"Under the Stars"
By: Lieutenant j.g. Natalia Druschev; Science Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: Risa, Casino Palari
Stardate: 57907.09, 00h00

***

Casinos. In no other place are sentient beings stripped to their base emotions faster. Even the smallest win at the simplest game can turn the most reserved, polite being into a quivering mass of anticipatory greed.

Those were the easy marks.

The Casino Palari was a 24-hour establishment, but really got rolling from dusk to dawn. The place at midnight was as energetic as most other places would be at noon. It was palpable. Music was playing, people were laughing, dice and cards were flying, and gaming machines of all shapes and sizes were merrily beeping and squealing at their patrons.

Tonight the place was even more amazing. The management had decided that tonight would be all-formal. The patrons this evening were all exquisitely dressed, and the staff was equally polished. Only in holonovels had Mason Farrell ever seen such collected beauty and coordinated grace. He could think of no better way to get away from the pressures of Sulu.

Mason turned up his cards after the call, and took a long drag from his cigar, letting the dealer gather and stack his chips while his opponents groaned and ordered fresh drinks. This hand took him ahead on the night, which was good. But he'd cut heavily into his nest egg for the activities of the past few days, and needed to do better before the Sulu left Risa. He'd had to spring further for his outfit, a long-coated black tuxedo with a pearl grey vest and a single onyx stud at the collar in place of a tie.

His opponents weren't making it easy, either. There were five players at the table, but three were marks; tourists who played occasionally and had wandered in for a gambling thrill. They were now betting bigger and bigger to try and break even. The fourth at the table was an oily Orion who was giving him a good run. Farrell and the Orion had spotted each other as real players from the third hand, and the poor trio of tourists was now caught between them, losing money steadily to one or the other. One was still cheerful, enjoying the ambiance in spite of losing. One was trying to act professional about it. The other was getting frustrated, and drinking heavily to assuage his aching credit account.

Mason was having a fantastic time. His surroundings made him feel like someone else, perhaps a gentleman gambler of centuries ago, making his living at cards, and playing at a different casino of thrilling beauty every week. The setting was perfect for such fantasies. Even the smoke rising from his cigar curled in languid perfection above the table. He could hear a chime of midnight, perhaps the crowning touch on this fairy-tale night, and looked toward the massive old grandfather clock set on a balcony above the gaming pit.

Natalia had arrived well before the commencement of the ball, wanting to acclimate to the mood of the place. She found it wonderful - the richness, the beauty were breathtaking. It was a dream within a dream. The Ballroom was magnificent, and she had stepped down into the casino for a few drinks before the real action started. She felt wonderful - Domenic was having a great time and she was satisfied that he was being looked after well. It did them both good to spend some time apart, especially before the confinement in a small vessel like the Sulu.

Leaning both hands on the rail over-looking the floor of the card pits, she watched the serious-faced players as they shuffled cards. The gown she had chosen for the evening was a close fitting sheath of black lace. It covered her arms and bodice, but left her shoulders, neck and back bare. It moulded to her skin all the way to her hips before flaring into a diaphanous skirt that flowed around her legs. High heeled court shoes and a small velvet purse accompanied the velvet choker at her throat with a diamond cluster that sparkled as she moved. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate style showing a long neck with wisps of hair at her cheeks. She was fully into her part now - the sultry femme-fatale.

One of the card players that she had been watching absently looked up at her as the clock chimed on the balcony. Their eyes met and she had to return his smile. It was unconscious - but natural. He wasn't exactly the darkly handsome man she had imagined, but he was handsome for sure, and his grin was infectious. He was staring at her. They were too far away for words, so she straightened up and looked right at him - then looked away.

In this mood, in these surroundings, the lady's look had been electric. Mason watched as she turned away, admiring the twist of her back and the flourish of skirts.

A moment later she looked back, the smile still lingering on her lips.

A soft but impatient cough from the Orion brought Mason's attention back to the game. He glanced from the lady to his cards, bet, and returned his gaze to the balcony. She was still there, smiling at him. He smiled back, and nodded his head slightly toward the open seat at the table.

Natalia arched an eyebrow at the obvious invitation. The empty chair was for an observer, and it seemed that the game was a serious one. She looked around and considered going up to the ballroom for the start of the Ball, but as it was a singles event - and the man playing cards was intriguing, she decided to take a few minutes to watch. With a calm stride, she walked slowly down the curved staircase, mindful that her skirts swished around her knees. She kept one hand on the banister and her eyes on the Gambler.

In a few moments she was standing by the table, rather than taking the profferred seat, she stood slightly behind him. Her perfume was competing with the odour of the cigar he was smoking, but the Risan scent wafted over him - pheromone traces and musk that was designed to appeal to human males. She watched over his shoulder and kept her face as neutral as possible - careful not to look closely at his pair of cards when he glanced at them. She knew really good gamblers could read faces, and she hadn't failed to notice the Orion glance at her as soon as she stepped to the table. Eyes moved down her body and the Orion grinned.

Mason checked, opting to let other players bet first, and the friendly mark raised into the Orion, who raised again. Mason raised over it, the pile of glittering chips growing. He took another draw from his cigar and set it in a delicate glass tray, its curling smoke spreading a warm scent of chocolate and coffee.

Natalia decided to take more of an interest when the stakes of the game were evident. She'd never watched a game like this - and somehow she felt the electricity of the game - the tension of the Gambler. She felt as if he was a wolf watching his prey - and with a flick of her skirts she sat demurely in the seat, sitting back with her hands in her lap. She didn't introduce herself, just turned to look the Gambler in the eyes with a trace of a smile.

The mark had checked, and the Orion, sensing the Gambler's distraction, went all in, pushing his remaining chips into the center of the table. One of the marks gave a low appreciative whistle, and the Gambler leaned back, exhaled, and thought, signaling the dealer to count the pot. He did not touch his cards, staring deeply at the Orion. The aura at the table was palpable now. Aggression. Dominance. Power. It was intoxicating.

Natalia watched eagerly. It looked as if the Orion had something special in his hand and was betting everything on this play. She glanced at the Gambler who was still calmly staring at the Orion with a touch of a smile on his face. He was certainly a cool one! He reminded her of Martel as he sat there facing his opposition with an air of invulnerability - it was just like a holonovel, and already Natalia's pulse was quickening with the excitement.

The dealer quietly stated the current bid, bringing murmurs from the other three players. The Gambler slowly reached forward, and slowly pushed in most of his own chips, calling. The mark folded quickly.

Natalia held her breath, the sum was significant.

The Gambler and the Orion both turned up their cards. The Orion had a powerful pair, the scepters of pyramids and spheres. The Gambler had the scepter of cubes and the prince of cubes. The Orion smirked ever so slightly. The three marks leaned close. The small gathering of watchers were silent as they like-wise held their breaths over the game being played out before them. Natalia shifted in her seat, wanting to lean in to see but holding back - playing it casual and a little disinterested.

The dealer dealt two cards and laid them in the center of the table. The scepter of octs and the nine of cubes. The Orion's smirk stayed in place.

"Three scepters on the right," said the dealer matter-of-factly, indicating the Orion's hand, "a pair on the left."

Another two cards were dealt and turned up. The three of pyramids and the ten of cubes.

"No help to the trio," murmured the dealer, "possible mark-line on the right." The Orion and the Gambler were still locked in their silent battle of wills.

The fifth and final card was turned. The regent of cubes. "Mark-line over Three of a Kind," the dealer said nonchalantly. "Win goes to the right."

The marks settled back with whispers and muttering. The Orion stood calmly and left the table. The Gambler picked up his cigar, looking to the Lady.

"Anyone ever tell you you're lucky?" he asked, taking a long draw.

She smiled. His accent was as distinct as her own as she said, "Sure...all the time." She held his eyes for a moment and wondered what he was thinking - he still wore his poker face, but there was a hint of something in his eyes that told her that he wasn't a man to fool around with. There was danger in those eyes.

She stood and cast a glance at the dealer who was busy stacking chips and tallying the pot. "I think that luck had little to do with it." She looked back at him. He was watching her - she gave him a demure smile - and smoothed down the lace at her hips. His eyes flicked to her figure and back and she turned away, deliberately showing him the bare back of the dress that dropped right down to the waist. She glanced over her shoulder and said, "I need a drink," before walking toward the bar.

Mason caught a whiff of her perfume as she turned. He quickly instructed the dealer to cash him out, and stubbed out his cigar as he rose.

The waiter saw her coming and stepped forward to take her order. As she laid her purse on the polished wooden bar she cast a glance at the man following her - as she knew he would.

"Champagne," the Gambler ordered from beside her, "for two." The bartender started setting up glasses, and the Gambler turned to Natalia. "You've made me a lot of money tonight. The least I can do is spend some of it on you." He picked up his now full glass, and presented it to her with a genuine smile. "To a night of luck."

"Yes...luck..." She chinked her glass against his and took a sip. It was good - creamy and bubbly - and if she wasn't careful it would go right to her head. She leaned on the bar and faced him - he was a definite rogue - his grin was a little lop-sided and his features were masculine; a square jaw and strong cheekbones. His eyes were direct - challenging. After a moment she said, "I came for the ball upstairs... Do you dance?" Her ice blue eyes held their own challenge.

He drank, and set the glass down. "Absolutely," he answered calmly. She was gorgeous. An upswept raven mane and perfect skin, creamy white against the black lace of her gown. And eyes a man could drown in. He offered her his arm and looked to the stairs. "Shall we?"

She nodded and took his arm. The contact was electric. She allowed him to guide her, gliding along at his side and climbing the stairs, using her free hand to lift her skirts to avoid tripping. He was taller than she - even with her heels, and she could feel his presence beside her. She restrained herself from casting him sidelong glances, simply smiling at others as they passed, almost ignoring him. As they reached the entry to the Grand Ballroom she caught her breath - it was beautiful.

The roof of the mundane building was replaced by a magnificent hologram of the stars - clusters and galaxies floated in inky blackness. The stars seemed to melt into the myriad of tiny lights that descended the columns of the huge space. The marble floor was polished black - reflecting the stars. It seemed that people were floating across a void as they danced.

Natalia stopped to stare. The dancers had come out in style. Costumes from many eras and cultures glittered and rustled as they moved under the lights. It was romantic and wonderful and Natalia had never seen its equal. It really was a dream. The man at her side seemed to fit in with all of it and she forgot about everything else as she immersed herself in the alternate reality of this night.

She turned to look at him, the expression on her face full of wonderment. It was only then that she realized that they hadn't even exchanged names. It didn't seem to matter. Perhaps he would ask at some point, but somehow the mystery of it added to the effect it was having on her.

The pair was met at the door by a Risan youth in the livery of the casino and shown to a table, where Natalia deposited her handbag. The current song was drawing to a close, and Mason wordlessly escorted her to an open spot on the floor. The next selection began, a swelling waltz. Mason very formally took one of Natalia's hands, placing his free hand on the small of her back. Natalia used her free hand to gather her skirt a bit, and the pair whirled with the crowd, dancing amid the stars.

"Shall I test my newfound luck and ask your name?" Mason asked softly as they danced.

Natalia laughed as they twirled. He was good! The last waltz she had danced was with Martel, and he was easily his equal on the dance floor - it didn't surprise her. "Natalia," she said and laughed. "You dance beautifully!" Her Russian accent stretched the vowels as she spoke. His strong arms were rigid as they glided amongst the throng.

"Mason," he smiled, "and thank you."

The circling dancers were a riot of colors. Men wore military styled uniforms from centuries past, long coats and tails, some in Bajoran robes and Ferengi finery. The women wore styles ranging from clinging sheaths to flamboyant skirts and feathered headdresses to tiaras and jeweled nets in their hair. Everywhere she looked she saw diversity in color of skin, race and style. There were even a few Starfleet dress whites in the throng.

She looked into Mason's eyes and grinned. She felt so happy at this moment nothing could possibly spoil it! It was like being Cinderella at the ball and dancing with a dashing prince. It was girlish, but the flush in her cheeks and the way she felt definitely wasn't.

The waltz ended in a round of applause for the live orchestra that had been hidden until the sunken platform elevated them to a tiered series of balconies. They paused a moment to listen as the conductor called the next tune.

"May I have this dance?" asked a dapper older gentleman, looking to Natalia for an answer, and avoiding Mason. Mason looked from the man to Natalia, and then kissed the hand he was still holding.

"Until the next," Mason said politely to Natalia, and nodded to the gentleman.

As he moved off, Natalia felt crushed. Had she done something wrong? The man Mason had handed her to introduced himself and she didn't even hear the name. She gave him a flustered smile and started to dance, but she couldn't help watching Mason's back as he vanished into the crowd of onlookers surrounding the dancers. The waltz took her away and into the crowded floor herself and she lost sight of him.

"Don't worry my dear, your young man will be back." He gave her a smile that showed that he understood and Natalia blushed. She finally gave in to good manners.

"I'm sorry," she admitted. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's quite alright," he smiled through his beard. "There are certain advantages to formal occasions, and one of them is that an old fella like me can get away with stealing a beautiful woman for a dance."

She laughed self-consciously and shook her head.

"I was watching the two of you, and I can guarantee that he meant it when he said he'd be back." There was a mischievous glint in the old man's eyes and he laughed at her discomfort.

Natalia gave up and concentrated on the steps as they spun through the music. Her new partner had her laughing as he made off-handed jokes about his age and the state of his health while on Risa. By the time the dance was coming to a close he had brought her to the edge of the floor where a small group of young men waited expectantly.

She curtseyed to the old man as he gave her a very formal bow and he stepped away as a white uniformed Starfleet Officer stepped forward. Natalia gave him a smile and just as he was about to say something, she turned away. She was scanning faces in the lull between dances but couldn't see the face she sought. As the music started up again she felt disappointment. She sighed and turned back toward the Starfleet Officer - resigned to dance once again with another.

The band was picking up the tempo a little bit, moving into a foxtrot tune. The officer was a reasonable dancer, but couldn't make conversation to save his life, appearing to concentrate too much on not stepping on her feet. She did catch a glimpse of Mason speaking briefly to the conductor, and hope welled up in her again.

The foxtrot wound down, and the officer gave her a small bow. The pair turned to move from the dance floor, and Natalia found Mason standing there.

"It's alright," he said to the officer. "I'll take it from here." The officer opened his mouth to protest, but apparently couldn't think of anything good to say. Natalia quietly took her hand from his, and offered it to Mason. They left the officer behind and stepped back to the floor.

"So do you want to dance, or do you want to dance?" Mason said with a sly smile. The band swung into a fiery tango. Mason swept Natalia into his arms, and with a spin they were off across the floor. Legs intertwined. Bodies moved as one, shoulders locked in syncopated rhythm. Natalia dipped. She twirled. She spun. She stepped fiercely from one form to another, matching Farrell's motion.

It was thrilling. The music penetrated deep into the pair, carrying them away. They were each other's world. They knew only each other. Man and woman, linked in a stylized version of the most basic, the most primal, of human interactions.

Damn, but this woman was beautiful, Mason thought. He thanked whatever divinity was listening, and made all sorts of promises he knew he'd never keep in return for this blessing. He could drown in those eyes.

She was breathless and smiling when they stepped off the dance floor. She was holding his arm as if he would run away, and looking into his eyes as she said, "I need a breath of fresh air. There's a balcony..."

His answering smile was full of charm as he waved the way forward. On the way he snatched up two glasses of champagne from a liveried waiter and waited until they were outside to hand it to her. They stood on a flower garlanded balcony that curved outward with arched alcoves holding bench seats. Several other couples stood or sat in quiet conversation. The ball was a singles affair and the new couples were getting to know each other in the age-old fashion.

They found a spare bench seat under climbing roses. The balcony had a superb view of the sea and the crashing waves below. Moonlight cast a silvered path across the waves. As Natalia sat and arranged her skirts, the paleness of her skin seemed to glow, but not as brightly as her eyes. Mason sat beside her.

She sipped from her glass. The wine was refreshing. She felt giddy but it had nothing to do with the wine. "I'm really enjoying this evening," she said quietly. She couldn't help leaning toward him and slipping her hand into his. "I feel like I'm being swept off my feet...literally." She could see his smile in the moonlight and the sharp angles of his features. Her glance rested momentarily on his lips and her fingers rested lightly in his hands - she put her glass down and looked deeply into his eyes.

They were in each other's arms in an instant, kissing without hesitation or reservation. This was a kiss of ages; a kiss that signaled the beginning of an entirely different dance. It was long and slow and deep, and lasted a glorious eternity. It also traveled; Mason moved from her mouth to her throat and shoulder, sending ripples down her spine. She shuddered with pleasure, and their mouths met again.

At last they broke for air, and leaned together, foreheads touching. Both breathed heavily for a few moments. Natalia stroked his cheek with one hand and rested the other on his chest where she could feel his heart beating hard. She wanted him to kiss her again. One of his hands was on the small of her back. The other was on her thigh. She wanted those hands on her body. She put her head on his shoulder and nuzzled into his neck, taking in his peculiarly pleasant scent: coffee, chocolate, aromatic smoke, and a wisp of leather. It was a complex scent, but unmistakably masculine.

Mason leaned against the veranda railing, listening to the sea below and the thudding of the blood in his veins. This was the most arousing woman he had ever met, and he savored the feel of her skin, lightly stroking her back. She was wearing a marvelous perfume. It was lightly floral and musky, but not cloying. It gave her a distinctly feminine, and tremendously arousing, aura.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked softly.

Natalia's look was filled with desire, her mind in turmoil. A day ago she would never have done this - but Risa had changed her. She didn't want her life intruding on this moment and she wanted this man so much... She gazed into Mason's eyes and grazed her lips across his. "Please..." she whispered into his mouth as she kissed him. A single word that held a promise of what the night would bring. She was trembling as she stroked the back of his neck and kissed him deeply. "I don't think I can wait..." she whispered as her lips brushed his neck.

Even after, Natalia wasn't sure how he had arranged for a room at the casino without going to the main desk. They left a trail of clothing from the suite's entry hall to the bedroom. Her shoes were the first to go, kicked off during the elevator trip and dropped on the floor as soon as Mason had closed the door. She pulled his coat off, and started on his collar as they kissed again. She felt the tiny stay-hook and zipper of her gown come loose, and felt the fabric slip away, stepping out of the neat pile it made on the floor. She unpinned her hair and let it cascade over her shoulders in a dark veil. As he stepped out of his own shoes, she stepped close and kissed him, pressing her body against his. He carried her to the bed, where they finished undressing one another.

His kisses seared across her skin. Her touch inflamed him. For Natalia it was a night of uninhibited passion and she surrendered completely to Mason's masterful touch. Time seemed to stop completely, the entire universe compacted into hours of fierce lovemaking. It was exquisite. They kissed and touched and made love until the first touch of sunrise brightened the sky. She curled up in his arms and nuzzled into his neck, murmuring sleepily. They drifted off together, totally exhausted.

The full morning sun crept across Natalia, waking her gently. She smiled, stretched, and languidly rolled over, reaching for Mason again. She was alone in bed. Sitting up, she looked around. The shower wasn't running. He was nowhere to be seen. The whole night could have been a dream but for the condition of the bed, the strange room, and the single black onyx collar stud on the bedside table.

A quiet knock announced the arrival of the breakfast cart.

She wrapped the silk sheet around her and let the waiter set up the table. He vanished quickly and she sat out on the balcony. The sound of the waves beating their rhythm against the cliffs sounded lonely this morning. She couldn't believe he had gone without a word. She fingered the onyx stud as she brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. For some reason it brought a tear and she wiped it away.

The real world. His scent lingered on her skin and she smiled. At least she had something to take to the Sulu with her - a memory that she would never forget. A night on Risa with a man who would remain a stranger.

---

"Farewells After Midnight"
by Lieutenant Mark Thaine, Chief Engineer
and Lieutenant (j.g.) Andrea Rhea, Counsellor [NPC+]

Location: Transporter Room 1, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.09 00h57

***

"So," said Mark as he handed Andrea her bag as she stood upon the transporter pad. "This is it."

Andrea nodded, giving him a warm smile that was reflected in her blue eyes. "I guess so," she replied.

They had spent as much time together as was possible since the night on Risa. They'd spoken of many things, but always avoided the topic of what they'd do when she had to leave. They'd walked in the wonderful scenery on Risa, sampled the exquisite cuisine of the planet, reminisced about past times on their shared previous posting, left it as long as they possibly could before the last transport departed, and now...it was over.

"Anything you want to say, before I leave for what may be forever?" Andrea's voice snapped Thaine out of his reverie.

Thaine shook his head. What was he supposed to say? That as she left, it would be like watching a piece of his heart leave? That he'd never be complete without her? That there was one, small part of him that would forever hate himself for not going with her, and her for not staying?

He coughed. "No, probably not," he said. Saying nothing was probably better, he decided. He'd caught her crying, earlier, down on Risa, when she'd slipped away for a moment. He hadn't commented, and had left her alone to recover. He'd felt somewhat emotionally shaky himself, and had no wish to break down the walls either of them had put up with a misplaced comment.

The counsellor seemed faintly annoyed, and then settled back into an amused expression. "You always say completely the wrong thing," she told him, as she regarded him fondly. And then they embraced one last time, a kiss that seemed to last forever and was over far too soon...

A few more words, a farewell delivered after midnight, and then she was gone, in a sparkling swirl of energy, off to her posting on a ship bound for the far reaches of Federation space, and then beyond.

It was typical, thought Thaine, as he stared at where she had been, of the universe to do this to him. Just typical.

"Sir?" a voice commented from behind him, breaking his thoughts. The engineer turned around to see the transporter chief, and Mark wondered how long he had been standing, staring at the last place he had seen Andrea.

"You okay, sir?"

Thaine gave him a nod. "I'll be fine," he replied to the man, as she strode out of the doors. And then, quieter, further down the corridor, "I'll be fine."

---

"Fish Out of Water, Part 2"
By: Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer
with Loren as Hor'Gahn Hyl

Location: Hor'Gahn Hyl's, Tulip City, Risa
Stardate: 57907.09 02h02

***

The soft knock on the door snapped Storm out of his troubled sleep and he instinctively whipped his phaser towards the direction of the offending noise. It took Ethan several seconds to remember just where he was and just what he'd been doing. A glance at a chronometer with yet another suggestive shape told him he'd been sleeping for at least an hour and seven minutes.

"Yes?" Storm answered the knock and holstered his weapon.

"Mister Storm?" called the voice of Hyl, muffled through the door. "Your data has arrived."

***

Hyl led Storm to a viewing station plastered with holo-ads for various lecherous programs. Apparently tentacled aliens weren't limited to Hyl's counter. Hyl indicated a pair of isolinear chips sitting atop the viewer as he powered it up. That done, he stepped back.

"Our business is largely complete, Mister Storm. I have the cuttlefish. You have your data. As a courtesy, please take all the time you need at the viewer. Ordinarily, it rents by the hour, but I'll throw that in free of charge. As soon as I have the one latinum strip we've discussed for confidentiality purposes, I'll leave you to your viewing."

Storm sat down, trying hard not to think about what most clients did sitting at this viewer. "You'll get half," he informed the Tellarite as he took out his tricorder. "And not until I'm finished here. Your people were late."

"You overslept," Hyl protested.

"If you had the data but decided not to wake me, that's your problem." Storm said, jamming one of the isolinear chips into the media slot. He looked back at the Tellarite. "Now get out."

Hyl sighed deeply and left, shaking his head disappointedly and muttering under his breath.

Storm turned back towards the viewer, adjusting the transmission reception frequency on his tricorder. When he finished, he tapped his communicator. "Ensign Storm requesting tricorder uplink with Sulu LCARS. Security Authorization 04-03-02-B."

Storm's communicator made several distinct computer chirps and he adjusted his tricorder to the appropriate frequency. "Link established. Proceed when ready," said the familiar computer voice of the USS Sulu.

Storm sat his tricorder near the viewer and began using the relatively unhandled side controls rather than the verbal commands to rapidly scroll through the visual logs to the time codes he wanted. Hyl's viewer was a commercial model made for the viewing of two-dimensional pornography, an almost quaint and nostalgic predilection for a pervert to have in an age of unprecedented holotechnology. True to its function, the model offered the viewer the option of skipping forward through the images rapidly (presumably to get past a boring part) or reversing (presumably to revisit something especially titillating). While it lacked the investigative features he would have had at his disposal in the Security department on Sulu, Hyl's viewer did offer full privacy at the cost of only a slightly sticky floor.

It took Storm well over an hour to work his way through the first chip and it was ultimately a disappointment. It basically contained all the viewpoints from the exterior imagers at the Risan Detention Facility and watching them was a better tranquilizer than anything in sickbay on the Sulu. The RDF was minimally staffed and none of these imagers had a single humanoid captured on vidlog. In fact, that was about the only thing of interest: If Collins had escaped by herself, on foot, then one of these should have picked her up fleeing from the building. Neither Collins nor any other living soul was on any of these vidlogs. If she hadn't left the RDF on her own two feet and if someone had helped her, they had either used transporters or knew exactly how to avoid the web of imagers.

The second isolinear chip contained all the interior views and it allowed Storm much quicker location of relevant vidlogs. Ethan had to chuckle grimly at the sequence with Kur'Oh and Jance waiting patiently at a door the Risans never intended to take Collins through. There was even a good bit of footage that showed the machinations of the Risan staff as they made their covert plans. The audio didn't pick up their various whisperings to one another but the plethora of strange activity, suspicious glances, and furtive conversations should have tipped the two Sulu guards that something was not on the up and up. Personally, Storm thought they had a lot of explaining to do. As would he before it was over.

The section of vidlog with Collins was surprisingly unrevealing at first glance. It contained only one clear image of her from behind and above as the four Risan security guards walked her down the corridor. Almost as if it were planned, Collins stumbled and fell right in the perfect center of the frame and immediately began cursing almost incoherently. Storm turned up the volume and tried to catch her words:

"If you want me to go anywhere, take these damn things off my legs so I can take two steps without tripping over my own damn feet."

Storm leaned forward at this, thinking that perhaps the Risans had been foolish enough to remove her restraints and had just left that information out of their report. The four guards struggled with Collins for nearly a full minute before they managed to get her back on her feet. There were more choice words for the Risans and Storm thought he heard something about "Salinger" and the phrase "leaving me here to rot" but the audio quality was poor, further justifying shortchanging Hyl. They led her out of the frame with her restraints in place.

Right in the blind spot between this imager and the next, something happened. There was a slight sparkling of orange light on the lower edge of the frame coupled with a barely audible low-pitched hum, a flurry of shadows, and then what sounded to be a struggle. Storm increased the audio again and viewed the sequence three more times. Sparkle and Hum. Shadows. Struggle.

The viewer had no magnification feature so he grabbed up his tricorder and stored the present image sequence. With a few deft moves of his fingers, he zoomed in on the small flare of light and cropped the frame on the small tricorder screen. He then played that part of the sequence.

Although the thought that the various energy signatures from the hotel rooms might be transporters had been thrown around since the first day of the investigation, Storm knew that Farrell had recently theorized they may be Cardassian in origin. Commander Lyrr and Ensign Corrigan had detected similar signatures at the RDF. It sure looked like a transporter flare.

Storm played the sequence on his tricorder and enhanced the hum that accompanied the flare. The enhancement affected the quality slightly but it sounded like it could be a transporter. Storm stored and named that short sequence of the overall log as a separate file.

"Computer," Storm said, speaking to the open channel on his communicator. "Analyze the audio and visuals in Storm File 001. Estimate probability that the light flare and audio hum represents the materialization cycle of a transporter beam."

"Probability is sixty-four point six percent," the computer answered via Storm's communicator.

Storm wasn't surprised by that answer. A mere flicker of light wasn't much and the computer needed more to make a determination. "Computer, compare audio and visuals to the analysis and location of the energy signatures found at the Risan Detention Facility on stardate 57907.07 and 57907.08 by Ensign Corrigan. Estimate probability that it represents the materialization cycle of a Cardassian-manufactured transporter beam."

"Probability is ninety-one point one percent."

Better. It wasn't proof positive but combined with some of the other work in progress and investigative angles, it may mean something before it was all over. It had to be more conclusive than what had been only theorized since Storm last checked.

Ethan sat down the tricorder, returning it to record function, and began to watch the rest of the sequence. The shadows were slight and figured only briefly. Even though he asked the computer to analyze them half a dozen ways, it always turned out to be inconclusive. Useless.

Likewise, the noise of a struggle was brief, low, and unidentifiable. Storm assumed that it represented the attack on the Risans and no matter how he enhanced the sequence after copying it to his tricorder, there was nothing to see. So he began to enhance the audio.

Immediately after the flicker of shadows, the noise of a struggle began. Mostly thuds and footfalls. Fists hitting flesh. The sharp intake of breath. Masculine. Bodies hitting the floor in rapid succession. Then more flesh on flesh. A feminine groan and another body hitting the floor. Collins? Silence. Then...something too low to hear.

Storm rewound the sequence on his tricorder, enhanced the audio again, and began the sequence as he closed his eyes. Running to the Risans. The attack. Bodies hitting the floor. Risans neutralized. Footfalls to Collins. Slower. Deliberate. Flesh on Flesh. Her groan. Her body hitting the floor. Silence. Then...words.

Storm's universal translator kicked in to identify the brief phrase as "Get the woman" but what he heard was a soft spoken "dav-JE-i c^i-RES."

The words were Cardassian.

Without waiting another second, Storm gathered up his equipment and rushed to pay Hor'Gahn Hyl his full strip of latinum. He had earned it.

---

"Beaming Down"
By: Lt. Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security

Location: USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.09 03h10

***

The mist was white and cloying. It carried a rank smell - as if rotting garbage was somewhere near but hidden in the gloom. Benedict stepped silently across the glade, the whisper of his blade leaving the sheath a bare rasp. He stopped - totally still and the blade hung poised in the right side attitude. No sound but falling drops of moisture from the trees - a staccato beat that carried weirdly in the mist.

He was bare chested - the golden tiger tattoo a living creature straddling his back and legs. His face was adorned on a complex black mask of colour that covered eyes, nose and mouth. He was Tikaru. The Assassin.

He was standing in a rain forest - a place of giant shadows and pale greenery lost in a shroud of white curling mist. The smell was rank decay - something dead and unburied lay somewhere close by.

The dreamstate was sharp - the impressions surreal. Benedict knew it for a dream but stayed with it - waiting to be shown what he needed. It happened occasionally - that he would dream a vision. Cryptic as they usually were, the Prophets of Bajor had visited upon him at odd times and directed him in his path.

He waited, hardly breathing as the first sound of footfalls penetrated the mist. The shadow came from the right - his sword did not waiver but his stance relaxed - ready to break into instant motion. The low growl and snort of air made him smile tightly behind the black face-paint.

The great golden tiger with bright golden eyes padded out of the mist and stood before him. Its breath was causing vapour of its own and its growl was low in the throat - not threatening. The animal looked over its shoulder into the mist and looked back at Benedict. The silent communication bade Benedict to nod in understanding as the cat turned and led the way. They set off at a slow trot, Benedict sheathing the blade behind his back in an easy motion as he ran.

The mist stayed close and Benedict could not see where he was being led - but he trusted the cat and followed closely behind as they leapt fallen trees and dodged through the brush. They came out into another glade.

The stench was almost over-powering. The carcasses piled up in a mound in the center of the grassy clearing were bloated and days dead. Insects were crawling and feasting on the mass of flesh. The bodies were butchered.

Benedict walked forward until the smell made his eyes water. The mist was thinner here and he made out the faces of the dead - where some of them still had faces. Tattered uniforms - Starfleet uniforms were amongst the mass. Eyes stared at him accusingly in death.

He squatted down and noted that the grass was coated in congealed blood where the bodies had been dragged here. A raucous cry rang out as a huge black raven landed atop the pile. It looked at Benedict and cocked its head, shifting about and beating its wings. It snapped at a morsel that hung from its sharp beak - an eye-ball on stringy flesh.

It took off with spirals of mist trailing after and was lost in the whiteness and the light of the diffused sunlight through the mist.

The tiger stepped close to Benedict and sat on its haunches, looking at Benedict. He dropped a hand and stroked the fur of its great head, still staring at the dead - the pile taller than his own height.

What did it mean? He tried making sense of what he was seeing - but the faces were unknown. He rarely dreamed of being Tikaru these days. But there was no mistaking the manner of his dress, or the face paint he wore only on the kill. In the old days he killed not for vengeance but for duty - and now - he had vengeance in his heart. He had no peace. The man he wanted dead was elusive as the mist - vague as smoke. Marco was his target. He lusted after his death like no other before him.

The Orion Syndicate member had taken Benedict's soul when he had murdered Tebrianne Bancroft. Teb had agreed to be his wife - she had accepted his betrothal bracelet. Now she was dead.

The tiger let out a low growl which brought him back to the scene. Thoughts within a dream. Why Marco? Why this?

The tiger stepped between the bodies and the squatting Benedict and snarled. It was an angry burst of sound that showed a jaw of glistening white teeth that were as long as a man's finger. The tail was flicking to-and-fro and the powerful shoulders of the cat were bunched as if he was preparing to pounce.

The chirp of his commbadge brought Benedict awake in an instant. The images faded as he reached out and tapped the golden badge that lay on his side table. "T'Kal," he snarled. The anger of the cat was still with him and he tried to shrug off the dream as he listened to the reply. His clock read 3:11am in glowing red digits.

"Sorry, sir.. it's Ensign Barry at Tactical, Commander Lyrr has beamed to the surface with a medical team. The Sulu is ordered to red alert." The Klaxons sounded even as he spoke."The captain has been attacked, sir - on Risa."

Benedict swung out of his bed and pulled his hair back as he spoke, "Assemble a security team to transporter room one - full weapons kit. Have Lieutenant Hex take Tactical on the Bridge." An attack against a Starfleet captain was an attack against his ship - and in the case of the USS Sulu, it was Benedict's duty to protect both!

"What's the state of the captain?" he asked as he tied his hair with a cord.

"Unknown, sir - they haven't beamed back to the Sulu."

"Understood. I'll meet the team in a few minutes." Benedict grimly imagined a dead body - was that the dream? Too badly injured for a transporter beam?

"Yes, sir." The Ensign was covering Gamma shift duty - usually the graveyard shift. The mental connection with the dream was unsettling.

He snatched up his uniform and dressed hurriedly. He wore class twos with the loose jacket hiding the kut'luch he now wore on a back sheath. He tucked a phaser in its usual place - checking the charge as he did so in habitual fashion. It was set on heavy stun. He pulled on his boots and made for the door. He ran through the ship, eerily bringing the dream back to him as if he was running once again through a white forest.

Reaching Transporter Room One he was satisfied to see four security officers checking equipment. The looks on their faces were grim. No one said anything as Benedict strode into the room and stepped up to the transporter pad. The Security Chief could sense the tension and the rage. Down on Risa someone had dared to attack their captain. Benedict hadn't met the man yet - but he could see that his crew cared about him. God help the assassin...the word brought back the dream... Tikaru - his alter ego had been an assassin. He would be hunting again. A confirmation - the lives of the crew depended upon what ever was happening now. It made Benedict pause before giving the command to energize. He turned to face the security team.

"I know what you are feeling right now," he said. His violet eyes held each of them in turn, his voice soft but firm - menacing in its own way. "Rage will not help you. By all means use the emotion - tap into it - it has its own strength - but also it is a weakness. What ever we see down there - it will be after the fact. The one responsible for the attack will not be there. We will find him - be sure of that. You will be calm - in control and mindful of what we represent. You are all professionals - the best. Get the job done. I know that none of you know me - as I do not know you, but that is unimportant right now. Put your personal feelings aside." He looked at each again and received nods from each in turn.

He turned back to the Transporter Chief and nodded. "Energize."

---

"C.S.I."
By: Lt. Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
Ensign Taylor Bennett - Security Officer
Ensign Saris - Security Officer [NPC]
Crewman Pico Chavez - Security Officer [NPC]
Crewman Ner'c - Security Officer [NPC]

Location: Capt. Salinger's bungalow, Risa
Stardate 57907.09 03h25

***

The transporter from the USS Sulu beamed the away team comprising of five security officers directly outside the small beach bungalow that Salinger and Tagliesh had named affectionately as the "Love Nest." It looked like a typical beach dwelling for Risa - low and comfortable - matching perfectly with the palms and shrubs it backed onto, with a panoramic view of a sheltered cove. Pretty much a secluded spot.

To Benedict T'Kal it was a security nightmare. Out of the way, sheltered from any observation and far from assistance. At first glance he knew that it was the perfect spot for an assassination attempt. The beach was dark - the waves still lapping in white flecked comers. High tide was marked by packed sand still wet as the morning tide ebbed. The area around the bungalow was brightly illuminated - someone had turned on all the lights.

The five security officers looked around the outside first - Benedict indicating to the broad-shouldered Chavez to scan the sands around a perimeter fifty meters wide. He walked to the door - it stood open and without touching it he slid inside on soft feet. He stopped and surveyed the open plan room. The smell of fresh blood assaulted his nostrils and he caught sight of a dark wet stain on the bed and a splash of it up the wall. He'd seen many scenes like this - many times he'd caused them. Blades were messy - they made a statement. It would have been far more effective to use an energy weapon - but the killer wanted to say something about his or her act. It was a means to incite fear. Clean corpses were far too clinical.

"Ensign Saris - would you begin scanning the area - stay in the traffic areas and be mindful where you tread." He spoke in a soft voice yet it was commanding never-the-less. He made room for the security officers to walk in and hunched down closer to the floor - looking and keeping all of his senses wide open. "Ensign Bennett, can you get a determination from the Sulu on the exact timing of this? See if they have a sensor scan of the area - they might have been running a sensor test - maybe something showed up on the scan? Worth a shot."

Taylor pulled her eyes from the bed and suppressed a shudder. "Aye, sir," she answered. She moved off to the side and contacted the Sulu, running a tricorder scan as she did so.

Glancing at the readings her tricorder was returning, Saris pressed a few buttons to run an analysis, then called out, "Sir. I am detecting two transporter energy signatures. The one by the window is a little fainter than the one by the bed. My best guess is that the perpetrator beamed in by the window first. You can barely see the impression of a boot in the dust. Taylor, are you seeing the same thing?"

Taylor was squatted near one of the prints, running a scan with a tricorder while observing it visually. It was a grisly job, but one she'd been trained to perform. Calling on her Vulcan heritage, she put her own feelings aside, and did the job. "Aye, sir. It's definitely a bootprint."

Benedict nodded. He moved around the room - getting a feel of the place. Trying to imagine the mind-set of the assassin. Either the beam-in had happened from orbit or it had been a close site-to-site transport. Getting into the room required a sensor scan.

The bed was rumpled - clearly it had been slept in - there were two impressions and Salinger had been on the left side - where the mass of blood was pooled. Stepping carefully up to the side of the bed Benedict saw a bloody boot impression - a partial smear that showed the left side and toe cap. He imagined the blow and the position of the body - the foot was the left - stepping off with a left foot meant stabbing downward with a left hand. A single stroke to the heart was the intention by the looks of the positions.

Benedict looked up at the Bolian officer who stood to one side, watching. He seemed to be exuding a calm that Benedict recognised. He was taking in the total scene as Benedict had done. "Do you see anything that stands out to you, Ner'c?" He remembered the man's name from the departmental meeting earlier the previous day.

"Not 'see,' " Ner'c said placidly. " 'Smell.' Musk, with a hint of chlorine. Human sexual fluid. Beneath the blood. How long have the captain and the lieutenant been staying here, sir?" he opened his tricorder and began scanning as he finished the question.

Benedict nodded absently. The captain was having a relationship with another department head - that was worth noting. It offered another minefield to tread in. "I have no idea, Ner'c," he replied. "We need to determine who was present here - and..." He looked around to make sure they were all listening, "I don't want any rumours being spread around about what we find here. Not even to other security officers - treat it as confidential." He received a chorus of nods and assents. He didn't realise that Bolians had such a strong sense of smell.

So the perpetrator beamed in by the window - Benedict's eyes followed the path he or she had to have taken to the bed. Two boot prints, one smeared in blood. Good enough to get a size? "What size boot?" he asked of the Risan security officer. "Can you determine that?"

Benedict looked between the two women and stepped closer to Saris. The boot mark was clear. "We need to get a comparison on that boot - find out if Andrea Collins matches the print size. I would think that her Starfleet record will have detail enough to give us her boot size."

Saris tapped on her tricorder for a few moments and nodded. "Andrea Collins is a size six boot, sir." She examined the scan and made some adjustments. "It would appear that the boot here is a little larger than that - not a match." She shook her head in the negative but added, "She could be wearing something oversized to throw us off, sir."

Benedict nodded. Not likely, but it had to be taken into consideration.

Taylor Bennett moved to the bed, and ran a tricorder scan there as well. She wrinkled her nose, but it was the only outward sign she showed in regard to the messy, bloody crime scene. "I can't believe anyone would do something like this." She shook her head, and focused on her tricorder readings.

"If I may, sir, a disadvantage of sentience is the possessor's ability to conceive of the disgusting," Ner'c said. His tricorder beeped, and he examined its data. "DNA comparisons to baselines from the Sulu indicate genetic material from the Captain and Lieutenant Tagliesh. No other DNA strand evidence is immediately apparent."

Benedict nodded. "The assassin wore something like a full-coverage suit. This was well planned." He turned to Taylor Bennett. "Can you hurry the Operations people on the Sulu? I want to know the timing of this - something doesn't gel." He looked at Ner'c. "Make sure you take samples - I don't want anything missed or any excuse by Risan authorities for disallowing evidence. This has to be by the book."

"Sir," Taylor said when she was finished, "it appears that the time of the captain's assault coincides with Lt. Tagliesh's return to the ship. She claimed she was recalled due to the ongoing investigation of the substance, but it turned out to be a false alarm. She returned to this room via transporter, interrupting the assailant."

"False alarm?" Benedict shook his head. "The comm-badges are a secured frequency. You can't tap them without some pretty sophisticated equipment. So Lieutenant Tagliesh was called away so that the assassin could strike while the captain was alone. That takes some coordination - more than a single individual anyway - so we're looking at a conspiracy here. The transporter sensors from the Sulu would have been tracking on his location during transport. Check with Operations to see if the transporter scans picked up anything."

"Aye, sir," Taylor answered. She stepped away again and re-established communications with the Sulu's operations department.

After a few moments, Taylor tapped off the comm with the ship and returned to where the others were still gathered. "Sensor information from the time of Lt. Tagliesh's return is inconclusive. Whoever was in here was wearing a sensor inhibitor of some sort, and it effectively blocked out any useful information that could have come from the scan. Science indicates that the inhibitor appears to be trained to the Federation frequency...at least that's what they've been able to find out so far."

Benedict nodded. It wasn't a lone assassin anymore. The amount of planning was substantial.

Chavez walked in through the door and took in the scene again. He grimaced when he looked back at the bed. "Nothing outside, sir," he shrugged. "It all happened in here as far as I can tell."

The team traded looks and Benedict said, "Okay - nothing more we can do here. Let's get back to the Sulu and see where this leads us." He tapped his commbadge. "Sulu this is T'Kal. Five to beam up." It was going to be a long night before he could get some sleep - he didn't know how long it was going to be!

---

"Ill-Gotten Gains"
by Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer
Lieutenant Sam - Operations Manager
and Ensign Viraj - Transporter Operator [NPC+]

Location: Transporter Room and Bridge, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.09 04h26

***

When Storm beamed back aboard the Sulu there was a palatable sense of unease that went beyond the yellow alert blinking in the background. If he had to guess, Ethan might have thought the ship was listing in space or was operating under a power restriction. The ship and the dour face of the Ensign Viraj seemed somehow dimmer than they should have been.

"Computer, location of Commander Lyrr?" he asked, stepping off the pads. He didn't have time to time to worry about the yellow alert at the moment. The information he had could be vital and it would be explained soon enough.

"Commander Lyrr is not aboard the Sulu."

Storm sighed and tossed the black trench coat up on the control console. "Computer, location of--"

"Lieutenant T'Kal is not on board either," Ensign Viraj said, guessing correctly that Storm might next look for his new supervisor. "Lieutenant Sam has the Bridge."

Storm's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why are we at yellow alert, Viraj?"

The Ensign opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and then closed it. When he opened it again, it was only to say, "Lieutenant Sam will tell you."

Storm nodded silently, feeling the awkwardness. Whatever it was it was big, bigger than maybe a yellow alert indicated. And as soon as Storm made a stop at a computer terminal to check one last thing, he'd be off to the Bridge to hear all about it.

***

With Captain Salinger still recovering and Commander Lyrr dealing with the Farehn'ti delegation, command of the ship had fallen to Sam again. So, he was back on the bridge of the Sulu, processing the data he and Ensign Firece had found while monitoring the status of the ship. There was an uneasiness that seemed to pervade the crew after the attempted assassination of Captain Salinger. While he could not feel as they did, there was something disconcerting about an attempt to end the functionality of the captain before he had reached the end of his expected life cycle.

The turbolift doors opened and Sam noted Ensign Storm enter the bridge. Normally he would have turned away, but the look Storm gave him held his attention. Additionally, the human officer was moving in his direction. Sam inclined his head. "Ensign Storm," he said. "How may I assist you?"

The Bridge was filled with faces that mirrored the one of Ensign Viraj, save for Lieutenant Sam. Storm took a few steps closer to the android. In his hands, he held two isolinear chips and his tricorder.

"Sir, what's happened?" he asked in a low voice.

"You have not heard the news? Earlier this morning, an assassin attempted to kill Captain Salinger. He is currently in critical condition under the care of Dr. M'lira. She expects him to make a full recovery, however there is still a chance that his wound could turn fatal."

Storm looked like he'd been hit with a phaser. While there was certainly nothing he could have done personally, he was of the opinion that too many on the Sulu had let their personal lives and shore leave interfere with the investigation. While he hadn't indulged as much as some, he was not innocent of the infraction himself. If the mystery had been wrapped up earlier, this could have been avoided.

"I do not believe Ensign Collins escaped the Risan Detention Facility." Storm recovered a little and held his tricorder with the RDF visual log analysis out for Sam. "She was taken. And I believe she was taken against her will."

Sam looked at the tricorder, and then to Storm. "What information has led you to this hypothesis, Ensign?"

"I've seen the visual logs from the Risan Detention Facility," Storm said, not withdrawing the tricorder and not shirking from the responsibility he had here. "They clearly indicate use of what is most likely a Cardassian transporter and you can also hear use of the Cardassian language on the audio."

"Intriguing," Sam responded. "Have you revealed any of this information to other members of the crew?"

"No, sir," Storm said, now knowing the reason Lyrr and T'Kal were unavailable. "And there's something else, Lieutenant."

"Go ahead, Ensign," Sam said.

"I checked for possible Cardassian connections with the Farehn'ti after I beamed back aboard," Storm said. He seemed almost hesitant to continue. "They've done a number of incursions into Farehn'ti space. If there is something of interest there for the Cardassian Union, then Federation membership for the Farehn'ti may work against that interest."

Sam nodded. "That information does help strengthen some of the information I have obtained in my own investigation." He accepted the tricorder and began going over the information contained within it. "Intriguing."

"Did you get more from Malthus, sir?" Storm asked. He was aware that there was a certain amount of intrigue around the Ferengi and that Lieutenant Sam had been following up on that branch of the investigation. While Storm hadn't yet checked the latest updates on Sam's progress, Malthus was at the heart of his own misgivings.

"It appears that Mr. Malthus sold parts sufficient to create a transporter to a Cardassian Gul named Tamor."

Storm considered that information and felt his own apprehension elevate without knowing exactly why. He held out the isolinear chips to Lieutenant Sam. "These contain the raw vidlogs from the RDF, sir. I would also recommend having Commander Lyrr review the sealed portions of Ensign Collins' file. Maybe there is something there to indicate why the Cardassians would want to implicate her."

"Of course, Ensign," Sam answered. "I will be certain to remind Commander Lyrr how to perform her duties as executive officer of this ship."

Storm barely paid attention to the sarcasm, both because he knew it was unintentional and because he was troubled. He looked to the isolinear chips in his hand pointedly before he said, "Sir, I need you to take these before I say any more."

Sam accepted the isolinear chips from Storm and gave the security officer a quizzical look. "You appear to be distracted, Ensign," Sam said. "Is there a problem?"

"Lieutenant Sam," Storm began, speaking formally and stiffening to attention. "I surrender myself to you for immediate arrest." He nodded at the tricorder and isolinear chips in the android's hand. "I obtained those vidlogs illegally, using a broker on Risa."

Sam regarded Storm for a long moment before finally nodding. "Security," Sam said. "Take Ensign Storm into custody. Escort him to his quarters and post a guard at his door. I will inform Commander Lyrr of your actions. She will discuss this matter with you as soon her schedule permits." Sam nodded at Crewman Daly, who was on the bridge due to the combination of shore leave and emergency, to lead Storm away.

Ethan allowed Daly to escort him to the turbolift, where he slowed to a stop. Crewman Daly laid a hand on Storm's shoulder only to remove it quickly under Storm's icy glare. Ethan turned back to Sam. "Sir, there's one thing that is bothering me."

"What is that, Ensign?" Sam asked.

"Why would a Cardassian need a Ferengi to put together a Cardassian transporter?" Storm asked simply.

"I am uncertain," Sam answered. "However, I can think of a few likely possibilities. They are, however, only theories."

"Is one of those theories that they aren't really Cardassians?" Storm asked. Almost since he'd made his discovery, certain unease had been creeping over Ethan. It was just too easy.

"The Cardassian Union is in a fairly desperate state," Sam said. "It is theoretically possible that this far from their homeworld, they lack the resources to build something as simple as a transporter. Their equipment could be damaged or inoperable; their own sense of superiority could have led them to create a transporter based off of their own technology. There are many species who believe themselves to be superior in all respects, and will only use technology based off their own species' design."

Storm backed into the turbolift with Crewman Daly right alongside. "Except in this case, that technological pride is going to lead us right to them. Unless they aren't the them that we really want, sir." With that last remark, the turbolift doors snapped shut and carried Ethan Storm away from the Bridge.

---

"The Rounds, Part 1"
by Lieutenant Mark Thaine, Chief Engineer
and assorted Engineering NPCs

Location: Mark Thaine's Quarters
Stardate 57907.09 04h34

***

Had Thaine been asleep, the hammering on the door of his quarters, followed by the use of the chime function, would have awoken him in short order. It was perhaps in some way lucky for the Crewman outside the door that Thaine was not asleep, and instead simply set down his book of poetry, and wandered over to the door, pressing the 'open' command on the door panel. Thaine's wrath was normally greater when his sleep was interrupted.

"Lieutenant! Wake-- Oh." The Engineering Crewman gave a blink of surprise, seeing the Chief standing, still in uniform, in the open doorway. "You're awake," he commented.

"You think?" quipped Thaine, icily. "What the hell's going on to wake me up at this hour?"

"It's the Captain, sir! Everyone's saying he's been stabbed! And nobody seems to know what's going on down in Engineering." He paused, then added, "I thought I'd better let you know; you did complain nobody told you what was happening on this ship. Sir." The last came as almost an afterthought.

Thaine swore again. Then he looked at the man before him. "What's your name? Martel, right? Daniel Martel?"

He nodded, looking a little nervous. "Yes, sir."

"Next time, don't bang on my door, Crewman."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, you head back to Engineering, and I'll follow in five minutes." Thaine decided he wanted a little time to at least wash his face before heading down to Engineering.

He gave a subdued nod. "Yes, sir." He began to move to leave.

"And crewman?"

"Sir?

"I'm glad someone thought it fit to inform me."

Thaine found himself rewarded with a smile from the crewman, before giving him a nod and hurrying back to Main Engineering. Thaine shook his head, mind awash with worries for the Captain of his ship.

***Main Engineering***

There was definitely something about the engines. It was as if the ship could feel something was wrong. The crew certainly could; the hum of worried conversation was sharply discordant against the hum of the warp drive.

Thaine laid a loving hand on the panel in front of him. "Easy there, girl," he said quietly, after making sure nobody was around to overhear him. It probably wouldn't do the crew any good to know their Chief occasionally talked to his ship.

He'd spent the last half-hour checking up on the current mood in engineering, trying to bring the place back into a little more of a relaxed atmosphere. It had worked, a little, but a little was better than nothing. He supposed people liked to see that their Chief cared enough to come on duty personally, rather than it being anything to with his personality.

He'd also wanted to make sure, first hand, that nothing was amiss in his department. With an attack on the Captain, anything could happen. Diplomacy had the tendency to fail, on occasion, and for that reason Thaine wanted to check, personally, that in the event things did get heated, his ship was ready to perform.

"You look like you are about to start your rounds, Chief," a voice commented from behind him. Turning, Thaine found himself being almost studied by the Warp Field specialist, Petty Officer Hanako Ito, her head tipped slightly to one side. She did wear an amused smile on her face, though.

"My rounds?" asked Thaine, puzzled.

Hanako proceeded to explain. "My previous Chief Engineer; he would often go on his 'rounds.' He would tour the ship, inspecting everywhere, making sure everyone was okay, and that the ship was ready for whatever surprises waited for her." She shrugged, giving him a smile. "You just looked as if you were about to start your own rounds."

Thaine considered this, looking briefly to the warp engines, and back to the Petty Officer. "That doesn't sound such a bad idea," he commented. "Carry on, Petty Officer Ito." He moved to leave Main Engineering.

"Yes, sir!" She gave him a faintly mocking salute, but with good humour, as the Lieutenant strode out the door, ready to start his rounds.

---

"Confronting Pain"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Doctor M'lira
Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh

Location: Gazan Medical Facility, Risa
Stardate 57907.09, 05h20

***

No commander would ever dream of doing what Lyrr was about to do - interview a witness in her captain's attempted murder. The task was made that much more emotionally trying for Lyrr in that the witness was Lieutenant Tagliesh, Matt's love interest. Matt's fatal injury was hard enough to take, and adding that revelation to the mix had Lyrr leaning heavily against the wall of the corridor to collect herself before she checked in with Doctor M'Lira.

The antiseptic smell seeping from the walls, from the carpet, from every crevice of the medical facility impacted Lyrr and brought on cognizance of the harsher reality. She was in a hospital to visit Matt. Matt had been stabbed brutally. The smudge of blood she'd found on her hand was his. The pool of coagulated red liquid on the stark white sheets belonged to him as well. Lyrr covered her mouth with one hand and repelled the nausea. She couldn't falter now, not when she was leading the ship and the investigation. Not when there was a murderer to still be found, and one who was potentially a Starfleet officer.

Lyrr looked up with a startled glance upon the sound of her name being gently called, then sighed at the Caitian. "How is he?"

"We have him stabilized," M'lira answered. There was a tiredness in her eyes, mixed with a firm determination. "We have had to repair his lung; it was punctured in the attack. I believe that had Lieutenant Tagliesh arrived a moment sooner or later, the captain would have died. In examining the wound, the assassin missed the captain's heart by only a matter of millimeters. I believe Xayella's presence startled the assailant enough to alter the trajectory of the blade just enough for it to miss his heart. If there are no unforeseen changes in his condition, he...he should make a full recovery."

"Should?" Lyrr wasn't too comforted by that. She sighed and let it go. "Thank you, Doctor. I presume there is no way to get a statement from him yet, is there?"

"Not yet," M'lira answered. "If I were to estimate, I would say six hours at the earliest."

Lyrr nodded. "And I assume the same restriction does not apply to Lieutenant Tagliesh."

"It may be difficult to pull her from his side," M'lira answered, "but I see no reason why she can't answer questions."

"She will speak with me then," Lyrr said decisively. "Is there some place she and I can talk privately?"

"They have given me an office for my use while I am tending to the captain," M'lira said. "You may speak there." She indicated which office was hers with a furred hand. "I will have coffee brought in for both of you, if you wish."

"For the lieutenant is fine," Lyrr answered, then smiled raggedly at M'lira and made her way to the office.

M'lira watched Lyrr for a moment, then returned to Captain Salinger's room. She found Xayella Tagliesh where she'd seen her last, at Captain Salinger's side, holding one of this hands and whispering quietly to him. "Xayella," she said softly. "Commander Lyrr is waiting in my office to take your statement. I'll keep watch over the captain while you are with her."

Xayella kept her eyes on Matt's, waiting for them to open. "I didn't see anything," she explained softly. "I don't want to answer any questions."

"Any information you can provide will help the security teams track down the person responsible and bring them to justice. Even the most minor detail can be the clue that turns a case."

Xayella's hand squeezed Matt's instinctually and she forced herself to gaze up at M'Lira. "Will you get me if he opens his eyes?" she whispered, tears already welling up at the thought of leaving his side.

"I will get you immediately if there is any change in his condition, Xayella. I promise."

She sighed and reluctantly nodded. After rising from her stool next to Matt's bed, Xayella leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his parched lips. "I'll be back," she murmured to him, then grudgingly pulled away, but kept her gaze fully on Matt as she slipped out of the room.

Lyrr looked up from the speck of dried blood she'd been examining on her boot and met Lt. Tagliesh's cold, hard stare as the woman entered the room. She felt shame in her previous show of insensitivity, but gave no apology for it. And now, as she gazed back at Tagliesh's unrelenting glare, she realized the resentment held by the lieutenant, one Lyrr had experienced herself upon first seeing Xayella kneeling at Matt's bedside, weeping for him. She shook away the memories, for the blood would soon follow, and broke eye contact with Tagliesh.

"Please...have a seat." Lyrr took one herself, at the opposite side of the table. Xayella stubbornly followed suit and sank into the offered chair. Her entire demeanour conveyed disdain, from the tightly crossed arms over her chest to the pursed lips. Lyrr sighed. "Just tell me what happened and you can go back. I need to know."

Xayella chuckled in disbelief. "He was stabbed. He was asleep in bed, and someone stabbed him." Hearing it forced tears to her eyes again, and Xayella looked away. Lyrr watched her in silence, knowing the story would come out eventually. She wasn't disappointed. "We were...in bed, asleep. I don't know what time it was...must've been 02h30 or something... My commbadge started going off and I got up to get it." Xayella sucked in a composing breath and exhaled shakily. "Someone told me to come to the ship because they discovered something about the substance. I went and when no one knew anything about it, and when the computer told me a transmission was never sent from the ship...I returned."

Gently interrupting, Lyrr asked, "How much time passed between your departure and your return?"

Xayella shrugged and pressed the heel of her palms into her stinging eyes. "It must've been only a few minutes at most," she replied thickly. "And when I got there--" She paused and shook with silent tears.

Lyrr swallowed back the knot in her own throat, feeling surprisingly affected by Tagliesh's obvious sorrow. "You saw someone," Lyrr ventured, in a voice that was frustratingly unsteady.

Xayella nodded in response and brought her arms around herself as she let out a strangled sob. "He...she...I don't even know... They were wearing a cloak...and it was dark..." She sucked in a cleansing breath, but it made no difference; she continued to weep. "I saw the knife and I was confused... I didn't know what was happening...I wasn't even sure it really was." Her eyes clenched shut against the pain of the memory and she tightened the embrace she had herself in. "It came down...hard, and I screamed! Matt...he just didn't move," she whispered hoarsely. "And the blood... And then he disappeared...a transporter..."

"Was it Cardassian?" Lyrr asked softly. "The transporter..."

"Could have been," she replied with slightly more composure. "Looked like it...but I can't really say. All I remember is the knife reflecting the moonlight...the blood..." Her voice wavered and she was again reduced to tears.

Lyrr sighed and sat back in her chair. She was likely to get more from a thorough investigation than Lt. Tagliesh's account. And a part of her couldn't gather the nerve to proceed and inflict more pain upon the woman she was so used to hating. Now, she only pitied her. "Alright, you can go now," she told her.

Tagliesh nodded and placed her hands atop the table to push her chair back. She paused, seemingly testing whether her legs would hold her if she attempted to rise. Lyrr, uncertain what possessed her, reached across the table and covered the inconsolable Tagliesh's hand with her own. "He'll be okay," she said. "He's a fighter, and he's an explorer, and he knows there's too much out there to discover to just...give up now."

Xayella regarded Lyrr quizzically, then managed a wan smile. "Thank you," she whispered, then rose and solemnly departed for Matt's hospital room.

Lyrr was left alone again to ponder Xayella's account of the crime, which brought to light no new findings; it only reinforced what they already knew. Somehow and for some reason, the Cardassians were involved. By extension, the Farehn'ti were also involved, in that two of the mediators negotiating their application to the Federation were stabbed. Whether it was Ensign Collins who had brandished the knife then and now, with Matt, Lyrr could not conclude, though she did recall the threat spoken by the ensign before her escape from the detention facility, and although it was motive enough, it wasn't evidence. Either way, she was a part of all this somehow and when Lyrr found her, she had a few questions for the woman.

She could do nothing further until the analysis of Matt's bedroom was complete. It was in able hands with Lieutenant T'Kal. Which meant Lyrr could go for a much-needed walk and escape from the brutal reality of shore leave on Risa.

---

"The Rounds, Part 2"
by Lieutenant Mark Thaine, Chief Engineer
and assorted Engineering NPCs

Location: Shuttle Bay, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.09 05h24

***

The shuttle bay was almost always the quietest part of the ship. The footfalls of Thaine's Starfleet issue boots echoed across the empty bay, the sounds reverberating from the heavily reinforced walls and roof. Having to withstand a vacuum meant that they had to be as strong as the external hull of the ship, and that meant some of the strongest materials in the fleet were used in its construction.

As Thaine expected, the shuttles were for the most part powered down; no lights from inside the cabins, no humming of the small power systems could be heard. But, there was one shuttle, across the other side of the bay, that seemed to have some activity associated with it.

Crossing over with a steady, relaxed pace to his stride, the Chief Engineer soon noticed the open access panel to the shuttle, with a pair of what looked to be a human feet appearing from it. Drawing closer still, Thaine's hearing began to pick up the sound of humming coming from the shuttle, though apparently the shuttle craft engineer seemed to be unaware of the Chief's approach. Finally, Mark stood next to the open access panel, staring down at the pair of Starfleet boots sticking out of it, and listening to the man's humming.

Thaine coughed. The humming stopped. Then a deep voice questioned, "That you, Charlie?"

"No," replied Thaine. "It's just the Chief."

There was a hasty shuffle, and slowly the man emerged from the inside of the shuttle. Thaine found himself wondering, as the man stood up, exactly how he had managed to fit inside the small space of the access panel.

To say he was tall was an understatement. Now standing next to the Chief, a broad smile on his face, it was apparent that he wasn't just tall. He was tall. He loomed over Thaine, making him slightly uneasy, but soon found himself relaxed by the man's gentle smile. He offered the Chief a large hand.

"Will Pierce, sir," he said, as they shook hands. "Nice to meet you."

"Lieutenant Mark Thaine," he replied, flexing his hand a little behind his back, recovering from the more than firm grip. "Just thought I'd see how things were down here."

"Oh?" The broad smile had never left Will's face. "Well, we're fine down here. Just doing a little maintenance on this girl; faulty power unit." He gestured to the shuttle.

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

The crewman shook his head. "No, I don't think so. We got her second hand from another ship that's been decommissioned; we're not entirely brand new. So, I'd expect a couple of faults."

Thaine nodded absently, and looked about the bay. "Is it always this quiet down here?"

"What? Oh, the shuttle bay? Well, Chief, we're not exactly a regular tourist trap." He grinned. "You're probably the first visitor we've had all night. We can sometimes go entire shifts without seeing another member of the crew." He paused. "Say, Chief...something on your mind? Anything we can help you with down here?"

Mark shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I'm just doing a tour of the ship; making sure everything is okay firsthand."

Will nodded in agreement. "I can understand that. Do the same here, just before my shift ends. I always make sure these girls are ready to fly at a moment's notice, before I call it night. Or a day." He shrugged. "Depends on the shift."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, Crewman. Carry on."

"Aye, sir." The man returned to his humming, as Thaine returned to his rounds.

***

She'd only been gone a few hours, he reminded himself. It wasn't too late to call her, tell her he'd changed his mind. He could resign, and follow her, and...

No, he couldn't, he realised as he neared the main damage control station. He was as much in love with his ship as he was her.

"Morning, Chief!" called the on duty Damage Control engineer, one Petty Officer Eric Corel. He was sat on his seat, graphical displays of the ship's hull and systems surrounding him on three sides, and a tool box on his lap, that he was obviously re-ordering. "What brings you here to DC Central?"

"Just checking the ship out." Thaine stood in the corridor, just before it widened out into the Damage Control main station. "How are things here?"

"We're good, Chief. Everything on standby, though we're all a little jumpy. 'Specially with what happened to the Captain, and all."

Thaine nodded approvingly, noting that the ship's rumour mill was as active and productive as any ship's. "Heard already then?"

"Word gets around," Eric shrugged. "You know how it is. Any idea if he's going to be alright?"

Mark shook his head. "No, I don't. We've got the best doctors in the sector looking at him, though, so here's hoping he makes it."

"Aye, sir. Here's to that." He raised his hand, giving the Chief a thumbs up. "Who'd have thought this would happen on a trip to Risa, eh? Who'd have thought..." He shook his head, and then looked up at Thaine, with a curiously insightful look in his eyes. "Chief," he said, "Everything's fine. If that changes, I'll personally send an alarm to your quarters."

Thaine blinked in surprise, and then nodded, running a hand over his eyes. He hadn't realised how tired he was. He wondered if he looked as bad as he felt. Probably, he decided, based on Eric's assessment of him just now. "Thanks," he said. "I guess I'll go get some sleep."

"Good idea, sir. I'll let you know if anything changes."

As he headed back to his quarters, Mark wondered about his late night - or rather early morning - rounds. He had set out with the intentions of relieving a little of the crew's worry. And in the end, one of the crew had relieved some of his own worry.

Shaking his head wryly, Thaine went to find some long overdue sleep.

---

"One Piece at a Time"
by Crewman 1st Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Astrometrics Technician
and Lieutenant Saavar - Science Officer

Location: Astrometrics Lab, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.09, 06h03

***

Shyla had woke up in Ethan Storm's bed at 0300 hours with the sense of something being distinctly wrong. At the time, she'd dismissed it as disappointment in finding herself alone. From her perspective, the night before had been so long in coming, she would have liked to have idealized it for a little while before harsh realities set in and took hold. At the very least, it would have been nice to wake up in his arms.

By the time she made it to her own quarters, the red alert sounded. Over the blaring klaxons she kicked off her civilian clothes from the night before and slipped into a class "A" quickly. Unshowered and on very little sleep, she ran down the corridor past other crew making their way to their battle stations. In an emergency, the function of Astrometrics was to analyze local stellar phenomena and bodies for possible tactical use in case combat was imminent. If this was an attack, every person on the ship had something to do and Shyla was no exception.

It was a good twenty minutes before the ship was taken to yellow alert and in that time the crew were so focused on their duties, no one was asking any questions. It was nearly 0400 before the word had spread to Shyla's ears: Someone had made an attempt on the Captain's life this morning and had very nearly succeeded. Apparently, the wound was so bad that they dared not risk transporting him and he'd been taken to a Risan hospital. Moreau immediately thought that the attack on the Captain was probably why she woke up alone and she felt considerable guilt for the relief she gained with that thought.

Under the circumstances, Shyla did the only thing she could do: She put Ethan out of her mind and continued with her work. After a few hours parked at the Astrometrics console with an empty stomach, Shyla began scanning the Risan system while she listened to Lieutenant Saavar's log entry concerning the anomaly, the only recent event that had anything to do with her department. Shyla had been useless to the investigation but the attack on Captain Salinger had fortified her desire to do whatever she could to help the ship. She hoped getting to the bottom of the anomaly might do just that.

"Science Officer's Log. Supplemental. Stardate 57907.06." Saavar made his log entry in a typical Vulcan voice devoid of emotion. "An anomaly was detected at 1742.09 hours by Ensign Monica Gainsborough. Ensign Gainsborough performed a level one sensor diagnostic and was excused from duty by Commander Lyrr before it was complete."

"That must have gone over big," Shyla muttered. Even though Saavar's words lacked human feeling, Moreau felt his disapproval was palatable.

"Upon arrival at the Bridge Science Station I undertook to complete the investigation of the anomaly," Saavar's log continued. "Secondary scans determined the anomaly to be an energy disturbance of twelve microsecond duration at thirty seven point one eight kilometers off the port bow. The disturbance had generated a spherical particle cloud of unknown composition at that location. I requested permission to retrieve some of the particles for further study. Permission was granted by Commander Lyrr and the substance was contained via transporter. All safety and containment protocols were observed."

Shyla nodded and with a tap of a few keys, the analysis of those particles that was still in process came up on her Astrometrics viewscreen. It was still an unknown.

"After discussion with Commander Lyrr, the nature and composition of the disturbance remains unknown. In the coming hours I shall attemp--"

Shyla had clicked off the log almost absently as she stared at the ongoing analysis of the unknown substance. Prior to the events of the morning, Shyla had been involved in the murder investigation in only the most periphery observational manner. She had been aware of some of the broader activity but as an enlisted person and Astrometrics Technician, most of it simply had nothing to do with her job. The appearance of the anomaly finally had some relevance to her duties but as it proved to be yet another mystery, her mind began to relate that which seemed unrelatable. Unknowns. Unknowns. Unknowns.

Shyla launched herself out of her chair and stood over the Astrometrics console. Her face was flush with excitement. "Computer, generate all instances where the word 'unknown' or 'strange' or 'unusual' appears in close proximity to the words 'substance,' or 'residue' in the report logs of the USS Sulu from 0000 hours on Stardate 57907.05 to..." --Shyla glanced at the chronometer-- "...0617 hours on Stardate 57907.09." The computer chirped a couple of times and a list of some forty odd reports obediently appeared on another inset window, next to the one with the particle analysis.

Shyla leaned on the console, looking over the report authors. She immediately noticed that two were from Stencil accusing a crewman who had thrown up in the lounge of being under the influence of some unknown substance and five had been generated by Petty Officer Nebbs concerning some strange residue that had been appearing and reappearing on one of his favorite pots. She deleted these reports manually and tried to put them out of her mind: She ate in the Mess Hall every day and particularly enjoyed Nebbs' cooked dishes.

"Computer," she said, after some careful consideration. "Show me only those reports that concern either the anomaly of Stardate 57907.06 or those involving the murder investigation of Ambassador Dalil V'ril. Limit the list to summary reports submitted by either department heads and/or away team leaders." Instantly, the list was shortened by three quarters. She sank back to her chair and began reading them one by one.

Lieutenant Saavar on Stardate 57907.06. The anomaly. An unknown substance had been collected. Dr. M'lira. 57907.07. Found strange residue on the murder weapon. Lieutenant Sam Ashbury. Yesterday. Collected samples of the strange substance from both V'ril and Collins' respective rooms. It was all there.

Shyla's heart was beating faster as she focused specifically on Lieutenant Ashbury's report. "Computer, compare the samples collected by Lieutenant Ashbury on 57907.07 to the sample collected from the anomaly on Stardate on 57907.06." Ten windows representing all of Ashbury's samples replaced those of the energy readings. The pure samples that had been brought up by shuttle were only like one another. But the ones that had been transported aboard were an exact match with what had been collected from the anomaly. Identical.

And what was more: Everywhere the transporter signatures were present, so was the unknown substance. V'ril's room, Andrea's room, the Risan Detention Facility. Each had varying numbers of energy signatures and each had varying instances of the unusual residue. With a few key taps, Shyla began a comparative analysis of each of the crime scenes with emphasis on determining the concentration of the substance with relation to the energy signatures.

With her work begun and a small bite of her bottom lip in apprehension, Shyla tapped her communicator and said, "Crewman Moreau to Lieutenant Saavar."

Saavar tapped his badge as it chirped. "Saavar here." He stopped reading through a report and like most officers looked upward as he listened. It was an unconscious move that was entirely illogical - but done none the less.

"I think I have something you should see, sir. In Astrometrics."

"I will be with you shortly, Crewman Moreau." He left his workstation and made his way to Astrometrics.

***

"The amount of residue is directly proportional to the size and number of the transporter signatures," Shyla explained excitedly to Saavar while he stood and listened intently to the young woman. "With the exception of the anomaly, every other place we've found the residue has also had residual transporter energy present."

Saavar nodded. "It would be similar to the genetic residue left behind by a person after transportation via transporter beam. However the substance is unknown - an unknown life-form?" He shook his head even as he asked that question. "I do not believe that is logical. Perhaps it is a residue from a protective garb..." Saavar looked at the data again. "There is the residue from the orbital trace - that does not fit this pattern. However I did not run a pattern match for a transporter beam."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think the transporters have anything to do with it at all...except that's how the substance gets around." Shyla pushed herself out of her chair and took several steps away from Saavar as if to pace but swung back suddenly and said, "I do have a theory, sir."

"By all means, Crewman," Saavar nodded as he placed his hands behind his back, indicating that she should continue.

"My Daddy..." Shyla twanged with a slip of Louisiana accent before she corrected herself. "My Father and Mother did a lot of humanitarian work for the Federation before I was born. The Verine System Super-Nova. Triskelion after the Fourth Uprising. One of their favorite stories was about the Red Sand of Cyndrin III."

"Perhaps you may reach your theory, Crewman?" Saavar did not see where the woman was going with her family stories and like most Humans she meandered to her point rather than coming directly to it.

"Cyndrin III's main industry was duranium production. When they manufacture the alloy, it leaves behind a silicate waste product that looks like fine red sand. It was non-toxic so the colonists just didn't worry about it. In a century, the planet was covered."

Saavar nodded.

"Well, every time my father and his team would beam back up to support ships from the surface, it would always be in the middle of these horrific windstorms and inevitably a fair bit of this stuff would get caught in the matter stream. Before you knew it, the ship had it everywhere. My mother said they were still finding red sand on the Dove six months after the Cyndrin mission."

Saavar raised one brow in interest. "That is an entirely logical supposition, Crewman. Well done." He furrowed his brow and stared off into the distance of the view port. As the planet revolved slowly beneath the ship the blue oceans and tiny islands would shift slowly. "Risa is full of beaches and sand," he said slowly. "But the weather is controlled - storms are not permitted and the substance is clearly not sand - although it is a silicate compound."

"Yes, sir," Shyla almost sighed. She guessed that Vulcans didn't have analogies. "What I'm saying is I think that wherever these perpetrators are beaming in from is just lousy with this unknown substance. It must be everywhere. And it gets into their clothes, their hair, and even their weapons and equipment. It was on the murder weapon and in Ambassador V'ril's wound. Has there been a scan of Captain Salinger for the substance?"

"I do not know," Saavar replied. "Your analogy would be sound if it were not for the substance found in orbit." He pondered that too. "Why would it be in orbit? What connection does it have to the murder and attempted assassination of the captain?"

"I don't know, sir," Shyla admitted. She patted the Astrometrics console. "But I'd bet my baby girl here that the Captain's wound will have the same substance in it, if anyone checks." She looked to the viewscreen and regarded the vast void of space before turning back to Saavar. "They have to be related, sir. I'd like to recommend not only around the clock scans of the system for further anomalies but intensive surface scans of Risa itself. We may not know what this substance is but we know what to look for and there has to be a mound of it somewhere within forty thousand kilometers of those transporter signatures down on the planet."

Saavar nodded. "Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps that is the link...transporter range..." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Transporter range in space is forty thousand kilometers - but vastly shorter on a planetary surface due to the curvature of the surface and the ability of the beam to transmit through atmospheric interference. I will pass on your idea to the Bridge - I concur in your reasoning."

"Thank you, sir." Shyla was thrilled in spite of this morning's bad news. Hopefully, she'd be able to contribute to the solution. "I can begin working double shifts immediately."

Saavar smiled. "It is not necessary for you to work double duty, Crewman - however if you have a personal desire to do so I will not object. Your attitude is commendable - and your observations also. Well done, Crewman Moreau. I will pass on a favorable report to the Chief Science Officer for your contribution."

Shyla simply beamed him a smile and sat down at the Astrometrics console as Saavar left her to her work. She almost cleared the window that had the ongoing analysis of the substance but thought better of it. As she began her preliminary scans of the system, her eyes drifted back to it and she found herself wondering not what it was or where it came from... She found herself thinking of the Red Sand of Cyndrin III.

---

"Soliloquy"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: Risa, Siguenza District
Stardate: 57907.09, 06h18

***

He walked slowly down the boardwalk as the sun rose higher above the horizon. She had been beautiful. Beautiful enough to leave Starfleet over.

"You're too smart for cattle, boy," he could hear the words of his granddad, Jack, as clearly now as he did then. "Get out of Texas. Get into Starfleet. Your daddy'd have liked that, I reckon."

He felt the warmth of the new sun, and took off his tuxedo jacket. He swung it over his shoulder, holding it with two fingers, and kept walking. The boardwalk was unnaturally quiet. He attributed it to the early hour. Everyone was sleeping last night off; no one would be celebrating again for a while.

He stopped at a small copse of trees and sat on a bench, yawning. He could feel the sun on his cheek. He closed his eyes and remembered Natalia's cheek against his, on the dance floor and in bed. He could have drowned in those eyes. If she had asked last night, if they had even exchanged surnames, he might have resigned his commission and stayed with her forever. He had left her instead. He couldn't stay for the morning. The night had been too magical, too perfect. Anything more would have broken the spell. He only hoped she would understand that, and carry the memory as fondly as he planned to.

"You're too smart," he heard his granddad say again.

"Right," he chuckled ruefully, aloud and to no one in particular. "I'm too smart."

Eight years into his career, and still an Ensign. Slapped up, beaten down, passed over, and run around. In most jobs, he'd have been in charge of something by now. By rights, he should be a full Lieutenant by now, and laying groundwork for Lieutenant Commander. Here, now, with his record blotted as it was, he was a pariah, deemed unworthy of trust.

"Don't let it get you down, boy," Granddad had said when Mason spoke to him later about some difficult schoolmates at the academy. "You stay true, and you'll be fine. There'll always be some dumb bastard that'll try and bring you down. You're smart. You'll be smarter than most people, and that'll scare some of 'em. People hate what they fear. But you also work hard, and nobody can tear that down. You do whatever job it is you'll do in Starfleet, and do it best of everybody, and they'll have to respect you. Nobody has to like you, but if you do your job they'll have to respect you."

Jack Masterson had made a fantastic living by working hard enough to earn people's respect, and Mason had believed him. He still believed him.

He leaned his head back and let out a jaw-cracking yawn. So much for finally getting some sleep. Not that he was complaining. Natalia had been enthralling. The night had passed in a blissful blur of passionate coupling, and though he knew he'd regret the lack of sleep, he also knew he'd never regret staying up all night.

"Paradox," was the word his fatigue-befuddled mind came up with to explain that, and he said it aloud. He was glad he had missed sleep, but sad because it meant he would be tired all day. "Paradox," he repeated to himself. "I'm talking to myself," he chuckled. "I need coffee."

He looked blearily around, and spied a snack shack just opening, selling caffeinated brews to the early-bird surfers. He stood, draped his coat over his shoulder again, and shuffled over. He ordered a mug of fresh raktajino that resembled a bowl with a handle more than it did a mug, and settled in at a small café table to drink and think.

Idly, he wondered how others might be starting their morning. Most wouldn't even be up yet, Natalia especially. Others were probably just beginning to stir. Michael Ashbury, Ainsley Chambers, Nathalie Gui. He imagined each of them rubbing their faces, and wondering what the day would bring. What new achievements they'd reach today. They had careers. They had futures. And here he was, dreading going back to work.

When had that started? It had been years since he had started his day with worry. Now he was almost gun-shy. He had avoided the bridge so he wouldn't have to face Lyrr, but she had sought him out anyway. He wondered idly where he'd need to go to get away from her. His muzzy consciousness pictured Lyrr in a security uniform sitting opposite Farrell, who had a pair of Nausicaans flanking him. "Don't make me track you down," she said, in a voice that sounded a bit like Thalan's.

Malthus, now he was Malthus. Great. He took another swig of the acrid Klingon brew, and pondered the parallels. He and Malthus were both losers, he decided finally. They both depended on others' perceptions in order to function. Once that facade was breached, they both flailed out of control. Farrell wondered idly what Malthus' brain had looked like to Thalan, when the Betazoid had probed him.

When the Betazoid. Had. Probed. Him.

Farrell sat up with a start, sloshing dark liquid onto his shirt cuff, and rubbed his forehead as he stared into space replaying the events of the interrogation in his mind. Son of a bitch, he thought. How could I have been so stupid?

His self-cursing reverie was interrupted by the nearby newsscreen. The news unit's flashing light spun up to speed, indicating a breaking story, and the strobing caught Farrell's attention.

"Federation Captain Attacked!" the headline screamed in large holographic letters. Farrell moved to it, slotted his credchit, and grabbed the hardcopy that printed from the unit. Seating himself, he sat to read, growing both angrier and more disappointed with himself by the second.

By the time he finished the story he had consumed another massive mug of Raktajino and his brain was in overdrive. He put the paper down and finished the dregs of his third brew. And then he saw her, and all his self-pity went out the window.

"Commander!" he called across the deserted street.

---

"Couplet"
By:Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer

Location: Risa
Stardate: 57907.09 06h57

***

"Commander!" Farrell called across the deserted street.

The Bajoran showed no sign of hearing, or was actually showing signs of ignoring as she continued onward without pausing. The only break in her steady stride came when one hand was brought up to her face, surreptitiously rubbing at each of her eyes, then returning to her side again. Still, she didn't stop.

He set off across the street at a jog, his jacket over one arm and the newscopy clutched in the other.

"Commander?!" he called again. "Commander Lyrr!?" He had nearly reached her, and still she showed no sign of recognition. She looked extremely upset. He came alongside her, and slowed as he put the paper between his teeth while shrugging into his jacket.

He jogged ahead of her, and took the paper out of his mouth, walking backward at a good clip to try and stay ahead of her. "Commander? You alright?"

Lyrr smiled tightly and nodded her tacit reply. She looked up and down the street to gauge the traffic flow, which wasn't much, then stepped onto the road to cross over. The last thing she needed was the false sympathies of an officer who revelled in tormenting her, or even genuine sympathies for that matter.

"What the hell?" Farrell muttered to himself, moving alongside Lyrr again. She must really be upset. And no wonder, really. The captain in the hospital and another crewman on the run from a murder investigation. She must be ready to snap. He didn't much care for her personally, but nobody deserved to keep wandering around like this. He heard his brother Ty clearly, "You always were too noble for your own good, Mason."

"Tayla?" He asked quietly, but pitched to carry.

Lyrr snapped to a halt in the center of the street, though the only collision she caused was a mild one between herself and Farrell, who seemed unprepared for the sudden move. The fire in her eyes flared again, but it was tame, not as intense as was characteristic for her. "Where the hell do you get off calling me that?" she rasped. "Who the hell do you think you are, Ensign! You taunt me" --she shifted menacingly closer-- "and push me, you deliberately disobey me for the sheer joy of testing me, and now you think you have the right to use that name like I'm one of those naive, loose girls men like you seem to enjoy bedding?" Lyrr's face remained precariously close to his, close enough to truly appreciate the pleasing colouration of his eyes if she had been at all interested in that. "Tell me, Ensign," she said in a barely controlled, level tone, "what the hell do you want from me?"

Farrell's mouth dropped open. "What do I want from you?" he asked. "What do you want from me? I've busted my hump in service to this ship and its crew from the moment I got on board. I've followed your orders and I've taken your bilge, and I've done it without whining. I'm here to help, dammit, not be your personal whipping-boy. I don't know where you get off riding me into the decking every time we meet, but that's not even why I'm here right now."

He held up the printed newscopy. The headline was a garish neon red, the letters dripping like blood. "This is what I'm calling your name for. What gives?" he asked, stabbing a finger at the story.

Lyrr glanced briefly at the text, made a mildly pained expression and looked away. "I thought all Starfleet officers knew how to read," she quipped, though it came off far less cutting than she would have liked. "Or are you asking why someone would want Captain Salinger dead?" Lyrr sighed. "I wish I knew," she muttered.

"Look," Farrell started, then looked around. "Let's get out of the street, at least. Let me buy you a cup of coffee of something." He indicated the snack shack he had just been at. "You don't want to be wandering aimlessly around anyway. C'mon." He did not touch her, but motioned for her to move with him in the direction of a chair and coffee.

Lyrr glanced aside, the chair calling to her and her weary body begging her to accept. She sighed and reluctantly moved off with Farrell. "I don't drink coffee," she told him curtly. "Though, I'm surprised you don't know that, considering how much you've proven to already know about me. The brandy..." She shot him an accusatory look. "The Hasperat."

He pulled out a chair for her. "What was it with the Hasperat anyway?" he asked as she sat and he moved to the other side of the small table. "I'm pretty new to Hasperat, but the offering at the party seemed pretty good to me. And I figured you'd like something Bajoran that wasn't replicated, since you didn't make it to the party. What do you drink when you're not boozing it up with Brandy?" he asked with a smile. "A nice tea?"

Lyrr shrugged. "Whatever I'm in the mood for." She regarded him skeptically, and asked, "So, you really had no idea about the Hasperat? Extra spicy?"

"A nice tea," Farrell said to the somnolent waitress, indicating Lyrr, "and a raktajino. And some sweetrolls or something." The waitress walked back to the shack's counter, and Farrell resumed talking to Lyrr. "I didn't 'know' about the Hasperat. Mea culpa," he said, pointing to his chest. "I don't know everything. I was actually a little nervous that it might be too spicy. I like my food that way, but didn't know if you did."

"The Hasperat was fine...I imagine," she explained. "And extra spicy's my favourite..." She shook her head and dismissed the topic with a wave. "Just something personal. Forget it. But thank you for the gesture. It's actually my favourite dish...since you seem to be researching me, looking for some way to appease me, no doubt."

Farrell rubbed his forehead and smiled wanly. "If it makes you feel better to think that, go right ahead. I'm not going to convince you otherwise, no matter what I say. But enough about that." He waved dismissively. "Is the captain ok? The Risan news media isn't exactly trustworthy on the details."

"He's alive," Lyrr replied laconically. "Stab wound to the chest, barely missed his heart." Her brow furrowed, a physical manifestation of the internal struggle to suppress her anguish. Lyrr took a deep breath and focused on her folded hands atop the table. "Tagliesh says she didn't see who did it. But they used a transporter to get in and out. If she hadn't distracted the perpetrator with her impromptu arrival...he or she wouldn't have missed their mark."

"Arrival? She wasn't with him?" Farrell asked, then hurried to make an addition when he caught Lyrr's look. "Everybody knew, Commander. They showed up to the party together."

Lyrr nodded slowly, clearly displaying disappointment. "I see... I heard the rumours, but I didn't think that...." She sighed deeply, then emitted a bitter chuckle. "I'm always the last to know, aren't I? I mean, two department heads just leave, and all I get is a notification via datapad, the captain is in a relationship with the chief of science, which the entire ship is aware of, but of course I remain oblivious to." Again she laughed dryly. "She was with him, but got called away, but the computer never logged a communication leaving the ship. When she returned, she caught the intruder in the act. I'm still waiting on the results of T'Kal's investigation of the room."

"Don't worry about not knowing," Farrell smiled. "Picturing the captain having sex is kind of like picturing your grandparents having sex. It's not worth knowing about."

Lyrr unintentionally let out a genuine laugh, then stifled it and turned a blushing cheek to Farrell as she looked away. The waitress returned with their order and placed a plate of braided rolls, along with their two beverages, before them. Lyrr's staid, solemn expression was firmly in place once more when she eventually faced forward again. "It's not that they...are involved. It's that the Captain kept it from me. It's that everyone seems to think I should not be made aware of anything. You included, Ensign. And I don't know why that is."

"I'll tell you everything." Farrell shrugged, picking up his cup of tea, regarding it, and putting it back down. "What do you want to know?"

Lyrr chuckled wryly and reached over for a roll dripping in melted sugar. "I think I know enough about you now, Ensign." She tore a small morsel from the confection and replaced the rest onto the plate. "You think you can get away with everything, you think you're invincible. It's the same with all officers of your ilk." She glanced up at him and smiled knowingly. "You know the kind. Daring, cocky, lacking all sense of self-restraint. That's you, and you revel in making that known whenever the opportunity presents itself. Am I right?"

"Now who's overpresuming?" Farrell smiled, taking the other roll and gesturing with it. "You think that's all I'm about? You've known me, what, five days? I work in Operations, of all places. Next to Science, that's about as unglamorous as it gets. If I was really that big a position-gunner, I'd be in Flight, or Security. Even Engineering. But Operations? Come on, Commander, you're a better judge of character than that."

"I never said you were attempting to move up the ranks," Lyrr corrected. "I just think you enjoy pushing the limits. People in your position have no choice but to stand out, and whereas you're unlikely to achieve anything particularly noteworthy while working in Operations, and considering your past precludes you from getting very far in Starfleet at this time, you need something to separate you from the rest of the Ensigns on board, and your tendency to bend the rules makes that possible." She popped the bit of bread into her mouth and chewed. "Am I right this time?"

Farrell chewed a bite himself. "My first section head told me that the job of Operations was to solve problems. That's it. So that's what I look to do. If solving a peculiar problem takes a peculiar solution" ---he shrugged-- "so be it. I don't do what I do for the glory. Look at me" ---he stretched his arms wide to take in the street-- "I'm alone. As usual. I can't tell you how many times I've ended up in this condition."

Lyrr smiled wistfully. "Don't worry, Ensign. We all end up alone, whether it's something we choose, or it's forced upon us. There's not much that can be done about it. But that's no reason to dig your career into a hole and bury it." She studied the slightly tepid liquid in her cup and grudgingly admitted, "You have potential to be something more than you are, Ensign. Don't screw that up." Sufficiently uncomfortable now, Lyrr cleared her throat and pushed back her chair. "I have to go. There are things to be done."

"Full circle, then," said Farrell, who remained seated. "What do you want from me?"

Lyrr smiled uncertainly. "I want nothing from you, Ensign. You pulled me off the street, remember?"

"The captain's just been stabbed. Do you want anything from me? I'm here on Risa right now, and" --he raised his cup in salute-- "I await your orders, sir."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Lyrr studied Farrell intently. "You do remember that I pulled you off the investigation, don't you? For actions unbefitting of a Starfleet officer?"

Farrell almost rolled his eyes. Almost. This had almost been a civil conversation, except for Lyrr's condescending attitude. But there were more important things going on at the moment than Lyrr's power mania. He put it out of his mind. "Now see, that's an interesting thing, for a couple of reasons," he said. "First, you've never actually ordered me to do or not do anything. Everything you've been doing has run along the lines of requests. Second, you 'asked' me to stay off the case once my present lead had been followed out. For what it's worth, I've abided by that request. But I've been thinking about that Ferengi I talked to earlier, and I had a thought. Want to hear it?"

Lyrr, too, barely refrained from rolling her eyes and settled back into the chair. She folded her hands atop the quaint, circular table, next to her untouched raktajino and regarded Farrell evenly. "Before I remember how I shouldn't even be discussing this with you because you're not to get involved in anything relating to this investigation, I suggest you speak."

Farrell smiled. The swords were out again. On some level, that was too bad, but it seemed to make Lyrr uncomfortable to not be tearing someone down, so there it was. "Well," he began, "I'm sure Thalan's report included the interrogation of Malthus, the Ferengi. He told our little group: me, Sam, and Gui, the exact same story he told Thalan. To be honest, I didn't question his story too closely. Once I knew he had some information, I called for Thalan. I figured he was the professional, and deep questioning was his purview, not mine."

Lyrr parted her lips to comment on how accurate an observation that was, but decided to save her quips until after Farrell had said his piece.

"So anyway," he continued, "I think the Lieutenant made a mistake. I knew Thalan from back on Ranger, and I know he's a big telepathic interrogator. He used his abilities all the time, for all kinds of reasons. So at first I wasn't surprised when Thalan only asked Malthus one question and then called the interrogation for the night. I figured he was probing Malthus, and got what he needed."

Settling into the story, Lyrr absently reached out and tore another bit from the partially eaten pastry. She noticed Farrell watching her, and motioned for him to continue.

"But," Farrell carried on, "Ferengi are resistant to Betazoid telepathy; that's xenobio 101. I'm personally embarrassed that none of us even considered it at the time, but on reflection, Thalan couldn't have successfully probed Malthus. Now it's possible" --he gestured with his cup of tea-- "that Thalan's good enough to be able to pick out Ferengi thoughts. If that's so, fine and good. Thalan seemed convinced and satisfied. But what if--" He drank some tea and grimaced at it. "That's awful." He set the cup down. "Anyway, what if Malthus just fed Thalan the information he wanted Thalan to have, and he was holding out? I'd like to track him down and question him again--see if his story shifts."

Lyrr nodded thoughtfully, commending Farrell in her mind on his keen observation. "I think all that is entirely possible. But Lieutenant Sam has already spoken with the Ferengi. From what he was told by Malthus himself, he does deal in the sale of Cardassian parts and that a Gul named Tamor was the buyer. I'm not certain if he was holding back anything, or if he simply knew nothing more, but he couldn't give us a description or even the location of his meeting with the buyer. I'm not sure what else there is to learn from this Ferengi."

"That's awfully convenient, don't you think?" Farrell said, scratching his chin absently. "Malthus just happens to sell transporter parts to Cardassians, and he just happens to be watching Collins' bungalow the night a Cardassian transporter just happens to get used to enter it?"

"Ensign, this entire case is rife with coincidences," Lyrr remarked wearily. "Are you thinking that Malthus knows more than he's let on?"

"Absolutely," Farrell said immediately. "Somebody's put together a hell of an intricate plot here, and they're banking on people dismissing coincidences. If Malthus is involved in one coincidence, fine. But two, that's something else, and three? There's got to be more than that. I'll bet he's in up to his lobes. Consider," he said, leaning across the table, "who really suspects a Ferengi? Sure, everyone knows not to trust them, but in a small-time way. Nobody'd ask a Ferengi to hold their credchit because they're certain the Ferengi would steal it. But nobody'd ask a Ferengi to hold the keys to the starship because people consider Ferengi too dim-witted to take effective care of it; the theft accusation gets left behind in favor of irresponsibility. A single Ferengi pretending to be a minor player in a big organization is effectively hiding in plain sight."

Lyrr, too fatigued to puzzle through Farrell's conjecture, sighed and shifted irritably. "So...are you saying Malthus had a hand in the murders? Directly?"

"Maybe," Farrell shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."

"Ah." Lyrr chuckled dryly and leaned back. "And this is where you ask me to let you participate in the investigation again. Where you promise you'll behave and that you won't make a fool out of me. Is that a valid estimation, Ensign?"

"I still don't understand how I made a fool out of you the first time you accused me of it," Farrell said, "but if you don't want me involved, all you have to do is ask. I honored your request the first time, and I'll honor it again."

Lyrr sighed and brushed a hand through her short, slightly unkempt hair. "You're putting me into a difficult position, Ensign. You're valuable to this investigation, and perhaps even to this crew in time. I'm just having a small problem trusting you. How am I to know you won't encounter Malthus only to end up hanging him up by his lobes?"

"Peculiar problems, peculiar solutions," Farrell shrugged. "Somebody almost killed the captain. That's a pretty peculiar problem. It may need a peculiar solution. I'll find answers for you, and for the captain. And I'll do it without making a mess."

"And what guarantees do I have of that?" she asked, folding her arms atop the table and leaning forward. "Because we had an almost civil conversation a while ago, I should trust you? You're right, this is a situation that calls for pretty desperate measures. But you unsettle me, Farrell. You unsettle me because I don't know how far you'll go. I'm not even sure you have limits. Do you?"

"Oh yes," Farrell said, with a faraway look in his eyes. "Oh yes. If I didn't, I'd have pulled the trigger."

Lyrr averted her gaze to the raktajino still sitting untouched in her cup, knowing enough of the background regarding the incident on Starbase 242 to distrust Farrell, but not informed about all the particulars to understand what truly happened. She did certainly enjoy prejudging, though.

"Look," she began quietly, "I want that assassin caught. And..." Lyrr sighed and paused to ensure her mind truly was made up. Much to her chagrin, it was. "If you can find out any information that will find that bastard...then I give you permission to." Her brown eyes glanced up and locked on to his in a warning stare. "But I swear, Farrell, if you do anything to jeopardize my posting on this ship..."

Farrell held her gaze for a long time. He was not angry. He was searching. Lyrr felt her gaze waver under the intensity of Farrell's. "If there's something to deliver," he said at last, "you'll get it. Mess free."

Lyrr nodded tersely, realizing she might have just given Farrell permission to sabotage her career. "I'll want updates as soon as you have them for me," she told him. "And you go by the book, Farrell." She grimaced to herself and corrected, "Ensign. Just...remember the limits."

"I'll keep you informed," he said softly, and then added in a tone she hadn't heard form him before, "sir."

Lyrr chuckled weakly, still not fully confident placing her reputation in Farrell's hands. But she owed it to Matt. Again she slipped out of her seat, and this time gestured to the raktajino. "Thanks. It actually helped clear my head. So...I owe you." And realizing that was probably a mistake as well, Lyrr sighed and started off down the sidewalk once more, hoping Farrell could help lead them all on the path towards finding a murderer.

---

"Condolences"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Members of the Farehn'ti Delegation

Location: Tomorian Towers, Diplomatic Wing, Risa
Stardate 57907.09, 08h00

***

Lyrr Tayla let out a slow, calming breath as she approached the hulking doors of the meeting chambers. The Farehn'ti would be waiting inside, expecting Captain Salinger for another day of negotiations, then would await an explanation when Lyrr arrived in his stead. If they had already heard the news of Matt's stabbing, they would be waiting to give Lyrr their sympathies, or express outrage over yet another delay. Whatever their reaction, Lyrr loathed the task ahead.

There was work to be done on board, to find a killer still on the loose. She had been racking her brain for a reason, a possible motive for the attacks. If Ensign Collins was involved, it was either an act of passion in the case of V'ril, and one of revenge in that of Matt. If she truly was hired to kill both men by a Cardassian employer, then she could only wonder why they would want both mediators for the Farehn'ti's Federation membership negotiations dead. From what she knew, the Cardassians had no stake in the negotiations one way or the other, and if the Farehn'ti were accepted, she saw no reason it should trouble the Cardassians. But solving the mystery had been left to the rest of the crew on board the Sulu. Lyrr's task was diplomatic relations, something she knew herself to be not at all adept at. But there was no one else.

Tugging at the sleeves of her uniform jacket to straighten them out, Lyrr paused before the two doors. She closed her eyes for a brief moment to center her thoughts, then stood tall and pushed open the doors. Immediately she was met with a din of shouting and heckling; some of the Farehn'ti even appeared prepared to leap across the table and attack members of the opposing faction. Lyrr's eyes grew wide and panic struck her, though she had no choice but to go through with her task. Clearing her throat she proceeded forward.

She was non-existent to them, even as she took her place behind the center chair, the position reserved for the mediator. A call for silence was lost in the ruckus, and Lyrr glanced around helplessly as the Farehn'ti continued their hubbub. Again, she wished Matt were there.

"Please...I have news!" she attempted again, though she still received no silence.

Lyrr sighed and was close to just having a seat and waiting for the Farehn'ti to grow weary of arguing, when one of the Farehn'ti finally noticed her presence. It was a gaunt-looking gentleman with a nervous smile. He turned to the colleague next to him, whispered something, she did the same to the one adjacent herself, and the others followed suit. Calm was restored on the one side, and once the other faction realized they were only debating with themselves, they too went silent. Lyrr smiled gratefully.

"I'm afraid I have some unpleasant news for you," she began solemnly. "Early this morning--"

"Ah, yes," Minister Onso Da'rel of the Ryuck interjected with a grave frown. "The Captain's murder. He was a fine negotiator." His eyes seemed to feed off Lyrr's body as Onso studied her far too closely.

Lyrr shifted uncomfortably. "Captain Salinger is not dead. He is currently under special care in a Risan medical facility. He was attacked, but he has survived."

"Why...why that is most wonderful news," came one response. "Oh he was a nice man," came another. "It would be quite the tragedy to lose one so...young and talented." "Did they catch who did it?" "What kind of place is this Federation where a Starfleet captain can be murdered in his bed?" "You will catch him, won't you?" "If there's anything we can do, please let us know."

Lyrr's eyes jumped from speaker to speaker in rapid succession to match the speed of their comments. She smiled uncomfortably at them, and when there was finally a break in the conversation, she said, "We are doing all we can to capture this individual. Unfortunately, it means we will have to postpone the negotiations until another mediator can arrive from Starfleet. A starship is en route as we speak to deliver just such a person. Which means today's negotiations will, unfortunately, have to be cancelled." Before an uproar could erupt, she added quickly, "But we assure you, they will proceed smoothly, and your application will get a fair review."

Onso leaned forward. "We understand, and will wait patiently for the great Federation to assign us another negotiator. Why, I have heard, Commander, that the Bajorans are some of the finest negotiators in all of the quadrant. It is too bad that you are not able to help guide us into a new era of peace and prosperity, to help usher our people into the welcoming arms of the Federation."

There was a snicker from somewhere around the table, but it was difficult to determine where it'd come from.

Lyrr's gaze flickered briefly in search of the guilty party, but it was quickly forgotten in place of a forced smiled for Onso. "Thank you, Minister. But I am hardly a diplomat. The Federation will be supplying you with someone far more qualified than I am, rest assured."

"We thank you for informing us, Commander," Lor'il of the Ryuck said with a meek bow of his head.

"Though, it is a shame about the captain," Boraj, another of the Ryuck added, "we had a surprise party planned for the captain. I suppose it will just have to wait until he is well." The smile he gave Lyrr was far too unsettling for her. Though, she imagined it was a leering smile to match that of Onso, who refused to take his eyes from her chest.

"I'm sure the captain would appreciate it, once he's well," Lyrr replied, eager to escape them all.

"You do appear to be a very diplomatic woman," Onso said. "Are you certain you won't help us with our cause? We would be very pleased to discuss the status of our petition with you, a woman from a planet whose situation is not so different from our own."

Gralij, an Ryuck sitting next to Onso, also was smiling. "I have heard that Bajor is quite beautiful."

Lyrr returned the man's smile, somewhat wistfully. "It is. The Bajoran people, with the aid of the Federation, have worked hard to restore what was ravaged by the Cardassian occupation. I think we've come a long way in such a short time."

"Ah yes," Onso said with a nod of his head. "The Cardassians."

Lyrr regarded Onso with much more interest than he had been regarding her hips a moment ago, and inquired, "You know of them, then?"

"Who doesn't know of the Cardassians? We are by no means as familiar with them as the Bajoran people must be, but even in distant Farehn, we hear things."

Gralij nodded. "We hear things."

"I see," Lyrr said slowly. "I am certain they will take pride in the fact that tales of their infamy have spread to every corner of the universe."

Onso opened his hands in a placating gesture. "We have heard that after their defeat they are now a broken and bitter people."

Lyrr smiled sagely. "Some would say the same of the Bajorans."

The Opai smiled. "Some would," he said. "And, I say that your experiences have given you a unique wisdom. You know what it is like to live in violent times, knowing that any moment could be the end. I believe you are more suited to these negotiations than you believe, Commander Lyrr."

"I would hope, Minister, that those violent times for your people will soon come to an end." She passed her gaze over each of the ministers seated around the table, then sighed and took a step back to signal her departure. "If there is anything any of your need in the meantime, the Sulu is always willing to accommodate."

"Of course, Commander," Onso said. "And, thank you for meeting with us to break the news and explain the situation. I am certain the matter will be resolved as expediently as possible. Our well wishes to you, your crew, and above all else, Captain Salinger."

"We too express our best wishes," Alos from the Opai added. "At least that is one thing we can agree upon with the Ryuck."

"Well, then," Lyrr replied, "there is hope for peace after all." She smiled congenially at the group, then departed, letting out a sigh of relief as she did.

Once the commander was gone, Onso sighed. He glanced around at his colleagues. "We really should do something for Captain Salinger. He was very good to us, and helped us move closer than we have been in centuries."

"Like a surprise party?" Alos asked jeeringly. "Trying to ingratiate yourselves with the good captain so you can gain sway for your faction? You attempted the same tactic with the commander. Your flirting is as subtle as that red tunic you're wearing!"

"Though, more subtle than that mo'krat stain you have on yours," Onso retorted. "And, I'm allowed flirting. What I do, I do for all our people. If it happens to benefit my faction, so be it. It benefits yours as well. You would argue with a os'gump with its head tucked into the ground, just to be arguing."

"We argue," Alos clarified, "because you don't want to be here. Admit it! Your groundless complaints, your whining meant to divert the negotiations, to drag it out for as long as you can...." He slammed his palms down onto the table and rose abruptly. "You don't want this. None of you fools do!"

"Oh, and here comes Alos, stepping up onto the mountain of morality and forthrightness he's built for himself. You're just like the rest of us, you know. You have merely cultured your haughtiness in ways the rest of us could never do. You've made your aloofness your shield, and you let nothing affect you. Yet deep down, you know you hold the same arguments as the rest of us!"

"But our arguments are valid!" Alos snapped. "Yours are frivolous and idiotic. Though, I imagine when they stumble upon the mining operation your faction has initiated on our moon - an illegal operation, nonetheless - you will take notice and become more interested in these negotiations."

"You would dare threaten us?" Gralij from the Ryuck hissed. "That moon is Ryuck territory!"

"Mine, yours, ours, theirs. That's all it ever is, isn't it?" Onso shook his head sadly. "Oh, if Captain Salinger or Commander Lyrr could see us now. As soon as they are out of the room, we turn on each other like a pack of snarling vrots. You see threats in everything, even when there is nothing. Your suspicions will be your undoing, just as Captain Salinger's trust was his!"

"You're right," Alos replied, smiling viciously. "He shouldn't have trusted you. With good reason. After all, I don't recall you mentioning the korazan you mine and what it can do. You're deliberately concealing things from the Federation. Now tell me if I'm imagining things."

"There are good reasons for anything we conceal from them," Onso snapped back. "These are things the Federation is best off not knowing about us. I am quite certain their own pasts are littered with events and figures of which they are not proud."

"So be it," Alos replied, "but do not for a moment believe these negotiations will fail. We will keep your secret, if only to protect our chances of becoming a member of this Federation of Planets. Our world needs it."

"The secrets of the Farehn'ti are only for the Farehn'ti, no one else. None of our secrets should ever pass the lips to a stranger, to one not of Farehn. Now, we should leave. I am certain Commander Lyrr will contact us when she has news. And, I'm certain we will be up in arms over who was contacted first and who was not."

Alos sneered. "Would you expect anything less?" He chuckled dryly as he motioned for his colleagues to take their leave. "And if you wish to court the Bajoran woman," he added, "I suggest you keep your eyes focused a little higher. I've heard Bajorans can be a stubborn breed. You're more likely to earn a fist across your jaw than a night in her bed if you don't devise another strategy." And after offering the customary Farehn'ti gesture of fingertips on brow, Alos followed his brethren out.

With a laugh, Onso shook his head and gathered his belongings. These humans and Bajorans and Vulcans were strange breeds, though not nearly as dangerous as the men and women that came from his own world. "No," he said to himself as he left the room, "not as dangerous by half."

---

"Triplet"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: Risa, Malthus' house
Stardate: 57907.09 08h02

***

A bird chirped pleasantly as Farrell turned the corner and came within sight of Malthus' flat. Not a bad complex, really. Mid-range residential condominiums in a decent part of town. Well trimmed lawns. Well kept little duplexes. As morning had fully broken, most everyone was out doing whatever passed for a living on Risa, and the place was comparatively quiet.

Except for the squealing Ferengi.

Farrell drew his disruptor and ran down the rest of the manicured ferrocrete walk. He got to the door, and heard several beam blasts, followed by a panicked human voice. Without hesitating, he slammed into the door. It shivered, but didn't open. Farrell cursed, and took a bead at the door when it suddenly opened, and a hysterical Malthus came shrieking out of the house.

Malthus crashed into Farrell, babbling incoherently. Farrell shoved him back into the house and followed closely behind. The Ferengi hit the floor, and scrabbled for cover.

Two cloaked figures were firing at a security crewman in the dim room within. Another crewman lay dead on the floor. In the second it took for Farrell to register the scene, the standing crewman went down, two smoking holes in his chest.

One of the cloaked figures whirled to aim at Malthus, as the other shifted his weapon to bear on Farrell. Three nearly simultaneous shots were fired. Farrell felt the beam graze his shoulder in a burst of white-hot pain. He heard Malthus' incessant squeal cut short with a gulping sob. As he was spun to the floor by the impact of the beam, he saw his own target lifted up and back by beam impact to crash through a chair.

Farrell struggled to lift his disruptor again, but the pain blurred his vision. He blinked away agonized tears just in time to see the remaining figure tap his fallen comrade, and both disappear in a cloud of gleaming orange particles.

He staggered to one knee, and half-crawled to the fallen Malthus. Malthus was whimpering like a wounded dog and clutching one side of his head.

"Friends," Farrell rasped, "of yours?" His arm was going numb, but pain still radiated dully across his ribs.

Malthus looked at Farrell with a mix of pain and panic. "Not...a spoon--" he mumbled, the final word drawing long as he exhaled into unconsciousness, his hands falling away from his ear to reveal half of it burned away.

Farrell slumped against a wall, wondering what the hell that meant. He was vaguely aware of digging in his coat pocket for his communicator and calling Sulu, but the dim room went dark before the blue cloud enveloped him.

---

"Quatrain"
By: Medtech Amaya Chen; Medical Crewman
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Doctor Kremer; Medical Officer
Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Sickbay
Stardate 57907.09 08h13

***

Amaya Chen entered the Sulu's sickbay, her Starfleet issue bag strapped over her shoulder, and glanced around. She had just arrived on Risa; in fact, she had just arrived period, and decided to stop by Sickbay to introduce herself to whomever wasn't out on shore leave, before heading to her quarters to get settled in.

She gripped the shoulder strap of her bag tighter and stepped further into the quiet sickbay to stop a passing nurse. "Excuse me, who can I talk to that's in charge? I'm one of the new medtechs and I just wanted to check in."

The nurse gestured to the office contained within Sickbay. "Doctor Kremer is the current duty officer. You can find him in the office 'round back."

The long tail flickered about lazily as Kremer sat in the office of the Sulu's Sickbay, arms folded, head resting on his paws. The Caitian had been enjoying a sound catnap, at least until he heard the doors of Sickbay open and he promptly leapt to attention. "No, sir, I wasn't sleeping, sir!" Kremer looked around somewhat bewildered after realizing he was just dreaming. He stood upon seeing an officer enter the office; she was a young Chinese girl, and a petty officer from the looks of it.

Walking over to where Amaya stood searching the room he smiled warmly. "Greetings! You must be our new medtech, Amaya Chen. I'm Doctor Kremer. Welcome aboard the Sulu."

Although she tried not laugh at startling the doctor, she couldn't help but give in to a soft smile. "I'm pleased to meet you, Dr. Kremer," she replied, "I've only just arrived on board and wanted to stop by an--" Amaya was interrupted mid-sentence by an urgent call.

"Transporter Room to Sickbay." The voice of Ensign Viraj was clipped and tense. "Two beaming directly to you."

Twin flares of blue-white energy coalesced on separate biobeds. One, a human in a rumpled tuxedo, dropped something as he appeared. The other was a Ferengi with an obvious burn on the side of his head. Both were unconscious. The smell of charred flesh began percolating into the room.

Kremer quickly moved over to the two patients, and drew his medical tricorder. He quickly scanned the two, narrating as he did.

"Disruptor burn on the left shoulder, tracing behind him along the left shoulder blade. Nerve damage and deep tissue trauma...it appears that the weapon he was attacked with is Cardassian in origin..."

Kremer stepped away from the human and moved quickly to the Ferengi. "His entire right ear has been almost completely burnt off. I'm also getting erratic brain readings; this man took a disruptor blast right to the head." Kremer looked back up, signaling Chen.

Amaya dropped her bag as her own professionalism as a trained medtech took over. She found herself next to the doctor and quickly took in his assessment of both patients.

"Petty Officer Chen! Stabilize the Ferengi while I attend to the fallen human! Get the antigrav cart and bring me approximately 20 ccs of Inoprovalene to stabilize the Ferengi's condition; he's most likely near comatose so do not attempt to render him conscious, and bring me the same amount of Delactovine for the human patient!"

Most sickbays in Starfleet were of comparable design, which of course was not because the designers had a lack of vision. It was designed for situations such as this, one where even a newcomer would know where everything was without having to waste precious time looking for it.

Grabbing the antigrav cart, P.O. Chen rushed back and placed it near the two bio beds, yet far enough away so the medical teams could work without running into it. The metallic smell of blood was strong, but she pushed it out of her mind and got the vials ready. With efficient and steady hands, Amaya loaded the vials into the hypospray, entered the amount requested and handed the Delactovine to Dr. Kremer. Just as quickly, she did the same with the Inoprovalene for the Ferengi in front of her.

Kremer injected the chemical into the human's neck before he proceeded to pick up one of the surgical instruments from the antigrav cart Amaya brought over. Kremer set to work repairing the damaged tissue and nerves in the human's shoulder as Amaya attended to the Ferengi.

The hissing sound of the hypo was heard as Chen worked on the Ferengi. She threw down the hypo, not intentionally of course, and immediately picked up a tricorder as she tried to get a vitals reading on the Ferengi. Her fingers keyed at the tricorder and the readings came up. Despite the injection of the drug, the Ferengi's vitals didn't look too good.

Having finished suturing the wound, Kremer injected a hypo of Asinolyathin into the human's neck to help combat any pain he would be feeling when he was rendered conscious. "Petty Officer, I have stabilized the human's condition, bring him back to..." Looking down Kremer spied the weapon the human had dropped on the floor. "I'll take care of the Ferengi."

"Yes, Doctor," she said as she moved over for Kremer, "Pulse is jumpy, but steady, and brain waves appear stable as well, with a spike every now and then." Amaya had cut the Ferengi's shirt off and covered him up to his shoulders with a sheet before she cleaned up around the injury as best she could so the doctor could start repairs. She quickly sterilized her hands before moving over to the table where the human lay.

Kremer tapped his commbadge as he proceeded to work on healing the burn wound on the Ferengi's head.

"Sickbay to Commander Lyrr."

"Lyrr, here," came the weary reply. "Go ahead."

"We've just received two patients that we are currently treating; both males, one Terran and one Ferengi. Both of them have wounds that appear to be from weapons that are Cardassian in origin."

"Damn it," Lyrr cursed quietly to herself. "Identity and condition of the two patients?"

"Their conditions were critical upon receiving them but the Terran male's condition has been fully stabilized, and the Ferengi male is comatose but stable. I'm not certain of the Ferengi's identity but I believe the Terran is Ensign Mason Farrell. We found his commbadge in his jacket pocket."

Again, Lyrr cursed to herself, though it was directed more at Ensign Farrell. "On my way," she snapped, then severed the connection.

The Caitian attempted to speak but found his connection with Lyrr had been severed. "Petty Officer Chen, have you stabilized Farrell's condition?"

PO Chen nodded, "Yes, Doctor."

"See to it that he's awakened, Commander Lyrr is going to come and pay us a visit shortly." That said, Kremer returned to attempting to repair what little was left of the Ferengi's damaged ear.

"Yes, sir..." Chen did a quick calculation in her head after she looked up Ensign's Farrell approximate height and weight. Also, since Amaya wasn't authorized to prescribe a drug nor administer it unless otherwise instructed by a doctor, she looked over at Kremer after she did her calculations. "Sir, 4 ccs of Cordrazine or 6 ccs of Stokaline?"

Kremer went over the calculation in his head concerning the dosage before nodding back at Chen. "The Stokaline should work nicely," he stated, looking briefly back up at Chen as he finished cleaning the burn wound.

"Yes, Doctor," she said again as she got the drug, loaded it into the hypo, and brought it to Farrell's neck.

Farrell's eyes fluttered open after a moment, and he squinted at the overhead light. He looked at Chen, looked over at Kremer, took another look at both, and decided he'd much rather look at Chen.

"We haven't met," he whispered to the pretty young medtech. "Ensign Mason Farrell."

Despite the situation, Amaya smiled, "Petty Officer Chen, Ensign." She looked at Dr. Kremer. "I'd say he'll pull through."

"Really?" a voice from the doorway interjected. The figure of Commander Lyrr stepped forward. "How fortunate for me." She smiled frigidly at Ensign Farrell. "I have a few questions for the ensign, and can't exactly get any answers if he's dead, now can I?" She stopped at his bedside, gave a cursory examination of his arm, then frowned at him. "What is that Ferengi doing here and where are the officers that were guarding him?"

"Commander," Farrell said, tried to sit up, and thought better of it. When he spoke, his sentences were short, a result of fatigue and painkillers. "The house was attacked just as I showed up. Two assassins. The security team's dead. I think I got one, though. It happened fast."

Lyrr's lips pressed thin, then she slapped her commbadge. "Lyrr to security."

"Ensign Hansen here. How can I help you, Commander?"

"Ensign, inform Lieutenant T'Kal there is a crime scene that requires his investigation. Mention Malthus' dwelling and he'll know what I mean. A medical team will be accompanying." She looked pointedly at the medtech, giving tacit orders to arrange just that.

"Yes, Commander. I'm on it."

Then the transmission was ended. Lyrr returned her steely gaze to Farrell, and leaned forward to make certain his eyes never left hers. "I thought, Ensign, you were going there to talk. Now" --she gestured vaguely to the two occupied beds-- "this? I want all the details, and I want them now."

Farrell nodded, met Lyrr's gaze and held it, and spoke slowly and carefully through the sedatives. "After this morning, I came back to the ship for a couple of things, then went to Malthus' place. When I got there, shooting had already started. Two attackers. I got one, but both Malthus and I were hit. The one attacker beamed both he and his friend out. The transporter flare was--" He paused to think. "Orange. Like Cardassian," he finished, nodding to himself.

Lyrr nodded pensively. "Did you see any of them? Did they say anything, anything at all?"

Farrell shook his head. "The windows were tinted for sleep. The room was dark. There was shouting from the Security team, and Malthus screamed like a little girl with her hair on fire until they shot him. No-one said anything coherent."

Lyrr sighed and straightened up to give Farrell just a little space to breathe. "I guess we'll have to wait and see what the security team comes up with. And as for you, Ensign, I don't want you on that planet for any reason. For your own safety, of course."

"Of course," he chuckled. "And no argument here. I think I'll start with a little nap."

"Not a long one," Lyrr told him. "I want you on the bridge. Lieutenant Sam is working on the information he gathered during Malthus' interview. I want you there to provide any additional findings if you can."

"Will do. Oh, one last thing," Farrell said. "With these attacks apparently increasing, you ought to put more guards on the captain."

"For once," Lyrr admitted grudgingly, "I agree with you." She sighed and stepped aside to allow Petty Officer Chen to continue with Farrell's examination. "Don't forget to stop by the bridge, Ensign." As an afterthought, she added, "After you change, of course." Then she departed from the sickbay.

Farrell raised his head to regard the shreds of his shirt and tuxedo jacket, cut away during the treatment of his wound. "Yeah," he said with a chuckle, to no one in particular. He laid his head back down and closed his eyes for a moment. Then they whipped open, and he looked over at the pile of his clothes.

"Uh," he began uncertainly to Chen and the doctor, "was I transported in with a weapon?"

Kremer walked over to Farrell and picked up the stubby firearm that lay on the floor with his paw. Standing back to full height he held out the weapon. "I believe you're referring to this Romulan Disruptor you dropped upon being transported in?"

"Oh, good." Farrell laid back again. "Would you bag that up with the rest of my things, please?"

Shaking his head, Kremer gathered Farrell's belongings together and placed them in a bag and returned to Ensign Farrell. "Here you are. I will not inquire as to how exactly you acquired a Romulan weapon, seeing as the good Commander would have clawed your eyes before I was given the chance to." Kremer smiled, fangs showing slightly. "Come in again if you have any problems with your shoulder. You're dismissed."

Farrell wearily swung his legs over the side of the bed. He flexed his shoulder, noting the twinge, but deciding it was alright. "Thank you, Doctor. Petty Officer Chen, I can't imagine a nicer way to wake up from an injury, thank you." He stood, bracing against the bed for a minute, then straightened. "Oh, the Ferengi's name is Malthus. Please alert me when he wakes up."

"Will do, though I can't imagine what we will have to deal with when he realizes he is missing one of his ears," Kremer replied.

Farrell smiled at the medical officers again, and picked up the bag of his shredded clothing and personal effects. "Thanks again," he said meaningfully. And out the door he walked.

---

"Comparing Notes"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ensign Firece; Security Officer [NPC+]
Lieutenant Sam; Operations Manager

Location: USS Sulu, Bridge
Stardate 57907.09 08h45

***

Mason leaned against the wall of the turbolift and closed his eyes for a moment, flexing the fingers of his left hand. They still tingled a bit, but Doctor Kremer had done good work. The door chimed, and opened onto the bridge.

Apparently word had already reached the bridge of Farrell's return to the ship via sickbay. Crewman LeClair and Lieutenant McKenzie were both standing at tactical, and looked at him with keen interest when he stepped off the lift. Sam was standing at the main Ops console, his head cocked and eyes flicking in an attitude of deep processing.

"Mornin'," he said lamely, mustering a smile and a bit of a jaunty wave. He moved to Lieutenant Sam, and stood next to the android, waiting.

"Good morning, Ensign Farrell," Sam said. "I trust that your presence on the bridge indicates Sickbay has released you back onto duty."

"The miracles of modern medicine," Farrell quipped, more to himself than to anyone else. "They tell me I'm fit for duty, so long as I don't go getting shot again. What's new up here?"

"We are continuing to search for information that will lead us to Gul Tamor," Sam replied. "Finding accurate Cardassian records, however, is not as simple as it would seem."

"The Empire's fall left the archives in a mess?"

"The final hours of the Dominion War had a devastating effect on Cardassia, including all of its infrastructure. Even this long after the war, their records have not yet been fully restored. I do believe, however, that we have located a potential source that will contain information on Gul Tamor."

"Good," Farrell said. "Is it accessible?"

"Not at the current time," Sam responded. He indicated Ensign Firece at the back of the bridge, working at one of the stations there. "Ensign Firece is currently attempting to gain access to the information we seek."

Farrell looked to Firece. The burly security officer looked determined but lost.

"Do you suppose he needs a hand?" Farrell asked Sam quietly.

"That is indeed a possibility," Sam answered and then turned back toward where the security officer was working. With Farrell at his side, they approached Ensign Firece. "Have you made any progress?" Sam asked as they peered down at the computer console Firece was working at.

Firece passed a hand across his perspiring brow, then sighed. "Nothing, sir. I never knew research was this hard!"

"There are situations," Sam said as he leaned down and began tapping at the keys of Firece's console, "when research such as this can be quite difficult. You have done very well, however, Ensign. Ah, there we go. Gul Tamor." On the screen, an image of a Cardassian male appeared and information began scrolling along the left side of it.

"Hey..." Firece said slowly. "It says here he's dead. But...I thought..."

Sam and Farrell both leaned past Firece, quickly reading through the data, which stated that Tamor had died on a survey mission that had encountered trouble. The specifics of the event were classified. "Intriguing," Sam said.

"What is?" Firece asked, looking purely puzzled. "That's not the spoonhead who had our captain stabbed?"

Farrell glanced down at the security officer, frowning thoughtfully. He stared for a moment, then shook his head slowly, chuckling at a realization.

"Spoonhead," he muttered. "Of course."

Firece stammered, thinking he'd caused offense. "Sorry...Ensign," he sputtered. "It's just...during the war, the boys at the Academy... They sorta took to calling the Cardassians that...you know...for morale and stuff. It just sorta stuck in my head. B-but I won't use it again. Promise."

Farrell waved Firece off. "Don't worry about it. I'm not offended. It just reminded me of something I heard earlier. So, Lieutenant, sir," Farrell changed the subject, "what's intriguing?"

"Judging by your reactions, Ensign Farrell," Sam said, "Ensign Firece appears to have...touched a nerve. You have made some sort of connection between his words and something else."

"Sort of," Farrell wobbled his hand in the age-old gesture. "Malthus said 'not a spoon' just before we both passed out. I had wondered what that meant. Maybe he was talking about Cardassians. When he wakes up, I'll see if he can be a little more specific."

"I see," Sam answered. He regarded the human for a moment. "When you speak with him, Ensign, I shall accompany you."

"Of course, sir," Farrell nodded. "So" --he indicated the screen-- "what's intriguing about Tamor?"

Sam looked to Farrell and then to the screen. "Tamor is dead," he answered. "It is quite intriguing that a dead man would attempt to have the captain killed."

"How hard was it to find the facts of his death?" Farrell asked after a moment. "Could someone be pretending to be Tamor, banking on the real one's reputation, working under the assumption that nobody would look too closely?"

"Well, Malthus said he's never seen him," Firece supplied. "He says Tamor - or whoever he was - made sure the room was always dark when they met."

"We could be dealing with an imposter," Farrell said thoughtfully. "And even if supposed records of his death are found, it wouldn't be hard to claim that such records were faked."

"Ensign Storm harbours a similar idea, however I am unconvinced that his theories are sound based on the evidence at hand. The matter will bear additional investigation," Sam answered. "I shall begin researching other references to Gul Tamor that have been made after his death."

"Will you be needing anything from me, sir?" asked Farrell.

"At the current time, there will be nothing further," Sam answered. "I shall contact you if there is anything further."

"Fair enough, sir. Just let me know," Farrell said, and turned toward the turbolift. It had been one long night.

---

"D.O.A. - Dead On Arrival"
By: PO Amaya Chen; Medtech
Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal; Chief of Security

Location: Malthus' Residence
Stardate 57907.09 08h48

***

The Ferengi, who had been positively identified as Malthus, lay on the biobed in the Sulu's sickbay. Amaya had noted it just after Ensign Farrell had departed sickbay. It was her first day on board and already she was put to work. Not that she expected to have it easy, but this was some welcome aboard.

Chen worked quickly. She sent Malthus' updated vitals to Dr. Kremer and went to work on getting a kit together for the crime scene investigation. She stopped for a moment and thought of what else she needed. Snapping the med kit shut, she remembered what Dr. Kremer said and made her way to transporter room one.

Benedict had been on the ship all of twenty minutes. It was as much time as he needed to get an update on Captain Salinger's health, make sure the six security officers were standing post with him at the Risan Medical Facility - two were given strict instructions to remain in the room at all times. The others were there to check the people who worked on him - and to be doubly sure Benedict had sent four transporter inhibitor nodes to cover his room and a hefty perimeter. There was an assassin on the loose and Benedict allowed his paranoia full sway. He'd also assigned four officers to Lyrr. He knew she wasn't going to like it - but she had no choice. As the stand-in for Salinger at the diplomatic talks - she was a target. He'd made it clear to her earlier that her and the Captain's safety was his responsibility - and she had joked about bodyguards. Now she had them. Each one of them had been given direst warnings not to obey any orders that contravened the Commander's safety. Thankfully he had Starfleet regulations to back him up in matters of security, but he knew that she wasn't going to be happy with him.

He'd received a cryptic report of one of his own men in the Brig from Lieutenant Sam - cryptic because it left out details but wasn't important enough for him to give it any thought at the moment. He'd also been told of a Ferengi called Malthus in the Sickbay and a shoot-out that had left two of his people dead.

It was a long night - now it would be a longer day. He hadn't slept in twenty-eight hours. Now he'd received orders from the XO to investigate the Malthus affair and another crime scene. He had been informed that he had a medical officer beaming down with him - a Petty Officer called Chen. He'd asked for another science officer too and three security officers from Alpha shift. He'd dismissed both Ner'c and Chavez after their scrutiny of the Salinger's beach hide-out.

He strode into transporter room one with a worried expression on his face and gritty eyes. He needed a raktajino - double strong! He wasn't going to get one. He nodded to the Away Team and stepped up to the pad. No pep talks this time. He was too tired for that, but too strung out on worn-off adrenaline. There were two of Sulu's security officers down there who wouldn't be coming home from the Paradise Planet. As senior officer in security it would also fall to him to make their final arrangements. He could already see the anger on the faces of his men. First Salinger and then this. Not a good start to the day.

The security chief looked tired to Chen. And she could understand it, sort of. He was, after all, a department head, and had probably been doing a lot lately. In fact, when she first arrived on planet, there were rumors of a captain being attacked in his own room! Amaya had, at the time, been shocked that such a thing occurred. But when she found out that it was the CO of the ship she was assigned to. Well, it was just hard to believe.

"Energize," he ordered without preamble as he turned on his heel to face the transporter technician.

They materialized five seconds later.

The apartment was still dark. The shades were drawn - dim light made gray shadows of everything. One of the security officers tapped the environmental controls by the door and the windows cleared. The two bodies lay where they had died. Crewman Michael Hollywell had two deep burn scars in his chest. His eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling - the look of shock on his face was testimony that they had been surprised. Crewman Vinve Riscree was slumped against the wall. The Trill's face was missing - there was a hole in the wall at head height and a red smear that followed his slide down the wall. It was messy and the room was heavy with the scent of blood, feces and burned flesh.

Benedict turned to the medtech. "Do what you have to," he ordered. To the security officers he said, "Check the apartments to each side and see if anyone saw anything." He nodded to the science officer, "Scan the entire apartment - I want everything in detail to be studied later."

He was greeted with a chorus of 'Aye sir's and a few nods. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. Taking in the scene as his men went to work. The medtech stepped up to the closest body and fumbled with her carry case. The first time at a murder scene wasn't pleasant. He wondered if she had any experience with this sort of thing. He stood close to her, looking at his former men - people with families and histories with the Sulu that he would never have an opportunity to get to know. Regardless of the fact they were strangers - they were 'his' men. He felt sad. He had to swallow hard and maintain his poise. These men died without knowing why - protecting a Ferengi that deserved less. If what he'd heard was true - it was the work of Cardassians. Just another two reasons to hate them.

The scene before her was a sight, to say the least. Her stomach did a little 'flip-flop' as she took in the state of the room. It was a good thing she hadn't had breakfast yet or else she would have had a good reason for leaving. Being her first day and all, that would have not looked good. Sure, she handled herself pretty well during the emergency on the Sulu when Farrell and the Ferengi, Malthus, were brought in. But that was different. They were fighting to save them.

But this...this whole scene was different. This consisted of dead bodies. Bodies that once had been some body. A living person.

Chen closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Which was a big mistake. The stench of burned flesh and blood didn't do her stomach any good. The young P.O. hesitated a moment more. Maybe it would have been better if someone more experienced had come down here to do this.

Benedict could see her hands tremble and heard her gulp air. "Are you okay?" he asked gently as he squatted down beside her. He gave her a smile in the hopes of encouraging her. He kept his voice low so that only she could hear. "Do you want to get some fresh air?" His violet eyes held hers.

"I--" Amaya took another, more controlled, breath and looked at the Security Chief. "I'm all right," she answered with a whispered voice. This was the first time she had seen anything like this and like it or not, it probably wouldn't be the last time. Trying her best to compose herself, she returned his smile with a very faint one of her own. "I'm sorry. It's just--" She paused as she stopped herself. "It won't happen again."

Amaya turned back to the body before her, but paid more attention to the tricorder than the body. She just wanted to get her readings done and get out of here.

Benedict nodded. He made a note to confer with the Chief Medical Officer about him sending less experienced people to things like this, as well as the Chief Counselor. The Petty Officer would need some debriefing after this. She was pale and clearly ill-prepared for it. Not that anyone should really be prepared for this kind of work. "Don't worry about it, Chen," he said gently. "Nothing to be sorry about. Just take the readings and sign off on the certification - then get some air before you go back to the Sulu."

He patted her shoulder gently and stood, walking away to examine what the others had found, leaving her to accomplish her task of certifying them dead.

There had been a shoot-out alright. The same transporter signatures were present as the last crime scene. Who ever it was seemed to be tying up the loose ends. Killing witnesses. Again the Cardassian technology was found - the energy signatures on the weapon used was Cardassian too. There were two assailants. The assassins were skilled.

He looked over at the medical officer as she moved to the other body and he could see her trying not to look at the Trill's ruined face. He decided enough was enough. She wasn't really cut out for doing this work - she looked to be fresh from the academy! He took pity on her, yet could not shame her by stopping her work. He tapped his comm-badge.

"T'Kal to Commander Lyrr," the First officer was still on duty and it had been a hard night on everyone.

"Lyrr here." Her response was terse - preoccupied.

"Sir, the team has almost completed the forensic examination. I'd like one of the Sulu's doctors to do a post-mortem on the bodies as soon as possible."

"Agreed, Lieutenant. I'll inform Ensign Kremer to expect their arrival."

"Thank you, Commander. T'Kal out." The badge chirped and he looked over at Chen as she stood from the Trill. She was still examining the tricorder when the transporter beamed the two dead crewmen away. He could see her visible relief when they were gone.

"I trust you got what you needed?" he asked her as he stepped closer.

Amaya had just closed the tricorder when she heard Chief T'Kal. She nodded. "Yes, sir." Her voice was just a bit shaky as she turned to face him.

"Let's go outside a moment." He indicated she should follow him and went outside. The morning suns were over the trees and birds were singing. The air was a lot fresher and some of the neighbors were out on their balconies and standing in doorways trying to see what the fuss was about. He took her to one side so that they were sheltered by a cluster of shade trees.

When he had said for them to go outside, her stomach did another sort of flutter, this time with dread. Amaya knew he had been concerned when she hesitated during the examination of the bodies. He probably wasn't pleased at her reaction and figured she'd mess up the investigation if she lost her poise. She mentally scolded herself as she followed him.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she stopped to face him. He showed nothing but concern as he looked down into her face. She was almost tiny - and her hair hung to her waist but was tied in an intricate manner that kept it controlled. It reminded him of how his mother had worn her hair.

Amaya nodded after a few deep breaths of fresh, yet salty, air. She looked up at him, her brown eyes looking into his violet ones. "Sir, I apologize for my behavior in there. I know it was unprofessional and I know it's your duty to report it to the CMO, but--" She stopped mid-sentence when she realized she was probably making things worse on herself. It wasn't that she trying to get him to take pity on her, it was just...the bodies. How could anyone do that to someone and live with their own self?

The Petty Officer looked down at the grass beneath her feet. "Again I apologize, sir." Oh yes, this would go over really well with those in sickbay who had just seen her perform under pressure.

Benedict gave her a smile and said, "You've got absolutely nothing to be sorry about. You're not going to get into trouble - and as far as I'm concerned your behavior in there was totally professional. You did the job - that's all that counts." As she looked up at him with a little surprise he said, "I've seen security officers lose their lunch over something like that. You did well. But it was also your first time seeing something like that - yes?"

"Yes it is," she answered as a bird chirped happily in the background. "Although in Starfleet Medical, they did put us through some simulations regarding death and the dying. But simulated and seeing the real thing are two different things." She held the med kit in both hands and hugged it while taking another deep breath.

"Okay - so when you've cleared your head and feel better, you can beam up to the Sulu. I want you to see the ship's counselor and have a chat about what you felt here. It's a standard debriefing for something like this. I've had one or two myself. It's an ugly business, murder. Thankfully we don't see it everyday." He smiled encouragingly and hoped that he'd said all the right things.

Amaya couldn't agree more with the 'ugly business' deal. She looked at the Security Chief and gave him an actual smile of her own, "Thank you for being understanding, Lieutenant. I appreciate it." It was true, not many officers would have taken the time to see if she was alright. "I'll make the appointment with one of the counselors as soon as I can." Still hugging the med kit, Amaya turned and walked away from the Chief.

Benedict watched her walk away with a mixture of emotions. A young girl shouldn't have to deal with the ugly side of life. But it was her job - and she would get used to it. Benedict was 'too' used to it. He shook his head and stared at the ground at his feet. Two dead men and a captain in serious condition. Good guys zero, bad guys four...and counting.

He went back inside and continued the investigation. There wasn't much to see. Tricorder scans had been completed and the team were bagging physical evidence, and there wasn't much of that! It took another half hour to make sure they had everything and the team beamed back to the Sulu.

---

"Visiting Hours, Part 1"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Ensign Ethan Storm; Security Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Ensign Storm's Quarters and Corridor
Stardate 57907.09 08h57

***

Storm was a fool. But he was a fool in trouble, and Farrell had been both things many times before. The casual observer would have assumed that Farrell was paying this visit because Storm needed friends right now. Farrell knew better. Ethan Storm didn't need a friend right now. He just needed an outlet. To vent at meaninglessly.

Thus, Farrell found himself listening to his brother call him entirely too noble once again as he walked down the corridor toward Storm's quarters. He was tired. It had been a long night, and a longer morning, and he desperately needed sleep, but figured he'd pay a preliminary visit anyway. Let the young security officer know he was around, and then come back later when Storm would be good and ready to lash out at anyone within reach.

He nodded to Crewman Daly standing at the door, and had his finger extended for the doorchime when the halves parted, and Lyrr Tayla startled to a halt between them.

She glanced aside at his arm, still suspended towards the panel, then regarded Farrell again and cleared her throat. "Excuse me," she said, motioning her eyes pointedly to the corridor he was barring her passage to.

Farrell stepped aside quickly and swept an arm down the corridor toward the turbolift. "Excuse me, sir," he said politely.

Lyrr stared icily at Farrell, then shook her head dismissively and exited the doorway. Before getting too far, and before Farrell could continue into the ensign's room, Lyrr turned back and called him to a halt. "What is the purpose of your intended visit, Ensign?"

He stopped halfway though the door, glanced at Daly, and stepped back into the hall. "Just seeing if the Ensign needs anything, sir." Crewman Daly appeared to be trying to will himself into invisibility.

"Like what?" Lyrr asked Farrell, warily eyeing him. "He has a replicator, Ensign. He won't starve if that's what you're worried about." Her mind added, And starving is the most lenient punishment he deserves. Lyrr sighed irritably and made an impatient, dismissive wave. "Fine, go in there," she said curtly. "But you have ten minutes. Probably long enough for you two to plot his escape, but not long enough to start too much trouble, I imagine."

"Well, good. Ten minutes will be just enough time to replicate the spoons to dig the tunnel beneath the barbed wire. Thanks, sir," he smiled broadly, with genuine mirth.

Lyrr nodded slowly while still watching Farrell with suspicion. It seemed none of the officers on board were worthy of her trust any longer. She turned halfway towards the turbolifts, but again stopped to face Farrell once more. "Is it me?" she asked. "Did I do something wrong? Did I do something to encourage all the ensigns on board this vessel to seek out trouble for themselves, just so I could experience the joy of locking them away?" She chuckled wryly and shook her head wearily. "If what you two are doing in there is attempting to drive me slightly mad," she told him, then added in a whisper, "then it's working."

She held Farrell's almost amused gaze, then sighed and stepped back. "Go on," she muttered. "Go visit your friend and try to talk him out of doing anything else foolish."

Farrell appeared to want to say something, and then appeared to think better of it. "Thank you, sir," was what he settled for, and in an instant he was through the door and gone.

Lyrr entered the turbolift, and ordered her destination in clipped tones of deep frustration. The doors hissed closed, and Crewman Daly finally exhaled.

***

Storm was on his feet, standing in the middle of the room with a look of serious contemplation on his face. What had passed between him and Lyrr was in no way evident in his expression but the deep thought was obvious. He did not react to the opening and closing of his door for a few solid seconds and when he did finally look to Mason, he did it without a hint of recognition.

Farrell flopped into a chair and regarded Storm. "Nailed and hating it, I see," he said dryly.

"You're not as perceptive as I thought," Storm observed. He still appeared distracted though he did nod at the chair and add: "By all means, make yourself at home."

"So enlighten me," Farrell shrugged. "How bad is it? Incidentally, I've got permission from the Commander to replicate spoons for your escape tunnel," he finished with a smile.

"We didn't get into how bad it is going to be," Storm answered, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "Was that you Commander Lyrr spoke with at the door?"

"It was," Farrell dropped the smile. "Feeling conflicted?"

"About...?"

"Oh, come on," Farrell said. "On one hand, you understand that you broke regs. The logical part of you understands that you're going to be punished for it. On the other hand, and this is the real kicker" --Farrell held a finger in the air to punctuate the kicker-- "you feel justified. You're not sorry, you understood the circumstances, and you know exactly why you did what you did. And it chaps you fiercely that you're going to get punished for it. Conflicted," he finished, looking around the room.

"Interesting theory, Counselor," Storm said, the inaccurate title laced with a fair amount of sarcasm. "But like I said, you're not as perceptive as I thought. The punishment never mattered to me. If it had, then I wouldn't have done it. And I certainly wouldn't have turned myself over to Sam."

"So why the deep thinking?" Farrell asked, clearly not believing it. "If you're so serene about it, why carry around a look like you're about to explode?"

"Because it isn't over," Storm stated. "There is still more to do and I'm not going to get to do it. And every second we sit around on this ship is another second that we're failing Collins."

Farrell sat back in the chair and watched Storm for a few seconds. The security officer was angry about being confined, and Mason was content to be right. Pushing it now would be pointless. He opted to change subjects instead.

"So was it worth it?" he asked. "What did you find out from Hyl?"

"There was definitely a Cardassian transporter flare captured on the vidlogs as well as some spoken Cardassian on the audio. The only purpose it served was to convince me who was not responsible." He studied Farrell with narrowed eyes as if daring him to challenge the statement to come. "If Cardassians did this, then I'm a Vulcan."

Farrell bobbed his head sideways a few times, thinking. "Based on what?" he asked at last.

"Only a hunch," Storm said. Truth to tell, that was what really bothered Ethan - his inability to back up his claim. Certainly everything he found seemed to suggest Cardassian involvement. "I had hoped this whole thing would give me some answers but there's only more questions."

"Like why no-one, and I mean no-one, has actually seen a single Cardassian?" Farrell asked. "I assume there aren't any on the vidlogs, or you wouldn't have this hunch."

"It's all too convenient," Storm said, drifting back to his own thoughts.

"Agreed," Farrell said. "It's easy to play the Cardassians as baddies right now. People are willing to blame them for everything. They'd make great patsies for somebody wanting to derail the negotiations. But it's all just conspiracy theory unless another suspect appears, and there isn't another suspect. Is there?" he asked meaningfully.

"Not to my knowledge," Storm said, resting his chin on his fist. "And it doesn't look like what I know will be increasing in the near future." Storm took a moment to study Farrell. "How's your Cardassian?"

"I don't know any Cardassian. I don't think anyone on the ship does. But I know a couple of linguists we could ask. Why?"

"Talk to Lieutenant Sam," Storm said. "See if you can get to my copies of the vidlogs. I need to know what's wrong with the phrase 'dav-JE-i c^i-RES.' "

"You got it," Farrell nodded. "Anything else?"

Storm made a vague head motion towards the door as if Commander Lyrr still stood there. "You might want to exercise some discretion. I said I'd keep your name out of it but nothing is to stop Commander Lyrr from drawing her own conclusions. If she sees you at my door a few more times, she might start making a few connections."

Farrell gave a wan smile. "I suppose I should have expected her to get here early. What did she say?"

Out of instinct, Storm nearly made some flippant remark about Farrell having experienced the Commander's ire before but it hadn't been like that at all. Lyrr had seemed almost sad and truly disappointed. For some reason, he didn't want to tell that to Farrell.

"About what you'd expect," Storm said cryptically, looking at the deck.

Farrell nodded. "Well, I'll go see about that phrase of yours, then," he said, standing from the chair.

Storm watched Farrell proceed to the door. As they parted for him, Storm cleared his throat, prompting the Ops officer to turn back around.

"Thanks, Mason," he said. The words were awkward.

Farrell gave him a weary smile. "Just be sure and wangle me a spot in your crew when they finally give you a command." And he was gone.

Storm stared at the spot that Farrell had just vacated, fairly certain in the knowledge that he would never have a command of his own. But if he did, Mason Farrell would have a place in it.

---

"Wake-Up Call"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ensign Amy Reese; Nurse

Location: USS Sulu, Markham and Farrell's quarters
Stardate: 57907.09 09h48

***

Amy sauntered through the corridors, her flip-flops smacking against her bare feet with each step, and her burgundy tresses bouncing to the steady rhythm of her lissome body's naturally sensual gait. After her talk with Ainsley, she'd decided a nice day on the beach was in order. It would be an appropriate way to forget her troubles, and the grief of Captain Salinger's stabbing. So, in order to get the most use out of the day's sunlight, she'd hurried back to her quarters after her chat with the counsellor, slipped into her bathing attire, and was now in the process of massaging the remaining tanning oil coating her hands over her bared abdomen.

She was fond of the silky texture and sheen it gave her bronzed flesh, and the musky scent reminded her of the sand and ocean, even when it was nowhere in sight. Amy giggled at the thought that Kit would probably enjoy cleaning it off of her, just as much as he enjoyed rubbing it on. That alone had her skipping briskly towards his room.

"One shower beforehand couldn't hurt," she whispered with glee.

She and Kit had both dropped by the ship to check their messages and pick up more clothing; she hadn't thought to query the computer about his location, figuring he wouldn't be anywhere else other than his quarters, or perhaps she was thinking wishfully that he would be there, reclined on the bed with not a stitch on except a broad, sly grin. When the doors, programmed to recognize her signature and part for her, did just that, Amy was met with a partially realized fantasy. He was on the bed, all right, but not his own.

His own mattress was littered with rumpled sheets, strewn datapads, his guitar and case, whose lid hung open and had a guitar strap dangling from one of the latches; clothing was also deposited on the bed, and altogether left no room for a person, even one as compact as Kit, to repose comfortably upon it. So, there he was, on the spare bed in his quarters, hidden away beneath the sheets and seemingly curled up into a ball, judging from the large lump his body was creating in the center of the mattress.

Amy sighed dreamily, recalling all at once why she loved Kit so, and yearning to curl up right beside him. Without a sound, she stepped out of her slippers and proceeded towards the bed. For each few paces she walked, Amy shed one piece of her suit, starting first with her top, then the floral wrap around her waist; when she reached Kit's bedside, her bottoms were finally dispensed with.

Holding back a giggle of pure excitement, Amy gently picked up one corner of the sheets and carefully climbed beneath them. Kit didn't stir and Amy took it as her opportunity to slip her arms around his waist, press her naked body up against his back, and brush her glossed lips against his cheek. "Oh, Kitty," she sang breathily. "Show mama your big toy." She chuckled throatily and stole one hand between Kit's legs, groping for the aforementioned 'toy.'

Farrell floated along to the sensation of being heavily groped. It wasn't unpleasant, as groping went, and he went with it. Natalia had had a deeper effect on him than he thought, if he was dreaming about last night. It was worth dreaming about, though; it had been a fantastic night. He turned in his dream and kissed her deeply and passionately.

Amy surrendered entirely to the intensity of Kit's gesture, and was spurred onwards by it. The heat being generated beneath the sheets was enough to make Amy delirious, and despite a moment of hesitation, a nagging feeling that something was amiss, she forced her hand down into Kit's pants - though she couldn't remember when he'd started wearing that particular material - and sought the treasure within.

Her moan and his were lost within the other's mouth, and when his arms surrounded her, crushing her to his chest, Amy's reaction was to push her hips forward and greet the hardness awaiting her. Again, despite it feeling so perfect and right, Amy was still left with a voice in the back of her mind telling her something wasn't quite right. The arms encircling her were much stronger than she remembered, though it could have simply been the passion of the moment imbuing Kit with uncharacteristic strength; his hips, however, seemed far too low and his legs too long; even his scent was different, and the pitch of his voice when he moaned in his throat was far too deep. Yet, Amy didn't stop, though she did open her eyes to gaze into blue ones that should've belonged to Kit, but just weren't quite right.

Her brow furrowed with complete bewilderment, and she began making an effort to squirm free of Kit's (if it was even him) hold. "Kit," she gasped, managing to tear her lips away for a brief instant, before they were again entangled with his.

Kit? Farrell frowned. No one had ever called him Kit. The inconsistency woke him, and he fully opened his eyes. There was a woman in the bed. Kissing him. Where was he, again? This was the right room, wasn't it? He had thought so. Who was this woman?

She kissed well, clearly meaning it. Did she have any idea what she was doing? Do I? he asked himself. She was obviously young, with a hell of a body, held close to his. He brought a hand up to cradle the back of her head as they kissed. Her hair was short and shot through with some kind of styling gel. This was not Natalia. Wait. This was. . . oh, no.

He broke the kiss gently, and swallowed heavily before speaking. "Ensign Reese," he ventured, the statement's pitch rising into a question mark. He hoped it sounded less silly than it seemed.

Amy clenched her eyes shut, not wanting to face the reality of what had now become a nightmare. "Y-yes?" she answered hesitantly. "Um...Kit?"

"Uh," Farrell said, uncertain. He gently released his grip in her hair, using the hand to prop himself up in bed. "Mason. Mason Farrell. I, uh, don't think we've ever been formally introduced." This was getting worse by the second. He contemplated fleeing, but the naked Amy Reese was between him and the door.

Amy made a noise halfway between a whimper and a sigh as she slowly removed her hand from Farrell's shorts after releasing her hold on his rather sizeable 'toy.' She knew her fondness for them would get her in trouble one day. With both hands free, Amy wiggled out of bed, slung one arm across her breasts, and cupped the other over her crotch. Slowly, but surely, she began edging away from Farrell. "Uh...oh...I remember you!" she exclaimed, adding in an awkward laugh. "You're...the beer guy. And...and you're not Kit."

Mason politely looked away as Amy gathered her clothing. "That's me," he said to the wall, in a tone he hoped was bright and nonchalant. "Not Kit. I'm pleased to meet you, though. Maybe I'll see you--" he hesitated. "Nevermind. I'm sorry."

Amy remained kneeling at the bedside to conceal herself, while trying to contort her limbs and body in a manner that would facilitate clothing herself without exposing anything to Farrell. She smiled politely, yet uncomfortably at Farrell, and waved his apology off dismissively. "Not your fault. I-I should've...looked first. But I didn't know Kit was getting a new roommate." Eyeing Farrell suspiciously, she asked, "You are his roommate, right? You didn't accidentally walk in here and fall asleep on someone else's bed?"

Farrell laughed, still looking respectfully at the wall. "I haven't been that drunk in a good long time. I was assigned these quarters when I came aboard. I just hadn't gotten the chance to start moving in until today. I am sorry about this--I guess I should have let Markham know. Or something," he trailed off, unsure what else to say.

"No...I should've checked who was under the covers before jumping in," she admitted. She sighed and, considering it was too late for modesty, climbed onto the bed again with her top still somewhere near the door. Kneeling and watching his eyes fix on anything but her, she giggled and playfully nudged his shoulder with one hand. "Look...nothing much happened, so everything's okay...right?"

Farrell glanced toward her. He noted that she was still topless, and returned his gaze to the wall, smiling in spite of himself. "Sure," he said with humor. "As far as I'm concerned, this never happened. I'll take it to the grave."

Amy sighed. "Good. Kit might not understand if he found out." She smiled slowly at Farrell, while her eyes took in his attire, though focusing more on the muscles of his visible arm, then those of his shoulder blades peeking out from under the thin tank top he wore - a fitted one that seemed to mold to the other defined curves encased beneath. Amy resisted the urge to reach out and run her fingers over them. "But...this wasn't too bad, right, Farrell?" she asked. "I mean...you were enjoying yourself?"

Farrell chuckled. "I won't lie. That's the best wake-up call I think I've ever had. I'd welcome it again." He paused, getting serious. "Except that you're not my girl."

Amy sighed and looked down between her denuded breasts to focus sullenly on her folded knees. "Yeah...I know. I'm Kit's girl...almost." With her head inclined to one side, she watched Farrell again inquisitively. "Have you ever cheated on a girl, Farrell? A girl you really liked?"

Farrell looked at Amy, forgetting for the moment that she was half naked. "Good question," he answered tentatively. "There's cheating and then there's cheating. I assume you're talking about sex." He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking off the last of his grogginess. "Do you really like Kit?"

Amy's face became alight with a beaming smile. "He's perfect," she whispered fervently. "He's so unique and wonderful, and he loves me. I love him too..." Her smile waned, and her glow seemed to dim. "But...I don't know if we're gonna last. I was unfaithful to him, see, and he took me back. And I promised never to do it again," she explained. "But then...I lose control. Like with you, just now. If I hadn't been so surprised, and if you hadn't stopped...." Amy sighed, knowing she wasn't required to continue. "So...I guess I really don't like him...if I could do all that to him, huh?"

Farrell thought for a moment, staring absently at her throat. "How quickly did Kit forgive you?"

Amy shrugged. "Wasn't long. I pleaded with him, promised I wouldn't do it again...and a few minutes later, we were on stage, jamming. Why?"

"No anger?" Farrell asked. "No 'how could you'? No recriminations or demands?"

"No..." Amy frowned. "Is that bad?"

"Maybe," Farrell nodded, considering. "Are you trying to see when he'll finally react?"

Amy snorted a laugh. "What? You're crazy...and I don't even know you!" She continued snickering as she slipped off the bed and searched the darkened room for her top. "You actually think I cheat on him because I want to see how far I can go before he snaps? You're sick!"

"Suit yourself," Farrell shrugged. "How would you feel if he came to you and admitted to a cheat?"

Amy glared at him sidelong from the center of the room, where she'd managed to find her top, now dangling from one hand. "I would feel hurt," she admitted. "And I'd probably wonder what I did to deserve it." She turned to fully face Farrell again, and approached the bed. "But Kit said he forgave me. I hurt him, but he said he was fine now."

"Did that seem too easy?" Farrell pressed calmly. "Do you still feel guilty about hurting Kit?"

"Yes!" Amy exclaimed in frustration. "Why wouldn't I? I'm not cold, and unfeeling." She sank down onto the end of the mattress and muttered sullenly, "I love him. And I keep hurting him." Glancing up at Farrell, she asked, "Do you know why? Because I certainly don't."

"What did you expect from Kit?" Farrell asked, his voice gentle. "When you realized he knew, what did you imagine he'd do?"

Amy chuckled wryly. "I figured he'd dump me." With a skeptical look, she asked, "You're not saying that I wanted him to dump me, are you? That's insane!"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. But let me make sure I've got the facts straight before I go on." Farrell struggled up into a sitting position as he spoke. He rolled his shoulder unconsciously. "You cheated on Kit, but kept it from him. When he found out, you expected him to get mad enough to dump you. In fact, he forgave you almost immediately." Farrell scratched his eyebrow for a moment. "That sum it up?"

Amy, idly twining the strap of her bikini top around her fingers, nodded. "That's basically how it happened, yeah."

"So suppose you still want him to be mad? Somewhere deep down, you know you did Kit wrong. In that deep down spot, you feel like you deserve his anger. So you keep your wandering eye open out of some desire for him to get angry at you, like you feel you deserve."

"I want him to be angry with me?" Amy smirked at Farrell and said jeeringly, "Now why would I want to do something that stupid, hm? If that is so true, then why aren't you and I having sex right now? You know why?" She leaned forward and answered, "Because you're wrong, Farrell."

Farrell stared at her for what seemed like a long time, but probably wasn't. "Okay," he said finally, with a shrug. "I'm not your counselor. You asked, I answered, I'm wrong. Go find Kit. Nothing happened here."

"Nothing happened," she echoed absently. She thoughtfully began replacing her top, draped the loose neck straps over her shoulders, and shifted around with her back to Farrell. "Do them up? It's partly your fault I took it off to begin with."

Farrell looked away for a moment, shaking his head and smiling. Then he swung out from under his blanket and took the straps in his hands. As he measured the strings to balance the cups, he absently mumbled, "I'm never going to get any sleep."

Even after, he wasn't sure why he did it. Maybe he just had to know. Had to be sure, right or wrong. As he cinched the straps snug and began the knot, he leaned over Amy to gently kiss her neck where it met her shoulder.

She sighed unsteadily in response and reached back to brush her hands over Farrell's, resting lightly upon her shoulders. Again searing heat consumed her, and the flimsy fabric of her two-piece felt suddenly restrictive and uncomfortable as they touched her burning flesh. She shifted restlessly atop the bed, eager to wriggle out of her bikini.

As aroused as the one kiss had made her, it caused her just as much disconcertion. She had a feeling Farrell was about to prove his theory right. "The straps," she murmured, leaning back against him. "Too tight. Just...just loosen them a bit."

Farrell dropped the straps completely, and put his hands where the top was supposed to go, moving around her neck to find her lips again. This is so wrong, he thought to himself. She's not your girl, Mason. But she was young and soft and supple, and here. Now.

Amy fed greedily from Mason's lips, and raised one hand to clutch a handful of his hair. There were no excuses this time. She knew the man touching and kissing her intimately was not Kit, yet she found herself unwilling to stop. Farrell didn't seem to be discouraging her either, especially when she reclined upon the bed and pulled him towards her by the elastic band of his shorts. The familiar ache was frustrating and painful, but it should have been Kit she was begging to soothe it, not Farrell. Yet, that was what she did as she forced her bikini bottom down over her hips and beseeched him to hurry.

Hurry? the thought snapped him back. Fast, hot sex before her boyfriend showed up and caught them? He hesitated, his mind in deep conflict with his body. Then slowly, agonizingly, he broke the kiss, gently pulled away, and stood, regarding Amy. Both fists were clenched, shivering against the strain. He squeezed his eyes shut then, and stomped once, trying to regain control.

"No," he said, his voice thick with conflict. "I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to kiss you like that. I'm sorry." It almost sounded sincere.

Amy's chest was rising and falling quickly, and the fire that still consumed her body had covered her flesh in ruddy splotches that seemed to physically singe her like a fresh sunburn. She whimpered quietly, desperately, and reached out to grasp Farrell's shorts again. "No, it's okay," she said breathlessly. "It's okay. Just once...that's all."

Farrell's mouth worked soundlessly, his face displaying his clashing emotions. Finally he stuttered out, "What?"

"You heard me," she whispered. One hand snaked its way down her abdomen sensually, and the other sought the inside of Farrell's shorts. "You started it... It's only fair that you end it properly."

He put his fists to his temples. "Can you hear yourself?"

Amy regarded him quizzically, though still groping within his pants in an attempt to spark renewed interest in her. "I hear myself," she replied slowly, her voice quivering with unsated desire. Amy sat up, watching him from beneath her lashes with a gaze intended to inspire passion. "I hear myself, and I hear you," she murmured. In one deft maneuver, she removed the object of her yearning from Farrell's shorts and leaned in towards it. "You started it," she whispered. "You have to finish." Her mouth remained open as she prepared to engulf him fully.

Farrell leapt back, and Amy overbalanced out of the bed and onto the floor. He used one hand to re-cover himself, and waved the other in front of him. "Whoa!" he said. "Now hold--" He stopped the phrase, and changed it to, "Wait a second and listen!"

Amy watched Farrell, her expression one of agony and extreme frustration. She sighed sharply and petulantly kicked her bikini bottoms fully off. Her swelled breasts and flushed body still exhibited signs of her arousal, but her temperament now conveyed utter displeasure. "Fine," she lashed. "Talk."

Farrell squatted next to her on the floor, and spoke quickly to make the most of this opportunity. "Think about this, Amy. Look what we were about to do. Think about Kit. This isn't worth it." He held up a hand to forestall her retort. "I'm sorry I kissed you. We were both there, and it happened. If I could take it back, I would. I'm sorry if I've turned you on. But save it for Kit. He's the one you love. I'm just here."

"Exactly," she told him, raising a hand to his cheek. "You said I deserved Kit's anger, his resentment... Maybe if I do this and he finds out, I'll actually get it this time around. Isn't that how it should be?"

Nice theory, you stupid bastard, he thought briefly. "Maybe," he said. "But he'd resent me, too. And I've got to room with the guy. Collateral damage, Amy. I'm not going to be your collateral damage." He took her hand from his cheek, held it for a moment, and then released it. "Get your clothes on," he said gently. "I promise not to kiss you this time."

Watching her hand as it settled onto her bare thigh, Amy sucked in a shuddering breath, and exhaled it as a sob. "I...I think I just want to stay here for a while longer," she whispered. "Then...I should shower, and--" Her voice cracked and her body shook with silent tears. She covered her face with her hands to muffle the choked sobs, then drew her knees up to her chest to comfort herself. "I'm sorry," she groaned. "Tell him if you want. I-I want him to know."

Farrell tapped her on the shoulder as he straightened, and when she looked up at him he extended a hand to help her up. Amy regarded him uncertainly, then passed the back of one hand across her nose, and slipped it into Farrell's.

"I'll talk to Kit," he said soothingly, ignoring the glistening trail on her hand. He turned toward the fresher. Amy could see the pattern of the disruptor scar splashed across his shoulder blade. "I'll start the shower for you. Grab your things."

Amy nodded morosely, and felt herself completely hopeless as she developed the urge to brush her fingers over Farrell's faded wound. She sobbed again quietly and buried her face in Farrell's shoulder as she leaned heavily against him for support. "I'm so screwed up... I even want to ask you to join me in there... What the hell is wrong with me?"

He put an arm around her waist and led her to the fresher. "Nothing," he said, trying to lighten his tone. "You're young and you like sex. Your sense of propriety's a little off, that's all. Computer," he commanded, "water shower."

"Specify temperature," the computer blandly inquired. Farrell looked at Amy.

Amy grimaced and replied, "Cold...please." The computer beeped and jets of water sprang from the shower's nozzle. Amy glanced up at Farrell, the question that would lead them both to trouble on her lips. She sighed and shook her head free of the thought. "I think I should take this alone," she told him with a rueful smile. "And...sorry about in there. It's just...it gets to my head sometimes and..."

"It's okay," Farrell said, covering her falter. "You clear your head. I'll find your clothes." And with that, he shut the shower door, leaving her alone.

Alone. The moment Amy's feet touched the tiled floor of the shower, and the cold water fell onto her back, she gasped and crumpled to the ground. Her strangled cries echoed in the narrow enclosure, and the incessant stream of water seemed to beat down upon her like the tormenting guilt afflicting her heart. She was going to lose Kit, and all she could do was watch it happen. And Amy had no idea what she would do when it finally did.

---

"Bitch of a Day"
By: Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security

Location: USS Hikaru Sulu
Stardate: 57907.09 11h23

***

Benedict shrugged out of his uniform and stepped into a hot shower. He needed it to clear his head. The pill he had been given by Chen would keep him awake - there was no chance of getting sleep. There was just too much to do. So far he'd worked through the night and this would be his fourth successive shift. He'd let Arthas Hex handle Tactical during Beta shift and he had worked through Gamma as well. At least Benedict knew that his deputy was as conscious of the situation as he was. All hands on deck! The captain was still in critical condition and Commander Lyrr was running the show.

Between the Farehn'ti delegation, the murder of the Ambassador, the attempted assassination of Captain Salinger, two dead security officers, a shot up Ferengi and an injured Ops Officer, an escaped prisoner, a security officer tossed in the brig for the Prophets knew what... It was a busy day...hell it would be a bitch of a day!

Fresh eyes were going over the evidence collected at the two crime scenes and Benedict needed a break to get freshened up and some food. He was hungry. The last time he'd eaten was lunch time the day before and he'd missed breakfast with Commander Lyrr due to the call-out this morning. At least he didn't have a message chewing him out about that!

Lyrr was busy too it seemed. Just as Benedict toweled off he focused on what he had to prioritize for the day. If he was lucky he'd manage some sleep late in the day. He finished with the shower and dried off - changing into a fresh set of class A's. Feeling better and more alert now the drug was taking effect, he cleaned his teeth and stared at the face in the mirror.

Benedict was half Bajoran half Human. With his father's Human ancestry of Japanese origin, he had almond shaped eyes but the violet color of his Bajoran mother's. He also had brow ridges that made him look more an exotic Bajoran than Human. His face was angular and handsome, with prominent cheek bones and a sharp nose. He shaved and applied cologne and felt his stomach grumble.

He wandered into the living room of his quarters and looked at Teb's painting. Her dark chocolate eyes stared back and he smiled. He'd painted it from a holo-image he'd taken shortly before she'd died. The half-Romulan flight officer had been his betrothed until Marco, an Orion Syndicate enforcer had blown her apart with a bomb strapped to her body, after first raping her. He looked away. Sometimes those eyes accused him. It was the violence that had brought back those memories. Dark times and dark thoughts. He still had to unpack. Boxes were piled next to the wall waiting for him to set out his possessions.

The large two handed claymore of the Bancroft clan stood against the wall, with his katana and dai-katana on a corner stand. The vibro-weapons were originally his fathers. High technology versions of the ancient Japanese blades.

He threw the towel on the sofa and picked up his guitar. A twelve stringed instrument that was old but had a great sound. He played flamenco style, classical and some pretty heavy style rock with an electric. That had been Teb's instrument, but she had been able to play anything. She'd been so talented, he'd always felt inferior to her when she'd played. Her Stratocaster was still with Jules on the Windsor. Teb's best friend and Benedict's last love. They had both been recovering from losing Teb - both in love with her, and both sharing a bond that was unbreakable. Jules had settled down some, and had become a good engineer - a promotion on the Windsor had secured her career. Benedict had left to pursue 'other things.' He loved her - but as a best friend now. They had healed each other in the only way they could and now it was time for both to move on. Benedict would never get over Tebrianne Bancroft. She was still in his blood.

He sat on the sofa and idly strummed the guitar. It was out of tune. He put it aside and lay back to look out the view port. The stars were pin-pricks of glimmering light. He loved looking at the stars, but he missed the companionship of having someone to share it with. He was getting melancholy and decided against letting it get to him. He ordered an omelet, rare steak, hash browns and a raktajino - double strong.

It didn't take long to demolish the food, and while he ate he read through the security logs for the previous day and night. Lieutenant Sam had sent a concise explanation about Ensign Ethan Storm's arrest. Benedict read through it with interest. The security officer had broken a few rules to get some pretty valuable information, and had returned to the Sulu and turned himself in for the crime of breaking into the Risan security systems.

Benedict shook his head. He'd have to teach the young man to do it without getting caught. He showed a great deal of promise. Benedict could appreciate his attitude. To a man who had been a member of the Maquis, Benedict did a few things himself that weren't quite within 'standard operating procedure.' Benedict had a motto: "Get the job done." Storm had gotten it done. The young man expected trouble - and Benedict would have to give him some. Turning himself in to an android had been a mistake - the Operations Manager would be an absolute stickler for adherence to regulations. That was proven in Sam's explanation. Now Benedict had no choice but to give him punishment duty. It would be strictly within regulations. No more - and no less. Later, the Bajoran security chief would have a little chat with Storm. It wasn't good to go off by yourself with no back-up in case the world caved in!

He finished his meal and the raktajino and decided to allow Storm to cool off in his room for a while. There were more pressing matters. He wanted to personally check the security on the captain - which meant another trip to Risa.

Then he had to compile a report for Lyrr on the two investigations. That would take most of the day. The security on the delegates and the mundane shift changes that happened during any watch he left to Hex.

He authorised the holodeck access for Gui on his desktop terminal. The transfer would come into effect when she passed all the requisite courses. He sent her a complete list and gave the computer the authorisation to give her access to security training scenarios.

The medical report logged on the Ferengi and the Operations Officer told him that Mason Farrell had been shot up and the Ferengi was still unable to answer questions. He sent a request to see Farrell later in the afternoon. Benedict wanted a first hand account of how his men had died. It irked him that an Operations Officer had made it but his security team had not. He wondered whether Commander Lyrr felt any guilt over assigning two men to their deaths. That was sometimes the case, a senior officer could take it personally when there really wasn't anything they could do to prevent it happening. As ship's senior officer she would have to officiate at their funerals. Benedict would make the arrangements, but she would bear the brunt of the eulogy. He'd have to discuss it with her later.

He decided to visit the security office and work from there. He needed some noise around and a few fresh faces. The day was a long one - and it was going to get even longer!

---

"Brewing Up Bright Ideas"
By: Sikara; Future Head Chef
Ensign Nathalie Gui; Communications Specialist
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Stardate: 57907.09 11h30
Location: Risa; USS Sulu

***

Sikara awoke and immediately put on the clothes that he had had washed for him by his neighbor. He swung his legs over his old, battered stool. Accessing his ageing terminal, he attempted to connect to the 'Risa IntraWeb.' The computer failed three times before Sikara kicked it enough times that it connected.

Bringing up the currently docked starships, it didn't take long for Sikara to find the massive hulk of a Starfleet Intrepid-class ship. He contacted it and after a few minutes of waiting, the helpful young face of an enlisted crewman appeared.

"How may I help you, sir?" she said.

The woman looked tired; perhaps it was the end of her shift, but she also looked very fit, the type of woman Sikara was attracted to.

Sikara smiled his best smile and asked, "Is Nathalie Gui on board ship?"

"She is," The woman replied after a few seconds.

"Could I speak to her?" Sikara asked.

"Please hold," the woman replied. Sikara knew that the cut-off interface was because the crewwoman had to contact Nathalie for permission

Nathalie yawned as she rubbed her sleep filled eyes. Currently she had just finished work a shift from around 00h00 to12h00; approximately 6 hours in Ops then another 6 in Security. Rather than risk exhausting herself, Gui decided to do this method of training slowly, no point in draining herself physically then to also do likewise again later mentally when studying the text materials. Nat had just finished changing into her sleeping clothes - those consisting of a well-worn Starfleet Academy shirt, and shorts. Immediately afterwards a beep followed by a transmission met her ears.

"Ensign Gui, I have a Risan citizen who would like to speak to you right away."

Gui sighed and walked over to the terminal on her desk. "Patch me through." Sitting down she turned on the device and was met with the face of Sikara. "Sikara, good to hear from you again, what's up?" she asked in Risan.

"Hello, Nathalie. I hope I haven't caught you while sleeping," Sikara said politely.

"You haven't, don't worry, I just had a long day that's all. So what do you need?" she replied, smiling.

"I was wondering firstly if you will be returning to my planet soon, so we could visit another place, because I enjoy your company," Sikara started.

If Gui were Vulcan she'd sworn she'd raised her eyebrow. She fought the urge to do so and started, "Sure I can come visit. I'll have to check with my supervisors first though. Any place in particular you wanted to show me?"

"For newcomers, most places would be ideal. But I must confess this is not the only reason for my communiqué," Sikara said. "I must ask you, when do you think I may get my chance to join your crew?"

Nathalie breathed a sigh before replying sincerely, "I will not lie to you, Sikara when I say we have been doing our best to try and get you noticed so that you may come onboard to join the crew. Honestly everyone at the party loved your cooking...it was a big hit..."

"Then the captain likes my cooking?" Sikara asked hopefully.

"That's the problem; neither Farrell nor myself have managed to find a suitable time to speak with the Captain or his First Officer concerning getting you onboard. From what I know the Captain was busy with handling political matters on Risa. Since his attempted murder, Commander Lyrr has been busy with heading the investigation concerning the murder of Ambassador V'ril and involving one of Sulu's crew; I speak the truth when I say we've had our hands full."

"I see," Sikara sighed. He felt as if the possibility of leaving the planet on a starship like the Sulu was slipping away from him.

Leaning back in her chair Nathalie held her chin in thought as she looked outside and at the vast sea of stars, as though gazing at them would give her an answer. Snapping her fingers she leaned forward, idea already buzzing in her head. "I think I have an idea as to how we can get you onboard and noticed at the same time, but it's going to take me an hour or so to put together maybe less. What do you say to meeting me and Farrell tomorrow to discuss this plan in full detail with you down on Risa?"

"It cannot be tomorrow. I am afraid that I must visit somebody, but perhaps in a few days," Sikara suggested.

"I understand, we'll meet sometime a bit more down the way then. I can send you some info on where we can meet after I speak with Farrell. That sound good to you?"

"Excellent then," Sikara replied.

"Then it's done. Don't worry, we'll see to it that we can get you onboard. Gui out."

Nathalie logged off her terminal and looked over at her Chronometer. Alpha shift was about half way done, and Beta shift would be starting soon in a couple of hours. Farrell could either be down on Risa or onboard preparing for his own shift. Only one way to find out.... Scooping up her commbadge Gui tapped it on.

"Gui to Farrell."

She furrowed her brow as she received no reply back from the other side.

"This is Ensign Gui comming Ensign Farrell, please respond."

More silence. Breathing a sigh Nathalie leaned back in her chair trying to think of why she hadn't gotten a reply back.

"Computer what is the location of Ensign Mason Farrell?"

"Ensign Mason Farrell is currently located in his Quarters."

Standing up Nathalie pocketed her commbadge and proceeded to exit from her quarters. Joji let out a muffled yawn as she looked up to watch Nathalie leave, wondering where she could be going in such a hurry. Literally dog tired the pup promptly fell back to sleep as Gui left.

***

Gui pressed the door chime once more after her first try. She was about ready to use an emergency manual override, but if she was right, maybe Farrell was just asleep or out somewhere. "To Hell with this, computer..."

"For the love of Pete!" Farrell muttered, opening the door. His hair was mussed, and he was in his underwear. "What!?"

Nathalie proceeded to reply once Mason answered the door but she quickly stopped in midsentence as she took in his appearance; obviously he had just been sleeping. Recomposing herself she began, "Whoa, whoa! I'm so sorry I had no idea you were asleep...really. I tried reaching you on my commbadge I received no reply back so I decided to come see you directly...." She looked away, certain her cheeks were burning. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"

Mason shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "I'm in my underwear, aren't I?" he asked rhetorically. He did not phrase it as a question. "Hold on a minute." He shut the door. The door opened after a minute, revealing that Farrell had pulled on a loose pair of trousers.

"Come on in," he said. "The place is a mess, though."

Nodding Nathalie stepped inside the room and her eyes took in the sight of the quarters. Indeed it was a mess. On one side of the room one of the beds was covered with everything ranging from clothing, data PADDs, a guitar, and the sheets were a rumpled mess. The other side of the room was slightly less a mess and held a multitude of boxes and what she assumed to be Farrell's or his roommate's belongings.

Turning to Mason she asked, "Anyplace to sit provided I won't get injured in the process?"

"Sit on the bed for now." Farrell gestured to the bed, its blanket hastily thrown over in a mocking attempt at actually making it up. He leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his tank top clad torso. "What's up?" he yawned.

Carefully navigating her way through the room so that she would not trip on anything, Nathalie sat down on the bed. Mentally she slapped her forehead for not thinking of digging out her robe before she left.

"Remember our friend Sikara down on Risa who we promised to help get onboard? I was just recently contacted by him. Anyway he wanted to know when and if he could come onboard and join the crew... We will need to obviously get the Captain's approval but with current events I don't know how that will be possible."

"Yeah, things are a little dicey right now," Farrell agreed.

"That's true, a large majority of the partygoers at the recent Beach Party enjoyed his dishes, but thanks to the current assassination attempt on Salinger I don't think it would be possible or wise to approach the Command staff about getting Sikara onboard at this time. If we could get the Senior Staff together at a more appropriate time, then we'd probably be able to not only get Sikara noticed, but also get the Captain and First Officer's approval. It's only a matter of how and when..."

Nathalie sighed and drew her knees up to her chest. "I think I have a good idea here, but I'm literally stumped..." she mumbled, not looking up.

Farrell smirked. "You can't have a good idea and be stumped at the same time. What's your plan?"

She looked over at Mason and smiled. "I was thinking we should try and get the Senior Staff or most of the crew together, sorta like on Farezi Sands..." An impish grin crept across her face as she continued, "What I think we could do is instead of having Sikara make the menus himself, let's make it for him. You could say we have the resources at our fingertips, the Senior Staff wouldn't know what hit 'em."

"You want to snoop?" Farrell asked, arching an eyebrow.

Laughing, Nathalie stood up, pillow in one hand and shoved it at Mason's chest playfully after she walked over to him. In a mock tone she asked, "Exactly what kind of girl do you take me for?"

"The snoopy kind, apparently," Farrell grinned, tossing the pillow back onto the bed.

Leaning forward Nat whispered, "We're both Ops officers, so who says there's any harm in checking the Replicator logs to get the job done?"

"The new Counselor may wonder how all of a sudden we figured out that she likes pork rinds," Farrell chuckled. "It's not a bad idea, but we ought to pick something off each senior staffer's replogs that's accessible."

Gui snickered before remarking, "Well we can always blame Lady Luck on that." Gui smirked. "You gather the data we need and I'll organize it. Now we're just going to need a good time and idea to get everyone together, any ideas, Mase?"

Farrell hmm-ed a bit. "See, the problem is that this can't come off right until the situation on Risa resolves, for better or for worse. If the captain recovers, we can call it a welcome home. If he doesn't" --Farrell shook his head-- "I don't think Sikara's got much chance of being hired for cooking skill at a wake. I'll take a look at the replogs and see what looks good, so we can at least have that planned. But actual dates and times...I don't even want to speculate."

"Right, either way I was thinking we should only throw this get-together after the situation is resolved...and I'm hoping for things to turn out for the good especially for our Captain...." Stepping back she added, "Oh right, I told Sikara we'd meet him in a few days to discuss our plan after I spoke to you. Think you'll be able to make it down to Risa sometime soon with me so we can discuss the details with him in full?"

"In a few days, sure," Farrell said.

Nathalie let out a small squeal of happiness before throwing her arms around Mason's neck and enveloping him in a hug cheerfully. "Great! I knew I could count on you Mase! With any luck this will go off without a hitch!"

Farrell returned the hug, consciously ignoring his complaining shoulder. "Hopefully," he said. Idly, he wondered if there was something about this room that made women want to hang on men. Maybe he should hang a warning sign on the door. Then again, maybe not; Nat was attractive, after all. And available. Farrell schooled his thoughts away from that avenue. More trouble than it'd be worth, he thought. You're still coming off the Amy Reese thing. Pull it together.

Her lips lightly brushed his ear as she then whispered before pulling away, "Have you thought of any way to pay me back yet for risking my life?"

"All kind of ways," he said slyly, masking his instant regret at the words. "But right now I'm way too tired to lay them out." And I've already had to put one girl in a cold shower this morning, he thought.

Playfully Nat nuzzled his neck before pulling away. "No argument here. I'm pretty beat myself...mind if I steal your bed for the evening? I'm more than certain mine has now been overtaken by a certain pooch," she remarked, chuckling.

"I'm never going to get any sleep," Farrell muttered, then hesitated. "It's noon," he said, looking at the chronometer. "Aren't you on duty?"

Sitting back down on the bed she then replied, "Actually I just got off duty. I just pulled a 12. I'll tell you why later." She gestured to her outfit. "Besides, does this look like a uniform to you?"

"For the Starfleet pajama party, maybe," Farrell said. He watched her sitting on his bed for a moment, and briefly imagined Nathalie tearing her shorts off and begging him to hurry. He shook his head to clear it.

"Nat," he said, the fatigue heavy in his voice, "I've really got to get some sleep or I'll be a zombie on Beta shift." And you've got to get out of here before we both do something regrettable.

"Alright, alright, I suppose I've kept you awake long enough to begin with...besides I'll have to get a message to Sikara to let him know about our plan." Standing again Nat gently kissed his forehead. "I'll let you sleep...sweet dreams." Those words said Nathalie stood and exited Farrell's quarters.

Farrell flopped back down on his bed with a heavy sigh. He was never going to get any sleep.

---

"Reality Check"
By: Lt. (jg) Natalia Druschev - Science Officer

Location: Risa - Ambreo Island Sanctuary
Stardate: 5709.09 1132hrs

***

The beach was deserted. Midmorning and the absence of people was a welcome relief. The transporter at the Risan Hotel had beamed her here after her breakfast on the balcony. Now she was on a recliner with a beach umbrella, a picnic basket and a blanket spread out on the pure white sand. They had guaranteed that she would be alone. She was. She wasn't...

She wore a string bikini and a pair of shades, her hair in a pony-tail to keep her neck cool. The twin suns were rising and the heat was increasing, but the oil she had covered herself in protected her from the rays - letting her get a tan that wouldn't burn. She held a glass of Bajoran Summerwine - chilled from a cooler by her side.

Natalia kept drifting off with last night's memories - reliving them over and over and determined to forget not one tiny detail. He had been perfect - and although she had been up most of the night she felt alive. She'd found a desire to see him again - just once more - but that was impossible. She didn't even know where to begin - and she was afraid that he'd not want to see her again. It was for a single night - and yet... How could something so perfect end so abruptly? A fairytale night - it would have to stay that way.

She smiled - a sadness that could overwhelm her swept over her. Mason. It was a strong name - easy to say and easier to remember. It conjured his smile and his eyes and the way he had looked at her as if he was thirsty and she was the thing that could quench that thirst. It was strange to have let a man have her so completely and not know his full name or where he came from or worst of all - where he went. He had been exciting, passionate and gentle at the same time. He had known how to please her - more than that - in some ways Mason had been better than the Risan. More real. The passion had been real. The intensity had been breathtaking.

She wiped the tears away and took another sip of the chilled wine. It was fruity and dry, and refreshing. The waves lapped gently up the beach, and gulls soared on thermals watching the comers for fish and tiny crabs. Every so often one would dive and retrieve a tasty morsel. There was almost no wind and the sea was glassy calm, the sky a cobalt blue of pristine color - not a cloud in sight.

Domenic was still with his friends on the resort complex island. She had seen him briefly this morning and he'd made it plain that he intended to make the most of the surf with his friends. It suited her to be alone with her thoughts. Time enough to get back to reality later.

The USS Sulu was still in orbit - she had checked in and informed them that she was on Risa and would transport up later. There was no need until her shore leave was up. The break from Starfleet was preparing her for the new post. She needed the rest.

Rolling over to give her back a toasting, she rested her chin on her arms and closed her eyes. Mason was there again. The scent of flowers and the balcony at the ball. She'd truly felt happy and that first kiss...it still lingered. He'd left without a parting kiss. Gone. Left her without a word. Perhaps he was a professional gambler doing the turns at the casinos. He'd certainly played the part. A woman every night - that was a distinct possibility on Risa. He'd chosen to leave - maybe he was married. She hadn't even asked - but he'd worn no ring. But then that was a human custom and there were many ritual customs for marriage in the Federation.

Whatever the reason Mason was gone - and she had his collar pin to remind her of the one special night. She imagined that he had left it on purpose so that she could have something of his. Childish of her, but it was romantic in its own way. He had nothing of hers - maybe he didn't want anything to remind him. Would he remember her? Probably not.

He was a nice day dream - but he'd stay that way. Maybe. She started thinking of Martel - and already she was imagining him with Mason's face. They were so much alike - her perfect men. One real - the other a figment of her imagination and deft holoprogramming. She'd have to work from memory - unless she could get a pic of him from somewhere... The hotel? Surely they had surveillance systems - perhaps they would oblige her request for his image...perhaps not. They were pretty tight on privacy here.

Best not to ruin it anyway. Looking for him would spoil it. The last thing she needed was to discover he was married, or had another female draped off his arm...or worse - resenting her for chasing him. No. Best left alone. Even if she desperately wanted to see him again. It wasn't meant to be. It was a big universe - easy to get lost in.

---

"Meeting Eye to Eye"
By: Ensign Cecily Torsten; Yeoman
Ensign Kit Markham; Flight Control Officer

Location: USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.09, 12h15

***

Cecily's sandals made a strange flopping noise as she walked down the corridor of the Sulu; her outfit now consisted of a pair of frayed denim shorts and a blue swimsuit top, sandals and to finish the outfit off, a pair of tinted sunglasses adorned her face.

After her time spent with Niesha, Torsten ventured off to find her quarters and she found who she assumed was her roommate, fast asleep huddled under a pile of blankets, leg dangling off the side of the mattress. Deciding not to unpack and wait until later so that she would not wake her roommate, Cecily changed into her swimming attire and prepared to head planetside to Risa.

Skipping, a happy smile on her face, Cecily looked forward to the sun, surf and sand that awaited her down on the paradise planet. Her sudden collision with another officer she did not expect. Torsten sat up as she cleared the spiderwebs from her head. Her beach towel was now on the floor along with her bottle of sunscreen and her sunglasses hung from an awkward position on her face.

"I'm so sorry! I should have seen where I was going! Really I didn't mean to bowl you down like that!" she stammered nervously as she begin to apologize to the person she had knocked down.

Kit laughed and pushed himself up, then held out a hand to her. "It's alright," he said. "I should have been watching where I was going. I'm Kit, by the way. Kit Markham."

Cecily's face furrowed in confusion. "You mean you're not mad at me?" she asked, grabbing her beach towel before taking Kit's offered hand. "Wow, that's a first... I'm Cecily, Cecily Torsten," she remarked, smiling.

"Why should I be mad? We bumped into each other and fell down. If you'd broken my hand or my wrist, I might get upset. But we're both fine, so no harm done. You're new to Sulu, aren't you?"

She sighed, certain her freckled face was flushed with embarrassment. "You're right I'm sorry. And yes I'm new, I just got onboard today! I'm glad to meet another crewmember..."

"I'm in flight control," Kit said. "But, they only let me fly the ship when everyone's asleep." He grinned.

Cecily giggled at Kit's remark. "Me I'm with Command, I'm a Yeoman..." Leaning forward she spoke softly as though to impart a secret to Kit: "Pretty much I know just about everything that's happening on the ship." She smiled.

"I've found the ship's rumor mill serves that same purpose," Kit said with a chuckle. "So a yeoman? Carrying around reports and stuff like that? I think I'll stick with trying not to run the ship into anything. This your first assignment?"

"Yeah, it may sound boring to some but on the plus side I get to travel the stars. This is my first assignment! I only graduated recently." Cecily shivered. "I'm still really nervous about all this, but thrilled at the same time. You wouldn't believe how I had to get here to the Sulu, yeesh."

Kit laughed. "Really? Well, it sounds like a story I want to hear. Do tell."

Bending down to pick up her bottle of sunscreen Cecily laughed. "It's a bit of a long story actually but since you're so anxious to hear it, I will tell you," she stated, standing back up. "Since I missed coming onboard during the Sulu's maiden voyage, I had to literally get flown out here, but I wasn't on a Federation ship..."

Kit laughed. "Sounds intriguing," he said. "So, what ship was kind enough to bring you out to us?"

"The Tel'ra Yik!" she explained with a flourishing wave. "It's a Ferengi Gambling Liner, think cruise ship meets voyage of the damned. Anyway I ended up meeting more than my fair share of aliens and species, got my ass nearly grabbed twice, or god only knows, offered work as a Dabo Girl...my god it was insane!"

"Sounds pretty intense," Kit said. "Well, if that was the worst of it, it sounds like it might have been mostly bearable. Almost grabs aren't grabs, and you didn't take the job as a Dabo Girl."

Cecily's eyes went wide at Kit's expression. "Are you kidding? Things went crazy from there. My roommate was the meanest Klingon woman warrior I had ever met. Her name was Pel'Ga, and I swear she nearly drank two Nausicaans under the tables...I'm just glad she didn't try and kill me...she nearly pummeled the Tongo Head at one of tables after some Orion gypped her...insanity I tell you, geez..."

"Tel'ra Yik? I'll make sure to avoid that one when I'm looking for a pleasure cruise across the quadrant. But, you're here now. And, there are no Dabo tables, grabbings, or Klingons here."

"Good to know, then again I haven't met the rest of the crew..." Chuckling Cecily asked, "So anyone or anything you should warn me about?" she asked, a teasing grin on her face.

"Chief Riley has a wicked sense of humor and he loves practical jokes. You might want to watch out for him. And, before you hear about it somewhere else, the captain and chief science officer have a thing. Oh...and..." He paled and then sighed. "Someone stabbed the captain. Security's looking for the person, but they don't have anything yet."

Torsten's eyes went wide when Kit gave her word about what had happened to Captain Salinger. "The captain got stabbed?" she remarked, still amazed at the news. "Whoa, I mean wow, I mean sorry, but yikes, when in the galaxy did this happen? Is he okay?" she asked, her voice lower but calmer.

"Last night," Kit said. "Or earlier today. I don't know exactly, but it was sometime before now. He's recovering, I think, but they're still watching him."

"Well it's a relief to know that he's recovering. Any attack on a Starfleet Captain can never be good..." Deciding to change the subject she asked, "So, Kit how long have you been with the Sulu?"

"Believe it or not, I joined up just in time for this trip to Risa. It hasn't been all that bad. I even got to sit on the bridge once."

"Really? Wow, cool. I'd ask you if you want to go down to Risa with me but I'm guessing you already went."

"I've been several times actually," Kit answered. "I'm just up checking messages and grabbing a fresh change of clothes. My girlfriend and I, we're hitting the beaches today."

"Lucky. Well I'm heading down to the beaches myself. Maybe I'll see you guys there?"

Kit grinned. "We'll be there," he said. "It was nice meeting you, Cecily."

Cheerfully Cecily returned his grin. "Cool, and it was nice meeting you too Kit. See ya at the beaches!" That said Cecily was off headed to the transporter rooms.

Kit watched her go and once she was around the corner, chuckled softly to himself. Then, with a shake of his head, he went off in search of Amy.

---

"Hank McGraw The Tourist"
Lt. Hank Mcgraw - Medical Officer

Location: Risa Reception Platform
Stardate 57907.09, 12h30

***

"Excuse me?" Hank asked a passing Risan, who promptly ignored him and continued on her way.

Hank sat down his bags and adjusted the panama hat on his head. His Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned halfway and the air conditioned interior of the reception area prickled his skin.

He was beginning to think the shirt and the shorts, baggy khakis with bulging pockets filled with image recorders and travel brochures had been a bad idea. His lay over on Risa was only for a day and then he was to report to. Who was he supposed to report to? Hank dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a variety of detritus. A small PADD, a few pieces of candy purchased at the last starbase to combat the garlic toast he'd had on the flight, a few strips of paper with random jottings and finally the object he was searching for. Everything else was put in one hand and with the other he held his orders and read them.

Lt. M'Lira.

He crammed everything back in the pocket and tried to get the attention of another Risan who was walking by.

The gentleman stopped and arched an eyebrow at Hank's attire.

"Hiya," Hank said and extended a hand, which was just stared at.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, still looking down at Hank's offered hand.

Hank withdrew his hand with a frown and cleared his throat. "I was hoping you might be able to direct me to..." He pulled out a brochure that was dog eared and ragged from constant reading. "The Nillan Spa and Recreational Gardens?" He held the brochure up so the man could see the colorful images embossed on the plastic sheet.

The man smiled and winked. "Ahh you're here for recreation then?"

Hank took a step back, he didn't like other men winking at him.

"Yes I suppose I am," he said and held the brochure up to his chest with both hands.

The man took a step forward and placed a hand on Hank's shoulder and began to lead him down one of the many access halls.

Hanks grabbed his luggage on the way by and nearly fell over trying to keep up with the man.

"Are you taking me there?" he asked, puffing with the effort of carrying his things.

Many people would store the patterns for their belongings in a computer and then have them replicated once they got to their post. Hank wasn't one of those people. He was a pack-rat in the extreme and what he couldn't haul with him was being shipped in on a shuttle later that day. And so half of his worldly possessions were hanging off of him in various bags and totes.

The man stopped by the doors leading to the bright outdoors of Risa and smiled. It was the smile of someone who knew the punch line of a dirty joke.

"Women perhaps?"

Hank blinked. "What about them?"

The man elbowed him in the ribs, that smile getting more and more mischievous. "You know. That's why people come here, for the women."

Hank took off his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead. He was suddenly aware it seemed quite warm all of a sudden.

"I came here for the spa. I have feet problems, low arches, and man do they start barking if I don't give them a little attention from time to time."

The Risan blinked. "Your feet bark?" He sounded incredulous.

Hank nodded. "Oh yeah they'll howl at the moon if I don't rub them down really good before bedtime. Sometimes I actually soak them in hot salt water." Hank smiled and started to remove his shoe. "That really seems to help."

The man took a step back. "The spa is down the street about one hundred meters."

The shoe came off and Hank stood on one foot holding the other up by his left knee, making a figure four with his bent leg.

"See these arches." He pointed to his foot with his free hand. "These babies are murder!"

The man walked away and didn't say anything else.

Hank called after him, "Take care of your feet, man, you don't want them angry!" He put on shoe and headed out the door.

The spa was a wonder of comfort. He had his feet massaged by a professional masseuse, he took a mud bath, and a good steam shower. The whole process invigorated him and his feet felt great.

He stepped out of the spa and pondered his next move. He still had several hours until he was due on the Sulu and planned on making the best of it.

---

"Visiting Hours, Part 2"
By: Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer
Crewman 1st Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Astrometrics Technician

Location: USS Sulu, Ensign Storm's Quarters
Stardate 57907.09, 12h33

***

After Farrell had gone, Storm fell into an uneasy sleep for a couple hours until Crewman Daly's interruption as part of a standard security check before being relieved. Once he was left alone again, Ethan could no longer find sleep and gave up after several abortive attempts. No sooner had he slipped back into a training uniform than he heard the door slide open behind him. There had been no chime.

"Crewman." Storm had his back to the door and began to turn towards the interloper, assuming the guard had entered his quarters for some reason. "I understand that you have a job to do but that job does not include entering my quarters without knoc --"

He stopped short when he saw the Crewman in question: Shyla Moreau stood at the door regarding Storm with a strange look, her face a mix of emotions. Behind her, Crewman Farr tilted his head quizzically.

"Hi," Storm said to Shyla before looking to Farr. "It's okay, Crewman." Farr hesitated as if he were reluctant to leave but finally stepped backwards and allowed the doors to whisk shut.

"It's okay, is it?" she said, shaking her head. She was never any good at expressing anger, though she wasn't certain yet if she was more upset than enraged. "What did you do, Ethan?" The question was asked quietly, conveying a hint of worry mixed with irritation. "Are you trying to get yourself discharged?" Shyla swallowed hard. "Or are you just trying to get away from me again?" she whispered.

"It doesn't have anything to do with you, Shyla," Storm said, the words were cold but his voice was gentle. "And I'm not trying to get away. From anything."

Shyla nodded solemnly and sighed. His assurances were small comfort considering he'd left her in the middle of the night without a word. "Do you--" Noting her voice trembling, she let out a slow, deep breath to steady it. "Ethan," she continued, softly, "do you regret what happened? It was sudden, I know...but you could've said 'no' if it's not what you wanted..."

"That's right," Storm affirmed. "I could have said 'no.' And I didn't." Storm sank back down to sit on the edge of the bed and exhaled audibly. "I did try to warn you, Shyla."

Shyla yearned to go to Ethan, but was too uncertain; he appeared so vulnerable, but did he even want her there? "Ethan...I don't regret what we did." She smiled. "It was one of the best things to happen in a while. I guess...I just want to know where we go from here." Watching him expectantly, she asked softly, "Do you want this to continue? I know I do, Ethan, but I have to know if you're going to just keep doing this - pushing me away. That's what you're doing, isn't it?"

Storm looked down at the deck. He seemed to almost deflate though he didn't exhale again. "If I push you away, it's only to keep you safe," he said, quietly. It was almost like there was no tone in his voice; nothing that marked what he said as a practiced breakup speech or just some line he used from time to time. The sincerity was almost something separate from Storm, sitting with him on the edge of his bed. He wrapped himself in it.

"Keep me safe?" Shyla lowered her eyes. "I don't understand," she whispered, then her focus snapped back onto Ethan. She found herself filled with intense anger and frustration. "I don't understand, Ethan! Why won't you tell me anything? Was it something that happened after the Academy? Is that why you never contacted me?" Shyla impulsively stepped forward with her hand outstretched towards Ethan, intent upon forming some connection with him so he wouldn't seem as distant as he was to her now. But she hesitated and withdrew her hand. "Ethan..." She couldn't help but make it sound like a plea. "What we shared.... Did it mean nothing to you? If it didn't...then why can't you talk to me?"

Storm continued to look down at the deck but he offered up his hand to the one she had retracted. Trembling, she slipped hers inside it. When he looked up at her, he smiled a slight, sad smile.

"What do you want to know?"

Shyla sucked in a quivering breath, then let it out as a relieved sigh as she sank down next to Ethan on the bed. Her fingers laced with his and she watched, with a gentle smile, their hands linked as one. "I want to know if this is real," she whispered. Glancing sidelong, she clarified. "I know it might be too soon...but I want to know how you feel about this, Ethan. About us." She sighed. "For starters, I want to know if there even is an 'us.' "

Storm was also watching their intertwined hands and felt amazed at the comfort. But over a year of holding his emotional cards close to his vest wasn't going to end overnight, no matter how much he wanted to end it.

"I would like there to be an 'us,' " Storm said truthfully and with a continuation of his strange smile. "But I don't want to make promises. Not so soon." Storm tried to give her hand a comforting squeeze. "I have to answer for a few things first."

Shyla nodded solemnly. "Okay," she mouthed, then nodded with more conviction. "I don't want to push you. I just...I can't wait forever, Ethan. I would if I could...but that's impossible." And I'm not ready yet to tell you why....

Storm looked at her. "I know you can't wait forever," he said softly, the word 'you' catching in his throat. His eyes held more meaning than his words.

Shyla studied Ethan's face, and the restrained sorrow conveyed through his gaze. She gasped softly and pulled her hand free of his as she sprang to her feet. "You know," she whispered, almost horrified. "Who told you, Ethan? Was it Corran?" Outside of the command staff and the upper levels of the medical department, nobody on this ship knew about her condition except Corran Quezith. Upon their first meeting, he'd sensed it inside her and had confirmed the knowledge when she had visited the arboretum. He had sworn to tell no one, not even Cris.

Shyla turned away and covered her face with both hands to block out the reality she now faced: that Ethan knew of her illness, and that what she thought had been affection from him had really been pity.

Ethan stood and ghosted up behind her. He made a motion to place his hands on her shoulders but her trembling made him doubt the move so he just leaned in close and whispered gently, "I've known since the Academy, Shyla. It wasn't Dr. Quezith."

"Who?" she asked, still trying to find her voice. Turning finally to face him, she found she couldn't hold his gaze.

"You," Storm said softly. "I mean, you didn't tell me in so many words but you told me about your mother. And there were the weekly medical examinations. I guessed. I am a Security Officer. At least, for the time being."

Everything was beginning to make sense now. "Is that why you left? We were getting close...so you just ran?"

"I left because I was assigned field training." Storm reached out and lifted her chin so he could look in her eyes. "I didn't come back because I knew you didn't have forever. And I didn't want to waste one more second of your time."

"What?" Shyla's eyes narrowed and held a mixture of disbelief and rage. She pushed his hand away and unsteadily backed up. "How dare you! Damn you, Ethan! It's my time, not yours, and if I want to spend it with you, I will. Don't you dare, blame that on me. Don't you dare use that as an excuse because you were a coward!" Shyla swallowed hard, scarcely believing the outburst she had let slip out. Her gaze softened and she trepidly whispered, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean that."

Quite out of character, Storm remained unprovoked. "Yes, you did," he said, managing a small smile. "And I think you're right. I am a coward." He turned away from her.

Shyla looked down, biting her bottom lip to allay her guilty conscience. She wasn't accustomed to such boldness, and to hurting Ethan, even though he had done it enough times to her. "Ethan?" Her voice was barely audible, even to herself. Hesitating a moment, she moved forward and gently lay a hand upon his shoulder. She quickly removed it, as if she'd been stung. "I don't blame you for running. I really don't. We were getting close, and it was just easier to leave before we got closer instead of getting involved and watching as I...you know." Shyla took in a deep breath to calm herself, and detected a knot in her throat when she did. It was unexpected, but alerted her to the possibility that she already felt too much for Ethan to let him go now. "Look," she continued, finding her voice again, "if you want to be with me, then please, tell me now. If not...then just...just say so. I-I have to move on, Ethan, if you're not interested. There's no time to waste, especially not now. And whatever your decision, I'll never blame you. I couldn't."

Storm turned back to face her, delaying his reply just long enough for the doors to open once again and admit Crewman Farr once again. "I'm sorry, sir," Farr began, not looking very apologetic at all. "But visitors can only stay for ten minutes. Commander Lyrr's orders." As if that settled everything, Farr stepped to the side and motioned for Shyla to leave Storm's quarters.

Shyla followed that motion, slowing once to give Storm a backward glance and search his face for an answer to her question. Finding none there, she felt compelled to stop in the frame of the door and ask again, prompting Farr to lay a hand on her shoulder.

Shyla glanced at it briefly, but stood firm. "Ethan...do you?" she asked him with more urgency, and ignoring Farr's insistencies. "Just tell me one way or the other. Do you or don't you want to be with me? I won't ask again."

Storm let the question hang in the air a moment before locking eyes with Shyla. "Crewman Farr," Storm said, not looking at him. "I would appreciate it if you'd keep your hands off my girlfriend."

Shyla's smile broke across her face like the slow rising of a sun. Ethan's comforting eyes were there to reassure her she'd heard correctly. Crewman Farr frowned quizzically. However, he did remove his hand.

"We'll need a little more time, Farr." Storm still looked only at Shyla.

"Just another minute," he agreed grudgingly, with a sigh. "But make it fast. I don't want to get in trouble." Farr cast his gaze between the two, who seemed lost in their own world, then shook his head and departed.

Ethan stepped close to her and pushed a wayward strand of hair back from her face. Shyla was still smiling her beaming, joyful smile. "This is going to be a lot of trouble for you," Storm said, cupping her cheek in his hand and smiling. "I'm not exactly Ensign Popularity, even less so now. More than a few people will try to talk you out of this."

Shyla was shaking her head. "I don't care about that, Ethan. I know you." Shyla pulled him to her and rested her head on his chest. "I'm no day at the beach myself," she said, after awhile. "I can be a handful."

"Yes, you can," Storm said, putting his hands on her slender waist. The move prompted both of them to laughter and Shyla tilted her head back again to look into Storm's eyes. They beamed at one another.

"Ethan, we don't have very long," Shyla said through her grin. She was
referring to Crewman Farr's imminent return but Storm couldn't help but
flash on the second, darker meaning. Save for a brief sad flicker in his
eye, he recovered quickly.

"We don't," he agreed, driving the grim thoughts from his mind. As he leaned
in to kiss her, he whispered, "Let's not waste any more time."

---

"Fresh Start"
By: Kit Markham
Amy Reese

Location: Risa
Stardate 57907.09, 12h35

***

The sand was hot. Very hot. But, Kit Markham didn't mind. He just had to think of the towel awaiting him at the other end of the journey and the ice cold drinks he was holding in his hands. And, then there was Amy, waiting for him on their towels with the lotion he'd applied to her skin until it glistened in the sun. Despite all the trouble on the ship --- trouble that didn't need a flight control officer or a nurse --- they'd decided to spend the day on the beach. Amy seemed to need the time because she seemed to be nervous or upset about something. She wouldn't talk about it though, and Kit didn't want to press. With the captain's attack and the murders and everything, he didn't need to add to her stress. So, they were enjoying their time under the sun.

"Here you go," Kit said when he reached their towels. "Two Efrosian Sunblasters." He lowered himself to his towel and handed Amy hers. "Just the way you like it."

Amy accepted the drink with a dreamy smile then kissed Kit. "Thanks. You're so perfect, Kit. You know my likes, my dislikes... No one knows me as well as you do."

"I got an extra big one for you, with all the hot sun out here today...I thought you might need it. So, how would you like to take a dip into the water after a bit?"

Amy sighed and leaned her cheek happily against his shoulder. "In a bit... Right now, I want to enjoy your company...and just...talk and stuff..."

"Oh," Kit said with a wicked grin. "I like it when you enjoy my company."

Amy giggled and wriggled against Kit until his arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding her closer. "How can I not enjoy your company? You're funny, and cute, and I love you..." She sighed ruefully, staring into the blue liquid floating in her glass, and finally decided she couldn't maintain the falsely content front any longer. "Kit...I'm sad."

Kit grazed his lips over her cheek. "Why are you sad?" he asked softly.

"Because," she whispered, then took in an unsteady breath. "I've been trying hard, but I don't think I'm doing so well...and it makes me sad, because I know I'm failing you."

Kit adjusted how he was laying so he could meet her eyes. "What do you mean?" Kit asked. "What happened, Amy?"

She avoided Kit's gaze and stared into her glass again, concentrating deeply on the flower drifting across the liquid's surface. "Can I--" She sighed. "Can I not tell you? It's not important... It's just..." Amy whimpered and turned her face into Kit's chest. His scent mingled with that of the tanning oil, and Amy sobbed, thinking of how she would miss his smell if he left.

"Oh god," Kit whispered. He swallowed hard and tried to catch his breath, which was difficult because his chest felt like it was being crushed. He looked at her, sobbing against him, and shook his head, the emotions within warring with his resolve, hoping for their freedom. "When? Who? What happened? Oh god..."

"It's not important," she insisted, still not daring to meet his gaze. "I lost control...but nothing happened." Amy exhaled slowly in an attempt to calm herself, but another sob escaped and she began weeping fully. "I try so hard," she whispered. "But nothing works... And it hurts...you and me... I feel so disgusted with myself because I promised you...and I keep screwing up."

Kit sighed. "What can we do?" he asked. "We can't keep going through this. We can't... What...what happens... Amy, is it me? Am I not enough? What will...what will...will stop...?"

Amy finally raised her head to regard Kit, and the sorrow, the pain clear in his eyes had fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "Kit," she whispered. "It's not you... It's me and it always has been. You're...you're great and wonderful and love me more than anyone ever has... And I just don't know what's wrong with me. And I don't want you to blame yourself, and I don't want to feel so horrible inside because I'm letting you down...." She took in a deep breath and exhaled. Still, the ache in her heart refused to be expelled. "Oh god...Kit... I can't...do this anymore. We can't both keep suffering like this."

"What are you saying?" Kit asked, his throat tightening. "Are you...what... Oh god, Amy..."

"I don't know," she sobbed, trying desperately to keep from looking into his eyes. "I just think that...maybe for a little while..." She sighed shakily, willing herself to continue. "Kit...I think you and I should take some time and... I dunno...see the counsellor." Forestalling his reply, Amy sat upright and pressed a finger to his lips. "Oh god, please, Kit... It won't be for long. With you there...supporting me...being there with me and the counsellor... Together, I know we can figure this out!" Her eyes beseeched him and she whispered soft entreaties, knowing this was their last chance, and if he refused... "Please... Please, Kit...I love you. I don't want this to end, not if we have a chance to save it."

"Okay," Kit said, his voice wavering slightly. "We'll go to the counsellor together. I'll do what I can, Amy...but...but what about the times when I can't be with you? What will we do then, Amy? How...how can we make this work? Whatever we need to do...we...let's do it."

Amy sighed, the weight bearing down on her lifting, and she gratefully lay herself upon his bare torso. "We'll be together as much as we can," she said softly. "And when we can't...I'll have to be strong. And the counsellor will help and knowing that we love each other will help..." Amy smiled serenely, actually believing she was going to get past whatever ailed her. "We're gonna make it, Kitty," she whispered. "We're gonna make it together...and then there'll be no more sadness, no more crying, no more hurt..." Glancing up at him, she grinned. "It'll be perfect."

Kit swallowed hard, and then nodded. "It will," he said. "It'll be perfect." He blinked and a tear escaped from the corner of his eye. "We'll make it, Amy."

Amy's smile waned slightly, and with slight concern, she asked, "You sure, Kit? Please? We...we have to talk to each other. From now on, that's a rule. No matter what, we have to tell each other everything."

Kit nodded. He swallowed hard and took her hand. "I'm sure I want this," he said. "I'm more sure than I've ever been about anything. I'm just scared... I don't want to lose you, Amy. I'm just...just scared...that's all. I want to trust you, trust that our love for each other will win through this." He sighed. "They're laughing at me...at us. I haven't listened to them. I haven't cared. We love each other, and that's all that matters. Whatever they say...it's nothing. I want us to make it, Amy. I'm just scared though."

Amy nodded ruefully. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get ridiculed. I've heard the rumours, and thought they were just about me..." She sighed and kissed him gently. "I'm sorry. I'll make it right, Kit. And besides, they don't understand. They don't know anything. They don't know how much we love each other, no matter what."

"No matter what," Kit said with a smile. "Just you and me. And, they'd better get their laughter in now, because soon they won't have a reason to laugh. They'll have to find some new source of amusement."

Amy giggled. "Like...like the captain and his new girlfriend! Or...or Viraj and Tchi. People say she blushes every time he looks at her."

Kit laughed. "She blushes when anyone looks at her," he said. "Have you ever watched her when Kelzira comes around? I'd swear she's checking to make sure she's still wearing underwear."

Amy chuckled, though weakly. "Kelli... Oh, Kit... What are we gonna do about her? I mean...do you still want us to share?"

Kit was silent for a moment. Finally he sighed. "I like Kelli...but I don't think we should any more. We need to put any of those sorts of distractions behind us. We don't need extra temptations."

"We?" Amy nodded slowly, smiling wryly. "You mean me, don't you?"

"I mean we," Kit said. "We're in this together, Amy. Both of us." He brushed his lips against hers.

Her smile brightened and Amy slipped one arm around Kit's neck as she returned his delicate kiss. "She won't be too sad... She's got a whole ship full of people to explore. Then it'll be just me, and you... No one else, Kit."

"No one else," Kit whispered. "I like that very much. Now, about that swim...you up for it, or would you rather lay here in my arms for a bit?"

"Well, considering I don't feel so sad anymore..." She grinned, then kissed him slowly, deeply and pouring every bit of passion into a simple gesture of lips touching to make it an emphatic declaration of her love for him. "Swim," she whispered breathlessly, their warm, tingling lips still brushing. "Naked swimming...so we can do...other things at the same time."

"Well then," Kit said with a laugh, "I think we'd better move down the beach a little bit...for a little extra privacy. Come, I'm feeling...frisky." Kit laughed and kissed her as he offered his hands to help her up.

Amy readily accepted, and giggled as she was heaved up to her feet and pulled into Kit's arms. He was much shorter than she without his thick boots on, but just the perfect height to rest his head upon her bosom, as Amy had him doing then. "I've decided that's where I'm going to get my next tattoo," she told him, indicating the top of her left breast, the direction Kit's eyes were facing. "And it's going to be one of your choosing. Anything you want. Anything, Kitty."

Kit grinned as he placed a kiss on the very spot she'd indicated. "How about a kitty cat," he said with an impish gleam in his eye.

"With that same Cheshire cat grin you're wearing right now?" Amy purred and pushed her chest gently forward to brush against Kit's lips again. "Then that's exactly what I'll get."

Kit moaned happily. "I like that very much," he said. "And, we'd better hurry to that water, or I may not make it. We'll give everyone something entirely new to talk about."

"That wouldn't be so bad," Amy mused as she and Kit walked hand in hand. "At least then they'd know that we were still together, and stronger, and that no matter what they say, it's not gonna bother us in the least."

"Whatever they say, it can't hurt us," Kit said with a grin as they walked down toward the water, hands caressing as the moved. "You know, I think I should write a song about us. I think we should play it at the next gig. Just you and me...a duet."

Amy sighed happily. "We'll show them, Kit. We'll show them all, and whoever doesn't believe we can make it can go to hell. Because I'm not giving you up. Not ever."

"Good," Kit said with a grin. "I think without you in my life, I would be very empty inside. Without you, all my songs would be gone."

Amy's cheeks blushed a rosy hue and her giggles grew all the more uncontrollable. She took Kit's face in both her hands, and pressed a large, firm kiss to his brow. "Keep talking like that," she told him, "and there'll be more where that came from."

"With an offer like that," Kit said with a grin, "how can I not? I know we've had some rough spots, Amy, but together we can get through them. Together we can make our relationship stronger than anything. I love you, Amy Reese, and I promise to never stop loving you."

"I love you too," she whispered ardently. She chuckled as her fingers tousled Kit's purple locks. "And I love your hair, and I love how you sing, and how you move..." She took in a quivering breath, and laughed it out tearfully. "I've been stupid, but I'm gonna try harder from now on." Amy leaned forward to trap Kit in an embrace, and held him there, just as they stopped at the edge of the surf's reach, unwilling to let go. "I'm gonna show you what real love is, Kitty," she whispered. "And it's going to rock your world."

Kit held himself tight to her, gazing deep into her eyes as he felt his body go weak all over. "It is already," he whispered. "We're going to make this work, Amy. Everyone will see that nothing can come between Kit Markham and Amy Reese. Nothing at all."

"That'll finally shut them up," she quipped, then laughed and backed into the ocean with her arms still securely wrapped around Kit. She shrieked as the two were bowled over by a pounding wave, but still they never let each other go. Amy smiled tenderly at Kit, seeing their future together in his eyes. She swore that she would overcome her dysfunction, or whatever motivated her self-destructive tendencies, for the sake of their love. And with Kit now by her side through it all, her chances became far better than they ever were going at it alone.

They let the water take them for a little while, content to just hold each other. After several minutes, Kit chuckled and kissed her. "I think most guys would have broken up with you," he said. "But, despite everything, I can't imagine my life without you. I know you're not doing this to hurt me, and I know that you don't prefer them to me. I think I may have a possible solution though. I'll just have to wear you out in bed, I think." He reached below the water, and with a deft tug with his hand, he relieved her of her bikini bottoms.

Amy squealed with delight as the orange garment popped up to the surface and began drifting away. She gave them a little wave to send them off on their journey. Turning back to Kit, Amy smiled slyly and said, "Wear me out?" She chuckled and closed her mouth around his earlobe. He shuddered with arousal as she gently pulled the delicate flesh through her teeth, while her naked hips pushed against his abdomen. "Care to try now?" she whispered silkily, her lips still next to his ear.

"I thought you'd never ask," Kit whispered as he began shimmying out of his own trunks. "I've never made love in an ocean before, so this may be a little awkward."

"It'll be the first time for both of us," she told him. Passing her hand over his cheek, she smiled warmly. "We'll just have to figure it out together."

"I like the sound of that," Kit said as he paddled himself closer to her. They had nothing to brace themselves against, so it would truly be interesting...but there was very little about Kit and Amy that wasn't interesting. And, so they made love, in the ocean, not caring who might be around.

---

"New Home"
By: Lt. (jg) Natalia Druschev - Science Officer
Lt. Saavar - Deputy Chief of Science
Lt. Sam - Operations Manager

Location: USS Hikaru Sulu
Stardate: 57907.09 15h08

***

"I don't want to go yet!" Domenic's voice was thin and reedy - elevated with his whining tone as he stamped one foot and scowled at his mother. He stood just inside Natalia's bedroom wearing floral board shorts and an open shirt that displayed his tan, a shell necklace and a livid bruise on his ribs. He'd come off a surf board and it had flipped over and hit him. He refused going to the hotel's nurse; he wasn't happy at being dragged off the beach away from his new friends, and Natalia had discovered a few of those had been Risan girls who frolicked naked! Natalia hadn't imagined that her nine year old son would be so interested in girls.

"Too bad, Dom," she said as she threw the rest of her clothes into the carry-all that sat on her bed. "You knew we were here for a few days - only until my shore leave was up. That's all there is to it. I'm not being mean, but I have to report for duty and you are not staying on Risa alone!"

"C'mon, mom! You were happy to leave me alone yesterday!" He put both hands on his hips and pulled an insolent face. He knew that his mother was distracted and would be less likely to react badly. He felt like pushing her, he was so mad.

"Pack!" she said in that tone that gave him his first warning. "Don't argue, Domenic, just pack."

"I'm going to say goodbye to my friends." He stated it as if it was a fact.

"I'm going to count to three..." Second warning. She didn't even look at him. She pulled the zippers closed and tossed her hair away from her face.

He stood thinking about his next move. She just didn't understand! He had a girlfriend on the beach - his first girlfriend! She'd even kissed him!! She was a Risan girl too - and everybody knew about Risan girls!

"One..." Natalia said it softly, but loud enough for Domenic to catch the danger in the tone.

"Mooom..." The whining sound was back. He shuffled his feet. He was torn between the girl on the beach and the wrath of his mom. "Pleeeeease..."

"Two." She walked into the bathroom to pack her make-up.

He banged his head against the door-jam repeatedly, making a thud thud thud sound.

"Two and a half..." came from the bathroom. "Don't make me get to three!"

He pulled a face at her.

"I saw that!" The voice from the bathroom held menace.

He reacted with wide-eyed surprise. She was in the bathroom - how could she? "Okay..." he finally gave in. He knew he wasn't going to win. But he had to show her he wasn't a push-over anymore! He was growing up! He was almost a man! Jasina (the girl on the beach) had told him that Risan boys were considered for training at eleven. That kind of training... He pouted very un-adultish. Maybe the ship would come back here? That would be cool.

He walked slowly back to his room. It just wasn't fair!

Galain, one of the boys from the beach had slipped him a holodeck program that he'd gotten from his big brother. A Risan entertainment program that had all the adult content hacked. Galain had told him that a Starfleet ship like the Intrepid Class had a pretty sophisticated computer system that would not allow him to run the program, so it had been hacked to remove the limiters. The holo-characters would see who-ever entered the program as an adult, and behave accordingly! He couldn't wait to see if it worked. It had all the beach sports as well - and he wanted to practise his surfing. He loved it!

Domenic consoled himself in the anticipation of getting to a Starfleet holodeck. They were the best. Better than the Ferengi models.

Natalia walked into Domenic's room as he was throwing his clothes into his bag. The sun had darkened his skin to a bronze that made his blonde hair golden. He was beginning to take on his father's features. He had a lot of his father's temperament too - but his bouts of temper came from Natalia. He didn't look at her as she put a hand on his shoulder. He just slammed another shirt into his bag. "Domenic..." She was gentle now that he was doing as he was told. "I'm sorry, honey. You had a really good time here, I know - but we have duty - I have duty to attend to. We have to go the Sulu." She kissed the top of his head. "C'mon baby, you'll get settled in soon."

He sighed in that theatrical manner children the universe over do when they are fed up with adults and adult talk about responsibility and duty and all that stuff! "I hate Starfleet!" he groused. "I'm gonna be stuck on a ship the size of a jumped-up runabout with nothing to do and no one my own age." He turned around to face his mother. "I checked, mom - a crew of a hundred and forty five average compliment - no allowances for families like a Galaxy. They don't have a school! The Sulu will be the pits mom! Everybody laughed at me when I told 'em where we were going to live!"

"How many times are we going to go through this, Domenic?" She brushed his hair with a gentle hand. "I go where Starfleet sends me. I don't have much of a choice."

"You had a choice back at the Starbase - but you blew it again with that David guy." The words were out before he knew what he'd really said. The realization made him stop breathing.

Natalia closed her eyes with the sting of it. She drew in a sharp breath and looked away. For a moment both mother and son didn't move.

"Sorry, mom..."

"It's okay," she breathed. "You're right." She looked down at him and he was close to tears. So was she. "I did blow it with that David guy..." She wiped a tear away and shrugged. "I'm sorry, Dom. I know you really liked the Starbase. I hope that you understand someday that I couldn't stay there."

He nodded, a tear escaping his own eyes. He reached around Natalia's waist and hugged her - his head barely reaching her shoulder. "I'm sorry, mom..." he said, smothered in her uniform.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him for a little while, enjoying the closeness. After a few minutes she drew away and tousled his hair. "Now, my son - finish packing and we'll have a last look at the beach before we beam up."

***1645hrs***

The transporter pad materialised before Natalia and Domenic and they both looked over to the transporter operator. He was a pleasant faced man in his middle years with a bright smile that beamed at both of them. His eyes flicked down Natalia's uniform as she stepped off the pad and said, "Lieutenant Druschev reporting aboard." Her Russian accent sounding clipped and a little aristocratic.

He nodded. "Welcome aboard the Sulu, Lieutenant." He handed her a padd. "Your quarters assignment - you're billeted in the VIP area - we don't really have family quarters and they are the only staterooms with a double bedroom allocation." He turned to Domenic. "Welcome aboard, sir," he grinned and turned back to Natalia "We'll get you organised pretty quick. Your things are already in your quarters."

Natalia nodded as she activated the padd. It showed her where to go and had a duty assignment for Alpha shift in the morning in laboratory two. She reported to a Lieutenant Tagliesh. Her eyes went a little wide as she saw that she was also detailed to be Lieutenant Tagliesh's back-up officer for Bridge duty. She never served as a Bridge officer before. It made her heart almost skip a beat. The responsibility was awesome! She grinned. Right where all the action was! At last she'd get to be a part of it instead of hearing about it.

She looked up at the smiling Transporter Chief. "Thanks, Chief. I'd better go report in." She dropped an arm onto Domenic's shoulders and led him out of the room.

The trip to deck three was a short one. They were on deck four. It didn't take them long to find their room. It was spacious. Her things were neatly stacked in the center of the living space. They both explored the suite of rooms - there were two bedrooms, closets, a single refresher unit, a replicator in a small dining alcove with a table and two chairs, a living space with a sofa, two chairs and a low table. A desk workstation was in one corner. It was pleasant and fairly standard, but larger than any allocated rooms she'd had on a ship before. On the USS Hubble she'd shared quarters.

She turned to Domenic as he came out of his room. He had a smile on his face for a change. "Cool!" he said with enthusiasm.

"I got Bridge duty," she grinned. "If the senior officer is off the Bridge, I get the science station!"

Domenic whistled. He knew how much that meant to his mom's career prospects. In Starfleet if you didn't get near the Bridge you didn't get noticed. "Nice..." he said. "Can I replicate some stuff for my room?"

"Okay - but don't go crazy - I only have a small allocation of replicator credits." She indicated the replicator. "I have to report in to my department boss. I'll leave you to get un-packed. Don't wander around, nobody knows you yet, and make sure you're finished before I get back, young man!"

"Yeah, mom...sure thing... " He was already tapping the replicator controls to check the menu.

She grinned knowing that he wouldn't be finished and left her quarters. She tapped her commbadge and asked the computer where Lieutenant Tagliesh was and was informed that she was currently off the ship. It was Beta shift anyway so she figured she'd report to the Beta shift officer. Checking the padd again she saw that it was a Lieutenant Saavar - and he would be on the Bridge. She didn't want to brave the Bridge yet. It wasn't a place you could just wander on to without being invited.

Maybe the XO? The computer informed her that Commander Lyrr was also not on board the Sulu. Maybe Lieutenant Saavar would give her some direction. She tapped her badge again. "Lieutenant Druschev to Lieutenant Saavar." She stopped walking to talk.

"Lieutenant Saavar. What can I do for you Lieutenant?" The Vulcan's voice was emotionless as Natalia had expected.

"Sir, I am reporting aboard the Sulu. I believe that my first shift is tomorrow on Alpha, but I thought it best to check in now," Natalia replied.

"Very well. You are Lieutenant Tagliesh's reserve duty officer for Bridge duty. The Lieutenant is not on board the Sulu and I anticipate that she will not be on board for Alpha shift tomorrow. If you would like to take this opportunity to familiarize yourself with the Bridge station it may be advantageous."

Natalia's face split into a grin. "Yes, sir. I'd be more than happy to do that."

"Very well. Report to the Bridge immediately. Saavar out."

Natalia started off for the Bridge with a spring in her step. The Bridge on the first day! Another short ride and she stepped out into the Holy Grail of all Starfleet officers. The command centre of the ship.

Saavar nodded to her as she looked for the science station and she walked over to him. The Bridge was quiet, an Operations officer sat in the command chair below, and Natalia walked past the Operations station getting a smile from the Ensign working at the LCARS. She stepped down to the lower Bridge level and met Saavar who stood close to the science bay. It was a small single seat space tucked to the side of the Bridge on a level with the flight operations station.

Natalia came to a halt. "Lieutenant jaygee Natalia Druschev reporting for duty, sir."

Saavar nodded. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. As you can see" --he waved to the station and indicated that Natalia should take a seat-- "it is a standard format LCARS station." He pointed with a green-tinged hand. "Sensor controls, aft, dorsal and forward. Main Deflector Grid here, Probe control and access to Main Computer."

She was familiar with the operations of the station. It was compact and easy to see everything at a glance. The LCARS was capable of altering the configuration to suit her preferences and she would do that later. For now she was elated at just sitting in the Bridge chair.

"We are at standard orbit station-keeping. While on Bridge duty you will perform as required of the commander of the watch and you have authority to allocate duties within the science department should it be required. You can do so from this terminal." He pointed to another screen. He tapped a number of times and the screen showed the compliment of science officers at stations, what their duties were at any given time and the status of their station.

Natalia nodded. "Pretty clear, sir. No problem." She tapped the systems control and entered her access code. The LCARS recognised her authority and asked for her personal preferences. She didn't change anything and it logged her as officially assuming the Bridge Science station.

"Excellent. There are matters that require my attention elsewhere, Lieutenant. I know that you are not officially on duty until tomorrow, however I would appreciate it greatly if you would remain until my return. There is very little to do here. Lieutenant Sam is currently in command." He indicated the android sitting in the command chair.

"Certainly sir, I would be glad to," Natalia beamed.

Saavar nodded. He turned to the android. "Lieutenant Sam, permission to leave the Bridge? Lieutenant Druschev will act as my replacement. She is commencing Alpha shift tomorrow and in Lieutenant Tagliesh's expected absence I have arranged for her to familiarise herself with the Bridge station."

"That will be acceptable, Lieutenant," Sam replied. "Permission is granted for you to leave the bridge."

Saavar nodded and turned back to Natalia. "Thank you, Lieutenant. You have the science station." He left her at the station and Natalia couldn't suppress the smile. She turned to examine the sensors and noted no changes. She spared a moment to contact her quarters, letting Domenic know that she had been called to duty and that he had to get some dinner and make sure he unpacked. He thought it was pretty cool for her to be on the Bridge and promised to behave. She gave him a grin over the terminal comm and promised she'd be back soon. He gave her a disbelieving look as he signed off.

She settled down to her task - getting to know the Sulu and her new position. She couldn't help feeling excited - like a kid in a toy store on Christmas eve!

---

"Gunslinging 101"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ensign Nathalie Gui; Communications Specialist

Location: USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.09, 17h41

***

Joji's head rested on her front paws as she watched her master Nathalie read over something from a small flat device she held in her hands. The small dog was somewhat curious now as to why it was her master was fussing over these devices more so than usual; she was looking for something, what was it called?

Gum? Rum? Guns? Wait that was it, "guns." Sounded like some sort of odd name for a treat...as the little corgi pondered what guns were she quickly jumped as Nat dropped her head tiredly in defeat into her hands, the PADD now resting on her couch next to her. Joji padded over to Nat and rested her head on her knee. Looking up at Nathalie she gave a sympathetically worried whimper. Nat lifted her head from her hands and smiled halfheartedly at her canine companion.

"I'm okay, just trying to learn a bit more about something without much luck." Leaning back on her couch Nathalie lifted a hand to her temple as she felt the still lingering pains of her previous headache, their source having come from her race and consumption of real alcohol from the night before. Tapping her combadge Nathalie decided to get help from a human source.

"Gui to Farrell."

"Farrell here."

"I was wondering if you would be willing to give me a hand with something. Where are you?"

"Sure thing. I'm in holodeck one. Just come on in."

"I'll be there in about five minutes or so. Gui out."

***

Gui stepped into Holodeck one, and found it filled with the kinetic staccato of bluegrass. On the large porch of a backwoods shack sat a group of tattered musicians; it looked as though someone had literally plucked the group right out of the Earth's late 20th century.

One played a violin, but in an unfamiliar manner. One wore only overalls with one shoulder strap missing, and held a round-bodied stringed instrument he played with all his fingers at once. Another in a ratty hat with a hayseed in his mouth plucked a large, homemade-looking bass instrument. One was simply blowing across the top of an earthenware jug. Others were slapping spoons together, and one appeared to be doing nothing more than flicking a finger in his mouth. Nathalie couldn't help but smile as she spotted Mason in the center of the group, cupping his harmonica to his face, his foot tapping as he belted out his part of the tune.

Joji followed at Nathalie's heels, sniffing the ground with intent curiosity as her master made her way silently to the group. Leaning to one side Nathalie continued to watch them play as she tapped her foot to the beat, deciding to wait until the group had finished before approaching Mason. Joji stood next to Gui, her tail wagging happily to the beat of the tune almost rhythmically.

The group finished their tune, winding to a single long chord, and all the holographic players laughed and congratulated each other. Mason excused himself and sauntered over to Gui and Joji.

"Evenin'," he drawled. His accent was more pronounced, probably because he'd been associating with this program for a while. "What did you need?"

"Hi. Loved your performance," she remarked, winking. "I need you to help me learn how to properly handle firearms. I was going to ask someone in Security to help me but given the current situations I thought I'd try asking the next best source."

Mason laughed. "You're dangerous enough, Nat. What do you need extra weapons training for?"

As if to further the irony Joji put a paw to her nose and whimpered in response. Nathalie shook her head, laughing before replying, "I'm going to be transferring to Security sometime in the near future. I have only had experience with handling firearms and weapons in the Academy, and I'm certain I'm going to be tested on marksmanship so I was wondering if you could help me out."

"Security? Moving up in the world, I see," Mason quipped. "Just don't forget us little people when you're out busting heads. Were you wanting basic marksmanship or more involved stuff like combat simulation?"

"Marksmanship, basic to advanced. Combat simulation I have mostly downpat." Stepping closer to Farrell she asked, "So, Bond, care to help me out?"

He clearly had no idea who Bond was, but smiled anyway. "Fellas," he called to the assembled band on the porch. "I'll catch you later."

The holo-band hooted and catcalled at "Mason and his gal" until Farrell laughingly ended the program. He then called up the arch, and brought up an open field. Across one side stretched a split-rail fence, and atop it was a row of bedraggled cans and bottles.

"Paper or electronic targets are fine and good," Farrell said, continuing to punch in commands. A table appeared with a variety of firearms atop it, along with a water cooler. "But to my mind, it's always better to actually see stuff fall down or shatter." He handed her a type II phaser. "Fire away."

Gui nodded and took the proffered weapon. Looking it over carefully she checked its firing setting before proceeding to fire with the weapon. It looked to be on its lowest setting so she adjusted the firing frequency to one level higher. Holding up the weapon she looked towards her targets and proceeded to fire away. Bottles burst and cans flew off the fence. At least, about a third of them did.

"Not bad," Farrell said. "But you're pulling on it. Squeeze with your fingers, but keep your thumb still. I've never actually cared much for Fleet issue phasers, myself. They're powerful, but they're a pain to aim. Sight across the junction between your thumb and forefinger."

"Squeeze, don't pull....squeeze don't pull..." Listening to Farrell she lifted her arm and aimed at the targets whilst following his directions as closely as she could. Firing away she managed to knock off the majority of the remaining cans and bottles. "Damn, got most of 'em, 'cept for two."

"Computer, reset targets," Farrell commanded, shaking his head and smiling at Nat's use of the vernacular. All the various objects lined back up on the fence.

"The positive thing about fleet phasers," he said, picking another off the table, "is the wide setting." He dialed the setting out on the phaser, and ripped a massive beam toward the fence that caught all the targets at once. "It's not real subtle, but when you've absolutely got to hit everyone in the room, accept no substitute."

Gui nodded nearly jumping back as Farrell fired the phaser and blasted all the targets off the fence. "Definitely not subtle." Turning to Mason she asked, "I thought Phaser Rifles were the ones that usually packed more of a punch, but lemme guess, extreme combat situations only, right?"

"Right," Farrell said. "For my money, phaser rifles are overrated anyway. A regular type II packs enough heat to vaporize a typical humanoid and even open up a Jem'Hadar good and wide. The real telling factor isn't power. Everybody's got that. There's not a military-grade energy weapon in the galaxy that can't deal killing damage in one shot, so questions of who's got the bigger gun are really moot. What's important is accuracy on the attack and mobility on the defense. Phaser rifles are only really better than type II handhelds because they've got a long sight rail, which makes them easier to aim. Here" --Farrell ordered up a phaser rifle and offered it to Nathalie-- "give it a try."

"So basically it all depends on the user; you gotta know how to use the weapon." Nathalie took the proffered phaser rifle from Mason and weighed it in her hands before attempting to try and properly hold the weapon. "I don't seem to recall using a phaser rifle before, at least not Federation. Bajoran, yes." Turning to Farrell she asked, "How do you properly hold one of these again?"

Farrell arched an eyebrow and smiled. "Same as a Bajoran rifle--grip it like you'd grip anything that fires. Use your preferred hand on the vertical grip," he teased with a smirk.

Gui smiled, teasing him right back. "What's wrong? 'Fraid I'd bite ya?" Lifting the rifle into her hands she took aim using the sight rail and knocked down a majority of the cans and bottles. "Definitely has better aim," she remarked, lowering her weapon.

"Yeah," Farrell said slowly. "Your aim's pretty good." He watched her for a moment. "What are we doing here, Nat?"

It seemed as though the rifle had become more like lead weight in her hands as Farrell asked his question. What were they doing here exactly? "Truthfully you're helping me to learn to handle Federation weapons. I don't lie when I say I have had minimal weapons experience," she replied, voice sincere, as she set the rifle down next to the others. The linguist found herself tongue tied; in all honesty they could just be discussing weapons, or another matter altogether...

Farrell watched her intently for several long seconds. "Okay," he said at last. "Let's try a different target set. Keep the rifle. It'll be easier to get the hang of."

Gui checked the weapon before lifting it back into her hands. Walking over to where Farrell stood she remarked, "Ready when you are. Give me something...oh, say a bit more challenging."

"Computer, Skeet One," Farrell ordered. The answering chirp coincided with a slight alteration of the field. The fence vanished, and a squat machine appeared a short distance away.

"When I give the word, that launcher will start throwing disks into the air. You get to shoot them down. Remember that you'll need to lead the target a bit. Ready?"

Readying her weapon she lifted the rifle into her hands and nodded. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Fire away," she stated with a wink.

"Computer, begin sequence," Farrell ordered, and the first disk flew into the air.

Gui followed the disk with her eyes quickly before proceeding to open fire on the target. For some odd reason an ancient Terran game came to mind as she opened fire and blew apart the disk in midair as she kept her eyes trained for her next target. She continued the pattern for about a minute or so longer before finally lowering her rifle.

"How did I do? Good? Bad? Quit while I'm ahead?"

Farrell smiled. "Not bad. I'll change the access priorities on this program to let you use it. Practice practice," he wagged a finger mockingly.

"Thanks, I'll be sure to put it to good use. Though one such as myself can't help but wonder about your unusual fascination with firearms," she remarked, returning the smile. "You know I'd be willing to give free lessons in physical combat if you're interested..." Nat stated, handing the weapon over to Mason.

Farrell smirked again. "Computer, run program 'Vulcan Ass Whuppin'." A short distance away, a Vulcan dressed for Ishin-Ryu flared into being and shouted a ki-yell as he dropped into fighting stance.

Farrell shot him, the blast flopping the Vulcan onto his back, where he lay in a heap. Farrell then turned back to Nathalie.

"I'll be alright," he quipped.

"You just love taking the fun out of unarmed combat don't you, Mase?" she laughed. "You wouldn't last five minutes without a weapon...I hope you do realize even though you are armed right now I'd be able to knock you out in a second. Phaser rifle or not."

"That's because I wouldn't actually shoot you, and you know it," he replied with a wink.

Nathalie stepped forward and playfully slapped Mason's cheek. "I certainly hope not." After a beat her features turned soft as she asked her next question. "Are you okay? I caught wind that you and another critically wounded patient got transported in sometime today..."

He smiled softly. "I'm fine. Our med staff does good work. I'm glad, too. My shoulder was really torn up. Now all I've got's an ache and a splashy scar."

"I'm glad to know you're okay. How did you get your shoulder torn up to begin with?"

"Disruptor burn. Just a graze, but it still tore me up something fierce. It ran across half my back." He gestured ineffectually toward the back of his left shoulder. "It's a good thing both me and the shooter were moving. If he'd been able to get more of a solid hit, I'd be dead right now."

Nathalie winced knowing that having one's back torn up, phaser or not, hurt like hell. Stepping forward she hugged Mason as she replied, "And you call me dangerous. Thank god you're alive; an injury as bad as yours I'm surprised you still have your arm."

"They got to me quick. The miracles of modern medicine," he said, returning the hug. He released her after a few moments. "Thank you for thinking of me," he said gently. "I appreciate it."

She smiled at Mason, cheeks slightly flushed. "You're welcome. I couldn't help but worry a little." Nathalie turned as she heard the sound of someone approaching her from behind, grateful for the momentary distraction. She smiled as Joji ran over to where the two officers were standing.

Nathalie knelt next to her pet as she scratched her ears playfully. "I was beginning to wonder where you disappeared to. Find something interesting to chase?" The corgi nuzzled her head into Gui's hand, letting out a low howl in reply. "Mase, this is the escape artist I warned you about," Nat remarked, looking over to her companion.

"Well, how are you, little lady?" Mason knelt to scratch Joji, a practiced motion from one used to dogs. "She's a pretty little one, isn't she?" he asked rhetorically, examining the animal.

Joji looked up at Farrell as she let him scratch her. She put a paw on his hand and woofed happily before proceeding to lick his face. Gui laughed. "I think Joji likes you. She is a pretty little pup, though I think she uses her cute looks to get her way..." Nat whispered jokingly.

"She thinks I'm talking about you," Farrell said quietly, winking at the dog. "How 'bout that?"

The little corgi cocked her head curiously as she looked at Farrell, bemusement in her eyes. Gui looked from her pet to Farrell before remarking in Andorian to Joji a sly smile on her face, "Is he talking to you about me behind my back in secret?"

Still looking at the dog, Farrell replied in his best Andorian, "And now she's trying to get a secret message to you. Shh. It's our secret."

Joji looked between Farrell and Gui and sat down next to Farrell, resting her head on his knee. Nat chuckled and looked at Mason before remarking in Andorian, "Last time I try pulling that trick. You speak Andorian well. Does this mean whenever you and I take up that game of 'Go,' you're going to try and outwit me somehow?"

"Probably," Farrell answered, back in Standard. "We'll have to do that sometime. As it stands, though, I ought to get back to the office. I'm technically supposed to be on duty. Just took a quick bluegrass break, and then some would-be security officer roped me into going shooting," he winked.

"Okay, thanks again for all your help, and if you get yelled at for taking too long a break, you can blame it on a certain would-be security officer." Leaning forward Nathalie kissed Mason on the cheek before proceeding to stand to her full height., "You take care, I'll see you around." She smiled sheepishly before calling Joji to follow her out of the Holodeck.

---

"Visiting Hours, Part 3"
By: Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
and Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Ensign Storm's Quarters
Stardate 57907.09 18h34

***

Ethan Storm was half-inclined to ignore the door chirp and simply continued to stare up at the ceiling from his bunk. Since his arrest, Storm was enjoying a popularity that he hadn't experienced since his days as an Academy jock. Besides Commander Lyrr's terse visit, Farrell's easygoing interrogation, and the pleasant time with Shyla, Storm had been visited by no less than four other Starfleet personnel, mostly in a professional capacity regarding his current status. It was simply amazing that so many people now had some kind of stake in his welfare. If he had bothered to consider those particular ramifications of his actions on Risa, he might have left well enough alone.

The door chirped impatiently a second time, prompting Storm to rise from his bed and utter a softly spoken and slightly hesitant "Come."

As the door opened Benedict T'Kal stepped inside and halted. The door swished shut behind him and he regarded the young man staring at the sight of the Chief of Security standing in his doorway dressed in a totally black uniform. T'Kal's face was set in an inscrutable mask. His violet eyes gave no hint of any emotion, but he exuded an air of command. He put both hands behind his back and took a further step into the room.

For a moment he held Storms' gaze and then looked around at his standard issue quarters. "Tired of it yet?" he asked. There was no hint of levity in his tone.

"It's no less than I deserve, sir," Storm said, staring straight forward. He had only met T'Kal briefly just yesterday but he felt that he already had a fairly clear understanding of the man. The Lieutenant would appreciate the formality.

"I haven't had time to attend to your indiscretion, Ensign." He looked out the view port, taking his eyes off the other security officer for a moment. "I'm going to get right to the point." He turned back and fixed him with a stare that spoke volumes. "The next time you have the urge to go it alone and break every damned rule there is, I'm going to make certain that you're rostered permanently to standing watch over a dead end section of corridor on deck fifteen. Understood?"

"Aye, sir."

He stepped closer to the Ensign, walking softly but with the muscles of his jaw clenched. Benedict was angry. As Chief of Security he had to take responsibility for the actions of his security team. No matter what those actions were. The Captain was personally responsible for the actions of his crew, but it never would get that high in the chain of command. Benedict was Security Chief - he'd take personal responsibility for what Storm had done. As a new member of the Sulu's crew, and as a brand new senior officer, it would shame him in the eyes of Captain Salinger.

They were almost nose to nose by the time Benedict stopped. "Everything you do on or off this ship is my responsibility." He said the words gently, but there was menace in them. "When you break the rules, I break the rules. When you decide to take action on your own - it's me that faces the captain - not you. When the Risan authorities ask where we got the information from, I'm going to say that I authorized it. I have no choice Mister Storm. You put me in that position. Do you think I enjoy it?"

"No, sir."

"I won't allow the captain to be embarrassed. So in his absence I'm taking responsibility for what you did. So...do we have an understanding, Mister Storm?"

"No, sir."

Benedict snapped his head to glare at the man, though he detected no trace of insubordination. He was simply stating fact. He stood facing him with hands clasped behind his back and nodded. "You have something to say?"

Storm met T'Kal's glare and spoke clearly and evenly. "After meeting with Commander Lyrr this morning, I took the liberty of providing her with the detailed logs I kept during the planning and commission of my offense, sir. They clearly indicate that I acted alone and without the authorization of Starfleet or any superior officer aboard this ship. Furthermore, I was allowed a communication after my arrest and I have discussed this situation with one person off this ship. I would imagine that person has already taken steps to rectify this situation on my behalf."

Benedict looked down at the floor. He nodded thoughtfully. Ethan Storm's personnel file read like a who's who of Starfleet Brass. "Don't tell me..." Benedict said softly. "You went running to somebody with considerable influence..." He looked back with narrowed eyes. "You think by isolating yourself and then getting somebody to pull your ass out of the fire leaves everything just nice for everyone else?" It was a rhetorical question. He didn't expect an answer. "You think that Captain Salinger won't be held accountable just because it's the fabled son of a dead Starfleet hero that screws up?" He knew his words were cutting - they were meant to be. The Ensign thought that he was a manipulator - that he could get away with doing as he wanted - permission or not just because he was well connected. Benedict had known a man just like this one. The XO of the USS Galaxy had been an asshole too. The same kind of man and the same kind of methods. The old anger that he'd felt for Casey was directed against Storm. He'd initially thought a light punishment fit the crime - he'd gotten something useful after all, but not now. He'd gone way too far with his machinations.

Storm had 'taken liberties.' He hadn't even thought to follow the correct chain of command. By-passing Benedict had been a bad mistake. Going to Lyrr was tantamount to a personal insult. Storm reported to T'Kal. The anger was already smouldering in Benedict's violet gaze. He took a slight step backward. He looked away again, only enough time for the Ensign to think about his words for a few seconds. "Punishment detail will start at Midnight. You're on double shifts until further notice, Gamma and Alpha. Gamma watch you'll stand post in the Armoury. Alpha you'll be walking the decks. Consider yourself on detention duty - restricted to quarters when not on duty. And you can forget visitors." He turned his back on the man and looked out of the view port at the planet below. "I'll be putting in a recommendation for a Court Martial Inquiry."

He turned to see Storm's face for a reaction. There was none. "You want to float yourself out in space without a suit - fine. The real issue here, Ensign, is a simple one. If you'd discussed your actions with me - I would have let you do it. In fact you wouldn't have been on your own. You didn't trust me enough to come to me with it." He turned on Storm again with the accusation. "Did you?"

"I don't know you, sir," Storm said, truthfully.

"That's right. You don't. Believe me, Mister Storm - we're out to a very bad start." He turned on his heel and strode for the door.

"Sir?" Storm said before T'Kal got to the door.

Benedict stopped short and half turned.

"It was my mother, sir," Storm said, looking down at the deck. "As far as I know, she has no influence in Starfleet but I don't think that would stop her from trying. You should know that whatever she does, it's not at my request or instruction."

"You called your mother?" Benedict's query was delivered with a slight smirk. "War hero's widow asks for a favour? Please save my little boy?" He shook his head in complete disbelief. The man had no shame! He was using his own mother! "Face it like a man, Storm - keep your mother out of this." He turned away and walked out of Storm's quarters, the anger still boiling at the Ensign's audacity.

The door slid shut behind T'Kal, leaving Storm alone and in utter silence. Slowly, a grin broke across Storm's face and turned into a chuckle before growing into an out-and-out belly laugh that left Storm weak in his knees and leaning on a bureau for support.

Ethan's mother was the only surviving member of his immediate family and T'Kal had to know that. His communication with her had nothing to do with a desire for her to intervene on his behalf - Storm felt compelled to alert her about his misdeeds since they might cause her and their family name some degree of embarrassment. That T'Kal wasn't even interested in hearing an explanation seemed curious and strangely funny for a Security Chief. Security work depended on information and T'Kal seemed to want as little as possible.

Exhausted by too many visits during too long a day, Storm lay back down in his bunk and considered the aftermath to come. I may not have to serve with the man, he thought as he rolled to his side and closed his eyes. He found no comfort in that thought and sleep didn't find him for hours.

---

"Insight"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lieutenant Saavar
Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh

Location: USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.09, 18h45

***

Emotionally and physically drained beyond anything she'd ever experienced before, even during the one raid on a Cardassian base camp that lasted over three days, Lyrr crossed her arms atop her desk and dropped her forehead onto them. She was still on duty, but had missed her breakfast, lunch, and now it was almost past dinner as well.

Her mind was lethargic and her throat had grown hoarse from the constant chastisement particular members of the crew required. And matters were made worse knowing that Matt was lying unconscious and critically injured in a Risan medical facility.

Lyrr squeezed her eyes closed tighter and became assailed with thoughts of all the troubling aspects concerning the current investigation: The Cardassian sojourns in Farehn'ti space, and their mark on every clue that had turned up thus far, then Ensign Storm's hypothesis that Captain Salinger's stabbing and Ambassador V'ril's murder were directly linked to their presence. The Farehn'ti had praised Matt's negotiating skills, and Ambassador V'ril had made much progress with them as well - too much progress to someone with a vested interest in the failure of the negotiations. But the Cardassians weren't careless, and had left traces of their presence in every crime scene, which had Lyrr wondering if it was the Cardassians at all. Though, she always had known them to be arrogant bastards who would consider their implication in a murder a token to their greatness, so she wasn't quite ready to discount their involvement yet.

Lyrr sighed and clenched her eyes tighter and tighter until an explosion of stars spread over the darkness. One clue, one speck of DNA, one eyewitness who had actually seen the killer... That was all they needed, but had yet to receive. Even Lt. Tagliesh had been unable to aid them. All she could recall was the blood and the knife, moonlight from the rear window glinting off it, reflecting--

Lyrr froze and her mind raced to evaluate the plausibility of the path her thinking had veered onto, the feasibility of actually exploring that one option it presented. She sat upright and tapped on her combadge, summoning Lt. Saavar. "Lieutenant, are you free? I have something I wish to discuss."

"Of course, Commander." Saavar diverted his course to a turbo lift. "I will be there shortly." He ended the communication and it occurred to him that Lyrr may not be in her office. He tapped his communicator once again and said, "Computer what is the location of Commander Lyrr?"

"Commander Lyrr is presently in the captain's Ready Room," the polite female voice intoned.

As he stepped into the lift he said, "Bridge." And the lift set into motion. A few seconds later he emerged onto a quiet Bridge and proceeded to the Captain's Ready Room. He was summoned inside the moment he tapped the chime and he went straight in - standing just inside the door he assumed a position of attention and said, "You wanted to see me, Commander?"

Lyrr sighed and gestured for Saavar to seat himself. "I wished to ask something of you, Lieutenant...and it might be something of a delicate nature depending on how you feel about using your inherent abilities on another."

Saavar seated himself in the offered chair and nodded. "You are referring to my telepathic abilities?" He looked at her closely and saw how tired and drawn she was. The commander was pushing herself beyond the limits of her body. Given the circumstances he understood the need, and would have done so himself for duty's sake. Instead of leaping to lecture her on the etiquette of mind to mind contact he instead decided to listen to what she needed. "What is it that you require?"

Lyrr sighed, then chuckled weakly. "I don't even know," she admitted. "I thought of something...and I don't even know if it can be done..." Lyrr paused to focus her weary thoughts, then folded her hands tightly atop the desk and explained. "Lt. Tagliesh didn't see the attempted murderer... But she saw the knife. It's possible the individual holding that weapon had his or her face reflected in its surface, but Lt. Tagliesh may not have seen or noticed...or she might have, and she just doesn't remember. This is where you, hopefully, come in, Lieutenant."

Saavar nodded. What she was asking was delicate. It broached privacy, but it was possible. The thought of mind-melding with his superior officer, Lieutenant Tagliesh was disconcerting. In fact the woman in question was the last being in the universe that Saavar would have thought of melding with. Of course there were other side effects of a meld that non-Vulcans were not privy to. Saavar was approaching his seventh-year cycle at the end of this year - it was quite possible that the mental link would be formed between the two that he had with his own wife. It was a possibility he did not like. He frowned in thought as he considered the implications. He could not inform the commander of that possibility, as it was highly personal, and Vulcan males did not broach that subject with anyone.

Under other circumstances he would have immediately refused. However the diplomatic talks had reached a point where the Farehn'ti were about to join the Federation, and someone had attempted to murder the second ambassador for the Federation. Someone did not wish the talks to be successful, and Saavar's own research had shown him just how important this was. It was important enough for him to set aside his personal views. Was it important enough to form a bond with Xayella Tagliesh? The implications of that alone were enough to consider outright refusal.

He considered what he knew of Betazed telepathy and discounted that as an option - they were good at communication, but the imagery of memory wasn't that clear. It was too prone to personal interpretation. Saavar had the skill to do what was asked. It was a matter of duty. His captain's life might well be at stake - and as Commander Lyrr had stepped into the negotiations as proxy for Captain Salinger, her life might also be at risk. Lives were at stake and Saavar could not allow personal consequences to deter the correct course of action.

"What you are suggesting is possible," he said without inflection. "My personal views may be set aside in order to attempt to discover the killer. I am willing to assist you in whatever way I can." He looked squarely at the First Officer and continued, "I must point out however, that Lieutenant Tagliesh may not consent to a Mind Meld. If that is the case, I will not breach her privacy."

"I understand, Lieutenant," she answered. "I just need to know if, somewhere deep in her subconscious, she saw who was brandishing that knife. To catch the captain's killer, I'm certain Lt. Tagliesh would consent."

"Under the circumstances, Commander, I think it would be best if you broached the subject with her without my presence. Lieutenant Tagliesh and I have had difficulties..." He gave her a tight smile. "If there is anything that I can do to assist you, Commander - I am at your disposal. I have taken part in the diplomatic talks and the Farehn'ti have already accepted my presence. If I can relieve you of any burden during this difficult time, simply ask."

"Helping me get the identity of that assassin from Tagliesh's mind is more than enough, Lieutenant." Lyrr expressed her relief with a heavy sigh, then smiled at Saavar despite her weariness. "I'll speak with her immediately. Stand by for a transmission from me. I should be contacting you one way or the other within the hour." Before he could reply, she added, "And thank you, Lieutenant. This might just be the break we need."

"I hope so, Commander. I will await your response - I will prepare myself for the ordeal. Perhaps if it is to go ahead, you will bring the Lieutenant to my quarters and assist me. We will need solitude." He stood and nodded to her. "With your permission..."

At Lyrr's nod, he left the Ready Room feeling a deep anxiety over his decision. The future consequences could be formidable, yet he had to set that aside. He would need all the time he could get to prepare his mind for what he might have to do. His revulsion of the Human woman had to be suppressed - but it was a mind meld and they would share deeply of each other in a way that was uncommon to either of them.

***

In his quarters Saavar sat on a cushion wearing dark robes of Vulcan design. A single candle burned before him and he stared un-blinkingly at the flickering flame. He mentally repeated a mantra that helped to calm his mind. He had to retain his logical thought processes during the meld to bring about the discoveries that were needed. He had to be able to lead Xayella Tagliesh to the place where a great emotional trauma had occurred and he had to make her relive it moment by moment. It would not be simple - nor would it be easy. The emotional stresses alone gave it a dimension of difficulty beyond Saavar's previous training could anticipate. Vulcans did not readily agree to melding with other species. He fervently hoped that he had not over-stated his competency.

He waited in silence. The minutes flowing by as he prepared himself for the ordeal. After a time, the voice of Commander Lyrr cut through the tranquil ambience he had created for himself. "Lieutenant, we're on the ship now. We'll be arriving at your quarters in a few minutes. Is everything ready?"

"Yes, Commander. I await you," he answered the communicator. He used the candle to light a stick of incense. The curling strand of sweet scented smoke rose almost immediately and he waved a hand through it toward his face breathing it deeply and he began the final preparations.

The chirping door chime was an imposing one compared to the absolute silence once achieved, and after the summons to enter came, the door slid away to reveal Commander Lyrr, and a stubborn-looking, though rather nervous Lieutenant Tagliesh. She kept her cheek turned to Saavar and her mouth puckered in an expression of defiance. It had taken Lyrr considerable effort to convince the lieutenant to leave Matt's side, but after offering the opportunity to help discover his attacker, Xayella had agreed. Now, the rest was up to Saavar.

"Just tell us where you want us, Lieutenant," Lyrr said gently.

Saavar motioned to the cushion directly before him. The room was darkened, only the light of a single candle showed the room. It was warm, comfortable and lacked distractions of any kind. Even the view port was darkened. He waited until Xayella Tagliesh had made herself comfortable and then looked up into her eyes. He was totally dispassionate. He could sense her nervousness and distress - her face drawn with worry and fatigue still held defiance.

"Lieutenant," he began in a soft voice that held no emotion. "A Vulcan mind-meld is a very private thing. I will not continue if it is not totally by your consent. Do you enter into this with your own free will?"

Tagliesh shrugged. "If I know something I can't recall, then I want to find out."

Saavar nodded. "Very well. Please close your eyes and concentrate upon my voice." He reached out and touched her face. She flinched as his fingers made contact with the nerve centers at her temple, cheek and neck. Both hands held her lightly and Saavar closed his eyes. The mantra began and he could feel the woman's pulse under his fingers quickening as he brought their minds into sync. "My mind to your mind," he whispered. "Your thoughts to my thoughts..."

Her mind was awash in fear. She was only doing this for Matthew Salinger and for vengeance against the one who tried to kill him. She recoiled from Saavar's touch and intimacy, yet forced herself to undertake the ritual. All this came to Saavar as he brought them closer together in the Vulcan mind-meld.

Xayella's gaze remained fixed to Saavar's expressionless face without truly focusing on it. She concentrated only on suppressing her panic at the invasion, at the violation she could not free herself from even if she so chose to. If she cowered now, any knowledge held in her subconscious mind would never be freed, and Matt's killer would continue to roam. But that was not enough to make the experience any less disconcerting. She watched Saavar's lips move, but heard no sound come from them; only in her mind did she hear his voice, and it filled her head in a painfully deafening volume.

Xayella's breathing grew ragged and her mind wished to rebel, but her body refused to follow. So, there she remained, motionless and helpless, while Saavar's words echoed within her. What do I do? she tried to say, but she only managed a whimper.

Saavar's mind shifted and like a perfect pattern their minds linked. His very essence flowed through the link, his personality and his thoughts all came together in a picture of who he was. Saavar the Vulcan, Saavar the man, Saavar the husband and the son, the scientist, explorer, lover and father. As she knew him and the totality of his being - he too knew her.

All was made visible to him as well, her passion for Matt, and the love he had inspired in her heart, one she'd thought forever cold and dead. His smile was ever-present, and was associated with every memory of him she had. Those cherished lips moved, spoke her name, and Xayella called back. Their every night spent together was there, and again she spoke his name, and he hers, this time in voices united by passion just as their bodies were.

Xayella's mind relaxed as she surrendered to her memories of Matt, and allowed them to play out, while accompanied by every emotion she'd experienced then: love, desire, raw passion and hunger. Again, she cried out Matt's name, but there was no ecstasy associated with it now, only fear and sadness...only pain.

"No..." she murmured, though in her mind, she screamed it. Her vision filled with thick, red blood, and Xayella blinked it away. The glinting light off the blade of the knife stabbed at her eyes, just as the weapon did the same to Matt's chest. Xayella called out to him again, but her physical

voice stuck in her throat, coming out only as a choked sob.

Lyrr looked on from a distance away, completely absorbed in that act, and worried. "What's happening?" she whispered.

The Commander's question went unanswered as Saavar focused his mind upon the moment brought to the fore by Xayella's. He gave her his strength - the training to suppress emotions. Her confusion and anguish faded as Saavar's logical mind aided her to face the moment again - this time analytically. He accepted the strength of her emotions and the love she had for the Sulu's captain, her need to be in control and what he believed was her ultimate desire to be controlled.

Her distress was almost overwhelming her, and he soothed her, comforted her as a father would a child. He was drawn to her anguish and calmed the storm of her emotion so that together they could face the moment of the knife.

Minutes of silence went by as Lyrr stared at the two of them, locked in a mental embrace. Saavar's brow furrowed and sweat beaded on his lip with the intensity of his concentration. Xayella's face calmed and her breathing became more normal.

Now... Saavar's thoughts formed the words in her mind and his as they totally shared the experience. We see the knife. The moment of the raised knife was suddenly a still image. They were staring at the whole view - emotions suppressed by Saavar's training.

Xayella's mind instinctively moved the scene forward. The knife arched through the air, catching the light of the moon, then hurtled towards Matt's sleeping body. It stopped a hair's breadth from his chest before it could connect, then the scene reversed itself. Again, it paused itself at the previous point, with the weapon raised.

I don't want to see it again, Xayella's mind pleaded. I've seen already...every time I close my eyes.

Slowly. The knife poised to strike. Only the knife. The image stilled. The room was in darkness - but the light through the window reflected from the blade. Only the knife, Saavar's mind intoned.

The knife, she repeated, and focused on only the shining blade.

It moved downwards again, but got no farther than the last time before being pulled up again. Once more it flew through the air, but an even shorter distance than previously achieved. The sequence of rise, fall, rise again repeated itself, until the knife halted one last time and remained there, slightly level with the perpetrator's face but angled away from it. Xayella stared at it, following the knife's edge to its tip, where a pinpoint of gleaming moonlight had collected.

What... Her eyes wandered to the flat of the blade, where eyes different from her own stared back. Xayella gasped in her mind. I see, she whispered. I can see...something!

Yes. Saavar's training dampened her emotive responses. He looked out of her mind - saw with her eyes and focused his own analytical mind on the eyes within the blade.

They were oval in shape, coming to sharp points at the tips, giving them an almost exotic quality. The lashes curled out from the stranger's eyelids, and ran long and dark, not unlike the eyes, which were a fathomless brown and exuded nothing but cold apathy. The nose curved delicately down from the forehead...the ridged forehead coloured like her own, not the pallid gray of a Cardassian, as it should have been. The prominent ridges arching just above the stranger's thinly sculpted eyebrows disappeared beneath the edge of the cowl, running towards the assassin's temples. Collins was human, and had no such formations on her forehead, though a disguise...?

Xayella gasped, and shook her head, dismissing that possibility immediately. The rest of the face was familiar, though the name escaped her. She searched through her mind's store of names, but none matched. Though, one thing did.

Oh God, she breathed. They...they said... They said they wanted to surprise him...with a party. But they didn't! This...this was the surprise!

Yes, he thought. It was clearly a Farehn'ti face. He even knew the woman's name... Jen'shu Viata - one of the Ryuck delegation. We have succeeded, he said. I know the attacker.

Gently he began the separation. This was the trickiest part of any mind-meld involving a non-Vulcan. He did it slowly and with great care, but knew that there were lasting effects for both of them. He could not extricate his memories from hers - and neither could he take hers from him - or the intimate knowledge they both shared of each other. Saavar also knew that the mental bond they shared was deeper than the human woman would ever really know. Vulcans were bonded to their mates in this fashion - as Saavar had been bonded to his own wife - until now.

She had not the training to feel the bond - but he did. In the very depth of his mind she would be there - until he could re-establish his bond with his wife. It was something that he kept from Xayella as they became two rather than one mind. He also placed a suggestion that she sleep. She would require it. Her mind was already accepting the suggestion as he slipped away from her contact.

His fingers released her and he opened his eyes. Xayella was sitting still with her eyes closed, a peaceful expression on her face as Saavar turned to Commander Lyrr.

"It was Jen'shu Viata of the Ryuck delegation." He stated the fact with no doubt at all. "She is the assassin." He was pleased that they had been successful - but he still had to pay a price for it. He kept that to himself as he said, "Lieutenant Tagliesh will require sleep. I recommend that she be transferred to her quarters for at least twelve hours."

Lyrr nodded absently, her brow furrowed slightly in bewilderment. "Lieutenant Saavar... Is it possible that the Lieutenant's mind simply concocted the image of Minister Viata? I want you to be very clear on this. An allegation like attempted murder is not something I wish to make unless there is not a single doubt that what Lieutenant Tagliesh thinks she saw, and what she did see were one and the same."

"Lieutenant Tagliesh's memory of the event is clear. I have no doubt. It also explains many things in relation to the diplomatic talks up to now. Minister Viata has been less than cooperative and has brought many a day's discussion to a close with further provocation toward the Opai faction. Make no mistake - she is the assassin. Also I would judge that she is extremely dangerous. As a minister, a representative of her government, does she not also hold diplomatic immunity within the Federation?"

Lyrr sighed. "She does. And openly accusing her could prove disastrous to the negotiations, and Federation relations with the Farehn'ti. Which means I will need to contact Starfleet for instructions before we do anything. I know I can trust you to keep your findings confidential, Lieutenant," she said with a pointed look at the Vulcan.

"Of course, Commander." He paused in thought, then turned back to her. "May I make a suggestion?" He waited for her to nod and continued. "We now know who the assassin is - and she does not know that we know. It is possible that we could lay a trap for her. It would be logical to assume that you would be her next target - as you have taken over Captain Salinger's role with the delegation. We could catch her in the act - expose her and allow her own people to deal with her."

Lyrr chuckled slightly uncomfortably, then cleared her throat and regained her composure. "If...you believe I might be next, then by all means monitor me at all times. But lay a trap? I don't see how you would go about doing that."

Saavar smiled with confidence. "Arrange to stay on Risa - alone. We will secretly install transporter inhibitors at the location that will be activated once she beams in. We can also arrange for a force-field generator to surround you simultaneously. I am sure our security department can supply the necessary personnel to handle her once caught. A mouse trap with yourself as the bait would be an analogy."

Lyrr sighed. "What if they don't go for it? And besides, I'm to just sit around, and wait to be attacked, while I could be aiding in the investigation? I'm not even mediating the negotiations; I'm simply providing updates and settling any disputes that may arise while Starfleet's appointed negotiator arrives." She paused, knowing his plan in itself was one method of contributing to the investigation, even though it would feel like a cheap victory if it worked, and Lyrr preferred to do things the hard way. It was more satisfying somehow, but the matter was far too important to discount a perfectly fine plan simply to cater to her preferences. Though, she did like to think it was possible....

"If they are truly after me," Lyrr reasoned, "then even if I don't remain in my room until the evening, your plan could still work, correct? And it would prove a better plan if I were to not remain in my room at all times. That would only rouse suspicions. So instead, I leave for the day to carry out my investigation, then return at night, giving the assassin and opportunity to strike if they so choose. Would that suffice, Lieutenant?"

Saavar nodded. "Commander, they would not be 'after' you unless you took an active role in the negotiation process. I believe that the assassin would not see you as a target unless you were made a part of that process. Perhaps Starfleet Command would consent to allowing you to continue Captain Salinger's role until the replacement arrives? I would be able to assist you in that regard. If they believe that you are to do that - then the assassin would have to strike again. You need fear only night time - that is when the assassin strikes - she is part of the delegation during the day. If it were clear that you spend each night on the Sulu - except for a single occasion that they knew about in advance - it would narrow the window of opportunity to strike. That is when we would lay the trap."

"Is it not enough that I am now taking an active role in this investigation?" Lyrr asked. "Would that not in itself make me a threat worthy of being extinguished?"

"No, sir," Saavar shook his head. "Obviously she feels invincible in that regard. Besides, she would have to kill the Sulu's entire compliment of security officers who are also involved in the investigation. It is not a personal threat that will lure this killer - it is the threat of a successful conclusion to the talks that she fears. The Farehn'ti are very close to an agreement. Captain Salinger has brought them this far - I believe that playing upon their emotions - trying to conclude the talks in the captain's name - telling them that it will give him the added will to live perhaps...." He shrugged. "An attempt to draw the talks to an end will result in a reaction. In the mean-time, we should try to discern why this minister is attempting to blame the Cardassians - or whether she is acting with the Cardassian Union. What possible advantage would an alliance with the Cardassians bring? We should not ignore the larger picture - knowing their ultimate goal will allow us to anticipate their actions."

"That, and the new evidence we have just received, is what I'll be speaking to Starfleet about shortly," Lyrr told him. "I cannot proceed until I have conferred with them." She paused, and looking upon Lt. Tagliesh, sighed. "I'll escort her to her room. And, thank you, Lieutenant. I promise I will not make such a request of you again."

Saavar nodded. "The situation demanded it, Commander. You should not promise such things - if the situation were to arise again - it would be a rash promise to make." He looked at the still quiescent Chief of Science and the errant thought that she had never been this quiet in his presence before crossed his mind. He smiled. Perhaps she would be less inclined to show her distaste of him in future...but he doubted it. He truly wished her well - it was difficult to dislike someone who was in such distress - and who loved so deeply. It was a powerful emotion and Saavar was still trying to come to terms with the feelings that Xayella's mind had conveyed so easily.

"Allow her to sleep long, Commander - she truly needs the rest." He turned to Lyrr and looked at her seriously. "I would recommend that the Lieutenant see a counsellor - she requires support but will not ask for it. She has a great deal of pride and not many people that she trusts to help her."

"I'll ask Counsellor Scott to see her." Lyrr came up beside Xayella and gently laid a hand down upon her shoulder.

The science officer inhaled deeply, then opened her eyes. Her gaze fell and rested on Saavar, and as their eyes locked, Xayella was overcome by an inexplicable, highly perplexing sense of familiarity on a level far too intimate for her liking. It was beginning to equate with staring deeply into the eyes of a lover and, shuddering, Xayella was forced to look away.

"I'll take you to your room," Lyrr said softly.

Xay nodded absently, still recovering from the telepathic experience with Saavar. It took her only a moment longer to realize that she didn't wish to go to her room. "Matt," she muttered. "I'm going to see Matt."

"Lt. Saavar recommends rest," Lyrr advised her, and Xayella shook her head vehemently.

"Matt," she reiterated, and the stubborn determination in her eyes warned Lyrr it would be an arduous task encouraging her to reconsider, so she relented with a sigh.

"You should still rest, even while at Captain Salinger's side." Surprisingly, Lyrr received a grudging nod. The commander helped Xayella to her feet, and grasping her elbow gently began steering her towards the door. "Thank you again, Lieutenant," Lyrr told Saavar over her shoulder.

Saavar accompanied them as far as the door and watched them leave. He knew that the separation Xay was feeling was almost a physical pain. He chided himself on the use of the familiarity with her name - even if it came naturally to his thoughts he could not allow it to reach his lips. He went back to his bed and reclined - far from sleep, he mulled over the collage of memories that had been traded with the meld.

It would take almost the entire night for him to regain absolute control of his emotions again. By morning he would be relaxed and refreshed, as Vulcans are able to do - meditate in place of sleep when the need arose.

---

"Keeping Promises"
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ensign Kit Markham; Flight Control Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Operations Office
Stardate 57907.09, 18h50

***

Mason walked into the Ops office from his time on the Holodeck with Gui, sat behind the desk, keyed up his workscreen, and buried his head in his hands. He extended his left hand, saw the visible tremor, and clenched it into a fist. The fist occupied his attention for several minutes, his heart and mind racing. It had started when he shot the Vulcan holo-fighter. He had wanted it to be casual, but something had twinged. Now here he was, staring at his fist, wishing the shakes away. At last the episode slowed, and Mason took some deep breaths and shook his head to clear it.

"Ice water," he said absently to the replicator, which beeped, the requested beverage shimmering into form. The glass was heavy and vaguely cubical. It felt solid; a nice feeling. The cold water helped to clear his thoughts, and he considered for a moment the recent event.

Post-Traumatic Stress? he wondered to himself. But wasn't it too soon for something like that to manifest? And wasn't the shootout over too quickly? He hadn't even had time to register fear while being shot. He replayed the action of the morning in his mind, and decided the whole thing had taken about three seconds from the time he tried to force the door to the time he had been hit. Once hit, the attackers had beamed out, he had signaled Sulu, and then he had blacked out. At no time had he been afraid. It had hurt beyond anything he'd ever felt before; beyond even the test-stun he'd been subjected to in the Academy. But it hadn't scared him.

Until now. Now, just a few minutes ago, he'd had a panic attack. Damn. He'd need to see a counselor. He clenched the fist again. Damn. They'd dig around in his brain and make him go over and over and over it. He slammed the fist into the desk, a single sharp blow of frustration. Damn. No, he finally decided. It would pass. He'd done post-traumatic counseling after Jan's death, and he knew how it worked. He'd use the old tools they'd taught him then, and stay out of Counseling. He'd been Ranger's prime head-case, and he'd be damned if he was going to be Sulu's as well. After Starbase 242 he'd promised himself he'd be strong. Now it was time to keep that promise. Which meant he needed to do something else and stop wallowing in his own mental damage.

"Computer, location of Ensign Markham?"

"Ensign Markham is in his quarters."

Good. He'd get this over with, then. "Ensign Farrell to Ensign Markham. Please come to the Operations office."

Kit looked up from his guitar, slightly perplexed. He tapped his communicator. "On my way," he said. "Markham out." With that, he ventured off toward the Sulu's Ops office.

He entered the Ops office to the sound of Ragtime piano, which Farrell quickly dialed down, motioning to a chair.

"Hey," he said affably. "Mason Farrell. Pleased to meet you." He rose and extended a hand.

Kit shook Farrell's hand and nodded. "Kit Markham."

"Please." Farrell indicated a chair. Kit glanced at the chair, and then sat.

"I guess we're roommates," Farrell said. "I just started moving in this morning. I had to shift some stuff off the spare bunk, but I tried to be gentle. I hope I didn't mess anything up." In retrospect, that might not have been the best way to put it, Farrell thought. Not given what he was about to say.

"Oh, it was fine," Kit answered. "I wondered what'd happened in there. The guitar was where I left it, so everything was keen. So, roommates. I thought I was gonna have the place to myself when Daniel was transferred. Should be fun. I'll try not to let my things spread out too much."

"Good," Farrell nodded, then took a deep breath. "We need to talk, Kit."

Kit glanced around, curious. "Sure."

"This morning I crashed in the room, and Amy Reese showed up. Apparently she was looking for you, and...." The words started coming slower. "The room was dark, and she didn't know I was assigned to the room, so when she saw that someone was in a bed, she assumed it was you. Um." Farrell clearly had more to say, and appeared to be figuring out how to phrase it.

Kit's eyes narrowed slightly, and his jaw clenched and unclenched. "Go ahead," he said, his voice tight.

"So, she climbed into bed with me." Farrell decided on the direct approach. "Nothing much happened. She thought I was you, and I was half asleep, and we kissed. A bit. But then I woke up and she realized I wasn't you, and we broke it up. She asked me to tell you. She was really embarrassed."

"She told me about it on the beach today," Kit said once Farrell was finished. "She was pretty miserable. She said something happened, but wouldn't go into details. We're going to try to work through things."

"Good," said Farrell. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Kit said.

"We talked for a while, Amy and I, apologizing to each other. But then she started talking about you. She feels really bad about what she's done to you. But I've got to ask, have you ever actually told her that she's hurt you?"

"Not in so many words, I guess," Kit answered. "It hurt, and she knew it hurt. I didn't say it, but...but I felt it. After something like that...she was...I didn't feel like making her feel even worse than she already did."

"I'm no counselor" --Farrell shook his head-- "but speaking solely as an observer, it seems like you really ought to lay that out for her. If you two are going to try, as you say, to work through things, you've got to both know where to start from. You've got to tell her how you feel. Tell her you love her--you do love her, right?"

"Actually, no, I just stay with her because I like how she smells after a bath." Kit laughed. "Of course I love her. I'd be a fool not to love her. She's got problems, but who doesn't? Yes, I love her, with all my heart."

Mason smiled and nodded. "Then tell her that, but let her know she's hurt you. She's got to know, and that means you've got to say it. I told Amy this, and I don't know how accurate it is, but the way I see it part of her problem may just be that she's trying to see when you'll finally react. She's like a little kid" --Farrell sat back in his chair-- "she's trying to find the limits, just like we all do. Within those limits, you'll both be safe. But you've got to actually set some limits, and let her know where they are, or you'll both just hurt each other more."

"When I was growing up, I had a dog," Kit said. "One time Bark --- I wasn't very original in the whole naming area --- left us a treat in the middle of the floor. He knew he was bad, and didn't show up until well after dinner. We found his little present earlier in the morning. So, when he finally came around --- the poop was long since cleaned up, because who leaves a pile of poop in the middle of the floor for an entire day? --- but I gave him a scolding like you wouldn't believe. Afterwards, my mom explained something to me: Nathanial --- for some reason, she always called me that --- Nathanial, she says, you really shouldn't punish Bark for what he's done so long after he's done it. He made his mess a long time ago, and now...he just doesn't know what he did wrong." Kit sighed. "Basically, I guess what I'm trying to say is, Amy and I have already talked about this, I know what happened --- after a fashion --- and I don't think it would be fair to her now to run back and say, 'Oh, by the way, I'm really ticked off. Just FYI.' I don't think that'd be right."

"Fair enough," Farrell said. "Like I said, I'm not a counselor; I just told Amy I'd talk to you, that's all. And I wanted to make sure the air was clear between me and you. We've got to sleep in the same room, after all," he finished with a friendly smile.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Kit said. "Just...if anything happens, in the future, leave the room or something. She's seeing a counsellor and...just...encouragement is bad, that's all."

Farrell leaned on one arm of his chair, fixing Kit with an intent look. "Kit, repeat after me: Don't touch my girl again, Mason."

"I'm not sure if you've exactly noticed, but I'm not that much of a powerhouse. I'm in shape, but...when I warn someone off something, usually the first reaction is to laugh. I don't believe in making threats I can't back up. Though, touch her again, and I'll commemorate it in a song that'll leave you wishing you'd been born a eunuch."

"Close enough," Farrell chuckled. "Amy's off limits. You got it."

"Good," Kit said. "And, thanks. I know it must not have been easy to talk to me here...like this."

"It wasn't what I woke up this morning really wanting to do, but I'm glad we could actually talk about it. You two ought to go see a real counselor, though."

"We're planning on it," Kit answered. "We haven't made our first appointment yet, but we're planning on talking to a counsellor. We want this to work, and...well, it'll be good to talk to someone."

"Good. Well," Farrell said, indicating his workscreen, "I've got reports to compile. Thanks for coming down. And counselor or not, you can always talk to me, if nobody else," he smiled again.

Kit nodded. "Yeah, sure," he said. "Thanks." With that, he stood and started toward the door.

"Oh, Kit!" Farrell called, seeming to remember something.

Kit turned. "Yeah?"

"Your dog, Bark. Did he ever poop on the rug again after that day?"

"He was a dog," Kit answered. "He pooped wherever he wanted. He didn't poop on that particular rug again though."

"Just curious," Farrell said. "Have a good night."

"You too," Kit said, then shook his head with a laugh. "See ya later." With that he turned and left the office.

---

"Scientific Tactics"
By: Ensign Ai'Pal - Science Officer
and Lieutenant Saavar - Deputy Chief of Science

Location: USS Sulu, Recreation Lounge
Stardate 57907.09 19h05

***

Ensign Ai'Pal had been pondering his move for some time, but his opponent's strategy was flawless. The Vulcan had been playing this particular game of chess, with himself, for some months now and much preferred to sit and calculate the different options available than actually move any of the pieces. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't found an opponent worth playing yet.

With most people being on shore leave - he would no doubt have to wait a while longer.

Saavar saw the solitary Vulcan staring at his chess pieces from across the lounge. He had a stiff pose, obviously meditating over the moves without needing to carry them out. He hadn't met the man - but had seen the Beta shift roster and knew him to be Ai'Pal, assigned to lab two. Saavar decided to introduce himself - if Ai'Pal really wanted to be alone to meditate he would have done so in his quarters rather than in a room designed for crew interaction.

He stepped up to the man's table and stood quietly until he was noticed.

Ai'Pal did not need to turn around. Engrossed as he was in the game, he had noticed a fellow Vulcan approach his table from the other side of the lounge. The man had respected his privacy by making a subtle approach, for which he in turn would show his respect.

"Greetings, Sir," he said as he stood and turned to his fellow Vulcan. "My name is Ai'Pal. I am an Ensign within the science team. Would you care to join me?"

Saavar inclined his head momentarily and pulled out a chair. As he sat he said, "Certainly, I am Saavar - also of science. I am relatively new to the Sulu, please do not stand on formality here, Ai'Pal. Well met - would you be interested in a game or conversation?"

"On this occasion, I would prefer to converse. This game still remains unresolved, for which I anticipate will be the case for some time. Allow me to ask you a question. Do you find Humans to be a curious species? I have studied their behaviour throughout the Academy and my last posting and find their behaviour to be most illogical. I cannot understand how a group of people survive by basing decisions on gut feelings. They put too much faith in emotion."

Saavar smiled. "Have you encountered the Chief of Science yet?"

"Yes I have." If the Vulcan was capable, he would have looked puzzled. "I am intrigued as to why you are smiling, Saavar. Are you not trained to control your emotions?"

Saavar nodded. "Yes I am trained to suppress my emotions like all Vulcans, Ai'Pal. I can also choose to accept some of them. I smile because your reaction to Humans is similar to the misgivings that I too displayed to a fellow crewmember after my own meeting with the emotional Chief of Science. Did she take an immediate dislike to you?"

"I get the feeling that the Lieutenant did not appreciate my presence. Is she like that often?"

"I have not as yet encountered her in a fully rational state of mind. It is disturbing that she is ranked above us. I have taken the view to remain as far away from her presence as possible. I get more work done that way!" Saavar watched the expressionless face of his Vulcan companion and knew that he had taken his training to the absolute limit. There would be little to distinguish his personality from a computer. Vulcan had gained much - but lost so much!

"She could learn much from the discipline of Kolinar. If she could control her emotions, rather than being controlled by her emotions. When I think of Earth's history, I cannot help but to compare it to our own. The difference between our two cultures is that Humans are still partial to emotional outbursts and, more importantly, conflict."

Saavar nodded. He'd been through this argument before - it was like listening to an endless feed-back loop.

"However, I believe that it is Lieutenant Tagliesh that will wish to be out of my presence. I cannot be angered or frustrated, neither can I fear her, so she has no advantage over me."

Saavar smiled. He almost laughed - but he did refrain from showing that much emotion. "I agree that she is not an object of fear," Saavar nodded. "Do not underestimate her ability to frustrate," he added. "She has already diverted me from useful pursuits to areas of inexplicable and illogical research."

"I wish to ask you another question. What is your reason for choosing to display your emotions? Your decision seems illogical to me."

Saavar nodded. "It may seem that way. My specialty is communication. This includes all aspects of body language and nuance of conversation. Starfleet is dominated by Humans and other emotive races who absorb approximately ninety percent of their communication visually. Without emotive cues they have a tendency to misconstrue or even outright ignore efforts to communicate that are quite logical. I have found that it is far easier to mimic their own methods of communication. It is not that I truly feel the emotions that I convey - it is simply that I have learned when to add the appropriate facial and body expressions." It was an outright lie that came easy for Saavar. He simply did not wish to let another Vulcan know that his father was Romulan - or that he actually enjoyed releasing some emotions.

Being a half-Romulan was enough to gain disdain from most Vulcans. It was like admitting that he was only half-sentient as far as true Vulcans were concerned. Not that there was any difference in either species - only that one had learned to revel in their emotions and the other learned to ignore them.

Ai'Pal took a moment to study his opponent. Saavar was a peculiar one, to make light of breaking the Discipline was illogical. There was something about this Vulcan that didn't calculate.

"Yes," he said, "I can see how that may benefit your communication process. If you would excuse me, sir, I have many science logs to review and would like to get a head start. It has been an interesting conversation, one that I hope may be repeated in the near future."

"Of course," Saavar nodded.

Ai'Pal stood and walked from the recreation lounge, leaving Saavar to his thoughts

Saavar watched him go. It would be interesting to see how Tagliesh handled two Vulcans - Ai'Pal was certainly typical of the race. His explanation to Ai'Pal regarding his use of emotive body language hadn't satisfied him. He had given it away by his stressing interesting - adding meaning and emphasis in the only way that a fully trained Vulcan would. Even that inflection was emotive. He looked back at the chess board - Ai'Pal's exercise in logical thought was to make each move mentally - keeping track of the pieces successively until a conclusion was reached. He'd said that the game remained unresolved - that happened regularly if the only person you played against was yourself.

---

"Creatively Yours"
By: Ensign Ainsley Chambers; Counselor

Location: USS Sulu, Ensign Chambers' Quarters
Stardate 57907.09 20h15

***

The doorchime sounded.

Ainsley was just stepping out of the shower. I wonder who that could be, she thought. It was too late for it to really be company. She wrapped the towel around herself and looked out into the sitting area. Her roommate was not in. "Computer who is standing at my door?" she asked, drying off and heading to her room to pull on some clothes.

"There is no-one outside these quarters," the computer responded.

"Hmmm..." Whoever it was must have changed their mind about coming to see her. Or maybe they had the wrong room. She shrugged and pulled on some boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

The chime sounded again.

She walked over to the door of her room and looked out into the sitting room. She didn't know what she was really expecting to see though. Someone must be playing a trick on me! She decided to stop it right here before it went any further. She walked over to the door and ordered it open.

Sitting in the corridor, tied to a small box that weighted it to the floor, was a bunch of brightly colored balloons. She looked at the collection of balloons, a little bit puzzled. What were they doing out there in the hallway? After a moment she let a smile come to her lips; balloons were one of her favourite things. When she was a child they were the things she had always loved best about parties.

She took a quick look up and down the corridor, hoping to catch a glimpse of who might have left them. The hallway was deserted. She sighed and grabbed the bunch by their intertwined strings, and quickly pulled them inside.

Once the door had closed behind her again she stood back and looked at them again. She couldn't take the smile off her face now; she always liked a good surprise. She picked up the small box and opened it. Inside were a number of candies nestled in crinkled paper cups. She smelled them. They smelled like chocolate. She took one out of the box and popped it into her mouth. They were the best tasting candies she'd had in ages.

She untied the balloons from the box and placed the box down on the living room table. She held the strings of the balloons in her hand now and looked up at the balloons. They were a rainbow of different colours and, like most balloons, you could see through them slightly. On closer inspection she noticed that one of the balloons had an odd piece of...of...something inside of it. She then took a closer look at the other balloons and realized that they all had something in them.

She tried to see if she could make out what they were through the balloon. They were obviously little pieces of paper but beyond that she couldn't tell. She burst each of the balloons and then collected up all the papers and brought them over to the sitting room table. Then, sitting on the floor, she tried to figure out what they all were.

The small pieces of paper were all oddly shaped and had writing on them. As she arranged them on the table she noticed that they seem to fit together like a sort of puzzle. She put them all together and then she could read the message that was written on them:

"I would be honored if you would meet me in Holodeck One at 00h30. Bring your circa 1940 dancing shoes."

Ainsley read it over a couple of times, then turned over each piece of paper to see if there was any signature or sign of who had sent them. She was absolutely intrigued. Who would have gone to such lengths to invite her out dancing? With a smile she leaned back in her chair. She did have a slight idea of who it might be.

---

"Renewed Confidence"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Admiral Gordon [NPC]

Location: Lyrr's office, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.09, 21h00

***

Saavar's mind meld with Lieutenant Tagliesh had given Tayla some answers she needed, but ones she would rather have not received. Cardassian involvement was far easier to take than knowledge that the Farehn'ti themselves had perpetrated the crimes; it made the situation an even more delicate one than previously. The Farehn'ti had no treaties with the Federation, no pacts that would prevent war if they were confronted, and considering the Farehn'ti had now proven untrustworthy, the Federation had no idea what technology they had hidden the existence of, and how formidable an opponent that technology might make them if the situation escalated to outright conflict. Lyrr refused to proceed until she had spoken with Starfleet Command, especially considering all she really had to go on was Xayella Tagliesh's subconscious memories. The entire matter was growing more convoluted by the moment.

Lyrr fidgeted anxiously as she waited for Admiral Gordon to come on-screen. She feared the lecture she would receive when the woman appeared, and steeled herself for it.

It was another minute before the Federation crest was replaced with the aged face of Admiral Gordon. She offered Commander Lyrr a tight smile. After inclining her head in greeting, she shifted in her seat, leaning forward slightly. "Commander Lyrr," she said. "I understand you have further information in the negotiations between the Federation and the Farehn'ti. Captain Salinger, how is he? Have your security teams been able to determine who's behind this?"

Lyrr felt momentarily disoriented by the seeming barrage of questions, but a deep breath helped her regain focus. "Captain Salinger's condition is unchanged, Admiral. Though he does remain stable. As requested, I informed the Farehn'ti delegation that another representative from Starfleet would be arriving in due time to resume the negotiations." Lyrr paused, having rehearsed her exact wording beforehand, but now completely forgetting how to inform the Admiral of her troubling findings. She noticed the Admiral watching her intently, and knew not to keep her waiting. Lyrr managed to finally snap back into focus. "The investigation is... Well...it's going well, but there are some very startling discoveries we've made recently, Admiral."

"I'm not very fond of startling discoveries." Admiral Gordon offered a tight smile. "As a matter of fact, I've always hated surprises. Do explain, Commander."

"Yes, Admiral," she replied. "It would seem that our initial hypothesis regarding the Cardassians' involvement in the murder of Ambassador V'ril, and the captain's attack is proving false...or at least doubtful. We have had a witness give us a positive identification on the individual who attacked Captain Salinger. Though, I am uncertain how to proceed, Admiral, considering..."

"Go ahead, Commander. This is a private, secure channel. You may feel free to say what you will; there will be no repercussions for any suppositions you may make. Who do you believe is behind the attack?"

Lyrr sighed and lowered her voice. "Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh, through the aid of a mind meld performed by our Lieutenant Saavar has identified Minister Jen'shu Viata of the Farehn'ti delegation as the woman who attacked Captain Salinger. We have no solid evidence yet to suggest she was also behind the murder of Ambassador V'ril, nor do we have any idea if the other members of the Farehn'ti delegation are aware of her actions, or if they were at all involved. I contacted you, Admiral because...I really don't know how to proceed."

"It is a very difficult situation," the admiral said. "We will need to proceed very carefully, that is for certain. Telepathic evidence is certainly one of the most difficult to use in the courts. She will need to be questioned, but the matter will require delicate handling. It may be best to politely approach the head of the Farehn'ti. Request a meeting with Minister Viata and himself. It will be best to make this sort of accusation with as few people around as possible."

"Yes, Admiral," Lyrr answered, then frowned. "Though...what if they wish to see the evidence we have gathered? The evidence that still may suggest Cardassian involvement? They were detected roaming into Farehn'ti space on more than one occasion, Admiral. If the Farehn'ti have something they want, something they might never be able to get if the Farehn'ti become Federation members, then they would go to any lengths to either sabotage the negotiations themselves, or frame the Farehn'ti for the same crime."

"If they wish to see evidence, something will need to be prepared for them. You should probably speak with Lt. Saavar about that. He will need to prove that his mind meld was accurate. No other evidence of Farehn'ti involvement has been found? What has your Security Chief determined in his investigation?"

"All he has determined from the investigation of Captain Salinger's room on the planet is that the attacker was not Andrea Collins, though she has not yet been exonerated for the Ambassador's murder, nor has she been located." Lyrr chewed on her bottom lip pensively as she leaned forward, rifling through the findings they'd accumulated during the investigation. "The only links we have, Admiral, are that substance we have yet to identify, and that Cardassian transporter equipment was used." Lyrr hesitated, apprehensive about revealing the latest incident to Admiral Gordon. She was certain the Admiral already felt much doubt in her ability to command the ship in Matt's absence, and now she would only succeed in validating her assumption. "Early today, there was an incident on the planet involving two of our security officers, an ensign, and a Ferengi under our protection. They were attacked by two unidentified assailants, both security officers declared dead on scene. The Ferengi named Malthus was severely injured and is currently comatose in our sickbay. Ensign Farrell was witness to the attack and received minor injuries. We are currently waiting for the Ferengi to recover so we can question him. But from our analysis of the crime scene, it is clear that Cardassian disruptors were used, which only complicates the situation further."

"The Cardassians as well? Do you believe it possible that the Cardassians and the Farehn'ti are working together?"

"I can't be sure, Admiral," Lyrr sighed. "It is a possibility, however. Captain Salinger noted that during the negotiations, the factions showed much contention towards one another. If one faction were perhaps opposed to the Farehn'ti's induction into the Federation, and if the other were adamantly in favour...to avoid further strife on their planet, it might seem a better alternative to conspire with their Cardassian allies to ensure the negotiations would fail, instead of implicating themselves."

The admiral sighed. "It becomes more and more complicated. I had not truly believed it when I heard about the Farehn'ti preference for argument and backstabbing. However, it appears they may be the masters of it. We will need to do what we can to make sure of what we are seeing. It wouldn't do to accuse them, but I see few other choices at this point. I do not envy you, Commander. Your people are up to continuing this task? I know the Sulu was scheduled to head out for the Gamma Quadrant."

"After a brief stop-over at Deep Space Nine, that is correct, Admiral." She couldn't quite dismiss the feeling that her abilities were in question; she would do the same in the Admiral's position. "If you wish to dispatch another ship to deal with the matter, Admiral, I will raise no protest. However...I believe this ship and its crew are capable of solving this investigation. I have faith in them, Admiral." She sighed. "Though, I know it is your call, and I will accept whatever decision you make."

"I know if I were in your place, Commander, I wouldn't want to leave. Keep me apprised of your progress. Whatever you need to do to resolve this, Commander, you have the authority."

Lyrr lowered her head, concealing the large grin spreading her lips. She sobered her features, and regarded the admiral again with a solemn expression. "I will, Admiral. Thank you."

"Find whoever did this, Commander," Admiral Gordon said. "Find whoever did it and bring them to justice. Will there be anything else, Commander Lyrr?"

"No, Admiral." She paused, and said again, more meaningfully this time for the faith expressed with regards to her, "Thank you. I will resolve this, Admiral."

"Good luck, Commander," the admiral said. "Gordon out."

When the screen went blank, Lyrr let out a deep, long sigh of relief and leaned back heavily in her chair. She had some direction now, and a little more confidence in her ability to solve this matter. Though she didn't envy the task ahead of her, which required another meeting with the Farehn'ti. She hoped they were awake, because there was no time to wait until morning.

---

"Third Degree"
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Lieutenant Sam; Operations Manager

Location: USS Sulu; Operations Office, Sickbay
Stardate 57907.09 21h15

***

Mason started the last command on the night's reporting batch, and the computer beeped, signaling the beginning of its end-of-day compilation mode. He turned down the music, sent another chess move via ship's comm to Lieutenant Ashbury, and then leaned back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head. What a day.

Days like this weren't supposed to happen in real life. This was like a holosuite program. Sex, guns, women throwing themselves at him, assassins, datatheft, it was almost too much to take in. He briefly considered skipping off shift early and getting some more sleep. But he'd cut out early last night, and that had started a significant series of events, starting with Natalia and ending...well, the day hadn't quite ended yet. Better to play it safe and just stay where he was supposed to be, he thought, noting the irony of his superstition.

"Lieutenant Sam to Ensign Farrell," the android Ops chief's dispassionate voice came over the comm.

"Farrell here, sir," he responded automatically.

"Please meet me in sickbay, Ensign. Malthus the Ferengi is now awake."

"On my way," Farrell said. He tried to straighten quickly in the chair, but overbalanced and fell backwards out of it. He picked himself up, thankful that no one had seen that, and headed out the door.

Sickbay was nearly deserted this time of night. Lt. Jacobs and a crewman were doing the day's housekeeping chores, sanitizing surfaces and prepping supplies. Other than that, Sam stood next to Malthus' biobed. The Ferengi's medical signs displayed on the LCARS chart above him indicated consciousness. The little weasel looked rather comical with a dressing covering one ear. It made his head look lopsided.

"Malthus," Farrell beamed, walking over to the bed. "How are you tonight?"

"Go away, hue-mon," the Ferengi answered. "I'm recuperating. And, please, do me a favour and try to breathe a little less noisily. You sound like a badly tuned turbofan."

"Well, I can't go away now," Farrell said, sitting on the biobed next to Malthus'. "The problem is that I saved your life. So now I'm another loose end for whoever you used to work for. They'll want to tie us both up, so we're in this together, like it or not. We share an enemy now. Seventy-Sixth Rule." He glanced up, recalling, "Every once in a while, declare peace. It confuses the hell out of your enemies."

"After what they did, I don't want them confused," Malthus said. "After what they did, I want them shot, and stuffed with all sorts of Federation drugs, and then I want them locked in a room with you so you can assail them with your annoying breathing and smug grins."

"Then we want the same thing," said Farrell. "So tell us who they are."

"Who are?" Malthus answered. "My attackers? I never saw them before. But...but they're not...not who I thought...thought they were."

"Not spoonheads?" Mason prompted, polite now that Malthus was actually talking about something material. "Is that what you were trying to tell me back in your living room?"

"No," Malthus answered thoughtfully. "They weren't. Their faces...they looked more hue-mon, but not quite. They had...ridges. Along the sides of their foreheads." He indicated by brushing a finger along his own large cranium.

"A race you'd never seen before?" Farrell asked.

"I'm not familiar with them," Malthus answered. "Not part of your precious Federation. I know all the members of the Federation, and that isn't one, I assure you."

Farrell nodded for a moment, thinking. "Would you recognize them if you saw them again?"

Malthus scratched one lobe as he thought, tongue flicking slightly over pointed teeth. "Yes," he finally answered. "Yes, I believe I could."

"Well, neither of us can leave the ship for a little while. Whoever tried for you would probably try again if they got wind of our return to Risa. I can fix you up with a database of racial information for you to peruse. With your permission, sir?" He looked to Sam.

"That will be acceptable, Ensign Farrell," Sam answered. Malthus gave him a wary look.

"Okay then," Farrell clapped once, "I'll get on that in the morning. Shall we assign Mister Malthus here guest quarters?" he asked Sam.

"If the doctor clears him to leave sickbay, then yes, Ensign, we shall provide Mr. Malthus with quarters. See to those arrangements."

"Will do, sir."

---

"Tongue Tied"
By: Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal
Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: T'Kal's Quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.09, 21h15

***

A personal visit from the Commander to deliver a request when a simple communication would have sufficed normally didn't bode well for the individual being sought. But considering that individual was Lieutenant T'Kal, an officer who had spent less than two days on board - not nearly enough time to get into trouble, unless you were Ensign Farrell - and one with an impeccable record, the visit was either a social call, or there was a delicate matter that required his urgent attention; considering the messenger was Lyrr Tayla, who was more anti-social than even Ensign Mel'Chir, the latter was the more probable of the two options.

The hour was late, and likely the officer was asleep, but the matter required immediate attention. All Starfleet officers - the model, dedicated ones, at least - knew that they were always on duty if required to be, no matter what their shift schedule read. This was one of those occasions. She required an officer with keen observational skills, and one who could defend himself if the need to arose. And Benedict T'Kal was the first person who came to mind. Lyrr tapped his doorchime and waited impatiently. She wanted to track down Matt's attacker and have her apprehended, no matter the lateness of the hour. Keeping the Farehn'ti from striking again was more important than sleep.

Benedict was unconscious. The chime rang once again before it managed to rouse him. Normally he was a very light sleeper, but he'd taken something to allow him to sleep. The last thirty-six hours had been stressful. He looked groggily at the clock on his bedside and realized that he'd had three hours of sleep. He rolled out of bed and reached for a robe. As he pulled it on he made his way to the door. The chime rang a third time as he shook his head to clear the fog and combed a hand through his long black hair. The robe was a short sleeved sleeping robe that barely covered his thighs. "Come," he said to the computer and it opened the door. He wasn't expecting to see the Sulu's First Officer standing there as he finished tying the belt cord.

"Commander - forgive me - I was fast asleep." He waved her in. "What can I do for you?" He gave her a smile and absently picked up his duty uniform where it had been dropped on the couch. "Would you like some tea?"

He stepped toward the replicator.

Lyrr raised a hand to decline as she shook her head. "Sorry to disturb you--" Her eyes involuntarily drifted towards his robe, and caught a glimpse of flesh peeking out from where the two sides of the garment crossed over one another at his chest. She cleared her throat and awkwardly looked around the room, surveying it instead of T'Kal. She noticed a chair not far off, and made for it. Once seated, she smiled at T'Kal and motioned to the uniform dangling from his hand. "I'll just talk while you change...in the other room, of course."

Benedict grinned. "I gather this isn't a social call?" He ordered green tea from the replicator and turned back to see her looking around his room. He hadn't had time to unpack his things yet.

Her eyes drifted to the one thing that he had placed - the large oil painting of Tebrianne that hung on his wall opposite the sofa. It was a facial image in dark tones with a splash of red that marked her hair. The most striking element of the painting was her eyes; dark pools that followed the viewer no matter where in the room it was seen from. It carried the T'Kal crest in the bottom corner.

T'Kal's swords stood on a corner stand by the wall, the rest of the room showed a few boxes and cases stacked neatly - waiting to be put away.

"I'll just change," he said and walked into his bathroom. "If you don't mind I need a shower - I've only had a few hours sleep in the last two days. So - what's on your mind, Commander?" He ordered a sonic shower so that he could hear her words.

Lyrr's eyes widened in disbelief, especially when she failed to hear the refresher door shutting. "Well," she whispered to herself, "I can just imagine what breakfast will be like." She cleared her throat softly, then spoke full volume, to drown out any noises associated with T'Kal showering if they arose. "I have a request. I require someone to escort me to the surface in order to conduct an interview with the Farehn'ti."

Benedict frowned as he used the scrubber in an effort to wake himself up. "I assigned a couple of security officers to you this afternoon, Commander - are they unsatisfactory?" He wondered why she would come to his quarters to ask this - she could have commed him just as easily.

Lyrr sighed. "They're fine... But I want you." She clenched her eyes shut, horrified at her choice of words. "I mean... I require your interrogation skills. Rather, I require someone who has a keen eye for separating the truth from...anything less than the truth."

Benedict grinned in the privacy of the shower. So...she wanted him? He shook his head as her words hurried into an alternate explanation of her needs. He still couldn't help stifling a laugh at the way she had reacted to her own words. It was just as well she couldn't see him! He felt awake enough to step out of the shower and dress. He made sure she wasn't embarrassed by seeing him until he was fully clothed. When he came out of the refresher he was pulling his raven hair into a ponytail.

"A Betazoid crewmember might be better at that than I am," he grinned. "But if it's me you want..." He grinned wider. "I guess I can't argue."

Lyrr smiled demurely, and shook her head. "It's your talents I--" She snapped her mouth closed, immediately wondering why every word springing from her lips seemed tinged with sexual undertones. The setting - meeting an officer, previously barely clothed, now fully clothed, yet only after having a shower almost in full view of her - was far too conducive to innuendo...unfortunately. "Look," she said, finally getting her mind focused, "I require your expertise, Lieutenant. You're a security officer, and you know humanoid behaviour. If they're holding anything back, you can help me detect it. And since you are a security officer, you can also defend yourself if the need arises. And that's why I wish you to accompany me."

"No problem, Commander." He put his hands on his hips and looked down at her. She was attractive, and the slight blush to her cheeks was fetching. She was uncomfortable with him again - but she had come into his quarters, out of hours - very late, and dragged him out of bed. "It's late in the evening - before we go I'm sure there's a few things I need to know." He reached for his tea and took a sip of the hot liquid. "Please forgive the informality, Commander - but there's obviously something very important here, or you wouldn't be dragging me out of bed." He gave her a smile and sat on the couch facing her.

Lyrr smiled apologetically and nodded. "If you're to be accompanying me, you do have a right to know." She cleared her throat, and unconsciously shifted further back in her seat, creating as much distance between the two as was physically possible. Lyrr wasn't easily intimidated, not by anyone, but she always had been uncomfortable in even remotely intimate situations, as her short talk with Lt. T'Kal had unwittingly regressed into. Sitting with back impeccably straight and hands folded in her lap to achieve some sense of formality, Lyrr continued. "This evening, at my request, Lt. Saavar performed a mind meld on Lt. Tagliesh. From her subconscious, he managed to recover a memory buried in Tagliesh's mind regarding the captain's stabbing. In short, she was able to identify the attacker." Lyrr paused, preparing Lt. T'Kal for the weight of her revelation. "It was a member of one of the Farehn'ti factions."

Benedict put down his tea. What she suggested was fraught with difficulties. "The delegation is diplomatic - hands-off as far as security is concerned." He looked at Lyrr with a pensive expression. "We can't touch them - even if we caught them in the act itself!" He knew quite a bit of the technicalities that had to be observed with diplomatic immunity. The USS Windsor had several ambassadors aboard and he'd handled diplomatic security before. "Just confronting them about it won't bring the guilty party to justice, Commander." He was all seriousness now - gone was the casual demeanour he'd shown her a few minutes ago. "The most serious thing we can do is notify the Farehn'ti government that the guilty member of their diplomatic party is conducting themselves contrary to their status as an ambassador. Send them home." He balled a fist and absently slapped it into his palm. "If you are absolutely sure that Lieutenant Saavar's mind-meld has uncovered the guilty one, then that's all we can do. Unless you wish to provoke a violent confrontation - and then deal with them accordingly and risk it being called an act of war?"

"I don't intend to accuse anyone," Lyrr told him. "I simply wish to speak with Minister Viata and the leader of the Ryuck faction. I will question them on a matter unrelated to the murder and the captain's attack...such as the Cardassian ventures into Farehn'ti space, and later an innocent inquiry concerning a strange substance we've detected floating in space over Risa. That's where your skills will come into play. If they are holding anything back, or if something hits a nerve, you'd know it. Is that a safe assumption, Lieutenant?"

As far as Benedict could see, she was placing an awful lot of faith in his abilities to detect a lie. He didn't profess to have such abilities. "I don't think that it's just the Minister." He sat back and steepled his fingers together, speaking over them as he stared into Lyrr's eyes. "This morning during the investigation at the scene of the captain's stabbing we discovered evidence that implicated a conspiracy rather than a lone assassin. Someone has to operate the transporter she is using. Someone also drew Tagliesh away at the right time. If it came from orbit that implicates a ship, a killer won't get far dressed in a vacuum suit. If the technology being used is Cardassian in origin then we have to watch everything we do. They are a serious threat." His eyes were hard as violet ice. "But if it is Cardassian - if they are working with Cardassians - then technically an attack upon a Federation Ambassador is an act of war and we would be entitled to act accordingly." He narrowed his eyes. "Do you suspect that there's a cloaked ship out there somewhere?"

Lyrr shrugged simply. "I have no reason to. We have detected no traces of tachyon particles since our arrival or anything else that would suggest the presence of a cloaked vessel. The Ferengi, Malthus, said he has no idea where his meetings with his employer were held. They could very likely be on the planet's surface. We simply haven't had an opportunity to discover where they might be beaming to...yet."

"Employer?" He hadn't heard any of this yet. "What do we know of that?"

"You didn't receive Lieutenant Sam's report?" Lyrr frowned, then waved the question away dismissively. "The Ferengi, Malthus, was involved with a Cardassian who called himself Tamor. He was beamed to a secret location, and never got a look at those he was meeting with. He was selling him Cardassian equipment, parts... That's all he knows."

"Cardassians..." Benedict's face showed a little of how much he despised them as a race. "Sorry - I haven't had an opportunity to read much today. I was going to catch up on the back-log, but one thing led to another..." He stood up reluctantly. He still felt light headed and tired. "You wish to do this tonight?"

Lyrr glanced up, craning her neck slightly to meet T'Kal's gaze. "I imagine it can wait until morning...after I announce to the Farehn'ti that I will be taking over the negotiations."

He grinned at her. "So you dragged me out of bed just for the hell of it?" He laughed at the joke. "Thanks, Commander... Remind me to repay the compliment."

Lyrr chuckled, although impatiently. "I thought you were hinting at being too tired to do it this evening." Shaking her head, she rose, not nearly reaching T'Kal's full height. "If you're ready this evening, then we can be on our way." With a teasing grin, she asked, "You sure you're up for this?"

"I can keep up with you, Commander." He waved toward the door. "It's something we shouldn't sleep on." He grinned. "Besides, we might get back in time for breakfast." He picked up his Kut'luch and tucked it in his belt so that it could not be seen.

"Breakfast," Lyrr repeated to herself, almost wincing. "I missed that this morning, didn't I?" She shrugged almost apologetically as they headed out of his quarters. "Sorry... But I promise we can try again tomorrow morning...if this meeting doesn't turn into a diplomatic disaster," she quipped.

Benedict laughed. "You don't have to be sorry - I was working too. I've had a hell of a day and it can't get any worse - I'd like something to look forward to in the morning - being a senior officer means never having to say sorry... You should remember that!" He walked out the door with her feeling a little fresher. He was getting to like Commander Lyrr. "It also means you're always on duty!" He gave her a side-long glance. "Maybe I can catch up on some sleep next week..."

Lyrr laughed wryly. "Sleep... I forgot all about that too. I promise this meeting won't take long. Then we can both perhaps catch up on some rest." After a moment's pause and thought, she added quickly, "Alone...of course." She cleared her throat, yet again feeling her cheeks grow warm.

Benedict smiled at her and raised an eyebrow. "Of course...if we weren't alone we wouldn't be getting much rest...would we?"

Lyrr chuckled weakly, and was certain her face was blazing red now. She led the way to the lift, without comment, thereby reducing the risk of further embarrassing herself. And all along the way, she reminded herself never again to go without sleep if she intended to associate in any manner with Lieutenant T'Kal. If her frequent bouts of unintended sexual references were any indication, lack of brain function on her part and Lt. T'Kal's charm had a rather embarrassing effect on Lyrr. She chuckled ironically. At least her day could not possibly continue to get any worse. She hoped.

---

"Late-Night Rendezvous"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal
Members of the Ryuck Faction

Location: Planetary Suite of the Ryuck Faction, Risa
Stardate 57907.09, 22h15

***

Lyrr waited in the reception area of the Farehn'ti's surprisingly lavish dwelling on Risa. She wasn't acquainted with the other lodgings available on Risa, but she didn't imagine they were anything like this one. The Farehn'ti ministers had accepted her request for a meeting, but had yet to greet them. It had been almost an hour.

She sighed. "Are diplomats always so slow?" she muttered to T'Kal, who was pacing slowly in front of her while she sat on a rather plush, comfortable sofa. She'd made certain to sit as far to one side as was possible, creating as much distance as she could achieve between herself and T'Kal. They were on Risa, a planet based on lust and pursuits of passion, and considering her previous difficulties on board in terms of speaking with the lieutenant, she wasn't taking any chances now. Any form of bodily contact might have her tripping over her own words again.

Benedict smiled. "They like to show power by making lesser beings wait for them," he said softly in Bajoran. He kept his eyes roving across the scene - two doors at opposite ends of the reception area, a fountain spraying a drizzle of water through a prism of multicoloured light was the center-piece of an ornate sculpture that reached toward a domed ceiling. Benedict paced so that no corner of the room went unseen for more than three or four seconds. He looked totally relaxed, but was anything but. They were after a determined killer and anything could happen. Before leaving the Sulu he had already put four security officers on alert to beam in, and carried a transporter locator as well as a hand phaser.

He admired Lyrr's courage. She wanted to face a very real threat relying on Benedict alone to protect her. It would take at least thirty seconds to get a team transported down, and the Sulu was under instructions to scan the area in which they stood continuously - and if a transporter or sensor inhibitor was activated, Benedict would know it. That was the extent of his precautions.

He paced slowly, seemingly idly as Lyrr sat in the corner of her couch trying not to look at him. He wondered what was going through her mind.

"Remember, Lieutenant," Lyrr told him, this time resorting to addressing him in return using the Bajoran tongue, though she didn't look too pleased about doing so. "You may ask questions, but attempt to keep your tone and inquiries from sounding accusatory. If they suspect we know anything that implicates them, we may lose any chance of apprehending them for their crimes."

Benedict caught the look on her face when she replied. It was as if their mother tongue was distasteful to her. Another strange element of the enigmatic Lyrr. "I'll be careful," he said softly in Standard so that only she could hear. He cast her a side-long look and smiled. "There is very little chance of apprehending anyone," he murmured as he turned back to face the other direction. "I won't hold my breath."

He began his slow walk, idly looking at his feet but letting his eyes scan outward. He kept up the impression of someone totally pre-occupied with waiting. For the moment he kept his silence, letting Lyrr lapse into her own thoughts. The waiting was allowing him to mentally prepare and he wondered just what Lyrr really had in mind. He had a feeling that she was too emotionally involved with the captain's attempted assassination. She didn't display much emotion, but there was an underlying tautness to her features and a need to deal with the situation - confront it and take control of it before it took control of her. He could imagine her not being able to handle the fact that events were beyond her control.

It was Benedict's job to make sure events did not escalate to violence, but if it did, to deal with it. He was capable of dealing with dangerous people. Benedict T'Kal was a dangerous man himself. There was something of the prowling cat in his movements, smooth muscle and grace and a predatory aura. It was easy to think of him snapping from relaxed stroll to blinding action. He just had 'that' look. The look of a fighter, a hunter that waited for its prey with unending patience.

His violet eyes flicked over the room and came back to Lyrr. The minutes stretched on, and Benedict allowed his senses to reach out. He knew that they were being watched. The discreet cameras were a part of the décor. He refused to allow them to see any impatience in him. If he played his part properly, the Farehn'ti would almost ignore him anyway. He was the minder - the one that was there but was ignored because he had no importance above a servant. Lyrr would be expected to have an escort, and no one knew he was the Sulu's chief of security.

He gave Lyrr another smile as he passed again. There was nothing in it, just a friendly gesture of companionship. He was there to support her - that was all.

Lyrr was in the process of smiling back awkwardly when the clacking of two old-style doorknobs turning and the heavy doors opening intruded upon their silence. Lyrr rose from her seat and attempted a respectful smile as the Ryuck faction leader, Minister Lo'ril Danen, flanked by Minister Viata and another Farehn'ti ambassador appeared in the doorway.

Lo'ril smiled upon seeing Lyrr. "Commander Lyrr," he said as he came forward. He was thin and frail looking, and the other Farehn'ti's shoulder helped to support him. "I'm so terribly sorry for this delay. It isn't easy for a man of my age to rouse himself after bed. And, at my age, you tend to go to sleep much earlier each night until there's no longer any waking. Now, Commander, how may we be of service?"

"Forgive the late intrusion, Minister Danen," she told him sincerely. "I'm afraid there just wasn't time to do this tomorrow. I promise, we won't keep you long." Lyrr gestured towards T'Kal, then said, "This is Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal, on officer aboard the USS Sulu. We were simply wondering if you and your associates had time to enlighten us regarding a few things."

Benedict barely nodded with the mention of his name. His eyes on Danen then flicking to each of the functionaries - not resting any length of time on the woman but just enough to take in her expression and her eyes. They were guarded, and she stood as he did - relaxed and seemingly open. He didn't let his recognition of her reach any expression or emotion, just a simple casual glance and move on.

The Farehn'ti smiled again. "We'll do whatever we can, Commander."

"Thank you." She glanced furtively at T'Kal as they were led into the main room. Benedict nodded slightly and followed her, keeping to her right so that he could see past her and watch the back of the woman. He kept a slight smile on his face as they moved inside.

The domed space was arched with golden filigree and a massive chandelier hung poised in the centre. Its several hundred lights were arranged like an exploding star, casting illumination across a deep royal purple carpet and dark wooden furnishing. All eyes rested upon the centrepiece - a stout round table with chairs circled around it. It was polished to a mirror sheen and seemed made of a single slice of ancient tree, obviously not of Risan origin.

Lyrr and T'Kal were led to two chairs with a wave of the Ambassador's hand. Benedict pulled a chair out for the Commander and seated her as a gentleman should. He took his place behind her and slightly to the right. Standing at ease in a typical Starfleet pose. It was useful in hiding his hands. He seemed to tower over the smaller Lyrr Tayla, and his face was composed in a neutral expression - almost mirroring the Farehn'ti female opposite.

Tayla couldn't dismiss the feeling that the Farehn'ti were wary of their presence, but nothing seemed to escape through Lo'ril's bright, almost cheerful grin. On the other spectrum of facial expressions was Minister Viata, the female Farehn'ti suspected of Matt's attack. Her face held no expression whatsoever, and her cold brown eyes stared at Lyrr impassively. It made even Lyrr uptight.

"Now," Lo'ril said. "How can we be of service to our soon-to-be Federation neighbours? Oh, forgive me, but where are my manners? Can I get either of you something to drink?"

Lyrr refused with a polite smile.

Benedict shook his head minutely, enough to convey his negative response. Barely polite, but just within acceptable standards. His eyes took in the whole room, but they were emotionless. He was no longer an affable Starfleet Officer.

Lo'ril nodded and fixed Lyrr with another smile. "Now, Commander, how may I be of service to you and your people?"

"Yes, Minister." She placed her hands flat atop the table, then decided a more relaxed pose would quell any suspicions regarding her visit. She settled on folding them delicately before her. "As you know, Ministers, we've been investigating the murder of Ambassador V'ril, and the current attack on Captain Salinger. Through our investigations, we have uncovered some startling evidence that points to a probable suspect." She paused, creating tension and waiting for some subtle reaction by one of the Farehn'ti. Their expressions didn't change. She sighed internally. "It has come to our attention that the Cardassians may play a role in this."

One of Lo'ril's eyebrows raised as he glanced between his companions. "The Cardassians, you say?" He shook his head. "It would be just like them to try to step in and ruin something like this for us, especially now. They wished for us to join their Union, to become a protectorate. We felt the Federation was a better option for our people. It appears they do not take no for an answer."

Lyrr closed her eyes and nodded, as if Lo'ril had anticipated her next statement. "That was our concern. One of our officers searched through our ship's database and noticed the Cardassians were making excursions into Farehn'ti space. For what reasons?" She shrugged. "We had no evidence to give us clues. But following the lead we found suggesting Cardassian involvement in Ambassador V'ril's murder, we suspected they were seeking something from your people, and an alliance with the Federation would likely interfere with that."

Benedict watched the Farehn'ti, their expressions were normal, except for the woman. She was an island of calmness compared to the two men.

The Ryuck leader nodded. "As I'm certain you are aware, the Cardassian's homeworld is very poor in resources, especially so after your war with the Dominion. They had hoped to obtain some new resources through us."

Lyrr refrained from smiling. The Farehn'ti had given her a perfect segue into her next order of business. "Ah," she replied, nodding sagely. "We were wondering about that also. You see, we detected a strange substance in space above Risa only a few days ago. Our attempts at analyzing it have proven unsuccessful. We have concluded that it was left by your ships' engines upon their arrival and departure from Risa. Our Science department aren't fully acquainted with all the aspects of your warp technology yet, so it seemed the most logical assumption." She gazed down at her folded hands in contemplation for a moment, then asked before Lo'ril could reply, "Is that the substance the Cardassians are so interested in? If so, you can rest assured that if the Farehn'ti are accepted into the Federation - and considering the negotiations seemed to be drawing to a successful close, that seems likely - the Cardassians will no longer have access to your space, or your resources."

Lo'ril's smile wavered only momentarily. The other young man's face paled slightly and he shifted uneasily in his chair. Viata, however, did not react at all. Benedict watched her eyes momentarily and for that split second their gaze met. There was no surprise in her eyes, no reaction to Lyrr's words. The men were a different story.

"That...it's a residual substance, yes." Lo'ril continued. "Whenever we find our ships in an anti-matter imbalance, that is the by-product. The substance that so interests the Cardassians is a metallic ore we have on our planet, in addition to a rather wide stretch of fertile cropland." His smile widened. "I am actually quite surprised that your sensors were able to detect it. Your equipment must be quite advanced."

Lyrr chuckled good-naturedly. "Well, not so advanced. We have yet to determine fully its molecular structure. It is a very astonishing substance, Minister. Though now that we know who it belongs to, and what it's used for, we no longer have to expend further energy on attempting to identify it. Our science department will be so delighted if your application is accepted. I imagine they could spend hours studying the intricacies of..." She frowned. "What was it called again?"

"Actually," he replied, "we generally just refer to it as gunk. But, if you'd like, I can have my people send along a chemical analysis of the substance. I'm sure that will delight your science department."

"Really?" Lyrr inclined her head graciously. "That is a kind gesture, Minister. It has had the science department puzzled to the point of insanity, and will likely save many of them trips to the counsellor."

Benedict wondered what his commanding officer was saying. Gunk? They wanted Gunk? As for saving them trips to the counsellor...

"For certain," Lo'ril answered. "And, if we did not help out our soon-to-be brethren, what sort of people would we be? I'll have my people send the information immediately to your ship's science department. Shall I have it sent to the attention of the charming Lt. Tagliesh?"

"I'm afraid she's currently occupied," Lyrr replied. "Lt. Saavar will do just fine."

Benedict watched her eyes. Tagliesh was the only possible witness.

"Very well," Lo'ril said. "It will be sent to Lt. Saavar's attention. I hope we've managed to clear up any of the questions Starfleet or the Federation may have."

"A great deal, Minister." Lyrr smiled at each of the ministers, then glanced aside at T'Kal as a signal that it was time to depart. "We won't take up anymore of your night," she told them while rising. "I'm very grateful that you agreed to meet us, Ministers."

"For you, Commander, and the Federation, anytime. Please, if you need anything further, don't hesitate to contact us. They may need to wake me, but the Farehn'ti wish to do all we can to help you."

"I will note that in the recommendation I make to Starfleet at the end of the negotiations." Lo'ril's smile became slightly puzzled. Lyrr chuckled sheepishly. "Forgive me. I almost forgot to mention it. As of tomorrow, I will be handling the negotiations on behalf of the Federation. And you can rest assured, Minister, that I will not allow these Cardassians to sabotage your planet's chances of being accepted."

Lo'ril's smile beamed. "Oh, that is delightful news, Commander. We look forward to having you. I am certain your wisdom will prove an example to us all."

"Oh, I doubt that, Minister," she replied with a demure smile. "But I will do my best."

Lo'ril smiled, and then started to rise. Before he could stand completely, he stopped. "Oh, Commander, has there been any word on your missing crew member?"

Lyrr sighed. "I'm afraid not. We are still actively searching for her, however."

"If there is anything my people can do, you only need say the word," Lo'ril said. "It is a shame people would so willingly and easily take advantage of others like that. A shame." He stood and reached out a hand to Lyrr. "I shall see you at the negotiations in the morning, Commander. Good night."

Familiar with the Terran custom, yet surprised the Farehn'ti had adopted it, Lyrr clasped hands with the man awkwardly. After retracting her hand, and clasping both behind her back, Lyrr bowed her head. "Have a good rest, Ministers." Then she nodded to T'Kal and both departed for the doors.

"And you as well, Commander," Lo'ril said. "And, of course your brave Lieutenant T'Kal as well. Good night, my friends. Until the sun shines on our faces once more." With that, the Farehn'ti exited the room.

Lyrr looked back into the hall as the large doors were pushed closed from the inside, just as those across at the opposite end were sealed behind the Farehn'ti. She glanced sidelong at T'Kal, then motioned her head over one shoulder before proceeding herself towards the main doors she'd indicated. "What do you think?" she asked him, reverting to Bajoran again.

"I think that the only one in that room who knew anything about anything was the woman. The two men are diplomats, I have no doubt about that. The woman is another matter. She's the one we want and if I'm not mistaken it's going to happen tonight. I have a gut feeling." He looked sideways at Lyrr as they started down the marble staircase to the foyer. "But I could just be hungry...." He smiled to ease her tension.

He continued in Bajoran, still keeping his eyes open for anything amiss. "Seriously - it will happen sooner than later. They know they can't pull Andrea Collins into it any further. It was a good ploy to start with but the game's changed. They will be much less subtle this time. They either have to get to you before the talks start, or they do something else to disrupt the proceedings to give them some time to come up with another solution." He tapped his commbadge and it chirped. "T'Kal to Hex."

The security officer answered immediately, "Aye, sir."

"I want continuous monitoring of the Opai delegation from now. Send four security officers to strengthen the detail with them and don't let the ministers of the Opai go wandering anywhere. Monitor the meeting chambers as well. I don't want any surprises tonight."

"Aye, sir. Hex out."

Benedict looked back up the stairs and saw no one. He turned to Lyrr as they walked through the lobby. "What do you intend to do now?" he asked in Bajoran.

Lyrr sighed. "Sleep...if I can. I was also considering visiting the captain, but..." She shrugged. "I think it's best if I just return to the ship and rest for tomorrow's negotiations." Lyrr smiled tightly and added, "No, I won't require security to stand outside my door. I'll be just fine all alone."

"I know," he smiled easily. "But you're getting it anyway and don't argue." He tapped his commbadge. "T'Kal to Sulu, two to beam up." He looked at Lyrr. "Don't worry - I'll post..." The transporter took them with a blue haze...and materialized them on the Sulu. "...someone I trust," he finished on the pad. He stepped down from the transporter grid.

"That's not what bothers me," Lyrr told him in Standard now. "I can handle things on my own, and it's a little disturbing being abruptly commed by your men, asking if I need immediate assistance just because I've accidentally knocked over a vase."

Benedict turned back to look at her with a grin. "Then be careful. I'd advise walking around with the lights on." He laughed at her expression and added, "The captain could also take care of himself. You get an escort, Commander. That's my decision to make. I'd really hate to miss breakfast again!" He left her staring at him as he walked out.

Lyrr sighed, then shook her head and followed T'Kal out of the transporter room. "Fine. Guards. Though you might want to speak with Lieutenant Saavar before tomorrow's negotiations. It seems he wishes to use me as bait to lure the Farehn'ti into a trap."

"Not such a wild idea..." he mused. "We can work something out if that's what you want. It's risky though, and I don't particularly want to put you in that much danger..." He grinned at her. "But then I get the feeling that you live for it!" he chuckled. "You remind me of this flight officer I once knew. She took me warp surfing...most adrenaline rush I had in years. You get towed behind a shuttle at warp speed just inside the warp field on an orbital surfboard. You should try it sometime. It might cure you."

Lyrr chuckled. "Cure me of what? My inherently boring nature?"

Benedict stopped and turned to face the smaller Bajoran woman. He shook his head as he said, "I find you anything but boring. Ease up on yourself, Commander. What you did tonight took guts. I respect that." He smiled. "If you'll excuse me, sir...." He widened the smile to a cheeky grin. "I have to get some rest...alone...."

Lyrr rolled her eyes and laughed lightly. "Of course, Lieutenant. I can't help you with your sleeping arrangements; you're on your own for that." She motioned permission for T'Kal to depart, but before he carried through, she said, "And you bet that took guts. I'd rather fight a legion of Cardassians than do that again. Can't wait to play diplomat tomorrow," she added with a frown.

"I think the game's going to get rough," he said seriously. "If you don't mind, I'll accompany you tomorrow. Don't go down there without me." He smiled again. "Good night, Commander - I'll see you in the morning." He nodded farewell and finally managed to leave her behind as he headed to his quarters for a well deserved sleep.

"Good night?" she muttered, then shook her head and started down an adjacent corridor. "How can I possibly sleep when I have to enter the fray tomorrow?" She sighed and wearily strolled towards her quarters. She hated politics, and had vowed never to get involved in it, but the task was thrust upon her now. Though, she accepted it, if only to catch Matt's killer. If only to allay her own guilt in failing her captain.

---

"Grudging Admission"
By: Lieutenant Brennyn Scott
Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh

Location: Risan Medical Facility, Risa
Stardate 57907.09, 22h16

***

Commander Lyrr and Saavar had suggested rest, but Xayella couldn't afford to close her eyes, not when there was a chance Matt would open his. She slipped her hand into Matt's, and was mildly disconcerted that his didn't close around hers. Instead, she squeezed his tighter. She needed comfort now, and there was nowhere to seek it.

She'd allowed Saavar to roam around in her mind, to touch memories and secrets that were meant only for herself, yet which he had gained access to. In return, she learned more about Saavar than she'd ever wished to know, and the almost intimate familiarity distressed her. If there was a way to expel her newly acquired knowledge, she'd do it, if only to get him out of her thoughts and mind.

Xayella suppressed a shudder and repelled the images of Saavar still floating around in her head. She focused on Matt, and quickly everything else faded into oblivion. Only he remained.

She sighed, and kept her gaze fully on Matt as she heard the doors of the hospital room parting, admitting yet another unwanted guest who was just going to ask the same question and receive the same answer. "No, he hasn't awakened yet, Doctor," she reported listlessly. "But...he looks better...I think...."

For the briefest of moments, Brennyn hesitated. This was a hell of a way to meet a fellow member of the senior staff, not to mention one's captain. Mere hours ago she had been having dinner with Ainsley, trying to ease into her position and to become more familiar with the crew, and now, she was thrusting herself right into the thick of things, having been awoken in the middle of the night. It wasn't that she wasn't up for it or that she was prepared to let others work this without her, but getting a feel for people before jumping in had proven wise in the past, and here she was having to fumble her way through things without the sort of care she preferred. Saying she was "out of her professional comfort zone" was a supreme understatement.

Moving in closer toward Tagliesh, Scott cleared her throat softly, and briefly contemplated what she was going to say to the woman whom she could tell was clearly in pain even without looking in her eyes. "I'm not a doctor." And when Xay turned, Bree continued, "My name is Brennyn Scott... I'm a counselor with the Sulu. I thought perhaps you could use some company."

Xay studied the woman briefly, then wryly chuckled. "You're here to assess my mental status," she corrected. "Well, to make things short, I'm not insane. Does that help?"

Bree regarded her quietly. "I don't know. Does it help you to know that I know that up front?"

Xayella leaned back in her chair to regard the counsellor completely. "I see.... You're trying to trick me into expressing my feelings even when I don't wish to. You're one of those crafty counsellors, aren't you?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere," replied Scott with a wan smile, then she shrugged. "But you don't have to waste energy trying to deflect me. You don't need another person to fight right now." Bree cast a glance toward Matt Salinger and wondered about the man lying in the biobed. She had yet to really know him or any of them, and already she wondered if he and his crew could survive this trauma.

"What?" Xay prompted, noticing the focus of the woman's attention. "What are you thinking? That he's...he's not going to make it?" She glared viciously at Bree. "Well don't," she rasped. "Because he is going to make it."

"I know," replied Scott. "How about you? How are you holding up?" It was simple, direct, and not at all like the trickery the CSO had spoken of earlier. It was the only way Bree knew truly how to be. She knew this woman was difficult, she knew this woman was the thorn in everyone's side, but Bree preferred to deal in realities. The fact was, Xay had witnessed an attempted murder, and could have been killed herself. No matter what kind of pain in the ass she seemed to be to everyone else, Xay had to be suffering, and Bree could not, in good conscience, sit idly by and watch that can of worms rot.

Xayella shrugged lightly, though it only reminded her how tight her shoulders were, and how stiff her neck had become from stooping over Matt almost a day straight. She was tired and her emotions were chaotic; she couldn't decide if she wanted to snap at the counsellor, or cry. "I'm fine," she lied, attempting a weak smile for the woman. "I'm more worried about him." She nodded towards Matt. "I don't know when he's going to wake up...and I really need to see him open his eyes right now. I know I'll feel a lot more secure if he does."

"If?" Bree asked gently.

Xayella cleared her throat and again her shields rose. "When he wakes up," she corrected. "Because he will. I know he will."

"I imagine it was quite difficult to find him like he was, to face that sort of danger yourself..." More than likely, Xay hadn't faced that yet. Bree in a way was trying to soften that blow. Sooner or later, everyone collapsed from the emotional strain. Whether that was in her presence didn't matter, but the acknowledgement was there.

"It wasn't the danger," Xay told her, shaking her head. "I wasn't afraid for me." Her fingers idly stroked Matt's hair as Xayella watched him with a distant gaze. "I mean...if I'd been there, I would have defended him, gladly. I would have given my life for his." Sighing, Xayella looked away. "I wasn't there, though. So none of that matters, right?"

Bree shrugged. "Only you can answer that." Scott paused, then spoke. "But consider this: if you had been there, and died defending him, who's to say he still wouldn't have been injured? Perhaps if you had been there and hadn't startled his attacker, he or she would have finished what was started..."

"There's no way of knowing any of that," Xay told her simply. "All I do know is that I feel as if I should've been there. And I should have been." She regarded Matt's calm, tranquil features, and sighed. "I hope he understands," she whispered. "I hope he forgives me."

Bree offered a wry smile. "That's my point. There's no way to know what would have happened, including what would have happened if you'd been there, so why would you assume the worst? If your positions were reversed, would you want him spending all this time and energy blaming himself?"

"If positions were reversed," Xay corrected, "he wouldn't have anything to blame himself for, because Matt wouldn't have let it get this far. Matt would've made the right decision in that particular situation, and things would've turned out a lot differently."

"Alright, so let's look at the present situation from Matt's point of view..." Bree allowed. "He was attacked...stabbed... and he couldn't stop it. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was his girlfriend confronting a person with a knife, a weapon meant for him. He was there, Xay, and despite being a captain, despite being the man you love, he was stabbed. He had the same skills, the same instincts that he would have possessed if he were standing where you are now. Are you going to think less of him for not protecting himself from that which you say he could have if only he were standing ten feet from where he was?" asked Scott, already knowing the answer.

"He was asleep," Xay snapped, turning a fierce gaze upon Brennyn. "And none of your rhetoric is going to change the fact that some bastard stabbed him and I wasn't there one moment soon enough to stop it! I blame myself, okay? That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"

"No," Bree replied gently, "it wasn't what I wanted to hear, because you and I both know that while you're beating yourself up in here, the person who deserves the true blame is still out there. I understand it, but I also know it's not serving you or anyone right now. When Matt wakes up, he might very well blame himself. He might very well relive this attack over and over in his waking and dreaming hours. I wonder how much comfort it will be to him to know that while he blames himself, you blame yourself, huh?"

"Blame himself?" Xay snorted. "He was asleep. That would be a foolish thing to do."

Bree smiled. "Not foolish per se, but definitely counterproductive. As counterproductive as it is for you to continue to blame yourself for this... Xayella, when Matt wakes up, he's going to need you. He's going to need to know that no one was to blame for this except the man or woman wielding the knife. If he spends all his time blaming himself and then he sees you accepting the blame, he's just going to feel that much more responsible for your pain."

Xayella sighed, and finally relented. "I know...and I won't let on that I blame myself. I just can't help how I feel." Xayella chuckled wryly. "Though, considering I do feel this way at all is a good thing. It means what I feel for Matt is real. At least that's comforting."

Bree smiled, tempted to place a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder, but feeling it would be too 'counselor like' in nature. "And it means you're not bottling your emotions. That's healthy, and understandable. I'm not telling you you're crazy, or wrong to feel it, but I don't want you beating yourself up, ok?"

Grinning facetiously, Xayella gibed, "I had no idea you cared."

"It's in my job description," replied Bree, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Xay smirked. "Perhaps, but you've known me for a matter of minutes. Not long enough to care for me, but almost enough time to hate me." She leaned forward and whispered, "Don't worry. That'll come sooner or later."

"Don't hold your breath," Scott replied, turning and leaving Xay with her thoughts.

Xay snorted at the naive counsellor and returned her attentions to Matt. For a brief moment, she thought his eyelids had flickered open, but when she called his name gently she received no reply. Xayella sighed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. She regarded his almost peaceful expression, which was at once frightening in that it was far too reminiscent of the serenity one achieved upon death, yet comforting in knowing at least he wasn't in pain while he slept.

"Just wake up soon," she whispered to him, her lips brushing his. "I've no one to talk with, at least not anyone I want to. And I'm already weary of people trying to figure out what's going on in my head. They don't know and they don't really care." She smoothed her hand over his stubbled cheek and smiled ruefully. "Only you do. And you're the only one I would want to. So, sleep as much as you can now," she murmured, while her fingers lightly traced the curve of his shoulder, "because when you do wake up, we have some catching up to do, and you'll never get any rest then." She chuckled softly, then kissed his lips tenderly. They were still warm, and that brought Xayella relief for the time being.

She was alone, just when she had grown accustomed to having Matt near at all times. And almost more than she had been when she witnessed the knife driving into Matt's chest, Xayella was afraid.

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