"...The Need for Speed"
By: Lieutenant j.g. Michael Ashbury; Engineering Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ensign Nathalie Gui; Communications Officer

Location: Risa, Artesiana District
Stardate: 57907.08; 02h00

***

Loud music over the thrum of gravitic engines and whine of turbofans met Mason, Nathalie, and Sam as they parked their hauler and got out. Mason lit a cheroot, flexed his arms inside his long coat, and rubbed his appropriately stubbly chin. Yeah, he certainly looked the part. He just wished he could get Sam to slouch a little.

Nathalie's ears were instantly met with that of loud music as she stepped out of the hauler. For her outfit she had chosen a gold one sleeved tank-top that cris-crossed her back in spaghetti straps, a pair of denim cutoffs and black knee high racing boots adorned her legs. Her hair pulled tightly back in a ponytail blew lightly from the wind as she surveyed the scene.

Sam's first instinct was to pull the tricorder from his hip and scan the area. The trouble was that he wore no tricorder. His communicator was hidden deep within his civilian clothing along with a Type-I phaser in case Mason Farrell's investigative tactics took a turn for the worse. He admired the ensign's ability to immerse himself in the role he had chosen to play, but there was a part of his positronic net that feared the ensign was enjoying his place far too much.

Michael stepped out of the Risan equivalent of a taxi, careful not to look around with too much curiosity. Too much curiosity in this district could get him in a load of trouble. He was glad he'd opted to wear less traditional clothing than he might have usually. Having been in Starfleet for nearly fourteen years, Michael was distinctly aware of the level of comfort - or the lack of it in this case - that a Starfleet uniform tended to bring. He started moving slowly through the crowd, keeping his eyes open for Farrell.

The street was packed. Gravbikes and hoversleds were lined up on both sides, throngs of seedy people posturing around them. Every vehicle was bright and shiny, tricked out for the onlookers.

"Good thing we took some time on the aesthetics," Mason remarked. Mason keyed open the loading ramps of their trailer, and Nathalie brought down the flybike, carefully lifting off the fabric cover. It was long and sleek, and gorgeous: a deep gold, with a beautiful shark design on one side, and a series of kanji letters on the other. Onlookers moved closer as soon as the machine leveled out on the street.

"Right bike, mate," a heavily tattooed man said.

"Steady. Totally steady," cooed the man's juice girl.

Mason smiled confidently at them. "We were thinking about entering tonight. Where do we ante?"

While Mason was getting directions, Nathalie worked through the bike's checklist. After going over the mental checklist in her head Nathalie looked up immediately, spotting a slouched Ferengi looking about the crowd. "Mase, that our guy over there?" she asked, indicating Malthus.

"The individual in question matches all current data available on the subject Malthus," Sam answered. "It is certain that he is, in fact, the Ferengi known as Malthus."

"What would I do without you guys?" Mason quipped, starting toward the slouching Ferengi.

Sam cocked his head to the side. "There is a seventy-three point nine seven three four four eight percent chance that you would end up in a Risan security facility awaiting a visit from Captain Salinger."

"Let's just hope this lead pays off, otherwise I think we may end up scrubbing port nacelles for a week," Nathalie deadpanned.

Malthus was eyeing the crowd appreciatively, grinning behind his pince-nez and flicking his lip stud with his tongue. Mason caught his eye, and they nodded at each other as Mason was passing. Malthus cocked his head to one side, indicating his hovercycle; bright red, with stylized silver flames sweeping back from the forward steering fins. Mason glanced behind him at Nat and the flybike. Malthus followed Mason's look, and the Ferengi's brow ridges lifted noticeably in appreciation.

"You shouldn't keep a bike like that on a flatbed," Malthus quipped. "You should put it inside the hauler."

"Nah," answered Mason. "The lady sleeps in the hauler."

"Alone?"

Mason laughed. "Sometimes."

Malthus seemed pleased with that, and Mason moved on.

Michael had spotted Mason through the crowd but hung back. He looked in the direction that Farrell had appeared to come from. He picked out the bike fairly easily from the crowd and noted with appreciation how good it looked. When he'd left at 1400, the decorations hadn't been in place yet.

Michael moved over to the woman standing by the bike.

"You must be Michael, I'm Nathalie. You guys did a bang up job with this bike, can't wait to race her," she remarked, grinning.

"Thanks." Michael said. "She was fun to work on. Haven't done that in a long time."

Nathalie watched as Mason made his way over to a sharply dressed Orion who appeared to be the Race Host. Nearby him stood two large, burly Chalnoths, presumably bodyguards. The Orion listened to Mason, looked through the crowd, found Nathalie, sneered his answer, and Mason paid him, collected a chit, and returned.

"We're on," Mason murmured as he returned. "And the host likes you." He slotted the chit he got from the Orion, and a small local map lit up on Nat's flybike navicomp, the race route highlighted in green. "Hey hey," he said affably to Michael, grasping the engineer's hand. "Glad you could make it" --he leaned very close-- "sir."

"Lose the sir, Farrell." Michael grinned. "I'm not big on formality."

Farrell smiled genuinely. "Glad to hear it. Have you met Nathalie?"

"We just met. Glad I recognized somebody from the Sulu."

"We've got a monitor aligned with the chase imagers that will be following the race. Care to watch from the hauler?" Farrell asked.

"I was thinking I'd grab a drink in that small bar," Michael said, gesturing off to one side.

Farrell nodded. "Fair enough. Nat's been itching to ride. It ought to be quite a show."

"Should be fun," Michael agreed.

Tapping at the navicomp's screen Nathalie brought up a 3-D holoimage of the race course. "Interesting, it appears the course runs through a forested area." Tapping off the screen she turned to Mason as she pulled on a pair of black fingerless gloves. "So, does the rider get a kiss for good luck?" she asked teasingly.

Mason leaned across the bike, his words in a tone completely unrelated to the expectant look on his face. "On the cheek, and ruffle my hair. Remember, for now you're attainable."

"Fine." Nathalie moved forward slightly and brushed her lips lightly against Mason's cheek and ruffled his hair with her hand playfully. She couldn't help but blush lightly. Stepping back she remarked coolly, "See ya after the race."

More entrants arrived. More entrants paid. At the signal, the racers all gathered at the starting pole, a streetlight festooned with garish ribbons and tiny glowstrips surrounding a single large unlit light. Nathalie walked her bike over to where Malthus was before promptly climbing onboard her ride. Reaching down in front of her, Nathalie picked up her ebony helmet and began to strap it into place.

"Hey, pretty woman," Malthus called, buckling his own helmet, which had bulbous sides to accommodate his ears.

Deciding it best to play along, Nathalie replied, "Hey, darling, hope you can keep up with me out there on the track." Blowing a mock kiss with her lips Nathalie turned back to her bike as she prepped for the race.

"Anywhere, anytime," he bragged, licking his lips.

Engines whined as their riders revved up, anticipating the light. The noise started softly, just the idle of drives and fans. Soon, however, it became a decibel competition, with everyone taching up. Spectators started to howl along, and Mason soon joined others covering their ears, his eyes watering. He hoped Nathalie wasn't as nervous as he was.

Testing the accelerator Nathalie revved the engine receiving a readout from her controls indicating the engine was good. Glancing over at Mason and Sam she gave him a thumbs up before tapping the side of her helmet to bring down its visor.

The light came on, and a dozen hovervehicles screamed off the line.

Nathalie barely acknowledged the whoops and howling cheers of the crowd as the racers flew off the line like a swarm of bats straight out of Hell's gates. She was currently hanging in the back area of the pack but she would advance forward, she'd see to it personally.

Giving her engine a quick rev she veered off and flew towards the outside of the pack and wove her way upwards as the concrete and stone jungles of Risa greeted her. Risa, whilst a tropical planet, did appear to carry a Manhattanite type area. Nathalie discovered this as the racers flew through the area, into an almost catacombed like area. Each rider went their own way attempting to outrun the other or ram them off their rides as they attempted to overtake higher racers.

Weaving her way through the pack, Nathalie floored the accelerator as she ran the high hook of pulling off a tight hairpin turn. She had to look back twice as she watched a smaller Tellarite racer get bludgeoned by a large Andorian swinging a long metal bar. The Tellarite hit a lightpole, and pole, bike, and rider all twisted into a terrible wreck, parts skipping down the street as they gave up their momentum. The racers were armed! She was afraid of this.

As she pulled out of the turn Nathalie hung back as she tapped the side of her helmet. "Establish comm-channel Gui-Delta-Race Kimatsu 87rty." As a precautionary measure before the race she and Mason had integrated a communication device into her helmet if the need to relay communication was necessary. A soft beep acknowledged her command.

"Channel Open."

Nat pulled hard on her controls as she rounded the next corner.

"Mason what the Hell's going on, I thought you said these riders were unarmed."

Mason had just gotten back into the hauler and brought up his commlink when Nathalie's communication came in. He watched the tiny red pip that was Nathalie's bike round a corner on his padd screen.

"I don't know what to tell you, Nat. We're not in the tourist area anymore. Be careful. Beat Malthus if you can, but you don't have to win if it's going to be too dangerous."

Nathalie smirked under her helmet.

"Gotcha, and don't worry I'll be alright, I'm tougher than I look."

"Just be careful." Mason rubbed his forehead. This had seemed like such a good idea when he had first thought of it.

"At the speeds the vehicles will attain, attempts at being careful will result in diminished velocity, thus a loss of the race," said Sam.

Farrell looked up at Sam, wondering if he should ask the Lieutenant to repeat that, a smile just starting. Then he shook his head and looked back at his monitor.

Michael had picked up a drink and moved over to a little bar that had some monitors for the race. He winced as two riders collided then spun off in separate directions. One rider barely jumped clear as his bike slammed into a building, sending pieces of the bike hurtling every which way. The rider rolled as he hit the ground then lay motionless. Michael felt a pang of sympathy for the rider. There would be a lot of sessions with the docs before he'd ride again. He hadn't expected anything as vicious as this race was turning out to be.

The urban labyrinth gave way to a large park area. The racers shot out over the park's lake, their grav engines kicking up long white tails in the water. A quartet of rowboaters enjoying a midnight cruise on the lake were capsized by the hurricane of hoverbikes blowing past them.

The Andorian with the metal bar was engaged by a Bolian with facial tattoos and a length of chain. They bumped, kicked, swung, swerved, and beat at each other before the Andorian lost too much altitude and nicked the surface of the lake. The Andorian's hoverbike flipped end over end over end, just missing the Bolian's craft as it spun. The flipping bike disintegrated, its rider flung out over the water. Nathalie ducked flying debris as she urged her bike forward in the pack.

The lake gave way to a wide tunnel running beneath another district of the city. Tiny safety lights lined the tunnel, and the headlamps of the racers played crazily off the walls of the tunnel and the water half-filling it. In the restricted space of the tunnel, Nathalie could hear the shriek of the hoverdrives even through her helmet. She could only imagine the damage this would cause to unprotected ears.

"There's a wicked turn to the right just after the tunnel. Watch yourself." Mason's voice was tiny and distant against the angry buzzsaws all around her.

"I'm on it."

Gritting her teeth, Nat gunned the engine as she flew through the tunnel and hung tightly to the wall as she pulled through the turn. It was a hellacious zig-zagged variation of a figure eight with little space to spare whilst forcing riders to go at high speed just to maintain balance. Nathalie forced herself to cling to the bike as she pulled through whilst avoiding the other riders. Another rider on a reclined hoversled had less luck handling the turn, flipped over, and spread himself and his vehicle over about a hundred meters.

"Whoever designed this area seemed to have a lot of fun with the construction."

"No kidding," Farrell murmured. "Oh, there's--"

Zipping out of the turn the riders were met by what appeared to be a large drop straight down.

"Nan da yo?" (Translation: Japanese: What the Hell?) Tapping some buttons on her bike's navicomp Nat made some quick adjustments to compensate for what would be a quite drastic change very soon in the gravity. Grasping on tightly to her bike's main controls Nathalie and the other riders flew down the drop, and what sounded like rocks hitting metal was heard as the vehicles made contact with the wall.

"Nevermind," Farrell said sheepishly.

Darkness immediately engulfed the pack of racers as they flew through what appeared to be a large underground tunnel. Light and sparks from all around glared down on them as they continued down to ride the length of the tunnel which appeared to be made of hull plating. Nathalie moved forward using this opportunity to bypass one of the riders, this being none other than Malthus. She simply waved before proceeding to gun forward, moving to the head of the pack.

She ducked quickly as a large spiked club flew down towards her head. Veering off to the side Nathalie turned to look over at who attacked her, one large and quite pissed-off looking Klingon, his face covered with jagged scars. Bumping, banging, and crashing, the large warrior attempted to throw his smaller opponent off her bike using the weight as of his larger cycle as they continued to fly down through the tunnel.

The Klingon rider yelled what Nathalie took to be a Klingon Death Cry and she quickly dodged his attacks as he attempted to literally knock her lights out. Experienced rider, or martial artist for that matter, Nathalie would be lucky if this Klingon didn't send her slamming into the nearest wall. Nathalie quickly flew around the Klingon rider as a Nausicaan rider attempted to pass him up. Leaving the two larger riders to their building quarrel, Gui quickly charged ahead. She zoomed out of the tunnel and into the slums of the district.

The riders scattered, slaloming through the trees, slum shanties, and undergrowth, each charting their own course with one eye on their maps. Malthus was marking Nathalie now, hanging alongside her, keeping pace. Apparently the locals hadn't been told that a race was going to be held through their neighborhood, and people scrambled for cover as the half-dozen remaining riders blitzed through the area.

Nathalie saw the Bolian with the tattoos use his chain to dislodge a striped awning. The cloth expanse entangled another racer Nathalie couldn't make out, forcing the rider to slow and tear the thing away. The Bolian went cackling forward.

"Doing okay?" Farrell asked.

"Good, our friend is tailing me, and I think I have a certain pesky Orion following close behind."

Dirt and leaves flew up in gusts of wind as the pack flew through the slums. Patrons that had come out to stay warm near a small fire hurriedly ran out of the way as they received the blunt of the rider's duststorm. The Orion rider who was following Nathalie wove back and forth behind her as though taunting her. Laughing mockingly the Orion girl darted in front of Nathalie, promptly cutting her off as the racers ran through a swampy bog area but not before using her chain weapon to throw Nathalie off course into heavy vegetation and her ride to a halt.

"Dammit!" She muttered a number of additional curses in Andorian as she struggled to dislodge the chain from the front of her flybike.

"Are you alright?" Mason asked.

"I do not believe the engine of Ensign Gui's vehicle was designed to operate with a segmented series of steel-alloy links attached in quite such a matter," Sam said.

"Uh oh," Michael muttered into his drink. The other patrons crowded around the monitor pounded on the tables as they bet on who was going to win the race. Gambling seemed to be a favorite pastime with these races. "That doesn't look too good."

Pulling hard Nathalie dislodged the chain from the front of her flybike. She had just begun to pull out when Mason messaged her.

"I got sidetracked by an Orion rider. I may have fallen behind now, but I'll be able to get back up front, the racers won't know what hit em."

"Just don't go getting yourself hurt," Mason sighed, not knowing what else to say. This was rapidly spiraling out of control.

Wrapping the chain around her wrist, Nathalie gunned the accelerator and flew back on course. She was a bit behind now, but given the right plan she could catch up and regain her position. Pulling hard on the controls Nat glanced down at her map and tapped at the screen with her right hand. Looking back up she tapped her map off.

Weaving through the swampy area, Nathalie turned, making a hard left. Gripping tightly onto the controls she guided the flybike up onto a large tree that had long since been left laying on its side. Leaves and shrubbery whipped at her helmet as she flew through the forested area. She ducked as branches swatted at her back; this would be hell to pay but the payoff would be worth it. Ignoring the blip on her map indicating she was close to going off course she continued flying onward, reaching a wooded rocky incline leading upwards.

Michael leaned closer to the monitor as it showed Nat untangling the chain from the bike. A big hand grabbed his shoulder from behind and spun him around.

"You seem to be interested in girl?" a large, very drunk Nausicaan said. "Then place a bet."

"No thanks, neighbor," Michael said amicably. "She's just a friend of mine. Here's to hoping she gets out okay." He firmly removed the Nausicaan's hand from his shoulder. The Nausicaan stared at him for a moment then roared in fury.

Michael ducked as a large fist smashed into the monitor behind him, sending sparks and shrapnel flying. The Nausicaan spun around, whipping another arm towards Michael. This one caught him on the temple, sending him flying into a crowded table. The cheap table splintered beneath the impact, drinks spilling on the floor. The patrons surged to their feet in anger.

"Oh great. Here we go," Michael muttered to himself. He rolled to his feet as what could only be called a general brawl started in the small bar.

The crash of Michael flying through a table in the makeshift bar alerted Farrell and Sam. Farrell sighed. This was now officially out of control.

"Nat, I've got to go off comm for a minute. Stay safe." He turned to Sam, "Keep an eye on her."

"I do not believe my eyes will be able to offer much assistance to her," Sam said to Farrell's back as the Ensign headed for the bar.

Furrowing her brow in confusion over the sudden noises that sounded like combat, Nathalie shrugged it off and continued to roar her way through the course and promptly brought herself to an area that would bring her back on course.

Farrell made the bar in a few strides, and leapt to Michael. He grabbed the engineer, and tugged him toward the street.

Michael shook his head woozily, still dizzy from the Nausicaan's blow. A large purple bruise was starting to form on his temple and his head felt like dwarves had taken up residence with their hammers.

"Thanks." Michael winced as he tenderly touched his temple. Samantha was going to have a fit when she saw him like this.

The angry Nausicaan surged out of the bar, pushing the combatants aside. He spotted Michael and roared in anger again before charging towards the two Starfleet officers.

"You'd better help her," Michael said tensely to Farrell as he straightened up. "I can handle this guy."

The angry Nausicaan bellowed like an enraged bull as he swung his arm, this time with a large mace-like weapon in hand. Michael ducked under his arm, spun and kicked the Nausicaan's knee out from under him. He went sprawling in the street, the mace tumbling from his grasp. Another angry customer from the bar picked up the Nausicaan's ugly mace and methodically clubbed the Nausicaan into senseless immobility before having a barstool broken over his back by yet another angry customer. Michael backed away slowly, trying to avoid any other confrontations.

"Well," he muttered as he watched the general free-for-all in the street. "The Risan authorities are just going to love this."

"Risan authorities know better than to show up here. How about you join us back at the hauler," Mason said flatly. Another brawler, separated slightly from the mob, growled at Farrell and raised a chair leg challengingly. Farrell opened his jacket, pointed to something just below his armpit, and stared levelly back. The brawler glared for a moment longer, and then turned away.

"Yeah, I think I will," Michael said wryly. "Enough excitement for one night."

Farrell glanced at Michael, and then glanced longer at the bruise. "I think we've got a medkit. We'll see if we can keep that thing from swelling shut." The pair made their way warily back to the hauler.

"You have been injured, Lieutenant," Sam said. "Ensign Farrell will see to treating you."

Farrell blinked, then shrugged and cracked open the medkit.

Swerving hard, Nathalie flew down the current path she was taking and flew up alongside the Orion female who made her go off course earlier. "Mind if I cut in?" she deadpanned. Drawing her hand upward Nat swung the chain before sending it hurtling at the Orion female rider's flybike, severely tangling her rides' steering controls out of whack.

The woman cursed foully as her ride flew into a low branch, leaving her out for the count. Looking around Nathalie could see the other racers were beginning to increase their momentum, and she could see why; the finishing point of the track wasn't very far off and neither was Malthus.

"They'll be hitting the home stretch about now," Farrell said to Michael, keeping one eye on Michael's shiner and the other on the race monitor as he thumbed on the medical tricorder. Nathalie was still alive. Thank the heavens. He replaced his earpiece.

"I'm back. All's well?" he transmitted.

"Roger, I'll be joining you shortly. Any particular plans you want me to snare in the prey?"

"Just finish where he can see you, and look good doing it. But stay clear of that Bolian."

Michael looked suspiciously at the monitor showing the position of the riders. Both Mason and Nat seemed to be overwhelmingly concerned with defeating Malthus. "Why is it so important that she beat that Ferengi?" he asked quietly.

Farrell took a moment before he looked up at Michael. "Malthus, the Ferengi, is cagey, and doesn't like being approached directly. We're trying to get his attention."

"For what, or is it none of my business?" Michael asked bluntly.

Mason closed his eyes for a moment and thought. As he did so, the whine of grav drives and hoverfans could be heard coming into the final straightway.

There were only four racers left. The wicked-looking Bolian was right behind a slender Caitian that had taken an early lead and kept it, thereby staying out of the brawl that was the rest of the race. Behind the Bolian came Malthus and Nathalie, neck in neck. The crowd stopped fighting long enough to cheer the oncoming racers, who barreled toward the lightpole at which they had started.

The remaining four riders zipped down the straightaway toward the finishing line; the leading Caitian rider zoomed ahead in a cloud of dust, the Bolian hung closely near him attempting to take him down and overtake the lead. A loud bang followed by a sputtering drew the Bolian's attention as he looked down to see that his engine had blown. Patrons howled in laughter and some in anger as he punched at his machine furiously. Nathalie and Malthus whizzed by him in a wicked dust cloud still at a neck and neck pace. The onlookers howled, and whooped as the two flew over the line, furiously attempting to find out who ran in the top three. The results had indeed surprised them: the woman had outrun the Ferengi rider.

However, through drunkenness or plain adrenaline rush or a combination the Caitian rider found himself becoming swarmed by a large number of the patrons, some congratulating him, others willing to tie his tail in a knot. Nathalie pulled off to the side, followed by Malthus, and she promptly began to remove her helmet.

"Get ready, we'll be joining you soon. Nat out." That done she removed her helmet, quickly turning off her comm unit.

"Nice race, woman," Malthus cooed. Nathalie turned to face him, and he gave her his most debonair, snaggletoothed smile. "Care to celebrate?"

"You didn't do so bad yourself. Please call me Nathalie," she said, smiling back. Inwardly she was feeling her stomach knot itself in disgust.

"Maybe you and me could" --he moved closer-- "celebrate the race together?"

"I like the sound of that," Nat purred. "Meet me in an hour at the hotel Jellste?"

Malthus made a sort of pleased grunt in the back of his throat, nodded, and grinned wider before guiding his gravbike away.

Mason watched Malthus grin at Nat, and turned to concentrate on Michael. "Your eye doesn't look too bad. I've seen worse, but you'll want to get to sickbay for a once-over, just in case," he chuckled, and then leaned close, his voice very low. "If this works out all right, I'll explain everything to you in the morning. If it doesn't, you're better off not knowing." He flicked his eyes toward Sam. Michael caught the motion. "Either way," Farrell continued, "I owe you big for working on the flybike. Let me know if I can ever do you a favor." With that, he closed the medkit, and started keying down the flatbed ramps and laying out the bike's tie-down cables.

"Fair enough," Michael said evenly.

"That was some race, though, eh?" Farrell said to Michael. "The bike did well."

"Very well," Michael said with a wry grin. "Better than I would have expected considering how little time we had."

Nathalie came back over to the hauler walking alongside her ride. "I got 'im, told him I'd meet him in a hour at the Hotel Resort Jellste," she remarked as she brought the bike up into the hauler and began to lock it down into place.

"Excellent," Mason murmured, helping with the tarp and tie-downs. The task completed and the bike secured, he turned to Michael.

"Lieutenant," he said quietly, extending his hand to shake Michael's. "Thanks again," he said, clapping Michael on the arm and then turning to get into the hauler.

Michael turned to look at the crowd that was slowly fading away, everyone eager to either find a bed or find the next bit of excitement. He still had the feeling that not everything here was as it should be but at the moment his headache had suddenly doubled. He also had the sneaking suspicion that being somewhere else, preferably on the other side of the planet, in an hour would probably be a very good idea.

Michael started slowly down the street to find a comm station then thought better of it. Walking around this part of Risa at this time of night with a noticeable headache would probably just get him in trouble. He would be in enough trouble when he got home as it was. With a sigh, he looked around and then headed into an alley. A quick survey confirmed that it was empty.

"Ashbury to Sulu. One to beam up."

---

"Returns"
By: Lieutenant (jg) Michael Ashbury
Lieutenant (jg) Samantha Ashbury

Location: Sulu, Ashbury Quarters
Date: 57907.08 03h15

***

Michael grimaced with the pain of his receding two alarm headache as he stepped from the dimly lit corridors of the Sulu into the Ashbury quarters. Sickbay had brought down the swelling on his temple, ensuring that he would be able to see tomorrow... Today, Michael corrected himself. Assuming of course that Sam didn't throw anything at him for his condition. She hadn't been happy he wanted to go to this race in the first place. 'Uncouth barbarian' had been the kindest term when he'd brought it up the night before.

In all fairness, he hadn't been expecting anything like what he had seen. Bike races back on Antares III had been nice, civilized affairs. This had been...well, a barbarian sport. It had been exhilarating but a part of him felt ashamed that he had seen several riders either die or be seriously injured during the course of the race.

With a wry shake of his head, Michael had to acknowledge that Sam did have a much more extensive knowledge of Federation cultures than he did and she had probably known what passed for bike racing on Risa. The least she could have done would be to warn him of what to expect but then again that would deprive her of the considerable pleasure she'd get from saying, 'I told you so.' He guessed it was something to do with the female psyche. Even after being married for almost ten years, he still didn't understand women. Well, that kept being married very interesting.

With a grunt of pain from some ribs that still felt bruised - Sickbay said they weren't but Michael had never entirely trusted doctors - he took off his jacket.

The lights abruptly flicked on and Michael flinched in surprise.

"Sorry," a tousled Sam said as she lowered the setting. "How was the race?"

"Interesting," Michael said wryly.

"I told--" Sam said pertly as Michael interrupted.

"I know, I know," he replied, with a roll of his eyes. "You told me so."

He sat down the bed and took off his boots. Sam sat up boltright as she caught a look at his temple.

"Michael William Ashbury! What the hell happened to you?!"

"I'm fine," Michael said innocently. "I had a little disagreement with a Nausicaan." Sam, knowing full well her husband's ability for understatement, was quite upset at this.

"A Nausicaan!" Sam screeched. "What were you doing in a fight with a Nausicaan!"

"Can we talk about this in the morning?" Michael said plaintively. Sam's eyes narrowed in a danger signal Michael had come to recognize over the years. She wasn't going to let this go until she had all the answers, sleep or no sleep. Michael sighed then gracefully surrendered.

"I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business," Michael said hurriedly as one of his wife's eyebrows shot up in her 'Yeah, right' statement. "A Nausicaan thought I was paying a little too close attention to Nat Gui from Ops, who was racing. He took offense at a comment I made and tossed me into a table. Things...got a little out of control," he finished sheepishly.

Sam rolled her eyes. If her husband said 'a little out of control' she could be fairly certain that a full blown riot had occurred.

"Anything else exciting happen I should know about," Sam said crossly. "Any girls going to show up tomorrow, demanding payment?"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. You're not taking this very well," he said with a grin. Sam was quiet for a moment.

"Bad day," Sam said quietly. "The crime scene was...bad. I haven't slept well. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"I know," Michael said as he sat down again. "We figured you wouldn't. I'm here though."

Sam nodded gratefully as she turned out the lights. She was quiet for a minute.

"So...who won?"

"I think we did. I'll let you know tomorrow though."

---

"After Effects"
by Sikara, Future Head Chef - USS Sulu

Location: Sikara's flat - Slums - Tulip City - Risa
Stardate: 57907.08, 03h21

***

Sikara finally arrived back at his street. It was late and all but the all-night bars were closed. Sikara did not fancy going to one of the foul-smelling places where people slept at the bar instead of at their homes, if they had any.

Sikara was disappointed as he had hoped that after preparing the party for the officers and crewman of the Sulu, somebody would ask him if he would like the vacant job of Chef on the large intrepid starship. Sikara dreamt frequently of leaving his home. He had always thought that he would end up leaving on one of the freighters that often visited Risa for the smuggling ring as much as the vacation spots. One thing that Risa's governing councils did very well was hide the fact that smuggling and crime existed on Risa, they hid it from everybody, everybody apart from the smugglers that arrived daily.

Risa hadn't always been so touristy. One lesson Sikara had paid attention to in school was history and he knew that before the Federation's influence arrived at Risa a few hundred years ago, Risa was very similar to Earth had been at the end of the 20th century. Risa hadn't been prepared for the swarms of people that arrived to see the amazing shorelines and fantastic, all-year weather. If the planet had been introduced to the Federation a hundred years later, it would have been able to deal with it, and would not have been the joke that it was now. At least that was what his history teacher had told him. Of course Sikara hadn't believed him, almost nobody ever did.

Sikara laid on his bed and decided to contact Farrell or Nathalie the following afternoon.

---

"The Perils of Peeping"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ensign Nathalie Gui; Communications Officer
Lieutenant Sam; Operations Manager
Lieutenant Jorell Thalan; Security Chief

Location: Risa, Resorte Jellste
Stardate: 57907.08, 04h15

***

Malthus swaggered down the path to the bungalow, and mentally cursed the hotel Jellste for creating such a confusing resort plan. The right bungalow had to be around here somewhere.

His mood brightened as it returned to the reason for his hunt. The Nathalie woman had been intoxicating - slim, and beautiful, and she was a good racer, too. He could feel his arousal building just thinking about it. He quickened his pace with a grin.

The Nathalie woman answered the door promptly. Quick attention was good in a woman. She smiled and said something sweet and irrelevant, and he moved past her into her suite.

Waiting for him were two men, one sitting bolt upright in a chair, the other sprawled across a couch, his arms spread wide across the back cushions. The relaxed one, the one Malthus vaguely recognized, spoke.

"Malthus, I presume?"

"Yeah," Malthus growled. "What is this?"

"A little party. Sit down."

"Get phased." Malthus turned abruptly and brushed past Nathalie on his way out the door. There was a yelp, followed by the sounds of a brief scuffle, and Malthus was marched back into the room by a pair of satisfied-looking Nausicaans.

"Malthus, you should know better than to go into strangers' houses," the relaxed man murmured. One of the Nausicaans sat Malthus roughly in a chair, and the pair stood flanking the sputtering Ferengi.

Malthus tried to glare at Farrell, but it turned into a pathetic sulk.

"That's it?" Farrell needled. "That's all you've got? You're just going to sit there?"

" 'Til you tell me what you want, yeah." Malthus tried to bristle, but his fear was interfering with that. Farrell looked pleased with that answer, nodding approvingly.

"Fair enough. Tell me what you know about Andrea Collins."

"Who?" Malthus had sweat on his fat bald head. The sweat of fear. One of the Nausicaans smiled wickedly. The other actually wiped a drop off on his finger and smelled it with obvious relish.

The speaking man keyed on the room's viewer, and a woman's picture came on. "Her," said the man. Malthus realized something.

"You were at the race!" He pointed a quivering finger at the man.

"That's right, but also not important. What do you know about this woman?"

Malthus stayed quiet.

"Krunt? Vort?" The man waved nonchalantly. A big Nausicaan hand grabbed either of Malthus' shoulders.

"Wait!" he squeaked. "I'll tell you what you want to know!"

The man waved the Nausicaans off, and settled back on the couch. "We're all ears," he smirked.

***

Lieutenant Thalan leaned forward in the chair, his arms resting on his knees and looked to the Ferengi and then to Farrell. Looking surprisingly awake for the early hour Thalan asked, "What does 'this'..." He paused, looking back to Malthus, not thinking too highly of the creature, before continuing, "Have to say about Ensign Collins?"

"Malthus, this is Mister Thalan," Farrell said to the Ferengi. "Tell him what you just told us."

The Ferengi, Malthus, squirmed in his chair, and began: "I met the woman you call Collins in a bar three weeks ago. She was good looking, and I approached her." He hesitated, a little embarrassed, and then continued. "She said she wasn't interested, but you know how some women are. They like the chase."

Nathalie snorted in disgust as she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Typical Ferengi," she mumbled under her breath.

"Anyway," Malthus continued, "I started following her. I thought I'd find out more about her, and use that to get in good. I followed her back to her little hotel suite, like this one" --he waved absently at his surroundings-- "a bunch of times. To watch," he added lamely.

"I was," he trailed off, looking too embarrassed to continue. One of the Nausicaans flanking him had started snickering. Farrell rose from the couch.

"Come on, you two," he said jovially. "Enough fun for one night." He put his arms out in a shepherding gesture and waved them out of the room. He turned to the remaining officers on his way out. "They find this part of the story funny. I'll keep them out of your hair. You guys carry on." With that, he left the room and the house, ushering the Nausicaans ahead of him.

Malthus watched them leave, and Farrell gave him a look rich with meaning. Malthus turned quickly back to Thalan and finished his tale in a rush.

"She never took people back to her place. Never. So I was watching on the night of the third, and I thought she had gotten home early, because I heard someone moving around inside. I got into the bushes where I had the best view of her windows, but before I could see anything she practically trips over me herself. I guess she was just getting home, just later than usual, which was weird, because she never had people over to her place. Anyway, she, uh, told me off again" --this was obviously an uncomfortable memory-- "and went on inside. I, uh, ran. And that's all I know. I swear."

Still looking at Malthus with little expression Thalan concentrated, going over the Ferengi's thoughts as he told his story and after a few moments he asked, "Did you happen to see who was in Ensign Collins' room, before she came upon you?"

"No," Malthus shook his head. "I saw a shadow, and it didn't sound like it was more than one, which is why I figured she was home."

Nathalie leaned forward, eyes serious as she asked in a calm tone, "How well did you know Ensign Collins or her associate Dalil?"

"I never met that ambassador-guy. And I knew her enough to know she liked it edgy, but not too edgy."

The Chief of Security leaned back in the chair only briefly looking to Ensign Gui, as the man wondered what the woman was even doing in the investigation. Thalan would have to ask Ensign Farrell to explain that later.

"I suspect your statement will be helpful, Malthus." He then said to the Ferengi, "If my colleagues have nothing further?" He looked questioningly to those from the Sulu.

Malthus looked around, antsy. "Can I go?"

Thalan answered, "I don't see why not." And before the Ferengi could fully stand he added in a serious tone, "I'd suggest you not try to leave Risa until this matter is cleared up. You may be needed to testify and I would not be too happy if I had to track you down and haul you back here."

"Uh, right," Malthus muttered. "I guess you know where to find me." He looked at Nathalie with an expression of a hunter whose prey has just escaped, and then left.

As soon as Malthus departed Thalan turned to the returning Farrell and smiled as he greeted him. "Good to see you again, Mason, I heard you were aboard but haven't found the time with everything going on to catch up with you. Still an Ensign I see."

"You know me," Farrell quipped. "Forever below the sensor spread."

"Has anyone looked to see if there was any record of another person in Ensign Collin's quarters?" Thalan asked to the small group of Sulu crewmates as he explained, "I know from scans that there is nothing forensic that put another person in her room. Not to mention we still have an unknown energy signature that I have not heard back on yet."

"We felt you should hear what Malthus had to say as quickly as possible, slender though his information is. We haven't followed any of it up yet, but Collins' purchase records are for just one person in her resort's smallest bungalow model. She certainly wasn't renting a party palace," said Farrell.

"Well then, let's see what we can find out about this mysterious person," Thalan suggested before asking, "Unless there is more to this early morning than Mister Malthus?"

Farrell smiled. "That was all I had planned for today, but I'm game. I assume you've already searched Collins' place. Are you thinking about a re-visit?"

Thalan answered Farrell, "I am sure that Lieutenant Hex and his team went over the Ensign's room thoroughly, so I do not think that will accomplish much. Re-examining the data seems in order though."

Looking now to the android: "Lieutenant Sam, perhaps your talents can hasten the examination. Unless the person was in some sort of environmental suit, they would have left behind some sort of trace."

"Of course," Sam said with a nod. "I will re-evaluate the information gathered from both previous security teams. Ensign Farrell, you're with me. Perhaps now would be an adequate time to transfer your habitation to the Sulu."

Farrell grinned. "Will do, sir. I just need to take care of my, uh" --he scratched the back of his neck as he searched for the word-- "houseguest. With respect, though, it's late, and I for one need some sleep or I won't be much help. Shall I get with you as soon as my shift starts?"

"That will be acceptable, Ensign," Sam answered. "Meet me in Holodeck 2, aboard the Sulu."

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant--" He looked to Thalan. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Thalan nodded to Farrell. "All part of being a security officer." He then looked to Sam. "If you are returning to the Sulu, shall we?" Motioning out of the room.

"I shall be returning to the Sulu," Sam answered. "There is still much work ahead of us in this investigation."

Farrell then moved to Nathalie. "You were great tonight, Nat. Thank you for helping out; I owe you big. For now, I'll take care of the hauler. You get back to the ship and catch a few winks before your shift starts."

Nathalie nodded. "Hey, glad I was able to help out; but you don't owe me big, you owe me huge for this, Mase." She then looked to Thalan and Lieutenant Sam. "Shall we return to the ship, Lieutenants?"

Sam tapped his communicator. "Sulu, this is Lt. Sam. Please beam us aboard."

---

"And So It Goes, Part 2"
by Lt. Brennyn Scott, RN - Chief Counselor/Nurse

Location: Galorah Research Station; Shuttle Hygeia; USS Sulu's Transporter Room; USS Sulu's Main Bridge
Stardate: 57907.08, 04h30

***

The chirp of her combadge interrupted her reverie this time, and as usual, it took Bree a moment to realize what it was that was beeping. Everyone else found it amusing after so many years of being in Starfleet she was still not comfortable with a simple page, but Bree had jokingly chalked it up to a psychological block that caused her to automatically reject anything Starfleet. Given the first ten years of her life aboard the USS Breedlove, she knew that couldn't be far from the truth.

Reaching over she tapped the funny little accessory and spoke to thin air (normally a no, no, in her line of work) "Scott here."

"Lieutenant, your shuttle has arrived and is requesting that you beam aboard. Shall I send someone to escort you to the transporter room?" Brennyn recognized the voice on the other end to be that of Jason Kennedy, CO of the research station. His tone was light and teasing.

"No, thank you, sir. Even we shrinks are capable of finding our way without the help of stars, planets or escorts." She returned the favor in kind.

"Suit yourself," he replied. She imagined he was smiling at that moment, that same twinkle present that she had noticed earlier. Bree suddenly wished she had agreed to an escort, thinking that perhaps in a fantasy he might actually see her off. She snorted at the absurdity of that notion, knowing all too well how difficult it was to tear most officers from duty, especially captains, and in her experience, ambassadors.

***Stardate 57907.07, aboard the shuttle Hygeia, 04h15***

Greeting the transporter chief with a smile while at the same time adjusting the duffle bag so it hung more securely from her shoulder, Brennyn took position on the transporter padd.

Her palms were sweaty and her stomach was in knots, but to look at her, no one would notice.

Even if she wanted to, negative emotions were not something she could reveal easily. It was an old habit from her days as a politician's daughter. Anything but happiness was fuel for the rumor mill, and everyone knew, nothing good came out of the rumor mill.

Tucking her short brown hair behind her left ear, she looked to the blond behind the console. "Let's do it."

"Energizing," replied the chief with a smile.

***Transporter Room, USS Sulu***

Brennyn closed her eyes as the haze of the transporter enveloped her.

Opening her eyes as soon as the smell of fresh carpet hit her, she was greeted by the blond chief's counterpart, this one a redhead.

"Hello, I'm Lt. Brennyn Scott, Chief Counselor. Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted ma'am. Welcome to the Sulu."

***Bridge, 04h30***

Brennyn had stopped by her quarters only long enough to drop off her duffle and take a quick look around. She smiled, remembering Lt. Commander Kennedy's comment about her true passion being the people and not the surroundings. He was a pretty good judge of character for a scientist.

Stepping off the turbolift, Brennyn strode to the command chair where she noted the Sulu's android Operations Manager was sitting bridge watch. Scott cleared her throat. "Lt. Scott reporting for duty, sir."

---

"Early Morning Rendezvous"
by Lt. Brennyn Scott, RN - Chief Counselor/Nurse
and Lt. Sam - Operations Manager

Location: Main Bridge, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.08, 04h30

***

Brennyn had stopped by her quarters only long enough to drop off her duffle and take a quick look around. She smiled, remembering Lt. Commander Kennedy's comment about her true passion being the people and not the surroundings. He was a pretty good judge of character for a scientist.

Stepping off the turbolift, Brennyn strode to the command chair where she noted the Sulu's android Operations Manager was sitting bridge watch. Scott cleared her throat. "Lt. Scott reporting for duty, sir."

From the captain's chair, Sam looked up at the newcomer on the bridge. He stood and turned to address her. His positronic net accessed the Sulu personnel files and he processed all the pertinent data on the officer before him, the entire process taking but a nanosecond. "Lieutenant Scott," he said. "Welcome aboard the USS Sulu. How are you acclimating to the Sulu? I trust that you have encountered no difficulties in your transition?"

Brennyn paused, caught a little off guard by the android's response, even though she knew that he was not exactly like other humanoids. His appearance was enough to make her forget whom she was talking to until he opened his mouth, or whatever it was referred to technically. She couldn't say she disliked or distrusted Sam after their interaction thus far, but it was slightly unnerving to suddenly realize she was talking to a machine, a superior officer who just happened to be a machine no less. It was definitely not something she would have experienced as a civilian on Betazed, that was for sure.

"Other than lack of a sleep, sir, I'm doing alright. I never could sleep on shuttlecraft. As per protocol" --the last she fought to speak evenly-- "I'm reporting in upon arrival." Scott still had trouble understanding the need for certain regulations. She was a civilian - no, used to be, she reminded herself, and civilians relied on comfort and common sense. Sighing inwardly, Bree knew it was the price she would have to pay for being in Starfleet. If only the exploring could begin tomorrow after a full day's rest...

"As the acting commanding officer, I welcome you aboard, Counsellor. Will you require any assistance or a tour of the ship? Most of the crew is currently on shore leave, so we do have a limited staff available, but any of the crew will be more than willing to assist however they can."

Brennyn smiled. Sam was certainly more polite than many of the humanoids she'd met. She wondered briefly if that had been part of his programming, or if he had had to adapt to his environment and learn how to interact with others. Scott would have loved to find out more, but she was physically drained and not really mentally up for a long discussion. "Thank you, sir. A tour won't be necessary, however. I've familiarized myself with the location of key areas, and should I get lost, I can always ask the computer for assistance. I would appreciate it if you could send me the latest reports regarding the Collins investigation..." She wasn't sure if Jhenal had kept up with the matter or not, or if her office had continued to receive updates in Jhenal's absence, but Scott wanted to be kept in the loop.

"I shall do so," Sam said. "It is a...unique case, however it is believed that we are making progress. I shall have all pertinent data forwarded to you, Counsellor. I will also notify Captain Salinger and Commander Lyrr of your arrival. It appears that the services of a counsellor aboard ship are a necessity."

Brennyn winked, afterward not quite sure if he would understand the subtlety of the gesture. Oh well, too late now, she thought. "I certainly hope so, sir." And with that, she turned and headed for the turbolift. She was looking forward to having she and her bed make up for lost time.

---

"A Star Beyond Here"
By Dr. Corran Quezith, Civilian Scientist
& Ens. Cristobel Sefton, Nurse

Location: The Darkness
Date: 57907.08, 05h30

***

A quiet beeping sound could be hear throughout the dimmed quarters that Doctor Quezith slept within, quarters he slept alone in. Since Corran had been scanned by his personal doctor, it had become quite evident that no one should be near him when he was sleeping, it could be a very unhealthy proposition...but it had made him lonely, and he had been aware of such a thing.

He had gotten little sleep. The night had gone on for hours. He had avoided going to the party the crew had gone to by majority for the sake of Cristobel and in part for his own. Many wouldn't understand, but he most certainly did.

His eyes opened slowly from one of many scenarios he had been imagining concerning his return to Achicar Prime. Each scenario had presented both positive and negative aspects that would change his future lifestyle. Some he had liked, others had scared him, for he did not know if he would truly return from this. He could only hope...and for that reason, he had written a letter to Captain Salinger. The only soul on the Sulu that knew he might not be returning...he didn't have the will to write another to Cristobel. Cristobel had a future here, it didn't feel fair to divide him right now when he did not know what the future held for him in truth.

Corran rose from his bed and stumbled over to the comm console. Upon activating it there was a text message from the Delphin. They had arrived ahead of schedule.

His eyes closed, and a gentle grimace appeared across his face. He had to go.

His affairs had all been taken care of. The ship's new arboretum was actually in full operation now and what few details were left had been enlisted for the science staff onboard the fine vessel. The arboretum was largely automated and served independently of most of the ship's systems. Its water regenerated through recycling and occasional feeds from replication. Fertilizer released by miniature replicators imbedded in the different classes of vegetation sustenance that took their energy from that which surrounded them underground. Light settings specified. Accelerated growth programs installed. Emitters in the ceiling that performed the various duties of dozens of gardeners. Climate controls...everything. All that was truly missing was for the rough dirt to spring the seeds he had scattered.

And of course, he had taken care of his affairs with most of the crew. The only one he truly cared to bid farewell to any longer was Cris...his beloved Cris. How he wanted him to join him on this voyage...how he wished he would go to Achicar Prime and leave his life with Starfleet... But he knew that deep down Cristobel wouldn't be able to live happily if he did abandon these things.

There was no point in muddling through his concerns any longer. Corran stood from the console and picked his things up. He walked out of his quarters, leaving them dimmed, and alone.

***Cristobel's Quarters***

Cristobel's eyes opened.

For the first time in days, he couldn't remember his dreams. In truth, it felt like the past few days had been weeks - he'd certainly had over a month's worth of highs and lows - and he supposed that was a result of being awake many more hours during the days than he should have been. He struggled to figure what had awoken him, until he heard the door chime again.

Cris reached for Corran, and sighed heavily when his hand just fell on an empty bed. Once he managed to get to his feet and put a robe on, he called out, "Come," and headed towards the door.

The door spread apart and Corran's eyes rose from the floor, up to Cristobel's. He smiled gently, his eyes remaining brown for once rather than changing color. Seeing him standing there brought so many memories back, memories he hoped would continue and thrive, but he tried to be neutral about his emotions.

"I would've thought you'd actually disrobe for me rather than get dressed up." He grinned lightly, coming through the doors and coming closer to him.

"I didn't know it was you," Cristobel rasped groggily, and threw his arms around Corran's shoulders.

Corran wrapped his own arms around Cristobel's body and held him tight. He closed his eyes and rested his chin over his shoulder. He didn't want to let go of him; he'd already spent enough time feeling estranged from him. He sighed softly, hugging him almost desperately so, fighting off emotions that threatened to tear him apart from as simple a commentary as was the one made by Cristobel - it was a reminder that they weren't linked.

Opening his mind, Cristobel began feeling what Corran was feeling, and despite his efforts to hold onto Corri tighter, his arms just went weak. Cris tried to swallow hard, but his throat still felt dry from the night. "You're leaving now," he rasped softly with disappointment and surprise.

He frowned lightly as he stepped back to see him. His expression served to weaken Corran further, and he could feel tears stinging his eyes, preparing for release. "Yeah..." His voice trembled. "Yeah, they just told me they've arrived. Since it's a civilian corporation's ship they can't wait too long for me..."

"No. That's not enough time," Cristobel insisted - refusing to let his eyes water, refusing to accept this situation as reality.

Cristobel's desktop terminal chirped as an urgent transmission was routed to his location.

"Mo dhia, what now?" Cris grumbled, burying his face in Corran's shoulder.

He'd been reaching his arms around Cristobel again when the terminal had interrupted them. He looked over to it, his eyes turning ice blue in irritation and upset, but it stopped him from breaking down. He hugged Cristobel tight, but then released him. "It looks urgent. I'm not going right this instant, answer it."

"Cristobel. Cristobel!" A strident female voice came from the commscreen. Cris didn't have to look to the screen to know that it was his mother, Damhnait, but the tone of her voice made him turn to the screen urgently. "You need to go to Betazed immediately. If you do not, I will talk to the Captain of the Oberon, and he will bring me to the Sulu, so I can take you home myself."

Bewildered, Cris muttered, "I already booked transport on the Utvek. I will be heading home two days from now."

"The imbeciles who we've entrusted your sister's care let her read their minds," Damhnait spat acidly. "She attained lucidity only to discover that the doctors are worried about her, and now they fear she's suffered some sort of psychotic break! They need us to try to soothe her - to comfort her with familiarity."

"I'll be there as... I'll leave now." Cristobel shut the communication, forgetting about niceties or salutations. He silently stared at the blank screen, looked across the floor, until his line of sight rolled up to meet Corran's eyes. His brain couldn't decide if he was more torn up by Andraia's turn for the worse or Corran's sudden leaving...until Cris picked up on Corran's fears that his trip to Achicar Prime could be one way. Cris fell back into Corran's arms and cried hard into his shoulder.

It was more than enough to get Corran crying as well. His arms held Cris possessively as he realized that Cris had probably read his mind when he'd guessed that Cris would go back to his family, causing despair to settle in for reasons he didn't understand right now. He couldn't let go of him, and he couldn't stop. He tried to talk in his mind, hoping that Cris would hear him.

I... I wanted you to come with me...but, but you have to go to them...

I almost did go with you. I really-- I-I would have. I was about to. You have to believe that...because I can't leave behind my family, Cris responded.

I know...and my fears are probably just that...but I'm so scared. It seemed like the wall of joy he'd made around himself the entire day before had collapsed.

You're strong. You're going to get through this, and you're going to come back, Cristobel declared.

What if I don't? He just had to ask. He had to know what would happen if he had to stay on Achicar Prime for a while, or forever. What would happen to them!?

Shut. Up. You are coming back. I will fly to Achicari and get you myself, and I'm a poor pilot, so I'll probably die on the way, so you had better come home to prevent me the trouble of dying.

"I..." Corran's jaw trembled, so he just clamped it and tried to accept Cris' resistance to discuss the matter, even though the idea of him coming all the way to Achicar Prime to pick him up was a warming one. He just let his emotions swell for a long time, standing there with Cris, selfishly feeling sorry for himself until he calmed down and started thinking about Cris' situation. This trip to Betazed was something he should be doing with him.

Picking up on Corran's idea, Cris asked, "This Delphin ship - faster than anything in Starfleet - I don't suppose it could drop me off at Betazed."

"I...think so." He blinked a few times, sighing repeatedly to calm himself down. "It's not exactly in the direction we're going but what I read suggested sometimes distance doesn't even matter."

"Then we have more time together," Cristobel said with some relief.

"Yeah, you're right." He brushed a tear away from his own eye and again moved forward to hug his beloved possessively. "Everything's going to be all right for both of us and we'll just come back and get on with our lives."

***Later On***

Walking down the corridors of the USS Sulu became arduous to Corran. He had finished talking to Captain Adair of the Delphin about Cristobel and his situation, only to end up going around the ship on some other errands to give Cris a hand and to leave notes here and there. All in all, he'd somehow given himself a tour of the ship.

The more he did this, the more it felt like he was saying good-bye, and now as his steps drove him to the transporter room he found that his heart was dropping out of his chest and into his stomach. He didn't want to leave; he was afraid, he was terrified.

He started to pale and his eyes turned a dark brown color as he stepped into the transporter room. He found himself before the Transporter Chief.

Frozen in spot, he began to tremble. He looked at the chief and at the transporter pad, backing up a step as genuine terror overcame him. The chief watched him, and then her brow furrowed in concern. She came over and set a hand on his shoulder, and asked him a question repeatedly that he just seemed to not process.

Eventually she was forced to take him by the shoulders and shake him. It was enough to bring him back part of the way.

Corran looked at the woman, his breathing heavy, his feelings in complete disarray. "I... I... I'm fine, just...get me there as fast as you can."

She didn't believe him, so she helped him onto the transporter pad with his things. She took note that he seemed to be taking a great many things with him, as if he planned to never return. Perhaps that's what was wrong with him?

He stopped trembling, but he wasn't seeing straight. It was too difficult. Before he could get much worse than that he nodded at the Chief and managed to utter his last words to anyone on the USS Sulu as part of its crew, for unbeknownst to any of them, he truly would not be returning. This was his final journey with them, for the immediate future.

---

"Financial Analysis"
by Commander Lyrr Tayla
and Ensign Taylor Bennett

Location: Bridge, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.08 05h40

***

"Ensign Bennett." Lyrr Tayla crossed the bridge and approached Tactical, where the ensign was currently stationed. She had yet to formally meet the young woman, but with security personnel scarce, Lyrr had chosen to assign her to a task, which also presented an opportunity for introductions. "Ensign," she called again, coming up beside her. "Are you busy?"

"Not too terribly busy, Commander," Taylor answered as she looked up at the commander. "I was just running a quick check on the systems. Things are actually pretty quiet here. I guess all the action is down on the planet."

"It is," she said slowly, "but how would you like to get in on it?"

"I will gladly help out however you need me to, sir," Taylor answered. "I've been trying to follow along with the investigation, though not having been involved, it's been more difficult. How can I help, sir?"

"Well, as you know, we're currently attempting to track down the whereabouts of Ensign Collins," Lyrr explained. "The first thing I'd like to do is make sure she hasn't left the planet. That's where you can help me out."

"Of course, Commander. Standard investigative protocols?"

"Correct. I want everything, no matter how insignificant it might seem, to be noted," Lyrr told the woman. "And don't be afraid to report anything suspicious on Ensign Collins' part."

"Of course not, sir," Taylor said. "While it may be tempting to protect a member of Starfleet and this crew, I would be shirking my duties as a Starfleet officer to do so. I will bring whatever I find to you, Commander."

"Thank you," Lyrr told her with a friendly smile. "I'll be in my office for a time if you require me."

"I will begin at once, and come see you as soon as I have a report ready, Commander." She signalled for her replacement, and he was there almost immediately. Before heading off to begin going through records that would help them in the investigation, she turned back to Commander Lyrr. "Thank you for this opportunity, Commander. I'll hopefully be talking to you very soon."

Lyrr smiled. "Hopefully. Good luck, Ensign." Then Lyrr started back across the bridge.

"Thank you, Commander," Taylor said softly. With a hint of a smile, she left the bridge. First thing first, she'd need to plan her course, and then get investigating. Fortunately, an investigation like this, in these times, was fairly easy.

***

It was several hours later when Taylor Bennett tapped the chime next to Commander Lyrr's door.

"Enter," came the reply from within, and upon seeing Ensign Bennett, an expectant look appeared on Lyrr's face. "Yes? What have you found?"

Taylor sighed, and then finally nodded, knowing she had to explain what she'd found. "It's not good, Commander," she said. "In fact, it...it further implicates Ensign Collins' involvement." She handed over a padd. "That's her financial records as well as a list of places she was known to frequent. The things they have to say about her there...are not flattering. She was very liberal with her body, and rather vocal about many things. If you look at the padd, the first page contains the most damning evidence."

Lyrr reviewed the information briefly, and gave a disheartened sigh when her attention fell upon Collins' financial records. "It says here that approximately 45 minutes after the murder, a large sum of latinum was deposited into her account on Risa. Is there any way to track who made the deposit?" she asked the ensign.

"If I can get the cooperation of the financial institution responsible for the transfer," Taylor answered. "The only other means to do so would require getting the information from them without their permission." She looked up, chewed her lip for a moment, and then shook her head. "Given the current circumstances, if such an act were attempted and found out, the repercussions could be disastrous."

"We already have one officer tainting the reputation of Starfleet," Lyrr said, "we don't need to tarnish it further by breaking the law. We will go through the proper channels, and if we come up with nothing, there are always other areas of the investigation that could lead us to the answer."

"Certainly, Commander. I will begin looking into the proper channels immediately. I will also dig back further in Ensign Collins' past. Perhaps a previous association could be involved as well. I will contact our Risan liaison immediately."

"And while you're doing that, perhaps you can inquire about some of these large, frivolous purchases the ensign made throughout the week prior to the ambassador's death," Lyrr suggested. "It makes no sense. She's a Starfleet officer just recommissioned. Where would she get money like that?"

"Knowing what my own money looks like, that would have tapped my funds and I barely spend any of them and I haven't been newly recommissioned. I'll look into them, Commander. I'm just afraid of what I might find. I don't know Ensign Collins, but it is still hard to dig up the evidence that will condemn a fellow Starfleet officer. But, if she's done these things, then...then she shouldn't be wearing the uniform. I'll get you the information, sir."

"Thank you, Ensign," Lyrr replied. "And...good work."

"Thank you, Commander," Taylor said with a smile. "I'm just glad I'm able to help out."

"And you definitely have...though I would have hoped for better news." Lyrr sighed them smiled tightly. "Inform me when you have anything new."

"Thank you, Commander," Taylor said, wishing she'd had better news to report as well. "I will." She sighed softly, and then turned to the door, taking the commander's words as dismissal.

Lyrr returned her gaze to the datapad containing all of Bennett's findings, ones that cast more doubt on Ensign Collins' innocence. Considering the large sum of latinum in her bank account before the murder, one an officer who had spent a year in a penal colony should have no reason to hold, then the sizeable deposit following the murder and finally the considerable withdrawal made shortly after her escape, things were not looking optimistic. Chances were Andrea Collins was working for some very nefarious types, who had likely hired her for Ambassador V'ril's murder, and who had helped her escape the detention facility. Who those individuals were was not yet known, and why he was killed was even more of a mystery.

Lyrr sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose to soothe the throbbing pain in her head. The case of Ambassador V'ril's murder was becoming more and more intricate each passing day, and Lyrr just wanted it over now. Hopefully they could find Collins and get the truth, even if it meant a very unpleasant future in a Ktarian penal colony for the young woman.

---

"To Boldly Go Where No Yeoman Has Gone Before"
By: Ensign Cecily Torsten

Location: Tel'ra Yik; Civilian Quarters
Stardate: 57907.08, 08h00

***

The young Finnish girl rolled onto her stomach then back onto her side as she clutched the blanket to her face on her cot. Her hands clenched the cotton fabric tightly as she attempted to find sleep as she nervously tossed and turned. But sleep was one of few things on her mind today. No, she was far too hung up to sleep, she was going to her first posting!

Cecily sighed worriedly as she looked out the porthole next to her, the endless depths of space contained outside.

Originally when going to her first assignment Cecily had expected to go via a Federation ship of some kind perhaps even a Runabout. But alas she had to take up the next best thing; a Ferengi Gambling Liner headed for Risa.

Traveling didn't bother Cecily really; she traveled all the time with her father on business trips, just being by herself in an unfamiliar place that always managed to unnerve her. But sleep that would calm her, yes, sleep, escape into a world of dreams and imagination. The young girl's eyes just began to drift shut into a peaceful slumber but immediately shot open as she heard her roommate return.

Lying very still on her bed she listened as her roommate began to grumble and swear drunkenly in Klingon. Torsten having not yet gained a full understanding of the warrior race's language could only be certain that her Klingon roommate Pel'Ga had lost a majority of her winnings, was severely hung-over, or most likely, angry with the Ferengi who was running the Tongo areas. Torsten was guessing that it was "E" - all of the above. A loud thunk, soon followed by more swearing, caused the Ensign to wonder just why exactly, of all places, she ended up on a Ferengi Gambling Liner.

Tapping on the privacy force field around her sleeping area Cecily pulled the pillow closely to her body and nestled her head onto the pillow. Her ears perked up as she heard the Klingon pass out on her own cot, most likely drunk beyond her own good. Listening for a moment or more to make sure her ears weren't deceiving her Cecily sat up and reached for her duffel.

Thankful that her roommate was snoring away fast asleep she turned to her duffel and pulled out her PADD. Torsten began to tap at the PADD, looking over the crew roster for the Sulu as a ship wide announcement was declared stating that they were to arrive at Risa in approximately 04h00s. Cecily was back asleep even before the announcement itself finished. Maybe this wouldn't turn out so badly for the young girl after all....

---

"Meeting the XO"
By: Lt. Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
Commander Lyrr Tayla - First Officer

Location: Commander's Office, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.08 08h00

***

Benedict T'Kal stepped into the corridors of the Sulu with a purposeful stride. It was his first day on the job and he wanted to make sure he made the right impression. He hadn't seen the Captain yet - but he supposed that Salinger was busy on Risa. He'd been up since 0400hrs reviewing action reports, crew rosters and the mundane padd-work that was the duty of the Chief of Security. He'd been pleased to note that the previous incumbent in the post had been meticulous in his reporting and most of the history behind the last few months was well documented.

The security department was a relatively small one - but that meant a closer knit family of officers and a greater dependence on each other. He had yet to catch up with Arthas Hex, his assistant chief - he was on Risa. He was satisfied that Hex had managed the current situations - a Diplomatic Security detail was assigned to the captain and the diplomatic party on Risa - he'd already added four more officers to the detail.

He examined a padd as he stepped into a turbo lift, barely acknowledging the crewman who smiled and nodded at him. "Deck Two," he said to the computer as the doors closed.

He was setting up a training drill for the security department that he intended running in a couple of days. He'd thought of doing it last night, but in the absence of the command crew he'd reconsidered. It wasn't the best thing to do - not on a new ship on his arrival.

He had sent a request for a meeting with the XO first thing on Alpha shift - like most senior officers he was used to working both Alpha and Beta shifts - it made for early starts and late nights, but Benedict was in a position to be able to do that. He had no distractions from his duty - he preferred it that way.

He arrived at the XO's office and rang the chime. The door hissed open at the commander's request for him to enter and he stepped through with a smile on his face. The Bajoran woman behind the desk stood as he came in.

Like all Bajorans, Benedict approached her in the traditional manner. He reached out and touched her left ear and allowed her to do the same. Her pagh was strong and for a moment his violet eyes held hers as she felt the strength of his own. His raven black hair was bound in a tight twist of silver that held it at the collar so that it draped down his back. His forelock was pure white - an affectation that he had kept since Teb's death. He stood taller than Lyrr Tayla - his angular features strongly masculine. His smile was genuine and it accentuated the ridges that told of his own Bajoran blood.

He released her and stepped back. "Benedict T'Kal reporting for duty," he said in Bajoran.

From the initial ear-touching gesture to his greeting in her mother tongue, Lyrr already had a good grasp of what kind of Bajoran Lieutenant T'Kal was...and was already mildly uncomfortable. She respected the lieutenant's piety, but it was still awkward interacting with one who so strictly adhered to Bajor's social customs, whereas she did not. It was the main reason she only returned home when it was required of her...and even that was too much.

"Lieutenant," she finally returned, with a slightly tight smile, and in Standard. "It's good to have you aboard." As she sat and gestured for Benedict to do the same, her eyes fell upon the blade hanging from his belt and she frowned. "You will have that removed, I gather."

Benedict sat as she waved her hand in the direction of his belt knife. Have it removed? As he made himself comfortable he looked back at the woman seating herself and considered her attitude. She had been uncomfortable with his greeting - that was clear. Her body language told him much. Her choice of language was also an indication that she rejected his approach - her eyes shifted to his right ear and he knew at once that she was checking to see if he wore an earring.

His level gaze did not waver as he said, "My sidearm is not forbidden under Starfleet regulations - and as Chief of Security it is my prerogative as to choice. The Kut'luch is worn to honour my Klingon family - I am a member of House T'Kal. As a recognised member of that House I am required by custom to wear a blade." He settled back. "I realize that Starfleet is not the Klingon Empire - but we are allies, and I would bring dishonour to my House if I did not wear it."

"Well, you can wear it," Lyrr told him. "Just not on your belt. If it were, say, hidden in your boot, or worn beneath your uniform, technically, you are still wearing it, correct, Lieutenant? And although it is not forbidden under Starfleet regulations to decorate your uniform with cultural adornments, it is within the rights of this ship's command staff to forbid particular items...such as a weapon that could be considered an overt display of aggression. On your off-duty hours, you are, of course, free to wear it, but on duty it should be concealed or not worn at all."

Benedict gave her a smile. "Then I shall wear it beneath my uniform." There was nothing in Klingon custom to prevent a concealed weapon - and there were occasions that he'd done it before. He changed the subject. "I would like your permission to run a security drill in a couple of days. An intruder scenario - I want to see how well the crew responds to that type of emergency." He passed over the padd he had been working on with the details. "I've called a security briefing for 1300hrs today and will be instituting a few changes in the security department. I would like your permission for those changes - they're all listed there."

As she looked at the padd and ran through the content she could see that T'Kal had been thorough in his assessment of the security department. He had already instigated a weapons inventory and made a few changes to the rosters - all within his purview as Chief of Security. The parameters of the drill were listed along with some suggestions on security matters relating to the diplomatic detail. She saw that he had assigned four more security officers to that force this morning. There were some training scenarios planned and a list of requests for equipment from the replications stores.

"Very thorough," Lyrr said, nodding thoughtfully at the information. "You've been on board for how long?" She smiled at the lieutenant and explained, "It's just...this is more than I've ever seen the former security chief do in his almost month long stay on this ship. It's...impressive."

"Thank you," he replied. "I had good teachers. My duty is all I have, and I take it seriously." He pursed his lips and looked at her thoughtfully. "I noted that there is a crewman in the Brig...and an animal...under your orders?"

"She was released yesterday afternoon," Lyrr answered. "I'm not sure if you've reviewed the report compiled on the incident, but the Ensign has been...particularly out of sorts, lately. She's been confined to quarters for the duration of shore leave and her...animal as well," she added, and made her distaste clear with a frown.

Benedict nodded. "My concern is for the animal," he said simply. He'd read the reports and he agreed whole-heartedly with the Commander's recommendations. "A Terran wolf is a wild animal - it's not something to be caged on a ship this size - or a ship at all for that matter." He showed by his tone that the idea of it displeased him. "As Security Chief it poses a threat to the well-being of the crew - it's already attacked or attempted to attack an officer. I would recommend the animal's removal immediately - I'm sure the Risans can find a solitary island for the animal." He sat back and frowned. "Perhaps putting it in stasis until we can get it back to Earth?" he suggested.

Lyrr smiled tightly and closed her eyes briefly to hide her slight incredulity. T'Kal was far more insensitive than she thought she could ever be. "I believe remaining confined to quarters with Ensign Niesha will suffice, until we can have it transported to a nice farm on Earth, I believe Captain Salinger suggested. Frankly, I despise the creature as well, but it isn't the animal's fault his master erred."

"The wolf should never have been brought aboard. It belongs running free and I'm sure that it's an endangered species. Its instincts are being ignored by its present owner - she obviously thinks that it's okay to take it out of its natural environment and give it replicated food and re-cycled air. It needs clear skies and fresh air and space to run in. I think it is pure cruelty to have it locked in a stateroom." Benedict was clearly upset by the idea.

"Well, perhaps it is," Lyrr answered. "But there's nothing much we can do about it presently. The captain persuaded her to reconsider when she first arrived, but the ensign seems to have a stubborn personality. I assure you, the matter will be rectified the moment we can get it a transport to Earth. There is no need to let it trouble you, Lieutenant."

Benedict nodded. "The matter of the security drill?" he asked. "Do I have your permission to hold a ship-wide intruder scenario?" He smiled to shake off the concern he'd felt a moment ago. "I'd really like to see how well other departments respond to a security emergency. It might assist in the monthly readiness reports too..." He grinned slyly. "It will also help shake off the party atmosphere that's bound to infect the crew for a while - I need to get my people back into thinking with a touch of paranoia."

"I think a drill is a great idea," Lyrr replied. "As long as it does not interfere with the current investigation into the ambassador's murder. When is it planned for?"

"The tenth," he replied. "At the tail end of Gamma shift," he grinned slyly. "0400hrs - the worst time for the body's sleeping cycle and the best time for a surprise attack. I'll brief the Gamma shift security crew and swap a few shifts around to maximise the fatigue factor. I'll have a good Red Team organised." He nodded to her, "I'd appreciate it if you were 'incapacitated' for the attack...leadership by the Gamma shift commander under the circumstances should be as real as possible - high stress factors...and a break in the command chain simulates that quite effectively."

Lyrr smiled. "So you want me out of the way, do you, Lieutenant? I guess I could remain in my quarters for the duration of the drill, or until I'm needed."

Benedict laughed softly. "I was actually hoping that you'd be on the Red Team..."

Lyrr smiled quizzically. "You actually want me to participate in the drill? You won't be intimidated by my presence?"

Benedict laughed. "I don't think so...sir." He gave her a wide grin. "Why do you think you're intimidating? Sorry - but my last posting on the Windsor was under a female captain - Genevieve St.Claire. I'm used to taking orders from women - and I've never been intimidated by my superior officers. I think that being on the Red Team would give you a valuable perspective. I'd also value your input. I need to know how you work and how you think - I need to be able to anticipate your needs rather than wait for you to tell me. I feel that department heads need to work as a team - and you're the First Officer - which means I have to make you look good, and to do that I need to make my department run smoothly. As the Security Chief your safety and that of the captain is my personal responsibility..." He looked her in the eyes. "I take that responsibility seriously, Commander."

"I should hope so, Lieutenant," she replied soberly. "But the captain and I don't require a bodyguard. We just want the best security officer you can be. Though," she added with a smile, "I think you're well on your way to proving that you already are. So...barring any other duties that require my attention, I would be glad to join your drill. Just tell me where to be and I'll try to be there."

Benedict nodded. "I'll provide you with a full report prior and after the exercise." He paused and looked her in the eyes seriously. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable in the manner of my greeting..." He could see that she shifted in her seat at his observation. "I knew that you were Bajoran - and judged it safer to greet you formally rather than casually - I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable - I guess if you were the formal type and I failed to observe formality... " He smiled and shrugged. "Better to be safe than sorry..."

"Very true," Lyrr agreed with a stiff nod. "And there is no need to apologize. I cannot expect another Bajoran to abandon his or her customs because I choose not to follow the same. I'm just far less spiritual than most Bajorans are and you seem to tend towards the opposite end of that spectrum...from what I have determined so far."

Benedict nodded. "That is true.." He regarded her admission with a vague sorrow. As a Bajoran the spirituality of their culture was as ingrained as breathing. To abandon the Prophets and the spirituality of Bajor was to be separated from meaning...a tragic loss. "I am centered by my connection with the Prophets and my spirituality. It is important to me." He didn't say that it was important for her too - and kept it out of his voice as he spoke. At some point he would have to try to find out why she had chosen to abandon her beliefs.

"If you'll forgive me, Commander I have a departmental briefing this morning." He waited until she gave him a sign of her approval before standing. "I am very glad that I received this assignment, sir. I will not let you down in the performance of my duty to the captain or the ship." He was deadly serious, and Lyrr could see that he meant every word.

"I'm sure you will perform commendably on this ship, Lieutenant," she replied. "And good luck with the drill. Don't you dare go easy on them for a second." She smiled.

He grinned. "I've never been accused of that!" he replied. "I'm harder on my people than most," he said seriously, "but that saves lives in my business."

"I wholeheartedly agree with that," Lyrr smiled. "And if anyone complains, they'll get no sympathy from me."

He nodded and grinned back at her. "Thank you for your confidence, Commander. I'll see you for a morning briefing tomorrow - 0730?" He shrugged. "Perhaps over breakfast?"

Lyrr, now overly suspicious after Ensign Storm's admitted interest in her, smiled skeptically at Benedict. "Breakfast? Well, I imagine we could have a morning coffee and snack in my office, as you brief me... I really should get you up to speed on the intricacies of the investigation, if you would prefer that."

He nodded. "That will be fine," he replied, and seeing a spark of suspicion in her eyes he added, "My previous XO demanded a morning briefing every day - a department heads breakfast. It worked very well for the senior officers to meet informally each morning - he kept up with the daily requirements of the ship and it was a great way to get seniors working more closely. It also allowed for more casual conversation and openness..." He smiled at her. "If I may suggest, Commander, it might be a good idea for the Sulu - especially as you've had several department head changes in such a short time."

Lyrr nodded her full agreement. "That would be a good idea. I think, when this shoreleave has ended, I will speak to the captain about implementing your idea." She looked briefly down at her folded hands demurely, and said, "Forgive my initial reaction. I've just never heard of such a thing...." Lyrr chuckled lightly. "I really think you're going to fit in just fine, Lieutenant."

"I know I will," he said without hesitation. "Thank you, Commander - I'll see you on the Bridge." He gave her a warm smile. "Have a nice day." With that and a nod he left her. He had a lot to do.

"Very interesting," Lyrr muttered to herself as the doors closed behind Benedict.

Bajorans such as he were the reason she stayed far away from her homeworld; she couldn't stomach the piety and devotion to Bajor's social customs and practices. She'd abandoned all that the day she became an orphan. Benedict seemed a strict, yet model officer, but if his presence was going to be a constant reminder of all she'd turned away from and the reasons she had, Lyrr had a feeling daily breakfasts were not a good idea.

---

"Choice Assignment"
By: Crewman Emma Summers - Medical Technician

Location: Runabout "Breton Bay"
Stardate 57907.08 0930hrs

***

The Runabout "Breton Bay" dropped out of warp as it entered the control sphere of Risan traffic control. In the rear cabin Emma Summers was reading a padd with data freshly downloaded from the Starfleet database. She lay casually on her bunk - her home for the previous two weeks, in only her underwear and a portable sound system plugged into her ears. The music was a mixture of cultures with a wide diversity in style - from classical to modern rock. Her toes tapped the bunk's end in a steady rhythm as her eyes flicked through the scrolling information.

She had been studying the personnel files of the crew of the Hikaru Sulu for the last week and a half. She had already processed the ship statistics - she was intimately aware of the Intrepid Class of starship anyway - but she wanted to avoid mistakes. A newly appointed officer fresh from the Starfleet Academy wouldn't have intimate details - her study accounted for that intimacy.

The 'emergency leave' from the assignment after leaving the academy had been easily arranged. So had the data packet that the anonymous 'hot rod' hacker had implanted in Starbase 16 and the academy. A few altered details - nothing that would raise any inquiry - but enough to satisfy any information request to Starfleet on Miss Emma Summers.

Everything had been prepared - every step calculated. She had received the confirmation of her 'choice assignment' three weeks ago after another cadet graduate had come down with a medical emergency. The nasty little bug she'd caught would debilitate her for a few months - nothing to worry about with the proper intensive care... Emma's face grew a sly smile at the wandering thought. She had rid herself of the samples of virus before boarding - they were no longer useful, and with Starfleet's propensity to beam officers everywhere, the last thing she needed was for a virus to be picked up on a buffer scan! She knew how to grow more anyway - a simple task for someone with her skills - but not for Emma Summers, she wouldn't know how to do it..

The psych profile for Emma Summers had been the hardest task to master. An orphan with the typical 'I can do it on my own' complex pretty much matched her own - it was the compassionate, innocent and naive aspects of the girl that she had to keep up that would be the hardest. There was no changing that - after all it was an important aspect of her alibi. Emma was someone no one would suspect of doing anything wrong! Her academy evaluations had been proof of her 'niceness.'

She was immersing herself totally in the role - she was Emma Summers - orphan, child of Starfleet and very shy.

The pilot of the Runabout warned the crew and few passengers that they were within ten minutes of matching orbit. Emma was being beamed across to the Sulu.

She dressed quickly in a standard class A uniform - the one piece body suit showed her curves and accented her femininity. She left her hair down - and the gentle curls bounced on her shoulders. All she had was a single carry-on bag. This was to be her first assignment, so no personal effects other than a couple of holos and two ornaments that supposedly held significance. The six padds with their holodeck software seemed ordinary but carried some of the best hacking programs available. She was ready in under six minutes and went forward to say her farewells to the Runabout crew.

She played the bright and happy crewman, even though the Hikaru Sulu grew larger by the second. On that ship was the man she wanted to find. The object of her obsession that had driven her to the edge of madness - and beyond. She was finally here - after so long in the planning.

---

"Unexpected Progress"
By: Captain Matthew Salinger
Lt. Xayella Tagliesh, CSO
Lt. Saavar, SO

Location: Tomorian Towers, Diplomatic Wing, Risa
Stardate 57907.08, 09h45

***

They had arrived in the room before the Farehn'ti. It would give them a few moments of peace before the arguing began. Or would most likely begin. Matt wasn't so sure after yesterday's meeting. The Farehn'ti had actually seemed...agreeable. At least on many points. It'd surprised him, though the feeling of progress was undeniable. With a lazy smile, he glanced at Xayella. She was watching him with that look she had, and he suddenly wished that they didn't have Saavar with his Vulcan ears there. It would be difficult to have one of their private chats with the Vulcan's sensitive hearing anywhere near. He wasn't ashamed of their relationship, but there were certain things that they preferred to keep between them...quiet. He doubted Saavar would turn into the ship's gossip, though a frank, forthright discussion with anyone could reveal things neither he, nor Xayella would want made public.

Finally he chuckled softly and brushed his hand over hers. "Hopefully today's session will go as well as yesterday's. If it's anything near, I think we may actually be able to find a solution, bridge a few gaps, and actually get this process moving in the right direction."

"The problem is," Xayella pointed out, "that although they managed to agree, it was only on a single matter. How many more have we got left on the agenda?"

"Enough," Matt said. "Though, if we got them to agree on one thing, we can get the others. We can do this, Xay; I can feel it. It's like something opened up. They realized something in what we're offering, and know that they need it now. They could do it alone, but it'll be so much easier to have a friend walk with them."

Xayella shot him a quizzical smile. "We're their friends now? They didn't seem to want friends the other day when the Ryuck were accusing you of siding with the Opai faction."

"So, what changed?" Matt asked. "Do you believe they're playing us false? Is this some sort of game they've decided to play? Or are they legitimate? And, how can we tell? Ryuck nearly walked out when discussion was raised about moving some of their industry north, but yesterday he was practically in agreement."

"I don't know," Xayella sighed. "I just think, overall, they're far too suspicious to want to negotiate. I think it all has to do with strategy. If the Ryuck protest a particular idea, then support it the next day, it leads the Opai to grow suspicious of their intentions. Why oppose something one day, then agree wholeheartedly with it the next? It only makes the Opai inclined to, then, raise opposition to the idea and reject it, hence giving the Ryuck what they initially wanted. Frankly...this entire negotiation has turned into one group mindgame."

"Then we need to learn this game and learn it better than them," Matt said. "We can't delay here indefinitely and will eventually have to move on. I don't want to have to pass this on to someone else, or have to catch up with Sulu wherever she may be headed."

Xayella dropped a hand to this thigh and smiled silkily. "Would that be so bad? I mean...another month at least on Risa?"

"Starfleet would send the Sulu and the rest of her crew along," Matt said. "I don't know if they'd let me keep a few choice crew members here with me."

Xayella sighed airily. "Well...it was a nice thought."

Matt smiled. "Very nice," he said. "When we retire from Starfleet, we should retire here."

"But all this hedonism can get a little old...if you can believe it." She sighed dreamily. "No, I think someplace a little more homey. Not Earth, though. Definitely not earth."

"Bajor?" Matt asked, as he started laying out the padds he'd brought for the day's meeting. "It's a beautiful planet."

"Too bad it'd always bring reminders of Commander Lyrr," she muttered. "Are you sure she still doesn't know about us?"

"She's heard the rumours," Matt said, "but she doesn't believe them. I'm not looking forward to the confrontation when she finds out."

"She doesn't have to find out, you know. If we're discreet enough..."

Matt smiled. "We can be discreet," he said. "Actually, it should be amusing to see how long we can keep her in the dark about this. Are you game for that, my beautiful scientist?"

Xayella chuckled. "I believe I am, my sexy captain." If Saavar weren't in the room, Xayella would have stolen a kiss, but her lust-filled gaze conveyed her intentions clearly enough. "So...once this meeting gets started, can we afford a break?"

"After an hour or so, we can take a break," Matt said. "Hopefully it'll be a very quick hour." He glanced down at the chronometer and realized they didn't have much time left before the Farehn'ti arrived. "Oh, if only we could slip out now."

"We could," she said, "but he'd only follow us." She motioned her eyes back towards Saavar and frowned with distaste. "So...why again is he here?"

"His primary role is communications between cultures," Matt said. "At least, that's what he told me. I think it will provide him a...a learning experience. Might also teach him to be somewhat humble."

Xayella couldn't refrain from snorting. "He's a Vulcan. They don't know how to be humble. I imagine, by now, he's convinced himself he's running the science department. I really should make the opposite quite clear to him sometime soon."

"I heard about his encounter with Ensign Gainsborough," Matt said.

Xayella frowned and nodded stiffly. "When I catch him alone, he's got an earful coming. Dammit, Matt, that's my department, not his," she snapped. "He had no right to confront her."

"Perhaps he felt as her superior officer, it was his place," Matt said. "Again, even if that weren't the case, he had no business berating her for following an order from the executive officer."

"That's not the point," she whispered, obviously unhappy. "She's my officer and that's my department. He's undermining my authority, Matt and I won't have it. He doesn't even think I'm fit to be the CSO. I sensed it the first day I met him. I won't have him pushing his weight around with me."

Matt nodded. "I understand," Matt said. "And, I agree. I'll let you take care of it as an internal science department matter, but if you need command intervention at any point, let me know."

Xay smiled slowly. "You'd do that for me?" She chuckled and lightly backhanded his chest. "Of course you would or you know you'll be sleeping on the floor."

"Aside from that, you are the head of the department, and if the rest of the department doesn't respect your authority, there are big problems."

Xayella sighed wistfully and said with a note of melodrama, "And here I thought you were being romantic..."

"Always," Matt said, and glanced over to where Saavar was still perusing the notes and transcripts from the past several sessions. He lowered his voice. "Will you take a raincheck on a passionate kiss for when we're alone?"

She glanced aside at him and smiled slowly. "Of course...if someone else doesn't beat you to it, of course." After dipping her hand between his legs briefly, and giving him a sample of what he was in for during the break, Xayella pushed out of her chair and started for her own at the side of the room. She shot a sultry smile back at Matt as her hips swayed alluringly beneath the skirted uniform she wore. Satisfied that he would be sufficiently uncomfortable during the negotiations, she laughed softly.

Matt shook his head as she moved away. You are a vicious wench, he thought. He turned his attention to Saavar, knowing that if anything would reverse the effects of Xayella's attention, it would be the stoic Vulcan science officer. "Lieutenant, have you had sufficient time to familiarize yourself with the last several days of meetings?"

Saavar looked up from his reading. He had been 'over' concentrating on the padds as it was hard to miss the by-play between the two senior officers. Vulcans have sensitive hearing and even their indiscreet whispers were loud. He felt uncomfortable in their presence as it was clear that neither wanted him here. The Chief Science Officer was more interested in fondling the captain than concentrating on the diplomatic mission at hand - and she was right when she had told Salinger that Saavar did not approve of her. It had become increasingly apparent that she was unfit for the senior command role - in Saavar's opinion. She would soon place Salinger in a very difficult position - she was using her romantic liaison as leverage against the captain's decision-making. It was purely emotional blackmail. Unprofessional as far as Saavar could see. He could also tell that he would be the target of the woman's ire - she was irrational!

The Vulcan nodded at his new captain. "Yes, sir - I am adequately familiar with the proceedings."

"Very good," he said. "During the meeting, I'll handle the discussions. During the breaks, I'll want feedback from you both. At this initial meeting, I'll want just observations. You will, no doubt, have valuable skills that will help us find a solid, workable solution in this matter, but the Farehn'ti are a sensitive species."

"Tell me about it," Xayella cut in. "They argued for an hour because one of the Opai cleared his throat while one of the Ryuck was speaking."

Saavar looked at the Chief Science Officer. "The Farehn'ti make a sound in the base of their throat which is interpreted as an insult to the speaker - it is not simply clearing one's throat. It resulted in renewed argument which should culminate in an agreement." Saavar looked to Salinger and continued. "It follows the pattern I observed earlier, Captain. It was simply a method of creating the final antagonism for the process to conclude. I believe if my observations are correct, the Opai will present the opposite argument this morning, the Ryuck will counter and by mid-day we should have a concurrence."

"We'll see about that," Xayella muttered. "He hasn't been here two days and he already thinks he knows everything...."

Matt glanced sidelong at Xayella, a slight warning in his look. "Chances are good that you're correct," Matt said, directing his attention to Saavar. "However, I believe they may not be entirely so predictable. We'll have to see, however. They should be arriving here momentarily." The sound of voices from outside drew all of their attentions toward the door as the sounds of the Farehn'ti arrival filtered inside. Matt made a gesture that was more common among magicians, rather than Starfleet captains. "Here they are," he added.

The Farehn'ti's arrival was not one many could miss, for they came as they went - arguing with one another so chaotically, not a word from one could get across to another before it was shot down by someone else. The Ryuck pushed their way in first, followed by the Opai, who seemed far less animated than the Ryuck. They bowed their heads respectfully at the three Starfleet officers in the room as they moved to take their places. The Ryuck, on the other hand, barely noticed anyone existed in that room but themselves.

Xayella held back a laugh at the scene, and shot Matt a meaningful look. My poor love... I won't blame you if you use the 'I have a headache' excuse tonight.

"Welcome," Matt began. "We have a full agenda today, so I'd like to get right to business. The gentleman at the end of the table is Lieutenant Saavar, he's skilled in interspecies communication. He'll be observing the talks to help the Farehn'ti enter the Federation."

"That is acceptable, Captain," Alos an'Taara said.

"B-Before we get started," the frail Ryuck leader interjected, "may we inquire about the search for your Ensign Collins? It would be a shame to see her crime go unpunished. Ambassador V'ril was a talented man."

"In many ways, or so we've heard," one of the Opai muttered, which had his delegation chuckling quietly.

"Risan authorities are searching, and I've assigned some of the Sulu's security people to help in the search as well. We don't have any leads yet, but investigators are positive they'll have something from the scene of her escape within a matter of hours."

"Very good, Captain," Alos replied. "If you need any help from the Opai, we will gladly give it."

"As would we," the Ryuck leader added hurriedly.

Matt glanced around the room, and could see that both sides of the Farehn'ti delegation were ready to move on. "Good," he said with a smile. "Now, I believe the first thing on order was continuing the discussion of trade with the rest of the Alpha quadrant. Were there any objections to the ten percent allocation of product being put up on the market for trade?"

"Oh, yes." The leader of the Ryuck delegation cleared his throat as he rose. "We would like to retract our previous objections. Ten percent is agreeable."

"What?" Alos an'Taara, the Opai's representative slapped the tabletop in exasperation, which accompanied the scraping of his chair as he shoved it back to rise. "We spent three days last week discussing just that, and you were adamant against it. Now ten percent is pleasing to you? You are ridiculous!"

At Alos' side, a small laugh was heard. "They have agreed," she said. "And, it is in all of our best interests. We discussed this last night, my dear."

"I know it is," Alos snapped. "I just cannot tolerate such idiocy."

"Idiocy?" The woman seated next to the gaunt Ryuck leader snorted derisively. "We are trying to compromise and you insult us. It is no wonder our world was at war for decades!"

"Please," Matt said, holding up his hands for calm. "Why is it that you people must see every shadow as a threat? They disagree and you fight, and now they agree and you fight. I know you don't trust each other, but my job here is to make sure everything goes smoothly. I won't let one of your factions gain while the other is diminished. I tell you that now, and say that if you continue with the distrust, I will take it as a personal insult to my abilities as an arbiter."

"We are truly sorry," Alos said, bowing his head in a heartfelt gesture of apology. "Your mediation has been much appreciated. You are a talented negotiator and it would be unfortunate to discourage you from continuing."

"Yes," Lor'il Danen from the Ryuck side concurred. "It would be quite a shame."

Matt smiled. "Very well," he said. "So ten percent. The Federation Council will approve, and that should definitely help in the decision process. Yesterday you said you had some thoughts about ambassadors to the Federation. Do you have a list available? I can pass that on to the diplomatic team back on Earth."

"We have, Captain." Alos blindly held out a hand to the associate sitting beside him, and a datapad was slipped into his waiting palm. "Our faction has compiled a list of twelve officials," he said, passing the padd to Matt.

"We have a list as well," Lor'il added quickly. He rifled clumsily through the short stack of padds sitting in front of him, toppling them onto the table, but finally weeding out the one he was searching for. "We have fourteen, Captain."

Alos took in a sharp breath, obviously prepared to object to the larger number produced by the Ryuck. Instead, he smiled tightly and said in a carefully controlled voice, "I trust, Captain, you will ensure we are equally represented?"

"Of course," Matt said with a nod. "If we go by the technical details of your planet, you have a single world government. However, the factions you have broken yourself into may present a problem in the future. You are going to have to set aside your differences and actually unite. I understand the differences, but...but unless you can agree to work together for the betterment of your people, rather than your faction..." He sighed. "I know change is difficult, but it will be to the benefit of the Farehn'ti and the Federation."

"We have been a divided world for so long," Lor'il explained. "But...our faction has contemplated discussing such a possibility with" --he gestured vaguely to the rival faction opposite his-- "the Opai."

"Of course," Alos interjected, wearing a sardonic grin. "You and your overweening faction must always take credit for ideas that are not your own. Our faction has been deliberating on just that for years, but you and your stubborn leaders refuse."

Matt planted both his hands on the table and leaned forward. He spread a look around the room, and then, without raising his voice, said, "Does it really matter who thought of it?"

Alos stiffened and stubbornly looked away, while Lor'il seemed ashamed and lowered his eyes demurely. "Forgive us, Captain. Our people do want peace." Then, looking askance at the Opai, added, "Or some of us do, at least."

"We all want peace," Matt said. "It's just that sometimes, what one of us wants isn't what the others want. We can't always agree, and so we sometimes have to sacrifice some of what we want for the greater good. And, it looks like today, things are moving in the direction of the greater good." He glanced at Xayella and gave her a smile. "Let's go ahead and talk about how to help meet in the middle. We're making good steps in the right direction, and I'd like to see you get all the way there. So, about the ambassadorial positions..."

***

Matt glanced around the room again. They'd done very well in the last couple hours, and had made a good deal of progress. "Let's go ahead and take a thirty minute break, and then we'll come back and keep working toward that lasting peace and the union between our people."

The members of both factions, surprisingly, nodded in agreement without raising a fuss. Xayella raised her eyebrows at Matt in a show of clear surprise, and as the delegates began filing out of the conference chamber, she made her way towards him. "That went surprisingly smoothly today..."

"Indeed," Matt said with a chuckle. "I think, for some reason, that went very well. Maybe if I ever lose my command, I have a future in the Federation diplomatic corps."

Xayella shrugged as she leaned her hip against the table's edge. "Well...as long as there's a position for me as your advisor." She smiled and handed Matt a padd. "I've been writing some notes. Just some observations I've been making. For example, do you notice how Lor'il always glances at Tralena before answering? Talk about deferring to your subordinates."

Matt nodded slowly. "I'd started to pick up on that," he said. "What do you suppose it means? Insecurity or a hidden, secret chain of command?"

"Hard to say," she replied. "I don't really know much about the intricacies of their faction's practices to speculate on that." She smiled smugly. "But it's always nice to think there's a woman running things."

Matt laughed. "Figures you'd say that," he said. "Their cultural intricacies are enough to give you a headache."

"At least it wasn't their bickering doing just that," she quipped. "They were surprisingly reasonable today. I think you've managed to tame them." Grinning, she whispered, "You have a knack with that."

Matt slid a hand along the back of Xay's thigh. "I do, don't I," he said. "So, what is my secret?"

Xayella chuckled. "I think it's that boyish smile. You can charm anyone with that." She playfully swatted Matt's hand as it inched higher, and stepped out of reach. "You really like this standard uniform variant don't you?"

"It's a nice uniform," Matt said with a smile. "And, it looks very nice on you. Not often I get to see those legs while on duty."

"You and everyone else in the room?" She glanced back at where Saavar was still seated, looking to be tapping something into his padd. "So," she whispered, giving Matt a desirous smile, "do you think we can escape for a while?"

"We've still got a little time," Matt said with a grin. "I think we can slip down the hall into one of those empty rooms. How does that sound?"

Xayella leaned in closer, just enough to brush her hand against his groin. "Sounds perfect," she cooed. "What about him, though?"

"I think he can watch things here," Matt whispered. "Unless you meant you wanted to bring him along." He gave her a teasing smile. "Shouldn't be a problem, my dear."

"Good," she replied with a slight purr in her voice. "I'll meet you there, then. You can take care of the bothersome Vulcan." Inconspicuously, she puckered her lips in a mimed kiss, then smiled silkily and sauntered away.

***

As Xayella slipped out of the room, one of the Opai, a large man with a wide smile and even wider forehead, disengaged from the conversation he was involved in, and with a hearty laugh approached the Starfleet human woman. "Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh," he said in his deep voice. "I must say that you look lovely today in that teal, black, and...legs."

Her eyes widened briefly, but Xayella recovered with a friendly smile. "Thank you, Minister...Da'rel, is it?"

"That is correct," he said, giving her a slight bow. "Onso Da'rel, and while we are out here, you must call me Onso. I am only Minister Da'rel when I am working, and as Dalil V'ril taught us, it is nearly a crime to work with such beautiful ladies around."

Xayella chuckled politely. She suddenly felt very greasy just being around the minister... "Well, there is much to be done, Minister Da'rel. So much, in fact, that I don't believe there is time to spare for charming attractive females."

"Of course," Onso said. "I do apologize if I have offended. I merely wished to discuss a...a, uh, small matter with you. Though, I do not know if it will truly have any impact on the proceedings, but..." He gave her a sheepish smile. "I had to try."

"You would not be a member of a political delegation, Minister, if you did not know how to be offensive," she teased. "So, you are forgiven."

He gave her another bow. "Thank you very much," he said. "It...it has to do with our appreciation of your efforts to help our people. Is there a place we might speak in private?"

"I'm not sure..." she answered uncertainly. "I was supposed to be meeting privately with the captain." Xayella glanced back at the closed doors of the conference chambers, and seeing as Matt had yet to leave, she sighed and smiled tightly at the minister. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize the negotiations by being rude to one of the faction representatives. "I think a short meeting would be fine, Minister. Please, follow me."

"Of course," he said. As he fell in behind her, he surreptitiously nodded to one of his compatriots. The small smile she gave him told him everything was proceeding. "I wouldn't bother you if we didn't feel this extremely important, Lieutenant Xayella. But...expressing our appreciation is a very important matter for my people."

"It is for most cultures," she replied. "But for yours as well, I see that expressing verbally most everything is also important. Do you always argue so heatedly?"

"We are a passionate people," Onso said. "The things we believe in, it is necessary for us to passionately defend them against those who passionately oppose them. I would not go as far as saying that we are enemies...just that we hold different ideals closer to our hearts. Do you have anything which relates to that, Lieutenant?"

"Not me," she said. "But Captain Salinger is like that. He's the tragic optimist. No matter how dire a situation may seem, he'll always believe there's a way out of it." She smiled fondly. "He's the opposite of me, actually. I guess that's why we get along so well."

"Very interesting," Onso said with a smile. "I can see you like him very much. The secret looks. The way you sit in his presence. The subtle clues are there."

Xayella's smile gave nothing away, but the lovestruck look in her green eyes was difficult to conceal. "I have no idea what clues you are referring to, Minister. He is my superior officer, nothing more." She shot Onso a playful grin as she added, "I imagine you're glad about that. It means you get to admire my legs without worrying about stepping on the Captain's toes."

"And very nice legs they are," Onso said. "And, I know these sorts of things...picking up the signs. Don't worry, I won't tell. But your...relationship makes this...little project much easier."

"Project?" Xayella halted in the secluded corridor and turned to regard the minister, with arms folded sternly across her chest. "What do you mean, Minister?"

"Captain Salinger, with his wise words and...tragic optimism, has brought my people closer than we have ever been in our history. We would like to thank him and the kind generousity of the Federation, though...we will need a time in which we can plan a small...party for him. However we wish for it to be a surprise."

"A surprise party?" she repeated, slightly skeptical. "For Matt? But the negotiations haven't even ended yet, and your people not even joined to the Federation. Isn't planning a party slightly premature?"

"Perhaps," he said. "But, it can't hurt to plan in advance, can it. And, with the progress made today, I imagine it will not be long before we can celebrate."

Xayella shrugged lightly, and smiled at the man. "Well...a party is never a bad thing. What do you need from me?"

"Well, for starters, we'll need to keep it a secret, and we'll need to figure out how to plan it without him suspecting. Are you willing to help? I am certain the look on his face will be quite priceless when we surprise him..."

"I...guess I could help," she replied uncertainly. "All I would have to do is keep him from finding out, right?"

"Exactly," Onso said with a smile. "And, it would also be helpful to have some information to help facilitate the planning of the party. Best times and the like."

"Well...we normally get to bed around 23h00, after we go out for dinner and just whatever else we feel like doing. I guess the best time would be around 20h00, during dinner." She smiled at the man. "Does that help?"

"It helps very much," he said. "I'll make sure to talk to you if I need anything else. This will be a party to remember, my dear."

"I hope so," she replied with an forced chuckle. "Just...don't forget to invite us."

He gave her another bow. "Of course not," he said. "You will be the most important ones there. Forgetting you...would be unthinkable."

Xayella gave her most enchanting smile to the Ryuck minister. "Well, I should be returning. The captain will be expecting me. And I promise," she added, "I won't say a word."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Onso said. "I knew I could count on you."

"I'm a Starfleet officer, Minister. We aim to please." She offered him a dainty, little wave, then started back down the corridor. She had a distinct feeling that his eyes where not where they should have been, but at least she could report to Matt that the Farehn'ti males were just as lewd as human males. At least they had something in common...

***

Once Xayella had stepped out, Matt turned his attention to the Vulcan at the other end of the table. He approached slowly at first, and once Saavar looked up, quickly closed the distance. "Well, Mr. Saavar, what do you think?"

"The talks are progressing well, Captain," Saavar replied with a slight smile. "As I predicted earlier, the Opai reversed their stance and the Ryuck countered. We have reached a concurrence - the pattern appears to be accurate. You are being used as a foil for their arguments, and as such the talks are hastening in pace. I think that both factions are balancing several aspects of their culture in the by-play of their discussions. For example, the by-play between the male-female duos in each party. The male Opai gives a positive response and the male Ryuck gives the negative reaction, to which the female Ryuck offers a secondary positive which is immediately countered by a negative of the Opai female. They play in opposites until a balanced situation occurs. You are the equalizer captain - they present chaos and you bring order. It is their way it seems."

Matt nodded. "There is a certain method to their madness," he agreed. "However, I do believe you are applying too much logic and order to a chaotic and non-orderly process. There may seem to be a predictability to their actions, but you seem to be implying there is some sort of tactical process they are going through...something they've all planned and orchestrated."

Saavar gave a very Human shrug as he said, "I do not believe that 'too much logic' can be applied, Captain - after all that is the Vulcan way of life. A patterned or learned response may be instinctive - they do not have to plan or orchestrate their diplomacy to follow a pattern of Behaviour that may well have developed as a racial survival trait. The factions have been through eons of conflict, Captain, and they have developed ways of dealing with that."

Matt chuckled. "Be that as it may, I do believe that these groups will manage to surprise us before everything is done. They may be predictable, but I don't believe that pattern is unalterable. Remember, Saavar, these people are far more like humans than Vulcans."

Saavar smiled at that. "I believe that is a typical Human understatement, sir," he replied. "I am simply applying my training to the situation and trusting that your own Human capacity to adapt to rapid change will be able to win through to the conclusion that we all desire." He looked back at the padd in his hands as he said, "In some ways, Captain, I am typical of most Vulcans - I find it difficult to adapt to non-logical situations quickly." He looked back after making the assessment of one of his weaknesses. "I find Humans to be typically non-logical." His eyes flickered to the empty doorway where Xayella had left the room. "But I will persevere, Captain."

"I have no doubt you will, Mr. Saavar," Matt said. "And, I trust that the Farehn'ti will show us all a thing or two about non-logical thought, but together I believe we can adapt to the changing situation."

"In that I have no doubts, Captain. I must compliment you on your own performance, sir - indeed my initial assessment that this diplomatic exchange would be valuable to me has been correct. I have learned a great deal, not just in relation to the Farehn'ti."

Matt nodded. "I believe by the time we all put these negotiations behind us, we'll all have learned a few things. It's not often that I'm called upon for this sort of exchange. Without good people behind me, I don't know if we'd be doing as well as we are."

"I am sure the crew of the Sulu will perform as required," Saavar replied. "Sir...now that the diplomatic danger is all but over...how goes the murder investigation?"

"It's progressing," Matt answered. "Though, each time the team thinks they've found a new lead, something else seems to pop up. Something doesn't seem right about the whole thing, but it's figuring out what isn't right and proving it that's difficult."

Saavar nodded. He understood little about criminal investigation, and was sure that the Security Officers aboard the Sulu would be following every clue. "It would seem logical to investigate those who may benefit from a failure of these talks," the Vulcan replied. "I do not enjoy the possibility that a Starfleet Officer may be the culprit."

"None of us do," Matt said. "Though, the officer in question has had trouble in the past. We'll see how it turns out."

"I am sure that we will conclude the investigation with as much success as these diplomatic talks. I must thank you again, Captain, for allowing me to witness this exchange. So often I have participated in lingual projects for other contact situations - but almost always after the fact or at a distance. My observations here will be documented and added to the Sulu's contribution to our knowledge of this culture. It is a very small part - but it is important to me that I contribute."

"Your observations will be appreciated," Matt said. "Not just by myself, but by the Federation teams that will go to Farehn when we are finished here. We're doing some good work here."

Before Saavar could respond, the door opened and the Farehn'ti delegation began returning. Matt gave the Vulcan a smile, and started to make his way back to his chair. He only hoped the rest of the day would be as productive as what they'd already been through.

---

"Meeting in Shadow"
By: Malthus [NPC]
Other unseen participants [NPC+]

Location: Unknown
Stardate 57907.08, 10h00

***

The room was darkened, save for the dim glow of light coming from a fixture embedded in the center of the ceiling. His employers always liked it dark, and they always made sure he was blindfolded when transported to the meetings; he imagined anonymity was a large priority for them - they hadn't even given him their names, save for the leader. All he knew was that they were wealthy and they were Cardassians - dangerous ones, judging from what they'd had done to the Ktarian ambassador. He knew not to question their precautions, no matter how curious he was to catch just a glimpse of what they looked like; though considering it would make him a liability if people started asking questions, he was satisfied not knowing.

He was led to the center of the room, standing just at the edge of the pool of illumination cast upon the floor, and conveniently enough in just the right position to have the angle of intense light fall directly into his eyes and blind him. His employers certainly did cherish their secrecy.

"Ah, Mister Malthus," the one he'd come to identify as the leader began, "it is so good to see you again." The man at the desk shifted in his seat - Malthus could hear the hide covering creak as he moved. "What have you to report for us?"

The Ferengi gave an obsequious bow. "Great leader," he said. "Everything goes as you've planned it. The clues have been placed, as you commanded. And, the Starfleet hu-mons are sniffing exactly as you said they would. So predictable. The one hu-mon specifically."

"Oh?" The man paused, intrigued. "And which would that be, my valued associate?"

Malthus shuffled forward a couple steps. "The one they call...Farrell," he said, tongue flicking over pointed teeth. "He...he confronted me, used a clothed hu-mon female to entice me. But he still believes as you wish him to. He is one of the Federation investigators, and he is finding all the...clues we have left for him. Most thorough, most...gullible."

Unseen fingers drummed against the desktop, then the sound of flesh sliding against flesh followed as the concealed man laced his fingers and rested his folded hands atop the surface. "I have always thought Starfleet was rife with naive, gullible fools. I am glad you have proven me right. You will continue to lead this man further down the path he is heading. We are not quite finished here yet, and it is imperative they all remain oblivious truth."

Malthus bowed once more. "Of course," he said. He looked up once more, and took a shuffling step backwards. "There is one other small matter, that I must speak with you regarding..." He searched his memories for the name he'd been given on their very first meeting. He smiled when he managed to find it. "Gul Tamor, I wish to speak to you...about payment. The money you have paid me is sufficient for the first part of the job, but my continued involvement...it will require an additional...twenty bars."

"Fifteen," the man countered languidly. "Don't try to cheat me, Ferengi. You've seen the reach of my power; it is not wise to anger me."

"Fifteen," Malthus said. He smiled then. "You have helped me to prove a theory that I was never quite certain of. Rule Two Eighty-Four claims that deep down everyone is a Ferengi, and...now I know that to be true."

A dry, prolonged chuckle came from the hidden man, but even though he could not be seen, the sound alone suggested he was not smiling. "I'm flattered, Mr. Malthus. Now, go."

"Of course," Malthus answered, then after another bow, he turned and fled the room.

"You know," the dark man mused, "I have found a fondness for dealing with Ferengi. They are particularly susceptible to intimidation."

A basso laugh followed as another figure emerged from the darkness. "Especially when suggestions of bodily harm to those ridiculous ears. That one is particularly cowardly...and their greed is unparalleled."

"Fortunately for us," the leader said. "All he's interested in is latinum; he doesn't ask questions. A preferable ally." He paused in quiet contemplation, then sighed. "How is our guest? Is she comfortable?"

"Quite comfortable. She eats like a soldier and she seems very interested in showing off her scarring to all of our men. Those tattoos seem to be some sort of prize to her."

"Well, I'm glad she's enjoying herself," the man said with a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone. "She has proven useful to us thus far. We must keep her well protected."

"I have doubled the guards placed on her. We have also placed her within an area protected with a transport inhibitor, just in case the Federation would manage to track her escape and her presence here."

"Good," the man answered, nodding. "This is all coming along nicely. I had no idea the Federation would be this easy to manipulate." He chuckled deeply and with sinister mirth. "This has been a fortuitous opportunity indeed."

Another basso laugh. "And, they thought us so weak and helpless. They will see the truth."

"Yes," the man in shadows replied. "And when we strike next, they will know to fear us." He sighed, content with their progress, and again the sound of leather stretching cut through the silence as the man known as Gul Tamor relaxed against the back of his chair.

Their plan was underway and proceeding without a hitch, courtesy of Collins and easily swayed Starfleet officers who were too foolish to see they were being misled. Though, he was willing to take some of the credit for that. No matter what factor had contributed most to their inevitable success, however, he was certain their victory would be a swift one, and would teach the Federation not to meddle in the affairs of people more powerful than they could ever be.

---

"Mentally Yours"
By: Ensign Ainsley Chambers; Counselor
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu; Counseling Office
Stardate: 57907.08; 10h00

***

Mason stopped outside Counseling without ringing the doorchime. He rubbed his temples with fatigue, staring at the door. He hadn't slept more than a few hours at a time for the last couple of days, and was bottoming out. The last thing he really needed was a sparring match with a counselor. But Ainsley had been friendly, at least. Maybe this would just be a quick formality. He took a deep breath, and tapped the chime.

Ainsley looked up from the PADD that she had been reading, she wasn't expecting anyone. She'd just finished reviewing some files a little earlier, now she was taking a break and looking at some material for an introductory course in the Risan language. She placed the PADD down and called, "Enter."

Just before the man stepped through the door she remembered that Mason was to be stopping by today. She stood up and flashed him a smile and he entered the room. "Hi!"

Mason smiled back. "Good morning. How are things?" He glanced at a chair.

"Things are good!" she replied. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea?"

"Coffee. Please," he said as he sat.

She got each of them a coffee and then took a seat behind her desk again. "Well, I've read your evaluation from the Ranger."

"You're going to make me lay on the couch, aren't you?" Mason asked rhetorically, smiling as he sipped his coffee.

Ainsley grinned at him. "Nah...you're not that crazy! Lieutenant Runis from the Ranger had nothing but excellent comments. Other than the one incident before arriving on the Ranger, you have an excellent service record." She looked up at him for a moment. The incident of insubordination onboard Starbase 242 was not something that she really considered relevant after so much time. Not when there had not been any other problems since, but if something were to come up now then she might look into it a little more.

"That's a relief. I was afraid you'd be Lieutenant Runis all over again. I went over Starbase 242 ad nauseam with her. I'm glad it's finally falling behind me a bit."

Ainsley nodded. "It's been long enough now, and you've been a model officer during that time. I see no point in bringing it up... Unless there is anything else that you need to add to what I would have read from her."

"If I think of anything, I'll call Ensign F'zal," Farrell smiled.

Ainsley looked up at him from her coffee that she had been studying. "Ensign F'zal? Why?" He didn't want her to be his counselor?

"Because I'd like to take you dancing sometime, and that would hardly be appropriate if you were my therapist." He finished his coffee and set down his mug.

"Oh!" Ainsley replied, a little shocked for a moment. "That sounds like fun!" she finished after a moment's thought.

"Good," smiled Farrell. "So do I pass muster?"

Ainsley grinned again. "Yep, you pass."

"You're a gem." Farrell stood and straightened his uniform jacket. "I'll call you, then?"

"Sure...that sounds good," Ainsley replied, getting to her feet as well. "I'll approve your psych eval and you wont have to see the inside of a counseling office for awhile." She smiled as she finished.

"Thank you, Counselor." Farrell turned for the door. He stopped as it was opening, and turned back, shaking his head. Then, with his best smile, "Thank you, Ainsley."

And he was gone.

---

"Settling In"
By: Crewman Emma Summers - Medical Technician/Counsellor

Location: USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.08 11h30

***

Emma Summers dropped her kit bag on the lower bunk of the shared crew quarters. There was signs that the upper bunk was being used, and make-up and clothing draped on the vanity unit. Another female to share with. She hated that. Of course she was used to having her own quarters - but that was best forgotten now. She was a crewman.

It didn't take long to square away her things. She had to report for active duty tomorrow. That left the remainder of the day - and she could easily visit Risa. The thought of tasting the Risan passions was tempting. It wouldn't be something Emma Summers would do. She decided to take a shower and then have a walk around her new ship - just the thing a fresh crewman would do. Of course she'd visit sickbay. There was also the obligatory visit to the ship's counsellor. That had to be taken care of as soon as possible. Today would be best.

First day nerves counted for a lot of things - she stepped to the desk terminal and asked for an appointment with the senior counsellor. She was Human - there was no way Emma was going to see a Betazoid Counsellor. Brennyn Mackenzie Scott. She accessed the woman's personnel file using her medical access code. Running her eyes down the data she made sure that she knew the woman - or at least as much of her as could be gleaned from a file. The first thing that stood out was that she was interested in forensic psychology - a profiler!

Emma grinned. That was useful. All she had to do was allow the woman to build a completely false psychological profile of her and then use that to her own advantage.

Emma smiled as she read. Like Emma, Brennyn was a Starfleet brat. Raised in a privileged lifestyle - where Emma was an orphan to an accident, Brennyn was orphaned by the Cardassians - that was interesting. Emma decided that she would express a similar emotional connection - perhaps a close friend.. that would take a little invention, but she would be able to relate - Emma did hate the Cardassians for other reasons.

Satisfied that she would be prepared for their appointment she decided to explore her surroundings. It was Alpha shift and the absence of the woman in her quarters would mean that she was on Alpha. A discarded uniform shirt lay on the floor - it was yellow. The collar pin was still attached - crewman second class. She dropped it where it had lain and pulled open her drawers. Clothing and a few personal affects - lingerie, perfumes, make-up - photos. An attractive man with his arms around a young girl - both grinning. Father and daughter. Academy graduation photo - attractive young woman - older than the other photo, but the same girl. Dark raven hair and blue eyes, human. A padd lay on the top bunk - shift schedules for Alpha Operations and a task list - Shayla Morgan.

"Computer, location of Crewman Shayla Morgan." Emma tossed the padd back.

"Crewman Shalya Morgan is in Main Engineering." The computer responded in the same voice - no matter which Starfleet vessel you served on.

Emma nodded absently to herself as she went through her locker. A diary... She flipped through a few pages, reading boring entries that told of work, and shore leave, and an infatuation with a fellow operations officer...Mason Farrell... A lot about her dreams...all written in a neat script. She replaced it as she'd found it. Nothing else of interest..

Bored already, she had her shower. The sonic vibrations were always pleasurable, and Emma had always preferred a sonic shower to the water kind. That was a personal preference that 'Emma' had to get used to - she liked bathing in a bath full of hot soapy water.

Afterward she dressed in casual clothing. A long dress that covered her loosely and hid her figure effectively was chosen over the red sheath that she really wanted to wear. She was the shy type - not one to call undue attention to herself. Boots and a loose jacket finished it off. She slipped the comm-badge into a pocket and tied her hair up in a pony-tail. She wore no make-up. She looked at the final image in the mirror and screwed up her face in a scowl of disgust! God she looked like a drab-nobody!

Perfect. She grinned. Time to explore.

---

"Truth and Consequences"
By: Lieutenant (j.g.) Michael Ashbury; Engineering Officer
Lieutenant (j.g.) Samantha Ashbury; Science Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu; Ashbury Quarters
Stardate: 57907.08; 12h00

***

Michael looked askance at his wife, then cleared his throat. Lunch was noticeably cold; even Madison, who could be utterly oblivious to events around her at times, was keeping quiet today. Apparently, his wife had decided that the 'forgive and make up part' hadn't arrived quite yet. That may have been due to the fact that she was still a bit upset with her husband or because she'd hardly slept. Either way, Sam Ashbury wasn't exactly happy at the moment.

"Should I clean up?" he asked cautiously and got a dagger stare as a result. "What did I say?" he asked defensively to Madison, who stifled a giggle. The door chimed, saving Sam the indignity of having to answer.

Standing at the door was an officer who could not be identified because he was carrying one of the biggest flower arrangements Sam had ever seen. A riot of gorgeous color, there was a "Thank You" banner nestled nicely among the blossoms.

"Hello," came the distinctive twang of Ensign Farrell. He craned his neck around the foliage. "I have a delivery here for Lieutenant Samantha Ashbury. Do you have somewhere I can put these down?"

Sam stood up, putting her napkin on the table and throwing a suspicious glance at her husband. He shrugged innocently as if to say, 'It wasn't me.'

"Over here," she said with curiosity, gesturing to the coffee table that sat off to one side of the cabinet in front of the sofa.

Farrell moved into the room, set the monstrous bouquet on the cabinet, and stepped back to look at it. He leaned forward, turned it slightly to catch light, and stepped back again. Satisfied, he turned to the Lieutenants Ashbury.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" He addressed Sam directly, smiling at the formality.

"By all means." Sam was definitely curious now.

"Thank you," Farrell drawled. "My granddad had a policy. Whenever he got on my abuela's bad side, which was pretty often, he'd get her the biggest bunch of flowers he could find to lead off his apology. Thus..." He indicated the flowers, smiling tentatively. The bouquet was already scenting the room.

"So I'd like to first thank you for the loan of your husband, ma'am," he continued, "and then apologize for the way I returned him. I'm sorry for any anxiety I may have caused your family."

Michael stood up from the table while Madison looked on with curiosity. "What was it all about anyway?" he asked. "I assume things worked out okay if you're here?"

Farrell smiled genuinely. "At this point, things seem to be working out alright. So I'll tell you the story, if you'd like. May I sit?"

"Please do," Sam said, taking a seat across from Farrell on the couch. Madison scooted down from the table and, with Ash, disappeared into her bedroom. Michael took a seat beside his wife.

"Thank you." Farrell sat on the couch with a sigh. He seemed tired. "Yesterday--" He paused and thought. "No, the day before yesterday, Lieutenant Sam and I were tasked with determining if there had been a relationship between Collins and the ambassador prior to the murder. During our analysis, we found that she had met a certain Ferengi named Malthus several times at different places. So we decided to track him down.

"According to a, uhm" --Farrell paused for a moment and glanced toward Madison's room-- "co-worker of his, Malthus hadn't been coming to work, but would probably be at a local street race being held the next night. Last night; this morning.

"We decided to see if we could contact him at the race without scaring him off. The co-worker we spoke to said Starfleet made him nervous. In order to ease our way into his attentions, we decided to compete. I found a decent used flybike, and that's when I called you." He nodded to Michael. "Your husband's a fine mechanic," he quipped to Sam with a smile. "But you knew that."

"Yes," Sam said softly with an apologetic look at her husband. "He can fix just about anything, I've noticed." She turned her attention back to Farrell. "You got the bike, competed with it and I assume things went okay?"

"They did. To be honest, though, I wasn't sure how it was all going to work out. Malthus was the random factor. If he hadn't gone for Nathalie..." he trailed off and shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Plan 'B' was a little questionable, and if I had to use it I wanted as few other officers implicated as possible. So I kept Michael in the dark as much as I could about what was going on."

"What was the connection between Malthus and Collins?" Sam asked intently. "We've found some interesting residue at the murder scene and, so far, we haven't been able to find out what it is."

Farrell smiled. "There wasn't much, as it turned out. Malthus was stalking Collins. He was trying to get her interested in him romantically, and failing. But it turns out he did see a shadow moving around in her rental bungalow prior to her arrival home that evening, which is a good fact to know. Then she came home and beat him up, and he ran away and hid. When her arrest hit the news, he got nervous that Starfleet would come after him, so he quit going to work. He never thought Starfleet would connect him to the street races, let alone actually approach him at one. A heretofore unused benefit of Starfleet's sterling reputation," he finished with a wink. "What sort of residue did you find?" he asked Sam.

"We're not sure what it is yet," Sam said. "At first we thought it was something similar to glycine. Turns out it's so complex the transporter used glycine as the closest available reference. It's so complicated there's nothing like it in either the Federation, Starfleet, or Vulcan databases. We're even checking with the Klingons and Romulans but so far, nothing."

"The transporter mutated it?" Farrell asked.

"Not mutated in the usual sense. Rather the molecular structure is so complex, the transporter had no available reference with which to reassemble it in the buffers. So it used the closest thing it could find, which happened to be glycine."

"So whatever it was, it wasn't human?"

"I doubt it," Sam said. "We're not sure yet but that much silicate in a normal human should kill us. If they were genetically altered, it might be possible but even then, it doesn't seem very likely."

"What could it have been?" Farrell was polite, but deeply intrigued. "What sort of siliconoid races are out there? Tholians?" he offered, clearly doubting his own opinion.

"No, not Tholians," Sam replied. "There are only a handful of known siliconoid sentients in the Alpha quadrant with advanced technology. The Kel'urt, the Sheliak, the Palak, a couple of others. Most of them are also extremely xenophobic; we know next to nothing about them."

Farrell nodded thoughtfully. Then smiled. "Well, I'll let y'all get back to your lunch."

"Thanks for telling us," Michael said with a grin. Sam shot an apologetic look at her husband.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Farrell shook his head slightly. "Not at all, ma'am. Thank you for the loan of such a fine mechanic." He rose from the couch. "I'll let you two finish," he said, indicating the table.

Sam and Michael both rose to see Farrell to the door.

"Thank you," Sam said again. "I appreciate knowing what happened."

Farrell stopped in the doorway and turned back to the pair. "I told Michael this before, and I'll tell you both now. I owe you both for the work Michael did on that flybike. If there's ever anything I can do for either of you, just say the word."

And with a wink and a smile, he was gone.

---

"Captivity or Freedom?"
by Ensign Andrea Collins

Location: Unknown
Stardate: 57907.08, 12h15

***

"Fortunately for us," the leader said. "All he's interested in is latinum; he doesn't ask questions. A preferable ally." He paused in quiet contemplation, then sighed. "How is our guest? Is she comfortable?"

"Quite comfortable. She eats like a soldier and she seems very interested in showing off her scarring to all of our men. Those tattoos seem to be some sort of prize to her."

"Well, I'm glad she's enjoying herself," the man said with a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone. "She has proven useful to us thus far. We must keep her well protected."

"I have doubled the guards placed on her. We have also placed her within an area protected with a transport inhibitor, just in case the Federation would manage to track her escape and her presence here."

***

Another prison. Sure, these people seemed to like her, they even allowed her a little more freedom, but it was still a prison and something she despised. It was only a prison because of the fact that she was again in a cell.

What is going on? I have a brief affair with someone, he dies right after I've left his room and I'm not only accused of murder but then someone decides to help me escape, after I'd already been considering doing so, and keep me locked up as though I was still a prisoner?

If she was being used, she didn't like it. She hated being used, in any way, shape or form. To her it was the worst thing a being could do to another: use them for their own gain.

Andrea was having a good time and, yes, she was showing off her tattoos. Well, most of them. She didn't show off all of the one on her chest, just most of it. The show-n-tell session started only when one of her 'guards' noticed the tat on her back through the sheer part of her top.

She didn't like playing the coquette, she just wasn't very good at it. She despised those who were outrageous flirts, but she had to pretend if she was going to get the job done, at least, after she'd been raped.

A jail was a jail was a jail. No matter how pretty or comfortable it was, it was still a cell. She sat down on the bunk that was to be her bed, then laid back on it, and fell asleep.

---

"Unpleasant Surprises"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: Mess Hall, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.08, 12h30

***

Still numb and going through the motions of her day without really living it, Lyrr Tayla strode into the mess hall and made directly for the the replicator terminal. Sean was gone, and it would take days, maybe weeks to truly heal from that. It was obvious from the ache in her chest that that day had yet to come.

Even with as detached as she was, she was still aware enough to detect the odour wafting about the mess, and to know that whatever the cook had brewing didn't smell at all appetizing. A replicated meal would likely be a lot safer.

"Oh, Commander," crewman Nebbs called from behind his counter. "I've got something for you."

Lyrr looked over her shoulder at the man, appearing quizzical at first, then impassive. She sighed and, abandoning her lunchtime order for now, she made her way towards the crewman. "If it's whatever you've got putrefying in that pot..." she warned, but left her threat unspoken.

Nebbs chuckled as he reached under the counter and set a food storage unit atop the surface. "It's a gift, I guess," he shrugged. "There's a note" --he offered her an envelope-- "but it's sealed."

The envelope read: "For the Commander's Lunch."

Lyrr raised an eyebrow at Nebbs, looked the box over, then smiled her thanks wanly and walked slowly to the nearest vacant table. She set the box down upon the tabletop and regarded it with mild curiousity. She had no time for games, and wasn't one to let the suspense build for too long, so she proceeded to open her gift.

As the top folded back, a familiar and lovely aroma wafted into the messhall air. Hasperat. It was a hasperat. And smelled spicy enough to melt ferrocrete.

A smile tugged at her lips and her heart at once began to race. The first thought to come to mind was that Sean had left her a parting gift, something to remember him by always. If it was true, it might just be the gesture of affection she'd been hoping for from him, one that would settle once and for all her nagging doubts about his feelings for her. Almost giddy with excitement, but not allowing it to overwhelm her, Lyrr hastily tore open the envelope. Within the envelope was a note on a simple piece of paper, one she tugged out with great anticipation. On it was simply:

"Missed you at the party. Thought you might like this. People were fighting over them, but I managed to save you one. Farrell."

Lyrr's hopes were instantly dashed, and it took all her self-restraint to keep from expressing her disappointment and rage in the Mess Hall, in front of the few fellow officers that were there. She felt foolish for convincing herself Sean had been the one to bestow such a personal gift upon her, and enraged that Ensign Farrell would toy with her as he obviously was. Suppressing an anguished cry, Lyrr crushed the note in her fist and tossed it into the box before rushing from the mess hall.

She needed solitude, having been dealt her second heartbreak in two days, and all because she'd deluded herself into believing Sean felt anything for her other than friendship. And Ensign Farrell had inflicted that second blow upon her. She wouldn't discipline or confront him, however; that would be as good as an admission that he'd succeeded in fazing her. She didn't think she was strong enough to engage him in a verbal attack at any rate. Instead, Lyrr headed straight for her quarters and resumed where she had left off last night: crying until she was physically weak, then resisting the urge to tear her quarters apart. After that, she might be able to function normally again. Maybe.

---

"The Lone Songstress"
Ensign Cecily Torsten, Yeoman
Ensign Niesha, Flight Control Officer

Location: USS Sulu,
Stardate: 57907.08, 12h33

***

Cecily stretched tiredly as she eased her sore, stiffened muscles as she swung her feet over the side of her cot, small legs dangling in the air. She had managed to get a good amount of rest after all and she was well refreshed. Grabbing her duffel bag she swung the strap over her shoulder before proceeding to carefully make her way down so that she would not wake Pel'Ga. Torsten's feet had just touched the floor when she heard a pained groan come from the sleeping Klingon who sat up.

"Too much Blood Wine?" Cecily asked out of courtesy. Granted she was known for being quite shy, but even Cecily was known to be a caring sort to those she considered acquaintances. Pel'Ga nodded before shaking her head 'no,' puzzled by the young, smaller human's bravery to speak to a warrior such as herself.

"A word to the wise, small human, don't drink anything made by Tellarites no matter how close they say its taste is to Klingon Blood Wine." Torsten merely nodded, making a mental note in her head.

"I'll be sure to remember that the next time I try sampling any new umm...drinks..." Wringing the strap on her duffel bag, she nodded before leaving. "Uh, take care, um Lady Pel'Ga." Those words said, Cecily left the room, the Klingon not sure whether to be amused or confused by the small Terran's actions.

***

"This is an Intrepid class starship? I never imagined it to be so big...then again the Academy was big too..." Humming to herself the Finnish girl soon found herself to be singing a tune to herself as she walked down the corridors of the Sulu that slowly eased away her anxiousness...her grip loosened on the strap of her duffel bag.

Niesha was having one of those days, those days you just didn't want to start but knew it would take an eternity to finish. It started with her falling out of bed, hitting the floor with a loud thud. From that moment it went from bad to worse. She'd fed Ash with the left-overs of her lunch, lamb chops, finishing it off with some choice meaty chunks from the replicator. Once the wolf was happily sound asleep after his large meal Niesha left him.

She was walking along the corridors of the Sulu, weighing the thought of losing him again, the only real friend she had on this ship. El-Aurians didn't make friends easily; they were 'listeners' and Niesha was no exception in that respect, only there was always that nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Telling her she'd outlive all her friends. It wasn't easy knowing that fact. But she wanted to stay, she wanted to stay in Starfleet and make a home for herself...if possible...

She stopped at hearing something echoing along the corridor, an old Earth song. "Sinatra..." Niesha whispered to herself, remembering the old song, one of the old classics.

"...We'll just glide, starry eyed. Once I get you up there, I'll be holding you so near. You may hear, angels cheer..."

Cecily stopped singing just as she had reached the third verse and spotted a much taller officer in front of her. She had long flowing brown hair and blue eyes and was quite attractive. Torsten smiled as she felt her hand clutching the strap on her duffel bag begin to squeeze it tightly. "He...hello...umm...I...I'm...Ce...Cecily." Cecily didn't mean to stutter in front of the lovely officer; it was a habit she had come to live with herself for quite sometime.

She smiled warmly. "Afternoon... Niesha," she said, nodding at the young ensign as she spoke her name. "It's a welcomed pleasure to hear such a wonderful voice. I didn't know anyone knew those old songs let alone sing them..."

Torsten's grip relaxed slightly as the woman greeted her in return. Her smile was warm and friendly. "Old Blue Eyes is one of my favorite mu...musical artists from the 20th century." Cecily looked down at her boots briefly in shyness before looking back at Niesha. "You, co...could probably say he's one of th...the reasons I took up learning music..."

Niesha nodded. She turned in the direction the young ensign was heading and began to walk with her though slowly. "Learning music?" she said though not really a question. She continued, not giving Cecily the chance to reply seeing how nervous she was acting, even her El-Aurian charm wasn't working. Perhaps I've lost my touch... she thought. "Do you play an instrument...? Have you ever listen to El-Aurian music?"

A happy smile appeared on Cecily's face as Niesha asked her question. Bit by bit she felt more at ease as she continued to talk with the other officer. "I play violin! I can play a different variety of musical themes on the instrument but I've never had much experience with El-Aurian music. I know a few solos though. If you like I could play you a piece sometime?" she asked, looking over to Niesha.

"Solos... That's 'one' kind of El-Aurian music... But have you felt it?" She put some emphasis on the world 'felt.' Of course this type of music was dead now; she didn't know if any El-Aurian with the talent still existed but it was an experience not to be missed. Niesha spent long hours in the holodeck enjoying nothing but the music around her.

Looking at Cecily's puzzled look Niesha's smile widened. "Computer which holodeck is unoccupied?" she asked, looking slightly up at the ceiling of the corridor.

"Holodeck Two is currently unoccupied."

"Care for to follow me, my dear?" she asked, moving her arm over to Cecily, offering to her.

Chuckling Cecily smiled and looped her arm through Niesha's. "But of course. After you!"

They walked along the corridors of the ship, passing several very curious crewman. They finally arrived at the holodeck. Niesha's fingers danced over the controls and selected the program, smiling despite herself. She hadn't run this program for a long while. "Program selected enter when ready," the ship's computer said as the arch door hissed open.

"After you..." Niesha said, unhooking her arm, bowing slightly with her arm reaching out into the dark holodeck. She entered soon after into the huge theatre, the lights were on at the moment but Niesha knew that would soon change. Large pillars lined the outer edges of the ground floor, giving support to the four floors that encircled the large theatre, but it appeared the second floor didn't have seats, which was strange to say the least. The seats were almost like large sofas each with their own foot rests and arm rests made from some of the most comfortable materials.

Niesha looked around while walking along the middle aisle. It ended at the area that dropped down into the floor for the musical band at the foot of the stage. There were two other aisles running diagonally, converging at the stage directly in front of them. There were also large gaps in the flooring like sections had been cut away. Only looking down all there was darkness. The dome glass ceiling had a large painting covering it; it was of space two suns shining brightly against a nebula creating incredible colours.

"Pick whichever seat you want..." Niesha said, smiling at Cecily's reaction to the building.

Walking down the aisles Torsten looked around her, taking in the full view of the building. Cecily's blue eyes went wide as she looked around the large theatre. She remembered seeing some large theatres during her younger years as a child but this place was almost like a palace, a cathedral even. "Wow, this is so...beautiful, no, it's amazing! Which theatre does this represent?" she asked, moving to take a seat on one of the large sofas. Lowering her duffel bag onto the empty sofa next to her she continued to look around still amazed by the magnificent theatre. "So pretty..."

"It's the third largest theatre on El-Auria," Niesha replied, smiling at the memories of being brought here as a child. "But you haven't seen anything yet..." Just then people started to file into the theatre from the three main entrances. More appeared on the higher floors behind them, but the second floor was kept empty. Niesha wasn't sure if Cecily noticed as she was looking seemingly in every direction possible. "The other theatres are more beautiful and if you're lucky I may invite you to see them." Niesha winked at the young ensign as she sat down beside her.

"This theatre in itself is quite magnificent. It surprises me that there could actually be others greater than this." Cecily paused as she noticed the theatre beginning to fill with people from the main entrances. She smiled at Niesha's offer. "I'd really like to see more, thank you." As the room quieted down Cecily leaned back into her seat and waited for the show to begin.

It didn't take long for everyone to get to their seats and once everyone was seated or close to seated the beaming lights from the ceiling dimmed until finally there was nothing but darkness. "I hope you enjoy..." Niesha whispered closely to Cecily's left ear. It was then it started.

Light was cast on the stage as a single figure appeared, an El-Aurian woman with swaying black hair along her back held in place by a white hair clip designed to match her lush dress. The white dress she wore hugged her every curve; silver patterns ran down the sides of the dress and along the front from her right hip up diagonally to her left shoulder. She held what appeared to be a violin and pressed it up against her cheek. There was a short moment before the music started. The music from the woman was breathtaking; the size of the theatre seemed to intensify it.

Cecily leaned forward in her seat slightly as she listened to the amazing solo the El-Aurian woman played on her violin. She recalled some pieces of El-Aurian music herself before, but none like that which she was hearing now. The notes from performer's violin seemed to float on air as she played, the music appearing as though it carried a life of its own. Leaning back against her seat she whispered to Niesha, "So full of life. What song is it?"

"It's a story..." Niesha whispered. "Of love...loss...and passion..." The violin music grew suddenly quiet. The whispers carried around the theatre, then flutes appeared or rather were heard. They were faint at first, like the violin player, but slowly grew in volume until they overtook the violin or they made it seem so until the violin player brought all the attention back on her.

At the moment everyone's eyes were on the young woman playing alone on the stage, who must have had nerves of steel having everyone looking at her. It was then that movement could be seen in the darkness of the second floor around the theatre. Men and women appeared all holding flutes, trumpets and other wind instruments of various kinds.

They all played at once, accompanying the violinist. It was an amazing feeling; the music seemed to flow through her. Niesha looked to her side and saw the look of amazement on Cecily's face as she looked up around her, seeing and hearing them.

Cecily smiled as she reached up with her hand to wipe a tear from her eye; the music were as though it wasn't just music but emotions played through the story of song. It felt as though the song itself could touch the soul. She looked over at Niesha and mimed an "I'm okay" look to her before turning to listen to the music.

It became quiet once more, the wind instruments softening to just a whisper on the background while the violinist continued playing at a slower pace, the pace of loss and sadness that filled the air with its heartache. This continued for several minutes. Niesha had heard this song more times than she could remember; it had been her mother's favorite, she'd even played it to them herself. She was an incredible violinist. But no longer... Now she was only a distant memory...

A tear appeared in her eye. Her eyes blinked and the tear fell, catching her cheek, running down the side of her face. Niesha never noticed it as she was lost to memories and music.

Cecily glanced over briefly in Niesha's direction and noticed the tear that ran down the side of her face. The song's story or the song itself, even, must have held some sort of significance to invoke the action from her.

The music picked up once again but this time drums boomed out almost like they were attempting to shake the building down, a battle. The drums accompanied the drowned violinist along with the wind instruments around them. The music continued with a thundering pace, then voices appeared. A choir singing words lost in translation as they were speaking El-Aurian. The voices were soft but still could be heard. They appeared from the back of the theatre walking along the three aisles.

Dressed in white dresses that swayed at the bottom, thin silk fabric, some parts of the dress see-through. The choir walked along the main aisle, passing Niesha's seat. They never looked at those sitting around them, their eyes were fixed on a point in front of them. More instruments accompanied those playing, some appearing in the free spaces on the second floor while others appeared in a small area at the base of the stage.

Watching briefly with intent, Cecily watched as the choir walked along the main aisle. Their attention seemed as though focused on some unseen journey ahead of them. Her ears instantly caught wind of more instruments as she turned to sit back.

Once more the music faded down until only the violinist was playing along with the choir, their voices speaking and moving seemingly as one. Niesha looked up at the glass ceiling. She touched Cecily's hand and nodded for her to look up. They both watched as streaks of colours flew overhead. They were holographic but none of that mattered; it was a brilliant show of light and colour. Some of the streaks collided, exploding, sending ripples out across the huge expanse within the theatre.

The music grew once more, the colours above mimicking the music in their own way. An explosion for the drums beating, becoming more brilliant and colorful the louder the drums were. The streaks of the light changed colours with the music - greens, blue, yellow, orange and colours that denied themselves description. Niesha smiled, enjoying this more than she remembered. It was incredible how easily it was to lose yourself with the music and colours, and enjoying it with someone else and not alone made it ever more special.

It seemed as though the theatre itself had been bathed in a literal rainbow of colours of all kinds, their beauty combined with the brilliance of the music playing within. Cecily smiled, a wide grin across her face as she enjoyed the wonderfully amazing show. She could understand now what Niesha meant by one had to really feel El-Aurian music to truly enjoy it. The memory of this event would be not forgotten to her.

The music and colours above exploded as one in a brilliant ocean of colour and sound, then just as suddenly the music started to die down, signaling the closing end. The colours faded into the background until the theatre was dark once more with the single light cast down on the stage where the single violinist was playing. All that was left was the choir singing in the background, accompanying the violinist who was finishing off the music with incredible grace and style. The whole theatre roared with cheer and applause once the violinist finished, lowering the violin. The crowd stood, first only a few then more and more. Dozens turned to hundreds and within a second the whole crowd, including Niesha, were giving the holographic characters a standing ovation.

Cecily quickly rose to her feet as the theatre's patrons applauded the performance. Thinking nothing of it Torsten put her fingers to her lips and whistled in appreciation before she started to clap again on applauding the wonderful performance. "Bravo! Bravo!" She was certain her language was possibly foreign to them but she could care less; they had been given a grand show, and Cecily wanted to show her enjoyment in the performance given by the performers.

The applause slowly died down and everyone began to file out of the theatre, all, that, is apart from Niesha and Cecily. Niesha watched the crowd leave. They were talking about the show, how much they enjoyed it, the colours, the sounds. Niesha just smiled, sitting back on her chair, leaning back, sighing to herself. "Never changes..." she whispered. "I hope you enjoyed it..."

Leaning back in her chair Torsten looked to Niesha and smiled. "Very much so. I see what you mean by one must truly experience El-Aurian music in order to fully enjoy it. Thank you for sharing this with me and if I can repay you in return for the kind gesture, please feel free to come and listen to me play..." Cecily rubbed the back of her head shyly as she continued, "I may not be as majestic as this violinist but I'm sure you'd enjoy the music."

"I'd like that..." Niesha replied warmly with a smile to match. "I'd like that a lot. You choose the time and place." It had taken a while to finally find a friend on the Sulu. Perhaps this was as good a time as any to start over. She felt something she hadn't felt in a long time... Hope...

---

"Legend"
by Ensign Ainsley Chambers

Location: Counsellor Chambers' Office
Stardate 57907.08, 12h45

***

Ainsley sat at her desk going over the daily news on her computer. As she scrolled through the titles not a lot caught her attention. She skimmed through an article about the Bajoran Vedek assembly and saw that a new Kai had been elected. She had spent a bit of time on Bajor in the past and was always interested in keeping up with the facts of what was currently taking place on that planet.

She continued to scan the titles and came across another that interested her. "McCoy Award Winner Announced."

She opened up that article and almost fell off her chair. The first line read: "Doctor Alison Chambers has been named the 2379 recipient of the Leonard H. McCoy Award of Excellence." Ainsley was so shocked and pleased that she actually laughed out loud. Her sister was receiving the award that was named after her own personal hero. Alison would be ecstatic.

She read a little further down in the article. "This award is, of course, named after Admiral Leonard McCoy who is probably most well known as being the Chief Medical Officer on Captain James T. Kirk's original Enterprise and the Enterprise-A." Ainsley stopped reading there for a moment. Yes, Dr. McCoy was most well known for being a part of the original Enterprise crew but, though she'd read all the logs and missions of Kirk's ship like every other Academy cadet, Ainsley would always remember him for something else.

As an honour for their high achievement, the top 5 graduates from Starfleet Medical every year were treated to a dinner with some of the Federation's most well known and respected doctors and they were permitted to bring one guest. Alison graduated 3rd in her class and invited Ainsley to go with her. Somehow, whether it be the luck of the draw or by some design, the two sisters were seated on either side of Doctor McCoy. Ainsley remembered being as nervous as hell, first of all to be attending such a dinner and then to be separated from her sister.

Once they were seated, however, and began talking with the good doctor she managed to calm down and enjoy herself. McCoy was kind, entertaining and flattered them endlessly, at one point saying, "If Jim could see me now he would be so envious. Me sitting here between two such lovely girls!" Which, of course, made Ainsley absolutely giddy!

With a smile on her face Ainsley sat forward to read more of the article. "This award is given to a Starfleet doctor who performs above and beyond the call of duty for his or her ship, crew and for Starfleet while remaining true to the oath he or she took upon becoming a doctor. This year's recipient, Doctor Alison Chambers, is a Lieutenant Commander and is the Chief Medical Officer on the USS Hermes."

The computer beeped suddenly to inform Ainsley that she had an incoming call, and the caller's information scrolled across the screen telling her it was Alison calling.

Ainsley hit the accept button and, once Ali's face appeared, she said, "Well if it isn't this year's McCoy Award of Excellence Winner."

Alison's grin widened. "You'll never believe how I was informed that I won." She looked like she couldn't contain her excitement. "He called me, Ains!"

"He? Who?" she asked.

"Admiral McCoy!" Ali insisted. "And get this kiddo, he remembers us!"

"I'm sure he was just being polite!" Ainsley replied. "The man's met too many people in his long life to remember two silly girls at a dinner!"

"No really, Ains!" Alison insisted. "He was the one who brought it up. I wasn't going to mention it, simply because I would agree with you and I didn't want to put him on the spot. But trust me, Ainsley, he remembers us! He asked me how you were." The two sisters talked for awhile longer, reminiscing about that dinner and their brush with a legend, and then about Alison's hour long talk with McCoy just the night before.

"Well Congrats, lady!" Ainsley said a little while later when they were wrapping up their call. "You deserve that award more than anyone I know!"

"Thanks, little sister!" Alison replied and blew her a kiss. "Gotta run!"

The screen went blank and then the UFP symbol appeared with the words "End of Transmission" under it.

---

"Confrontations"
By: Lt. Saavar - Science Officer
Lt. Xayella Tagliesh - Chief Science Officer

Location: Main Science Lab, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.08, 14h20

***

Xayella Tagliesh paced up and down the short length of her office, trying to build her anger to a level sufficient for keeping her tirade planned for Lieutenant Saavar going long enough to get her point across. As stubborn as he appeared to be, she would run out of breath long before.

Upon hearing the swish of the science lab doors parting, then closing, Xayella abruptly halted and peered through the clear panels on her office doors. It didn't take long to recognize the straight-backed Vulcan walking smugly, in her mind, into her lab.

"Well...he'll know better when I'm done with him," she muttered. With her posture challenging Saavar's in condescension, she strode through the doors of her office and stopped not two feet from them. "Lieutenant," she snapped. "In my office...if you will." And without awaiting acknowledgement, she stalked back inside.

Saavar stopped for a moment to ponder upon what he might have done to bring the scowl to the Chief of Science's face this morning, and realized that he'd done nothing at all. He tugged at his uniform jacket and made sure once again that he was immaculate before walking into the lion's den.

He stepped inside and came to a smart attention, though the woman was his inferior in rank (and ability), the formality of her post as Senior Science had to be observed, and Saavar was a stickler for observing protocols. He said nothing, choosing instead to stare blankly at the far wall. The Vulcan adopted his best Vulcan attitude - a sombre mask of emotionlessness that would make a card player happy. She seemed to be overly emotional this morning and he wondered if she had been denied access to her 'well endowed and virile male'... He simply waited for it to start.

Xayella observed Saavar stolidly to match his own dispassionate gaze, and neither gestured for him to take a seat, nor took one herself. Instead, she

chose to stand with her rear leaning on the edge of her desk, and her arms tightly folded across her chest. Everything about the Vulcan displeased her, which was going to make this especially enjoyable. "So...I understand you like to hassle the junior officers, Lieutenant. My junior officers. Is that correct?"

Saavar raised a single brow in typical fashion and stepped into at-ease with both hands behind his back. Her informality allowed him the option likewise. "I do not 'like' hassling junior officers, Lieutenant - I have no feelings on the matter either way. I was not aware that you possessed ownership over any Starfleet Officer serving aboard this vessel - is there one in particular that you are referring to?"

Xayella sighed impatiently. "I didn't know Vulcans played coy," she retorted. "You know very well who I'm speaking of, Lieutenant. On stardate 57907.07 did you or did you not take Ensign Gainsborough aside and chew her out for getting permission to leave her post? Did you not, then," she continued, the volume of her voice rising, "force her to pull yet another shift, even though she'd already pulled two that day, while you had her analyze a sample you obtained?"

"Ensign Gainsborough was reprimanded." Saavar nodded. "She did indeed complete her assigned duty roster on Alpha shift on 07.06 - she subsequently volunteered to complete a double shift on behalf of another officer and commenced Beta Shift. I admonished her for not completing the shift.

"To my knowledge Ensign Gainsborough left the Sulu for Risa with the permission of the First Officer during Beta Shift. She did so after discovering an unidentified particle cloud. I felt it important to impress upon Ensign Gainsborough that she should have refused Commander Lyrr's offer to excuse her from Bridge duty because she was undertaking a task. It eventuated that the cloud did not represent a danger - but it could have.

"Her next assigned shift was Alpha on 07.07 - I instructed her to carry out that shift in science lab four. In order for Ensign Gainsborough to carry out her duty, regulations stipulate that a Starfleet Officer must be well rested and fit for an assigned post. I did not consider my reprimand a 'hassle,' Lieutenant. In fact I should place her on report for failure to inform a superior officer of her unfit status - I would think that as Chief Science Officer you would expect me to maintain discipline in the junior ranks."

Xayella snorted wryly. "Are you completely cold, Lieutenant, or have your emotions been repressed for so long that you are no longer capable of showing compassion? The girl was exhausted and your chastising her didn't help."

Saavar frowned as he said, "I am Vulcan, Lieutenant. I fail to comprehend your request to extend compassion on the grounds that a junior officer spent the night at a party and showed up the next day unfit for duty. As to the analysis of the sample, I am a communications specialist - not a molecular physicist. I required Ensign Gainsborough to follow through with this sample as a reminder for her to attend to her duty as well as her expertise as a scientist."

"So you did it to spite her, then? To elevate your own sense of superiority?" Xayella surmised. "Well, how about next time you get the urge to push your weight around, Lieutenant, don't."

He leaned forward slightly, looking down at the Human female. " I did not do it to 'spite' her, Lieutenant. That would imply an emotive context that I simply do not have. My 'sense of superiority' in this case, Lieutenant, comes from the fact that indeed my rank is superior to Ensign Gainsborough. If you do not wish the work of the science department carried out in your absence, perhaps you should consider curtailing your activities on Risa."

Xayella unravelled her crossed arms and threw them down to her sides, if only to conceal her clenching fists, where all her aggression was now being channelled. "My activities on Risa are of no concern to you," she said in a cold whisper. "Neither are Ensign Gainsborough's. She did not return from that party on Risa to pull a shift; you made her do so, therefore if she was violating Starfleet regulations by pulling a shift while she was unfit for duty, it is because of your own bad judgement, Lieutenant. If you have a problem with her being dismissed prematurely from an assigned post, then take it up with Commander Lyrr, not Ensign Gainsborough." Xayella smirked. "Or would you have had her ignore an order from her commander, Lieutenant? From my perspective, Lieutenant, if anyone should be placed on report, it's you for being a cruel, tyrannical, selfish jerk!" She cleared her throat, and added less forcefully, "Frankly speaking, of course."

"I find your command style rather unique," Saavar intoned. "Your activities on Risa are the reason that discipline in the science department is suffering. Duty rostering is becoming difficult due to the implication that it is acceptable to swap and change at one's whim. The daily manifest indicates Ensign Gainsborough is on Alpha shift, but the monthly reporting schedule has her working on Beta shift. This is unacceptable, Lieutenant. As Chief Science Officer 'you' are solely responsible for the crew under your command. I would 'respectfully' suggest that you attend to that duty, rather than disrupting the activities on the ship with your indiscreet fondling of the captain in front of other officers."

Xayella emitted an amused chuckle. "I had no idea Vulcans were prone to snooping," she quipped. "And I have no idea what you're implying, Lieutenant, but if the manifest I compiled states that she is on Alpha shift, then she's on Alpha shift. I don't allow swapping without prior notice, and if she has been attending Beta shift, then the poor girl is confused." She narrowed her eyes at Saavar and thrust her forefinger in his direction to emphasize each point as she said firmly, "And if that's the case I will deal with her, not you."

"Then I would suggest that you do so," Saavar returned. "I will write up the formal report and submit a copy to the Executive Officer." He paused a moment and then said, "Is that all, Lieutenant?" It sounded like a dismissal.

Xayella's lips screwed into a tight knot as she held back a petulant shriek. "I would like a copy of that report," she said between clenched teeth. "So I can defend all the false accusations that will no doubt litter it. And the next time you have a problem with a junior officer in my department, I suggest you come to me first." Her features softened as she smiled smugly at Saavar. "Now you can go... And when I'm fondling Captain Salinger, I would prefer it if you didn't watch."

"I would prefer it if you refrained from such activities in public," Saavar replied. "Your indiscretions will only cause the Captain to suffer. You are already the focus of ship's gossip. You are doing his reputation harm and eroding his position as Captain." Saavar pointedly ignored her suggestion to leave and continued. "Consider the implications of your romantic liaison, Lieutenant. What would happen should the captain make a command decision that results in sending you to your death?" The Vulcan was serious as he faced the Human woman. "Consider what would be the likely result. He is only Human..."

Xayella felt her annoyance level rising the longer she stared at the Vulcan, and the further she let his words sink in. He was being surprisingly logical for a Vulcan, and it made denying his speculations difficult. "Get out," she said quietly, then turned away and started for her chair. "You're dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Do not dismiss what I have said, Lieutenant." With that he strode from the room.

"Jerk," she muttered, though with less fervour than she had previously. Saavar was frustrating and obnoxious...and far too insightful for her liking. She sank into her chair with a sigh and looked out through the transparent panels on her door, this time to watch as Saavar disappeared from sight. It irked her when someone other than herself was right, especially when she'd tried so hard to ignore the more potentially troublesome aspects of her relationship with Matt. Whether Saavar's warnings were motivated by genuine concern or an attempt to unsettle her, she still found him incredibly galling.

---

"Back to the Bungalow"
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Lieutenant Sam; Operations Manager

Location: USS Sulu; Holodeck Two
Stardate: 57907.08, 16h15

***

Lieutenant Sam compared the holodeck surroundings to the data stored in his tricorder. The setting was an exact duplicate of Collins' apartment down on the planet's surface, with every detail exactly represented. He had collected the data from all the tricorders present, and had sent a team this morning to re-analyze the rooms to make certain the representation was accurate.

Once satisfied, he began going through the various pieces of data they'd acquired while waiting for Ensign Farrell to arrive. There was still much to do before their work was complete.

"I've got the shift changeover completed," Farrell said, walking through the arch that stood in place of Collins' front door, "and Viraj and Hamilton are standing station. We should be free to do this until shift's end. Where would you like to start?"

"Of course," Sam answered. "The Sulu is currently operating with a minimal crew; I would expect them to be perfectly capable of handling the duties of an operations officer under current conditions." He turned back to the simulated apartment. "I have created a representation of Ensign Collins' apartment. The details are as exact as the tricorder scans will allow. We will attempt to re-create the events of the night Andrea Collins returned from Dalil V'ril's hotel using the information we have gathered from our investigation."

"Okay," Farrell said, looking around. What a mess. Collins' red dress was still on the floor, wadded and trampled. Blood spattered the wall outside the bedroom and the carpet leading into the fresher. Something about that felt off. But that's not what they were here for.

"Let's advance the time index to the period when Collins came home," he suggested.

"Of course," Sam said. "I have constructed this simulation from the data available from our security team's tricorder scans. Changes in the time index will be projected changes to the environment rather than actual changes."

Farrell tapped the appropriate changes into the arch console. The room went dark, slashes of light filtering through the windows from other bungalows. "So where's this energy signature Chief Thalan mentioned?"

"The energy signature has not yet been identified," Sam answered. "Ensign Corrigan hypothesized that it could be the lingering energy left by a discharging weapon. There has not yet been any evidence to indicate such an incident occurred. I have not yet discovered any other potential source. The pattern is vaguely reminiscent of a replicator with a misaligned matter inducer. Between the varying dispersal readings we acquired, such a hypothesis is possible."

"How many readings have been made on the signature?"

"Twelve unique readings were taken of the signature at a variety of times," Sam said.

"And it looks like a replicator? Was it in the kitchen?" Farrell looked toward the food preparation area of the bungalow.

"There is a similarity between the energy matrix scanned and that of a decaying replicator pattern. And, the pattern was detected in the kitchen by Ensign Bennett."

"Computer, color the unknown energy signature red," said Farrell, rubbing his freshly shaved chin. He was thinking of how much the stubble had itched, when the computer beeped and a tiny cloud of red appeared in the middle of the kitchen.

"Well, there's something you don't see every day," Farrell remarked. He turned to Sam. "And given that we've advanced the time matrix, the computer has projected field decay based on the different scans?"

"The computer can project a theoretical dispersal over the time periods from which we have scans. The pattern we see now is a projection rather than the scanned energy signature. The variable for error under this condition is considerable. But, you are correct, Ensign; the current pattern we are seeing is the projected pattern at this particular time matrix."

"Computer," ordered Farrell, "wind the time index in reverse at one hundred times speed, and reverse the projected detail changes accordingly. Take the time back twelve hours," Farrell ordered. The darkness brightened back into full daylight. The red cloud was slightly larger.

Farrell grunted thoughtfully. "Computer, using these decay rates, continue to reverse the time index. Take the index back to Stardate 57907.04, at" --he paused to calculate mentally-- "0015 hours."

The sun set and rose again and again, but from the wrong direction, and the energy signature slowly grew, soon a sizeable cloud in the darkness of the kitchen. Finally, a beep sounded, and the computer's voice stated that the appropriate index had been reached.

"Remove the artificial red coloring," Farrell stated quietly.

In the middle of the kitchen stood a vertically oblong cloud of golden particles. Farrell and Sam cocked their heads in unision, Farrell sucking his cheek, Sam blankfaced. Finally, Farrell spoke.

"This look like a transporter cloud to you?" he drawled absently.

"I believe that is a correct assessment, Ensign," Sam said. "The question at this point becomes who used that transporter beam to enter this dwelling. Begin a scan along the theta band, Ensign."

Farrell nodded and did so, adjusting his sensor applications as he went. "The Theta wavelengths are really tight. That could make it look less like a transporter and more like a replicator." Then he had another thought. "Say," he asked, "if this was transporting a non-carbon lifeform, would the transporter need to be modified to function more like a replicator?"

"A non-carbon lifeform would most likely have a replicator suited to their biological and physiological necessities," Sam replied. "Any changes of that sort would be a matter of perspective, Ensign. A replicator is not designed to create animate matter, and a non-carbon lifeform would still be considered animate."

Farrell nodded with understanding.

"Take a reading of the subatomic particle matrix," said Sam. "The energy there will be a...fingerprint, leading to the origin of the transporter technology."

"Right," Farrell nodded, tapping his interface. He grunted again, "It's not Federation. Look at the patterns side by side here."

Their investigation was interrupted by the arch appearing and the large holodeck doors parting. From between them stormed in Commander Lyrr who, from the particular shade of red her face was, didn't allow any time for her anger to subside before seeking out her victim. The datapad containing Sam's report was still gripped in her hand, the source of her present ire, and one thing that lowered her opinion of Farrell further. She fixed her icy stare on Farrell and stopped at the entrance of the simulated kitchen to confront him.

"Lieutenant Sam? Would you mind stepping into the living room for a moment? There's something I wish to discuss with the good Ensign here."

"Of course, Commander," Sam said. He took one final scan of the energy pattern hovering in the air, and then stepped into the other room.

Farrell turned away from his scans, and was about to smile when he finally got a good look at the commander. His expression grew concerned. "If I may, Commander, are you alright?"

Lyrr raised an eyebrow at Farrell upon Sam's departure, and regarded him with a sardonic smile. "Nothing at all, Ensign. My day's been quite well, thank you. Though, it looks like it's been a slow day for you. I mean, considering your activities over the past two days, I would expect boring old duty to seem a little uneventful for you now."

He smiled slightly, obviously deciding what to say, and finally settled on, "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Playing coy now, are we?" Lyrr shook her head disapprovingly, and tossed the datapad past him and onto the counter. "Where shall I start, Ensign? With the hooker you put up in your hotel room? Or maybe the part where you attempted to elude Lieutenant Sam after I made it perfectly clear you weren't to go anywhere without him? Or maybe the dangerous race you convinced a fellow officer to engage in so you could get close to some Ferengi? Shall I stop there, Ensign?"

"What exactly is the commander asking?" Farrell asked, appearing uncertain which topic to address first.

Lyrr sighed impatiently and jammed her fists into her hips. "Are you completely oblivious, Ensign? I sent you down on that planet to participate in the investigation because you promised me you would behave, that you would act in a manner befitting a Starfleet officer. Instead, all I see are the actions of a hustler! While acting in an official capacity as a member of Starfleet, you're expected to behave a certain way, Ensign, and considering your past and what Lieutenant Sam has reported to me, I'm convinced you started, long ago, down a path of insubordination and self-destruction, which you're almost at the end of now, and you're either too stubborn to care, or too preoccupied with soliciting hookers to notice. Either way, you will not continue down that path on this ship, not any longer. Is that understood?"

"Yessir," Farrell said immediately and instinctively. Then he shook his head. "No, sir," he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Commander, Lieutenant Sam was fully aware of every stage of my activity for the past couple of days. He could have shut me down at any time, and I trusted him to let me know if something wasn't up to snuff. He told me you wanted him to accompany me. That was fine. I assumed he was following me as an advisor and supervisor. He never expressed a concern with the manner in which I was carrying on the investigation into the Ferengi. Had he, I would certainly have modified my course.

"The prostitute knew where to find the Ferengi, and needed an incentive in order to part with that information. So I paid her," he shrugged.

"I discussed the race thoroughly with Ensign Gui," he continued. "She was made fully aware of everything I knew regarding participation in the race, and chose to ride after hearing the facts. Yes, I asked her to ride. She participated at my request. As her departmental senior, I accept responsibility for what I asked her to do. But again, sir, I was relying on Sam, as my superior officer, to let me know where I stood. He didn't, so I carried on. I chose the course I felt most viable given the situation."

"Lieutenant Sam was there to observe, Ensign, not to teach a man with eight years' experience in Starfleet what is and isn't acceptable when acting as a representative of a starship and its crew," she told him. "If you are incapable of judging and controlling your own actions, Ensign, then what are you still doing here? We're not babysitters. We're not here to rehabilitate troubled officers with shady pasts. This ship is out to explore the universe, Ensign Farrell, and if you don't think you can contribute to that in an effective capacity, then you'd better decide now whether you still wish to remain here or not, before you end up putting this entire crew in jeopardy."

"With all respect, sir, you're overreacting just a bit," Farrell said slowly. "And with all respect, I'm not here to be rehabilitated; Starfleet's already seen to that. I'm quite capable of controlling myself." The emphasis on the first syllable was obvious.

Lyrr nodded patronizingly. "Oh, I'd really like to see that, Ensign. Because up to now, I've yet to see anything to suggest you are even remotely capable of that. You need a lesson in appropriate Starfleet behaviour, Ensign. Which means until this shore leave is over, you're not to go anywhere without Lieutenant Sam, not until I'm convinced you won't sully the reputation of this ship and its crew."

"You're placing me under guard? Can the commander demonstrate how this ship or its crew have been sullied through my actions? Can the commander provide anything tangible proving it?" Farrell was incredulous. "Aside from the Ferengi, no one I interacted with last night knows Starfleet was even involved, and I'd wager even he has doubts. I took specific and planned steps to keep the investigation discreet. I went to hell and back last night on behalf of a crewmate I've never even met. I hit the ground running on this posting, and have done nothing to impair the reputation or efficiency of this ship or its complement. Now, you can dislike me. You can dislike my methods. You can even order me to have nothing further to do with this investigation, and I'll walk off this deck and go run reports for the rest of the shift. But arresting me is ridiculous."

"Arresting you?" Lyrr laughed softly. "You're not being arrested, Ensign. You may think I'm cruel and irrational, but I am being quite tolerant, Ensign. If I weren't trying to give you chances, you'd have been severely reprimanded by now. You're getting off easy, believe me."

Farrell looked momentarily at the ceiling. She couldn't be serious. This was rational and tolerant? "Commander, do you or do you not want me involved in this investigation any further?"

Lyrr sighed and leaned her hip against the counter. "See, that's my problem, Ensign. In Sam's report, there's also a summary of your findings. As opposed to your methods as I am, you are making some progress at least. You could be an asset to this investigation...if you'd only follow the rules."

Farrell stood calmly, taking that in. Dammit, he was following the rules. The rules just kept changing. "Sir, what is it you're looking for? An apology? I won't. I was operating under the guidelines I understood to be valid. An admission of something? No. I was wrong in my understanding of your parameters. That I'll admit. But I got results, as Sam indicated," he gestured at the padd.

"I can keep getting results if you'll let me," he was calm. "But you've got to let me. You said yourself you'd like to see me control myself. Sam riding on my back isn't going to show you that.

"This whole investigation is unbound by rules. The people who did it certainly aren't abiding by any rules. It looks like they transported in here to plant evidence." He jerked a thumb at the image of the transporter cloud. "And those same people are counting on us, the investigating Starfleet officers, to bog ourselves down in rules and procedure so we can't get to the truth." Lyrr looked like she was readying another barrage, and he moved quickly to try and forestall it. "I'm not asking you to agree with what I'm doing. But I guarantee you that I'm willing to do everything I can to help get to the bottom of this without causing harm of any sort to this ship or its crew."

"But I'm responsible for your actions, Ensign," she pointed out. "If you mess up, I get blamed, and frankly, I'm not willing to risk my career on trusting you. And I certainly am not going to condone your approach. The offenders may not have seen fit to follow the rules, but as a Starfleet officer, you must." She sighed, again wishing she had Matt to consult. "I'm afraid, Ensign, that after you've completed your present lead in the investigation, I'm going to recommend you desist your participation in this matter. I can't risk it."

Farrell nodded thoughtfully. That was interesting phrasing. Maybe he wasn't giving the commander enough credit. "If that's how you feel, sir, so be it. Was there anything else, sir?"

"I don't think I need to apprise you of the consequences you'll face if you disobey, Ensign...so no, nothing more." She reached out and plucked the datapad from his hand. "This is a chance you won't get again, Ensign. Don't waste it." Then she turned out of the kitchen, stalking just as angrily as she had when she arrived.

"Commander," Farrell called after her.

Lyrr sighed sharply and grudgingly faced Farrell again. "Yes, Ensign?"

"Did you get that Hasperat all right?" he smiled, his tone light, as though none of the previous conversation had happened. "I was afraid Nebbs might eat it."

Lyrr's normally stern, hard facade seemed to crack and a trace of emotion peeked through for an instant before it was gone again. She shook her head slowly and whispered, "Go to hell," then stormed out of the holodeck and didn't stop.

Farrell was stunned. That was real. That wasn't the hard-assed facade. He'd hit something. But what? He stood there thinking about it until Sam came back in and ordered him to continue his scans.

"Ensign," Sam said, as Farrell began to run through the scans, though it was obvious, even to the android, that the human's thoughts were not on the scans they had been conducting. "Ensign, you appear to be distracted from our investigation. Is there any manner in which I may help, or shall we continue with our investigation?"

Farrell thought for only a moment, but covered a good deal of ground in that time. What should he say to Sam? On one hand, he'd been Lyrr's spy for the entire arc of tracking down Malthus. On the other hand, it may not have even occurred to his android mind to give Farrell a heads up. As department head, he'd have been duty bound to intervene if Farrell had swung too far outside regulation, and Farrell doubted Sam had developed the ability to apply regulations situationally. So the fact that Sam had done nothing to stop Farrell had to mean that either Lyrr had ordered him not to, or that Farrell had done nothing particularly wrong.

Certainly, his actions hadn't been upstanding, but no one had been hurt, and the reputation of Starfleet hadn't been tarnished. And Lyrr didn't seem the sort to allow rule-breaking to happen just so she could have someone to punish. She was a bitch, but she wasn't a sadist.

Finally, Farrell settled on giving Sam the benefit of the doubt, deciding he had confused Sam so badly that the android had just settled for watching the action rather than try and sort out regulatory breaches, and reported objectively on what he saw.

"No problem, sir," he said, shaking his head to clear it. "We were comparing the subatomic particle matrix patterns. Did you analyze them any further while the Commander and I were speaking?"

"The pattern appears to be Cardassian in origin," Sam stated. "There appears to have been an attempt to mask their beam-in, but the transporter used to beam an individual into this location is clearly a Cardassian make."

Farrell sat on one of the kitchen chairs, thinking. "Is there any guarantee that a Cardassian actually used it? Could someone...else...have gotten a Cardassian transport unit?"

"Given the state of affairs on Cardassia Prime," Sam said, "it is entirely conceivable that such an event could occur. We will need to further investigate this matter if we are to find any connection. I am, however, unaware of any current diplomatic situations that would result in an assassination attempt on Risa."

"Me neither," Farrell mused. "Except for the basic and obvious disruption of V'ril's talks with the" --he snapped his fingers absently to find the word-- "Farehn'ti? Is that the right group?"

"That is correct, Ensign," Sam answered.

"But the Cardassians, generally speaking, aren't this crude. This is really sloppy, and barely masked. The field was partially disguised, but the residual energy was still in the middle of the room, scannable by anyone. We analyzed this field for, what, 30 minutes before determining it was Cardassian? I'm no expert, but I'd expect them to be a little more subtle than this."

"There have been considerable changes in the Cardassian Union since the end of the war," Sam answered. "It is likely that the transporter was surplus equipment sold after the war. It is also a possibility that the Cardassians no longer are the secretive species they once were. Desperation drives some to do things they would normally not do."

"That makes some sense," Farrell nodded. "Where do we go from here? Track surplus shipments of Cardassian equipment sold on Risa?"

"That would be a viable first step in this new stage of the investigation," Sam answered. "I have often heard that if something can be found, it can be found on Risa. We shall begin by searching the records of planetary inhabitants who sell surplus goods."

"Shall we conclude our session here, then?" Farrell asked. "I'll head for the ops office and start researching, and get back to you with a viable list?"

"That will be acceptable, Ensign," Sam answered. "I shall speak to you soon."

---

"Changing of the Linguist"
By: Ensign Nathalie Gui, Communications Specialist
Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: USS Hikaru Sulu
Stardate 57907.08, 16h53

***

First meeting ever with the ship's first officer and it's about this, ho boy. Nathalie Gui had been so far enjoying her time serving aboard the Hikaru Sulu and with her crew. She had managed to make several new friends and it seemed as though even Joji was settling in comfortably. Yet, despite her experience serving in Starfleet she could not help but feel she was holding all of her skills back completely...the decision she was about to make had long been tossed around in her head since she graduated from the Academy; now was the time to act on it and make herself feel truly useful.

Tapping the door chime Nathalie straightened and waited for the door to be answered. She had only heard a few things about the ship's XO and she hoped none of them were true...

The summons to enter came, and the doors parted for the ensign. Lyrr looked up from the datapad she'd been reviewing and smiled at the young woman before her. She'd yet had an opportunity to properly meet the operations officer, and considering things on board and on the surface had calmed since the day before, now was a perfect time to get acquainted. "Ensign Gui, how may I help you? And have a seat if you'd like," she added as an afterthought.

Nathalie stepped into the room after being allowed entrance. Upon entering she spotted Lyrr; she had remembered reading from her bio that the Commander was Bajoran and only slightly older then herself by a year. Gui took the pro-offered seat and sat down. "Thank you, Commander. I came to see you to talk about transferring departments."

Lyrr raised an eyebrow at that and set down her padd. "A transfer? So soon? Are you no longer happy in Ops?"

She shook her head. "It's not that I'm unhappy serving with the crew in Ops, it's just that I feel I could be of greater use to the ship and her crew somewhere else where I know I can use the best of all my abilities."

Lyrr nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. So, have you thought about which department you feel your talents could be better put to use, Ensign?"

"Security. I already have taken some self defense alongside fighting lessons, and I have found I can keep a clear head under extreme duress. I do feel, though, I would need to take some courses, however, to further specialize my skills in this area so that they meet with those of the ship's requirements."

"You would have to take some courses," Lyrr concurred. "And that could take some time. You'd need to undergo an assessment before you could join the security department... With my approval, you should speak with Lieutenant T'Kal about putting in some time at security as part of your training. And I'm sure he can give you a list of the appropriate Holodeck training programs you should be using as well."

Nathalie nodded, understanding completely; usually no matter what when someone was transferring departments it was required that the person become fully trained and well versed in their new area of work. "Yes of course, I will speak to Lieutenant T'Kal when appropriate to gather the required information that I'll no doubt need... Is there anything else I will need to cover? How shall I see what could possibly be required offship?"

"For now, I'm certain you can contact a professor at Starfleet for anything else you'll need. I'm not sure if we'll be stopping by Earth long enough any time soon to enroll in actual courses. But with a talented team of security officers on board, you should be at a great advantage, Ensign."

"Great, with any luck I'll really knock 'em dead! Well not literally of course, rough them up maybe but then you'd have toss me in the brig." She smiled to show she was only joking.

Lyrr returned Nathalie's smile politely. "I'm sure you'll do fine, Ensign. And even if you find that security's not for you, there's always a place on this ship for you."

Nathalie stood and offered her hand to Lyrr. "Thank you, ma'am, it was nice to have finally to met you as well. I look forward to serving with you."

Lyrr rose and accepted the taller woman's hand. "It was nice to speak with you as well, Ensign. And good luck in your studies. If you require any assistance, you're always welcome to speak with me."

Nodding, Gui left, proceeding to leave the Commander to her work. Part of herself couldn't wonder what some of her crewmates would think of her changing departments...

---

"Beginning the Transition"
Ensign Nathalie Gui; Communications Specialist
Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal; Chief of Security

Location: USS Sulu; Armoury
Stardate: 57907.08, 17h00

***

Things were off to a good start so far; Commander Lyrr allowed for Gui to switch departments given that Nathalie endured and took the proper training, and she had managed to finish off well in the race in snaring the Ferengi Malthus' attention. True, she had left the race with a few scratches and bruises but they had succeeded in the plan. Part of Nathalie could only wonder what sort of tongue lashings Farrell would receive from the ship's commanding officers regarding his investigative tactics.

Stepping inside the ship's armoury Gui instantly saw a small handful or so of Security officers checking the weapons and phasers. Looking around further she continued to search the area for the Head of Security, Lieutenant T'Kal.

Benedict was in the middle of his first inspection tour of the Sulu. The Armoury was currently being inventoried as per regulations on a change of senior command. The security detail that he had assigned were making fast progress in checking the status of the weapons and he left them to it. As he turned to exit the storage area he saw an Operations Officer standing just inside the door. He walked over to her and said, "Can I help you, Ensign?" She was tall and lithe - attractive, with long dark hair and grey eyes.

Nathalie turned to the person who addressed her - he was taller than herself, had long jet black hair pulled back, violet eyes and appeared to be Bajoran. She nodded at Benedict. "Yes, I was looking for the CSO, Lieutenant T'Kal, do you know where I can find him?" Gui hadn't yet reviewed the new crew roster for the newer arrivals that the Sulu had received upon reaching Risa. She did however know that both CMO and CSO had recently left the ship.

"That's me," he smiled. "What can I do for you?"

"It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant," she remarked, returning the smile. "As you probably know right now I'm with the Ops department and after much consideration I have decided I would like to transfer to Security onboard the ship."

Benedict smiled a little more broadly as he said, "I had no idea you were in ops - I've only just arrived here myself." Getting a little more serious he waved her to follow him. "Let's talk in my office."

They walked a short way to a turbo lift and a minute later Benedict waved her into a chair in his office. "Would you like a drink?" he asked out of courtesy.

Taking the proffered seat Nathalie nodded at Benedict's question. "Yes, thank you; Vanilla Red Tea."

He turned to the replicator and ordered a Green Tea for himself and a Vanilla Red. After sitting down and taking a sip of tea he settled back and looked at the woman more closely. Attractive, a little hesitant, yet that was understandable. He started off with: "So...why security?" as he tapped his terminal and requested her Starfleet record.

Gui took a taste of the smooth tea as she considered T'Kal's question carefully before she would state her answer. Lowering the cup from her lips she remarked, "I feel that I would be better suited to working in security as opposed to Communications; along with my full understanding of at least eight languages I'm also an accomplished fighter in Ishin-Ryu. By attempting to use both abilities I feel I could do more to help out onboard than where I'm currently at now."

Benedict nodded. "It's not all gung-ho action, Nathalie. Security work is ninety five percent boredom and five percent hair raising panic-stricken action that you'd rather live without once it's over!" He smiled, letting his eyes show his sense of humour. "But there are times where a good communications specialist is worth ten phasers." He sipped tea as she reacted with a little surprise at his words. "Our aim in security is largely preventative, Nathalie - I'd rather a situation remain calm and non-confrontational than have someone injured or killed in the line of duty. Our job is peace-keeping - but when we have to..." He let the words hang there. He glanced over her record and saw a few things that added up...

"You like exciting sports...extreme..." He looked at her again with an intense gaze. His violet eyes hard. "I hope your desire to be in security isn't motivated purely by your need for an adrenaline rush..."

She shook her head, laughing at Benedict's earlier joke. "No, I'm definitely not in this for the adrenaline rush." Her gaze went from playful to calm and sincere quickly in an instant, a trait picked up from her experience as a Communications Specialist.

Her voice was sincere and truthful as she continued, "I truly want to do more in keeping the peace; all good detectives are faced with deskwork sometime or another as opposed to knocking heads. If anything I would prefer that I help out by resolving things peacefully using my mind and not my fists."

The Bajoran nodded and gave her a quick nod of approval. "Before I let you transfer to security, I'll require you to undertake the basic courses. I see that you have been in operations since the academy - what did you take as a secondary profession at the academy?"

"Alongside Operations, I majored in Communications and as a minor I took on Security. I would appreciate if you gave me a list of the required courses for security, sir."

"There's a long list of basic courses for security. I'll send you the précis along with the timetable that I require you to complete them in. You can do the academic study in your own time and I'll ask Lieutenant Sam if he will allow you to get some extra holodeck time for the practical aspects. You can pull a couple of double shifts a week with security and I'll assign Lieutenant Hex as your instructor in the mundane security tasks. I'll take you through an unarmed combat assessment." He grinned. "I know a little about fighting.."

She nodded. It sounded challenging indeed, but Nathalie was never one to let a challenging task take her down. "Thank you. I would appreciate if you sent that information regarding the courses necessary. And by pulling double shifts it may not sound like much fun but I will go through with them." She listened quietly to T'Kal as he continued speaking. Lieutenant Hex she had not heard of as of yet, but it would prove interesting to actually meet the officer by working and training with him. Gui smiled at T'Kal's mention of an unarmed combat assessment. "Excellent, it's reassuring to know I will get tested by an equally skilled fighter."

"It's not going to be easy on you, Ensign. It's a hard task that you have set yourself. I have high standards - and you'll be expected to work hard, train diligently and complete the required courses before I allow the transfer. Basically you'll be going back to the academy - but I hope that I can make it a better experience..."

"Nothing in life is ever easy; the only way a person can truly learn something is to undertake the task themselves, not just hop and skip around it... I look forward to meeting this task head on. I promise I won't disappoint you, Lieutenant." She smiled. The time ahead in making the transition from Operations to Security would be enduring, but if anything Ensign Gui was certain if she encountered any problems in the process, she'd work through them....

"Excellent. I'll get you started today. I'll expect you on the Beta shift tomorrow - I'll take you through the first day." He smiled and nodded. "I'll speak with Lieutenant Sam today."

"Thank you, sir." She understood his dismissal and left him in his office.

As she disappeared he smiled to himself. It was good to see officers like Gui actively seeking ways to serve Starfleet to the best of their capacity. He would keep an eye on her - she was the type of officer that Benedict liked. Conscientious and capable. He knew that she would do well. He wasn't going to make it easy - but he wouldn't give her so much that she couldn't cope either.

He sat back and dictated a request to Lieutenant Sam the Operations Manager for the changed shifts and holodeck time. He appended the approval of Commander Lyrr - who had similar recommendations. He was settling in on the Sulu - he liked it so far!

---

"Information Suppliers"
By: Lieutenant Sam
Commander Lyrr Tayla
Ensign Firece [NPC+]
Golath [NPC+]

Location: Risa
Stardate 57907.08, 17h30

***

The list had been compiled and downloaded to the padd Sam now held in his hand. He looked over the data one last time before tapping the communicator on his chest. "Ensign Firece, please meet me in transporter room two. We will be beaming to the planet's surface to question several merchants about the clients to which they have sold their wares."

The Ensign, sounding slightly confused, replied, "Right away, Lieutenant." Then severed the connection. Minutes later, he strode into the transporter room. The young security officer greeted Sam, but still appeared puzzled. "Was it a case of food poisoning, sir?"

"Ensign Andrea Collins has been accused of murder," Sam said. "One possible clue is that the transporters used in the murder were of a Cardassian design. Ensign Mason Farrell hypothesized that the parts for that transporter were acquired through a local dealer known to traffic surplus Cardassian hardware."

Firece nodded slowly. "I see... So, we question them to find out who's been selling the stuff?"

"Actually, ensign," Sam answered, "we are seeking the buyer. The buyer will likely lead us to whomever is using the transporters in question."

Again, the man's head bobbed up and down, though his face held no sign of comprehension. "And...do we know who this buyer is?"

"The buyer is the person we seek," Sam answered. "We currently do not know who that person might be." He quickly went through the information they did have about the possible assistance Collins received, the escape, and the strange traces of energy found at each of the locations. "Whomever was assisting Ensign Collins appears to have used Cardassian technology in their transporters." Sam paused for a moment and glanced at the ensign. "Perhaps are you familiar with the works of the earth author known as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?"

Firece frowned quizzically, then shook his head. "I don't read much Vulcan literature, sir."

"Earth, ensign," Sam said. "He was an author in earth's past. You do realize which planet earth is, ensign?"

"I do, sir," Ensign Firece replied, far too dim-witted to be insulted, and instead appeared proud as he smiled. "I was born there, sir. Born and raised. Still...never heard of this Cone fellow."

"Doyle, ensign," Sam said. "I will download a copy of some of his works for you to peruse. The case we are investigating now has many similarities to his writing. That is unimportant, however. Let us transport." He gestured toward the transporter pad, and then ascended to one of the waiting discs.

Firece followed and stood adjacent to the android, who prompted the chief to energize. In the span of time it took Firece to become confused by another aspect of their present task (which wasn't long) the two had already materialized on the planet. A moment later, Firece said with great surprise, "So the buyer is on Risa!"

"That is correct, Ensign," Sam answered. "In fact, the man who we will find inside of that shop should be able to lead us to him."

"Great," Firece enthused. "My first interrogation... We'll get the answers you need, Lieutenant," he promised with a curt nod.

"Of course," Sam answered, and then led the way inside the small building. The owner was on the other side of a junk-strewn counter. Sam did a quick survey of the room, cataloging everything he could see within his positronic net. He approached the proprietor.

The man gave them both a smile that clearly said: 'Customers,' though it faded once he recognized the uniforms. From the news floating around Risa anything involving Starfleet was bad news, and it was best to stay far away from them. His gaze became wary, and the aged Risan abandoned the customary Risan greeting in place of a gruff, "How can I help you?"

"Good afternoon, sir," Sam said, doing his best to appear congenial. "My name is Lieutenant Sam, from the Federation starship Sulu. My associate is Ensign Firece. I am here seeking information regarding a particular transporter used in the case which we are currently investigating."

"Well, can't help you," the man replied. "I don't sell transporters."

"But you sell parts?" Firece asked.

The man eyed the young man coolly, then nodded. "What kind of parts?"

"The information we have indicates that the transporter was a Cardassian TK-910z model manufactured in 2376. Given the field decay and resonance quotient, it would be a likely hypothesis that the unit had been fabricated from two or more units, and not all of the same make and model."

"Well, I don't deal in Cardassian parts," the man answered. His apologetic smile was hardly that. "Sorry."

Firece looked between Sam and the man, then sputtered, "He's lying!"

Golath, as his name patch indicated, snorted. "I am not."

Sam picked up a small circuit board and held it up. "An inversion flux generator, commonly used in warp drives and torpedo launchers. It is of Cardassian design." He set the board in front of the Risan.

Golath shifted his gaze down to the circuit board, then mechanically back to Sam. He chuckled uncomfortably. "Oh. Cardassian. Well...yeah, I do dabble in the sale of such items... But only if specifically requested. And only then do I contact my supplier."

"And who would that be?" Firece asked, though he still appeared only perplexed.

"Sorry. That's confidential," Golath replied. "If I gave away the names of my suppliers, I'd be out of business."

The bell at the door sounded, and all three eyes turned to regard a young man. He looked at them uncomfortably, then moved over to a shelf to inspect some housings. He picked one out after a couple moments and started up toward Golath.

"The integrity of that housing has degraded, especially along the bottom. I would estimate that internal pressures will cause it to rupture within three days, two hours, and thirty-six minutes. Additionally, the price for such an item is inflated by nearly one hundred fifty percent. You would do better to seek the merchant down the street. His wares are of much higher quality."

The young man looked at Sam, then at Golath. Despite Golath's protests and outrage, he finally set the housing down and scampered out of the shop.

"I believe," Sam began as he turned back to the counter, "we were discussing recent purchases of Cardassian hardware, particularly those pieces that would be commonly used in a transporter."

Golath glared at the two officers as his face flushed red with rage. "And I've told you," he growled, "that information like that is confidential!"

The door bell sounded again and another potential buyer entered. Golath glanced suspiciously at Sam. Catching on to the android's strategy, Firece planted his hands atop the counter and leaned in towards the man. "If you wish to have buyers whose confidentiality you can continue to protect, I suggest you start talking."

The patron looked nervously at the scene, and deciding it appeared far too volatile for his tastes, he turned and left. Firece smiled. And Golath relented with a sigh. "You Starfleet officers are a low bunch, aren't ya?"

"A woman has been accused of murder, and this information will help further the investigation, to see that justice is served. We are not low, as you have put it. We are merely seeking other avenues to resolve the situation we have before us against the lack of cooperation by both Risan authorities and populace."

"Probably because you've been driving away their customers too!" Golath grumbled and unhappily punched at his computer console. "I sold a transporter coupler, a buffer and other Cardassian transporter components to an anonymous buyer. They paid, so I didn't ask."

"Are there any details you could provide to assist us with locating this buyer?" Sam asked.

Golath shrugged. "See, problem is, I just made the sale and the buyers picked up the parts elsewhere. For specialty items like that, I place the order with my supplier, give him a cut of the money, and he takes care of things from there. But..." Golath sighed. "It wouldn't be good for business if I gave away his name either." He put on his best conflicted expression, then grudgingly added, "Though, I guess I could give you his name...for a small fee - for my troubles, you know."

"You wish for me to bribe you, sir?" Sam made a show of thinking about that, then cocked his head to the side. "Perhaps I have a better idea, sir. If you give me his name, we will leave your establishment and your customers will be able to return and shop in peace."

Golath chuckled. "But you have already cost me a day's worth of sales. I must have compensation, Mr. Robot."

"If you assist me now," Sam said, "it will not be two days worth of sales, sir. I am an android, as you have pointed out. I require neither sleep nor sustenance."

Firece nodded sympathetically. "It's true. He's very persistent, even for an android."

Golath gazed slack-jawed at the two and was in the midst of shouting an expletive when the door bell chimed again. He looked nervously at the customer, who was moving towards a particularly expensive phase inducer, then at Sam, obviously analyzing the item and preparing a list of faults to report to the man. Golath stammered frantically. "Okay! Okay...just...let me have that customer. Please!"

Sam cocked his head to the side as he analyzed the situation, then nodded. "Certainly, sir," he said. "The name, sir?"

Golath gave a dispirited shake of his head and sighed, "Malthus. He's...this Ferengi. Into all sorts of illicit business, but he gets his best pay from smuggling in and selling Cardassian parts. But if you want information from him, you're gonna have a much harder time than I gave you. The guy likes his confidentiality and he's gonna kill me if he finds out I gave you his name." He gazed up at the two and reiterated, "And I mean kill me."

Sam glanced at Firece and then back to Golath. "I am familiar with Mr. Malthus," he said. "And, I assure you, he will not find out from us that we obtained this information here. If you require assistance of any sort, please notify the USS Sulu."

"Just don't ever bother me again and I'll be happy," Golath told him miserably. "Now, get out. I have a customer to attend to."

Firece nodded to the man, then turned to exit the shop.

Sam turned and started toward the exit. He stopped at the customer who was still examining the phase inducer. "That is a very fine piece of equipment," he said. "It is rather difficult to find such quality, especially in an establishment such as this. You are making a very wise choice, sir." With that, he followed Firece outside.

Golath let out his breath and sighed with relief. "Androids," he muttered.

Outside Firece watched Sam expectantly, his previous state of incomprehension returning. "So...did we find the buyer?"

"We did," Sam said. "However, first, we must report our findings to Commander Lyrr. We will be returning to the ship now, Ensign."

"But, what about that Malthus guy?" Firece asked. "You said you knew him. Who is he?"

"Ensign Mason Farrell believed him to be a source of information," Sam said. "However, the information he provided seemed to be unconnected with the case. It appears that now, however, he may be involved."

"How, sir?" Firece asked, even more puzzled. "He just sold some Cardassian parts...didn't he?"

"When a particular name arises multiple times in an investigation, the odds of that person being unconnected to the source of the investigation are quite low. The traces of transporter energy we found were of Cardassian design, and Malthus purchased parts that would allow him to create a transporter. Malthus is known to have had associations with Ensign Andrea Collins. However circumstantial it may be, there is a connection."

Firece, at first, appeared to be utterly lost, then a moment of recognition flashed in his eyes. "So...he could know who murdered the Ambassador...presuming it wasn't Ensign Collins."

"Presuming it wasn't Ensign Collins," Sam echoed. "And, if he does not know the identity of the killer, he will at least know who the person to whom he reports. It may be a slow process, but following the connections will lead us to the person responsible...even if that person is, in fact, Ensign Collins."

"I see..." Firece paused and made an expression that looked partially pained and partially thoughtful, though it was likely the thinking was triggering the pain. "So, we talk to the commander then we track down this Malthus? Is that what your...Sir Doily would do?"

"Precisely, my dear Firece," Sam answered. Then he reached across his chest and tapped his communicator. "Lieutenant Sam to Sulu, two to beam up."

***

"Enter." Lyrr Tayla had been expecting Lt. Sam and when he arrived promptly she gestured him to sit. "What have you found, Lieutenant? Something conclusive, I hope. So far, all we've encountered is speculation. That's not going to acquit Ensign Collins."

Sam took the offered seat across from Commander Lyrr. "I would not say that what I have found is proof, however I would suggest it has moved beyond mere speculation. The transporter signatures found in Ensign Collins' hotel room appear to be of Cardassian origin; recently, Malthus, the Ferengi Ensign Farrell and I investigated, has purchased parts that would allow him to create a transporter...using parts commonly found in a Cardassian transporter unit."

"So, someone has built a Cardassian transporter... Either someone is attempting to mimic the energy signatures and to thereby frame the Cardassians," Lyrr ventured, "or it really is the Cardassians and they simply needed Cardassian parts. We both know the state of affairs on Cardassia Prime right now. Even for a Cardassian, finding Cardassian supplies to repair damaged equipment is hard to come by. Perhaps they simply sought out Mr. Malthus for that purpose."

"Normally, Commander, I would agree with you, and to a certain extent, I do. However, I believe in light of recent events and Mr. Malthus' activities in regards to Ensign Collins, this connection, though tenuous, bears investigation."

Lyrr sighed and paused a moment to collect her thoughts. "You do know, Lieutenant, that if it is determined the Cardassians were involved in Ambassador V'ril's death, it will cause a major diplomatic nightmare. I want this kept as quiet as possible for as long as you can, and I want solid proof of their involvement, as well as a motive for wanting the ambassador dead. I want the evidence to be irrefutable before we present it to the Ktarians."

"I understand, Commander," Sam responded. "I will keep the number of officers investigating this aspect of the case low and we will utilize every discretion. We will obtain proof of involvement for whichever parties are involved. I shall keep you informed of my progress, Commander."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," she replied. "I've also uncovered some suspicious activity involving Ensign Collins' bank account on Risa, which might also provide significant information for your investigation. Ensign Bennett was looking into it further, and if there is any news, I will contact you immediately."

"Thank you, Commander. I have not encountered such a convoluted and complex puzzle such as this one in my existence. While it is fascinating from a certain point of view, the reality of the consequences is more than I would wish as a spectator. I will do what I can to expedite my part of the investigation. However, given the information currently being uncovered, the outcome does not appear to be pleasant."

"Believe me, Lieutenant," Lyrr confided, "I've come to the same realization myself. Dismissed."

"Thank you, Commander," Sam said as he stood. He then turned and headed toward the door without another word, leaving Lyrr's office.

"So?" Ensign Firece, who had chosen to wait for Sam outside of the Commander's office caught up to the android. "What's going on? We going to catch that Malthus guy?"

"Now," Sam said as he glanced at Firece, "we continue searching for solid clues in this case. We will begin by tracking down Malthus and then determine who he is taking his orders from. It is unlikely that Malthus is the person behind the assassination of Dalil V'ril."

"I see," Firece replied, though from his expression, it was clear that he did not. "So, we leave now? I'm on my break, but I don't mind coming down to help you, Lieutenant."

"That will be acceptable, Ensign. We will beam down to try to locate Malthus the Ferengi. How long is your break, Ensign, and will you be able to continue assisting on this case when your break has ended?"

"Oh, of course," Firece volunteered readily. "I'm right there with you. And maybe while we're searching, you can tell me more about that Dolly guy."

"That will be acceptable, Ensign," Sam said. "Let us go to transporter room one then, and I shall tell you everything you would like to know about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Perhaps, you might even enjoy some of the holodeck versions of his collected works."

"You mean...me and you, in a simulation together?" Firece grinned and clapped the android on the back. "It would be my pleasure, Lieutenant."

"That would be acceptable," Sam stated with a stiff nod. And, with that, they entered the turbolift, off to solve the case...not quite Sherlock Holmes, and quite definitely not Watson.

---

"A Logical Entrance"
by Ensign Ai'Pal - Science Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Crew Quarters
Stardate 57907.08 18h15

***

"Computer, commence recording - Personal Log - Stardate 57907.08:

I have completed my journey to the USS Sulu. I had expected to arrive at this time yesterday. However, the journey has been long, having taken two standard days to arrive.

"Our flight had been delayed for some time due to an increase of outgoing departures from Starbase 42. Starfleet had presented an offer to travel by shuttle to the USS Sulu or to instead take shoreleave, as my crew currently were, and rendezvous with the crew on Risa, travelling via public methods of transport. As time was limited and the human influence, as interesting as it is, is more of a distraction than a pleasure, I chose to travel by Shuttlecraft.

"The shuttle's pilot had opted to travel along a commercial shipping route, choosing then to divert course three quarters of the way through our journey - taking us on a direct course to Risa.

"For the best part of our travel, the pilot - a Human Ensign by the name of Davies - worked at his terminal and I resided in the peaceful surroundings of meditation.

"That was until the final stage of our journey, when we ran into trouble."

***

The lights in the shuttlecraft cut out and the sound of the engine, which had become a background noise for the two officers, faded.

The shuttle's emergency power came up, plunging the craft into deep red light.

The Human came running out of the pilot's booth and, in his panic stricken state, started shouting the status of their situation, to which the Vulcan apparently made no response.

Ensign Davies moved closer. He kneeled down so that his face was level to that of Ai'Pal.

"Ensign Ai'Pal," he whispered, "there is an emergency with the ship and I would appreciate your help."

A moment passed between the two men, Davies, with sweat running down his face - opposite Ai'Pal, at peace. Then the Vulcan spoke, without moving any other muscle but those necessary to speak, "What would appear to be the problem, Ensign Davies?" Ai'Pal's eyes opened, leaving Davies staring into Ai'Pal's deep green eyes. He nearly drowned.

"We have suffered a fault in our propulsion system, and I cannot seem to determine what the problem is."

"Have you notified Starbase, Ensign?"

"No, sir, not as yet." The Vulcan's calm had begun to rub off on the pilot.

"I would suggest that you start there. I will join you in the cockpit shortly with my analytical equipment."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir."

Ai'Pal gave a short nod, before closing his eyes - returning to the peace.

***

"After the duration of one half standard hour, I joined Ensign Davies at the controls of his shuttlecraft.

"It was apparent that, by travelling in the wake of commercial transports, our shuttle's nacelles accumulated a number of Ionised particles, which caused an imbalance between the matter and antimatter components in the aforementioned nacelles. As a safety precaution, his shuttle had automatically shutdown and began a system diagnostic check.

"Ensign Davies explained this situation as being unusual, but as I 'wanted to be somewhere fast' the shuttle had suffered from conditions found in Murphy's Law. I have made a note to research 'Murphy's Law,' it is not something that I came across at the academy, and it appears to be most illogical.

"With our findings, Ensign Davies was able to drain our nacelles and rebuild the matter-antimatter levels. The process ran for approximately 23.5 standard hours, during which I was able to study my human counterpart in great detail. I will ensure that my discoveries into Human behavior are logged separately to this log, but needless to say, his behaviour and ethics were Illogical.

"After we restored power to our engines the rest of the journey was trouble free. I am now on the USS Sulu and will shortly send a message to my commanding officer to report for duty.

"Stop recording personal log."

Ensign Ai'Pal, sat down on the floor of his quarters and crossed his legs and closed his eyes.

"Computer, send a message to Lieutenant Tagliesh. Notify her that I am currently in my quarters on the USS Sulu and at her disposal."

And with his message sent, Ai'Pal submitted to his meditation and fell into a calming rest.

---

"Straight and Narrow, Crooked and Wide"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ensign Ethan Storm; Security Officer

Location: Security and Operations Offices, USS Sulu.
Stardate: 57907.08, 18h34

***

Ethan Storm buried his head in his hands and wondered what kind of punishment might be warranted if one were to put their fist through a Starfleet communications terminal.

Not that Storm had any personal grudge against the equipment aboard the USS Sulu, but the subject of this particular communication was swiftly earning his ire. When he finally lifted his head from his palms, her face was still there, returning his stare under disinterested half-lids. The face was certainly Risan: young, exquisitely beautiful, and colder than glacier ice. Storm silently cursed being stuck with this administrative nightmare rather than something more befitting his talents.

What made it particularly frustrating was that Storm felt he had properly applied the lessons learned from Gam Tharivar. He had begun this communication politely, mustering charm he hadn't used in a year. He had smiled and cooed and cajoled with the young woman, sprinkling his official request with enough sexual innuendo to pass for a native only to have the warm, friendly, inviting Risan woman disappear from the viewscreen for a scant few moments and get replaced by this disagreeable doppelganger.

"If you are quite through with your display," the Risan said through sleek red lips. "I would recommend you submit your request through the proper channels with the Risan Information Agency."

Resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands again, Storm instead lifted it completely and looked squarely at the monitor. He kept his voice level. "They sent me to you, as you well know. The visual logs from the Detention Facility are the RDA's purview and responsibility and I would like to view them, in the interest of locating Ensign Andrea Collins and returning her to custody."

"I believe you will find we have the matter well in hand. While the Risan government appreciates your offer of aid, I'm afraid it would be completely improper to simply hand the visual logs over to you. There are privacy concerns to consider, not to mention the personal prohibitive order."

All thoughts of diplomacy cast aside, Storm was about to openly scoff at the use of Risan and privacy in the same paragraph, but the last collection of syllables hung in his ear. "What personal prohibitive order?" he asked suspiciously, half-knowing the answer.

The Risan woman exhaled, then reached for something out of view of the monitor. She read it as if bored by the contents: "By the order of the Risan Judicial Directorate. No materials, witnesses, or cooperation concerning the investigation of Ensign Andrea Collins will be forthcoming to Starfleet officer Ensign Ethan Anderson Storm of the USS Sulu. Any such requests by Ensign Storm are to be summarily denied. Signed. Dojit Terise. Vice Director. Risan Judicial Directorate."

Storm only stared at the screen, clenching his jaw and rethinking his policy of sudden violence against inanimate objects.

"I'm sorry this has to end inconveniently for you Ensign Storm," the young Risan woman began, a trace of her former warmth coming back to her voice. "But please bear in mind that this in no way extends to the other potential delights that Risa has to offer a man like yourself. Only under the most dire circumstances would we consider denying that access. All that is ours is--"

Storm severed the communication and put his chin in his hand. What he needed was definitely down on Risa but he wasn't going to get it in the bed of a juice-girl.

"Computer," he said, after running his mind over the productivity of the last few days. "Location of Ensign Mason Farrell."

***

Storm entered the Operations office to a bouncing syncopated guitar rhythm. Halted briefly by the incongruity, he caught some of the music's lyrics:

"Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes And he went down but, to my surprise, He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair right across his teeth And we crashed through the wall and into the street Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer."

The basso monotone of Johnny Cash was sing-songing as Storm entered the Operations office. Farrell was mouthing along with the words as he tapped busily at his LCARS console. Storm recovered his wits quickly but emitted a soft sigh of apprehension. Farrell looked to be folksy, laid back, and probably friendly to a fault. Great.

"Ensign Farrell?" Storm asked, immediately being drowned out by the twanging guitar.

Farrell didn't hear him at first. A second request caused him to glance over, seeking whoever was interrupting the good Mr. Cash. Farrell smiled, and dialed down the volume.

"Welcome to Ops, Ensign..." he held up a finger to halt Storm finishing the sentence, then placed it lightly on his lip for a moment, studying Storm. "Storm," he said at last with a smile. "You'd be Ensign Storm. What can I do for you?"

"Is that Sonny Clemonds?" Storm asked, cocking his head a little to listen to the lowered music. Storm knew next to nothing about music - especially music of the 20th century - but Clemonds was a safe guess. That particular singer had experienced a resurgence of popularity after he was revived from a cryosatellite fifteen years ago and had a following among Starfleet personnel.

Farrell laughed. "As good as 'Low Mileage Pit Woofie' and 'Ol' Yellow Eyes' are, Johnny Cash remains supreme. What did you need?"

"I'm an admirer of your work," Storm said, snapping back into duty mode. "I was specifically impressed with your ability to gain access to the visual logs of Ensign Collins down on Risa." Storm handed his PADD to Mason. "I currently have need of that expertise."

Mason put his tongue between his lips as he read the PADD. "You want vidlogs from Risan Detention Authority? Why?" he sounded doubtful, but then sat back as though realizing something. "What's happened?"

"Ensign Collins escaped last night," Storm said, taken aback that Farrell didn't already know. Storm had just assumed that it was the talk of the ship.

"Damn," Farrell said appreciatively. "Is she insane? Where were our people?"

"The Risans attempted a covert relocation," Storm explained, leaning up against a nearby console. "Apparently, Kur'Oh and Jance were easily and embarrassingly misdirected." Storm considered the story silently, shaking his head. "Collins may be insane, but I just don't believe she subdued four guards while still wearing her restraints. Martial arts aren't magic."

Farrell chuckled ruefully at the idiocy of Collins' escape. Then he looked levelly at Storm. "And why won't the RDA give these logs to you?"

Storm smiled with almost a small degree of pride. "I have run afoul of a certain Vice Director of the RJD. Personally, I think she's in love and just has a crazy Risan way of showing it."

"Ah," Farrell said, drawing out the syllable with realization. "I understand that. Sit down, and tell me exactly what it is you need from me."

"That depends," Storm said, easing into the offered seat. "How close do you want to be to this? What I have in mind isn't exactly standard procedure."

A smile curled one side of Farrell's mouth, and he shook his head ruefully and spoke with mock solemnity. "It pains me to see one so young go so wrong. Let me look at you for a minute," he trailed off, leaning back in his chair, studying Storm.

"You need information," he said after a moment. "There's a simple bureaucratic cork sitting in your way. You could just be planning to find a loophole. But then you wouldn't be warning me off, now would you?"

"The less you know, the better for you," Ethan stated carefully. He didn't elaborate.

"Steady as she goes, Grankite," Farrell wagged a finger. He was starting another statement when Storm cut him off.

"It's Ethan," Storm said levelly with only a small glare. "Or Storm. I don't like nicknames."

"Suit yourself," said Farrell, waving dismissively. "But take it from me: a good idea can look a lot worse in the morning. But you've already decided, or you wouldn't be here, and I'm certainly not your guru. You want to get your hands on RJD vidlogs without going through proper channels. I'll point you in a possible direction. But I'm not going to get involved in it anything further than that. I'd get thrown out an airlock."

"Sounds like you've run afoul of someone yourself," Storm observed with a smirk. "Funny, Lieutenant Sam never struck me as that strict a disciplinarian."

Farrell smiled. It was not altogether pleasant. "Sam's a pussycat, as long as you can back your play logically. No, it's our good XO that seems to have declared me persona non grata on board."

Ethan smiled back. "Lyrr," he said simply without any particular inflection on the word. Considering how the Commander had confronted him concerning the interview of Gam Tharivar, Storm could definitely see someone like Farrell getting under her skin. However, he had been able to smooth the whole thing over with only a small bit of courtesy and it seemed Farrell had not. Maybe Mason wasn't as slick as Storm thought.

"I'd like to get moving on this," Storm declared, backtracking in their conversation. "I'd rather not have a morning to take another look at the idea."

"That's red flag number one," Farrell warned. "You've got this idea that's so hot you won't wait to think it out. Red flag number two, of course, is that to implement this hot plan you don't need anyone in the command staff; you need the previously demoted black-mark from operations. Speaking solely as an observer, you ought to be liking this idea less and less by the second." He changed tone a bit, from warning to helpful. "What's keeping me from just calling the RDA myself? Different guy, different request?"

"Same request," Storm pointed out. "And less than fifteen minutes later. Risans may be singularly preoccupied but they're not stupid." Storm leaned back in his chair, easing into his role as a cultural critic. "This really isn't about keeping me off the investigation. This is about Risan autonomy. The restrictions...the demands...that idiotic transfer attempt. They want to show us that they can handle things themselves. If I go through proper channels with this, we'll get the vidlogs days from now - right about when they'd be completely useless. I'm not going to wait."

Farrell thought a moment, scrutinizing Storm. "You realize that there aren't publicly accessible vidlogs from within the Detention Authority? I checked back when Collins was first jailed."

"I realize it," Storm said, making his intent perfectly clear.

Farrell looked down and absently scratched the bridge of his nose. "Okay," he said at last, looking up. "I know a goods and services broker on Risa. He's probably got the sorts of connections you're wanting. But you didn't hear this from me, and I don't know any specifics about what you're planning to do. And" --he held up a hand to forestall Storm's response-- "I tried to talk you out of it."

"Agreed," Storm affirmed. "But I may still have some limited need of your expertise. I assume this broker will need to be paid."

Farrell chuckled ruefully. "Once you're off Earth, nothing's free. But that's something you'll need to take up with Hyl. For what it's worth, he doesn't limit himself to Latinum. You two can probably work out an 'in-kind' deal."

Storm leaned forward in his chair, a profile of Hyl already forming in his head. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Hor'Gahn Hyl," Farrell said, "is the slimiest Tellarite you'll ever meet. But he's well connected, which makes him useful enough to enough people that he stays in business. He runs a shop in Tulip City, at an address findable in any local communications directory. He'll deal in just about anything, I imagine. He's the person I'd use. Assuming," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I was actually going to go through with this."

"You're not," Storm smiled. "What do you know about his security? Any particularly skilled employees I need to know about?"

"He operates alone, so far as I know. His business is small enough that most other operators ignore him."

"But he can deliver, right?" Storm asked skeptically. Ethan was going to have limited time for this endeavor and he didn't need an amateur stringing him along.

"Oh yeah, he'll deliver," Farrell said airily, and at the same time sounding as though he regretted telling Storm this. "He's prompt and efficient. Everything a good black marketeer should be."

"Okay," Storm said, standing. "That's as close as you need to be, Farrell. If anyone asks me, this conversation didn't happen."

"Good man," Farrell nodded. "Say, you going to Sefton's party?"

"I don't think so," Storm said, the slight hesitation indicating that he'd probably forgot. In spite of his words, his face betrayed careful consideration.

"You ought to. I'm helping set it up," Farrel grinned wolfishly. "Just swing by the mess hall about 20h00 or so.

"I may," Storm said though he had no intention of it. He extended his hand to Farrell. "Thanks for the help. And don't worry about this. I know what I'm doing."

"Wait until the morning," Farrell said seriously, shaking Storm's hand.

After Storm left Farrell and entered the corridor, a nagging thought was already eating away at the plans swirling in his head. Sefton had been a thorn in his side since Starbase 163 but Storm knew in his heart it wasn't intentional. At this point, Ethan didn't even believe that Cris had included Moreau in the Intruder Alert holosimulation on purpose. With each step, he was becoming more and more convinced that Sefton at least deserved a goodbye. And maybe even an apology.

"Computer," he said, slowing his pace. "Location of Ensign Sefton."

"Ensign Sefton is in Cargo Bay Seven," the computer replied, not yet knowing that the space was to be redesignated as an arboretum. Storm hovered his hand over his communicator.

No. Storm would go to his own quarters first, make some arrangements for his plans, and then try to catch Sefton alone before 20h00. As he stepped into a turbolift, Storm believed it important to give Sefton his best wishes for a safe journey. When Ethan considered the trouble he might be in tomorrow, it was entirely possible for him to never see Cris again. Surprisingly, that thought gave him more pause than anything Farrell had said.

"Deck Thirteen," Storm stated his destination. As the doors whisked shut, Storm remembered that thirteen used to be an unlucky number.

---

"Reporting for Duty"
by Ensign Ai'Pal - Science Officer
and Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh - Chief of Science

Location: Crew Quarters; Science Lab 1, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.08, 18h45

***

Within moments of sending his initial message, Ai'Pal received his reply. "Report immediately to the Science Lab 1, for your duty roster and further instructions. Lt. Tagliesh."

Ai'Pal raised an eyebrow. Indeed, no time has been wasted, he thought and, after changing into his Starfleet uniform, made his way to the turbolifts. "Deck 2," he said as the doors slid shut behind him. Within moments he had arrived at the science lab, where the Lieutenant was waiting for him.

He noticed that the labs here were a lot smaller than those on his last posting, but he surmised that that was due to the fact that Oberth class vessels serve only as science machines.

"Ensign Ai'Pal reporting for Duty, Lieutenant," he said, coming to a calm, but smart attention.

Xayella, leaning against one of the near walls with arms folded over her chest while her face held an expression of pure boredom, languidly dismissed his greeting with a fluttering wave of her hand. As she looked upon the officer, she couldn't help thinking: Not another Vulcan, dammit. And one who had disrupted any potential for a moment alone with Matt directly after their meeting with the Farehn'ti. Out of her duty as the CSO, she had made her way to the ship after receiving the Ensign's message, though she would have gladly shirked that duty to remain with Matt, who had encouraged her to greet the Vulcan. Though he never said anything about a pleasant greeting.

Pushing away from the wall, she unfolded one arm and thrust the datapad held in that hand towards Ai'Pal. "You're Beta Shift, sharing Lab 2 with Ensign Rax. She's currently analyzing the synthesis pathway of the toxins produced by some floral specimens we collected on our last mission to Dorvali 449. Currently, however, that project is on hold while she enjoys shore leave with the rest of the crew. You may either assist her in that analysis or begin your own project concerning some of the microbial specimens we isolated from soil samples collected on the same planet." She smiled tautly. "Or - and this might be a preposterous idea - you can go down to the planet and enjoy shore leave. Your choice."

Ai'Pal's eyebrow raised as he received the Padd. He did not budge from the thrust or show any emotion, he simply accepted the datapad. He could feel tension between himself and the Lieutenant. It is interesting that she shows such passion, in such a simple meeting. Perhaps she has not begun her leave yet and she is still to relieve her tension.

"I find it Illogical to use time relaxing on a planet, when I have adequate space to meditate in my quarters and there are tasks on board ship that require attention. I have no need to entertain emotions like other crewmembers. I also do not wish to duplicate effort by reperforming analyses.

"I believe that the best course of action would be for me to analyse the Ensign's notes and begin work with her when she resumes duty.

"Is there anything else that you require of me, Lieutenant?" He gazed into her eyes, searching for some insight into her response.

"I require nothing from you, Ensign," she replied smugly. "Just...try not to bother me for the rest of this shore leave. Deal?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, I will refrain from disturbing you for the remainder of your leave."

And at that, Ensign Ai'Pal turned and left. Curious, he thought, that someone in such a position of power should have such little control over her emotion - even for a human.

---

"Salute" (Traditional Italian Toast)
by Lt. Brennyn Shaw, RN - Chief Counselor/Nurse
and Ensign Ainsley Chambers - Counselor

Location: LaRocca's Italian Eatery, Risa
Stardate: 57907.8, 19h00

***

Brennyn Scott took a deep breath and inhaled the rich aroma of garlic, basil and oregano. Now this was how to spend a vacation! Taking a sip of red wine, Scott allowed herself to relax and enjoy the warm atmosphere of the restaurant that was situated a few miles from the bustling cities and beaches that had helped Risa become known as Party Central... Her auburn hair pulled back in a navy clip and dressed in a white blouse and long navy skirt, Bree fit right in with the regular clientele.

No, LaRocca's catered to a different sort, the so-called upscaled 'natives' of the planet, whose interests laid in leading as normal and as "small town" a life as possible given that at every moment they were surrounded by pleasure seeking tourists from every quadrant. This was their escape, a place to unwind and have a drink at the bar while discussing sports, politics and just about anything and everything going on in the galaxy except tourism and JamaHaron

Ironically enough, the restaurant had been founded by a native Italian who found the pleasure planet the perfect escape from some rather well connected "business associates" whom he had owed money. Unfortunately, those same associates tracked the guy down and, according to legend, "made him an offer he couldn't refuse." Of course, that was all just speculation and something to tease the imagination while the Risian version of spiced Calamari teased the tongue...or so she was told...

Brennyn smiled at the thought. Her father, a serious politician, never claimed to be interested in that kind of mythos, but she knew deep down that her father did more than come here on vacation for a political debate... It was perhaps why she was here now, to feel close to the familiar when all she had been facing lately was something new. This puzzled her because it wasn't as if she and her parents had been especially close...

Deciding that wasn't a train of thought worth going into, she turned her attention to the business at hand. She felt a little strange taking a dinner meeting on Risa so soon after her arrival, but she did not want to inconvenience Ainsley by forcing her to return to Sulu. Having taken over in Counselor Jhenal's absence, the young woman deserved her freedom, and besides, there would be plenty of time to spend aboard a confining starship later. Hopefully by then she would have made a few friends and have plenty of work to keep her busy... From the looks of things, there would be no trouble.

She was hoping Chambers could give her the inside track on what was really going on, not just what was reported. Every good counselor knew there was always a kernel of truth in even the most outrageous of rumors... It was why she had selected a table far from prying ears.

Ainsley was running just on time and that drove her nuts! She liked to be at least a little early. She'd been surprised when she got the message from the new chief counselor to meet her at this restaurant. She'd been so busy having fun that she hadn't even realized that Jhenal had left. Oh well, she hadn't really gotten to know her old boss so it wouldn't be too hard getting to know the new one.

She made her way into the restaurant and looked around, then she realized that she didn't even know what the new counselor looked like so it would be impossible to pick her out of the crowd.

The Maitre D' approached. "Can I help you, miss?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Brennyn Scott. She's probably here already and she may have told you that I would be showing up."

"Ah yes, Miss Chambers, right this way please." He led her to a back corner where a young woman sat, looking at a menu and sipping at her wine. The other woman had a much darker complexion then Ainsley and was a little taller and quite a bit thinner.

"Here you are, miss," the Maitre D' replied and then walked away.

"Counselor Scott," Ainsley said, "I'm Ensign Ainsley Chambers."

Bree looked up from her menu and smiled at the young blonde with the pale blue eyes. "Hello! Please," and she gestured to the chair opposite her, "sit down. What'll you have?" she asked the Roman native.

Ainsley smiled and sat in the offered chair. "I'll allow my heritage to come out and order some good old red wine."

"Very good choice." She smiled, then winked conspiratorially. "I swear I only drink on vacation..."

Ainsley nodded at her boss and very solemnly said, "Of course!" Seeing as Brennyn seemed to be one to enjoy a good laugh she added, "I, on the other hand, drink all the time." And then grinned to make sure that it was understood as a joke.

"So, Ainsley, first things first... I am Brennyn or Bree, none of this Lieutenant stuff. In front of the brass it's probably best for you to call me Counselor Scott, but I am here to heal, not to get all bent out of shape over pointless and archaic protocol. I want you to respect me, not because Starfleet says you have to, but because I have earned your respect. Hopefully, the feeling will become mutual eventually, but if it doesn't, the very least I want is for us to be honest with one another. You cool so far?" she asked with a smile. She tended to be rather straightforward, especially when it came to work.

"Perfectly cool," she replied with a smile. The waiter came by then and placed her glass of wine down beside her. "I don't believe that a counselling office can function if the counselors aren't even honest with each other, so I understand perfectly where you are coming from."

"Good," Scott returned. "I'll be arranging a staff meeting for tomorrow morning. I don't imagine it'll be too long, just an informal introduction of sorts and an opportunity to make sure we're all on the same page with regard to what's going on 'officially.' " Bree paused, and looked at Chambers with a twinkle in her eye. "But as for unofficially, I was hoping you could help me out with that."

Ainsley's forehead creased. She wasn't quite sure what her boss was asking for. "I'm sorry..." She held up her hands. "I'm not quite sure..." She trailed off then.

Scott saw that she didn't quite understand. "What does your gut tell you about how the crew's doing? Are there matters that seem to come up in the rumor mill over and over? I've found that in politics and in counseling, talk can be cheap. Perfect strangers will tell you anything they want you to know or they want you to hear simply because it's easier. The trick is to figure out what people aren't saying. I find there's always a kernel of truth in every rumor, even if it simply tells you the lengths a group will go to just to distort the truth. Gut feelings are also really good indicators. As you're more in tune to the crew right now, I was hoping you could give me your impression of some of the issues facing the crew." Business before pleasure was Bree's personal motto.

"Oh..." Ainsley felt a little foolish for not understanding what she had been asking. "I haven't had a whole lot of experience with the crew either, to be completely honest. I have a few people who I am seeing on a regular basis, Amy Reese, Grixble Flummux and Sito Marish. Mostly social problems. I've seen others, but not really on a regular basis."

Bree smiled. "That's good to know. From time to time, I'll expect more of the crew to need us, but for the most part, if the higher ups are doing their jobs correctly, we're here for occasional support and guidance only. Have you made much progress with Mr. Flummux?" Bree was particularly concerned about the Andorian/Bolian engineer. Given his psych profile, she had to wonder what he was still doing in Starfleet and if the counseling sessions were having an effect.

"Grixble is ok..." Ainsley began. "He has a lot of emotional problems but I believe we are starting to break through some of them." She no longer felt as overwhelmed with Grixble as she did during her first session with him, and she believed he was beginning to feel comfortable with her as well.

"Great," Scott replied, taking a sip of wine. "It sounds as if he could benefit from a little consistency. And Amy Reese and Sito Marish? Any ongoing concerns I should know about, or is it all in your notes?"

Ainsley nodded. "Everything will definitely be in my notes. Amy just needs a little guidance, Marish on the other hand is an interesting one. He was a Bajoran resistance fighter and he still has nightmares about it." She shook her head slightly.

"That can be tough to hear. Let me know if you could benefit from specific debriefing. I intend to make the department a team. We'll work much better if we're all focused on some common goals."

Bree pushed her glass away and grinned impishly. "Priority one is never ignore your basic needs, most importantly, food. What say you and I get to know one another over angel hair?"

"Angel hair sounds perfect!" Ainsley responded. The order was placed and then the two women sat back and looked at each other. Ainsley allowed herself to relax. "Where were you before coming to the Sulu?"

"The Terra Nova. It's a Defiant-class, and let me tell you, it lends new meaning to the term 'close quarters.' I loved the people and the opportunity to explore was great, but I'm a civie at heart and needed a little more breathing room and a lot less 'roughing it' if you know what I mean." She spoke briefly of her prior exploits, including her time in politics. "And you? Who was Ainsley Chambers pre Sulu?" she asked as the waiter delivered their food.

Ainsley told her about her time on the Ranger; there wasn't much to tell as it was a pretty uneventful year. She also told her how it had taken her a long time to enroll in the Academy, that she'd seen a little of the universe before deciding what it was she wanted to do. "My choices came down to teach in Rome or join Starfleet. As much as I love my dad and I love Rome I didn't want to be planet bound anymore."

Bree smiled. "I remember a time when being planet bound was all I ever wanted." That was the truth, for it hadn't been that long ago that Brennyn had resisted leaving Betazed for Starfleet. She realized now that a part of it had been her fear talking, and a part of it had been about not wanting to lose the memory of her parents. At least on Betazed she could feel connected to the planet that meant so much to them, and by extension, maybe she could have felt closer to the adults themselves. But that was then, and right now, she had to keep looking forward. She broke her reverie and smiled impishly at Ainsley.

"A toast," she called out, raising her glass, pausing just for a moment, "To the stars...and beyond."

---

"Finding the Ferengi"
By: Lieutenant Sam
Ensign Firece [NPC+]
Malthus
Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: Risa; USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.08, 19h45

***

Firece instinctively rested his hand upon his phaser as he and Lieutenant Sam entered a squalid area of Risa - one that, fittingly, suited Ferengi, and one Ferengi in particular. Lt. Sam had suggested they begin their search for the infamous Malthus here, and specifically at the establishment he ran. Firece hoped he was there; one more moment in this place, and he knew he'd need a shower.

"When we find him," Firece asked, "what do we do? Do we arrest him? Question him?"

"When we find him, we will need to question him," Sam said. "I am still in the process of devising our plan, Ensign, but I do not believe we should antagonize Mr. Malthus when we find him. However, it may be necessary to make certain he is aware of our sincerity. His information is vital, and we shall not leave without it."

"What if he doesn't want to give it?" Firece asked. "I mean...look at this place... I bet he's got thugs ready and waiting to bully people like us."

"We will make certain that when we speak to him, it will be in private," Sam said. "That may be difficult to arrange, but I believe we will have no difficulty making such arrangements. We are quite resourceful."

Firece frowned. "We are?"

"By our very nature, Starfleet officers are trained to be resourceful when encountered with problems." Sam glanced at Firece, and searched through his collected data for an anecdote that might feature Firece's resourcefulness. He found nothing.

"So...we'll go in there, find Malthus, and he'll tell us all we need to know." Firece nodded, then smiled like a child who had just answered a question correctly in class. "I think this'll be easy, Lieutenant."

"That is correct, Ensign," he said. "Now, let us go inside. I have visited this establishment before. The look of the building does not deceive; it is as seedy inside as it appears to be outside. Stay close to me once we are inside."

Firece made a determined expression that appeared more befuddled than anything, and followed Sam inside. He coughed immediately as his head got caught in a cloud of swirling, thick smoke, which he quickly waved away. The two were met with threatening stares and various other looks conveying contempt, disdain, indifference, and overall drunkenness.

Firece leaned in towards Sam and whispered, "I don't think they like us."

"I believe that is an accurate perception, Ensign," Sam said in a flat tone. "We should be a ble to find out the information we seek from the man tending the bar."

Firece led the way to the bar as Sam suggested, an oddly arduous trek considering the surprisingly sticky residue beneath their feet. Once safely clear of the sea of menacing patrons and tacky floorboards, Firece tapped on the bar to summon the tender. The man, unbeknownst to Firece, was already standing in front of them, now looking discontent. "What do you Starfleet boys drink? And do you have the money to pay?"

"We are not here for refreshment," Sam said, stepping up to the bar. "We are looking for a man by the name of Malthus. We have questions that we need to ask him."

The robust man chuckled, a hoarse, grating sound, and crossed his arms atop the bar as he leaned forward. "Malthus doesn't answer questions. Especially not ones asked by walking robots."

"I would prefer that Mr. Malthus tell me that himself," Sam answered.

"Well, Mr. Malthus doesn't socialize with the customers," the man gibed. "Now buy something, or leave."

"Perhaps if I purchase some refreshment from your menu, you will inform Mr. Malthus that I wish to speak with him. It is a matter of utmost importance, I assure you."

"If you buy a drink," the man echoed with a snaky smile, "I could be persuaded to. And especially if my tip is quite healthy."

Sam glanced down at the display set into the bar. He cocked his head to the side as he processed the names of the drinks. "I would like one of those," he said, and pointed to one of the drinks listed.

Durl, the bartender, squinted down at Sam's choice, then chuckled lowly. "Oh, a fine selection." Then, he turned his wide back - folds and all - to them and busied himself with the concoction.

As the corpulent man worked, Firece nudged Sam. "Do you really think he's just gonna let us see Malthus?"

"I am certain we will find out soon enough," Sam answered. "Judging what I know of humans, his body language suggests that he is not to be trusted."

Firece nodded in assent and kept a closer eye on Durl. He shifted his bulk fully around to them again, this time holding two glasses with a phosphorescent green substance within. "Here ya go. Two Vulcan Bloodsuckers," he announced, and set down the drinks less than gingerly. The glowing liquid sloshed over the brim and trickled down the sides of each glass. Firece swallowed hard. "Do we drink them?" he muttered from the corner of his mouth.

"We do," Sam said. He then picked up the drink, and took a long swallow. After a moment, he looked at Firece. "Be careful, Ensign. The alcohol content in that beverage is higher than normal. You will wish to drink it carefully." With that, he placed a credit voucher on the bar in front of him.

Durl chortled and covered the card with his monstrous hand. He watched Firece in amused anticipation as the young man brought the glass of bubbling, green liquid to his lips. Firece closed his eyes to mitigate the apprehension provoked by the sight of Durl's Vulcan Bloodsucker. Once the thick sludge touched his lips and slid down his throat, leaving a coat of viscous fluid on his tongue, Firece realized how right Sam had been. Fumes from the potent spirit drifted into his nose, suffocating him. After a hasty swallow, he expelled the noxious emissions with a hoarse cough. Durl gave a booming laugh and cuffed Firece's shoulder indelicately. "Now that's a strong will if I've ever seen one! Never seen a human go near that stuff."

Firece gripped the edge of the bar to keep himself upright, and managed a wiry smile for the bartender's benefit. "So, it's Malthus you want to talk to is it?" Having seemingly gained the bartender's respect, or satisfying his need to ridicule anything in a Starfleet uniform, Firece nodded. "Well...he's not here."

"It is one of the laws of the universe that he must be somewhere," Sam responded. "Perhaps you might have an idea where I would be able to locate him. Once I have had a chance to speak with Mr. Malthus, I assure you that it is highly improbable that you will ever see me again."

"Wouldn't that be a shame," Durl replied sardonically. "Look" --he turned back to his credit reader with Sam's voucher in hand-- "if I knew, I'd tell ya. It's my duty to keep the customers happy, and if I could make ya happy by telling you..." He sighed dramatically and turned back to the two men. He slid the voucher back towards Sam, but kept it covered by his hand. "Now, you hang on to this. Don't want anything to happen to it." A furtive message was conveyed through the man's gaze as he motioned pointedly to the card beneath his hand. "Thank you for your business," he recited, then revealed the card.

"Thank you for your time, sir," Sam answered. He picked up the credit voucher and tucked it away. "If there is ever any way that Starfleet can be of service to you, please don't hesitate to contact us." With that, he turned and started toward the exit. "It is time to go, Ensign."

Firece glanced between the two in bewilderment, looked at his drink once, winced, and pushed away from the bar to join Sam.

"Enjoy your stay on Risa!" Durl called out to them.

Sam waved back to the bartender, but continued toward the door, trusting that Firece could find his way outside.

"What's going on?" Firece asked Sam, hovering around him from one side, to the other like a nagging insect. "He didn't tell us where Malthus is."

"He didn't tell us, no," Sam said. "However, he did assist us as much as he could within that particular establishment." He took out the voucher and held it up. "He gave us Mr. Malthus' address."

Firece gawked at the card, then grinned at Sam. "That was some sleight of hand. Didn't even see him do it!"

"I would not be surprised if he held quite a number of...hidden skills, considering the nefarious nature of this establishment. Come, Ensign, we must hurry. I do not know how long Malthus will be at the location he gave us."

"We'll catch him, Lieutenant," Firece declared. "Because I'm certainly not drinking anymore of that green liquid polymer he was serving us."

"I have analyzed the chemical composition of the drink he served us, and I cannot understand why such a beverage would be served. It appears to have none of the ingredients commonly preferred by human beings. Will you be alright?"

Firece rubbed his stomach sympathetically. "I'll be fine...I think. Let's just find that Ferengi. We've got some questions to ask him."

"Indeed we do, Ensign," Sam said. "Come, we can catch a transport back on the main thoroughfare."

Firece strode cheerfully alongside Sam, proud to have an opportunity to fight crime for once. He always wondered why no one had ever given him that chance before, but before his mind could puzzle over it for what would likely turn into an hour of mind-twisting contemplation, he simply focused on the task ahead, and that was to track down a nefarious Ferengi.

***

Together they approached the door of the building the bartender had given them. Firece had questioned Sam about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (under a variety of different mispronunciations) for the entire ride to the Ferengi's abode, and Sam had answered them all willingly. Now, as they stepped up to the large door, they were living one of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson's cases, though slightly modified for the twenty-fourth century.

"It is doubtful that he will be happy to see us," Sam said. "Be prepared for him to do something...unexpected."

"Yes, sir," Firece replied, and conspicuously laid a hand upon his phaser. He nodded the go ahead to Sam, and after receiving what approximated a quizzical expression on Sam's part, the android activated the door chime. They waited and Firece raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Maybe he's not home."

"He's home," Sam answered, then rang the chime again. He adjusted the volume of his voice to something a little louder. "Be ready with your phaser, just in case, Ensign. We may need to use it to cut through the door."

Firece stared wide-eyed at Sam, then clumsily pulled free his phaser and aimed it unsteadily at the door. "Phaser ready, sir."

"Please set it to setting twelve, Ensign. On my mark, fire. One, two--"

The door opened quickly and Malthus was there, glowering at them both. "What is it about you Starfleet types and all this threatening!?" He glared at Firece. "Why, you do look uglier in that uniform, Ensign Farrell! I never would have thought that a change of clothes could have such a drastic effect on a person, but on you... Oh, wait...you're not Farrell. You're too quiet. Much less...Ferengi."

Firece sucked in a breath to return Malthus' insult, then instead made a show of increasing his phaser's settings.

"Mr. Malthus," Sam said with a smile. "Allow me to introduce Ensign Firece. He is assisting me in the current part of a case we are investigating. Mr. Firece, this is the Ferengi, Malthus. Adjust your phaser to heavy stun, and if he becomes unruly, you have my permission to shoot him."

"Yes, sir!" Firece replied, then he looked momentarily conflicted. "Sir...I already have my phaser on kill. You still want heavy stun?"

"Heavy stun, Ensign," Sam replied. "Mr. Malthus will be unable to answer any of our questions if he is vapourized by your weapon."

"Oh...right," Firece said, then adjusted the settings. "Heavy stun, Sir!" Then he thrust the weapon out towards Malthus, stopping it mere inches from his ridged nose.

"Perhaps it would be best if we talk inside, Mr. Malthus," Sam said. "We will have more privacy that way, and your being interrogated by Starfleet officers will be less noticeable."

The Ferengi spared a glare for them both, then turned and marched back inside.

"Would you care for something to eat or drink? I have some Sluggo cola, and tube grubs...just the way mom used to make them. Ensign?"

Firece didn't hide his disgust and shook his head vigorously. "No...thanks. I had a Vulcan Bloodsucker on the way over. It...uh...really hit the spot."

Malthus shuddered. "Vulcan Bloodsucker? I'd rather have root beer. What could have ever prompted you to have that... I've made enough of them to know what's really in them, but you'd swear it was Vulcan piss with a shot of Tellarite whiskey."

Firece's eyes grew large for a moment, then he closed them as he swallowed back the acrid taste rising into his mouth. He hoped Sam started asking questions soon - anything to steer the Ferengi away from anything gustatory.

Malthus held out a plate to Firece, piled high with tube grubs. "Very tasty," he mumbled around a bite he'd just shoved into his mouth. "You sure you--"

"We are quite certain, Mr. Malthus," Sam said. "We do need to ask you additional questions regarding your involvement in the murder of Dalil V'ril, however. On the night of the murder, you were present at Ensign Andrea Collins' hotel room. Upon further investigation of her room, we detected a transporter signature."

"And, you think I beamed in? I was outside." Another tube grub followed the first.

"We do not believe you beamed in," Sam answered. "However, our investigation indicates that the transporter was of Cardassian origin."

"Perhaps you may have noticed, but I'm a Ferengi. The ears tend to give it away."

"According to information we have received, you were contacted in regards to the construction of a transporter for a third party."

"With all your snooping around, I would have thought you'd notice I'm a bartender, not a transporter technician."

"That detail had not escaped our notice," Sam answered. "Therefore, we are aware you merely supplied the materials for another party to construct the transporter."

"And why would I do that? You have no proof. You don't even know what you're talking about."

"To whom did you provide this equipment, Mr. Malthus?"

"No one," Malthus answered defiantly. "I'm a junk collector...all that stuff was junk."

"Ensign Firece, what is the status of the charge on your phaser?"

Firece turned the weapon onto its side and studied the settings. "Looks fully charged to me, Lieutenant." He grinned facetiously at the Ferengi. "Ready to fire if need be."

"Very well," Sam answered. "Mr. Malthus, I am an android, I have no conscience. Firece is a simple sort of man, and I doubt that if anything unfortunate were to happen to you, he would be too bothered by it. Ensign Firece, adjust your phaser to setting nine."

"Aye, aye, sir!" he snapped, startling the Ferengi. Firece tapped at the settings, then announced, "Set to nine...sir!" Malthus flinched again and a tube grub plummeted to the ground.

"That particular setting will not kill you, Mr. Malthus. However, it will be...uncomfortable. Now, I shall ask the question again: to whom did you sell the equipment for the transporter."

A bead of sweat trickled down Malthus' large cranium. "I...um..." He glanced at the phaser, then back at Sam. "They'd kill me."

"Once you have died," Sam stated, "you will no longer feel pain. I assure you that given the state of Federation medicine, we can keep you alive for a considerable amount of time."

Malthus swallowed hard, and stuffed a tube grub into his mouth. He nearly choked on it, and quickly spat it out. "Okay," he sobbed. "Fine...fine...his name is Tamor. Gul Tamor."

Sam's left eyebrow quirked and he cocked his head to the side. "A Cardassian."

"Of course a Cardassian. Long neck, scaly. And, with those little beady eyes! But, they'll kill me!"

"We will extend an offer of protection to you, Mr. Malthus. We will provide guards for your protection, unless you would wish to be transported to our ship--"

"Oh no! Surrounded by hue-mons? And those Federation replicators never can replicate a good tube grub." He extended the plate to Firece. "Grub?"

Firece turned his nose up in disgust and his face changed to a shade of green. "Can I please shoot him now, Lieutenant?"

"No, Ensign," Sam answered. "Mr. Malthus will not be shot. He has been very cooperative. We will be returning to the ship now, but we will have a security team report to you for your protection."

Malthus sneered. "Most kind," he added.

"Come, Ensign," Sam said. "We must report to Commander Lyrr."

Firece sighed, grateful to be free of tube grubs and Ferengi. "Yes, Lieutenant." He returned his phaser to his belt and nodded his thanks to Malthus, even if it was a wholly insincere gesture.

The Ferengi nodded, though his gaze never left the plate of tube grubs in front of him. Finally, he let out a long, heavy sigh and set the plate aside.

Once they were outside, Sam quickly contacted the Sulu and requested a team to watch over the Ferengi, then had himself and Firece transported back to the ship.

***

As Sam finished his report to Commander Lyrr, he leaned back in his seat. "I have offered him our protection, should this Gul Tamor attempt to inflict any harm upon him. A team is currently at Mr. Malthus' residence watching over him."

"Good work," Lyrr commended. "And he has no idea where this Gul Tamor is?"

"From the communication I had with him upon returning to the ship, it appears that he knows no more than his name. All of their meetings are held in shadows and darkness. He is transported to the location, but due to the disorienting effect of the transporter, he does not know where they are during the meeting. It is possible that it could be a secure location on the planet as well as a ship in orbit."

"If they're as crafty as they sound," Lyrr said, "then they likely already know we've spoken to Malthus and that he is under our guard. Which means it is unlikely they'll openly seek out Malthus again. We might have been able to implant a tracking device on the Ferengi and monitor him to discover the location of those meetings. That does not sound very feasible now."

"Regardless, Commander," Sam answered, "I believe they would have had Mr. Malthus watched. Therefore, they would have known of my meeting with him. The odds of a tracking device leading us to the meeting location would be minimal."

Lyrr sighed. "It doesn't matter now. I doubt they'll be contacting him again anytime soon. Right now, I want us to find this Gul Tamor. Review the Federation database and see if you can find any information on him. A picture would be nice."

"I shall begin researching immediately, Commander," Sam answered. "I will have a report compiled for you within one hour."

"I will be expecting it, Lieutenant." As he rose to leave, Lyrr raised a hand to stay him, then said, "Good work. And pass that on to Ensign Firece as well."

"I shall do so," Sam responded. "Despite his previous reviews, I have found Ensign Firece to be an admirable and capable companion in this investigation. His capacity to quickly assimilate and form a response to a situation is lacking, however he remains a good officer and is quite skilled in his area of expertise."

Lyrr nodded slowly. "So he's not completely dim-witted?" She smiled. "Don't tell him I said that. Just...commend him for me."

"I shall do so, Commander. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Then she nodded permission for Sam to depart.

Sam stood and exited the ready room. He was uncertain how much information about Cardassian military personnel he'd be able to find, but there was only one way to find out.

---

"Who Surprises the Surprisers?"
by Lieutenant Mark Thaine - Engineering
Lieutenant (j.g.) Andrea Rhea - Counselling [NPC+]
Ensign Taylor Bennett - Security
Ensign Mason Farrell - Operations
Ensign Kit Markham - Flight Control
Ensign Tchalla Mel'Chir - Sciences
Ensign Amy Reese - Medical
Ensign Ethan Storm - Security
Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Medical
Ensign Viraj - Operations [NPC+]
and Crewman 1st Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Sciences

Location: USS Sulu, Mess Hall
Stardate: 57907.08, 19h45

***

Earlier in the afternoon, when Shyla had suggested to Amy that they host a surprise 'see you soon' dinner for Cris and Corran, she'd imagined a quiet affair with Cris and Corran's closest friends at a couple of tables in the mess hall. Contrary to holding a grudge against Sefton for his verbal indiscretion down on Risa, Amy Reese instantly decided that the dinner had to be an event. Certainly nothing so garish as to outdo the party on the Farezi Sands, especially under the circumstances, but Crissy deserved a send off that he wouldn't forget...until it was topped by his 'welcome home' party. She figured they'd only book the mess hall, line all the tables up banquet-style, have members of the Suluists provide ambient music, and only invite friends, and friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends.

It would be an Event That Would Not Be Forgotten, because of its tastefulness and class.

As the time that guests would be arriving soon approached, Amy began to realise that she should have recruited more assistance. She had originally thought that she'd be able to handle it all with Shyla, Taylor Bennett (Cris' neighbour whom he'd once mentioned socialising with), Viraj (who'd asked fellow Ops officer Mason Farrell to provide Amy's "special order" needs), as well as the rest of the running-late Suluists (if they ever arrived). At this point, though, she supposed that if the situation ever began to seem dire, she could start to put any early-arriving guests to work.

With datapad in one hand and stylus poised to tick off another item on the list held in the other, Amy surveyed the layout of the mess. The tables were ready, though they seemed slightly crooked. She had Viraj take care of that immediately. "And straighten out those table cloths while you're at it," she added in for good measure. She thought she detected a slight rolling of the eyes from the Deltan, but let it pass. There was so much more to do.

"Alright," she said to herself, while analyzing the list. "Tables - check... Food..." Amy noticed that only a few trays had been prepared and were not even laid out on the tables yet! "Shyla, would you mind bringing those trays over here? And Kelli, I thought I requested a lot more of those dumpling thingies. Replicate some more...and hurry!"

Amy sighed and passed the back of her hand over her perspiring forehead. Planning their Risan party hadn't been this complicated, but everything had to be perfect for Crissy. Her eyes caught sight of the streamers strung above the doorway and she groaned. "No, no, no, no! I asked for blue, not...whatever hideous shade of purple that is! And they're not even hung properly. I asked for the free ends to curl slightly. Those don't look like curls to me. Bennett, get right on that."

Amy sighed. The band still wasn't set up and-- Where was Kit? Before she could comm him and screech at him for being late, he strutted into the mess hall carrying his instrument. "Oh...there you are! Kitty, you're late!" Cutting off the explanation ready to come from his already opened mouth, she snapped, "Set up!" then whirled around to assess the rest of the room.

Shyla sat a tray down with a heavy thunk and tugged uncomfortably at her black skirt. Shyla rarely wore civilian clothes but had this evening to accentuate the special occasion. Amy certainly looked her best and Shyla couldn't help but marvel at the whirlwind of energy surrounding the nurse. While part of Moreau had definite misgivings about the small intimate gathering spinning into an Amy Polly Reese production, she was somewhat comforted by the fact a large group might give her and Storm a chance to talk without drawing too much attention.

Shyla picked up a tricorder she had brought to facilitate the surprise. Her first "Excuse me!" went completely unnoticed by the bustle in the room, prompting her to put her finger and pinky in her mouth and let loose with an ear-cracking whistle. The room fell instantly silent.

Shyla smiled and held the tricorder over her head. "We need a volunteer to scan for the Guests of Honor," she said, speaking clearly and rather loudly. "Any takers?"

"I'll do it," Viraj practically shouted, ignoring the tablecloth he was straightening. He was certain that Shyla would make for a less-strident task-master.

"Hey!" Amy protested. "But...the tables!" She sighed sharply as Viraj hurried to retrieve the tricorder, either not hearing her complaint, or ignoring it completely.

Shyla handed over the tricorder with a smile and a mouthed, "Thanks, sir!" and resisted the curious impulse to pat the Deltan on his bald head. With a mollifying smile to Amy, Shyla promptly took over Viraj's tablecloth-straightening duties.

Amy was annoyed with losing two extra hands, but there wasn't time to fuss about it now. Their band had yet to arrive, and Ensign Farrell had yet to come through on his promise, though he hadn't let her in on what that was exactly. For some reason, that worried her. But having no musicians worried her more.

"Kit!" she whispered, rushing up beside him. "Where is everyone! Don't tell me we're having a solo performance today."

Kit frowned as he looked around. "Not sure on Gordo, and...who really knows with Dwayne these days," he said. "And, ever since...since that night Cris hasn't seemed all that interested in joining in with us, not to mention it's his surprise party. I think it may be just you and me tonight...though, just when you least expect it, Gordo usually manages to show up."

Amy whimpered and stomped her foot petulantly. "Everything's going wrong, Kit. I had this whole thing planned out so perfectly and now--" A loud crash came from the other side of the room, and when Amy turned to see its source, she groaned. Taylor was looking guiltily at Amy, and Amy was near tears looking at the shards of shattered glass littering the floor at Taylor's feet. "Please don't tell me those were all the goblets we had replicated. Oh please don't tell me that!"

Taylor Bennett sighed and shook her head. "Not all," she said. "It was only two of them, and a plate. I cut the corner too close so I didn't run into Petty Officer Nebbs...and, those....the ones at the edge. The rest are okay though. And, I'll replicate new ones for you."

Amy gasped and grasped Taylor's wrist before the officer could hurry away. "No! You're not going anywhere near anything breakable. You take care of the rest of the decorations. Nebbs! Replicate some more goblets." She shooed Taylor away, took a moment to calm herself, then rushed away to ensure nothing else was missing or broken.

"Amy, calm down," Shyla said, following her. Shyla would have put both her hands on Reese's shoulders to comfort her if she'd stopped moving long enough. "All Cris and Corran are expecting is a quiet dinner with me. So any more than that will be a bonus. They're going to love it."

Amy sighed. "I know... It's just that I want them to both know that they're gonna be missed and--"

"Two people are coming!" Viraj announced from his spot beside the closed doors to the mess hall. He'd been putting up the new streamers over the door, but kept an eye on his tricorder at all times. The last time he'd glanced at the tricorder screen, it was quite clear that a pair of humanoids were approaching.

Amy frantically looked around the room, but had no time to obsess over the fact that they had yet to complete the preparations. There was no band, the food was not fully on the table, and Farrell hadn't delivered his goods. Amy was near meltdown when she finally gathered her wits and wildly flapped her arms to get everyone's attention. "In your places! Now! They're coming! Shyla, get those lights!"

At Amy's screeched orders, the room fell into complete disorder. Viraj took half the streamers with him as he ran from the door. Kelzira Rax rushed to her spot so quickly that she bowled over Petty Officer Nebbs; fortunately he had just placed the tray of newly replicated goblets on the main table so they survived. Shyla turned off the lights a beat too early while people were still trying to find their hiding spot, leading to several collisions and many a muffled "excuse me" in the dark. Bennett knocked over another glass but caught it before it could shatter on the deck. Only Kit Markham seemed immune to the chaos his girlfriend had just created. It merely orbited around him as he strolled calmly to his hiding spot, crouching down just as the door slid open and light from the corridor streamed inside the mess hall.

"Surprise!" the room screamed at the two figures framed in the door, though not all with the same cadence, enthusiasm, or volume. When the lights came up, there were quite a few sharp intakes of breath in surprise, and one or two disappointed 'oh's.

"What the hell is going on here?!" shouted a very annoyed looking Chief Engineer. Next to him, Andrea had raised a hand to her eyes, trying to get her vision back due to the sudden change in lighting conditions, while Thaine brandished his trademark glare about the room.

"Surprise party, sir," Shyla said, taking her hand off the lights. She'd never met the Chief Engineer but he seemed like he might appreciate formality and clarity. "For Ensign Sefton and Dr. Quezith."

"Do I look like either of them, Ensign?" he snapped, and then the engineer sighed, and looked about the room, noticing the barely controlled chaos. He looked briefly to Andrea next to him, who brushed a strand of blonde hair back behind and gave him a shrug. Then he looked back to Shyla. "Alright...do you want a hand?"

"Yes, sir," Shyla affirmed, a bit disconcerted that they were getting uninvited guests but certain that Amy would appreciate the help. "And it's Crewman. Crewman Moreau." Her hand disappeared in his firm grip. "Were you both just coming for dinner?"

Andrea nodded, and gave her a warm smile. Thaine seemed to just shift uncomfortably. "Andrea Rhea," she introduced herself, her handshake a much gentler one than Thaine's. "I'm on board for a couple of days."

"Where do you need us?" asked Thaine, with usual bluntness.

Feeling no apprehension in ordering around a senior officer, Amy stepped forward and thrust her arm out to the side, forefinger extended in the direction of the stage. "Drums. Set."

Once Thaine and Rhea had made their way to the makeshift stage, Viraj firmly said, "Wait." After a beat of silence, he sincerely asked to anyone who was listening, "This is a surprise party?"

"Yes, sir," Shyla affirmed with a weary sigh, helping Viraj to replace some of the streamers at the door. Their poor performance during the first false alarm had drained a bit of her enthusiasm and Viraj being seemingly unaware of the party's nature this late in the game didn't boost Moreau's confidence.

"How exciting! We didn't have surprise parties on Delta IV. In fact, no wait, that's not my point. Um. Oh, right... How are we going to surprise two telepaths?" Viraj questioned.

Shyla went pale at the asking. It hadn't occurred to her at all. She exchanged a glance with Amy, who shared her expression.

"They wouldn't know, would they?" Shyla asked, her brow furrowing. "I mean, they don't walk around always detecting thoughts...do they?" Moreau hadn't really made much of a study of telepathy and was now regretting it. For some reason, she thought it was something that they turned on and off as their mood suited them.

Taylor raised an arched eyebrow. "We live on a starship with a crew of one hundred individuals; there is a saying amongst many ships that says that the fastest way to get a message to the crew isn't a shipwide broadcast, just let the rumor mill carry it." Unable to help it, she glanced in Amy's direction, and then suddenly felt bad for the glance.

"Meaning what, sir?" Shyla asked Bennett, not catching the look at Amy. Although Moreau knew about Amy's indiscretion along with the rest of the ship, it was only because she had been at the concert when Sefton let it slip. Otherwise, she was happily not part of the rumor mill and didn't connect Taylor's statement to Ensign Reese. "Are you saying that they're more likely to know about the party from rumors rather than from their abilities?"

Taylor smiled and shook her head. "Exactly, Shyla," she said. "And we're at a surprise party for Cristobel and Corran...I'm Taylor. Alright? And, I'm just saying that rumors fly thought this ship at warp speed. After those glasses earlier, I wouldn't be surprised if by tomorrow morning half the ship wasn't treating me like if I get near them something's going to break or fall."

"Well I don't care about tomorrow morning," Amy cut in, hurriedly adjusting everything that had been moved out of place during the earlier confusion. "As long as you don't break anymore glasses tonight, you can break as many as you want tomorrow!"

When the doors to the mess hall whooshed open again, Viraj cursed himself for not being vigilant of his tricorder, but he sighed with relief (relief that Amy wouldn't yell at him) when it turned out to be Mason Farrell at the door.

"Evenin', folks," Farrell twanged, floating four cases of bottles ahead of him on a hoverdolly. "Beer's here," he said amiably, then frowned as he took in the scene. Everyone looked uncomfortable. "What's going on? Somebody die?"

Amy broke the silence when she cleared her throat and called out to Farrell, "Well, it's about time!"

"Now, now," Farrell said, moving to the table and opening the top case. "Beer's here before the guests. We're still alright." He looked around again at the subdued group. "Assuming no-one's actually died," he said slowly. He twisted the cap on a bottle and offered it to Amy.

"Oh, just give me that," Shyla said, taking the bottle from Farrell's hand and upending it. Drinking real alcohol wasn't exactly good for her medical condition but Amy's stress level was contagious and Shyla was the next in line for infection. The other partygoers gaped at her as she killed nearly half the bottle in one strong pull.

Amy, exasperated, relieved Shyla of the almost drained beverage and handed it back to Farrell. "No drunken party planning helpers until the guests arrive," she chided. "Now, everyone, back to work! They're not here yet, so what are you standing around for?"

Farrell got to work on a tub of ice for the beer bottles, as the others resumed their appointed tasks, with Amy overseeing ever-vigilantly.

"Someone's coming!" Viraj announced, vigilant at his post with his tricorder by the door. "In your places!" Amy started, but Viraj cut her off by declaring, "False Alarm. It's just a woman."

Even though everyone knew it wasn't the guests of honour, every eye in the room was on Tchalla Mel'Chir when she stepped through the doorway.

The young Andorian woman seemed to both pale and blush at the same time. Both antennae flattened back against her head, a defensive move...and upon inspection of the scene, unnecessary. The renewed embarrassment only caused her to blush further. "Sorry," she said softly. "I...I didn't see anyone else coming. I'm not too late, am I?" She looked around, but didn't think it looked like the guests of honour were there yet. "Hi, Viraj," she said with a shy smile, then blushed again at the thought that people might misinterpret. Fearing that she was going to faint or worse, she hurried to one of the tables offering punch. She didn't know if she really needed the drink, but it would at least stop everyone from staring at her.

Farrell offered her a beer.

Tchalla looked down at the bottle, and wrinkled her nose. "No thank you," she said. "I...I don't really like...beer. I'll just have punch...since...since there's no Andorian ale....punch is fine."

Farrell chuckled, and wagged a warning finger. "Just let me get to the variety box at the bottom. My first CO was Andorian, and he introduced me. Ever since, it just hasn't been a party without it."

"Well, without our guests," Amy cut in, "it's not gonna be a party at all." She sighed and checked the time on her datapad. "They should be here by now," she muttered. "Viraj, anything?"

"I've got a pair of men on their way, this time," Viraj announced to the room.

Amy yelped and sputtered unintelligibly before blurting out, "Hide!"

Trained reflexes leapt into action, and Taylor reacted immediately. She hopped over a chair and slid gracefully into a corner. She noticed a goblet wobbling on the table in front of her, and glanced around before steadying it. All around her, everyone else was doing the same.

Once the lights went off, the doors slid open, "Surprise" was screamed out, and the lights flared back on. Ensigns Fionn Hunter and Jade Kavana were stunned by the exclamation, and didn't move from the entryway. Fionn snickered pretty quickly, then, and held forth the tray in his hands. "Glad to see you're all this excited about chicken fingers."

That made Jade chuckle. "...Because Cris reattached his finger."

"And I'd ask him all about it if he would get his butt over here!" Amy retorted. "Where are they?"

"Sir," Shyla pleaded to Viraj. "Set that thing to Betazoid, please."

As Viraj was busy changing the tricorder's settings, the doors to the mess hall opened, and most of the medical staff barrelled in with questions of "are we late?" and "are they here yet?" The EMH had been left active in Sickbay. It lacked legs and a torso, at the moment, but it could still provide medical treatment to any part of a body.

With a rare eye roll, Shyla looked a little towards the ceiling and said, "Computer, location of Ensign Sefton and Dr. Quezith?"

The computer chirped in response. "Ensign Sefton and Dr. Quezith are at Junction 7-B, Deck Two."

Shyla flushed with excitement as she rushed to the lights. "They're on this deck! They're coming!"

"It's about damn time!" Amy exclaimed. "Now, this is it, everyone. Hide and make it good!"

Surprisingly, even with all the recent arrivals and ongoing confusion, the guests fell into their places nicely and with little incident. Once the computer had said its piece, Viraj tossed the tricorder aside, glad to be rid of it. Shyla hit the lights only a moment before the door slid open and when she turned them back on, the group surged forward to greet the door with a perfectly pitched and orchestrated "Surprise!"

Ensign Storm stood alone in the frame of the door. Though he was neither of the guests of honor, the solemn expression on his face gave the group pause, minimizing the expected displays of disappointment. Both of his hands were balled into loose fists.

Viraj, still a little oblivious, looked from Storm to the assembled guests and back again. "What's wrong?" he asked no one in particular.

"Sefton and Quezith won't be coming," Storm announced, stepping into the room. "They left the ship this morning."

A murmur went through the room as Shyla pushed her way to the front of the crowd. "The computer said they were on this deck," she said, speaking to Storm for the first time since Starbase 163.

She had expected a trademark glare from Storm but what she received was only a soft smile. He held out his left hand and opened it so the assembled guests could all see. He held two communicators.

"They left them," he said, while some people in the crowd struggled to get a look. He spoke loud enough for all to hear but Shyla still had his eye. "Cris did leave a note," Storm affirmed, holding up the isolinear chip that had been in his other hand and looking at it with a smile. "It might have been nice if he'd addressed it," Storm observed, getting a polite laugh from several guests.

Shyla felt like the room had fallen away and that no one else was there besides Storm and herself. "Why did they leave their communicators behind?" she asked in a small voice.

"I don't know," Storm shrugged. "I found them in Corran's lab down in his arboretum. Maybe they're not planning on coming back." Storm let that settle in as a slight smile fell on his lips. "But we can--"

"Crissy just...left?" Amy asked incredulously. She marched up to Storm to see the communicators for herself, then angrily snatched them from his hand. "I can't believe this! He would just...pick up and leave without telling his friends?" Amy sighed sharply. "I mean...he even left you a note. You! He didn't even like you, yet you get a farewell note while I get a party that took forever to plan and prepare that's now a bust." She let out a harsh, ironic laugh. "That is just great. Thank you so very much for this moment of enlightenment, Mr. Ethan Anderson Storm!"

Kit came up behind Amy and slipped his arms around her. "Hey, it's not his fault," he said softly. "Don't kill the messenger...which means we're going to have to hunt Cris down and kill him." He kissed the back of her head. "We've still got a party here, though. And, I think we should do what we can to make Cris and Corran sorry they missed it."

Hastily swatting away tears, Amy pulled out of Kit's hold and tearfully said, "No. I don't want to attend a party meant for that jerk. A jerk who would give someone like him" --she nodded to Storm-- "a message and not me, his supposed best friend."

Kit shrugged. "I guess the party's over then," he said. "Let's go home."

Shyla had watched Storm's face throughout Amy's tantrum and it stayed mostly stone, save when Amy had claimed that Cris didn't like him. Shyla half-prepared for a typical Storm outburst but when Kit had finished speaking, Ethan only held up his hand as a non-verbal indicator that they should wait before going to an operations panel on the wall of the Mess Hall. He hit a single key, prompting a viewscreen to appear and turned back to the guests.

"I've asked Lieutenant Sam to arrange a channel with the Delphin," Storm said with composure, though Shyla fancied his voice cracked slightly. "I'm not sure I understand the physics involved but as it was explained to me, the Delphin moves so fast that the Sulu comm signal has trouble keeping up. Bear in mind, this may not be a two-way communication." He tapped the viewscreen. "Cris should be up any second."

Storm began his walk to the door but paused in front of Amy, who was still somewhere between bristling rage and uncontrolled sobbing. Storm pressed the isolinear chip into her hand.

"The note is for you, Amy." He said only that and then he walked out.

After the doors slid shut on Storm, Amy was left in Shyla's field of vision. Reese was a commissioned officer and Shyla only enlisted but she still hoped the glare conveyed all the anger and disappointment she was feeling. When Moreau finally broke off her stare with the intention of going after Ethan, the viewscreen flared to life and she stopped in her tracks to watch. The scratching and popping of the viewscreen worked itself out just as Farrell twisted the top on a beer of his own, and Cristobel Sefton's face coalesced though the static.

"Hey," Cristobel said, once his image became clear. "Wow," was all he said, completely awed by the gathering of people and decorations - even though some of them had fallen down and been trampled upon. He was silent for a few moments, trying to take in every face in the crowd, until he finally said, "I'm sorry about leaving so suddenly. Back home there's an em-- My sister is sick." Cris turned to Corran, at his side, for a second, and then looked back at the screen. "More than usual. I have to be there for her."

Amy sniffled, then gave a tearful laugh and nodded. "I-I understand," she told him. "It...it was just so sudden and..." She sobbed again. "I just never got to say goodbye."

"There's nothing like the moment," Cristobel said with a bit of a shrug. "You can say it now."

"Fine," she replied stubbornly. "Goodbye." Amy looked away and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. It didn't take long for the petulant pose to crumble and for Amy to break into a beaming smile for Cris. "I'm gonna miss you. You're the only one who really knows what I go through, Crissy. You'll be back soon though...won't you?"

"Before the Sulu heads into the Gamma Quadrant," Cristobel promised. But then added, "Hopefully." The image on the screen went fuzzy for several seconds, and when it returned, Cristobel's image was frozen without sound. When the communication channel corrected itself, Cristobel was saying, "--so don't worry about it, Viraj. Taylor, I owe you a game of 3D chess over subspace. Kit, don't let Amy get better on her guitar than I am on my trysette. Shyla--" Cristobel paused to recall his last conversation with Shyla, before encouraging, "Don't let the sensor palettes get misaligned - no matter how moody and infuriating they get. I'm going to miss you all, and I'll try to--"

Light-years away, the Delphin adjusted its course and speed; the communication link to the Sulu was unable to adjust to the subspace variance, and it shut down automatically.

Amy watched the blank screen in silence, clinging to the hope that he would suddenly reappear again, but when moments passed and nothing happened, she looked down at the isolinear chip resting in her palm and slowly closed her fingers over it. "Goodbye, Crissy," she whispered.

---

"Home Is Where The Heart Is (But Where Is The Heart?)"
by Ensign Cristobel Sefton

Location: The Delphin
Stardate: 57907.08, 20h00

***

Cristobel's entire field of vision was filled with stars.

He had his face pressed against the view port, and all he could see was the blackness and the points of light. He could almost even ignore the humming of the transport vessel, headed to Betazed, that was boxing Cristobel in. Without looking, he could feel Corran's smile on him.

Since he had arrived on board, Cristobel had worked so damn hard to make the Sulu feel like home. Despite all his efforts, Cristobel still wasn't sure if he felt like leaving the Sulu felt like leaving home. His other home - his family - was calling to him, and they always took precedence.

All Cris could see was streaking stars. He was gone from the Sulu. But he had worked so hard to get there, he knew he would have to return. He needed to make it feel like home.

This was just a shore leave from shore leave.

***

Location: At the Starfleet Academy North Dormitory, in San Francisco Stardate 57906.08, 20h00...

Once Cristobel realised that the message from Lieutenant Commander Prescott was text-only, he could feel that it was going to be bad news. Once he read the first few words, which included 'congratulations,' he spun around his room for a minute, chanting "alpha-numeric."

Returning to the screen, eventually, he continued to read that he had been assigned to the USS Hikaru Sulu, his first choice! Of course, getting assigned to any starship was his first choice. Cris had only been an officer for several weeks, and already his record was less than stellar: a confidential medical incident in third year, an abruptly cancelled cadet cruise, and a virtually last-minute transfer from Sciences into Medical.

As he read more of the message, he eventually found a significant 'but,' and realised that he was probably right about the bad news after all. The assignment was conditional, Cris learned; he had to pass the additional, intensive, short-term Medical courses that he was already nearly completed before he could join the crew, and even once he was aboard, his duties would be limited. Despite his graduation as a Starfleet officer, Cris did not yet have the qualifications necessary to be a Doctor. If he served as a nurse for some time, and continued his studies, he could likely train at Starfleet Medical for less than the typical four years.

Cristobel's initial reaction was to tell Corran the good news, but he was at a botanical conference somewhere in Asia. Cris then tried contacting his parents, but his mother was prepping a patient for surgery, and his father was in the middle of a baking emergency. Cristobel wasn't really sure what a baking emergency would consist of, but he was sure he'd here all about it later from his mother.

He considered contacting his old roommate on the Miranda, who always gave Cris a hard time about not studying enough, but Cris decided against it, preferring to live in the now. Abandoning the commscreen, Cristobel flopped down on his bed - completely out of ideas of what to do next.

Ensign Jania Kava, Cris' roommate, stomped into the room, returning from class. After she was assigned to a starbase in the middle of nowhere, she had also chosen to remain at the Academy to earn additional qualifications. For the past week or so, she and Cristobel hadn't been speaking to one another, ever since Cris had told her what he honestly thought of her boyfriend.

Jumping up from his bed, Cris enthused, "I got assigned to the USS Sulu!"

"Should I tell you how much I don't care, or would you rather steal it from my mind?" she bitterly spat at the Betazoid. He couldn't help but overhear some rather vulgar thoughts she had in her head towards him.

"Bitch," he coughed, as he headed for the door.

"Don't call me names," she stressed with a pointed finger at Cris.

"Don't be a bitch," he retorted, and left.

With no one left to talk to, Cris ran out to the expansive lawn behind the dormitory, and lay on his back to look up at the stars. There was daylight, still, and so he couldn't actually see the stars, but soon enough the stars would fill his whole field of vision...

---

"Alignment"
by Crewman 1st Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Astrometrics Technician
and Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer

Location: Deck 13 Corridor and Ensign Storm's Quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.08, 20h14

***

Shyla Lynn Moreau wasn't superstitious. She had a rational mind that precluded such a belief system and was truly a child of the 24th century. She didn't believe in bad luck and she thought things happened either because they simply happened or were brought about by certain actions or inactions. She had never believed in fate. However, when she managed to catch up to Ethan Storm just down the corridor from his quarters even though he'd left her behind in the Mess Hall a full five minutes before, she thought it was time to start believing in something.

"Ethan!" she called out as she chased after the Security Officer. She was prepared to shout again, as she didn't expect him to stop, but when she came around a corridor corner, she found him there waiting for her. His expression showed something between slight bemusement and a fair bit of melancholy.

"Hi," she said, a little lamely, all of the sudden flustered at finding herself face to face with him. With a hand motion she tucked some of the hair that had fallen forward behind her ear and looked down at his boots.

"Hi," he said back, smiling. He took in the sight of Moreau: Long auburn hair falling down well past her shoulders, sleeveless white blouse and mid-length black skirt, showing more of her creamy cinnamon skin than he'd ever seen before. She looked beautiful.

"Ethan," Shyla began. "I'm sorry about Amy. She--"

"Hey, don't worry about that," he said, shaking his head. "She was just...disappointed. It's okay."

Shyla looked up at Storm, the tears forming in her eyes at odds with Storm's lighthearted tone. "She shouldn't have said those things to you."

"I know," Ethan said, speaking softly to her and putting his hand on her shoulder. "But it's okay."

"I know Cris liked you," she said with conviction as more tears flowed freely with Storm's touch. "We talked about it and he liked you. I know he liked you." Her voice trailed off at that last insistence and she became racked with sobs.

Ethan pulled Shyla to him and wrapped his arms around her. As she bawled into his chest, Storm would say, "Okay, okay" each time Shyla incoherently insisted that Cris had liked him. They went on like that for a while, Storm saying, "Okay" so many times that he continued long after she'd stopped talking. Eventually, they settled into a silent embrace.

"Ethan," she said finally, her voice a bit muffled by his chest and her throat still thick from crying. "Can I tell you something?"

Storm smiled and continued holding her. "Let me guess...Cris liked me?"

"Not that," she laughed into his chest and followed it with a sniffle. There was a long pause before she softly said, "I like you."

Storm let her slip out of his arms and took a step back from her. Her eyes were red and her cheeks and nose were flushed a rosy pink from crying and she was beautiful still. To her, his face was as unreadable as granite.

"I know you don't want to hear that," she said, with a glance down. While she spoke, she traced a small circle on the deck with her shoe. "But Cris and Corran leaving, it has me thinking... Maybe they're not coming back."

"They'll be back," Storm said, his voice kind but his face still a mystery.

"I hope," she said, looking to him with her eyes bright. "But maybe they won't. And we're all out here and anything can happen to us and I don't know how many chances I'll get to say this: I like you, Ethan."

Storm struggled to say nothing and look impassive so the moment would pass. But it was Shyla's moment.

"Why can't you say something to me?" she asked, her voice getting some of its strength back. "I like you. Can't you talk to me?"

"Shyla--" Storm began.

"No," she interrupted, motioning with her hands. "I want you to tell me why you can't talk to me. I want you to tell me how you can just stop talking to someone like that. Why did you stop talking to me after you finished the Academy?"

"Do you really want to know?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"Yes." There was only the slightest hesitation.

Storm looked Shyla in the eye and spoke as if he were relieving himself of a deep secret. "In your life, you'll meet different people and although you may like how they look or the things that they say or the way they make you feel, you still need to dig down and figure out if they're right for you. And sometimes when you really look hard, you shouldn't be surprised when they just don't measure up."

Shyla stood blinking for a moment, incredulous at what had just been said. Her eyes blazed. "Are you saying I'm not good enough for you?"

Storm opened his mouth to answer but she didn't give him the chance. "Why?! Because I don't come from a famous Starfleet family?! Because I didn't graduate from the Academy?!"

"Shyla--" Storm tried to stop her but she was having none of it.

"You know," Shyla said, getting up close to Storm and jabbing her finger at his chest. "I would've finished fourth in class my first year if I hadn't transferred out and my family may not be a bunch of Captains and Admirals but my father has done as much for the Federation as anyone! And you know wha--"

"I was talking about myself," Storm said, simply and a little quietly.

Shyla ground to a halt mid-sentence, not sure she understood. Her anger deflated instantly like a balloon popped with a pin.

"I'm the one who doesn't measure up, Shyla." The stone of Storm's face had cracked enough to show some pain in his eyes. "I didn't measure up at the Academy and believe me, I don't measure up now. And I would not have you waste one more second on someone like me."

Shyla was nearly paralyzed by the admission. She could not talk or move, save for her trembling bottom lip. The protests that formed in her head died on her tongue.

Storm reached out to her and cupped her cheek in his hand. "You're a beautiful and intelligent woman, Shyla, and there are plenty of other people on this ship." He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss on her lips, before drawing back and regarding her with a smile. "Find someone who deserves you."

Storm walked on to his quarters. After he entered, he turned and watched his door close on Shyla Moreau.

***

Ethan had only been inside a few minutes when that door chimed. "Come," he announced as he finished stripping off his uniform undershirt.

The door opened and Moreau took a half step into it, a bit shyly but her eyes intently on the bare-chested Storm. "What if I think you're wrong?" she asked.

Ethan blinked, not understanding. "Wrong about what?" he asked.

"What if I think you do measure up?" Shyla stayed in the frame of the door. "What if don't think you're a waste of my time?

Storm was shaking his head. "Shyla..."

"I have faith in you, Ethan," she said. "Will you please have a little in me?"

Storm looked down at the shirt in his hands for a long time. "Shyla," he said finally.

"Yes?" she answered, her face in a flushed combination of apprehension and excitement. She could hardly hear anything over her heartbeat.

"Come in and shut the door."

Shyla stepped fully inside the room and the door snapped closed. Looking at Ethan the entire time with the slightest smile, she hit the locking mechanism and used the manual control to dim the lights.

And a half-second after that, she was in his arms again.

---

"Fish Out of Water, Part 1"
By: Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer
with Loren as Hor'Gahn Hyl [NPC]

Location: Hor'Gahn Hyl's and Tulip City, Risa
Stardate: 57907.08 22h29

***

Ethan Storm beamed into an alley junction in the seedier part of Tulip City. The location had been a purely tactical choice: It was centrally located in the slum district near several public communications terminals and branched into five separate alleyways that allowed for travel in any direction. However, the real selling point had been the fact that it was devoid of humanoid lifeforms. At least, that had been the sensor reading from the Sulu but even as Storm was still shimmering into existence, he could see a young Risan girl leaning against a building not ten feet away. They regarded one another for a heartbeat while his molecules made the transition from energy back into matter.

"You Starfleet?" she asked with a world weary voice when he'd finally materialized. She was blond under the layer of dirt and had hauntingly empty pale eyes. She appeared to be about thirteen Terran years old and underdeveloped, probably as a result of poor nutrition. Her clothes were likewise filthy and threadbare and a bit too revealing for someone so young. Around her neck, she wore what looked to be a sensor suppression unit which explained why she hadn't been detected before beam down.

"Maybe," Storm answered, taking a few wary steps towards her. Storm may have been out of uniform and dressed more like a club-goer in his dark clothes and long black trenchcoat but civilian transports typically beamed their passengers down to the multitude of arrival centers near various Risan hotspots. Tourists didn't usually ask to be put down alone deep in the worm-eaten heart of the slums. Anyone who did was either Starfleet or looking for trouble. Or both.

"You are," the girl deduced with a shrug. She appeared unthreatened. "You looking to buy? I got dream crystals and jewels of sound." The girl was naming illicit drugs prohibited on nearly all Federation member worlds. "And I can get tricordrazine if you'll wait an hour." These offers at least explained the need for the SSU: It was to avoid sweeps by the Risan authorities.

"Not interested," Storm said, walking past her towards the coordinates of a public communications terminal. Before he got too far away, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Go home," but didn't otherwise stop or slow his efforts to leave the alley.

She made no appearance of taking his advice but only watched him walk away, pivoting her body lazily at the point her shoulder made contact with the building wall. Just as he was about to disappear around the corner, she shouted, "I don't have a home, Starfleet!"

Storm stopped and regarded her from silhouette, his long coat billowing with the light breeze whipping through the alleys. He fished in his pocket and removed one of his only two latinum strips. He tossed it through the shadows and she caught it.

"Just go somewhere," he said quietly.

***

The door hit a strand of tiny bells as it opened, the tinny tinkling announcing the arrival of a customer. The shop's interior defied categorization. A number of transaluminum cases throughout the shop displayed a vast assortment of trinkets and curios. A wide range of jewelry was present, along with a few bladed weapons, and several small devices whose use was not immediately apparent. One entire wall held shelf after shelf of Hor'gahn statuettes: big and small, wooden, ceramic, or metal, and a few that looked like bone. On another wall was a series of aquarium tanks, each holding a different sort of exotic fish. A garish chronometer with phallic-shaped hands sat among the fish tanks. Every surface not otherwise engaged was occupied with salacious artworks in various media.

The Tellarite behind the counter quickly put down his fork, and stashed both it and the container he'd been eating from. He wiped his mouth with a small towel and smiled greasily.

"Good evening, hajik," he said, a smarmy nasal sound. "Welcome. Were you looking for anything specific this evening?"

Sitting on the counter was a small holoemitter displaying a tentacular alien performing a particularly lewd act on an indeterminate humanoid woman. The figures writhed silently in the corner of Ethan's vision as he responded.

"It's Storm," Ethan said, leaning heavily on the counter display case and towering over the short Tellarite on the other side. His UT had failed to make heads or tails of hajik but he guessed it was some unflattering slang from Tellar. "I don't like nicknames."

Hyl's vertical nose-slits flared slightly. Maybe out of anger. Maybe out of worry. "Then, Mister Storm, what do you seek at Hor'Gahn Hyl's this evening?" He smelled slightly of new rubber.

Storm retrieved a PADD from his coat pocket, one appearing to be of civilian manufacture, and slid it over to the Tellarite. It contained a breakdown of the files he wanted from the Risan Detention Facility and the specific time codes involved. Ethan had never really conducted this kind of transaction before but guessed that discretion might be appreciated.

Hyl picked up the PADD, and perused its contents. He hemmed and hawed for nearly a full minute while Storm drummed his fingers on the counter.

"This is acquirable," he said at last. "Three days," he added flatly.

"In three days," Storm began evenly, "I could get that through official channels. Three hours. And I'll need to view it here."

Hyl arched an eyebrow, which made him look even more like a terran bat. "I'm sure you understand that the price of a service is in direct proportion to the amount of time it is expected to take. I assume you have a quantity of latinum appropriate to your three-hour deadline?"

"One strip," Storm said truthfully.

Hyl was very still, but blinked several times, clearly attempting to comprehend what he had just been told.

"You understand, of course," he said at last, "that one strip is not enough to reimburse even the time it has taken to have this conversation so far."

"I disagree," Storm said, taking his hands off the counter and motioning about the shop. "You have a fair amount of contraband right in plain sight. The Risan authorities might not care but I can get the entire security force of a starship down here to take a look at your wares, just to check for anything against Federation law. It'd never hold up in court but you'd be essentially out of business until you worked everything out."

Hyl's face contorted in a way Storm had never seen a Tellarite contort. Storm smiled grimly, and with incredible swiftness reached across the counter and lifted Hyl by his lapels until they were face to face.

"So, what do you say, Hyl?" Storm asked, staring into the beady black eyes. "One strip?"

Hyl's nose slits flared with rapid rhythm. "One strip will be sufficient for me to begin the process. It will not be enough to comp--" he grunted as Storm pulled him harder across the counter. "Complete the job," he finished, panting in Storm's face. "But when the job is paid for, your one strip will be enough to keep me from publishing the fact that a certain Starfleet officer was in my shop to begin with, let alone what he requested."

Storm dropped Hyl and he landed heavily on his feet. Storm looked at Tellarite, showing no signs of regretting the bluff. Finally, using his harshest tone he asked, "How much for the job? In total?"

Hyl dusted himself off.

"Thank you," he said agreeably, and laced his fingers together across his belly. "Now," he continued, in a voice that sounded a bit like an over-patient schoolmaster, "I will assume for the moment that you offered such a ludicrous price because you are short on latinum at this time." He held up a hand pleasantly, cutting off Storm's retort. "There is no shame in this, hajik," he caught himself, "excuse me, Mister Storm.

"In matters such as this, where a buyer cannot afford a price set within a medium of currency, it is common for the involved parties to engage in what is called by people in my business an 'in-kind' trade. That is," his voice was genuinely grating, and his patronizing tone even more so, "I have something you want, and you have something I want, and we simply" --he made a gesture, passing one hand alongside the other-- "exchange. No money would be involved, except of course for the single strip we've already discussed. Is this agreeable?"

Storm folded his arms across his chest and nodded only once. He resisted the urge to switch the topic from Trade and Barter to Tellarite Anatomy.

Hyl stretched his arms wide. "Look around you, Mister Storm. You can see the sorts of things in which I typically deal. Can you supply me with anything along these lines?"

Making sure not to glance at the pornographic tentacle-creature and its victim, Storm looked about the cluttered shop and tried not to sigh. Ever since the Yeager, Ethan had lived an increasingly Spartan life. His quarters were devoid of mementos save one of his grandfather's medals and a lock of Seja's hair. He replicated anything he needed and generally recycled everything when he was done with it. Looking over Hyl's various piles of merchandise, legal and illegal, Storm was about to admit that he had nothing to offer the Tellarite until his eyes fell on the bubbling wall of aquariums. Then he realized that he did have one thing, difficult to give up but perhaps even more difficult to keep.

"You like fish, Hyl?" Storm asked with a bit of a lump in his throat.

***

Skipper, Storm's Andorian cuttlefish, puffed up three times his usual size and dislodged several poison spines in his new aquarium at Hor'Gahn Hyl's.

The transaction hadn't been easy for Storm, emotionally or in the practical sense. Skipper had belonged to his fiancée and the long-lived fish had been in her family for generations. While caring for the foul-tempered Skipper had never been a pleasant experience and had served as a constant reminder of her death, to trade him away seemed a dishonor to her memory. With someone's life and livelihood at risk, Storm could only hope that Seja would have understood.

If that weren't trouble enough, there were Federation and Risan laws governing the transport of non-indigenous species to the planet. The Sulu transporter chiefs refused to beam the Skipper down until they had received a copy of Hyl's exotic animal trader's license. While Hyl was able to work through the red tape quite swiftly, Storm fretted about the data trail that was being left behind. These regulations were slowing down the process and Ethan no longer knew if he could do what he had planned before the entire ship came down upon him.

"Very good," Hyl said, clapping his hands happily. "During your collection of the cuttlefish, I took the liberty of contacting some of my people. They are at work on your request now, and assure me that they will have what you require within the hour. There is a small yaba vendor across the avenue," he waved vaguely toward the door. "If you have not returned in an hour, I will contact the vendor and have you paged."

Heading the opposite direction from Hyl's wave, the weary Storm went to a door at the back of the shop. "I'll be in here, asleep. I'll expect the vidlogs in an hour. No more." Storm turned the knob on the old-fashion door and disappeared into the darkness. A few seconds later, he reappeared and opened his trench, so that Hyl could see his holstered phaser.

"If you want to come in here, I would suggest knocking first."

Hyl smiled uncomfortably. "As you say, Mister Storm."

---

"In the Pale Moonlight"
by Captain Matt Salinger
Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh
Doctor M'Lira
and Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: Matt & Xay's Bungalow, Risa
Stardate 57907.08 22h34

***

The moon and the beach and the long deserted stretch of sand they'd found was perfect. They'd spent over an hour out there after their meal, which was perfect as well. The night was good...nearly perfect. Now, Matt Salinger and Xayella Tagliesh huddled in the doorway of their small bungalow, lost to the world except for each other. There was nothing else but their embrace, their kisses, their love.

Matt chuckled softly as he kissed her throat, before moving back to her lips. "You know, I think I've found more sand, under your shirt in back here."

"It's too bad making love on a beach is so messy," Xay mused. "I could really get used to it." She dragged her lips over Matt's chin and down to his throat, while her hands sought the fastenings on his pants. "The shower's not far," she murmured.

"No it's not," Matt said as he used one hand to type in their pass code to open the door. "And, I must say that I really do like the cleaning up part...almost as much as the getting dirty part."

"Me too," Xay concurred, and as the lock snicked, freeing open the door, she pulled Matt inside with her. The two stumbled and Xay giggled, then almost knocked them both to the ground as she jumped into Matt's arms. "Much better this way," she sighed, then nuzzled her lips to his neck.

"Much better," Matt murmured as he began undressing her slowly. He spun them around, and pretended to stumble, then laughed as Xay cried out. "Don't worry, my love, I'll never let you fall." Then, on smooth, easy steps, he carried her into the bathroom where the shower awaited them.

The motion-activated jets of water sprang from the shower's nozzle as Matt stepped inside. Xayella sighed and her lids closed over her intense green eyes as the stream of warm liquid pattered lightly against her back. Still in Matt's arms, she leaned her forehead into his shoulder and brushed her lips against his chest. "I love you," she whispered. "He said I'd end up hurting you...but I won't."

"Who said?" Matt asked as he moved his lips to her shoulders, kissing her while he let the water spray over their bodies. "I know you'd never hurt me, Xay. I know it."

"I know that," she said, "and you know that... I don't think everyone else believes that." Xay worked her kisses up to Matt's lips, then she pulled back slightly and smiled. "So...care to prove them wrong?"

"Gladly," Matt said with a slow smile as he let his body slide down along hers. He kissed her, and heard a gasp from above. He chuckled as he continued, wondering if they'd ever get into a shower together without something like this happening. He hoped not.

Xayella threaded her fingers through Matt's sodden hair and lay her head back against the wall of the shower. The continuous spray of water provided a gentle backbeat to her hastening breaths, and the odd whimpering moan added a counterpoint to the symphony their love was composing. Xayella had never met a man who could make her entire body sing, as only Matt could, and who could compel her heart to join in. As a joyous cry escaped her trembling lips, Xayella gazed up at the ceiling of the shower, seeing only the glittering stars spotting her vision, and made her decision, one she never thought she would face in her life. If Matt ever asked for her hand in marriage, she knew she would gladly give it, just as she gave him her heart.

***

Matt and Xayella lay together in their bed, holding each other as they had been for the last half hour. The shower had been wonderful, and the after-shower had been amazing....and now they both needed time to regain their strength. Matt kissed her shoulder and sighed. "Have I mentioned that I love, Xay? If I haven't, I just...just want you to know. In case...well, in case it might be possible to forget. Though, after that, I don't see how we could ever possibly forget." He pulled her closer and laughed softly. "I want it like this as often as we can make it, Xay. Just you and me alone...only the two of us...just...together."

"Well, I know it might be a little soon and I'm not sure you want to get yourself into more trouble than you will when Lyrr finds out about us..." She smiled hesitantly at Matt as she lightly played her fingers across his chest. "I could...move into your quarters... I mean, it wouldn't have to be right away, but soon..."

"I like the thought of that," Matt said with a smile. "It may be a little much to do just yet...however, I definitely think we can work into it slowly. Perhaps, at this point, you can stay in my quarters more often. Once the crew is a little more...used to us together, then we can see about moving your things in. As much as I want this, I don't want to rush too quickly into it...to the point of having members of the ship doubting my ability to command." He kissed her. "But I do want you with me as often as we can be together. Do you suppose people would wonder if I had the bathroom in my quarters remodeled...for two?"

Xayella chuckled and wound one leg around his waist to pull herself in closer. "A shower large enough for activities other than showering? That wouldn't be in the least suspicious!"

"Oh, we'd be the talk of the ship for certain," Matt said as he slid his hands to her waist. "But, we are already, aren't we? Perhaps we would have to do that quietly, so people can focus on their jobs...and not on us."

"Well, you have to admit, it is pretty exciting. The captain and the CSO...and considering all the drama preceding our coupling...." She emphasized the word with a gentle push of her hips forward into Matt's. "How can people not pay attention?" she cooed.

"How can they not," Matt said with a low chuckle. "I know the captain isn't supposed to be part of the ship's gossip, but I wouldn't trade this for anything. Let's make love again, and then I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. I can't think of any feeling in life that's nicer than that."

"Not even exploring the galaxy?" Xayella asked with a grin.

"Perhaps exploring the galaxy with you in my arms," Matt answered. "Doing anything as long as you're around to share it with me." He kissed her again, a slow passionate kiss that expressed his love and desire, a love and desire Xayella freely reciprocated. They quickly found their rhythm once more, letting the rest of the world slip away to the bliss they shared with each other.

***

Conditioned to grumble at the sound of a communicator chirping, Xayella did just that in her sleep. She rolled onto her side and nestled her face into the curve of Matt's neck, though the twittering persisted. Finally, Xay growled and tapped Matt insistently on the chest. "Get it," she muttered sleepily. "Or throw it off the balcony. Just...get rid of it."

Matt reached over and picked up his communicator from the table next to the bed. He went to tap it, and stopped. "It's not mine," he said. "It's...where is yours?"

"What?" Xay groaned and turned onto her other side. She paused for a moment, long enough to almost get lured back into sleep, but at Matt's nudge, she swore under her breath and slid out of bed.

Still cursing at whoever had the gall to comm her so late in the night, Xayella crossed the bedroom sluggishly, and with half-lidded eyes, towards the overstuffed sofa to retrieve her comm. She turned over her uniform to find it, then freed it from the fabric and tapped.

"Lt. Tagliesh," she sighed. She shivered from the chill of the air hitting her flesh and briskly rubbed her arm with her one free hand to generate heat. "What the hell is it? Don't you know it's late?"

"I understand, sir," came the reply. "But...it's...sir, I think you will want to see this. I know you're on shore leave, but...but I think we've made a break in identifying the unknown substance...sir."

Xayella didn't recognize the voice, but she had yet to meet all of her science officers, so she gave it not another thought except that she had an instant dislike for this particular one. Instead, she sighed sharply and snapped, "Fine. I'm on my way. Tagliesh out." Then she tossed her communicator onto the sofa.

As she turned back towards the bed, she smiled guiltily. "I guess now I can't blame you the next time you're called away."

Matt chuckled. "I'll remember that," he said. "If you want, I'll come up with you. We could sneak into your quarters after...and break in the bed."

Xay grinned and moved back to the bed. "You should sleep." She leaned over him and kissed his brow. "You still have negotiations tomorrow, remember? You'll need to conserve some energy."

"How could I forget?" Despite the hints that Xayella had been trying to conceal, she really hadn't done well at hiding the fact that the Farehn'ti were planning for a surprise party for him tomorrow. He'd played along, even though she couldn't keep a secret. "I'll go back to sleep only if you promise to come back to me soon."

Xayella chuckled and slipped her hand beneath the sheets, gaining an ensuing moan from Matt. "Just hang onto that thought, and it should keep you going while I'm gone." Then she kissed him fully on the mouth, and started back towards her uniform upon the sofa.

"I'll see you soon," Matt said as he waved to her. Rather than going straight back to sleep, he watched her. He would gladly watch her for hours if he could. Of course, she'd be back soon enough, and he had a feeling he'd be doing more than looking.

Xayella blew Matt a kiss once her uniform was in place, then she laughed softly at him and left the room. She contacted the ship and asked to be beamed up. Just as the transporter gripped her, Xayella gasped softly as she remembered she'd forgotten something important. Before she could run back and tell Matt she loved him, the transporter whisked her away. She reminded herself to say it to him once she returned.

***

Once the sensors indicated the woman had gone, the transport began. Striated light swirled and faded, leaving only the darkness of his room. He was the target, drawing the negotiations too close to conclusion, too close to resolution, too close to peace. That would not be tolerated, not yet, not without the power in the right places. And so the negotiations had to come to an end...or at least hit another bump.

The room was now empty except for the target. Moving deftly and quiet, careful to make no sound, the shadow drifted closer. He slept peacefully, thankfully the kind who slept quickly. This task could have been performed with the woman present, but the risks were too great. So, she was removed from the scene as efficiently as possible.

The shadow reached the bed, darkness obscuring the light filtering through the window. A glint reflected briefly as the blade slid from the sheath holding it in place. A silent prayer was offered for the light about to be extinguished, and then the blade snapped up.

As it began to fell, the whine of a Federation transporter sounded. A silent curse followed, but the surprise had already altered the blade's course. Still, the weapon found its mark, and sank deep.

The whine vanished, leaving the woman in place. A choked scream erupted from the lips of the dying man, while realization reached the clouded mind of the woman.

Knowing that there was nothing more to be done, the shadow leapt back, and tapped at an unseen device, and as the grief-stricken cry erupted from the woman's lips, the shadow vanished in a blaze of orange light.

***

She could hear nothing above her sobs, not even Matt's breathing, if he was still breathing. Her quavering hands remained firmly over the wound, and thick, dark blood oozed between her fingers no matter how fiercely she tried to keep it in. At least it meant his heart was still beating, considering the volume of blood each beat pumped out of the stab wound.

Xayella emitted an anguished groan and hoarsely pleaded with Matt to open his eyes. There were specks of blood on his face from where it had splattered, and she tried desperately to clean it away with the sleeve of her uniform, to erase the physical reality of what was happening, but she only succeeded in smearing the droplets further.

"Matt! Matt open your eyes!"

Xayella choked on her own tears and shook her head in shocked disbelief. Upon arriving on the ship, Xayella had contacted the science department to get an update while she made her way to the lab. No one there knew anything about it, and in an attempt to discover who had commed her so she could deliver a particularly scathing tirade to the fool, the computer informed her that no such communication had been made from the ship. Xayella, puzzled and irked, wasted no time in returning to the surface. And upon seeing the blade, moonlight glinting from its edge, hurtling down towards Matt, Xayella wished she'd been a moment sooner.

Now, tears dripped from her chin onto the sheets, mingling with the blood now staining them. She hadn't even told him she loved him. She might never have the chance to again.

"No!" she growled. "No, this isn't fair! I'm not losing you now. It's too soon!" With a wailing cry, she let her head fall onto her hands, slick with blood and wept quietly over Matt's body.

Matt Salinger let out a choked gasp, faint and barely noticeable. "Xa...Xay...Xayella..."

She raised her head slowly in response, afraid it was her delirium deceiving her. When his eyes flickered open, she sobbed again. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should've been here..."

Behind her, the characteristic hum of transporter beams materializing sounded, and Xayella called out to them. She turned back to Matt, attempting a reassuring smile for him. "I-It's gonna be okay," she told him unsteadily. "You're gonna be..." Xayella sobbed again, unable to continue.

Dr. M'lira rushed forward, tricorder already out and scanning. She quickly started barking out orders to her team. The lights came on, earning a hiss from the Caitian doctor. "We need to stabilize him for transport," she said as she opened her medical kit. She continued taking readings with one hand while the other readied a hypospray. She handed the hypospray to her assistant. "Thirty cc's of antrioxine. Xayella, he'll be fine. We need to get him back to the Sulu. I'm certain security will wish to talk to you." She applied the hypo to Matt's throat, and injected it into his bloodstream with a hiss. She took another reading and nodded. "We have to transport. We need to get him to sickbay."

The sound of another transporter beam appearing came, and from it resolved the figure of Lyrr Tayla. She'd seen much bloodshed in her days as a resistance fighter, but never had it been a man she considered her friend mortally wounded before her eyes. The sight of Matt, looking lifeless and blood covering him like a blanket, had Lyrr feeling nauseous. Gathering up her resolve, she strode into the bedroom, noticed Lieutenant Tagliesh kneeling next to the bed with bloodstained hands held to her chest, but was too shocked to pay much attention to her. She focused only on Matt.

"By the Prophets," she breathed. "Doctor...what's happening?"

"Knife wound to the chest," M'lira answered. "Very similar to the wound delivered to Dalil V'ril. We're stabilizing the captain now, but we will need to get him to Sickbay."

Lyrr muttered a choice Bajoran expletive, one aimed at the perpetrator of Matt's stabbing, and at herself for failing to find him or her beforehand. "Keep me apprised of his condition. I'll be remaining to investigate the scene. Were there any witnesses?"

M'lira glanced up at Xayella, then back to Lyrr. "I don't believe I'm going to be able to transport him back to the Sulu. His wounds are severe enough that using the transporter could kill him. I recommend having him taken to a local hospital."

"Then call for a transport," Lyrr ordered one of the nurses. He obeyed immediately. "Where is the nearest facility, and will he even make it there?"

"He'll make it," M'lira answered. "The nearest is just over a kilometer away. The transport should be here within five minutes, and we can keep him stable during that time. Don't worry, Commander, the captain will not die while I'm here. And, I don't intend to leave his side until he is stable."

"Neither do I," Xayella added tearfully, now holding one of Matt's hands in hers. "I'm not leaving you," she whispered to him.

Lyrr stared with cold, hard resentment at Tagliesh, and at Matt for lying to her. It was obvious, now, that the rumours hadn't been that at all. "You will remain here, Lieutenant," Lyrr informed her in a tone bereft of emotion. "You are the witness to an attempted homicide and there are some questions you will be required to answer."

Xay glared up at Lyrr with red-rimmed eyes and replied, "I'll answer them after. I'm going with Matt."

Lyrr narrowed her eyes at the CSO. "Are you disobeying a direct order, Lieutenant?"

Xayella gritted her teeth and spat, "Screw you, you heartless bitch! Reprimand me for all I care. I'm not leaving Matt."

The lieutenant's comments stung Lyrr, only in that they were spoken by her captain's, her supposed friend's lover. In such a situation, her power was impotent; it was a shameful realization. Lyrr stiffened under Xayella's fierce gaze and answered tightly, "Fine. You can remain with him, but expect a security officer to stop by and interview you."

Lyrr received no reply, only a view of the back of Xayella's head as she focused on Matt again, ignoring the commander completely.

Sirens sounded outside, and a moment later, men clad in the uniforms of Risan emergency services came through the door. M'lira quickly took control of the situation. They managed to get Matt shifted to a gurney, and activated a stasis field that would keep any jarring on the outside from affecting him within it. As they took the captain out to the covered van with Xayella as close as she could be to him, M'lira turned back to Lyrr. "I'll keep you informed, Commander," she said. "The wound is serious, but with a good facility we can save him. I'll talk to you soon."

Lyrr nodded her head curtly, and continued to watch the group until they fully left the cottage. Now alone and her steely resolve wavering, Lyrr looked over the scene, at the sheets drenched in blood, at the afterimage of Matt lying still upon the bed...with Lieutenant Tagliesh pining over him. It all slammed into Lyrr with a force greater than she could withstand, and before she knew it, she had slid down onto the ground with her knees held tightly against her chest while she wept convulsively. She wondered, then, how everything could have gone so wrong.

---