breath, he managed a reply. "That ah... explains a few things."

It was Corran's turn to be surprised then, even after he suppressed his laughter at Henderson's clumsy miss. "How's that?'

"I was expecting her to be cross with me for a lot longer," he replied. "I've been reasonably sure that she has something of a thing for me for a while. I think it became obvious when she kissed me before disappearing off the ship that last time. So I managed to piss her off when she got back. So this morning she came to me and apologized, something I've never known her to do. I guess she was feeling guilty."

"Wait, what?" Corran said, stopping in his tracks. "But she didn't say - "

The Trill managed to actually look a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry, Cass. I didn't know that the two of you were involved."

"Nothing to apologize for. We're not. I haven't exactly reciprocated her feelings... or acknowledged that I knew about them," he replied, frowning down at and then passing the offending ball back to Corran. "Honestly, she'd be a little too much stress for me to handle. Andorians, even ones less... energetic than her are still very aggressive lovers. And my love life is complicated as it is."

"Yes, yes they are." Corran replied, which drew a flat, momentary glare from Cass, and the Trill had to chuckle. "Sorry."

"Still," he continued, moving back to the free-throw line. "What's complicated about your love life? Except it's absence?"

Cass laughed, "At least I can keep it in my pants, Corran. No, Rima and I are still working things out... though I'm beginning to feel like it's time to search greener pastures. At least for a while. Rima really hasn't made her peace with her feelings for me, which she's admitted on a couple of occasions, and we're starting to settle into our old relationship, which was pretty antagonistic. I think she probably still feels like a relationship is too much work."

"Hey, I keep my pants exactly where I want them." Corran fired back. "And if you spend all your time around you waiting for the women in your life to make the decisions, you're going to be waiting a long time."

"You have to take initiative. If you want a real relationship - and I'm not talking about the kind of thing I usually have with women - then you've got to pursue them. Make them feel wanted. That's true of the female sex, no matter what her species is."

"You've got yourself a point, Corran," Cass nodded, "I suppose I really haven't put as much into it as I need too. I've been exceptionally busy lately, but that's no excuse. Speaking of which, whatever happened to you and Tara Reynolds?"

"Old, old news." he said, accepting the pass back and lining up for another shot. "She got command of the Concorde, my T'Rex's went into remission.. either of those things, they change a person."

He was thoughtful for a moment before making his shot. "And we had good times - really good times. But we weren't ever gonna get married, grow old together, have kids. I've been married nine lives out of twelve - including this one. I've fathered - or mothered - nineteen children in five centuries." The Trill thought momentarily of his previous host. "That I know of at least."

"Vorrin does rather skew the count, doesn't he," Cass nodded, thinking back to previous relationships of his own. "Yeah, I can imagine that lends a different perspective to your life. So, planning on just chasing skirts for a while?"

"It fills the time." he shrugged. "And the chase is always, always fun."

"Yet again, you've got a point. Though last time I really managed to do that was on the Havoc. It's been a while," he laughed. "So how did you wind up sleeping with T'Shani. I thought you and she didn't really get along too well."

"Yeah, that's the thing."

"The thing?" Cass cocked his head. "I'm not really following, man."

"Well," Corran sighed. "Her last tour, when she was under my command, we didn't. But I brought her a bottle of Dom Perignon last night as a peace overture, and one thing led to another.."

Cass had to laugh. "Yeah, alcohol will do that. So... she any good, or cant' your recall?" he asked idly, retrieving the ball. These sessions on the court were definitely the best way for him to unwind right now.

"Commander!" Rex chuckled, putting on a look of mock astonishment. "A gentleman never tells."

"Good man," he passed the ball back, amused.

"See?" he asked. "I do have some morals, after all."

That just got him an incredulous look, to which the Trill muttered indignantly. "I said *some*."

"I never claimed otherwise," Cass laughed, and passed the ball.

"Retrospective"

1Lt. T'Shani a'Akledorian
Furies CO

== Deck 4: T'Shani's Office ==

T'Shani leaned back in her chair, not able to focus on the many reports and requests and forms and procedures and... *stuff* on her desk.

This had been a restless day. She had interviewed several of the officers and senior NCOs of the detachment, filled rosters, drew up practice drills, even reviewed maintainance logs... *anything* to occupy her mind; anything to keep her from dwelling on what had happened the night before.

Of course, she didn't remember alot of it. She did remember getting drunk rather quickly, then Corran said something, touched her antennas, and... and...

~What?~

She couldn't really remember. She knew they must have had sex with him(the soreness between her legs attested to that fact, of itself), but she couldn't really recall *how* they had gone about it. The only thing she could remember was waking up next to a sleeping Corran Rex, in *her* bed.

Understandably, she had been surprised. She had quickly thrown the covers off and scrambled for the shower, trying to make sense of the reality she was now faced with, hoping that the hot water would just simply melt it all away.

~How could I sleep with *Corran*?!~ her mind now asked frantically. More deeply, though, she wondered, ~How could he sleep with *me*.~

Sitting back in her chair, she pondered the situation. It had been a long time since she had fostered a romantic relationship with anyone else before. And even then, she hadn't trusted him enough to let him go 'all the way' with her.

No, it hadn't been until she had met Commander - Cass - Henderson a year and a half ago, on this very ship, that those yearnings and desires had began to spark again within her.

At first, she hadn't wanted to admit it, for two main reasons. First he was a Pinksin. How in the great universe could she have feelings for a human? Second, he was *annoying*; always Mister "Gosh-it'll-be-better-tomorrow" attitude. It pissed her off! She knew better than anyone that life didn't give one goddamned iota about being 'better' or 'happier' on the magical 'tomorrow'. No, it sucked, and you just had to pick out whatever you could from it.

But then Rel'kessan came, and he had saved her life. She remembered how he released the cuffs from her wrists and ankles and carried her to safety in his strong arms. He *could* have left her. No, he *should* have left her. He was under explicit instructions to get the USS Hellfire back into Starfleet control. But he risked his life, his career, everything to come back to get her. That's when she saw the *real* Cassius Henderson, and had fallen in love with that man.

~Then...~ her mind groaned, remembering how quickly things had unraveled from there...

Cassius returned to the Galaxy, while she stayed behind at Starbase 51 for 'debriefing'. "Solitary confinement" was a better term. For six weeks, she was interrogated, mind-probed, and questioned about the 'failed' operation against the Romulans. Initially, SFI blamed her for the mishap. It was only during the invasive mind probe that they learned the truth: Korman Blackar wasn't dead, afterall.

Satisfied, they had let her go, warning her that her days in SpecOps were numbered. She had told them to "fuck off", or something like that. Markay'd'in had understood, though. He always had. He had told her that she would probably get another chance, a chance to prove herself. She told him that she was looking forward to that chance.

~What a mistake *that* was,~ Tish thought to herself as one of the commpanels illuminated. Swiftly, she touched it, let the computer scan her retina and cross-match her DNA, then shunted the datastream to a secured sector of computer memory that her operative had set up for her sole access. She'd read it later, when she was less likely to get caught.

Again, she turned to the stars, noticing that the subspace "Cochrane Effect" light distortion was growing longer, slower. They must be dropping to a lower warp factor, which meant that Starbase 212 wasn't too far off, along with her new contact.

Slipping back into her memories, she flipped the pages to where she had left off... ah, yes. Right there. Accepting another chance for grace. What a mistake that had been.

No sooner had she got *back* on board the Galaxy, Colonel Markay'd'in called her back, informing her of her chance. She could still remember that conversation clearly:

* "Tinis, you may not make it back alive. Not that deep into thier space. And if we lose contact with you, we can't come get you."

* "I understand, Alindal. Are you sure about this, this... what did you call it?"

* " 'Omega Stone', Tish."

And so, foolishly, she had accepted the assignment, but not without returning to the Galaxy, one last time. This time, she was only a visitor, and she had left her most prized possession (and consequently, the only one that mattered at all to her) - her chaka - with the man she loved most, Cassius. She had *tried* to tell him how she felt for him, but couldn't bring herself to it.

~What would he think?~

~What would he say?~

She didn't know, and couldn't force him to feel something that he either didn't, or wouldn't.

But *she* did.

That night, alone with him in his quarters, she wanted to tell him everything... but she chickened out. Instead, she asked him to keep the blade for her, assured him that the "transferrance ritual" was not binding upon him, and left him with a kiss on the cheek.

Then, he went to save Pennington, and she hopped a ride to Bajor, and the rest was, well... Classified.

But the mission had gone horribly wrong. It was a trap, from the beginning, and thier mistake led the Hydrans right to the Goose's Golden Egg, allowing N'Fth'Nor's fleet to intersect both the Galaxy and the Miranda. Because of her team's mistake, both ships were nearly destroyed, yet no one knew about it. It had been the blackest of Black Ops.

She had spent the next several months in hiding, knowing that if anyone found her, she was dead. Remembering her early survival training, she 'hid in plain sight', renting a small beach house on an island off the African coast, planning her next move.

Then, the man with the strange eyes had appeared, sitting on her porch one afternoon. He told her that she had to come to San Francisco at once, that he had an offer for her. Intrigued, she followed him.

~Dan- Das-~ she couldn't remember his name. She *could* remember sitting on a park bench, on the Presidio, late at night, and Strange Eyes telling her that she would be contacted again, when the time was right, whatever that meant.

Then she woke up in her cabana.

The rest was a blur...Al'indal showed up, and told her that her SFMC billet was being reinstated, but not under Tanner's command anymore. Instead, she was to return to the Galaxy, to become the CO of the Furies.

Which brought her to her current predicament.

No sooner had she gotten *back* on board, but her feelings for Cassius were renewed, her flame between Corran stoked, and the ghost of her failures return to haunt her again.

~Will I ever escape?~ she asked herself, leaning far back into the chair.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a soft beeping sound, her next appointment was here.

"Wolves, Sleazes and Hunks, Oh My"

8-Ball

with a bunch of NPCs (written by Lori C.)

**

Corridors of the USS Galaxy

Timber scratched at the carpet in an instinct to cover up his previous bowel movement. He knew his master would be upset, but his exploring had just started and he couldn't wait!

In hopes to make master think someone else did it, he trotted through the halls past surprised officers and paused at a corner and sat and licked his paw trying to look cute in case someone found him out.

8-ball, thinking about pretty much everything other than wolves walking around aimlessly on starships, moved through the corridor towards the holodeck. It had been awhile since she had hung out at the recreation of Big Man's bar and she missed the smoky atmosphere and the crowd of people that didn't believe in peace at all times, or even most times. Besides, her hands had been literally twitching to play pool, and she was beginning to think she was getting out of practice.

With her mind on pool and beer and boys, 8-ball turned the corner and stopped very abruptly. There was a wolf sitting there. In the corridor. By itself. Staring at her. And though the wolf might have looked cute to somebody with any idea that starships occasionally came with wolves, 8-ball was more than a little surprised to see it sitting there. Cute was not her first reaction.

This was her first reaction:

"AHHHHHHH!!!!" 8-ball screamed and ran away.

Timber tilted his head and stood. He trotted after the lady in case she was in danger.

8-b