"How to Recruit an Agent in 7 Simple Steps – Part VI, Sugar Daddy"

Principle Characters :

Ensign Nyoko Yuuri
Intelligence Officer / Lily Squad

Lieutenant Chun Lin
Junior member of Admiral Proctor's staff

Petty Officer Lysandra Stuart
Intelligence Analyst

Five hours after the Galaxy broke orbit from Mirusa and made haste toward DS5, Ten forward seemed to awaken to life and shed the gloomy blanket it was wrapped in not so long ago.

All of ten forward but one man, that is.

Chun Lin sat on the stool, bent over the semi-empty glass. From time to time, he shifted it, sending it in a slide from his left and to his right.

Absently, a lone thought ran through his mind.

I wish this was real alcohol.

As soon as things turned serious on the planet, Proctor dispatched him back to the ship, and Lieutenant Commander Hasmonian was beamed down to replace him. While he favored the comforts and safety of the Galaxy to the hot, Hydran-infested Mirusan desert, Proctor's lack of trust in him depressed him.

At this rate, he's going to remain a Lieutenant until his retirement, he mused.

Twenty minutes or so, two girls sat on the two stools to his left. They were giggling and chatting like… well, two girls in a bar. He dwelled so much on his own melancholic depression to pay attention to them, but eventually his ears did pick a sentence or two.

It was enough for him to realize that one of the girls called the other Nyoko.

"Excuse me, are you Nyoko Yuuri?", He asked the oriental-looking girl. She was of Japanese origins by her name and appearance. Aliens tended to mix between Chinese like him and Japanese, and even Humans did once in a while. He didn't mind it really, or at least tried to pretend that he was over the old Earth racial classification and prejudices.

"Hai!", She replied, beaming at him, "And my friend here is Lysandra. Are you going to invite us to a drink?"

"Two pretty girls like you, how can I refuse?", He answered, and commanded the bartender to replicate them three glasses of Loblub, a Bolian beverage which resembled a weak version of Sake to the tongue.

"Where do you know me from?", Nyoko asked, innocently.

Chun told her about his run-in with Saul on Mirusa. He hesitantly mentioned their common interest in subdermal cyber bracelets, and was surprised from her positive response.

"I always wanted one! But didn't dare to.", She glared at Lysandra, "You didn't hear that from me, girl!"

Lysandra rolled her eyes, and climbed down from the stool. "I'm in Intelligence, it's not the worst secret I've heard Nyoko. Anyway, DiMillo is waiting for me in CIC, so I'll see you two later."

Chun waited until Petty Officer Stuart was out of earshot. "I… I understood from Saul that you're an expert in… how should I phrase it…"

"Ah! You're this guy Saul told me about in his last message before the communications were off, right? From the Admiral's staff?"

Chun recoiled. "A little quieter, please Ensign Yuuri… "

"Nyoko, Nyoko.", She said, her tone lowered. "Yes, I'm an expert in what we call 'Internal politics'. Don't be surprised if I'll become the first department-leading Ensign on the Galaxy. But I wouldn't want to worry Saul that his seat is rocking, would I?"

Chun chuckled nervously. "So what is your opinion?"

* * * Starfleet Academy, 2402 * * *

"You're scaring the agent!", One of the cadets interjected with Nyoko's story. The other cadets, fascinating by the tale, glared at the cadet.

"Actually, I'm encouraging him.", Nyoko assured her. "Chun isn't insecure near women – he offered me and Lysandra a drink without a shred of shyness, mind you – but he is slightly insecure about his career, and he isn't a trusting man. As you recall, he experienced betrayal during his first month on the Academy. Ever since, he went with the assumption that everyone has an interest in using him or taking advantage of him. In the Admiral's staff, of course, that IS the truth."

"Sounds like a lost cause.", The cadet sighed. "So how did you persuade him to open up?"

"When you use a 'positive' method while recruiting an agent, I recommend that you make it worthwhile for him from the very start. Think of it as an advance-payment. In our case, I gave him something he hungered for ever since he was a freshman cadet."

The cadet, of course, took the bait, "And that thing is?"

"Revenge.", Nyoko said, the light from the words 'SUGAR DADDY' that loomed above her head casting shades on her face.

* * *

Nyoko listened to Chun's bickering about the internal politics for an hour or so. The stories he told were prices, and also convinced her that Saul was right about choosing Chun as the possible recruit. He was, most likely, the weakest link. Disgruntled, frustrated, and loyal only to himself.

"So far, I think that you focused on distinguishing yourself from the other, making you appear worthy in the eyes of Proctor. Problem is, she barely looked at you. She doesn't even know you."

Chun sneered. "Telling me I'm a failure won't help."

Nyoko shook her head. "All I'm saying is that you should take a different approach. Make yourself look better by making others look BAD."

Chun's expression was unreadable. "Go on.", He said impassively.

"Lieutenant Commander Hasmonian really screwed it on the planet, right? It came to the point where DiMillo from my department – Ensign DiMillo, mind you – took charge of the Starfleet detail in the scientific compound."

She leaned toward him, bringing her head close to his. "Now, if I were you, here's what I would do…"

"Tinkering Plans"

Lt Jg Claire Barnes, Security Officer/Hazard Team Member

Looking up from the table which she had sort of covered with sketches, Claire took a sip from the cordial in the glass at the edge.

One thing that she had kind of been thinking about for awhile was that the was no sort of short-range scouting device for the Galaxy's security forces. Sometimes on away teams, it would be nice to have something fast, mobile and aerial that could be controlled from a basecamp or fortified location.

Federation technology had small micro-gravity generators, small ion drives and the ability to transfer data from sensors across subspace in an encrypted manner. So why hadn't anyone put them all together?

So she had decided to plan one out. She tried to use stuff that might be likely to be availble in stock-standard spare parts that could be made in Engineering's industrial replicator, and use standard power systems.

For example, the micro-fusion thrusters from a quantum torpedo would provide plenty of mobility. In fact, most of the non-explosive components from a torp could do it. A standard tricorder hooked into the torpedo sensors would provide plenty of scouting abilities, along with a series of high-resolution EM recorder would allow the controller to interface through a subspace link for flight.

The existing head-unit for the TR-116 projectile rifle could be modified to provide a view of flight and she was sure that Engineering could mock up some control gloves.

Thinking for a moment, she wondered if they would be able to strip out a phaser rifle and put it in too.

Grining, she sketched some more plans before picking up all the sheets, carrying them with her.

"Battered and Bruised."

Ensign Le'on Khatowren, Security Officer

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

Deck 10 - Torpedo Control

Against his better judgment, Le'on had reholdstered his phaser and turned back to the main torpedo control screen after the crewmen gave him assurances that they wouldn't do anything.

This proved to be a big mistake.

Le'on's mission was to make sure that the control room stayed shut down so that hostilities would not erupt from an errant torpedo from being launched. He had succeeded in stopping the first from going out the tube, which would ultimately destroy the Hydran ship along with the Galaxy. After hitting the override button, which he wondered why the crewmen didn't do this in the first place, he then proceeded to shut down the whole room in accordance to the instructions that had been on his now destroyed PADD/Bobsled earlier.

The crewmen were muttering amongst themselves and then, thankfully after Le'on had finished his work, they launched themselves at the Caitian. Both dove headfirst at the control panel right when Le'on turned around. Both crashed into the master control panel and made grabs for Le'on, who was desperately trying to avoid their grab attempts.

The resulting fight, people would later say, could be heard out in the corridors.

Ultimately it was Le'on who ended up crawling out of the room. "Damn Humans..." he muttered to himself as he slumped up against the far wall from the door to the control room. He paused to catch his breath. He figured he'd have to go to sickbay eventually. From the ten deck bobsled run down the maintenance ducts, to the 100-yard corridor dash, to the humanoid hurdle, and then to the Torpedo Room Fight Night, the small Caitian was exhausted and hurt all over.

Another crewman came over to see him. He kneeled over and asked "Are you l-" he started.

Le'on cut him off by pointing at him and extending a single, razor-sharp claw at him. "If you say 'lost' like I am some terran housecat, I vill remove any ability you have to reproduce, da?" he snapped. The crewman wisely backed away and went off about his business.

Le'on took a deep breath and got to his feet and hoped that word would get around soon that there was a miniature Caitian onboard so that people would get used to the idea. His muscles and joints ached from the overexertion as he made his way to one of the accursed turbolifts. "ohhh..." he moaned as he cracked his back a bit. "I vonder if I can arrange a site-to-site transport to sickbay..." he muttered as he entered the lift.

"The Seven Hells of Andor"

Backpost(continuing from Condition yellow.)

By : Lt. Cmdr Brianna O'Shea, CE/SCE Liaison
Lt. Michael Jamson, Operations Officer
Ensign Richard "Ringo" Langly, Engineering Officer
Ensign Marcus A. Slayton, Engineering Officer
Ensign Rena Lanford, Medical Officer (NPC)
Lt. (Dr.) Stephen Westlake, Triage/Surgeon Specialist
Ens. Mirah Broch, Brikar Nurse

*Holodeck IV*

Outside the holodeck Lt Rand stood, his body twisted and contorted as he had his hand and half his shoulder inside the panel that held the door controls.

"Got it!" he announced as the door gave out a slight hissing noise as the pressure released.

Jin Sun moved forward and placed a device on the door. Rand then moved over and pushed to door open fully manually. For the past several hours nothing had been working properly.

But none of the bizarre system failures compared to the sight that greeted them.

Jamson looked up, and saw some familiar faces. He was half way of falling into the cold sleep of hypothermia when he noticed the doors of the holodeck were opening manually. The cold winter and freezing winds were gone, but still left an enviornmental after effects on the trapped crew members. Lieutenant Rand looked at him, then the others. Reaching up Jin Sun tapped her commbadge, "Medical emergency, Holodeck IV!"

Adam stood up and rushed through he crowd, running, he had to get the vents to release the energy into the space.

Rand stumbled backwards, stunned by the state of his colleagues and the sudden sprinting from Adam.

Commander O'Shea lay unconscious on the floor, next to her was Lieutenant Jiiles, also unconscious. Michael Jamson stared up at him with expectant eyes and next to him sat, or rather curled into a foetal ball with the insides of the holodeck spilled out all over him was Ringo.

"What the hell happened here?" Rand questioned.

Michael sighed, he wasn't in any condition to explain what everyone have been through. He had no desire nor the strength to share their experiences. All he wanted, was to sleep. He stayed awake against all odds, watching over his colleagues as they surrendered one by one to the cold. Now that help has arrived he could let go and get some rest.

His jaw dropped as he saw Slayton behind the others, he didn't look so good.

"Where the hell is medical?" he half screamed. He wanted to jump in there and sort out his friends but then he realised that he couldn't move them they might have injuries and he would only make them worse. All he could do was stand a stare.

Deacon Starke ran in, flanked by several medics. "Jesus Christ! Lets get to work people!" He immediately ran over to Commander O'Shea.

"What happened?"

A Larger biobed-looking contraption floated in flanked by "Dr. Axl."

"Deacon, didn't Klaus say to be more careful before we left?"

"Shuddup Axe, and help me!"

Anna wasn't moving, wasn't responding to anyone. Her hands where blue as was her lips. She wasn't even shivering anymore, her body temperature dropped very low. She didn't even feel them began to move her onto one of the floating bio beds.

Was he still alive? Last thing Richard remembered was half nothing more then explosions everywhere, and the bitter coldness. He first opened one eye and a few seconds after that the other. "Please, someone tell me this isn't another simulation. Tell me we made it." he asked to no one particular.

"Don't worry, Mister Langley, everything is alright now." Rena Lanford said as she ran a tricorder over the engineering officer. "Okay, he is safe to be moved right now. Let's get him on a floater and to sick bay." she said as she started to move the wires and cables that Ringo was covered in away from his body.

Meanwhile, Marcus was trying to open his eyes but he found that he could only open one of the as the other one was hurting too much for him to try and open. He looked around at the various people and found that not only was his vision blurry but he was seeing other things as well. He tried to move to a sitting position but found that he could not feel anything below his neck. Suddenly, his mind flashed back to the simulated attack by the borg and seeing the chunk of bulkhead that was about to collide with Brianna and him moving to shove her out of the way and then nothing.

Marcus let out a very painful groan of pain as he forced himself up into a sitting position and it was then that he fell backwards and slammed his head against the metal plating of the holodeck.

Rena heard Marcus' groan and turned to look over at the other ensign and handed Langley off to one of the other medical officers as she went over and scanned him with her medical tricorder and then her eyes widened slightly and she yelled over her shoulder. "Get me a trauma team right now!"

Dr. Stephen Westlake form began to marterialize with the form of Chief Petty Officer Adam Kevinson, who had collasped on the bridge. "Nurse..." Stephen said, "help me get him to a bio bed." He ordered. With the Brikar nurse, easily helped Dr. Westlake get Adam onto the bed and began working with him.

"I've got him, Doctor." Mirah, the Brikar nurse stated.

"I'll check on another then." Stephen said, seeing that 'Commander O'Shea was being taken care of by Dr. Sovon, a vulcan doctor with little to none personality. Stephen moved over and checked on Lt. Jamson, who looked as if he had survived a war zone. "Lieutenant, can you hear me... tell me what happened?" He said, pulling a medical tricorder."

"I can hear...you" Jamson unwillingly mumbled. He could barely lift his hand to signal Stephan to move to the others in a slight scorn. He couldn't understand why he was being treated while the others were in a worse shape than him, or so he thought. "Where to begin..." The strange ordeal that was no over, left him confused. He wanted to sleep so badly, and now that the rescue team was there to recover them all, he could have done just that. But, at the same time, he couldn't. He closed his eyes over and over, trying to let go. But there was no rest for the wicked. It the same familiar feeling of being so tired and exhausted after a hard day's work, or after a tiring exercising session at the gymnasium - you felt really tired but couldn't sleep. "Take" he paused, his throat dry "Care of the others first...I'm fine".

A trauma team went over and checked on Slayton with Doctor Lanford. "Compressed spine and spinal fractures along with a major concussion and some other internal damage as well as some frost bite, but he's got a good pulse, not strong but good and steady." Rena said as she put away her tricorder and pulled out a hypo from her medkit and injected the hypo into the man's neck.

"That should help to steady his pulse and heartrate until we can get him to sickbay. My question is what the frell happened to them in there?" Rena said as she looked at the black and yellow grid that made up the holo-deck with a look of contempt. Rena then helped place Slayton on one of the floating bio-beds as she moved over to the Bolian in Lieutenant Jiiles to see how he was doing.

Jiiles had closed his eyes for just a moment. But that moment had lasted longer than expected. He hadn't heard the door open, he hadn't heard the medics rush in, if fact he hadn't heard anything since closing his eyes. He hadn't moved since closing his eyes. He was out for the count. Blood oozed from his ears and nose, but having blue blood and blue skin, didn't make it easy to see. He lay motionless on the floor of the holodeck.

"Doctor.. I've got 'Commander O'Shea stablized..."

"Thank you, Mirah." Westlake said as he continued to work with Jamson. Picking up a demerl regeneartion tool he began to heal the broken bones and hematomas. "Your still going to be sore, but this should help with most of it." He said, moving over him slowly.

Jamson couldn't sense anything anymore, the pain was gone. His entire body was numb, and every motion he made, seemed to him like he was floating in slow motion. He tried to focus at the the dermal regenerator, but soon lost interest as he felt nothing. The numb sensation was soon replaced with a slight sting, that turned after several moments into a burning one. He was coming around, but as the experience brought his body back together, it proved to be too much for him. He knew slipping into unconsciousness was forthcoming, all he had to do was to close his eyes and relax.

Anna slowly became alert and opened her eyes. "Report..." She said, groaning. When no one would tell her the status of her people, including Jamson since she considered him her people. She took her blistered hand and grabbed someone by the arm. "I said.. report... one... you.. sons of bitchs... better.. tell.. me what.. the hell... is going on." She said, finding herself still a little cold.

"'Commander, I'm Nurse Mirah.. Dr. Westlake is wroking with Lt. Jamson. I don't know his status right now. Dr. Sovon is assisting him. Dr. Lanford is working with Ensign Slayton... He's coming out of the wrost of it... I need to help Sovon and Dr. Westlake." Mirah said.

"You.. going.. to help.. me get up." She said, began to move.

"I think you need to lay still.. your body still has suffered to much." Mirah suggested.

"Do it.. Ensign!" Anna snapped.

With the Brikar's help, Anna moved over toward Jamson's biobed. Shoving the Vulcan doctor aside and grabbing Michael's hand with her blistered hand. "You listen to me you sawed off half wit sonabitch...you.. die.. On me... I swear... on the... seven.. hells of Andor... I will burn your ass... piss on your ashes and sell you... to the bloody.. frengi...you straighten up...or I'm... going... to get really... mad." Anna said.

Michael laughed, or so he thought. His lips weren't moving. It was all in his mind. No one has ever spoken to him like that before, and survived. It was ironic, as the pathetic Klingon imitator didn't mind. Was it possible that such an aweful experience generated some caring emotions in his apathetic mind? Don't be mistaken, he was a very emotional person and experessed it when needed and sometimes when not, like a true Klingon, but this time, it was different, as someone actually gave a damn about him. "Andor???" he said peacefully, his eyes wide shut, "Don't worry, 'Commander. You won't get rid of me that easily. I'm not done, yet". Concentrating not to slip away into the darkness for a few more seconds, Michael struggled, with great effort, to offer his hand to O'Shea who in return grabbed and held on to it.

Rena Lanford walked over to where Anna was and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Commander, please calm down, he's going to be okay. He's just resting now like you need to be." she said in a soft but firm voice.

"On the other hand, we need to get him and the others to sickbay quickly as Mister Jamson and Jiiles have lost alot of blood, and Mister Slayton might slip into a coma. May we go now?" Rena said

"Don't tell me to calm down." Anna said, then looked at Doctor Lanford. "Instead of standing here, get your people moving to sickbay." Anna said, sitting down in a anti-grave chair to be moved to sickbay.

"Raising a Furball"

Lieutenant Junior Grade Miramon Terrik, Chief Navigation Officer

Crew Quarters, Deck 5

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

The damage so far consisted of one glass, a torn uniform, two decorative Feloran Bromeliads that had, up until about two hours ago, been sitting peacefully on a small table as plants were known to do, and finally, the patience of one Bajoran. Yeah, okay, it was his fault. At least partly. But then again, also partly the fault of Ensign Townsend, who in addition to his normal duties on daycare for the kids aboard ship also happened to have had several pet cats. And as cats do, they'd bred, and voila, there they were with a whole litter of kittens, all of which were promptly put up for adoption by their new owner. Now, under normal circumstances, Miramon had never been partial to animals, but since he wasn't currently sharing quarters with anyone, he had twice the room space to himself, half of which he didn't need, of course. And so, he'd given in and adopted one of the cats, once they were old enough to begin life away from their mother in that spritely, bouncy, half-mad way that cats did at that age. Not that anyone had thought to inform him of this.

The biggest problem he'd had to begin with was figuring out a name. Originally, he'd gone for something standard and relatively cute, so the cat had been named Muffin. Twenty minutes later, that one got scraped, and the Bajoran went for the humorous approach. The cat was appropriately called Mandu, so upon introduction, it became simple: "this is my cat, Mandu." That quickly got old, so he'd called Nara, and she said that a ginger female kitten should be called Ziggy. No reason, no explanation, not even a poor excuse as to why she was mad enough to consider that one. But, unless he wanted to offend his friend, the name would have to stick. So Ziggy it was. A few days later, anything that equated roughly to a curse in Bajoran might have served better.

It wasn't that the cat was malicious, or generally disruptive, but only that it was, well, a cat. From the second it had been moved into Miramon's quarters, he'd expected that she be nice and pleasant, take time to get used to her surroundings and eat when appropriate. He'd stayed with the cat for twenty minutes, made sure that everything for the cat - bedding, food bowl etc - were placed somewhere comfortable so that the cat had no reason to complain and thereby bug the Bajoran, before he left for his duty shift. Six hours later, he'd walked in and the place was something equating to a mess. The empty glass left on his desk had toppled to the floor, and appropriately smashed, while his preciously-tended plants had leaves missing, several of which were scattered around the room. He'd walked into his bedroom, looking for the culprit, and the uniform that he'd had laying on the bed neatly now had a long piece of fabric threaded across the floor, torn by some sharp object.

So, thus far, Miramon could be said to be having a relatively interesting day. Right now he was busy kneeling down on the floor, his head having disappeared under the bed in order to try and coax out the small and furry one that was hiding under there with no apparent intention of coming out. Ever. So the Bajoran was resorting to other methods - he'd even gotten a long Anbo-Jyitsu staff and had used it to try and prod the cat out of place. Short of a phaser, he couldn't see this one working out. The Bajoran sighed and stood up, his hand moving to his lower back reflexively, since leaning over like that for so long was never a painless experience. As he stood up he shook his head with a resigned expression and headed over to his desk, sitting down in his chair with an exaggerated 'umph'.

Picking up a PADD from the top - one of the novels he'd been reading of late, by some Vulcan philosophy clearly trying to piece together the methodology behind human novels designed to make the reader laugh (and consequently failing, in this case) - he began reading. About 30 seconds later, there was a sudden sound of the PADD dropping as the Bajoran flinched, the little kitten somehow jumping into his lap without due consideration for a lack of padding. As he exhaled sharply, the Bajoran swore to either get this furry thing trained within the fortnight or foster it on Saul.

Either option was going to require a lot of work.

((OOC: With this post, Jasmine is back on 'Starfire'. You can catch weekly episodes on FWBN at 8PM (Galactic Standard Time) - Laurel))

---

"Life's a Show"
by Jasmine Heloi

She was rudely awakened to the feeling of someone's hands on her shoulders, shaking her. "Why didn't you use the blasted communicator?" she complained to whom ever had shaken her awake. Her eyes were still tightly shut as she denied any need to awaken as of yet. She had only gotten to tumble into bed fully clothed a few hours before – at least, what seemed like a few hours before. "G'way," she instructed again, determinedly pulling the covers up and over her eyes.

"Jasmine," a familiar voice replied, "You're needed on the set in half an hour. There is not enough time for you to indulge in sleeping in."

"The set?" she repeated dumbly, finally deciding to open her eyes and facing the day. To her surprise, her costar from Starfire – Jonathan Harris – was the one leaning over her bed. "What the hell? What's going on? Why am I not on the Galaxy?" She finally scanned the room and noticed that she was in her trailer – or her 'home away from home' while filming was going on.

"The Galaxy?" Jonathan repeated with a laugh, "Jazz, darling, you really need to wake up. That show got cancelled six months ago!"

"Six months?" she murmured to herself before she realized that this was what her wish had been. She had thought in the split instant the Mirusan 'glow ball' had asked for their desires that she wanted to return to Starfire. No, wait a moment. She blinked, "A show? Wow."

"Get up, sleepy head. You know the director will throw a fit if you're not in makeup in ten," Jonathan continued, completing the thought by yanking the sheets off of the bed.

Jasmine laughed, "Alright, alright. Tell the slave driver I'm on my way. Now get out of here so I can change in peace."

Jonathan nodded and headed out the door.

The Betazoid shook her head and glanced around the trailer before changing into her clothes, "Well," she announced once she was ready to go, "The show must go on..."

"Starfighter Down"

Lt. Cmdr Brianna "Anna" O'Shea, CE/SCE Liaison
Ens. Artim - Medical Officer
Lt. Ella Grey, Engineering
Ens. Ember Lansky, Fighter Pilot / Security Officer
Commander Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/Second Officer
Ensign Le'on Khatrowren, Security Officer

:: Cargo Bay Three, Deck 13 ::

Anna was first on scene when the tractored Starfleet Star was brought into the cargo hold. Anyone could already tell by the visual inspection of the fighter was that it had been in a skirmish, but of what kind and who with, would be what she determines. Walking over toward it she looked around at the personnel on sight. "I want security up here as soon as possible..." She said.

"Yes, 'Commander."

"And tell medical to put a rush on it as well," added Commander Karyn Dallas as she glided into the cargo bay in her gravchair. "I know we have to be cautious, but it's not our goal to frighten these people any more than they already have been."

Moving forward she looked through the smoke laid interior of the glass hatch. Making her wonder what was keeping her junior engineer, she needed to get these people out for medical. When Ensign Steven McCloud walked in with two engineering tool kits, first thing Anna did was scan to see if the hatch was okay to open. Once it was clear on her tricorder, she and Steven popped the hatch via the emergency over ride.

Dallas positioned herself in front of, but just to the side of the hatch. It was important to her that any potential survivors see a friendly face, not phasers drawn, especially considering the attack they may have survived.

As fresh air flowed in replacing the smoke, Artim's respiratory system recognized it and took in a deep breath. After a couple more the Miran came to. His eyes started blinking as he straightened up in his seat. His uniform was singed in several places, revealing deep burns on his arms and torso. He tried to move his arms to unstrap himself, but found it too painful, either from the burns or a broken clavicle. Probably also had a broken rib or two.

When he saw the engineers he looked over to them and said, straining for every word.

"Where...are we. Attacked...they said they were there to...help. Aaah!"

Artim let out a yelp of pain and slumped back into his seat breathing heavily.

"I know.. Stay calm.. medical personnel are in route.. I'm Lt. Commander Brianna O'Shea... Chief Engineer, USS Galaxy." She said, trying to keep the small child calm.

Karyn pulled out the medical kit she had placed beside her before coming to the cargo bay and took out the tricorder. "It's okay, Brianna, I can take care of things until the medical team arrives." Dallas didn't know the extent of the male survivor 's injuries, but she had to put him at ease. "I'm Commander Karyn Dallas. I'm a nurse and the Chief Counselor of the Galaxy. It's okay, you are safe here."

Scans confirmed the male was severely burned, but more chilling than that, was the prospect that people posing as good Samaritans had actually done this. Karyn administered a minor analgesic from the med kit and ripped the fabric of the man's clothing to get a good look at his burns. Immediately she began applying temporary bandages to protect the wounds from infection.

Meanwhile, Ella had entered the Cargo Bay with her tool kit. "Need a hand, Commander?"

Anna turned hearing Ella. "Yes.. help me get them out. Medical is on their way." She said, as she reached inside and with Ella's help got Artim out and then moved to see if there was anyone else.

"Be careful when you move them," Karyn warned, as they attempted to extract the male. "We don't know what kind of injuries were dealing with yet."

Slumped against the console, Ember's eyes fluttered open briefly, the pinpricks of light sending her head spinning as she tried to move but realized she couldn't. It felt as though there was a heavy weight pounding in her skull. "Wha -" She struggled to verbalize, the grogginess overwhelming her momentarily before she could continue. "What happened?" She asked weakly. Her head was bleeding from where she had hit the panel, and there were burn marks on several places on her uniform and body as well.

Anna reached up and took out a handkerchief she had tucked inside her vest. Holding it to the girl's head, "I don't know... I'm Brianna O'Shea... your on the USS Galaxy. Just relax.." She told the girl, then used her free hand to reach up and slap her commbadge. "O'Shea to Medical.. where is the damn medical team!"

Karyn placed a hand on O'Shea's shoulder. It wouldn't be good for her panic in front of their survivors. Dallas had done all she could at the moment for the male survivor, so she turned to the female and began assessing her injuries. Head wounds always looked worse than they were because they bled profusely, but Karyn would still feel better once they were in sickbay.

Once more, Dallas introduced herself to the injured female, not quite sure if she was clearly understood, but wanting to put her at ease. "My name is Karyn and I'm a nurse here. We're going to take care of you."

"Commander," Anna said, brushing her hand off since her shoulder was still sore from the holodeck mishap. "Might be wise if you transport them in yourself to sickbay..." She suggested. "I'm going to work with Ella to find out what happened." Anna said, moving now that Karyn had pretty much taken over.

Karyn nodded, just about to tap her own commbadge to request the transporter operator beam them directly to sickbay. Where the hell was that medical team? They should have been there by now.

"The Galaxy found us Ember. We both passed out, you first when you hit the panel, me about 10 minutes later. Stay still we're both hurt pretty bad," Artim said, not turning his head in case he had a spinal injury. He may be the one hurt, but he was still a doctor, he knew what had to be done.

Karyn tapped her commbadge. "Dallas to transporter room. Lock onto my life signs as well as those of the two prone humanoids beside me, and beam us directly to sickbay." She wasn't going to contact sickbay directly as it seemed that wasn't doing any good. There would be time to deal with that issue later, but right now, she was prepared to handle both patients by herself if she had to.

She was relieved when the transporter room acknowledged her request and she felt the familiar tangle take over.

"Ella, let's secure the Starfighter.. I don't want anyone within ten feet of it... if you need to post security around it." Anna said, making sure the small boy and woman was alright before she left them.

Ella nodded, looking at the damaged Starfighter. The thing was a mess, barely intact. It would be their job to put it back together again. She looked over at two engineers that had just come in. "One of you see if the flight recorder is still intact. The other one help me see the source of this damage."

Anna was scanning the exterior of the Starfighter, when she walked up beside Ella. "Confirm this on your tricorder.." She whispered slightly. Anna looked over her shoulder to see if Ella got the same reading, some of the phaswer scorce areas where from a Federation phaser array. Ella confirmed it, with a simple nod. "Secure the flight box.. we'll need it.. I'm going to see if I identify the other phaser blasts."

Le'on Khatowren was the last to arrive, mainly since he was the one who had to bring in some of the investigation equipment and that was a hassle for him since there was a lot of it and he was only two feet tall. He did finally figure out a way to rig an anti-grav unit with a bit of propulsion so that he could merely ride the unit with all of the equipment instead of trying to push or pull it down. "Gangway please!" he called out as rounded the corner and entered the Cargo Bay where the damaged fighter now was at.

The miniature Caitian 'parked' the anti-grav right next to the fighter in order to begin his part of the investigation. He somewhat thought of it as a cruel joke by someone from the brass, but he really couldn't complain too much. After all, it was work. He began by activating a scanner that would take a holographic 'picture' of the damaged fighter before he went in to more of the detailed work.

*****

NRPG GM Note: Engineering should get a look at the sensor logs. Sickbay is going to need to verify if our two new crewpersons are 'clean' since the biofilters prevented beamout. Security can keep a close eye on these folks. Any questions, feel free to give me a buzz, but this is pretty much your sideplot. Next plot post should be out tomorrow at the latest. Anyone is free to join this sideplot if they want.

"Perimeter Duty"

Ensign Le'on Khatowren, Security Officer

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

Deck 13 - Cargo Bay

After the initial scanning was complete, Le'on set about to engage what was called the 'yellow tape' security perimeter. What it entailed was four or more posts that looked like transporter enhancers but with a different purpose. He set up five in all in a pentagon pattern around the damaged fighter and then engaged the barrier field. A 'yellow tape' line shot out around the fighter signaling that the area was now considered a sterile area crime scene.

Now came the interesting part. People were allowed in and out until Le'on programmed in who all was allowed in. The computer would read the individual biosigns and commbadges and allow those in who were supposed to be in. If one was not authorized near the fighter then the 'yellow tape' would then become a force field and block the person, as well as alert security nearby to escort the offending person away. This helped keep a sterile working environment.

Le'on got with the officer in charge and got the list of technicians who were assigned to the job and quickly programmed the computer. He was almost finished when his commbadge beeped. "Ensign Khatowren to the Security Office."

He tapped his badge. "Acknowledged." he replied. "Vould you like me to finish my work in the Cargo Bay first?"

"Finish up quickly, Intel would like to speak with you." the reply came before signing off.

~Intel!? Vhat the hell do they vant?~ he wondered as he quickly finished programming the security computer.

OOC: Takes place on Federation Day. Required reading for Tactical and Intelligence PCs, as well as anyone who wants to know what's what in Federation strategy.

"Racing Tomorrow" - Part 1

Fleet Admiral Irene "The Sword" deMercereau, Commanding Officer: 12th Fleet/Breen Sector

Admiral Jurgen Hoth,
Director of Starfleet Tactical

Captain Nicoletta Rufina,
Commandant: Starfleet Tactical College

Captain Thama Xia'Fen,
Chief of Staff: Starfleet Tactical

Captain John Zaletta,
Commandant: Starfleet Advanced Tactical School

Commander Donovan Hammond,
Chief Tactical Officer, USS Miranda

****

Observatory,
Starfleet Tactical Proving Grounds,
Phobos

In the opinion of Admiral Jurgen Hoth, the view of the starship graveyard over Mars was, with Chin'toka and Wolf 359, one of the most telling signs of the ever present danger of the current times. Places like Mars were what kept Hoth going, day after day, to push his agenda of increased militarization of Starfleet, tighter defense strategies, and political isolation.

Here, where the ships of the 3rd Fleet fought and fell as the Breen swooped down on Earth in 2375, Jurgen Hoth found inspiration. He often began his morning here, keeping a silent vigil for the men and women who had given their lives in the defense of Earth. Maybe it was the belief that he owed the fallen his life that brought him back each morning. Their sacrifice had delayed the Breen long enough for Starfleet Command, where he had been serving at the time, to evacuate... mostly.

The sun rose slowly on the morning of May 22nd, Federation Day, leaving the room awash with natural light. Phobos could be a cold, inhospitable place, but in those mornings, Hoth felt comfortable, though the feeling was fleeting and otherwise elusive.

Jurgen Hoth was a fierce patriot, but he hated Federation Day. To him, Federation Day was the day when the irresponsible, apathetic, uninformed masses pretended to give a damn about their protectors and leaders. The other 364 days of the year, they ignored and belittled those same people. After so many years of service, that kind of bullshit got old fast.

"Admiral," Captain Thama Xia'Fen, Hoth's chief of staff, approached from the far end of the room, where he'd been waiting. Xia'Fen was young for his position, but certainly no less deserving. The Akritian man was the son of the head of the Xia'Fen Family, whose members were renowned as the most capable administrators and organizers in the Federation. Positions like his ran in the young man's blood.

Thama paused when Hoth didn't reply immediately. Nobody interrupted Admiral Hoth during his morning routine. Only when the sun filled the room could the day begin. He turned and watched as the light crept over into the far corner of the room. "I have your itinerary prepared."

"Great," Hoth said, though his tone of voice clearly showed that he wasn't thrilled at the idea. Finally, he tore his eyes away from the twisted wreckage. He turned with a precision that his years as a marine had drilled into him and walked over to where Xia'Fen stood, crossing the distance in three brisk strides. "What pressing matter demands my attention this morning?"

"We'll be shuttling over to your office for a meeting with Captain Zaletta," Captain Xia'Fen replied, handing Hoth the schedule in PADD form, concealing his feeling of distaste from twisting his visage. Zaletta was Hoth's confidant and probably the old man's only real friend. Thama would kill for trust like that. "The topic remains this year's Wolf 359 Advanced Tactical School graduating class, specifically Ensign Miraadi. After that is the required appearance with the other joint chiefs at President Bacco's breakfast."

"Of course," Hoth replied. He didn't like Xia'Fen, so there was little more to say. The man was new, and no matter how qualified his jacket said he was, Hoth was a man who trusted results, himself, and little else. Which was probably why he'd yet to completely accept President Bacco. Privately, Jurgen missed the days of Min Zife, the Bolian who had lead the Federation through it's greatest crisis, the Dominion War. Now that man had understood the need for decisiveness. "Has Captain Von Ernst reported in yet?"

"No, sir," Xia'Fen replied, motioning for the Admiral to follow him to the shuttlebay. Hoth followed, eyes watching him like a hawk. Thama stifled a grin at the thought. Hoth was most certainly a hawk, from his political views to his stare to his beakishly blunt nose.

Hoth grunted in response, a sort of dissatisfied snort. Where was that girl? Admiral William Valerian, the Hydran Sector CO, had sent Von Ernst's USS Nimitz to determine the force dispositions along the Hydran borders almost three months ago. It was unlike her to be out of communication for so long. "Tell Valerian that he has two weeks to find her and put her in contact with me. If he's lost my girl, he'll be answering for it faster than he can say 'Oh noodles'."

Sure, it sounded absurd coming from gruff old Jurgen Hoth. But the use of Rebecca Von Ernst's common expletive substitute certainly made it's point. Thama made a mental note to use the same expression in his dispatch to Valerian. Unless the Hydran Sector CO moved with uncharacteristic speed, Valerian would be in 'deep noodles'.

**** The Bell Tower, Starfleet Tactical College, Glasgow

Fleet Admiral Irene deMercereau spent the morning in a familiar place as well. The Starfleet Tactical College, situated high on the hills outside of Glasgow, Scotland, was a sprawling estate comprised of a dozen halls, a large green, athletic fields, and a bell tower. As a younger woman, Captain Irene deMercereau had spent two years as the commandant of the school, which at the time had taught the elite of Starfleet's command students the nature of ship to ship combat.

Irene had always loved the bell tower, over all the other buildings and places, though the nearby woods had their charm. She enjoyed climbing it in the morning, if only to watch the sunrise. The morning of May 22nd, Federation Day, was the first opportunity she’d had to repeat the experience in seven years.

Her last visit had been in late 2375, during the selection process for the Directorship of Starfleet Tactical. Admiral Aznar Ghorin, a well respected Ktarian officer who had formulated much of the Federation's Dominion War defense doctrine, had been killed in the Breen bombardment of Starfleet Command. The position had been temporarily held by Ghorin's assistant, Captain Rika em'Katta, until the end of the war. At the end of the war, Admiral Ross had offered to make the job permanent, but em'Katta had turned him down, citing her relative inexperience compared to other candidates. So the recommendation process, held at Glasgow, had begun.

The sunrise that morning remained one of her most vivid memories. A crisp, clear morning, intense like her, with an overall feeling of opportunity. She had been an outside candidate for the position; a decorated tactical wing commander fresh from the Battle of Cardassia. Compared to other candidates, she had been surprised to make it onto the 'short list'. At the time, Jurgen Hoth had been a much better candidate, and she had been pleased that he'd been selected.

Oh, how things changed.

In the seven years that Admiral Hoth had directed Starfleet Tactical, it had made some advances. The Starfleet Tactical Proving Grounds at Phobos had been constructed and the Wolf 359 Advanced Tactical School had now been accepting students for five years. Starfleet Tactical had been decentralized, a suggestion of which deMercereau, in addition to Hoth, em'Katta, and several other candidates for the position, had been a proponent. Keeping everything in Glasgow and San Francisco seemed like asking for a repeat of the 2375 Breen attack that claimed Admiral Ghorin's life.

However, deMercereau couldn't say that she agreed with many of Hoth's other policies. The separation of Starfleet Strategic Operations in 2376 had sounded foolish then. Now, after the Battle of Havras, she thought it more suicidal. How could one teach battle (tactics) without teaching war (strategy)?

Then there was Project Archangel. If only I'd known the implications then, Irene mused as she watched the sun crest the hill that overlooked the Tactical College from the east. Project Archangel, frequently referred to as 'The Hawk Agenda', had been passed by the Federation Council in 2378. It had created the Federation Liaison Corps, tightened the borders, established Wolf 359 ATS, changed the shipbuilding focus to more powerful ships with less exploration capabilities, and called for reduced diplomatic relations with former enemies (specifically the Rihannsu).

Admittedly, Irene thought, she agreed with a few of those decisions, namely the tightened border security and the establishment of W359 ATS. However, the rest was too dangerous a precedent for the Federation to set. At the time she'd been too politically naive to organize opposition to the policy, nor had she had the necessary clout to do so. Though, when she looked back on it now, perhaps mentioning Natasha Mol's name to President Zife had been a calculated move. Mol's selection as the first Ambassador General of the Federation Liaison Corps had certainly caused the FLC to be a hinderance to Hoth and his Hawk allies that he hadn’t been expecting.

She shrugged. ~We create our own monsters.~

"Good morning, Irene," a woman's voice interrupted deMercereau's reverie. The whip thin commander of the 12th Fleet turned and smiled in recognition. She would happily sacrifice a moment of the sunrise to greet a friend. "After last night, I'm not surprised to find you here," Captain Nicoletta Rufina said, climbing up into the belfry to join her teacher.

Irene just nodded, motioning for Rufina to join her. After a few quiet minutes of reflection, the sun completed it's rise into the morning sky. Leaning her back against the railing, she turned to let the wind blow her hair back. It was a simple pleasure, and a satisfying feeling. "Good morning, Nicoletta."

Irene had first crossed paths with Nicoletta Rufina in 2363. Rufina had been in her final year as a student at the ATS, and had been assigned to give the new commandant a tour highlighting the changes that had taken place since her own graduation from the school in 2338. They'd hit it off immediately, and deMercereau had tutored Rufina privately throughout the year.

After graduation, Rufina spent a year teaching low level tactics courses at Starfleet Academy while she waited for the right posting opportunity. Removed from the student-teacher relationship, deMercereau and Rufina began seeing each other romantically as well as professionally. Though they were both posted away from Earth, and the spark of their relationship cooled, Irene deMercereau and Nicoletta Rufina continued to communicate, and Irene numbered the beautiful Italian as one of her many proteges. deMercereau had even sponsored her candidacy for the position she herself had once occupied.

"You haven't changed at all," Captain Rufina said, mirroring deMercereau's position on the railing. "Such a flare for the dramatic. What possessed you to do that last night?"

"Self preservation," Irene answered immediately. "I really didn't feel like being stoned to death in front of the Palais de la Concorde. People say that I'm good at public speaking. So I took a chance."

"Well, FNS certainly seems to think that it worked in your favor," Nicoletta replied. "So you're "The Sword" now... I guess I can see that."

"It makes a certain degree of sense." Irene nodded. She had always felt like a fish out of water as a younger woman, a soldier in an quasi-military exploratory organization. "How did you know I was here?"

"Jander called me after he gave your shuttle permission to land," Rufina shrugged. Commander Jander Mariso, Rufina's assistant, had been around Glasgow since just before deMercereau was the commandant.

"Of course," Irene frowned. She'd been dreading today. But then, she'd also been hoping for today for a very long time. "Nikki, I'm afraid I didn't just come for the sunrise. Today's going to be very complicated and you're not going to like what I have to tell you."

"That's ominous," Rufina replied. A dozen possibilities shot through Nicoletta Rufina's mind, each more terrible than the previous. And she had been looking forward to Federation Day celebrations, too...

"It should be," deMercereau said, removing a small rectangular device from her dress uniform's pocket and depressing it's lone button. "We can talk privately now. Your life is in danger..."

And she told her the truth. 31. 13. Cheshire. The March Hare. The Mad Hatter. The Playing Cards. The 31 Coup. Everything.

Then they planned for the worst.

**** Admiral Hoth's Office, 14th Floor, Starfleet Tactical Building, San Francisco

"So what's your take on deMercereau the other night?" Hoth asked pensively. He'd been waiting to hear Zaletta's opinion on the matter. Though he hated the politicking of upper level Starfleet officers, he wasn't above joining in for the good of the Federation.

"'The Sword'?" Zaletta snorted derisively. "She likes pissing off Samsung Davoust. That and she's after your job. She's always been after your job. That much has been clear since she sweet talked Zife and Ross into picking Natasha Mol for the Ambassador-Generalship of the FLC in 2376. It's a public relations ploy. What the people like is good for Starfleet."

"Valerian said the same thing," Hoth frowned irritably. What exactly was that woman's problem? Did she not understand that he didn't have time to deal with her bullshit, between administering the most important branch of Starfleet and advancing the only sane defense policy to come from Starfleet Command in their collective lifetimes?

"I'm sure he did," Zaletta replied, pushing a cup of coffee in Hoth's direction. The two, though they didn't know it (or wouldnt' admit it), shared a similar working relationship to deMercereau and Rufina. "Though he probably added a few choice remarks about 'genetic freaks' and 'quasi-Khan supermen'."

Hoth shook his head and replied in a warning tone. "William has his prejudices. He always has and he always will. I don't think that issue really needs rehashing, John."

"Of course not. As for Irene deMercereau... Just because she believes she's a strategic genius doesn't make her qualified to run Starfleet Tactical," Zaletta shrugged dismissively. "And I'm sure Admiral Ross will see that."

"No. Olivia Proctor believes she's a strategic genius. Irene deMercereau is a tactical genius, and she knows it, which makes her dangerous. Credit where it's due, John," Hoth shook his head again. No... this wasn't going to be easy. "Do you have any suggestions, or am I on my own this time?"

It was Captain Zaletta's turn to shake his head. "I wish I did, sir."

"No matter," Hoth replied, "I'll take care of it. Talk to me about your students."

Zaletta nodded and turned on the holoprojector in the middle of the table, displaying a slowly rotating Federation seal. He typed a few more commands and the seal was replaced by a personnel jacket, slowly scrolling upwards. "Lieutenant Marko Balkonin, head of the class at the moment. Scores nowhere near Captain Von Ernst, but better than most other top scorers. Had a very unique solution to the Makepri First Contact scenario. I forwarded you the file a month ago. Politically, he hasn't been very vocal, but he voted for Pagro in the election, so he's probably sympathetic to our viewpoint."

"Good. Have him posted to the Nimitz when Von Ernst gets back. She'll either mold him or break him. Either way, it's good for the Federation," Hoth replied. Make them strong or weed them out. If anyone knew that, it was Rebecca Von Ernst. The screams of the dying when she'd frozen up at Nar Hallas had seared that fact behind her eyelids.

"Do you want to see the rest?"

"Just one more. I'm running late as it is. Give the other files to Captain Xia'Fen. I'll review them and send you instructions when I get back," Hoth sighed. Breakfast with Nan Bacco... What was the point? He'd have to keep his mouth shut, try not to be too friendly with Jas Abrik, and pretend he hadn't supported Pagro, while everyone knew that if Bacco could have her way, he'd have been gone when she took office. At least Ross understood. "What about... the one Thama was telling me about... Ensign Miraadi?”

"Ensign Alhundra Miraadi, Ktarian Female. Admiral Ghoran's cousin. She's in the top ten percent, but nowhere close to Balkonin. Went to the Ktarian War College before transferring her commission to Starfleet," Zaletta rattled off what he knew while he switched the holoprojector over to her file. "She's focusing on Guerilla Tactics. Politically, she'd like to see the Federation take a tougher line on the Orions, and on crime. Her parents died in the raider attack on Tevron VII, so that's not surprising. External politics... she's pretty ambivalent about them."

Captain Xia'Fen slipped into the room and tapped Hoth on the shoulder as Zaletta finished his description. The message was clear. Time to go.

"That works," Hoth replied, pushing himself up from the table. "Put her on the USS Judicator. Admiral Krawczak's goals should complement hers nicely. And now, John, I'm afraid that I'm needed elsewhere... If you can call it needed."

"I wouldn’t.” Zaletta agreed, downloading the files onto an isolinear chip, which he flicked at Xia'Fen. The Akritian fielded it without breaking his concentration. "Take care, Jurgen."

Hoth nodded, and ushered Xia'Fen out of the room, following on his heels.

****

Commandant's Office, Byrne Hall, Starfleet Tactical College, Glasgow

[Are you sure this line’s secure?] Donovan Hammond asked, his image sitting in his new office on the USS Miranda.

"Yes," Irene deMercereau said after a moment, in which she glanced over to see Nicoletta Rufina, who was leaning against a cabinet on the other side of the room, nod in the affirmative. "The groundwork's done, Hatter. You can send the Cards whenever you're ready. No later than 1500, though, or we can write off Hoth and em'Katta."

[Don't know if I'd mind... but they're already on their way. According to the latest intelligence, 31 will move when Hoth's shuttle touches down at Glasgow. 1400 hours. Targets include Admiral Hoth, Rear Admiral em'Katta, Captain Xia'Fen, Captain Rufina, and.... yourself, ma'am.]

"Naturally. I'll be waiting," deMercereau said. "Is that all, Hatter?"

[That's all, Hare. Mad Hatter out.]

The screen went blank, and Rufina pushed herself upright. "That leaves us with five hours. Is there anything you think we can do in that time?"

"Try to warn Hoth, Vincent, em'Katta, and Xia'Fen. And practice your aim."

“Play Off The Complication”

Naranda Sol Roswell
NPC Dolphins

Nara rubbed her eyes. It was getting hard to sleep again. She hated that. Too much complication. Why couldn’t things just be simple? Why couldn’t she love Saul and he love her back and they be together?

Things with Saia had suddenly gotten complicated again as well. Nara had read the message about an hour ago. It was from a grandmother. It explained that Saia’s parents and she were estranged from each other, but when she had heard about the ship crashing, she needed to find Saia, her only granddaughter. Through much research she was able to track her to the Galaxy being under the care of Nara.

The paperwork for Nara being her official guardian was just being finished up and here comes some long lost relative.

Strange thing was, Nara was considering letting her go with the grandma. It really was getting too dangerous.

More complication!

She needed a swim. She needed to be with people who seemed to not have a care in the world. She needed to be with the dolphins. They knew how to just let go and play.

Fifteen minutes later she was in the water. She wore a bodysuit over her swimsuit. “Why are men so impossible?”

“Nothing is impossible!” One said.

“Flying is impossible.” The other said.

“I fly!” The dreamer jumped as high as the tank would allow, “See!”

The other, logical one, stated, “That’s jumping.”

“I know, but it FEELS like flying!”

Before the other could retaliate, she felt some water splashed on her face and turned to see a laughing Nara. "Let’s stop the arguing and play!” They all proceeded to dive, jump, giggle, chirp and squeal as either species were able.

"Diagnostic"

Jeremy Savoie
Ella Grey

***

Routine had never been Jeremy's favorite thing; in fact, he generally downright hated it. But like so many other things that are different after a near-death experience, this aspect of his personality wasn't quite the same either.

It wasn't that he liked routine now. He couldn't honestly say that he felt anything like joy or pleasure in it, it was more like he didn't even notice it was there anymore. When his mind and body were engaged in something as mundane as running low-level diagnostics on redundant navigational sensor array systems, as he was now, it seemed that only as much focus as was absolutely necessary was engaged. The remainder, which in this case was still most of his focus, was caught up elsewhere, often in a dream-like contemplative state. As easy as it was to drift away from the task at hand under such circumstances, Jeremy soon found himself staring blankly at an LCARS terminal, oblivious to the readouts that flashed across the screen, as well as anything -- or anyone -- else in his general vicinity.

Ella was equally oblivious. Her mind was divided between running a diagnostic on the sensor array, to make sure that whatever had happened to the starfighter didn't happen here- if there had been tampering on the Federation ships, and plotting out her apology to Victor in her head. As such, her body was basically on autopilot and she didn't notice that someone else was there.

If not for the swish of the opening door, Jeremy would probably never have even known someone else had come in. The hypnotic effects of his thinking broken for the moment, he glanced up.

"Haven't seen you in awhile," he said, smiling at Ella. He really was glad to see her.

"Huh?" Ella asked. "Oh, hi Savoie."

"How have you been?" The gentleness in his voice was something even he was still getting used to on some remotely conscious level.

"We're just checking to make sure the sensors are functioning correctly." The engineer said looking up from her computer PADD "But otherwise the ship is doing well."

"I, uh, I meant you, not the ship," Jeremy responded, feeling a little self-conscious for some reason.

"Oh, uh, never better," Ella said with a ghost of a smile. She knew she needed to try a little harder here and started to work on working, thinking out an apology, and being sociable. "How are you? Still having those woman problems?"

Jeremy smirked a little at the question.? It was strange thinking about all the turmoil he and Erin had been through and how things had changed.? "Things are . . . a little different, between me and Erin now.? We're investing our energies in a different kind of relationship -- a friendship, I guess."

Her smile faltered a bit at the word friendship; she wasn't sure that she even have that anymore with Victor. But she pushed the pain away for a bit and focused on the present. "Is that why you're so..."

"...so...?"

"You haven't yelled at me once," she said. "In fact you're actually.. happy."

He grinned again. "I don't know if 'happy' is the right word . . . 'calm', might be a better word. I feel more calm," he said, his smile fading as he reflected on it. "I guess life . . . or death . . . can do that to you. And what about you? Get tired of passing the PADD?"

Ella shrugged and cleared her throat. "Wasn't practical in an emergency, you know? I know the implant voice isn't like bells or anything but at least its functional."

He stared at her for a moment, thinking it not so odd that she was speaking, but that she was doing so in a mechanical voice. "But I thought you only *chose* not to speak? Why aren't you just using your real voice now?" he asked innocently.

"I want the psychology department to write a paper about me." She said with a smile.

The helmsman merely smiled at the remark. She wasn't the only one the counselors would have interest in.

Ella decided to switch the subject. "So, if I may ask a personal question? Are you and Erin still a couple?"

The smile faded a little from Jeremy's face. "No -- at least not for now. Like I said, we're working on a solid friendship for now. Things are different between us, you know? I guess 'cause mostly I'm different," he said pensively. "I've had a lot to think about over the past couple months; right now, Erin's the best friend I have on board -- or anywhere else, I guess," he chuckled. "I need her support and I don't want anything to mess that up." He looked at Ella . . .something vague passed through the back of his mind, not quite thought, not quite feeling . . . .

"I see." Ella said, nodding to herself. Friendship and romance did seem to be hard to balance, didn't they? "Well, I'm glad you're still friends. You two are cute, when you're not screaming at each other, that is."

"'Cute' . . . yeah . . ." he echoed, a strange, far-away look in his eye. "Oh . . .uh, me and Erin," he chuckled awkwardly, blinking his eyes in an effort to re-establish focus on the here and now. Jeremy looked over his shoulder at the results of his diagnostic routine as they continued to flash across the terminal. He looked back at Ella. "Um, that's gonna take awhile, so I was uh, wondering if you've had any lunch yet?"

"No," Ella started, wondering at whether she should start out with a traditional 'I'm sorry' to Victor, when she suddenly looked up and flashed a smile.

"Why, are you asking me out on a date?" She teased.

"No, no, of course not," Jeremy denied a little too quickly. Date? Grey? He self-consciously ran a hand through his hair, certain he was now some obvious shade of crimson. "Uh, no, it's just this is gonna go on for who knows how long," he continued with a nervous laugh and an awkward gesture to the terminal behind him, "so I uh, I guess I just thought maybe you'd, you know . . . uh, maybe you were hungry...or...something . . . ." His voice trailed off to a mumble, still wondering what the hell he was saying.

"Still cute, even without the second half of the dynamic duo." Ella said with a laugh. Poor boy, although it was fun watching him turn bright red. Definitely a nice distraction, although teasing him was about all she was going to allow herself to be distracted by. "If you want to replicate some sandwiches or something, I'll have one. But I need to finish up this diagnostic."

~Come back to reality,~ Savoie told himself.  He paused and took a breath. This was Ella Grey, the same the same chick he'd sparred with physically and verbally several times in the past; he wasn't interested in her and she wasn't interested in him.  "Sure, sandwiches sound fine," he finally agreed, his face closer to its original hue, and his smile . . . maybe just a little less bright than before.

OOC: This comes out just before "Diagnostic" by Jeremy Savoie/Ella Grey.

"SHADES OF GRAY"

Lt. Cmdr Brianna "Anna" O'Shea CE/SCE Liaison
Lt. Ella Grey, Assistant Chief Engineer
Captain Daren M'Kantu, Commanding Officer

USS Galaxy

:: Cargo Bay, Deck 13, USS Galaxy ::

Anna was looking over the readings spouting forth from her tricorder. She then paused and scanned for the second time a area on the fighter and then looked over at Ella. "Ella," She said, getting her friend's attention. "Look

at this.." She said, moving over toward her assistant chief engineer. "Part of the blast marks on the fighter are Federation, these two... the are, Breen and Hydran." Anna said. "I don't like the way this is looking at...which brings the question of why a Federation starship fired on one of it's own." Anna said, quietly, that was something she wasn't ready to let just anyone know.

Ella studied the readings, her head tilted towards the fighter in thought. "Perhaps the fighter went rogue? Or I suppose if the battle was thick enough, it's possible that it got fired on by mistake." She looked up at her

boss and arched her eyebrow. "Probably best to keep it quiet, huh?"

Anna nodded. "Agreed." She said, softly. "You two work at pulling the transponder coil... we'll see which fighter branch this Starfighter came from... Ella, help me pull the sensor logs.. we'll confirm our findings using those." Anna said holstering the tricorder and moving over to began to

get the sensor logs.

Working together it didn't take then that long to get the sensor logs and the flight recorder pulled from the damaged Starfighter. "Lets get back to engineering, run some tests and see what these components have stored in their memory." Anna said.

****

"This can't be right." Ella said.

Anna looked up from here she was examining the flight recorder. "What?" She asked, then moved over to where Ella was with the sensor logs.

"Well, the logs do show that they under heavy fire but look." Ella pulled up

the log for Anna and watched again as the recording played back the message from one of the Starfleet ships. It was distorted but it was clear that they

were calling for help, which the Starfighter was answering.

"Okay... Anything else?" Anna asked.

"Yeah."

Suddenly, the ship opened fire... on the starfighter. Another Federation ship moved to fire on them as well. The log ended as the starfighter began to be bombarded. "I don't get it, Anna."

"This ship wasn't rogue... it was set up." Anna said then looked around, word of this could not get out. "I want this all moved to engineering work bay one... lock the door with level one security code that only you and I have." Anna said. "If this," she said nodding to the logs. "Is true, we have a huge problem." Anna said. "I'll go talk to the Captain, in person, I'll come back to the engineering work bay once I'm done." She said, "not a word of this to anyone."

"Okay." Ella agreed. "I'm also going to go check our sensor array, just in case. I guess it's possible that theirs had been tampered with and they thought they were really firing on something else." She really didn't believe it but it never hurt to make sure the equipment was in top form.

Anna nodded and turned and headed out of engineering. Moments later she walked out onto the bridge and looked for M'Kantu. "Captain," She said walking up beside him. "Could we have a moment to talk, privately?" She asked.

"Of course." Daren said, gesturing towards his ready room.

Following him into the ready room, she stood before the man's desk. "Ella and I have finished a preliminary scan of the sensor logs and flight recorder.. We've learned that the ship wasn't rogue, but was fired upon by at least one Starfleet ship, possibility two. We are still sorting that out, the logs have been compromised in some blocks. With time, we should be able to get a better picture..." She said, then paused. "Also, the Starfighter was attacked by Breen and Hydran phaser fire.. my instincts are telling me those attacks happened after the initial attack by the Federation Starship... Be advised when approaching Federation starships in this area, we, like that Starfighter, could be moving into a trap."

Daren's visage may have remained stoic as the chief Engineer filled him on the indescribable report, but underneath the stony features was another story. Starfleet firing on another like ship? Reaching up to rub his chin, he leaned around to turn his terminal towards them.

"Lt. Tarin, are there any Federation or Starfleet vessels registered in the area?"

[We've not received an updated traffic report from Deep Space 5 yet, sir. Transponders are declaring Starfleet, Border patrol, and unregistered traffic around the station, but nothing in our immediate vicinity.]

"Cloaking signatures?"

[Can't be determined, sir. The interference is still keeping the sensors from functioning at peak efficiency.]

"Put the ship on yellow alert. Have the Vanguards prepare for deployment. I want no surprises. Have sciences working on cleaning up the sensors. I need facts, not guesses, Lieutenant."

[Aye, sir.]

Satisfied for the moment, Daren closed the transmission, straightening his posture, tugging down on his jacket as he came back to focusing on the Chief Engineer.

"'Commander, continue your examination of the starfighter. Perhaps it would be forward-thinking to inform Major Rex of the situation. He can assign you one of his technicians for assistance if required. Keep me up-to-date on any new information."

Anna nodded, sharply. "I'll speak with Major Rex personally."

"Belay that. I'll inform him myself. Thank you for apprising me in person. I don't feel I need to remind you to keep this restricted to Delta Two security access, do I?"

"I've always set up a containment of the area. Ella and I are the only the engineering personnel involved. For the time being it will remain that way. Any items we remove from the fighter is going into a sealed room, only Ella, yourself and I have the code to access that room." Anna said, handing him the pad with the code.

"Very good. Dismissed."

Anna nodded, turned on her heel and headed out.

"M'Kantu to Major Rex." Daren strode to the exit to the Bridge shortly after the Engineer had left to pursue her assignment, but stopped shy of the exit doors opening.

[Rex here, Captain. What's the situation?] In the background, the faint thrum of activity could be heard as shuttles powered up, checked out, tested, and prepped for flight.

"'Commander O'Shea has discovered some rather unsettling news..." After disclosing the results of the Starfighter examination, he paused to let the information sink in.

"Vanguard may need to deploy at a moment's notice. If so, do not trust any Starfleet or Federation ships on first impression, Major. They may not be as they appear. We'll be arriving at Deep Space 5 within 3 hours, so be prepared."

[Aye, sir. We'll be ready.]

"Very good. M'Kantu out." He took a step forward into the sensor range of the door, where it parted ways. Something was afoot here, and it didn't bode well whatever it was. This far out of Federation territory there was no help to be had. They were it.

"Ashes in your Mouth"

By Captain Daren M'Kantu, Commanding Officer

Appearances:
Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor, Incumbent-Deep Space 5 CO

Lt. JG Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer

Lt. JG T'Pol Hunter Chief Science Officer

Ensign T'Rehn, Operations

Cameo by: Lt. Commander Micaelah Rabb, Chief Medical Officer

*****

Deck 1
Main Bridge T-40 minutes to arrival at DS5

The man seated in the big chair on the Bridge felt awfully small. Over an hour it had been since 'Commander O'Shea had informed him of the results of Engineering's examination of the starfighter. Sickbay had reported on the results of the two Starfleet Officers recovered from the wreck as being in stable condition. Security had reported they were cooperating fully with their questioning. So far, nothing had been yielded as to what had occurred on the small craft on its way here.

"Anything on sensors, yet? Cloak traces? Starships? Any craft?"

"Same as earlier, Captain." T'Pol Hunter, the recently promoted Chief Science Officer when Jasmine Heloi ceased to exist suddenly - nobody seemed to know what happened to her or where she went. He was even beginning to forget what she looked like. No doubt snatched by Temporal Agents. He wouldn't put it past them, considering the meddling they'd done with the Federation and Starfleet over the centuries.

"Sensors are operating at peak efficiency now. We can get a visual on the station, albeit not as sharp as we're used to..." Her voice trailed off unexpectedly. Daren twisted his neck to peer at the Vulcan/Terran beneath the arch. "Lieutenant? Is there something else?"

Saul Bental, transferred to Chief Tactical Officer from Intelligence with Airaul Taern and William Warbeck transferred off at Mirusa VI, glanced over to the science station. He and Hunter were mild acquaintances, having met once or twice on occasion. He noticed the woman touch her temple, depressing it until it turned white under her elegant fingers.

"Lieutenant?" He held his station, glancing back to the Captain, who also noticed her hesitation. Besetting his eyelids, he pushed himself out of the center seat and up the ramp alongside to her station. Hunter shook her head lightly back and forth.

"I'm fine, Captain. Just felt a bit light-headed there." She gulped, nodding her head slightly as a shiver coursed through her. The nausea hadn't passed completely, but it was fading. "Really, I'm fine." Depressing a keypad on her terminal, she focused the sensor array on the station's position, setting a pattern of detection over it.

[Sickbay to Bridge.]

"Go ahead, Sickbay." The deep-range scans were projecting odd results already.

[We've had thirteen crew check-in with reports of headaches, nausea, and dizziness within the last ten minutes. Has anything happened up there we should be aware of?]

Daren glanced at Hunter, who plainly ignored him, focusing on her duties instead.

"No, Doctor. We've done nothing except scan the area and prepare for our arrival at Deep Space 5."

[Where's the Doctor?? No, not you! I don't need a nurse!]

"What's going on in Sickbay?"

[Admiral Proctor-] The sound of scuffling came over the system, followed by muffled shouts.

[Captain! I demand an explanation. My staff-] M'Kantu terminated the signal. He had no time for this. He had faith Doctor Rabb would take care of things. He had to, seeing as they were due to arrive in 30 minutes now.

"Lieutenant, I want you to check into Sickbay as soon as your shift is complete or if your symptoms arise again, understand?"

"Aye, sir."

Unseen by anyone else, down at the Operations station, Ensign T'Rehn, an unorthodox Vulcan in her long hair and angry glares, also experienced flashes, an instant headache, and stomach cramps. She hid the pain and emotions well, as per the training of her peers long ago on Vulcan. She blinked, moisture glistening on her pupils.

"Station is coming into visual range, Captain." T'Rehn rolled her shoulders back. Her spine felt tight.

"Lt. Hunter, focus the readings more. I need facts, not floating figures." He pointed at figures scrolling across the main monitor above her head. "Life signs one moment, none the next, then fading in and out."

"I can't tighten the beam any more than I already have Captain. Those readings are as well as I can get them."

Daren scanned across the terminal, absorbing it all. "Power levels are extremely low. Too low. No shields running at all. Not even running lights." The life readings were an oddity though. They would come and go, like they were phasing in and out. Blink, and one's gone. Blink, and another shows up elsewhere.

"What are those?" He pointed at sensor 'chunks' streaming out from the station. Starfleet and vessel identity transponder codes would show up alongside some of them. "I wasn't aware of any cosmic debris in the area."

"Lt. Bental," Tearing his eyes away from the scans momentarily, he stepped the meter or so over to the Tactical Arch. "Open a hailing frequency to the Station, if you please."

With a sharp nod and a deft finger, the former Intelligence Officer gave notice of an available channel.

"Deep Space Five, this is the USS Galaxy, under command of Daren M'Kantu, arriving. Please acknowledge."

While M'Kantu had been assembling the hail, the turbolift doors opened to purge Admiral Proctor onto the bridge. Her dark pools for eyes burned their way into the older and taller Captain, but waited impatiently, crossing her arms behind him, still as a block of ice.

"Commodore Jerdberg, please reply." Bental shook his head back and forth.

"It's just dead space, Captain. They're receiving, but simply not answering."

"Keep transmitting on all frequencies. They communications network may be on minimum power. It just could be once we're in the area, they'll hear us."

Bental nodded his assent, observing everything. What his thought processes were, nobody knew.

"Captain, I demand to know what is going on!"

M'Kantu stopped to acknowledge the Admiral, but only long enough to give her what she needed to know, which wasn't much by his own admission anyhow.

"Deep Space Five is on minimum power, we're unable to confirm or deny any lifeforms remaining on the station, and sensors are unable to pierce the interference. That is all we know right now."

"I'd say that's enough to go to red alert. The Hydrans came back to finish their job and claim this space. You know it as well as I do."

"Admiral, we have no proof of that." Still, she would not move, blocking his path down the opposite side of the Bridge.

"They killed thousands, they tried to open fire on this ship at Mirusa VI. They're not intelligent enough to think beyond aggression for the sake of taking what they think is theirs."

Daren gritted his teeth, but held back his anger. She was completely devoid of the fact it was she that almost sparked the powder keg between them, and if did decide to initiate a conflict in the system, it was because of her actions on the Hammer of Progress. Killing a Hydran on their own bridge didn't even cross her mind as being a big infraction for them to declare war on the entire Federation. Previous wars have been started for less.

"Admiral, we need to avoid jumping to conclusions. If the Hydrans were involved, we'll need proof of it. There's no need to encourage their belief that we are the aggressors."

"They're too stupid to understand that concept."

Daren sighed.

"Captain, visual range. I can get an image of the station now."

"Any response on those hails, Lt. Bental?"

The Tactical Chief shook his head. "Not even static, sir."

Turning his back on the Admiral and returning to the center of the Bridge, he nodded to T'Rehn, who'd advised him of the moment visual contact was made.

"Best magnification, Ensign. Let's see what we've got."

The viewscreen shimmered as it fought to adjust a resolution, scanning through the buffers to assemble portions into anything resembling objects. M'Kantu preened forward, as if leaning in closer would help him identify anything through the static and haze. Something floated through the visuals, blocking the view as the screen turned black, eliminating the snow.

They waited a few moments, until the upper left edge of the screen separated from the darkness, drifting downward. Daren felt a presence behind him. The subtle scent of lavender reached his nostrils, and he knew it was Proctor.

"What is that? Fix it."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with the screen, Admiral."

The opening corner of the screen emitted a light of a single star, alone and distant.

The darkness 'flipped', exposing a much larger section of space, adrift with sizable chunks and objects coasting by.

"Ensign, reduce magnification to 500x."

The viewscreen shimmered back, but with the buffers now filled with data on the objects lazing about the screen, it barely hesitated resolving the images.

A nacelle, burnt and ravaged spun end over end, deflecting objects like a baseball bat on connection. A captain's chair flew across the screen, causing Proctor to jump. A boot, deck plating, a frozen targ. Even a kitchen sink.

"We're entering local airspace, Captain. Dropping to sublight."

"Normal resolution please, Ensign." Somber, the starship captain again rubbed his chin instinctively. His palate descried the taste of ashes.

Upon entering the area of the station, they found themselves in a literal junkyard of scrap and debris, the deflector shields glittering from items impacting them.

"The debris field is approximately 14,000 kilometers in circumferential size." T'Rehn had already begun her analysis, oblivious to the emotional distress the others were already infected by.

"I'm detecting Starfleet, Ferengi, Klingon, Romulan, Hydran, Breen, and random civilian signatures. No lifesigns." A starfighter, its cockpit glazed over from a canopy breach, tumbled across the screen.

"And still no other craft detected?"

"None, sir."

Proctor had regained her composure enough to continue pushing the Captain to action. "I think it might be time to call for red alert now, Captain."

"I will decide when to elevate our status, Admiral. Now, sit down before I have you removed from the bridge."

"You wouldn't dare. I could take command right now."

"Not since you need the authority of my Chief Medical Officer, XO, and/or Liaison Officer, none of which are here. Now, have a seat. Negotiations are over."

Before Proctor could retort, Daren turned his attention back to the matters at hand, completely ignoring the would-be Incumbent.

"Deploy the Vanguards to secure the perimeter of the debris field. Determine the status of any of the ships to see if we can send over any investigative teams and salvage data recorders and bodies for proper burial. No need to let the locals get their hands on classified technology. The Androssi practically live in these graveyards."

M'Kantu then glanced to the upper right quadrant of the screen, where the dark mass of the docking ring could be seen. "Make best speed to the station."

The ship backed out of the debris field, spitting out Banzai fighters simultaneously. It graced around the outermost rubble as it came in under the station. More junk hovered about the base of the station, an occasional derelict pod.

"Can we get better sensor readings this close to the station, Lt. Hunter?"

"They're a bit better, but lifesigns still won't focus properly. The station is at minimum power. Life-support in some sections, but not all. Operations, Engineering, Auxiliary Control are all cut off with no power. Defense systems are cold. Docking ring two has enough power for umbilicals. We could probably connect there without an issue."

"Let's maintain a yellow alert, let's stay 20 kilometers off the station." He tapped his badge lightly. "All senior staff, report to the Main Conference Lounge immediately." He gestured to the Admiral as he hiked his way up the starboard ramp. "You too, Admiral. There's no way I'm allowing you stay on this bridge alone." Proctor harrumphed, but acquiesced. There was no way she was going to let this second-rate Captain make decisions on her station with her, either.

Bental and Hunter fell into line behind them, their replacements Nieca Reyol and Coridan Bastila respectively, falling into place taking up the empty positions on the Bridge.

(OOC: This takes place before "Starfighter Down")

"First Contact"

Ens. Artim - Medical Officer
and Ens. Ember Lansky - Fighter Pilot / Security Officer, USS Galaxy

Location: Lounge, Deep Space 5

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

His time waiting in the lounge had come to the point where he was now staring across a chessboard at a rather pretty looking Betazoid petty officer. Despite her telepathy she didn't believe Artim's age or mental capacity. They'd been playing for nearly an hour before she realized the truth.

"You weren't lying , you are good." she said

"Comes with a century of experience." Artim replied as he moved his queen, "Mate in 5. Care to get me that Rigellian brandy now?"

The betazoid studied the board for a few moments and then groaned as she headed for the bar.

Walking into the lounge, Ember scanned the area. It was fairly empty, and her search shouldn't take long, especially considering the method she had in mind. "Anyone here by the name of Artim?" She called out unabashedly, her arms crossed as she waited for a response.

Artim noticed the woman asking for him and he stood up and waved,

"Over here, you must be Ensign Lansky. I'm Artim"

She had noticed the child, but hadn't given him a second glance since he was the least likely candidate for the person she was looking for. Now, as he stood up with an affirmative answer, her look was skeptical. "You?" She asked, clearly in doubt and not even considering that possibility seriously. "I'm not playing games, boyo." Her tone was not harsh, but instead contained a hint of patient amusement. "Why don't you run along?"

"Boyo eh," Artim said smiling. She was reacting just as he'd expected. "Is that what you call your elders? I'm Miran, look 10, but I actually celebrated my 201'st birthday...the day the Federation was founded. So yes, I'm the medical officer you're supposed to fly out to the Galaxy. Well, you don't have to do all the flying, I am a level 4 pilot."

That answer was not what she anticipated. There was a clear moment of hesitation when she considered if this was just a well-executed joke, her brow arched with query. Then, a laugh escaped her throat. She had

heard of the Mirans. "You're what, 500 years old then? You don't say," She tipped her head, stretching her hand out, accepting her mistake with open candor. It was the unfortunate result of not checking up his profile beforehand. "Pleased to meet you. And as for your piloting certification… we'll see about those skills when we get on the Starfighter. 500 years is a long time for them to get rusty," She grinned.

"Well, I'm actually over 420 years old, I turned 201 the same day the Federation was founded in 2161, though I was kinda stuck on our world then.", Artim said in a snide way, "And I only got my level 4 a few months ago at the academy. Haven't flown a fighter before, but after being a shuttle pilot for about a decade, it shouldn't be too much stress. So, when you want to leave?"

"Good to know you still have a precise memory for dates at your age," She quipped, the register of her tone a hint sardonic. She found that assertion of his just a tad 'show-offy'. Granted, he had every right to be with 400 years and a reservoir-full of experiences on her, but she would have appreciated if he was a little less smug about it. "We can leave right now, if you're ready?" She said, personally eager to leave the station. She seemed to feel out of sorts if docked at port too long and she had already been waiting at DS5 two days already. It felt like a century.

"I got a couple things to wrap up here. Lets say, an hour?" Artim really only needed about 10 minutes to run to his quarters and grab the things he'd already packed, but he wanted to collect on that bet with the Betazoid...who was just about on her way back.

Ember nodded. "I'll meet you out at the shuttlebay." A brief smile crossed her lips. "I'll see you then, in an hour," She said, glancing at Artim with a momentarily bemused look. It was uncanny to be talking to a man who appeared as a child but was in fact, centuries old. But, like all other strange phenomena and encounters in Starfleet, it was a matter of embracing differences. She would get used to it.

"The Consequences of Spontaneously Vanishing People"

(takes place concurrently with "Ashes in Your Mouth")

Lt. JG 8-ball Hunter

It occured to 8-ball slightly after her first wave of nausea that all of life's problems could be blamed on Jasmine Heloi.

8-ball hadn't known Jasmine Heloi all that well. Despite the fact that the two officers had worked together in the same department (and a department that seemed to lose officers by the week, no less) 8-ball had never gotten around to learning much about the Chief Science Officer. She seemed like a nice enough girl, pretty, used to be an actress or something, but 8-ball didn't deal much with her and she figured that was good. Stay out of the boss's way, the boss stays out of your way, and life is pretty much hunky dory.

That is until your Chief Science Officer somehow manages to vanish completely from the space-time continuum, and lo and behold, you are suddenly promoted.

When 8-ball had first heard the news, she wasn't gleeful like others might have been, or horrified, like she later became. When 8-ball first heard the news that she was to be promoted to Lieutenant, Junior Grade status AND Chief Science Officer. . . SHE, 8-ball, the girl who had only a few months ago got into a food fight with a fourteen year old pipsqueak demon. . .well, 8-ball couldn't feel much except for disbelief and shock. It wasn't until about twenty minutes later that the terror started setting in.

8-ball, who had latched onto Starfleet as a means of keeping herself from being perpetually homeless, had actually advanced in her career. In a strange, sick, demented, sort of way, 8-ball almost felt proud of herself for that: being an ensign was kind of like being a virgin for an excessively long time: you just weren't allowed to sit at the cool kids' table until you finally got yourself laid (or promoted, in this case). 8-ball figured that she sort of worked hard, and that she was getting more acquainted with the Galaxy, and if she didn't necessarily love the ship, well, at least she wasn't still thinking about deserting every five seconds. 8-ball thought she could have dealt with the responsibility of being a lieutenant.

But science chief. . .

That was a HELL of a lot more responsibility than 8-ball could have claimed yesterday, and frankly, she wasn't sure she was up to the challenge.

She figured that there had to be some perks in the job: she could probably get herself on cooler shifts, for starters, and make annoying people like that stupid Kathy or whatever her name was do all the crap jobs. Plus, she'd get to tease Indy a lot. After all, what could be more fun than going up to your friend all the time and saying, "Ha-ha, you have to do what I say cause I'm the BOSS!" That in itself would be pretty damn cool. But still. . .now she'd be expected to make actual decisions. Go on more away missions. Go the freaking staff meetings, for Godsake. 8-ball wasn't sure she was up for this.

And she KNEW that this whole science chief thing was going to be a problem when her bridge duty just happened to coincide with when the Galaxy arrived at Deep Space Five. If she was still an ensign, that would never have happened. The head honcho department heads were always the ones on the bridge when the ship inevitably arrived at something freakish like this Deep Space Five, with it's been-through-seven-hells appearance, and it's crappy, funked out readings. This was not 8-ball's place: she didn't want to be here.

And when the nausea set in, 8-ball decided that she really, REALLY didn't want to be here.

It really was all Heloi's fault. Only with her gone and strangely fading away from everyone's memory, 8-ball couldn't really blame her. Not in any way that would produce results, at any rate.

Because 8-ball was not a particularly cool, suave, operative who hid either emotion or pain particularly well, she couldn't help but attract attention when the sudden rush of dizziness set in. . .right in the middle of her fucking report to the Captain on her first bridge shift since becoming Chief Science Officer. . .oh, this was just swell timing. Saul, who was also on the bridge, came over towards her, apparantly concerned, which 8-ball thought was sweet of him. It was this sweetness that kept 8-ball from answering his question to her welfare: for a minute, 8-ball was sure that if she opened her mouth to say she was a-okay, all that would come out was a good deal of well-intentioned vomit.

Instead of humiliating herself further by barfing all over Saul's nice, clean uniform, 8-ball swallowed and tried to find some form of equilibrium. She could feel beads of sweat breaking against her forehead, but her skin didn't feel hot: it feel cold, shaky. She was sure her skin would be clammy to the touch, and she was worried that if the dizziness didn't pass soon, she might have to sit down before she fell over.

Thankfully, though, the symptoms seemed to lessen. . .not disappear, exactly, but definitely something she could live with. "I'm fine, Captain," she said, trying to make whatever the fuck just happened to her a lot less creepy than it had been. "Just felt a bit light-headed there. Really, I'm fine." She quickly went back to work as the Captain contacted Sickbay, ignoring the Doctor report a bunch of people who felt crappy just like she did. Godammit, this whole Science Chief thing might have been a ridiculous idea, but the fact was that it was real. 8-ball wasn't just some random ensign anymore. She had responsibility and shit, and she was going to live up to it.

Well, either that, or she just didn't want to look like a dork in front of Saul.

8-ball continued her readings to the Captain and noticed she was still getting looks from other crew members. She tried not to glare at them, and was never more happy in her life to see Admiral Proctor, the Wicked Witch of the Galaxy, storm on the bridge. Listening to Proctor shriek was never fun, but she sort of demanded attention, and it got people's eyes off of her for a bit.

The captain ordered yellow alert and then told his senior staff to come to the conference lounge. It took 8-ball half a second to realize that meant her too. God, this whole situation was weird. 8-ball stepped away from her station as Bastilla walked towards it, and felt another slight wave of dizziness as she followed the Captain off the bridge. Whether the dizziness was from whatever had happened before, or just the surrealness of going to her first staff meeting, 8-ball didn't know. In fact, the Gods only knew what kind of weird crap the Galaxy would find themselves in this time, and 8-ball had no idea if it'd be good, bad, or really, really, really bad. She was only sure of one thing, and that one little thing gave her some comfort, small and intangible as it was:

It was really all Heloi's fault. Damn vanishing people.

"Unexpected Departure"

(Backpost- Occurs a few days after the events of Federation Day.)

by

Lt. JG Tarin Iniara, Chief Ops

Ens. Aristi Ferguson, Flight Control (APC)

"Another day, another headache," Iniara muttered as she returned home to her quarters. She dropped heavily into her desk chair, pulling off her boots and casting them aside carelessly. She sat like that for a moment, slumped so far down that she was almost falling out of the chair.

It seemed like Olivia Proctor had been on the ship for years, and might never leave. For Iniara, nearly every day had been a nightmare since the Admiral had come on board. She had been so preoccupied with fulfilling Proctor's bizarre demands that the strange occurrences on Mirusa VI had barely even registered on her radar. Iniara was very grateful that the ship was almost ready to resume its course to Deep Space Five, and that they might soon be rid of the Admiral.

"Darjeeling tea, hot," she called over her shoulder to the replicator. At times like this Iniara was glad her quarters were set up a bit oddly, putting the replicator alcove within arm's reach of her desk. She swiveled around in the chair to pick up the steaming mug, closing her eyes and blowing the steam into her face until her skin began to tingle.

A muffled rustle from across the room caught her attention. She looked up, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. It sounded like it was coming from Aristi's room.

Odd, she thought to herself. Aristi was usually on duty at this time of day. Curious, Iniara stood and made her way across the room.

"Hey, Reece," she called out. A second later Aristi's head poked out from the open doorway.

"Oh, you're home," Aristi commented quietly before disappearing back into her room. A moment later the rustling resumed.

Iniara's eyebrow quirked upward. Normally her roommate's mood was not this subdued. "Everything okay?" she asked, stopping at the entrance to the other woman's room.

"Yeah," Aristi replied, not looking up from her work. Clothing was scattered across her bed, and she was in the middle of folding a shirt and placing it into a nearby duffel bag.

"No, you're not." Iniara didn't have to be a Betazoid to know something was up. "What's going on? Why are you packing?"

Aristi paused and turned to face Iniara. "I have to go home. I'm leaving in about an hour."

"Aristi, what's happened?" All thoughts of Admiral Proctor had left Iniara's mind; the only thing that concerned her now was her friend.

"My cousin Kyla died," she stated plainly, barely a hint of emotion in her voice. "She was a pilot in the Fighter Corps. I'm going home to attend the memorial service."

"Prophets..." Iniara began, and then trailed off. She knew there was nothing she could say to diminish the woman's loss. "I am so sorry, Reece." She took a step forward, hesitating slightly, wanting to comfort her friend.

"Thanks." The taller woman smiled weakly. "It's all part of the life we lead, I guess."

Iniara could see Aristi's natural eye glistening with tears. "That doesn't mean it hurts any less. Or that you should take any less time to grieve."

"Yeah, I know." Aristi nodded in agreement. "It just stinks, you know? She was so young..."

Before Iniara could say anything further Aristi continued, doing her best to perk up. "I'd better finish packing. Even though I'm the one piloting the runabout, I still don't want to be late!" She attempted a grin, wiping away the tears from her eye as she did so.

"Right. Look, I'll be in my room if you need me. For anything."

"Alright. Thanks again,” Aristi replied, before returning to her packing.

A moment later Iniara turned and silently left. She sighed deeply as she entered her own room, sitting down on the corner of her bed. In times like this everything else seems inconsequential, she thought as she took the first sip of her tea.

Iniara remained that way for some time, thinking, quietly listening to the sounds of her roommate packing. An undetermined amount of time later she heard the door to their quarters swish open, then close. Silence descended upon the room once more.

"Broken Triangle" – Part I

2nd. Lieutenant Branwen London

Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental

When they finally found him, in the lower levels of the cave, something seemed to be different in Saul Bental. It was as though someone turned off an inner light, or drained him to the bone.

Physically, he was fine. Healthy. The lack of sleep for the past three days and the lack of food didn't affect him much, and he was still well hydrated. However, he paced slowly and not briskly as always when the rescue team led him toward the surface, and that famous Saul-ish grin did not emerge even once. Not a single joke was told, not a single trade proposal made.

Doctor Slen, the medical officer accompanying the rescue team, was slightly familiar with Saul. He was so spooked by the way Saul seemed, that he actually scanned him to make sure he was Human. Once the scan came clean, he dismissed Saul's behaviour as minor trauma caused by recent events; As someone whose home planet suffered a horrendous terrorist attack just a few weeks ago, Slen knew all about traumas.

It was only after Saul was debriefed on the Galaxy, along many others, that he finally asked his debriefing officer the question that kept burdening him like a Yridian flesh leech.

"Did they find the corpses of Naranda Roswell and Branwen London?", He asked the debrifing officer, a Lieutenant from operations.

"What? Actually, both are accounted for.", the officer replied.

If Saul felt surprised or happy, it did not show on the surface. He simply stood up, thanked the officer, and left the debriefing room with a troubled expression on his face.

* * *

Branwen was in the office, trying to get her head around the idea that her boss had left for a few weeks leaving her in charge. With everything that had happened on the planet it was a bit much. In

"Branwen.", she heard a flat sound, and recognized it immediatly. It was Saul.

"Saul, you are safe." She said was great relief, walking towards him.

"I am so glad that you are alive.", He said, his tone remaining flatter than his ancient homeland, Holland. "I was sure that I sent you and Nara to your deaths."

Branwen just hugged him. "That is nothing you could do, sweetheart. It was an impossible situation. But we are all safe now, it is over." She kissed him on the cheek.

Saul remained still for a few moments, then gently unlocked Branwen's embrace. He remained very close to her though, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

"But it won't always be like that."

"I know, but as long as we look after each other, it will be OK. You did your best." She said soothingly.

"I had a lot of time to think... after the two of you fell to your deaths.", He told her. "I spent hours in the tunnel, walking and climbing until they finally found me. I was sure the two of you were dead, because of me."

Branwen never saw Saul cry. She didn't see him cry now, either. But there was an absolute tremble in his voice.

"During the coming year, there's a chance that I'll die, and that people around me will die or suffer. In the cave, when you both fell, I suddenly realized : this isn't a game anymore. I can't always meddle with everything around me, and expect that no harm will come to you - or Nara. I don't want you to be hurt. I don't want you on my conscience. I don't want to feel like I felt on that cave, ever again."

"Saul, you can only end up in that cave if you push people away. If you are afraid to live. Don't do that, don't make everybody miserable, and don't worry about things so much." She kissed him again. "I love you, I trust you."

Saul sighed. She was irresistible. So understanding, so forgiving, so beautiful, so simple.

Why should he throw all this away? He might as well continue with her, and if she dies, or gets hurt - well, she IS a marine, and she knows the risks. And as for him, well, he'll find another girl, or maybe not, does it really matter?

The problem was, it did matter. Saul couldn't tell where it began to matter. Before the cave, surely. Certainly before Mirusa. On Trill? No. It probably began to matter when he saw a young Welsh, sitting facing her abusive father alone in her room.

Saul still had an ace down his sleeve, but he did not want to use it. It would hurt her. And him.

He decided to try to convince her in less painful ways. "Bran, believe me, right now what I want the most is to kiss you, to hug you, and... more...". He could see her blushing, in a very non-marine way. "But for good reasons. You trust me? If I were really trustworthy, I would've told you why I think being my girlfriend will put you in risk. I would also not drag you and Nara for so long like that."

“I trust you.” Branwen said. “But I don’t have such a low opinion of you that you have yourself. The first moment I met you, you came to me in my moment of need. You are my knight in shining armour.” And then she kissed him full on the mouth.

Her lips had a taste he never tasted before. It was indescribable, like the colors and shades of the Sun in Shadow mural.

He had to put an end to this now, before it'll be too late. Before he yields, and declares his undying love to her. Before he signs her death certificate.

"Branwen, there's something else.", He told her, his eyes closed. He felt warm inside, and he knew that his next sentence will have to be cooler than liquid nitrogen to work.

She just looked at him with trusting eyes, waiting for him to speak.

"In the cave, when I needed to press on your image on the terminal and save only one of you... before I came up with the idea to press both at the same time..."

There was no turning back.

"I almost pressed on Nara."

He felt her go a little stiff in his arms, while she continued to look at him with hurt puppy eyes. "I understand, you have known her so much longer. When… when is she going to move out so you guys can live together." She will herself not to cry.

"She is not.", Saul forced himself to speak sternly, "She has Saia now, and I don't want her dead any more than I want you. I'm going to go to her and tell her exactly what I told you, Bran... minus the terminal part."

His face burnt. He could physically feel pain in his chest and breathing was hard. He was giving away something so special, so important... it was a battle of mind and heart.

And like so many times before, the mind was winning.

Branwen just took his head in her hands and looked straight into his troubled eyes. "that test was not fair. Don't give up caring because of it. Choose Nara or choose me, but don't give up. If you do that, those creeps in who made us go through it will have really won." And then she kissed him again.

This time, Saul didn't let her complete the kiss, as much as he wanted to. "You're wrong, Bran. it's not that I'm letting them win. I'm not letting them win AGAIN. That's a sacrifice this particular knight is willing to do for his lady."

Having said that, he turned around quickly, knowing how close he was to yielding to her, to his heart.

“Saul?” She whispered. Bran couldn’t believe what was happening. They were made for each other; he had appeared when she needed him most. It had been a sign from god. She had been so sure they had a future together. She could not believe he was breaking up with her.

He stopped on his tracks, not daring to turn his head back.

“Saul.” She whispered again as she watched him leave.

"Broken Triangle" – Part II

Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental
Intelligence Officer

Lieutenant J.G. Naranda Sol Roswell
Engineer

Nara let out a laugh. One of the dolphin's made a joke. Something about fish and stars. Nara didn't get it, but hearing them laugh and chirp always made her giggle. She dunked under again. She was able to hold her breath a little longer each time. Her aquatic friends nodded their approval. She could use

the scuba gear, but it took away from the fluidity that should come with being in water.

As her head bobbed above the surface of the water, she suddenly heard

someone calling her name. No, not her name exactly, but rather a nickname.

"Princess."

It was Saul. He sounded... depressed, perhaps? Maybe tired, or sad, or frustrated, or... all at once.

Nara turned toward the door. It took her a moment to find it, as being under water can mess up one's sense of direction. The other swimmers seemed to

search around. Nara looked at them feeling the water move with their restlessness. "What's wrong."

"Where is the Princess?"

Nara smiled, "It's my nickname. It's not literal." Her new friends chirped and swam a bit away not finding her joke near as funny as theirs. She got out and waved, "I'll get to work on the special PADD soon." They had been discussing, in between the socializing, adapting PADDs to be waterproof, weighted and special buttons so they could use their noses to access information. Of course, they would also need carrying handles for the dolphins to carry them in their beaks.

Nara looked at Saul again; the smile faded a bit showing a look of unsure emotions.

"I was sure that I was never going to see you again," He told her simply.

She looked down, "I'm always here, Saul." She looked up and scrunched her face, "Well, not HERE here, but here...for you." She picked up a towel and started to pat her hair dry. She didn't want to take off the wetsuit, revealing her swimsuit, in front of Saul. She wanted to keep this as cool as possible. "You know what I mean. Or not. I'm not even sure what I mean."

She sat on the edge of the pool and slumped letting out a sigh.

"We leave." She heard as she heard the sounds of three bodies move through the water.

She smiled, "They're very intuitive."

"Well, they're the second most intelligent species on Earth.", Saul chuckled, but his chuckle sound hollow like two Sakarian grinding stones rolling against each other..

Nara smiled, "Well we humans can hold our own."

"If you ask the ancient writer, Douglas Adams, we only take third place. What happened after you and Branwen fell?", Saul changed the subject all of the sudden..

Nara frowned and looked down, "Nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"We didn't speak much afterward. Too much work to do."

"Nara, I came here for two reasons.", Saul told her, his eyes avoiding hers. "The first one is to make sure that you are alive. The second is... it is... to tell you that... I gave it a lot of thought, after what happened at the cave and before, and I don't think that it's a good idea right now... you and me, I mean."

Nara sighed and slumped, "Of course not." In an effort to hide from it all, she fell back into the pool, not caring if she splashed him or not. After a few moments, she reappeared.

"Now don't go drowning on me," Saul said, realizing how stupid he must sound as the word came out of his mouth on their own.

"I guessed you'd just stay with Branwen anyway." She held her breath, ready to dive again, but breathed out and said, "I did hope it would work out though." After another silent second, she went under again and swam to the further side of the pool, waiting for the swoosh of the door saying he left.

"I'm not staying with her, either. I've just told her that an hour ago."

Saul sat on the pool side, dipping his feet in the water regardless of the fact that he didn't take his shoes off.

"Nara, it's only reasonable. I lied to you, broke your trust. I single-handedly spotted our careers, for my own interests. I exploited opportunities at your homeworld, taking advantage of the war. I'm not going to be a father to Saia - don't think I'm responsible enough to father anyone - and if that's not enough, I'm probably going to vanish some time soon and god knows if I'll make it back."

Nara sighed, "You're a creep, I know that. But for some reason, that doesn't deter my feelings for you. And about Saia..." She shrugged, "I'm barely being a mother. I'm not asking for a huge commitment, Saul. I was just asking for a chance to love the first person I ever thought I COULD love."

Of course there was something else, but Saul wasn't going to tell her that he was hired to kill her, ever. Besides the fact that it would put his career at risk, it would make her understand why he had to act the way he did on Trill. It would make her see him in a good light, and right now it was the worst thing to do.

"Nara, I think you're an amazing person. If the two of us wouldn't have fallen into this pit... in a different universe, without Sakaria, without Branwen, without Leran Manev, and especially without my screwed life – it could be so different... but it isn't. I..."

Much like the emotional conversation with Branwen earlier that day, Saul felt tempted to just throw it all. To hell with the agenda, To hell with Sakaria, To hell with Saia, To hell with stupid Ferengis, blackhole merchants, rotten cousins, and even charming, beautiful, naïve marine psychologists.

Here there was, this beautiful lady in the water, looking like a mermaid princess. And she could be his. And he desired her to be his, even more than he lusted for Bran.

The irony hit him. On Sakaria, he was the one in the water, and she remained dry. Here, he was sitting dry outside the water, and she was the one swimming.

Just jump into the water, Saul, and hold her. That's all that she wants; All that you want. It's that easy. Just push your body forward, and let the artificial gravity do its thing.

Like the Mirusan gravity sucked Nara to the rupture in th