"The Trusted Right Hand"

Major Corran Rex, C.A.G.
Flight Officer Teyri Jen, Vanguard Two

*****

Corran's office was a mess.

Granted, the last time he'd been in here, he'd gotten into a fight with one of his pilots, Flight Officer Teyri Jen. And she had, thankfully, locked him into a closet.

He heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, and turned to see the aforementioned Bajoran. "Flight Officer." he said by way of greeting.

"You wanted to see me?" Jen asked cautiously. The last time they had interacted, it had been... interesting. It was definitely the first time she'd ever had to lock her superior into a closet.

Hopefully, it was the last as well.

"Yeah, come in." he said, frowning. "I forgot how much of a mess it was in here."

"Yeah, well, housekeeping can slide when you get taken over by an evil entity. Call it a trade off." She stood behind the chair in front of the desk, watching the Trill major putter around, trying to straighten up his office. It was a lost cause, even Jen could tell that, but still, he got points for trying. She shifted her weight on her feet, getting ready to move to the door in case he showed any indication of going crazy and attacking her again. Yeah, everyone was 'supposedly' back to normal, but still... Rather be safe then sorry. That was her mantra these days.

Corran felt a momentary sense of disquiet as he saw the skittishness that Jen was trying to hide. Still - it was to be expected. The only real atonement he could make was to be to resume behaving like normal. Even if he himself felt anything but.

Giving up on trying to straighten up his office, he satisfyingly flopped down into the non regulation (and supremely comfortable) chair he'd had installed behind his desk. Propping his feet up and locking his hands behind his head, he motioned to the mostly-cleared empty chair across from him. "Have a seat, Flight Officer."

"I'm good. Thanks though."

"I'm pretty sure the chair doesn't bite." he half-heartedly joked. "Sit down."

"Yeah, it doesn't look like it. But there was that article in the Galaxy Gazette, you know, about the chair that bit someone's ass off. Ever since then, they looked kinda shady to me, don't ya know," she said back to him, relaxing just enough to sit down. Not much, she was still ready to run, but enough. "So, what's up? What'd I do this time? You know, if this is about that sim run I had the other day, I swear to the prophets, I was off my game. I hadn't had much sleep. I was... hungry. I was.... Crap, I sucked. I know it. No excuse."

No, no," the Trill chuckled. "It's not about that at all - though that was definitely the worst flying I've seen you do yet. Still, with everything lately - it's not surprising some of us are off our game."

"Oh. Well... good then. But, if that wasn't what you wanted, then why am I here?"

"Well," he started, picking up some peanuts off the bowl on his desk and popping a few into his mouth. He had to fight down a momentary revulsion and a mental sigh. Gavin hadn't liked peanuts, not one bit. Corran was going to have get past that instinct from one of his new former hosts because frankly, he loved the things. With effort, he swallowed them, and then ordered some water from the replicator on his desk as he turned his attention back to the Bajoran pilot in front of him. "This is about me offering you a job."

"A job?"

"A better job."

"Your job?"

"Ah, no." he shook his head.

"Okay, so what job is there?" she asked him.

"Look, I'll get down to it." he said, and pointed his index finger right at Teyri. "You're one of the best pilots in this squadron, even though you're new. And, you've got a good, level head. You're a natural flyer, and you've got a tendency to be bossy. That translates pretty well into command potential, especially around people like us."

"Bossy?" Jen asked mildly.

"So: job offer. I want you to be my XO, my Number One, my trusted right hand."

"Huh?" was her genius response. An XO spot? Her? "Um... sorry. I never... really thought about it. XO. Wow."

"I'd start thinking, if I were you." Corran replied, giving her a toothy smile. "Did I mention the Lieutenant's bars that come with this gig?"

"Hmmm. Nifty. Lieutenant Teyri Jen. I hafta admit, I do like the sound of that. Before I go polishing my non-existent bars, though, tell me what I'd have to do with this new position. If performing sexual favors becomes a requirement, well then, Rex, I like you and all, but I'd have to turn it down." She gave him a saucy grin, and her eyelid quickly dropped in what might have been, but wasn't quite, a conspiratorial wink.

"Hey," he said, putting on a facade of mock-indignation. "I'd never make that a *requirement*."

"A suggestion, maybe?"

"I'll neither confirm not deny those allegations." the Trill replied with a familiar twinkle. "This is a serious offer, Teyri. You'd be my liaison to the squadron. I'm not "one of the guys" anymore. Even as XO, you still will be. But you also have to help me maintain discipline, create and evaluate training scenarios, and then there's the paperwork."

Jen sobered up. "As a serious job offer, then I'd have to admit that I only have one stumbling block to me accepting the offer. It wasn't too long ago that you attacked me, and I locked you in a closet. I realize that there were extenuating circumstances in that whole thing, but... If you were me, wouldn't you pause for a moment?"

The Major inclined his head slightly. "Honestly? I'd probably have put in for transfer the second things got back to normal."

Jen smiled briefly. "Seriously, though. What would you do if you were me?"

"Jen," he said, using her given name for possibly the first time ever. "I understand your concern. And if leaving is what you want - I won't block your transfer. But this is Starfleet. More than that, Vanguard Squadron is posted to the Galaxy. Do you know how many pilots would kill to be in your shoes? For almost twenty years, this ship has been one of the foremost vessels of the 'Fleet. Under Captain Shoak, Captain Price - even Captain Bhrode, and now Captain M'Kantu... this is one of the places where the action is.

"You're going to see and do things here that most Starfleet officers never even dream of. That's how people become legends. You really want to pass that up?"

Jen looked at him for a moment, trying to get past the memory of the face contorted in determination as he came after her, intent on doing who knows what sort of dastardly deed. Even after she had, through a whole lot of good luck, managed to get him into the closet, it still wasn't something she was going to forget. She had woken up several times since the whole fiasco, his face running after her in her dreams. It wasn't something that you necessarily just got over, and then to agree to work closely with him? To see him day after day after day, remembering that one moment?

Well, that would do one of two things. It would either allow her to move past it, and be able to see Rex as a close and trusted friend as well as supervisor, or it would drive her into leaving the Galaxy, unable to deal with the repercussions of the encounter, brief as it was.

"Well, here's hoping it's the latter," she mumbled to herself, unaware that she was speaking out loud. "You're right, Rex," she said louder. "I'd be a fool to turn this down, especially so soon. I mean, how often does this kind of job just get handed to you?"

The Major smiled, and took pushed forward a small, unassuming jewelry box across his cluttered desk. "Then I think this is yours, Lieutenant."

Jen made no move to take it. "Before I accept that, Rex, I do think that there are some things that I need to get out into the open, and hopefully it won't make you change your mind. I understand that you were being... possessed by something, that you weren't in control of your actions. But it was still your face that I saw." Your face that I still see. "If I... can't do this, for some reason, I want the opportunity to transfer, no hard feelings, no questions asked. Letters of recommendation would be wonderful."

He opened his mouth to speak, and she jumped in again before he could respond. "I'm going to do my damndest to make sure that I am the best XO I can be, the best that you've had. I'm not going to wuss out just because things got weird. Knowing the reputation of this ship, things have been weird before, and they probably will get weird again. I just... want the out."

"If you want the out, it's there." he replied after a moment's consideration. "I want you to know - I get it. I'm just hoping you'll be able to overlook it. That, and I don't believe in running."

"Okay, well, for better or worse, you got yourself an XO, boss." Now she moved to pick up the box holding the new lieutenant bars. A small smile appeared on her face as she tilted the box, allowing the light to reflect of the metal. "I think they'll look damn good on me."

"What wouldn't?" he asked with a rakish grin.

"Secrets to Keep"

Principal Characters
Captain Daren M'Kantu,
CO Major Corran Rex, CAG

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 2
Outside the Captain's Quarters

As a Trill, Corran Rex was used to secrets.

It was paradoxical, almost. For a species that so highly prized the living memory represented by the symbionts, they were almost fanatical when it came to the topic of things that they'd rather forget about.

Only a few years back it had become public knowledge that the general population of Trill was, at large, capable of joining. That scandal had nearly toppled the Trill government almost as effectively as the crash of a Federation starship into their capitol nearly had.

What hadn't become knowledge was that the parasite creatures responsible for attempting to take over Starfleet almost twenty years ago, and then the death of First Minister Shakaar Edon and so many other Bajorans a mere six years ago, were a genetically engineered offshoot of the Trill symbionts, engineered by the Trill themselves on their colony world of Kurl, several thousand years in the past.

Hell, most people didn't even know that the the Trill had had an age of interstellar expansion that had occurred well before Jalen Rex had "discovered" warp drive slightly more than four centuries ago.

And they damn sure didn't know of the combination of the threats from the parasites and the Dithparu that had ended that expansion period and sent the Trill into several centuries of isolation.

And no one new that what had been diagnosed as "T'Rex's Syndrome", an affliction compared to Terran Alzheimer's where the symbiont began to loose track of who it's current host was, resulting in rapid personality shifts.... wasn't any kind of disease at all.

Corran knew, now, that he wasn't sick. The symptoms that had manifested themselves had been the decaying of the centuries-old memory block, gone now that he had removed that wall from his own mind. And no one knew that thousands of other joined Trills had similarly had their memories blocked.

And they all had their own secrets.

Corran needed help. He needed advice, from someone who understood the big picture. And therefore, even though Captain M'Kantu was off-duty, he found himself standing in front of the quarters belonging to the master of the Starship Galaxy.

With a buzz, the door opened, obviously set on automatic.

M'Kantu's quarters were warm, slightly warmer than the rest of the ship, and the air was very dry. Holo-images of terrain that Corran took to be from the Captain's home in Africa on Terra occupied the walls, appearing like windows to another world. The standard Starfleet-issue furniture had been replaced with heavy items made from wood and covered in colorful, patterned fabrics. A series of carvings - small statuettes and masks mostly - stood on stands around the room atop dressers and on shelves. In the background, soft music with a rhythmic beat overlaid with a subdued chant played.

"One moment," M'Kantu's voice sounded from the next room. He emerged a few seconds later, ever-present mug in one hand, and a padd in the other. "Now," he continued, setting the padd down, "what is that you needed to speak to me about, Major?"

Corran had nothing but respect for the Galaxy's Captain. He was an honorable man, a good man. And he was most likely the type that couldn't abide secrets. Increasingly - especially as he continued to integrate his new-old hosts into his sense of "self", Corran found that he didn't really disagree with the notion.

"I need some advice, sir." he said, trying to figure out where to start. There was so much now, that he remembered, so much to go through.

He didn't know where to start.

M'Kantu nodded and waved a hand to one of the chairs. "Please, have a set." Senior officer didn't come to him after hours for advice on dating protocol, and he didn't need to be a counselor to see that whatever it was that Corran needed to speak about, it was something that he was still working through. "Can I offer you something? Coffee?

Tea? I'm afraid that I don't have anything stronger than that."

The Trill nodded, taking the offered seat, and finding the Captain's plush furniture to be more than comfortable. "Tea, sir."

A minute or so later, a hot mug of tea in hand for Corran and a refilled coffee mug for himself, M'Kantu sat down and offered the tea.

"Gathered things together yet?" he asked quietly.

"In my after-action report on the Dithparu Incident," the Major finally began, "And the report that's been appended to my medical file, I noted that I have been effectively cured of T'Rex's syndrome. I assume you've read it?"

Daren had read everyone's reports, not just because it was his job, but because they were his crew, and he needed to know what had happened to them, in their own words. Corran's had been one of the more interesting ones for a number of reasons. "I have."

"Then you know that I listed the cause of the syndrome to be a previously unknown form of a memory block, that was placed in Rex's mind for "undisclosed trauma."

M'Kantu nodded. "Does this relate to what was behind the block?"

"What I've found out, Captain, is that I'm almost two thousand years old. And in those times, Rex has almost always been an important figure in Trill society. There's a lot of secrets that were buried in Rex's mind. Secrets I now have access to. Some of them are secrets for good reasons. Some.. aren't."

Secrets. There were always secrets, and those that felt that they had to be kept in order to protect those they supposedly served.

Sometimes, even Daren admitted that they were right, but often it was fear that compelled them to keep secrets, not necessity. "And those... secrets... are what's troubling you." it was an observation and not a question.

"A lot of it, yeah." the pilot replied.

"Are you comfortable telling me which secrets are causing you this distress now?"

Corran squirmed uncomfortably in his seat for a moment. "That's the thing, sir. There's so much, it's hard to put into any kind of coherent pattern. And I haven't sorted through the context yet. I get these flashes sometimes, some of the things I remember. They seem so horrible, and yet..."

"They're not easily separated from the other suppressed memories, emotions, and feelings?"

"Exactly. I can't be certain about any of it."

"That does pose something of a problem, yes," Daren nodded, thinking the issue over.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I don't mean to bother you with my... personal problems. You're in here, relaxing and reading, and I come in and just start spouting off crazy."

The Captain shook his head. "No bother, Major. I'm just trying to think of a way to help you get this sorted out. You say that the memories and information is all jumbled up?"

The CAG gave a brief nod.

"All right then, your first order of business needs to be to get it in order. We can't do anything with the information until we have all of it, in a coherent, ordered fashion to look at." He sipped at his coffee. "Have you considered requesting the help of someone skilled in things like this? There are Vulcan psychologists – whose oaths of conduct would be essentially inviolable – who specialize in this sort of recovered memory assimilation, for instance…."

"Hadn't thought of a Vulcan," Corran confessed. "Of course, their psychologists don't usually like Trills too much. Our minds are too… unstructured for their tastes." A strange smile crossed Corran's face as a memory floated to consciousness. "Of course, I knew this one Vulcan..." he trailed, and then actually started to redden in the face. "Yeah, never mind. You definitely don't want to hear about that."

M'Kantu quirked an eyebrow at Corran.

"Well, one of my hosts was a... ah... guru of sorts." Corran replied.

"A guru? A spiritual leader?" Daren asked.

"He wrote a text that's still pretty popular today. The human equivalent is called the... Kama Sutra, I think."

Daren coughed. "Ah, I see."

"Yeah, there was this Vulcan woman who decided she wanted to experiment with an alien species during pon farr, and let me tell you - " he stopped at the expression on the Captain's face.

"Please," Daren said with a raised hand, as if to deflect the very idea, "don't."

"Sorry." Corran winced. "That's one of the things I'm talking about. I think all the voices in my head are drowning out my internal censor, Captain."

"All the more reason to see someone that can help you, before… something slips out," Daren observed. "Especially if, as you seem to think, there is information in your head that might be dangerous or damaging to simply reveal."

"I do."

The captain leaned back in his seat. "While we're on that topic… have you identified any such information?" He held up a hand again. "You don't have to tell it to me if you would rather not, I simply ask if there *is* such information."

"I have." he confirmed. "And no - I don't really want to share it right now. Not until I've gotten a better handle on it. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, Captain."

"I couldn't agree more." M'Kantu replied.

"Take Two Muffins and Call Me In the Morning"

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

2nd Lt. Branwen London
Furies Psychologist

Bran smiled at Brian. It was the end of the shift for both of them and they ran in to each other in the waiting area. Over the last couple of months they had come to know each other better. Talked a couple of times as well. The last mission had been a difficult experience for both of them. And they had helped each other heal.

"Hi, Brian," she said. "How are things?"

Brian found himself smiling in return. It felt good to smile again, to feel something other than deep, soul-wrenching remorse and revulsion. Sometimes they were still there, but at least in the last few weeks they weren't the sole occupants of his mind. Those feelings weren't in control anymore, and he was glad for it.

"Things . . . go pretty well . . . pretty well, thanks," he replied, nodding slowly. "Muffin?" he offered, extending a plate on which rested four orange muffins and some crumbs filling in for the long-gone others. "Made them myself this morning, thought I'd see what I could do to help get everyone's day off to a good start. They're still pretty good," he added, tempting Bran with their pleasant orange scent.

She sniffed. "Delicious, yes please,"she said, smiling. "I think we have finally seen the worst, my caseload is going down." Branwen looked tired. After her boss had been temporarily relieved from duty, she had been running the Furies as well the last couple of months.

"Yeah, same here -- and none too soon," Brian added, setting the remaining three muffins down on a side table in the waiting area so everyone would have access to them. "I don't know if having to counsel the entire crew is something I want to go through again any time soon. You know," he said, thinking out loud for a moment, "I think it says something that you, Karyn, all of us, were able to rise to the occasion, especially given the circumstances. Engineering and Medical and everyone else have their crises to address, I guess this one was ours. I just wish it didn't have to be stretched out over three months," he chuckled.

"Yes, because it cost us most of our shore leave." In fact, she hadn't taken any at all, not with running two full-time jobs. "I think it has done some good. My marines come to me easier now. They are beginning to open up."

"That's a pretty significant accomplishment, Bran. Marines usually aren't known for opening up and sharing their feelings. It means they trust you . . . heh, that or they're an exceptionally sensitive group of marines."

"We do group hugs and yoga as well these days," she said with a straight face but then started to giggle. "So how about you? How have you been doing yourself, Brian?"

He grew silent for a moment, taking the opportunity to sit down on one of the chairs lining the perimeter of the waiting area. "There are still flashes of memories," he revealed, his tone not overly sad or happy, just calm. "Sights, sounds, scenes that have stayed with me the past few months. Heh . . . maybe they'll stay with me for the rest of my life. I don't know. But I'm functioning again, doing my job, enjoying the company of my friends and co-workers . . . I'm doing okay." His voice retained the calm tone, but he was smiling again.

"Good. I was worried about you there for a bit. You know that first time we met when I behaved so inappropriate," she grinned shyly.

"Nah," he responded, with a casual wave of his hand. "I wasn't the model of professional civility myself," he noted. "Stuff happens. Life's a constant rehearsal -- there are always scenes that can be done better again the next time." He gave Bran a friendly wink.

Brian glanced at the muffin plate and sighed. "Well, speaking of professionalism, I guess I should get going, have a report I need to finish," he said as he got up from his seat. "I'm sure you must have a marine or two to do some aroma therapy or something with?" he joked.

Branwen giggled. "Yoga class first. Take care, Brian."

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around . . . enjoy your yoga," he said with raised eyebrows and a silly grin. He gave her a friendly touch on the arm. "Next time we have a chance, I want to hear how *you're* doing." He smiled again, then headed for his office.

"Nothing But Net"

Captain Cass Henderson,
Commanding Officer, USS Galaxy

Major Corran Rex,
Commanding Officer, Vanguard Squadron

****

Gymnasium 1,
Deck 12,
USS Galaxy

Corran wasn't really surprised, but Cass was late for their daily game. Or bi-daily. Or however often is was they played. The Trill, though, was in is workout gear, and passing the time on the basketball court by shooting free throws until the XO arrived. Granted, while they were still here at DS5, the command staff was being run ragged by 'Admiral Prissy-Bitch', as the (largely female) Vanguard flight crews had named her. There was every possibility that Henderson might not make it. It wasn't like the last few days hadn't been completely insane. Or that when the relief ships had showed up with repair crews and new personnel for DS5, that the ship hadn't been busy coordinating efforts to get the station operational once again. (Not to mention the shipyards.) Luckily, all those scrapped ships out there would be salvageable with some work. Most would, anyway. The Vanguards were flying a rotating CAP - Combat Air Patrol - to keep off the occasional smuggler, salvager, or pirate that showed up, looking for a free ship. They'd been supplemented by the arrival of Freedom Group, off of the Concorde, a carrier that had spearheaded the relief, repair & restocking force.

So Proctor was largely leaving Corran and his pilots alone - something the Trill was eminently thankful for.

It was another five minutes before Cass Henderson walked through the door to the basketball court. He'd been in conference with the Strategic Operations Liaisons from across the Sector, trying to work out a redistribution of forces along the border, mostly to compensate for having to move the Concorde Task Force to repair duties.

The meeting had let out more or less on time, but Lieutenant Commander th'Vhaeraith from the USS Ashoka had required 'a word in private'. After politely listening to the Andorian's concerns for fifteen minutes, he'd become impatient. When a half hour passed, he'd been prepared to strangle the man - across several light years of space.

It had taken him another fifteen minutes to explain that it was impossible for th'Vhaeraith to diverge from the plan that they'd agreed upon - and thus he was now fifteen minutes late arriving - incorrectly dressed and unprepared.

"Hey, Corran," Cass said as he passed the Trill fighter pilot on his way to the changing room. "Sorry I'm late. One of the SOL's was trying to bullshit me again. I'll be back in a second."

"Heh." Corran chuckled as his friend entered the court - and recognizing the expression contained there. "You've got Andorian face."

"What?"

"Andorian face." the Major clarified. "The end result of arguing with either an irritatingly calm or irritatingly passionate Andorian for far longer than you'd like."

"Yeah, I get that a lot, these days," Cass laughed, calling over his shoulder as he disappeared into the changing room. "If it's not Tish, it's somebody else."

A few minutes later he came back out, appropriately dressed, and stepped over to where Corran was waiting. He looked down at the ball, balefully. After nearly an hour of giving himself 'Andorian face', he was pretty beat. "How're you holding up? I heard *they* got you too."

"That's a hell of a way of putting it." Corran replied, absently dribbling a ball. "You want me to tell you about this time, or the last time I met them, eight hundred years ago?"

"I was asking about this time, but I suppose 'both' might be a better..." Cass replied, immediately - before his brain caught up to his ears and made the connection. "Rex, what do you mean, *eight* hundred? The last time we talked about your age, the largest number I remember being mentioned was closer to five."

"You're a quick one, Cass." Corran deadpanned. "I can see why you became XO - obviously your towering intellect dwarfs us mere mortals."

"Why thank you, Corran" Cass replied, ignoring the sarcasm in his friend's retort. "I'm guessing our run-in with the Dithparu left you with some new developments. Care to share, or is that a story for another time?"

Corran began his story as they started their game, giving the details as they wen through the customary series of blocks, shots, rebounds, passes - and of course, fouls. He related the details about the memory block, his true age, his thirty additional past hosts, and of course, the nature of the "disease" he'd formerly suffered from.

Laying that final bombshell rather nicely distracted Cass, who stopped in the middle of his guard, and Corran was able to score a three-point shot.

Cass recovered on the next play, feinting and ducking back to the other way to sink a jump shot for two. While Corran was fielding the ball, Cass thought about the implications of what he'd just been told. "I'll freely admit to not being too knowledgeable about Trill biology, but isn't T'Rex's Syndrome pretty common?

"Among supposedly older symbiotes, yeah." Corran nodded. "Meaning there's about, oh, a million or so symbionts who've had some of their memories blocked. Possibly unwillingly."

"That's a pretty big portion of the population," Cass said. He wasn't too surprised. It wouldn't be the first major revelation to come out of the Trill government in the last few years. They seemed to like their secrets. "Have you contacted President Durghan yet?"

The CAG shook his head quickly. "Not yet. Lirisse has enough on her shoulders right now. And besides - what proof do I have? Two thousand years worth of memories that'll take me months - if not years - to sort through."

"That's true enough," Cass said, moving in to guard as Corran moved the ball back across the court. Fake left, block right, too late... The ball ricocheted off the backboard. "Sounds like you'll have to handle that side of things as they come - and in the meantime, get to know your 'new' past."

Corran caught the rebound. "Yeah... it's interesting." he said. An understatement, to be sure. "It's just this big jumble. I keep catching myself doing things I don't expect. I woke up yesterday standing on my head."

"I feel like I've been turned on my head these last few months, if that makes you feel any better," Cass replied, maneuvering to cover him again.

"Did you develop a sudden fascination for crocheting or Klingon bat'leth making?"

"No, but my schedule seems to have developed a sudden fascination for putting me in the path of Admiral Proctor," Cass replied, though his face broke into a grin at the idea of the lanky pilot toiling over a forge... or sitting in an overstuffed armchair, legs covered in the blanket that he was crocheting. "And now they tell me I'm supposed to take over for the Captain."

"Allright, you win." the CAG conceded. "So what's your story?"

"Proctor complained to Starfleet Command, so their relieving Captain M'Kantu of command pending an investigation by Starfleet Security," Cass elaborated, putting the ball up for a three point shot. "Command decided that giving me a field promotion was the best option, so now I have... everything on my plate."

That brought a frown out of the Trill. "They're taking *Proctor's* word over the Captain's? " he questioned. "Who could possibly take her seriously?"

"Anyone who hasn't lived in the same solar system as her for six months," Cass shook his. Unfortunate, really, but rank had weight to it, even for people like Olivia Proctor. "In my estimation, Command did the intelligent thing, and sent out an investigation, though that's going to put Captain M'Kantu on DS5 for a while longer."

Corran raised an eyebrow, and hooked the basketball under his arm, pausing the game. "You're not just saying that because you're getting a fourth pip for a little while, are you?"

"No," Cass replied, grateful for the reprieve, even if it was born of doubt. "I'm saying that because it's better than if Command had just bought Proctor's story. I won't deny that I'd like my own ship someday, but I've only been an executive officer for two years. I feel comfortable acting as a stand-in, but I'm not prepared for command just yet."

"Just checking." Corran replied, and then suddenly made a shot for another three-pointer while Cass thought the game was stopped. It sank with a satisfying swish - nothing but net.

"Typical fighter jock," Cass grumbled, shaking his head as he retrieved the ball. Dribbling back up to mid court, he passed ball to Corran, fielded the pass back, and then made his way up the court, evading the much taller Trill. His height was an advantage in their semiweekly games, but not an insurmountable one. "The biggest issue is what do I do for help. I need to name a temporary XO, before we leave for Atlantis - problem being that my options aren't that good."

"Karyn's next in line," Corran admitted, "But her disability is a problem."

"Beyond that, she's a political nightmare," Cass replied, weaving to the left. "Command and Council still haven't gotten over the Ianjep nightmare four years ago. Not entirely, anyway."

"And Jimmy-boy's a little too... intense." the CAG continued, trying to run down the list of the Galaxy's senior-most officers.

"You have that right. I'd pick you, but you're a subordinate command, so it's a non-option... even if I could pry you from the cockpit."

The Trill shrugged there. "Eh, it's happened before. Grey had a Marine for her XO over on the Arizona for years."

"Oh yeah? I hadn't heard," Cass replied, taking an opportunity for another two point shot. "Well, if I can use that for precedent, then the job's yours if you want it. You won't see too much stick time, though - that I can attest to."

Corran let out a deep breath. He'd just gotten a new XO - Teyri - for the Squadron. Was he ready to turn things over to her, even temporarily? He wasn't sure. "Consider me your backup." he said finally. "If you can't get someone else for the job, then I can place Lieutenant Teyri in temporary command of the Vanguards."

"I'll keep that in mind," Cass said, snagging the ball to effectively end the game. He'd gone from tired to exhausted, so it was time to quit. "I'm going to see if there are any over-ripe department heads in the Concorde Task Force, or unattached officers floating around."

"Good plan." Corran replied, tossing Cass one of the two water bottles from the side of the court. "And congratulations. Condolences, too."

"All of the above, all at once," Cass shrugged, barely snagging the water bottle. "At least my senses are back. Three months ago, I would have fumbled this bottle. I'm barely a P3, but being without any sort of mental ability for four months was like having everything slightly out of focus."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Boy Meets Girl"

2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile.
Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter

He had asked Maya to leave him alone, to stay out of his head for a while. Being forced to talk to her, smell her, see her, even touch her was stirring up things inside he didn't wanted to or needed to let out. Not now. Finding a place to be alone on a ship like the Galaxy was no easy task. Especially when one did not want to remain in the assigned quarters. He had started to like the quiet of the night. Well, maybe not like since his favourite time of the day had always been the night, but he appreciated the darkness in a completely different fashion than before.

She didn't know where she wanted to be. Her quarters felt too quiet; Ten-Forward felt too loud. The holodecks were full, and she didn't want to be anywhere near the Galaxy school. She didn'twant to talk to Ella right now, who was having her own problems, and she obviously couldn't talk to Himne as she had just broken up with him. She needed to think, or contemplate, or something, and there was only place on board she could think to do it. Unfortunately for her, somebody else was already there.

The room was dark, save the faint silvery light from the stars outside. Someone was by the entrance. He could hear the heartbeat in the dark. Slowly he lifted the goggles protecting his eyes. Immediately the veils of darkness lifted and he saw a dark haired Vulcan woman stand in the doorway. No, he corrected himself a second later. That one was no Vulcan. Some halfbreed of sorts. The thin smile of a predator graced his face for a moment before slipping back in the darkness. He replaced the goggles again and a peaceful darkness took away the stinging pain in his eyes.

She stepped further in the room, waiting to see if the man was going to acknowledge her. He didn't. She decided to just leave him alone and do her own thing. ..this decision lasted for approximately 35 seconds because minding her own business had never been her strong suit. She stepped closer to the guy and said, "Hi."

He was sitting down, leaning against the wall opposite the viewports. His tattooed arms rested on top of his knees, with his hands hanging down. "Leave the lights off.." He was in a foul mood, caught in events moving too fast for him at the moment. Time was what he needed, time to get his bearings again. Time was just something he wouldn't get more of.

"Okay," she said slowly, watching him. He looked like a guy trying to outbrood Victor Krieghoff. She didn't actually think this was possible, but it'd be interesting to watch. "You going for what? A night avenger kind of thing? Live in the shadows, scowl a lot, curse the world? Very Batman of you."

The stars outside fascinated him. The light outside the ship seemed more alive than it had ever done before. Seeing the world with new eyes. "I'm... sensitive to light.. and I think the world is doing a good job at cursing itself without me lending a hand.." he replied in a low voice that sounded like he had been drinking a lot of alcohol the last few days. "And don't know no Batman."

Ah. He was one of those. Broody/self-pitying/scarred past drunks. Those kind of guys were either very interesting, or veeeeery boring. She chewed on her lower lip for a minute, thought about it, and went to sit near the Batman wannabe. This was probably not one of her brightest ideas, going to sit near some scary looking stranger in a pitch black room, but she went and sat anyway. Old habits were hard to break, and listening to sad stories was any good barmaid's.

She  pulled out a small flask of ale that she'd taken to hiding in her uniform. Taking a small sip, she offered it silently to the guy, and said, "Batman's this guy who had this real crappy childhood. He goes through all this trauma, right, and because of it, Batty decides to go right wrongs, avenge the hurt, protect the innocent, and all that jazz. Half the time, he's hated by the world, even though he risks his life every night to save it. Sound anything like your story?

He accepted the flask and took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and handed it back. "My story?" he asked with some contempt to his voice. "That Batty sounds like a utopia thought up by some liberal peacelover on drugs.."

She shook her head at this total sacrilege, but decided not to comment. She watched him as he talked, interested in spite of herself.

Leaning his head against the cool bulkhead he held up one of his hands into his line of sight. "I don't really care about doing the wrongs right.. I'm usually the guy that causes the wrongs.. " he continued with a morbid tone to the words. "and as far as innocent goes - there are none." His hand closed into a fist hard enough to make his knuckles crack. "Tell me.. what brought you here? Guilt? Fear? Worn out?"

She thought about that. "Triple shot of all three, I suppose," she said, and drank from her flask. "Mostly just the last one, though. Life on this ship can make you very tired. I don't suppose sitting alone in a dark room is helping any, though. Darkness only makes the hard thoughts louder."

She watched her broody companion for a moment in silence. He was so intensely morbid that she almost wanted to laugh at him; he didn't appear to have the slightest bit of a sense of humor, which was something she usually needed in a man or a friend. But she felt a little sorry for him anyway, though. Maybe going through a psychic mind-raping was giving her a little compassion for others, who knew?

She stored her flask away safely within her uniform, and said, "You wanna go somewhere louder? Make the thoughts go away?

He turned his head towards her, tilted to one side and looked at her. His eyes covered by the dark goggles. "And where would that be?"

"That," she said,"is up to you. We can go to Ten-Forward. . the holodeck. . .my quarters. . .your quarters. . .what are you in the mood for?"

As long as it didn't involve sparring. He was filled with energy waiting searching for a way out and a sparring would most likely end very bad. In a single fluid motion he pushed himself away from the wall and stood up, still looking at her. "Your quarters." was all he said.

Hmmph. If anyone had else had answered 'your quarters', she would have assumed that they wanted to screw. She couldn't read this guy, though, so she wasn't sure. He had a very caged look, as if something inside wanted to get out, but she didn't know him well enough to know if that meant he was horny or violent. Or both.

If he did want to have sex, though, she kind of wanted to know about it. She certainly wasn't against the notion. He had that muscled, grrr looking of a marine, and she had never had sex with a marine before. It could be kind of interesting.

She raised an eyebrow at him appraisingly and decided to be more blunt about the whole thing. "So, when I say 'make things loud' and 'in my quarters' together in conjunction, I usually mean 'Do you want to fuck?' Your absolute lack of expression makes me unsure if you're interested or not. Are you, or are you more interested in talking or drinking or something." She thought about that. "I guess that could be okay, too."

He stood patiently and waited for the words that seemed to pour out of her mouth in and almost endless stream, to end. "I didn't say no, did I?" his voice rasped in I've-had-a-little-too-much-too-drink-in-the-last-couple-of-weeks kind of voice. He walked up to the door and turned to look at the shorter woman. "Coming? Or you plan on talking more?"

"Gee, I picked a charmer this time, didn't I?" she said outloud, and rolled her eyes. "I'm coming." She walked towards him, and as they left the room, she turned to him. "I realize conversation isn't big with you, but I have just one question."

"And what might that be?" he replied, holding back a sigh.

8-ball raised her eyebrows at him. "What the hell is your name?"

"Common Bonds"

Lt(jg) Cora Dobryin
Chief Intelligence Officer

Ensign Paulo DiMillo
Intelligence Officer

*****
Cora's Office,
Intel Center
USS Galaxy
*****

Paulo walked down the corridor. The Captain had been relived of command, and that bitch of and Admiral must be behind it. He walked into the Intel offices and smiled not seeing Saul. He liked the fact he had been transfered out of the department, though Cora wouldn't say why, and Paulo knew she knew. But that would have to wait. He went up and knocked on the window to show he was there and she waved him in.

"Morning," Paulo said as he headed right to the replicator. "Computer, two raktajinos." After the two cups materialized he picked them up and took them over to her desk and set them down, then taking a seat himself, sipping on his raktajino.

Cora accepted the drink with a smile, "Thank you. If there's one thing you always remember its what I like in the morning."

Paulo smiled. "Well after having these meetings for a few years in a row now, one learns a few things, and your welcome."

"Anyway I have some good news for a change," she paused, "At least I hope it turns out that way."

"If it has to do with Intel, it can't be," he said taking a sip.

She looked at him, "We're going to be the first Intel team to canvas the area Galaxy is headed. Obviously Starfleet wants data but we get to go at it fresh with no previous information to interfere."

"That will be a nice change," Paulo replied. "Will we have any support from the Hazard team?" Paulo asked.

"I'd say that's up to us and what personnel are available. We want to have ourselves covered but we don't want to give ourselves away on this one either," she paused, "Have you met with our newest addition to the dept yet?"

"No not yet, though I have gone through his record. Interesting?" Paulo asked. "And I say give us three, just enough to give us enough cover, and we can fit into a small shuttle easily that way."

"Raynor's otherwise occupied this mission but he's interesting to say the least. However I was referring to our Counter-Intel expert," she let that sink in.

"Oh," Paulo replied feeling a little stupid. He had gotten a lot of help and was actually able to block out the thoughts. "No not yet."

Cora continued, "As for the extra assistance I'll see what I can do." Although her own plans called for some true undercover work would only be hampered if others got in the way.

Paulo nodded. "Though if you want to go full undercover, maybe just borrowing some of their toys will be good enough," he said with a smile.

"So how are you doing?" The question seemed appropriate to ask.

Paulo didn't respond for a few seconds. "I am doing better. I have learned to block out most people's thoughts and emotions, so there isn't much of a problem there anymore," he started. "It kind of nice to have my own mind back without hearing what everyone else thinks. Though I still can't believe I did what I did back on DS5."

"Believe me I understand all too well. Everything that happened on DS5 is impossible to forget. When I think of how close I came to dying as a result of all that. Its been a rough time for all of us."

Paulo nodded in understandment. "It's just scary that things like that exist out there, that can take us over on a whim and make us do things we don't want to do." Paulo paused taking a sip of his raktajino. "How are you doing?" Paulo asked her.

Cora took a sip of her drink as she pondered the question for a moment longer, "Can't expect an overnight change after 4 months of rehab as a constant reminder but I'd say I'm doing okay. Getting help."

Paulo nodded. "That is good," he said taking a sip. "To tell the truth, I kind of stopped going. I can't stand talking to people that know nothing about me. I much rather talk with someone I have a history with."

Absently Cora nodded, "I hate it with a passion but I go because I really can't afford not to right now. In my career I've done some awful things but this...the rage...the pure need for revenge and total hate are still overwhelming at times but I know that's not me."

Pete took a sip of his drink. "Well if you ever want to talk, I am here," he said. "We both have been through a lot, and it couldn't hurt to talk to someone that knows what you are going through."

"Just the fact that you are here and you do understand means a lot. Part of me wants to get back to feeling human on some level," she paused and took a sip. "It seems like I'm still trying to sort it all out yet all of it haunts me. What's your first memory after the whole incident was over?"

Paulo thought a few seconds as he took a sip. "London and I where helping Jamson restore power, when we then turned and started attacking Jamson. Then..." Paulo trailed off. He didn't know if he wanted to tell Cora about waking up naked to London. He still didn't want to think about it.

"Anything has to be better than waking up in sickbay afraid you may never move again," Cora responded.

Paulo nodded. "That would be true," he said taking a sip of his drink. "Are you physically recovered?" He asked.

"Physically yes I'm almost back to myself," Cora replied with a smile. "It will always be with me but I defied the odds."

Paulo smiled. "Well good. It wouldn't be the same without you," he said with a caring smile.

"Thank you," she replied her sincerity clear. "If I haven't mentioned it before now I'm glad to have you around."

Paulo smiled. "Well, I am glad to be here. I don't think I could stand being any place else right now."

At that Cora nodded. "So how about dinner? It will give us a better chance to talk and to get ourselves away from duty for a short time."

Paulo was taken back for a second. "Sure," he said after a brief pause. "I would love to. Your quarters or mine?" He asked.

"Either is fine with me. Which do you prefer," it felt odd asking that question but Cora was more than relieved to have her invitation accepted.

"Yours," he finally said. "Mine is a bit small, and I can't cook."

"1900 then," Cora replied briefly wondering what had gotten into her but didn't want to ignore the feeling it provoked either.

Paulo nodded. "I will be there," he said just as a comm channel was open.

["Smith to DiMillo."]

Paulo groaned. The young woman named Smith would be the end of him. "Yes, go ahead Jackie," he finally replied.

["Sir, we have received the information you were waiting on for case number 236."]

Paulo smiled. Maybe she wouldn't be the end of him after all. "Thank you Crewman, I will be right there. DiMillo out."

An inquisitive look appeared on her face. Though Cora said nothing a let him explain.

"Case 236 is the Nara and Saul case. I haven't closed it yet," he said. "There is something there, and I will find out what it is."

"When you do let me know," she replied. "Now if you'll excuse me I have a lesson in futility, known as paperwork, demanding my attention."

Paulo smiled as he stood and bowed a little. "Have fun with that, and I will see you at 1900."

"1900 and don't forget the wine," Cora replied feeling the best she had in a

long time. It would be good to forget about her problems for a time.

"I have a good bottle in hiding that I will have to break out," he said. "See you tonight," he finished as he exited her office and headed to get to work.

Stood still on a highway
I saw a woman
By the side of the road
With a face that I knew like my own
Reflected in my window
Well she walked up to my quarterlight
And she bent down real slow
A fearful pressure paralyzed me in my shadow She said 'Son, what are you doing here?
My fear for you has turned me in my grave'
I said 'mama, I've come to the valley of the rich Myself to sell'
She said 'Son, this is the road to hell'

On your journey cross the wilderness
From the desert to the well
You have strayed upon the motorway to hell (Chris Rea; Road to Hell part 1)

"insight 1: Scapegoat"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile, Marine Recon Specialist

***Ten-Forward***

Outlet. Everyone needs one. A way to blow off steam when things get out of hand or simply too much to bear. Baile had a few. Fighting was one of them and it was the best although fighting in the holodeck no longer worked for him. It had to be live combat. That's when he was at his best. Drinking was another.

He had been drinking since he entered the marines. On leaves, off duty and sometimes even on duty, but Colonel Caileb had never cared about it. None of

it affected his performance as a marine. No, his performance as a killer because that was what he was.

Normally he drank alone, or rather he drank and Maya was there. She was often there, but at times she left him alone. Ever since his eyes had been replaced he had changed. Into what only God knew. He turned another shot glass upside down and filled the next one. Bad memories filled his head, adding to the chaos inside his mind.

Nara sat in her normal corner. Not reading or sipping. Just staring out the window as she hugged her legs to herself. It took a lot of emotional energy - which she lacked these days - to convince Saia to go to school. That the Dithparu were gone and 8-Ball was not even working in the school any more, and even so, she's not really evil. Mischievous, yes. Evil, no.

She took a deep sigh and closed her eyes a moment willing the tears away. She was tired, but she couldn't sleep. She wished she could be with Saul. This seemed a good time to have someone. Even if she wanted to push him and everyone away. It was a struggle just to push that old independent, "I can take care of myself" attitude away. She had done it before, but it seemed the worse the situation, the more tempting it was to hide away. And the harder it was to hide that she did need someone.

Five. Six. He tossed them down, one by one. He wasn't really aiming to get roaring drunk. If he did then there was a likelihood people would get hurt and he'd get thrown in the brig. Seven. He turned the seventh glass upside down and pushed it close to the others.

The rumors about him had turned to truths. It was known he had killed several members of the crew while they had been possessed by the Dithparu. No one could accuse him for it, not legally anyway, but socially - that was another story. Good thing he had never been a very social person.

Nara opened her eyes and momentarily caught a glimpse of some people pointing and whispering. It wasn't about her. No. The pointing was at the bar. Apparently, someone had done worse than fiddle with the environmental controls.

She looked toward the bar herself, seeing a freakishly familiar man. She blinked and tilted her head watching him chug the drinks.

She shuddered as vague memories--memories of seeing someone else's memory--hit her. She stood and slowly walked closer. He didn't seem as dangerous as the memories of memories made him. He looked more like a man looking to drown his sorrows, or something. Leaning heavily on his elbows Baile kept looking at the empty glasses. He filled a new one, but the bottle down, took the glass, closed his eyes and tossed the alcohol down. He grimaced as he lowered his head again. The light

in the room made him irritated, but the sunglasses kept some of it out.

Everyone else onboard the ship had an excuse for their somewhat morbid behaviour earlier. Baile didn't. He was what he was - a purebred killer. Every time he saw Maya he was reminded of it. ~It's what you know.. What you

are..~. Maybe. Slowly a heartbeat started coming into focus in the noise that was his world. He sniffed the air, but the stench of alcohol was all he

could feel.

He knew when he was being watched and like most of the time he didn't like it. "Seen enough, Sparky?" he grumbled and refilled the glass again.

"My name isn't Sparky." She felt it odd she knew to respond to him as cold as he would her. Even if he wasn't so obvious about it the moment you met him, she felt like she knew more about him than she should. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to figure out as much about what happened as I can. I met you before, but there's something else. I know a little how you fight."

The marine tossed back number nine and placed the glass on the table as if it was made of some highly instable explosive material. "Know how I fight?" he replied, keeping his head bowed. "And just how the hell do you figure that out, Dorothy?"

"Call me Nara, Naranda, Lt. Call me something besides those cheesy nicknames

you change at every turn." She replied before getting back to the subject, "Are you aware HOW this crap happened? Do you care that your crewmates had no choice in the matter? Do you know that we were occupied by beings? That everyone you killed was innocent?" She heard the rumors, and for once gave a

flip about it.

In fact she had quite an opinion on it. The fact she wasn't caring how he would react was an afterthought.

Innocent? There was a figurative four letter word. He looked at her and removed the glasses. The light caused him to frown, but the blank eyes looked at her, seemingly absorbing the light that fell on them. "That's one way of looking at it, Barbara.." he replied, ignoring the request to call her Nara.. "And no - I don't care HOW this crap happened."

She slightly startled at the eyes. She whispered "Ioa." She looked at him narrowing her eyes, "You fought Ioa."

The name didn't ring a bell first. He hadn't bothered to remember their names, but then it clicked. Pouring himself another shot he leaned on the elbows again. The shot just stood there. Tempted him. He could feel the eyes

of the people around him bury daggers in his back. Let them. Their problem. Not his. "The Dithparu couldn't fight worth monkeypiss... she was no exception.." he grumbled.

She got up in the stool next to him and looking at him, whispered, "I don't know what, but there's something odd about you. Victor doesn't admit it, but

he seems to care even though he considers himself Death incarnate. You, on the other hand are just as vulnerable as the rest of us Terrans. Something else is up, and I'm not in the mood for some marine, we don't care bout no one, attitude."

She leaned in closer, "Why did she find you interesting enough to penetrate?"

What the fuck? Had Baile been sober things would quite possibly gone ugly right from the get go. Alcohol was certainly not needed a requirement to unleash pain on others. He had virtually no idea who the young brat in front

of him was and who she thought she was to address him like that.

"Firstly - your mouth is a lot faster than you survival instincts, Priscilla.. You should look into that.. Second - Who the fuck is Victor and thirdly - Who the fuck do you think you are?! Not in the mood? Well, sorry Sally.. It's called life.. Deal with it."

She glared at him. She knew she was just taking it out on him. But what the heck. Why not. She doubted the man was crazy enough to start a fight, but if

he were, well she didn't care too much at the moment. She wanted to beat the

crap out of someone. "Lt. Roswell. We met on Trill. For a thankfully brief moment. I'm someone who's pretty ticked about what happened and you're my scapegoat."

Temper flared up inside Baile. The ascended warrior within him welcomed the challenge. It would be an entertaining break from the mundane pace he had settled into. His entire being screamed for battle, to walk the bloody fields, charging the enemy. But this was not an enemy. It was a kid with a big mouth. He refilled the glass and downed another shot.

"You're standing on a line. On the other side of it is a minefield. You might make it there. You might not." he warned her. Baile never made empty threats. Empty threats were useless if people started to think you didn't have the balls to pull it off. "Tell you what.. Go play in an airlock... "

"Insight 2: Conversation"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
Jebediah Baile, Marines

***Ten-Forward***

You don't just talk to Baile. Talk could get you in a heap of trouble with such a man.

"You're standing on a line. On the other side of it is a minefield. You might make it there. You might not." he warned her. Baile never made empty threats. Empty threats were useless if people started to think you didn't have the balls to pull it off. "Tell you what.. Go play in an airlock... "

She stood down and looked away a moment. Reason hit her a moment. Something else she felt she shouldn't know. He would beat the crap out of her and feel

none the worse for it. She on the other hand, win or lose, would feel like an idiot for starting a fight over nothing.

"Sorry." She muttered, figuring he didn't care that she was. "Thank you."

"For what?" the marine asked her and refilled his glass.

"Trying to do something." She still didn't look up at him. She instead had started to move her finger around some pooled water from the previous stool's occupant's drink. "You tried and actually were ABLE to do something."

"Do or die, Simper Fi." he replied and put the glass down. "I got bored... and it was a too good of a fight to miss.."

"Sometimes it's do AND die." A smile crossed her face, "Which is actually quite honorable in itself. I guess I can give myself that. That I at least tried."

"Tell me something.." he looked at her, frowning ever so slightly. "What is it with you monkeys when you go into battle?"

She did turn to look at him, "Us monkeys? What do you mean? Starfleet?"

"Yeah."

"We fight to the best of our ability. We do our assigned job. Mine being to make sure everything works the way it should. And if need be, fight. With hands or phaser. And before you get all superior on me, I was a soldier in a

war. Maybe not a marine, but I did fight in a war. I saw friends killed and I killed. I killed my own people. I'm in Starfleet now and one thing I learned is that sometimes you can't be on the front lines fighting. Someone has got to make sure things are organized, that the equipment works. There has to be people to patch up the wounded. You need more than soldiers in a war." She was still looking him square in the eye, expecting him to laugh. Or in his case, say some smart-butt retort.

At least she made no damn excuses. "With hands or phasers.." he replied. "Most Fleeters I've seen fighting has their ass in one hand and the other stuck in it." Baile really didn't like Starfleet personnel. The takeover by the Dithparu had done nothing to change that. "When you monkeys go into battle I see a bunch of over confident fools who thinks the enemy has the brain capacity of a retarded snail. Explain it, cause I just don't fucking get it... Every damn ship I've been onboard there's always some monkey who needs to show that Fleeters are tougher than Marines... "

"For one, you're stereotyping. Secondly, you're right about some of them. I even overestimate myself and underestimate the enemy. These things were invisible to us. We didn't know until it was too late. I can't speak for the

other 'monkeys' but I know I fought till it nearly killed me. Except, when you have someone to take care of, you start to fight only if you can live from it. We have to pick our battles. This one was worth fighting, so I fought for all I was worth. Problem was, hurting ourselves and others didn't

do much aside from forcing them to find someone else to take over. Hardest battle to fight is in the mind and will." She didn't know where the philosophy came from.

He shook his head. "Not good enough Barbie.. I've seen this behaviour every since I joined the marines. Some fleeter comes up with a half-assed plan that assumes the enemy is blind and brain-dead and then when the shit hits the fan you call for us to clean up your mess..." Then he shrugged. "I fight

to win and I'll use any means that I can to make sure I do..."

She sighed, "Not trying to convince you. You asked; I answered. I'm not saying we're better or worse than you. We do things differently. We need you

to come in and fix things, yes. And..." She paused and shook her own head, "No. No use in trying to say you need us. You won't believe it and I really don't feel like being insulted again."

She looked down at the table again, "You're really a jerk. Some would say that's a stereotype of marines, but my roommate is Branwen. I'm sure you met

her already. So is it that you guys just grow into hardened stones?"

"Thing about Branwen is she can get stubborn and bossy like a marine, but at

home, she's totally different. Some people know how to leave the warzone behind them. Seems to me that the weak people can't let go."

She wasn't sure why she said that. She'd blame her mother on that too.

A very unnerving smile started spreading across Baile's face. Interesting. "Marines needs bus drivers and that's you. Marines can't run logistics on their own and that's a crucial part in warfare, but for some reason Fleeters

needs to piss territory and not let us do our job." Baile could feel the irritation inside of him grow by each second. "And Lt London.. She's a fuckin rookie.. The greenbean seen less combat than my left foot, for crying

out loud.. And as for weak... you have no idea what you're talkin about, Bambi..." his voice was low and filled with irritation.

"Red tape is everywhere. That's life." She threw the words back at him, "And

don't tell me you blame Bran for being young and inexperienced. Heck, you were young once. Maybe better than she is, but we can't all be perfectly heartless. She doesn't admit it, but she's ticked and hurt about Saul. The marine in her won't admit it. And I know weak. Weak also tries to forget the

warzone.

The secret is a balance. "Who knows? If I hang around marines enough, I'll learn to face up to it." The words were empty BS as she was sure he knew.

"We all have demons. How we deal with them determines how we live life and how we leave it. Can't blame anyone but ourselves for our lives."

Demons? She had no idea. He poured himself one more drink to stall for time,

to push down the rage that was brewing in him. His knuckles went white as he

gripped the bottle. "You think this," he said and tipped the bottle, "is about forgetting the warzone?"

She looked confused a moment and looked at the bottle. "No. I meant I was. You seem to hold liquor well."

"You know the difference between a soldier and a warrior?" he asked while downing the shot.

If there were a back on the stool, she would had sat back, but instead she looked at him and leaned her chin on a hand, "Enlighten me."

The grip on the bottle tightened even further. Her attitude was pissing him off. Badly. "Soldiers want to forget the battlefield. The warrior wants to forget not being on it."

"I hate war, so I guess I can't be a warrior. I don't want to forget the battlefield, though. If we forget that we fought for something, everything is in vain. It doesn't mean anything anymore. If we forget, then we're useless."

"I don't want to forget the battlefield. If we forget that we fought for something, everything is in vain. It doesn't mean anything anymore. If we forget, then we're useless. The memories are just hard sometimes. Surely you

can understand that. I don't think it's about the title or what we call ourselves. War is a part of life. A sad part, but a part nonetheless. Some people were born to fight all their life. Wars, demons, themselves, what have you." She shook her head, "I don't know what I'm going on about. On Sakaria, I'm looked at by the title they gave my father, and then the one they gave me. Here, that same title is giving me grief. Either way, I feel pressured to live up to it."

"Dorothy.. What the hell are you talking about?"

"On Sakaria, they titled me 'Warrior Daughter of Sakaria.' I fought no better than anyone else. It's a thorn in my side. Especially here. People think I think I'm better or something. I thought for once, I could escape people pre-judging me. I did escape people putting me on a pedestal, only to

find myself fighting to climb out of a pit to prove myself worthy to be even

a Starfleet officer. I'm really not sure which is worse. People overestimating me or underestimating me."

The marine nearly sighed. ""You've got to be shitting me, Mandy... that's your main worry?"

"No. It's one of my many petty worries. Like if Marks is gonna get justice. If Bran will ever get over Saul so we can all be friends. If Oshea will ever

stop thinking I'm a lazy deserter. If Saul's life will ever not be a complete mystery. I worry about little things like that. But if you want to know my main worry, it's that I wonder if Saia will ever be safe and if she'll be safer with me or back on Trill. But people like you wouldn't understand worries. You don't have any, do you?" She was being sarcastic now. He wouldn't admit anything and they both knew it.

If he and she and this and that. Had she any idea how it all sounded? "Bella.." he started, but had to interrupt to stop himself from laughing. "This is why I'll survive longer than any fleeter... "

She looked at him a moment, "You'll survive, but you don't care. Life isn't all about surviving. But I guess that's the very reason we need people like you and Victor. You do the surviving, so we can do the living." She smiled, "Should I bother apologizing for bringing all the sap over?"

"I play the part I do because someone has to.." his voice had lost some of the amused tone. "You need to stop apologizing for what you are and who you are.. Because you are.. With every damn word you say.." Baile said and pushed the bottle away. "I'll never apologize for who I am and what I do... I'm good at it.. damn good at what I do.."

She smiled at him, knowing well and not expecting a smile back, "Point taken. Whether anyone likes it or not, we fleeters and you marines serve together, and this may be lost on the likes of you, but I want to say it's an honor to serve with you." She couldn't say she warmed up to him. But she respected him.

"I'll give you some advice, no extra charge, Nara.." he said, using the name

she wanted him to use. "There are people who are born killers.. War is what we know and do better than anyone.. Don't try and match strides with us.. You'll only end up losing yourself."

She immediately frowned and looked at the table. The advice sounded familiar. She finally answered, "I suppose I should know that by now. I could be as arrogant as you and have nothing to prove that I have any right to be."

She wasn't sure what good it would do to tell of the worst memories she had of the war. Causing two comrades to die because she was so impatient, trigger happy and cocky and ran out before the command. Being in a POW camp and the words spoken by an old, wise Sakarian man. It wouldn't do any good on a man who's seen worse and more of it than she would.

A person didn't have such an attitude unless he had to deal with such horrors. And if he hadn't built the attitude, she summed up he would had killed himself or not survived any of it. He was right. She couldn't match him. They simply had different roles in life.

He leaned against the bar, shaking his head. "I've been in more wars and battles than probably half this ship put together." the marine said. "During

the Dominion Wars I had a total of eighteen days of leave and most of that was spent transferring from one place to the next.

I've seen things no normal and sane person ever should even hear about.. I've been so far behind the enemy lines I've been sure we would never come back again.. So I play the part I've been given."

Civil wars were different, Nara assumed. Sure you were fighting your own people, but it never quite as brutal as any battle she's encountered in Starfleet. She experienced that the first battle she was in. "There's something else. Like I said before. Something that Ioa saw. I couldn't see all she had in her mind, but I know she was scared of whatever it was."

She looked at him again, "I'm just wondering if it's something we should fear."

"What did she see then?" he could feel her presence long before he saw her.

"Something else in your mind."

"Insight 3: Ghosts"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
2nd Lt Jebediah Baile, Marine Recon Specialist

***Ten-Forward***

The thing about talking to anyone, was eventually you see past the rumors and reputation.

"Something else in your mind."

The thing, what ever it was inside of him, managed to slip out of Baile's control for a second and look out Baile's eyes. That was his true nature. The ultimate predator. "I have a lot of things in my mind.. care to be more specific?" he asked while ignoring the blond woman next to him.

Nara searched her memory for what little she got out of Ioa. "Another mind. Not the same species, but like the Dithparu as in they don't have physical bodies. A ghost. Heck, I don't know. I wasn't there. I'm going off someone else's memory."

"Must be.." he remarked offhanded. "And as far as ghosts goes.." he pointed to his head. "Plenty of those in there."

"Ghosts normally don't come out and flat out talk to you. Or...." She thought a moment, "Basically push out..." Nara shook her head, "Your ghost was able to resist what we couldn't." She shook her head, "You lucky dog. You have a guard at the door of your mind."

He nearly looked at Maya who was standing behind Nara. Damn she was so bloody good looking. "Not your memories, like you said yourself." Maya smiled at him, but he had the feeling he would need to get the girl sidetracked from what they were talking about.

Nara looked at him strangely, not quite understanding what he meant. "I don't know specifics, and I've gotten a talent for repressing, but what I allow myself to remember from her memories is that. Some kind of menacing presence. It threatened her. And Ioa believed it was stronger than the Dithparu. Apparently this being didn't seem obliged to help us with that though. Is it there just to protect you?"

Maya leaned in closer to Nara. "She is pretty... but she's not a part of this.. She is not like you, Killer.. She's weaker, indecisive.." The blonde woman walked over to Baile and leaned against him, letting her finger trail the outlines of his chin.

"It's nothing you need to worry about, Nara..." he said after hearing her speak. Maya's scent made it harder to keep control over himself. How he wished he could feel the rush of battle right that very instant.

Nara tilted her head slightly, "Just curious then." She turned her head seeing someone pass.

Baile finished the last shot and stood up. He nodded to the bartender to give him one more bottle and grabbed a handful of shot glasses. Not really true to regs, but saying no to him wasn't easy right now. His reputation made sure of that. No one knew if he was going to start killing people again.

She just looked at him. The grabbing of the glasses would had been a good hint, as he seemed one not to be concerned HOW the drink got to his lips, but she didn't want to assume anything either. So, she just watched him a moment.

The marine pushed himself away from the bar and started leaving Ten Forward.

His head was aching, just like his eyes and it was wearing down on him.

Well, there were no hints. Now it was just the fact that she felt she was being shrugged off. She stood, and walked briskly to catch up. Once out the door, she spoke, "Did I miss the memo?"

"Insight 4: Following"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
2nd Lt Jebediah Baile, Marine Recon Specialist

***Corridor Outside Ten-Forward***

Well, there were no hints. Now it was just the fact that she felt she was being shrugged off. She stood, and walked briskly to catch up. Once out the door, she spoke, "Did I miss the memo?"

Naranda didn't take being shrugged off kindly, so when Baile just walked off

with so much as a goodbye, it left her offended.

He stopped and tried to ignore the look on Maya's face. "Sandy.. you're talking in tongues again..."

She sighed, "Well, people usually say goodbye when they decide to stop talking to someone."

Baile shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "I've never liked Ten Forward. So I'm

going somewhere else.."

Walking out in the hallway the woman continued to follow him. Stopping he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The light in here made his head ache. That and hearing her pulse start beating inside his head. "And here I thought we had reached an understanding... I'm a marine and I don't care..."

"Oh, I figured. However, I thought I caught a hint, but then maybe not. I didn't think you were the type of guy who would take glasses when he could drink straight from the bottle. Wasn't sure if you meant me to come or not."

She wondered if she should be embarrassed. She decided not to care. He didn't.

Baile looked at the shots glasses in his hand. "During the Dominion Wars I learned a drinking game from a man called Beuchamps.. real quiet guy. That's

what these are for.."

She looked at the glasses. Ok, so he hadn't intended for her to follow. Right now, she wanted to not think about what happened. Odd thing was, this man gave her an odd reminding of it. So why did she want to hang out with him? She looked at him. Seeing the creepy eyes again. That's why. He felt nothing. And it was starting to rub off. "How do you play?"

Those inhuman eyes looked at her, shielding what ever mysteries they held from anyone that looked into them. He eyed her from top to bottom. "Think you can handle it, Cakes?"

"Why don't we find out?" She smiled competively.

"Suit yourself..." he replied and started walking down the corridor. Everyone they met tried their best to avoid looking at his eyes, the most visible sign of his change. In Baile's world those people didn't even exist.

After a few minutes they reached what had been his goal - an observation deck.

Nara ignored the people. She admitted it bothered her a little, but she really had no time or tolerance for judgmental people. Sure they were likely

correct. Every minute with the man seemed to confirm he was a creep. But someone she knew she could trust non-the-less.

Trust not to rape her mind or body anyway. Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment. Maybe she wanted to be with someone rough so she was forced to at least act as rough herself. She wanted to feel as tough and confident as she did when in battle on Sakaria. Being with a hard-nosed marine seemed to fit that bill.

She stepped inside the room and ignored the peacefulness of it. She didn't want peace now. She wanted to relive "glory" days. She only a few times drank with the other soldiers, but now it seemed a good time to relive that.

She had gone through a very harsh battle and this seemed suitable.

He rolled his head from side to side, popping the neck loudly, much like a boxer getting ready for a fight. The bottle went on the table, one glass each which he filled. "This game was about the only time the big guy spoke..

For every drink the opponent takes you have to reveal a kill you've made. The more shots your opponent takes the more you have to reveal. No winners or losers here.. Just demons waiting to wreck some havoc.." he explained with cruel look on his face.

Nara thought a moment. She figured she had less than him. She wondered if the mines counted. She nodded, "Alright." She grabbed the glass not bothering to see whose turn it was. She poured it down her throat and then looked at him expectedly as she swallowed.

(Backpost)

“Introductions…”

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Commanding Officer, USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Kimberly Ann Burton
Chief Medical Officer, USS Galaxy

Captains Office, November 25. 2382, Two days before transfer of command to Commander Henderson

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ Another ship another Captain ~ Kimberly thought with a smile, she had to admit, while the upheaval of going from one assignment to another was a bit annoying, and leaving friends behind was not easy, this was part of going to a new place she really did enjoy, the meeting new people and getting to know them.

While she hadn't really been on the Relentless long enough to get to know too many people she did have a few regrets, especially about a few of her clients who were now going to have to settle down with new counsellors, though she was sure Telk would handle them all easily, there was a counsellor who could cope, she remembered with a smile.

Getting off the turbolift she looked around the bridge and smiled at the duty officer, ~ Better get used to seeing this, ~ she thought, walking over to the Captains ready room she tapped the chime and waited.

"Computer, pause." Dimming the display to the day-log, Daren brought up his calendar, not completely unsure he had an expected appointment. Verifying the chronometer against the day planner, he realized he had lost track of time, and almost forgotten his new Chief Medical Officer had arrived recently. The interview was due in a few short minutes.

How easily the hours flowed together these days. So much had to be addressed and dealt with. The station was due to come online by the end of the shift after scores of SCE's had descended on it to virtually rebuild it from the inside out. Memorial services for so many... Starfleet Command was requesting hourly updates on progress, interviews were scheduled with he and his command staff, psychiatric evaluations on the telepaths on board his ship, his ship practically rewired. And Proctor still harassing him even after she had left for her command post six weeks ago. Thankfully the object of the entire incident was destroyed; towed off into the nearest sun by a score of non-telepaths in whatever ships were operable.

So, he turned his log entry terminal down to a close, and called out to the visitor to come. He lifted himself out of his chair with a minor groan to cross the carpet to the replicator.

Hearing the summons Kimberly walked into the ready room and stood smartly before the Captains desk, "Lieutenant Kimberly Burton reporting Sir," she announced cheerfully, placing the PADD with her orders on his desk.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant." Daren placed his usual order of homebrew tea, which materialized onto the tray before he had even finished his sentence.

"Would you like a cup?"

"Thank you Sir, just some water please," she replied gratefully.

Daren nodded, ordering a standard glass, at which he carried and settled in front of the woman.

"I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"More or less Sir, yes, a bit of a strange encounter en-route, but I passed it to Fleet command for a follow up," she added as an after thought.

"Nothing can be so much as passed on as a random strange encounter out here, Lieutenant. Bear that in mind on this ship. Report anything out of the ordinary."

“Believe me Sir, I’m only too aware of how out of the ordinary things can get, I report just about everything, and it goes in my logs too,” she assured him

He nodded in acknowledgement, turning back to his seat, then thought otherwise to stand instead. "I'm sure you'll find things far more exciting here, Doctor. More than you may like. We've a habit of getting ourselves into the thick of it of late," he waved a hand out towards the station drifting just beyond. The starship was now docked via a massive arm. The umbilical connects had finally come online for both station and ship. "Our patrol route takes us along the borders of the Romulans, Hydrans, Yanek, Judari, and Breen. Nothing is ever routine here."

"I've heard that the Galaxy has an interesting record," she admitted, “and that you've just come out of another hazardous assignment," looking thoughtful for a moment, "I think perhaps that's one reason I may have been considered for the job sir, I may be a new Doctor, but I'm also a fully qualified counsellor as well, perhaps someone thought a little crossover might be helpful," she suggested.

The dark-skinned Captains' forehead creased as he nodded. Setting his cup down, its steam twirled lazily into the air as he crossed his arms.

"We could use all the assistance that can be mustered. Mandatory counselling sessions are in order for the telepathically-inclined and any crew that were assaulted by the Dithparu. Everyone is taking on double-duties here while a great majority of our personnel are being evaluated. I'm afraid you'll have to handle both Medical and Counseling duties until the evaluations are done. Commander Karyn Dallas is someone you'll want to get in touch with."

"Aye Sir... If I may though, I've never encountered the Hydrans, and I've never even heard of the Judari, what are they like?" she asked curiously.

"The Hydrans have been assigned to us as our focus for Strategic Operations personnel here, being both the Tactical and Intelligence groups coordinated by Commander Henderson. Much on them is classified, but suffice it to say, any exobiology needs you are required to know can be acquired through him. They were one of the three groups we encountered at Havras, with the Breen and T`Kith`Kin. What is known of them is that they believe we ignored them after Operation Unity in 2310. Since then, for reasons known only to the Diplomatic Corps, relations with them ceased. Seventy years of silence, and now they have made contact again, not for opening relations, but for apparently, vengeance.

"We've had only a single close encounter with them since Havras, thankfully without an interstellar incident, not too long ago. It was through the actions of our ship's Liaison officer that hostilities were averted."

Reaching for his tea, he continued on after inhaling the aroma. Memories of his grandmother came to him as they always do.

"We've not encountered the Yanek. No one has, to my knowledge. We only know of their name through third-party channels. The Judari was assigned to the Relentless. I'm surprised you never heard of them. Captain Therrien must be content to be able to concentrate on the exploration side of Starfleet." He sighed. "Allah knows it may be some time before we get back to it."

“I was only aboard the Relentless for a few months sir, and she wasn’t in her regular patrol sector while I was there, other assignments,” she explained, “but everyone is certainly happier when exploration is the mission, I think most people see that as what we’re supposed to be out here for.”

M’Kantu only responded with a humming sound.

“Correct me if I’m wrong though Sir, if I recall, wasn’t there one encounter with the Yanek, the USS Arizona under Captain Rianiassastranara'Cessk,” mauling the pronunciation ever so slightly as she always did, “I was aboard when she went into the Black Nebula.” Kimberly asked.

“Quite possibly. I’ve never met her or had any dealings with the Arizona since Havras. It’s been a rather exciting year here of late, so contact with other Captains has been limited. Though, Federation Day on Earth is not a sign of better things to come.” He waved his hand.

“Anyhow, Lieutenant. Enough of this morbid thought. Tell me about yourself. What is it you hope to attain here on the Galaxy? Career aspirations?”

“Well, to start with to learn my new job better, I may be a qualified Doctor but there’s always more to learn, especially when you’re new,” she admitted, “long term though, I’m honestly not sure, I have two tough qualifications behind me, for now I just want to practice and be… useful,” she admitted, “I haven’t really given much thought to the long term future.”

"I'm sure you'll find yourself taking opportunity of many situations on the ship, Lieutenant." His terminal chimed. Reaching over, he read something as it scrolled by his screen. He nodded minutely as his face darkened.

"Doctor, I must apologize, but I will have to cut our meeting short today. Perhaps we can share a meal later? After the mandatory sessions are completed and we're underway? I have an incoming message I need to take."

“Of course Sir,” Kimberly said simply, standing, “thank you for you time, and, I’ll see you soon.” Standing to attention for a moment she smiled and left, leaving the Captain to his message.

[…]

"Captain, Are You Aware There's a Klingon On Your Bridge?"

Commander Kol, First Officer
Major Corran Rex, CAG

---------------------- Transporter Room Three, USS Galaxy ----------------------

Major Corran Rex was waiting patiently to receive the Galaxy's new first officer. It seemed the thing to do, as he knew the man, and would be the most accustomed to the Commander's particular... idiosyncrasies.

["DS5 Transporter Room 12 to USS Galaxy Transporter Room Three."] came the call of an almost panicked-sounding Chief, breaking the room's silence.

Chief Jensen was manning the station, and his eyes darted up to meet the CAG's. While there was surprise on his face - there was very little vocal communication in such routine transports at this - there wasn't one bit of surprise on Corran's.

The Trill simply reached forward, tapping the comm control on the transporter console. "Galaxy here. Go ahead." he said, bracing himself.

["Are you, ah, ready?"] came the sound of a nervous junior rating. For a moment, Corran pitied the kid.

"Send him over, DS5." the Major said, and gave a nod to Jensen. "Energize, Chief."

Jenson complied, and the new first officer materialized in the familiar blue sparkle of the transporter, only moments later.

The Commander stepped off the platform, his heavy boots thudding even on the metallic deck.

Jensen looked up.

And up.

"Holy Kolker." he whispered, taking a good, long look.

Corran smiled. "Commander Kol," he said, stepping forward. "Welcome to the Galaxy."

-------------------------- Bridge, Deck One USS Galaxy ---------------------------

Heads turned as he entered, and stood in front of the Captain's Chair. Many stared openly, no doubt surprised at at his size. Even amongst Klingons, Kol was not a small man, at just over seven feet of height as the humans measured it. He was also very much aware of that fact, and he often used that to his advantage as an intimidation tool. It Fahd certainly worked in this last year he had spent as Executive Officer of the Arizona.

He saw one Ensign, near the rear Engineering stations, actually start staring open mouthed, her hands slightly trembling. They feared him. That was good. That was right.

Placing a hand on the side of the chair, he spoke loud enough to address all present. "I am Kol, son of Korvath, grandson of Kor, the Da'har Master. I now take my place as first officer. I speak for the Captain, but I stand for the Crew. None of you are worthy of my blood, or my life." he said, and gave a good solid look at every person manning the bridge. "And I very much doubt any of you ever will be."

If a pin had dropped on the bridge at that point, the drop would have echoed from bulkhead to bulkhead. "If everyone on this bridge does not resume work within three seconds, I will behead you all, and bring in the next shift early."

"He's kidding, right?" another crewman whispered to Ensign Delphino, the one whose hands had shaken for a moment earlier.

"Would you like to find out, Ensign?" Kol said threateningly, head snapping around to meet the young human dead in the eyes.

"No, sir." he replied immediately.

"Excellent." came the large Klingon's reply, as he sat down in the Executive Officer's chair. "Now bring me this vessel's Record of Battle. And if I do not like what I see, then I will be most.. displeased. You would not like to see me.. displeased."

Ensign Colby Elliot swallowed the small lump in his throat. "You mean the ship's log, sir?"

"Whatever you call it."

"Right away, sir."

Corran just watched the entire exchange with a slightly amused look,and cleared his throat as he stood next to the Commander. "Commander, Captain Henderson is waiting for us in the ready room." he reminded patiently.

The big Klingon's brow knitted together a moment. "Yes, of course. Very well, my evaluation of the efficiency of this.. "crew" can wait until later." he replied, and stood. As they crossed the bridge to the ready room, the new first officer caught sight of something near the turbolift.

He lowered his voice to a whisper (the bass of which still traveled pretty far) and addressed the pilot. "Corran, there is a diminutive feline in uniform standing guard on the bridge. Is it the ship's... mascot?"

Corran's eyes darted to where Ensign Khatrowen was standing at his post. "No, that's Ensign Khatrowen. He's a Security officer." he managed to reply with a completely straight face.

Kol didn't miss a beat. "I see." he replied. "He will make an excellent snack." the Klingon replied, and pressed the doorchime for the ready room.

Rex couldn't say for certain the man was joking. He very sincerely hoped so.

For Kol's bio, go to http://www.ussmiranda.com/bios/kol.htm JPs available on request, send to pat.weber@gmail.com

"One Tough Customer" -- pt. 2

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Lt. j.g. Cora Dobryin
Chief Intelligence Officer

For a good several seconds Brian let his words hang in the air between them, sensing that Cora had heard them with more than just her ears. He could feel her resistance and was actually glad for it -- there was no need to resist that which held no effect.

"There's no better place to let go of some of that control. Let's not worry about the gory details for now . . . tell me more about how all this is effecting you," he gently encouraged. "What does being out of control mean to you?"

Cora looked at him, "Its frightening is the only word that immediately comes to mind. In this case well I had no clue I would be vulnerable."

Brian had no difficulty comprehending. It was a frightening experience, being on the inside of your own mind and body but with both under someone -- something -- else's control. And he hadn't known in advance either. By the time the crew began to make the connections he was already possessed.

"Can you say more about the frightening part? What specifically were you afraid of?"

"I'm not sure really, though I'd have to say not being me or returning to myself is one thing. And learning that like many of the other telepaths I too was possessed," Cora responded quietly.

It was evident to the counselor that vulnerability was a difficult lesson for the woman. It wasn't really *easy* for anyone, but the typically "stronger" types seemed to have the hardest time when it inevitably tore a hole in their illusion of emotional invincibility.

"That's a very understandable reaction, Lieutenant," Brian said empathetically. "The only thing worse than feeling like you've lost control -- in any context -- is feeling like you'll never get it back. But it's a process. It may take time."

Somehow hearing his last comment made things even more difficult for the Intelligence officer. In that very competitive world there was no place for weakness, "Easier said than done." Cora knew it only started with that one comment but went far deeper.

"Darn right," he readily agreed. "It's *not* easy. It can be a lot of work. But that's why you're here, and while I can't magically make you feel better or somehow give you an end run around the process, I *can* help you through it. But you *are* going to have to do the heavy lifting . . . and the first task is about really seeing what's there." He knew the first step could be the hardest; he just hoped she'd be willing to take it.

"A Terran theologian in the fifteenth century once said, 'Give light, and the darkness will disappear of itself.' That's what this is all about."

She didn't know what to say to that. Hopefully it was true. However Cora found herself in a very dark place, one she didn't want to be in. Physically over the last several months she'd had more than enough vivid reminders of that. "So what now?" The question sounded tentative even though it had to be asked.

"What now is we keep going," Brian kindly answered. "You're off to a good start, Lieutenant, really. Let's talk a little more about the discovery of your ESP . . ."

"What do you want to know about it? I think so far I've been pretty open in saying I didn't know anything about my abilities until this incident."

"But you do now," the counselor pointed out. "Whether you like it or not, it's now part of your life, so I guess I was wondering if you've thought much about it post-Dithparu. It seems like it could be a pretty significant change for you."

Cora nodded, "Yes it is part of my life but in all sincerity my time has been spent trying to recover from the Dithparu incident. Yes the ESP is a big change for me but I'm not sure the reality of that has fully sunk in yet given everything else aside from asking myself how to I live with it."

Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Brian felt an uncomfortable stirring. The discussion had suddenly come very close to home for the recovering Betazoid.

"The topics aren't as separated as you might think." There was a hint of uneasiness in his voice. "Facing the reality of an event like the encounter with the Dithparu also means recognizing that it's mostly because of this new ability that you were vulnerable to it . . . and that something similar could happen again." The statement uncomfortably reverberated through his mind.

For a long moment Dobryin was very quiet. His comment clearly bothered her because she'd had that thought herself and knew just how closely the two were related. "Things will never be as they were," Cora's comment sounded more like a whispered resignation than anything.

"No . . . they won't," Brian quietly agreed.

He was speaking to himself as much as to her.

"The Chief and The Chief"

Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental
Chief Tactical Officer

Lieutenant Raven Darkstar
Tactical Officer

Saul Bental considered himself a sane person. Even more sane than usual. Sure, he did some insane things in the past, but all were based on sound, calculated reasons and logic.

Now, sane people don't, by definition, speak to themselves. They can if they want to (It's nice talking to someone who agrees with you on everything once in a while), but they're not supposed to do it aloud. "How am I suppose to deal with this?", He told himself with frustration. "He's a friggin' Lieutenant. Used to be berevert commander on board. He's Bhrode's man - that nutto could've dropped him on the Captain's chair had he felt like it... and yet I have to tell this Indian WRESTLER what to do. Couldn't they just give me a bunch of Ensigns to order around?" By the time Raven entered the Chief Tactical Officer's office, Saul was ready to beat Commander Henderson with a Pakled for promoting the unsuspecting Dutchman to his current position. Darkstar seemed to fill the entire room. His presence seemed to loom over every nook and cranny of the office, as if he were some how challanging a batallion of angry Klingons or Breen to fall from a venelation grate, armed to the fang. His leathery face wore a stoic expression as he scanned the walls and desktop, noting that the multiple awards, certifications and potographs of the former Tactical Chief shaking hands with various members of Starfleet hierarchy were gone, replaced with a more spartan, personal decor. The most obvious being a three-dimensional photo of a big sail boat.

He nodded ever so perceptively in approval and Saul could see, not for the first time, Bhrode's steely influance in the Indian's demeanor. "Shalom Raven.", Saul began. Darkstar glanced at the chair, calculated that his weight and bulk would render it useless in 8.5 seconds, and clasped his hands behind his back in the 'at ease' pose, although truth be told, the Indian's 'at ease' pose looked more like that of a predator waiting to strike. "The reason I asked you to come over is that I really want to get to know the people I'm working with, and giving pumpous speeches isn't the best way for that... so, I'd like to hear everything you have to say... about you, about your role here, the department, whatever. I will also be glad to answer any questions you may have." Saul leaned backwards, staring the massive Indian in the eye. He didn't have high expectations for this intake interview. None at all. Raven paused and sniffed at the air. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the Tac Chief. "I am here to destroy that which has an intent to do the same to this ship, to protect the ship against 'the crew's uncanny ability to maximize their inefficiency', and to protect this ship from the lunacy that is Leo Streely. Not nessicarily in that order." Darkstar recited, quoting Fleet Admiral Bhrode and once more sniffing the air and leaning foreward a bit.

"I concur with the first part.", Saul nodded, "As for the crew's alleged inefficiency, I'll do my best to make 'at least' the Tactical department efficient, and am willing to accept any reccomendations you might have. As for Ambassador Streely... I thought he was posted here by the same Admiral who assigned you?"

"Correct" Darkstar said. He once more sniffed the air around him. To the chief, the man looked like a wolf catching a scent in the wind. "I must say.", Saul smirked, "that your posting as senior Tactical Officer is much less questionable than the Ambassador's posting."

"Mine is not to question the will of the Admiral." the indian growled, allowing his Bhrode conditioning to show. Saul raised an eyebrow. "It is my belief that there's nothing wrong with... questioning the acts of superior officers, even tell them your opinion respectfully, as long as in the end you obey the orders to the best of your ability. I'm not saying the decision is unsound, I'm just... curious."

Darkstar pondered the thought a moment. He had admittedly not thought of Streely as nothign more then a nusiance. A well meaning pest, but a pest nonetheless. "Leo seems to know everything that is happening on this ship, both officially and behind the scenes. He has the ability to dig up dirt others can't. He is often overlooked due to his outrageous personality. In the past this has allowed him to get places few others could." he said, crouching down and peering under the Chief Tactical officer's desk, placing one hand on the carpet and sniffing once more. Not quite able to place anything, he stood upright again and remained silent. "Is there anything wrong with the carpet, Raven?", Saul inquired.

Darkstar just grunted.

"At any rate, I suppose what you say about Leo is probably a good explenation. I haven't thought of it that way."

Raven bore a hole into the Tactical Cheif with his gaze. A handful of minutes died a slow death before the Indian even blinked. "You may be correct." he said.

"Anyway, we're not here to discuss the ambassador.", Saul rubbed his hands together. "You been here forever - except for when you were transferred to Bhrode's command where you were Chief of Security, let me ask your opinions of some of thew ship and her crew. What do you think of the ship's ability to defend itself?" "It's ability to defend itself is only as good as those who are operating it's defensive systems. The best defense is a good offense. I believe few in this department or on this ship hold that principal. That could be a weakness in battle. Also I think loosing the Phase Pulse Cannon at the retrofit was a mistake." Saul nodded. "I'll look into it. If it is indeed worth the maintnance cost and the energy consumption, I'll have them reinstall the cannon during the next retrofit. Now, what do you think of your peers, the people who work with us in Tactical?"

"With all due respect, I have no peers in this department. Loret has not been seen in weeks. Your Assistant Chief of Tactical is an Ensign. Bosco is Bosco and would be distracted by the first nipple he saw. This is quite possibly the thinnest department I have seen since the Galaxy Engineering Department years ago. A concern since we have one of the most critical departments on the ship, especially in this day and age."

Saul frowned. "Lieutenant, I tend to disagree with most of what you said. Chief Renora has only BEEN here for a few weeks, she's still adjusting, and since she's on TAG it's no wonder you don't get to see her. Re'yol might be an ensign, but people with her service record tend to have two pips if not more. As for Bosco... well, I suppose we should keep the nipples off the bridge while he's on duty."

"As you say, Chief." Darkstar rumbled dryly.

Saul smiled slyly. "You know, I'm glad I didn't ask you for an opinion about ME."

"You are an analyst and a numbers man. I think you are out of your element, yet you are my department head. Commander Henderson saw something in you and I am obliged to follow your orders. First officers have a history of making bad judgements on this ship though, and I believe you would have trouble making a tough instinctive call without overanalyzing the matter. That is dangerous. Only time will tell if I am wrong." "I don't claim to have rich history as a Tactical Officer. You know that, I know that, and Commander Henderson knows that.", Saul said sternly. "And that is also why I'm going to be very liberate in seeking the other senior Tactical Officers' counsel at first. At FIRST, Lieutenant. And as I said earlier in the conversation, experienced officer or not, once I do turn something into an order, I expect it to be followed, even by Commander Janx and yourself."

"My duty is to do what is nessicary to ensure the safty of this ship and her crew, not follow a blind or misplaced order. Sir." Darkstar said matter of factly, walking around to the other side of the desk and looking behind Saul. He sniffed once more and placed his palm on the top of the man's desk. It felt slightly warm to the touch. Satisfied, he resumed his position before the Chief. "I expect you to tell me if you think that I do something wrong. If I am indeed wrong, that thing will change. If not, it will remain, and not following it is called insubordination. I know this is an awkward situation, hearing that from someone who you officially outrank, but I'm afraid that's the way it is."

Darkstar nodded. "If there is nothing more, I have duties."

"All right. I'll see you on the bridge, Raven."

As the doors closed shut behind the massive Indian, Saul opened his desk drawer. Inside, a semi-eatten Falafel was awating the irritated Tactical chief. The pitah and the balls were still warm, and some Thina sauce spilled on the PADDs inside the drawer.

Their distinct smell caused Saul's nostrils to expand, and his stomach growled in expectation.

The Tactical chief sniffed the Falafel, smiled cheerfully, and took a very big byte.

"A man about a horse"

Lt. Commander Brianna "Anna" O'Shea
Chief Engineer / S.C.E. Liaison

:: Interior Corridor, USS Galaxy ::

Anna had pretty much stayed shy of everyone since the 'telepath uprising'. She didn't want to deal with anyone or try to answer any questions that where bound to be asked. Instead, she focused on fixing the ship and once that was done she opted for couple of days of rest and relaxation. Also giving the same for her crews, cause the good work they'd done.

The problem for all this was Anna wasn't good at taking time off, nor was she good at just being idle. Usually when she was she did something to make a problem just so she'd have something to fix. Such at the little near interstellar incident she did on Romulas. What could she do like that here on the Galaxy, short of insulting the Klingon in command and having her head lobbed off with a bat'leth?

Anna found herself though just walking the ship, dressed in casual clothing of black denim jeans and a form hugging black long sleeve turtle neck sweater. She hated wasting time, time was something a person couldn't get back or replace with something else. It was precious, more expensive then any of the finest goods a Frengi could sell; at least to Anna it was. Pausing for a moment, she turned and began to take strides toward the holodecks. Having thought she'd go for a horse back ride.

She'd not been in ages, it always made her feel so free. Stepping into the lift car, she called out the appropriate deck and then waited for it to arrive.

"Insight 5: Drinking Games"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
2nd Lt Jebediah Baile, Marine Recon Specialist

***Observation Deck***

Nara had followed Baile into this strange Séance. Calling the demons to come

out and play. She definitely wasn’t being herself today. Maybe not being yourself sometimes helped you be more like yourself the rest of it time.

Demons of old would come out today. The main question was how the Fleeter would handle it. He leaned back as she tossed back the first drink. "Magnus Rhimes... merc.. cut his throat while getting inside their outpost in -78."

Slowly he filled one glass. It would probably be an even game this, with him

having tossed down a lot of booze earlier. Without diverting his eyes from Nara he tossed it down.

She concentrated on the aftertaste wondering what she'd gotten herself into.

When Saul and she tried to exchange stories, it didn't go well. Here, though, it was a blatant challenge. She was half tempted to kid about a roach she killed. Instead, she dug deep to her first battle, "Jonus Mioi. Shot him in the chest with a phaser. We went in to rescue some POWs. It was on stun, but he died of infection before we got him to our camp." She took another shot, racking her brain for any hand-combat situations she could recall.

"A nausciaan whose name I don't know... got the jump on a guy in the squad when we cleared out a bunker. Shot him in the head at point blank with this." he said and patted on his firearm. Like most spec ops he very strong opinions on what weapons to use. Bullets was his preference. The second drink went down without so much as a frown on his face.

"Someone, I later found out her name was Mewi, came after me, knocking the gun out of my hand. When I got the chance, I slammed her head against the concrete wall." Nara chugged the next drink, hoping to get enough into her before the emotions threatened to be revealed and she lost. She knew and she

was sure he knew this was competition. Or at least a test. They both also knew she likely would not get through this without the same solidness as him. They likely both expected it. Likely, both didn't care.

The marine chuckled. "A concrete kiss..." Then his face grew more somber and

seemed to think about what he'd say next. "A Romulan Centurion. He led a team into the same area as us. We killed them one by one. Took him down with

a steel wire." The next drink went down just as easy as the other one. It was time to up the stakes.

"A group of raiders. They attacked the medical unit I was at. I think I was able to put a few down with a scalpel. Others by phaser and I remember I got

one by choking him with suture wire." Her face crinkled trying to remember the details. She shuddered. She hadn't realized how far she pushed many of these memories. The memory jumping thing brought out some, but not all, of her harsher memories.

She took another drink with near-trembling hands, praying the alcohol would start to set in soon.

Maya looked at him a bit irritated. "This is not very nice of you and you know it." she chided him, but Baile met her gaze evenly. "Talk the talk. Walk the walk." he said with a shrug then turned to look at Nara. "Sinjia.. a Bajoran.. not sure what her problem was, but she attacked me while I was on leave... broke her neck." He readied two glasses and knocked them down one by one.

Two. She half wondered about the talk and walk business, but she had to concentrate on two more stories. "First battle after being promoted to commander, got a lead that a commandant was about to attach a fort city, and

we went in to disable him. Three guards stood at his door. We weren't going to kill them, but when we heard their backup coming.

We had to move quickly, so we shot them in their heads. There were three of us, so it worked well. Three months later, we were in a battle in a desert and I personally killed about five people." She then proceded to drink three

glasses. She knew he would keep calling and raising, but the alcohol was starting to kick in and she really didn't care.

Baile snickered. "Looks like we got ourselves a live honest to God killing machine here..." He then looked at the glasses. "Saktin Bay.. clearing up SI's mess.. They told us we would be facing hard opposition.. It was nothing

but scared kids who couldn't handle a gun without shooting themselves... We left no one alive." He had so many personal hells to choose from, so many faces that wanted to talk to him, show him their hatred. He poured himself three glasses, just like she had. "Now, none of the easy shit... I want to hear the killer in you... something personal.. Not that bullshit you just spit out.."

"You owe me two." She looked at him blankly. If they were playing this, it was going to be fair. "And 'something personal?' What do you think those were? Some movie I watched?"

She narrowed her eyes, "All of those kills were my own people. All people of

Sakaria."

"You want sympathy go see London.." Baile said with a shrug. "And as for two

drinks - none of those kids were older than fifteen.. They were just in SI's

way.. "

She rolled her eyes, "Fine. I'm not going for sympathy, but I'm giving you what I've got. You know not to be surprised that the worst, or best, depending how you look at it, is running into a person who was one of your closest friends in military training, only to learn that they were traitors for the other side." She paused and filled another glass before she continued, "He managed to get the weapon out of my hand. My first good hit was at his jaw. Then, eventually, I managed to punch him good in the nose. I

sat there, watching him die. Half of me grieving over a friend, the other half feeling triumphant for defeating the enemy. I watched the life drain out of him. As soon as there was no pulse, I left his body there." She picked the glass up, and drank from it three times.

She looked at him, "Your turn, Oh Killer of Killers." She sarcastically spurted before taking a seat.

"Expect the worst from people, cause they usually won't let you down.." he shrugged. "Most of my kills have been up close. I'm nearly always close enough to see them in the eyes. That's the difference from Fleeters in their

fancy ships.. I dare to watch them as they die.. "

"Maybe you're a warrior as they tell you; maybe you're a garbage collector. I can say I really don't give a flying fuck which.. But there is a difference between you and me... I don't apologize for what I do or what I am... How's that for a secret?"

"There's no secret to that. You tell me not to apologize for what I am. What

I am is someone who mourns death, even necessary death. I'll dish it out if need be, and I'm not afraid to face it. I do it, and I'm not afraid to feel it. I can deal with it, but I never want to be hardened to it. War is a necessary evil. Something we go through for peace. I'll be a part of that. It's in my blood. For Sakaria or the Federation, no matter how screwed up they're getting lately. There is a HUGE difference between us. You're afraid

to feel. I'm afraid NOT to feel. Maybe that makes you a better killer, but it makes me a better person."

They were right. Alcohol really loosens the tongue.

"Insight 6: Pinned"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
2nd Lt Jebediah Baile, Marine Recon Specialist

***Observation Deck***

Nara had done it. She had insulted the man who she knew could break her in two. She was oddly brave, and somehow confident he would do anything short of killing her.

This was just too easy. Apparently alcohol was not her forte. Beauchamps had

been a master at this game. Then again he had been built like King Kong. "Afraid to feel? That's a good one.. You think war is honorable, some kind of pastime with a gentleman's agreement in it. In your world warriors are honorable. A warrior gives mercy when asked for, doesn't kill unarmed opponents... I've got a newsflash for you, Barbie.. War changes us all.. You

stay out there long enough and you'll become me... except I'm born to do this.." Suddenly his hand shot out with remar