"Visiting Ghosts"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: Commander's Quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.13, 00h35

***

Her hand still felt on fire from the gentle touch delivered to it, and Lyrr brushed her fingers lightly over the creamy flesh that should have been burned by the intensity of T'Kal's caress. She chuckled wryly to herself. She was likely interpreting an innocent gesture as something far more flirtatious than it was. Or was it wishful thinking? Lyrr immediately launched into a mental tirade, reproving herself for such immature preoccupations. She had attempted once to overcome her apprehensions and reach out to Sean, but that had been a brutal heartbreak, and she refused to put herself through that again.

Then there was the past, that she had believed forgotten, but which was now more prevalent in her mind than it had been in fifteen years. She would deal with it, however, as she had previously: She would ignore it until it went away, and keep as much distance from anyone who could potentially get too close, emotionally and physically. That meant T'Kal, and even Storm at one time; disturbingly enough, it also meant Farrell who had driven her so close to lunacy she no longer knew if she hated the man, or was fond of him in some bizarre way. It didn't matter, at any rate, for Lyrr was through with putting herself in a position where she was vulnerable to such disappointment, and such damaging emotional distress.

Lyrr sighed heavily and in an irritated gesture scrubbed rapidly at her hair with one hand. Her shifts were over, and she had a good eight hours of sleep ahead of her to put her mind at ease...at least that was the theory.

***

Soft fingertips left trails of delicious heat upon her flesh as they moved, explored, caressed. She looked down at her heaving chest, rising and falling rapidly with each excited breath, and admired the ruddy splotches inflaming her breasts, and every other area of exposed skin his hands contacted. His warm lips grazed her chin, then swept down her neck as he dragged them towards her chest, while his hands moved upwards to gingerly cup her swollen breasts; a surprised, whimpering cry escaped as those delicate, expert lips engulfed one of them, and she bit down on her bottom lip in an attempt to stifle further vocalizations with such force her mouth trembled.

Her mind was a swirl of incoherent thoughts, and her head heavy with desire. He was mesmerizing, and knew where and how to touch her, even though she had no idea herself what her pleasure was. His strong, yet gentle hands smoothed over her abdomen on their descent from her chest; quivering as they lightly glided along her thighs, she buried her apprehensions and forcefully tamped them down with all her courage and yearning. His smile reassured and lulled her into a sense of ease; his mellifluous, velvety voice whispering Bajoran sentiments into her ear made her shudder with anticipation. She'd never felt such desire since Sean, but it was more potent with the dark featured man peering down at her, a lust in his eyes so intense it alone was enough to have her aching with need.

Her trembling hands reached up to trace the muscular grooves on his abdomen, and the moment her flesh connected with his, she verbally beseeched him to proceed. He chuckled deeply in his throat, a sound that resonated and whose vibrations touched and stimulated the very core of her arousal to soon have her moaning softly. More flattery was murmured against her ear as he slid himself between her parted legs.

One hand dropped to the mattress and crushed the bedsheet in her fist as the two become one, joined. His silken, black hair gleamed in the soft light of the room, and its loose strands brushed rhythmically against her cheek as they moved together. She turned her face to the side and buried her nose in the swaying locks to capture his scent of incense and musk, while he nuzzled his lips to her ear and crooned her name. Aside from Matt and Sean, he was the only man she had ever allowed to call her 'Tayla,' and he was the only man she had ever given herself to willingly.

His body swayed against hers and his lips dragged lightly across her cheek to finally cover her mouth. They fed ravenously from one another, with eyes locked, not closed; those violet orbs entranced her and filled her with passion so overpowering she cried out shrilly, only to have the hollow expanse of T'Kal's mouth capture it. Her hands clutched at his strong back, digging into the tattooed beast from his past; her legs tangled with his as they undulated in unison, the act transforming them into a singular being with the same goal in mind: sexual fulfillment.

The past was a blur now, and nothing of her trauma and associated inhibitions remained; they all evapourated like the warm sweat coating their naked flesh, and for a time Lyrr could barely recall what violations had befallen her on Bajor. She scarcely remembered the coarse lips scraping against her youthful flesh as he'd kissed her everywhere but her mouth; they had all, including him, delighted in jeering her about the offensive, revolting gibber they called the Bajoran language, and how they dared not touch any lips that uttered such filth. They took their dislike of the language to an extreme and had threatened to cut out her tongue if she spoke one word of it; even when she cried out during the more brutal moments of her ravishing, they mentioned offhand how Bajorans even screamed with a Bajoran accent, then proceeded to douse her face with an endless stream of Cardassian Ale to wash out her foul mouth. T'Kal's breath, once smelling of sweet sake, tasted now just as bitter as that Cardassian Ale and she hastily pulled her lips away from his. He chuckled at her surprise, and she sheepishly turned her face away, remembering where she was and with whom.

The resonant, soothing laughter became harsh and mocking, and Lyrr swiftly returned her gaze to his. The violet eyes darkened as T'Kal continued to taunt her, and became as black as the obsidian, fathomless eyes she'd stared into far too many times, that had haunted her dreams relentlessly for years after her captivity. She clenched her eyelids shut and moved her hands to T'Kal's shoulders for security. His skin, sticky from perspiration yet still so perfect, grew cold against her touch and raised into bony ridges beneath her fingertips. They continued up the curve of his neck on each side and disappeared beneath his hair; the long, black locks were cropped, and left a greasy film on her skin as her fingers threaded through them.

The once slow pace they had achieved became rapid and rough, and T'Kal's body crushed her under its weight, causing Lyrr's eyes to snap open. The bronzed flesh of T'Kal was consumed by a grey pallor that gave his skin the pasty complexion of her tormentor. She had been his favourite, and although others had been allowed to beat her and watch as he did the same, only he was permitted to violate her and did so every opportunity he had. Lyrr's voice stuck in her throat as she screamed, and his scaly lips - T'Kal's lips - curled into a malignant smile.

She thrashed beneath him and pushed at his chest to dislodge him, but the fight only infused him with vigor and she choked on a pain-stricken cry as he thrust violently into her.

"I told you you would never escape me," his gritty voice, flowing like thick oil from T'Kal's lips, told her.

They had called him Oresh, and Lyrr had vowed since that day to seek retribution. She never had managed to achieve it, but she still lusted for it.

His offal breath rolled off her cheek as he chuckled lowly; he dragged his raspy tongue against it, then, and made a sickening sound of approval. She cringed.

"Still so sweet," he told her, and admired one breast with his hand. "So supple... You always were my favourite."

T'Kal's face broke into a grin and he lowered it to her chest. Lyrr screamed a voiceless cry as Oresh-- T'Kal-- whoever he was clamped down on the yielding flesh of her breast with his teeth, on the precise spot where the imprint of them still remained today. The warm blood trickled from the puncture wounds as they had that night, and in a perfect re-enactment, Lyrr's voice soared as she wailed. The difference this time was the Prophets responded, while they had failed to do so then, by ripping her from the unrelenting hold of her nightmare and thrusting her into dazed consciousness.

She was thrown upright in her bed with a strangled gasp barely escaping her lips. The coverlet had been tangled around her legs and tossed aside in her unconscious struggle, and the white tank top she wore was soaked through with perspiration instead of the blood she expected to see there. In the darkness, her bleary eyes mistook the shadows cast by the thick coverlet's folds, and the large bulges resembling a sleeping body as the apparition from her dream made manifest. She kicked wildly at the sheets to extricate her legs from them, then shot out of bed with a gasp and pulled the blanket clear off the mattress, which lay empty beneath.

Sweat rolled down the sides of her face as she stared into the darkness, breathing raggedly and feeling her body tremble uncontrollably. Lyrr backed away from the bed, fleeing from the memories evoked there and stifled a whimper as the wall came up behind her. She revelled in the security and stability it provided. With her back firmly to it, she slid to the floor and drew her knees tightly up to her chest.

The bastard had been right - she would never escape him, and she hadn't in all the years since; there were too many things that managed to trigger the memories, and T'Kal was the latest. To spare herself any more grief, distance between them was required, even if his intentions were anything but romantic. She was the commander of a starship and couldn't afford to be plagued by her past - it would be negligence on her part if she allowed such a thing to occur.

Now, she was grateful to Ensign Storm for having lost her trust and ending their blossoming friendship; she also gave credit to Farrell for having driven a wedge between them so large, there was no chance of extracting it. Alone, she could regain control of her errant memories and return them to that part of her mind where they would remain untouched again. Perhaps alone, even though she could never be happy, at least she would be free of Oresh for good.

---

"Tell Me Why"
By: Ensign Ainsley Chambers; Counselor
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Shuttlebay
Stardate: 57907.13 01h00

***

In the wee hours of the morning, the Sulu's main shuttle bay was a tomb. The little auxiliary craft were lined up neatly, and powered down. Even the bay lights were dimmed for Gamma shift and the night cycle. Farrell sat in the back of the shuttlecraft Magellan, waiting with his head in his hands. The chronometer on the shuttle's control panel chimed the hour as he had set it to do, and he looked idly up at the control room.

In the bay control room, hatch open to the rest of the cavernous bay, Crewman Pierce had his very long legs propped up on the desk. He was slouching back in his chair with his head on his chest and his fingers laced over his stomach. He was not asleep, however. He looked up at his console as Farrell watched, said something, glanced Farrell's way, and tapped a few keys. The incoming message chime sang out softly in the confines of the shuttle.

Farrell's heart sank. There were several things that would cause Pierce to put a message through to the shuttle, and none of them were good.

He keyed up the message. It was audio only.

"Hey, Mason..." Ainsley's voice sounded tired and more than a little strained. "I wanted to thank you for the bean bag chair. It was very kind of you, I can't believe you even remembered that I said I wanted one." There was a pause. "I just wanted to let you know that I can't come meet you. Something's...I...I just can't. I'm sorry!" Then the message ended.

His head sank back into his hands. He'd been afraid of this. And, as usual, plan B was awfully risky.

***

Ainsley was in her bathroom splashing water onto her face and scrubbing at her eyes with the palms of her hands. She'd tried sleeping, but it just wasn't happening. She'd tried reading but she couldn't concentrate. She'd been pacing back and forth around her bedroom and then around the sitting area as well. Ai'Pal had asked her if she wanted to meditate with him but she had declined, not wanting to throw off the Vulcan's groove, or what ever the hell it was that they got into when they meditated.

She was irritated, tired, grumpy -- basically, really pissed off.

When the door chime rang she knew instinctively who it was. She looked at herself in the mirror and said, "You know him well enough already to know that he won't give up. If you don't answer he'll probably stand out there all night ringing the damn chime." She'd truthfully known, when she sent the message, to expect this. She looked at what she had on. The shorts and t-shirt that she wore to bed were going to have to be good enough. She wasn't expecting to allow him in the quarters for very long anyway.

She stepped out into the sitting room and, walking toward the door, called, "Come in."

The door opened. Mason stood with one hand on either side of the doorjamb, leaning forward slightly with his head down. He looked up. She glared. But there was no turning back now.

"Can we talk?" he asked quietly, meeting her eyes but otherwise holding very still.

Ainsley shrugged. "If you'd like," she said and motioned for him to come inside. She could tell by the look on his face that he was very sorry and she softened a little. Then she looked into his eyes as he stepped into the room and decided to be strong. He would most likely just have to look at her in a certain way and she would crumble. She couldn't allow that, not after everything that she had heard that morning. She could get very hurt here and she had to stop it before it really got started. She was a counselor, dammit. She knew a bad thing when she saw it. Of course, she knew an emotional wreck when she saw one, too. She was looking at one right now.

Mason took a few steps into the room to allow the door to close behind him, and leaned against it for support.

"I'm sure the grapevine's buzzing about me," he said, looking like he might be ill, "and I wanted to tell you the truth before the rumors get out of hand. You're not going to like it, at all," he added, "but please hear me out."

Ainsley closed her eyes for a moment. It was only fair to tell him. "Before you start..." She opened her eyes again and looked at him. "I had a new patient come see me this morning. Natalia Druschev."

She could have hit him with a stick and hurt him less. He looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he responded. "What did she tell you?" he asked softly.

"A lot really," she stated matter-of-factly. "She didn't really have any reason to hide anything from me, I'm her counselor. She had no reason to suspect that anything she was saying could possibly hurt me, as she told me that the guy she was with denied being involved with anyone else." She nodded bitterly then. "That would be the truth, I guess. In this day and age what's a night dancing and a few chocolates? Nothing."

"I didn't deny," Mason said. "I didn't want to speak out of turn." His mouth was dry. He couldn't recall ever being this nervous. He felt nauseous. No, it wasn't nausea. He wasn't sure what it was, but something was roiling deep in his gut. "I don't--" He hesitated, groping. He'd planned a big speech, but had forgotten it the moment those blue eyes drilled into him. "I...you don't deserve to be a pawn in this. It was my mess. I didn't want to use you like that. Especially when--" He hesitated again. "Do you want to be involved with me? Do you want me to claim that? Because I want to. I do. I've been thinking about this all day, and I kept coming back to you. Why are you the one I'm terrified to face like this? Why are you the one whose forgiveness I'm seeking? Is it because I want to be involved with you?"

Ainsley had a sudden vision of her first meeting with Amy Reese, where Amy was tortured because she had slept with someone other than Kit. She kept swearing that she didn't know why she had done it and was terrified that she had ruined her relationship forever. Was that Mason's problem, was he like Amy and was terrified of the idea of actually committing to one person?

Ainsley really didn't know what she herself wanted anymore. Yesterday she would have sworn that all she wanted was to become involved with Mason. Now, after everything she had heard, she just wasn't sure.

Mason pushed on. "You and I did only go dancing once, and have no real claim to one another. Logically, there's no reason why, but I feel like I've betrayed you. No-one else. Just you." He sucked his teeth for a moment, considering his next words, which came slowly, the rush of words finally petering out to a quiet, "If you would rather I not contact you socially again, I'll understand."

"No!" Ainsley replied quickly, before she even knew what she was saying. She surprised herself more than she surprised Mason even. Neither said anything for a minute. Ainsley was trying to figure out why she had said that, she had every reason to say: Yes, leave me alone! but she couldn't.

"I don't know what I want right now, Mason," she sighed at last. "All I know is that I want to know why. Why, if you want to be involved with me as you claim, would you do that?" she asked, her eyes sad now.

"Can I sit down?" Mason asked. "Let me sit down and collect myself for a second, and I'll tell you everything."

Ainsley looked at him, skeptically, for a moment. If this was some sort of ploy.... "Sure...sit down."

"It all started on Risa," Mason began, sitting gingerly and leaning forward earnestly. "A few nights back, before we went dancing" --he gestured between himself and Ainsley-- "I was on Risa in a casino. I met a woman there, Natalia, and we spent the night together. It was Risa, and" ---he made a vague gesture-- "and I'm sure you get the idea."

Ainsley nodded then. She'd gotten the picture when Natalia had explained it earlier that day as well.

"Anyway, I never expected to see her again. I figured it was just Risa and the way it works on people. But it turns out she's here," he grimaced. He was having a hard time meeting Ainsley's eyes. "We, um, we got together last night to try and sort out what had happened between us, and...we wound up spending the night again. It was like we needed to know if it had just been Risa. Does that make sense?" The question was honest, and Mason looked stricken about asking it, though he didn't wait for an answer.

"It turns out it was just Risa. I have no desire to pursue anything beyond a working friendship with Natalia. She did ask me several times if there was someone else, and I simply didn't answer. I didn't want to move us, you and me, too fast. I wanted to get to know you better before I asked you if you wanted more of a commitment. I've" --he hesitated, then gave a tired chuckle-- "got a tendency to jump in first and think later, but when I do someone tends to end up hurt. And I didn't want to hurt you. Ever.

"But in spite of all my best-intended plans, I've hurt you anyway, and I'm sorry." His eyes told her he meant it.

Ainsley crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. She wanted to believe him, but she didn't want to believe him at the same time. She wanted to hate him and tell him that he had hurt her very badly and there was no forgiveness for it, she wanted to tell him to leave and not come back.

But she couldn't.

She also couldn't give him the forgiveness that he obviously wanted, at least not yet. She couldn't tell him that it was ok. It was still too fresh.

"Mason...I..." She didn't know what to say.

"Don't," Mason said gently, shaking his head as he rose from the chair. "Don't try and decide anything now. You've been hit with a lot. You're hurt. I am so sorry."

Ainsley nodded then, feeling drained and defeated in a way. Suddenly her long day really caught up with her and she felt almost tired enough to pass out.

They stared at each other in silence for a time, and then Mason spoke again.

"I should go. You need time, and I need time, and--" He paused. "We both need time." He stood. "I mean it when I say I'll stay away if that's what you decide. I hope you don't decide that, but I'll understand if you do. Let me know?" His tone was soft, a verbal caress, his accent oddly homey and comforting.

But the words almost made her cringe. Was she being unreasonable? She decided right away that she was not. "I will," she said. "Give me some time, though. Don't expect me to have any sort of answer for you tomorrow!"

"Take all the time you need. I've got to earn your trust back. I know. I'll wait," he said. "Shall I go?"

Ainsley nodded. "Please... I need to go to bed."

Mason walked toward the door. He stopped as it opened, and turned one last time. "Ainsley," he said softly. "Thank you."

She looked at him in confusion. "For what?"

"For hearing me out," he said simply. And he was out the door and gone.

She sighed deeply after the doors closed, and slumped down into the chair Mason had just left. Sleepily she thought to herself that she should really give up on men altogether. Relationships were never easy for her and she always ended up hurt and alone. She briefly thought of the two men that she had loved in her life. Mario, who she couldn't really call a man, had been her highschool sweetheart. Thomas had been in his last year at the University of London when she was in her first. She drifted off to sleep on the chair and dreamt about love the way she had when she was a child.

---

"Confrontation of Style"
By: by Ensign Nathalie Gui - Communications Specialist
and Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal - Chief Security Officer

Location: Holodeck 2, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.13 06h45

***

Nathalie Gui knelt in the middle of a mat inside the Holographically created dojo. She wore her black fighting gi, her hair was pulled back in a tight French braid, her feet tapered with athletic tape. Her legs were kneeled beneath her form; one foot hooked over the other behind her. The distinct, smoky scent of incense hung in the air, the small oil lanterns burning set off flickering shadows on the walls. Gui continued to meditate as she detected the shifting of weight upon the floor of the dojo, the sound of the Holodeck doors opening and closing, barely meeting her ears like a gentle breeze.

"I see you have accepted my invitation," she remarked, eyes still closed. Opening her eyes Gui rose to her feet and then asked in Japanese, a slight smile on her face, "So are you ready to test my skills?"

Benedict smiled. "Hai!" he replied softly. "Tachi-rei," he added as he faced her and made the informal bow. He was dressed in his customary black Class A uniform. Light weight soft boots replaced the standard Starfleet issue footwear and his hair was tightly bound in a pony-tail that reached to the middle of his shoulders. He grinned as he faced Nathalie Gui; she had impressed him with her ability to absorb much of the security curriculum so far, and now the most enjoyable aspects of her training would be tested.

Nathalie was a proponent of the Isshin-Ryu style - and Benedict knew it to be very effective in close-in fighting. In fact the original style had been developed in Okinawa to combat the Chinese. It stressed short, fast lightning-like moves and an economic grace that provided good stability. It was very similar to Benedict's own hybrid style. The fact that Nathalie had combined it with the Chinese Kung-Fu made her an effective opponent.

As he straightened up he launched into a fast instep kick and upper hand strike, a split second apart. The kick drew her attention down and as she moved to counter the foot; his hand reached out and blocked her own strike, continuing inside her reach to slap her on the forehead. The strike was over before she could react and Benedict backed away, grinning. He had barely touched her, just enough to make her more aware of his multiple strike approach to fighting. He remained at a distance to let her come to him. Her style was limiting in that respect, and Benedict played on it. He was taller and longer in the leg and had a slight reach advantage.

The other advantage was emotive. She would be trying hard to impress him and that would make her more vulnerable to the type of goading that his light tap on her head represented. Benedict's violet eyes were unfocused, allowing him to see every part of her body move.

Nathalie fell into a Seisan-Dachi stance and regarded Benedict carefully. His recent attack left her stunned and off-balance; she'd have to counterattack in some way to throw him off guard... Moving forward quickly Nathalie executed a Flying Front Kick and coupled it with a Knife Hand Strike to T'Kal's throat.

As she came forward and leaped, Benedict stepped into a low, left side stance, avoiding the snapping kick and brushing her knife hand strike away with a crisp crossing block at her elbow. His extended right arm caught her under the armpit and across her chest in a solid clothes-line. Nathalie was slammed into the mat as he carried his weight forward and down. Benedict walked past her to turn once again in a ready stance. He grinned and motioned that she should stand, beckoning her to continue.

Standing back up Nathalie straightened her jacket as she walked towards Benedict, falling into a new stance. Circling her opponent Gui regarded his body's movements, trying to discern as to what attack he would use next. A smile crossed her lips...discern one's attacks? Well now who ever said there'd be anything wrong with using the element of surprise?

Gui moved forward quickly and assumed the stance to perform a Crescent Kick. Instead of falling through completely with the Crescent Kick, Gui smoothly reversed stances and executed a Cross Stomp Kick. Sensing T'Kal's momentary disorientation Gui followed up the attack with Rising Block, thwarting off his Snapping Punch before countering with a Palm Heel Strike to the face and sending Benedict stumbling back towards the wall. Nathalie moved back, hands still raised defensively she taunted, "Let's Go!" in Japanese at him.

Benedict grinned. "Stay relaxed, and focus on nothing," he said in Japanese. "The Void is a place you reach for - once attained it is the place of thought - no thought." He walked slowly, circling Nathalie as he talked, his hands moving in random patterns, and his feet stepping oddly like a drummer out of beat. "Strategy - no strategy. Do not plan or decide upon a course of action - allow your mind to drift so that the course of action is chosen as a natural response to your opponent rather than something you make happen. In this way, you cannot be anticipated. You are open to all options. You are not governed by a set style or rhythm. When the opening occurs for your attack it will be taken naturally."

He stepped in closer once again and nodded. This time as he moved he went straight for her, fists and elbows moving in short arcs that she blocked several times, and feet that attempted sweeps and short kicks to her knees and insteps. It was a fluid attack that fell into a fast rhythm in a matter of seconds - and as soon as she responded the way he wanted her to, the attack she had expected wasn't there. Instead he dropped and caught her foot as she kicked out. He used his strength to wrench her ankle and rolled. She was in the air before she knew what was happening and hitting the mat face down. Benedict's Axe kick caught her square in the back of the neck. He stopped short of doing any damage.

Rolling away he said, "Your training can lull you into anticipation."

Blinking her eyes several times Nathalie groaned inwardly to herself before proceeding to push herself up off the mat. So far it seemed as though she and the floor we're becoming fast friends. On the other hand T'Kal far outmatched her in the areas of skill; where she practiced this form of self defense out of hobby, he used it whenever necessary.

Circling the tall Bajoran she proceeded to raise her hands upwards in defense but she stopped and let them hang low at her sides. Moving in close Gui dodged and blocked a variety of punches Benedict threw at her before countering by executing some random attacks of her own.

Dodging a punch to her collar bone Nathalie latched onto Benedict's wrist and used his momentum to propel herself behind him and wrench his arm around his back. Gui easily latched her arm around his neck in a chokehold from behind, and drove a Downard Elbow Strike into his back causing to Benedict to fall to the mat face first.

Moving away she asked with an impish grin on her face, "Better?"

He was flipping in the air before she finished the word, and landed within striking distance. She reacted quickly and blocked his first series of strikes; his face held a grin as he threw punches, stabbing thrusts and savage chops at her head and neck, all of which she managed to avoid or deflect. He stepped away and they circled again. Benedict lightly moving on the balls of his feet and his hands ready to block. "Much better," he said in Japanese. "You are skilled," he paid her a compliment, smiling at the woman who grinned back at him, waiting for an attack. He nodded and laughed, suddenly relaxed. "I think I have learned enough," he said.

He stood with feet together and arms by his side and bowed. "Thank you," Benedict added as he straightened. "You pass the entry requirements for personal combat. More than that I think." He stepped toward her and held out his hand. As she took it he shook. "You'll be an asset to security. Only a few practical tactical exams in the holodeck and your assessment will be complete. I'll pass on my recommendation to the XO. If you think you are ready, I'll approve your transfer. I don't think you will have any problems. I'll get Lieutenant Hex to coach you through the first stage of riot control, and then it's the security officer's survival exam. We're going to have to find five days for that one." He grinned. The survival course was the toughest thing Benedict had ever done in Starfleet. It tested endurance, intelligence, physical fitness and skills in a combination that left many cadets in the infirmary after the course concluded. It was the final hurdle.

"Excellent, I am very much looking forward to serving with you, sir. You fight as good as the other members of your security team say," she remarked, grinning at him, though she was still somewhat winded from the match. "I think I'm ready." She then stated, indicating the transfer, "Any particular time you want me to start working strictly in security?"

"As soon as you pass the final exam," he grinned. "I'll see the XO and arrange for a week of holodeck time."

Gui nodded, releasing T'Kal's hand. Suddenly she remembered Benedict mentioning a type of survival course. "Now about this survival course... Anything in particular I should be warned of in advance such as when you want me to go through with it or what in particular I should suspect?" If one thing was for a certain she was guessing 'be prepared for anything' would fall into Benedict's answer.

"Well" --he gave he a wicked grin-- " a whole five days in a holodeck with nothing but your uniform." He shrugged. "I can't give much away, but you'll be given the standard immersion drugs. Just like at the Starfleet Academy." The immersion exams at the academy were designed to make the cadet totally believe that the holodeck experience was a real one. It allowed the psych officers to assess the real-time reactions of the cadets under stress. It also allowed for a completely real assessment with some of the difficulties that would be presented. "You'll be taking a shuttle ride...that's all I can say. But I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"I'll see to it that I don't disappoint you, sir." Inwardly Nathalie couldn't help but feel slightly nervous. For some reason this survival mission sounded like something she read out of an old Terran novel. It was just five days in a holodeck, how bad could it be?

---

"Tribunal"
by Captain Matthew T. Salinger - Commanding Officer
Commander Lyrr Tayla - Executive Officer
Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer
and Ensign Cecily Torsten - Yeoman

Location: USS Sulu, Briefing Room
Stardate: 57907.13, 09h00

***

Ensign Storm stood before three grim faces. Captain Salinger was seated center at the opposite end of the briefing table, a small brass bell before him. Commander Lyrr sat to the Captain's right and Lieutenant T'Kal was on his left. Both the Captain and Commander's faces were indecipherable masks but Storm fancied that T'Kal favored him with slightly warmer glare than the others. Storm felt that they had come to an understanding of sorts after their talk in the Armory and he hoped that T'Kal felt the same way. In spite of what Ethan was planning to do here today, he could use someone on his side when it was all over.

Ensign Torsten sat to the left of Storm, close enough where he could have touched her. A computer terminal had been set up for Cecily and she had a small role to play herself, as an administrator and human witness to the hearing. It looks like her first time, Storm thought, detecting the slightest of tremors in the young yeoman's fingers as she prepared the computer to record the proceedings. While he was certainly not an old hand at this kind of thing, Storm had been in this position once before. As a mere Cadet, he had stood at a court-martial to answer to the events aboard the Yeager. When there were deaths aboard a starship, a court-martial was mandatory. In fact, when the Sulu reached Deep Space Nine the Captain might face an administrative hearing himself. The ship had lost personnel on its last two missions.

However, if Salinger faced a hearing, it would be a formality: Simply a bureaucratic affair to account for the dead and make it all a matter of record. At Storm's own court-martial, he had been summarily cleared of wrongdoing and had even ended up decorated for his actions. Looking at the grave faces, he knew history would not repeat itself.

Without a change in expression, Captain Salinger leaned forward to pick up a small metal striker. He tapped the brass bell on the table with it twice. And then another pair of taps. And yet another.

As the third couplet of bell chimes died, Ensign Torsten rose to her full height and looked towards Ensign Storm, her face remaining totally neutral despite the fluttering butterflies in her stomach; she herself was not being accused but the tension itself in the room was overwhelming. Regaining her nerves Torsten then began, "Ensign Ethan Anderson Storm, you stand accused of willfully and unlawfully contracting to obtain information that was and is the property of a Federation member world. Do you acknowledge this accusation?"

"I do," Storm answered, eyes straight ahead.

"You have been informed of your rights," Torsten continued. "I remind you of your right to remain silent. You do not have to make any statement regarding the offense of which you are accused and any statement made by you may be used as evidence against you. You also have the right to demand trial by court-martial. Do you fully understand your rights?"

"I do," Storm repeated, unflinching.

Torsten took her seat then and turned her attention back to her control panel where she continued to record the event unfolding. She looked over to Captain Salinger briefly before quickly turning her attention back to her console; her expression remained neutral all the while. She was merely a witness and a recorder to this event, nothing more.

Captain Salinger regarded Storm for a moment before speaking. "You are advised that this hearing is not a trial and that a determination of misconduct on your part is not conviction by a court. Further, you are advised that the formal rules of evidence used in trials by court-martial do not apply at this hearing. I have a statement by you acknowledging that you were fully advised of your legal rights pertaining at this hearing. Do you understand this statement and do you understand the rights explained therein?"

"Aye, sir."

"Do you have any questions about them or do you wish to make any requests?"

"Aye, sir," Storm said, his eyes fixed on Risa through the Briefing Room's portal. "I would like to make a statement."

Salinger nodded. "Go ahead."

"Sir," Storm began, with a small step forward. "I wish to affirm my guilt and waive my right to present evidence in my defense. I committed the act in question, willfully in violation of Risan law. I do have remorse for the act but I ask no consideration for that remorse." Storm looked to T'Kal. "I also respectfully request that any recommendations for leniency by Starfleet Command or anyone in my stead be summarily ignored. I made this mess, sir. I want to clean it up."

Captain Salinger remained silent for a moment, letting Storm's words sink in to all those present. "Is there anything that you wish to offer that would lessen the seriousness of this offense or mitigate it?"

"No, sir."

Suppressing the urge to sigh, Matt turned to the Sulu's new Chief of Security. "Lieutenant T'Kal, what can you tell me about Ensign Storm's performance of duty?"

Benedict stood and clasped hands behind his back. As serious as this hearing was, Benedict had very little in the way of personal additions to his report. The discussion that they had the other morning had managed to erase Benedict's former judgment of him. So he started by giving the standard report. "Ensign Ethan Storm has performed his duty adequately, sir. I can only surmise the majority of his appraisal from my predecessor and from his transfer logs. The Ensign has managed to impress upon me his determination to perform his duties to Starfleet standard. He does display courage to undertake hazardous duty, though he has also displayed a disposition to act alone rather than as a member of the security detail. I believe that he has some minor performance issues, but nothing that cannot be worked out. In this instance he acted on behalf of a fellow crew-mate, but did not follow regulations, nor did he consult the proper chain of command."

Once again, Matt's gaze returned to Ensign Storm. "Is there anything else you would like to present?"

"No, sir."

"Recommendation?" Matt said as he turned to Commander Lyrr.

Lyrr's mouth was set in a hard line, and her back was straight and stiff. Not once did her gaze meet Storm's. "I recommend a formal reprimand and an official apology to Dojit Terise and Risa," she answered in a voice devoid of emotion. "Though, if I may," she added, this time raising her eyes to look in Storm's direction, "I would like to point out to the tribunal that the Ensign did make an admission of his offenses to Lieutenant Sam shortly after he committed them, and all property was turned over to the hands of Dojit Terise within a reasonable time. I believe that should count for something, Captain." Then she went silent again and held Storm's gaze a moment longer before lowering her eyes to her folded hands.

Matt nodded and suppressed the frown that nearly came to the surface. Now wasn't the time to debate Storm's actions and his feelings of guilt should have come before he committed his act, not after. "Lieutenant T'Kal, recommendation?"

Benedict looked at Ethan as he declared his recommendation. "Sir - I would recommend that Ensign Storm receive an administrative punishment of the Captain's determination. As his commanding officer I have placed him on double duty and restricted his off-duty activities pending this hearing. He has performed this punishment with no complaint and has shown remorse and a consideration for his actions. I would also recommend that he be ordered to seek counseling, as I believe his actions to have been strongly influenced by a prior combat action on the USS Yeager and the results of that action."

At that, Storm took a deep breath and held it.

There were several long moments of silence before Captain Salinger spoke again. "Ensign Ethan Anderson Storm, I accept your statement of guilt and I impose the following punishment: You will receive a formal reprimand on your record; your commendation for actions on Risa will be stripped; you will submit to mandatory counselling for a period not less than six months of time; recreation privileges aboard Starfleet property will be rescinded for a period of four months with the exception of one hour's allotment of physical training, and will instead use that time to review and relearn Starfleet's rules and regulations.

"Ensign, and you are lucky to still be referred to as such, tread carefully. There is no court martial this time; but if there is a next time, there will be.

"You are advised that you have the right to appeal this punishment to Starfleet Judge Advocate General. Your appeal must be sent within five days. Following this hearing, you will be advised more fully of this right to appeal. Do you understand?"

"Aye, sir," Storm exhaled. It was over. For the time being.

Matt frowned. "You are dismissed."

---

"The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same"
By: Lt. Brennyn Scott, RN - Chief Counselor/Nurse
Ensign Mason Farrell - Operations Officer

Location: Brennyn Scott's Office, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.13 09h00

***

"I appreciate your coming, Mason. I'm sure you're aware of the importance of regular evaluations..." In truth, Bree did not have to be a telepath to know the Texan was uncomfortable with seeing her. That wasn't surprising to Bree. Even the people who seemed to come of their own volition appeared to be skittish once they got here. As usual, Scott preferred to be up front about matters, and in doing so, she hoped to break the ice.

"I'll skip all the usual caveats about not wanting to be here," Farrell quipped. He was very still in his chair.

"You've been through a lot recently and I felt it important to make sure you were feeling ok. The attack on Risa, the stabbing, these things have a way of haunting us when we least expect or want them to. If you'd like to get some things off your chest, now's your chance."

Farrell snorted and lowered his head, rubbing his forehead lightly. Where to even start?

"Okay," he said, shrugging and letting his hands fall to his thighs with a light slap. "The XO thinks I'm unfit for duty, I've slept or nearly slept with three members of the crew, and my shoulder hurts. What do I do?" He was flippant.

Bree should have known better than to have been that direct with a man who seemed to go through life hiding his emotions with humor. "Sounds serious. Paranoia, an impulse control disorder and psychosomatic tendencies... I hope your career plans are flexible, Mason," deadpanned Scott, "'cause it looks like you're going nowhere fast." One look conveyed a world of hidden meaning. Brennyn just hoped Farrell was wise enough to believe it.

Mason threw his head back, gave a short but genuine laugh, and clapped his hands once. "Oh, you're going to be a lot more fun than past Counselors I've had to deal with," he said, smiling. "I'm sorry I was so flip," he was getting serious, but it was a lighthearted seriousness. "I just really had to do the whole gauntlet of counseling before, and I promised myself I wouldn't go back. It's nothing against you."

"Really?" asked Bree with a smirk, arms folded casually across her chest. "So whom or what is it against, and what made you decide to break your promise?" She had been "tested" before and found such power struggles to be attempts to hide real fear. Mason Farrell wanted to know if he could trust Brennyn Scott, a question she was not going to be able to answer to his satisfaction, she knew, no matter how much she told him otherwise.

Farrell calmly shook his head. "I don't break promises," he said. "I'm here per trauma protocol. You'd relieve me of duty if I dodged for too long." He sat back in his chair. "I'm alright, Lieutenant. Really. I got shot. I got better. I'm okay." She remained quiet, waiting. He scratched an eyebrow nonchalantly.

"But you want me to keep talkin'," he nodded, "and you won't let me out of here unless I do. So..." he trailed off, thinking. He appeared to think of something after a few seconds. "So answer me a question. I assume you read my file preparatory to our meeting here. Your thoughts? Have I got a future?"

She shook her head in amusement and waggled a finger at him. "That's not for me to decide, and you know it, Mason. You'll not get me to label you just so you can continue your self-fulfilling prophecies. You want to know if I think you have a future? I don't know, you tell me, do you want one?"

"Sure," Farrell said.

Bree folded her arms and sat atop her desk. "I'll be honest with you, Mason, you don't strike me as the sort who'd be insubordinate for the hell of it, but Commander Lyrr seems to think you're a bit of a loose cannon. I know her side of things, care to tell me yours? I'm simply trying to figure out what could cause such friction between you two. If you want a future here, it would seem advantageous of you to work things out with her, don't you think?"

"Commander Lyrr calls me a loose cannon," Farrell shrugged. "I call myself open minded. I'm an unorthodox guy, willing to consider unorthodox solutions. The unorthodox makes Commander Lyrr nervous. But more to the point, I've got myself a nice big black mark on my record, and Commander Lyrr dislikes black marks. They ruin the decor," he finished wryly.

"Working things out with the Commander is easier said than done," he continued. "I do think I've been going about it the wrong way, certainly. I'd been trying to prove something, I think, when what I really needed to do was keep myself under the radar long enough to be considered harmless. But it's sure hard for me to stay below the radar," he smiled.

Bree arched an eyebrow. "But not impossible? Look, Mason, you deserve your own happiness and the opportunity to be yourself. But, tell me, do you feel you have something to prove? I can imagine the demotion has been quite a stumbling block for you."

"Sure. It's been a stumbling block," Farrell nodded thoughtfully. "I don't know that I feel like I need to prove something. That is, I'm more or less comfortable with who I am, and don't need to do anything to make me feel all right. But I do feel like I have to prove and re-prove myself to others. I enter any Starfleet personnel situation now at a disadvantage. I'm the 'guy who got demoted,' and I carry all the stigma that goes with it. But I know why I got demoted, I'm comfortable with it, and it doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that I may not be trusted to do my job because of it.

"I am a good officer," he said, and meant it. "I graduated the Academy in the 94th percentile. I have eight years experience in both starbase and starship administration. My file holds a dozen commendations and outstanding reviews from my past commanders and department heads. I am capable, know my stuff, and I deliver. I am a good officer, and I resent being judged solely by my record's single black mark.

"Now, I recognize that my record has a black mark. I know I'm not perfect. But I think that in the final analysis, that black mark is outweighed by my skills, my abilities, and my willingness to use them in service to my ship. I just need others to figure that out, too."

Bree paused and considered all he'd said. Despite his glibness and bravado, it was clear to her that proving himself to others really was a personal mission that affected him on all levels. How could it not? What good was it to be so self-assured if it was never reinforced by others? What value did it have?

The truth was, his reactions were quite normal for what he'd been through. The challenge was getting him to see that and deal with those feelings first. "Tell me about that need. Why do you feel it's so important to prove to others that you can succeed and play by their rules? How do you feel about the way you were treated, then and now?" She was trying to take the focus off his perceptions of others and their misunderstanding and turn his attention inward.

Why did he choose to go about resolving things with Lyrr the wrong way, why did he choose to hide behind questionable behavior?

"It's a question of duty, really," Farrell mused. "Ever read Catch-22? Heller?"

"It's been a long time," replied Scott, "refresh my memory, would you?" She was not at all sure where this was going and suspected he might be stalling.

"The main character in the story, a bombardier, wants out of combat duty. He asks the flight surgeon to ground him because he's going crazy. And the surgeon tells him that anyone who goes crazy because of combat is certainly not crazy, he's normal."

Farrell smiled and continued. "The application of this in my life goes like this: I can help. I'm unorthodox and I do things in odd ways, but I get the job done. I could be endlessly useful to this ship and my crewmates. But if I do things my way, I make certain people angry. In order to make those people happy, I have to sit still and be quiet, which means I can't get the kinds of results I'm capable of. Does that make sense?"

"I get where you're coming from, Mason, but I'm not sure what you expect. You're not going to find a commanding officer who's going to let you do things your way all the time or leave you alone as you do it. They have people to answer to as well. Have you considered that you just might be as successful working with them instead of focusing on doing things without them? I think you'll find people more apt to consider your approaches once they know you're willing to consider theirs and be a team player."

Farrell looked theatrically above Scott's head. "Ah," he said wistfully, "the Team. What a great concept that is. Teams are great and all, but a lot of the time people confuse micromanagement with teamwork. Teamwork's a function of everybody doing their job, and everybody trusting everybody else to do their jobs. I'm plenty happy to do my job and let everyone else do theirs. And as long as I'm producing and my job's getting done," he shrugged, "what difference does it make how I do it?"

Bree pursed her lips. "Maybe because there's more to life aboard the Sulu than simply getting the job done." She paused. "You mentioned trust. Do you trust your crewmates, Mason?"

He chuckled and shrugged. "Sure."

"Expand on that. Whom do you trust and why do you trust them?" She wondered if his laugh were meant to be a sign of his discomfort or if he truly found her amusing.

"I trust." He paused, drawing the word out while he mentally assembled his list. "Reese to sleep with anything sentient, Lyrr to ride me into the deck every chance she gets, Storm to do foolish things that risk too much for too little, Hamilton to keep me humble," he waved a hand absently, searching for more. "Ai'Pal and Saavar to be arrogant and shortsighted, Viraj to get nervous whenever anyone sniffles around him, Gui to always return my calls, Stencil to always have tequila handy, Um, oh!" he exclaimed, "and you to keep asking me questions," he finished with a wink and smile.

Bree smiled. "Touché. Now, care to answer my real question? Do you trust them with your life? To do their jobs? You keep talking about wanting to be trusted, to be left alone to do your job, but I get the sense that you don't want to reciprocate."

He hmmm-ed, a low, thoughtful sound. "There's a big difference between trusting someone to do their job and trusting them with your life. Sure, I trust people to do their jobs; why wouldn't they? But with my life," he paused, "that's something else entirely."

Bree arched an eyebrow. "How so?" It seemed he was splitting hairs with her, perhaps attempting to avoid her question. Wasn't the doctor who gave him his physical doing his or her job and in doing so, protecting Mason's life? Wasn't the engineer who made sure the warp core stayed in alignment holding every single person's life within his or her hands?

Maybe it was easier for Farrell not to think of those things, to consider that he just might need someone else like he had needed his father so many years ago. All in all, Mason Farrell was an interesting study. And she found herself wanting him to succeed despite how much he pretended he was better off alone.

He studied her for a long minute. Scott waited patiently for his response, wondering if the Ensign was truly at a loss for words or if he was trying to decide how much to reveal about himself.

"I trust people who have trusted me. I trust Gui. I trust Storm." He looked like he was about to add something more, but shook his head slightly. "I trust them because they've demonstrated to me something past simple competence at their jobs. We're all competent. We wouldn't be here if we weren't."

Scott noticed his hesitation and knew he was holding something back. "But you aren't made to feel that way, are you? It's not enough that you know you're competent or even that you're recognized for your efforts, you want to be treated like a person again, not just an officer who is duty bound."

He nodded. "Sounds about right."

Bree crossed her arms. "So now that I understand the problem, what do you plan to do to fix it?"

"I'm sorry," Farrell said. "It's a problem?"

Brennyn shrugged. "Maybe it really isn't. But you said yourself, you felt you had to prove yourself to other people, that you don't deserve to suffer the rest of your career because of one acknowledged blackmark. So, you tell me, is it a problem you're prepared to fix, or were you simply blowing smoke up my ass?" She regarded him wryly, tongue firmly in cheek.

"It's not my problem, though blowing smoke up your ass is tempting," Farrell grinned.

Brennyn allowed herself a chuckle. "So what is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Farrell shook his head slightly, still grinning. "I got shot, but I'm ok."

"You were also stabbed." added Scott. "That's quite a lot to wrap your brain around. Would you tell me, Mason, if you weren't ok? Would you ask for help?"

"Absolutely," Farrell said, with utmost conviction.

And she believed him. She doubted he would ever ask her for help, but that didn't matter. She slapped her knees with her palms. "Alright. You know where to find me. Thanks for stopping by, Mason. You can go if you like."

"Thank you, Counselor," he said as he stood and smiled at her. It was a genuine smile, but unnervingly like the smile of a gamesman who's just played out a challenging match and is exhilarated by it.

And then he was gone.

---

"It Never Rains but It Pours"
By: Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer
Crewman 1st Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Astrometrics Technician
and Captain Matthew T. Salinger - Commanding Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Corridor Outside Briefing Room
Stardate: 57907.13 09h41

***

Following a few words needlessly exchanged with Ensign Torsten about the appeal procedure, Ensign Storm emerged from the Briefing Room and exhaled. The judgment was more than fair but the four-month restriction rankled a bit and he knew it wouldn't set well with Shyla. Not that she would protest too long and loud - it wasn't in her nature - but Ethan knew it would be a disappointment and he just wasn't ready to hand her another so fast in their renewed relationship.

As it turned out, Crewman Moreau was there in the corridor just as he stepped out. It didn't look as if she'd been waiting for him - in fact she was in motion and heading for the Briefing Room with such a determined look, she was halfway past him and through the opening door before his hand on her shoulder stopped her short.

"Hey," Storm said, it coming out more like a question than a greeting. "Do you want to take it down to impulse?"

Shyla saw him, smiled, and then looked immediately crestfallen. "It's over?" she asked, seemingly distressed. "Already?"

Storm led her back from the Briefing Room, allowing the doors to close on the still occupied Briefing Room and also allowing some small privacy in the public corridor. "Well, I'm sure they could have dragged it out," Storm teased. "Too bad they didn't know the delight you'd take in seeing me squirm."

"No," Shyla protested, not accepting the jest. "It's not that. I just --"

"What do you have there?" Storm asked, referring to the stack of PADDs being held in Shyla's small pale hands. There were at least six of them.

"Case law," Shyla announced. Balancing the stack in her right hand, she grabbed on off the top with her left and held it up. "Risan and Federation. I found no less then two-dozen entries concerning precedents about the ownership of information. There are three Risan court rulings that suggest information cannot be owned at all!"

"Why do you have a stack of PADDs?" Storm asked with a laugh. "Two dozen case histories shouldn't take that much storage space."

Shyla grew a little embarrassed. She kicked a spot on the deck as she stared down at her work. "Well, you really have to see the rulings in context so I either copied the entire book or collection of books they came from. But it doesn't matter now."

Storm regarded her with a combination of genuine affection and slight bemusement. She looked absolutely beautiful. Her auburn hair was down and it spilled over her shoulders and midway down her back. She was wearing a Class-A variant cut a little tighter than her usual duty uniform and with the skirt that he knew she thought was entirely too short. The only thing that took away from the perfection was her half-lidded eyes, probably straining to stay open after spending an entire night or more doing research on his behalf. At that moment, Storm cared for her more than he had cared for anyone. Ever.

"So," he began, carefully avoiding the impulse to gush affection at her. "Your intention was to come down here, looking like a million bars of latinum, and argue my case for me?"

Shyla shrugged and continued to look down at the PADDs in her hands. "Yeah," she answered, almost as if she were embarrassed.

"Shyla."

She looked up at Storm, her eyes a little moist. He reached out and cradled her cheek with his hand. He smiled as he leaned in to kiss her. "Thank you," he said, warmly and sincerely just before their lips touched.

It was a quick kiss and it was meant to be; they were in full view in a public corridor. Still, Shyla grinned as if dazed for a moment before she snapped back to reality. "Oh!" she exclaimed, fumbling through her stack of PADDs. "Did they explain the appeal process to you? You know you only have fi --"

"Shyla, it's over. I'm not going to appeal."

Shyla stopped mid-sentence and again looked crestfallen. "Well, why? What did they give you?"

"Formal reprimand, six months required counseling," Storm recited the first two punishments dispassionately, like he was reading off a list of sensor components. The last one was the kicker and he said it softly. "Four month recreational restriction aboard the ship, except for an hour a day physical fitness."

Shyla's face instantly went pale. "Recreational restriction? What does that mean?"

"Holodecks are out, unless it's for PT purposes. No lounge for the next four months, which may be a good thing. Only an hour a day at the gyms. Basically, anything non-duty related that might be 'fun' is a no go." Now, that Storm said it aloud, he realized he had placed himself on recreational restriction for most of his time on the Sulu.

Shyla visibly brightened. "So, we can see one another?" she asked, hopeful.

Storm nodded. "No more visitor restrictions. You can come to my quarters any time." His grin grew large as he stifled a laugh. "Though if we're going to do anything other than just visit, it can't be recreational. It has to be very serious business."

Shyla went instantly pink but also started to giggle. Just as she leaned up to kiss him again, Ethan noticed her eyes going wide at something she saw just over his shoulder. He turned around.

Captain Salinger was standing there looking at them, his face looking only a little less grave than it had in the hearing. As he took a step towards them, he moved stiffly and carefully. He would be a long time healing.

Taken aback, Storm stiffened to attention as did Shyla. "Sir," Ethan said, not really sure what to follow with but thinking that the Captain never formally met Shyla. So he indicated her. "This is Crewman Moreau, sir. From Astrometrics." Storm looked at all the PADDs in her hand and couldn't help but add: "And my attorney, it would seem."

"Looks like you're a little late for the trial, Counsellor," Salinger said with a smile. "Fortunately, he's still in Starfleet...so the next time he goes off on his own and jeopardizes his career, you may have your chance again." He glanced down at the padd in his hand, the other part of the judgement that hadn't been spoken of, that he'd delayed through yesterday until today. In some respects, he was glad for the slight reprieve from breaking the news, but the delays were over. "Crewman, if you could excuse us for a moment, I need a private word with Ensign Storm."

"Aye sir," Shyla nodded, though a slight hesitancy indicated her concern. Shooting a comforting look to Ethan, she turned and walked a fair distance down the corridor, leaving the two men alone.

Once Moreau was gone, Matt held up the padd he held in his hand. "There's one more...condition, I guess you could say, on your judgement. The details are on this padd, but you're going to be flying a runabout and hooking up with the Spector to drop off an Ambassador and return that runabout. As I said, the details are on there."

As soon as the name of the ship escaped the Captain's lips, Storm blanched but covered it with a thoughtful frown as he accepted the PADD. Ambassador Serek would be working with the Opai for a week or so before he'd need an escort back to the Spector. The Ambassador had only just arrived on Risa that morning. Storm did some quick calculations in his head.

"Sir, this schedule suggests that I'll leave a week to ten days from now, spend five days traveling with the Ambassador back to the Spector, and then continue on with them to Deep Space Nine. Will the Sulu still be there, sir?"

"Captain Waverly has assured me that you will reach DS9 before we depart," Matt answered. "So, everything should work out fine."

Storm blanched again. "So it is Captain Waverly making the request, sir?"

"That's correct," Matt answered. "He contacted me directly and requested this---requested you, specifically---mission, and when you reach the other end, expect a heart-to-heart chat."

"Aye, sir, " Storm said, suppressing a sigh. Apprehension was all over his face.

Matt gave a wry chuckle. "I think you took your judgement in there better than you're taking this news now," he said. "Is everything alright, Ensign?"

"Well, sir," Storm said, letting a forced chuckle escape. "It's just that Captain Waverly...he...um...I'm...I'm a little afraid of him. Sir."

"Why would you be afraid of him?" Matt asked. "You don't think he's going to load you into a torpedo tube and shoot you out into space, do you? Or transport you into nothingness with the Spector's transporters? I imagine he's just going to talk to you."

Storm laughed, a little easier this time. "I was ten years old the last time I saw Captain Waverly, sir. My father had just been assigned as the XO of the Osprey and we lived with him aboard ship for two months. Captain Waverly laid into me good once when he caught me using a phase transition coil as a samurai sword." Storm shook his head. "I know it's not rational, sir."

"It's funny how that works out," Matt said. "What's even more funny is how we find ourselves irrationally afraid of something, but then years later when we're confronted by the same thing, we wonder what we were ever afraid of. You'll do fine, Ethan. I know it."

"I know I haven't given you a reason to think that, sir," Storm said, looking down at the deck. "But I appreciate that you said it." His head snapped up and he looked straight into Captain Salinger's eyes. "Thank you, sir."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Ethan. Learning from those mistakes is how we grow. Learn from this, and you'll do well."

"I will, sir," Storm said sincerely. "And thank you again."

"You're welcome, Ethan," Matt said, turning to leave. "And, good luck. If you need anything before you head out in the runabout, let me know."

"Aye sir," Storm said as he watched Salinger slowly limp away. Once the Captain disappeared around a corner, Shyla ghosted back up alongside Ethan from her vantage point and regarded the strange look upon his face. Storm kept staring at the spot where Salinger had disappeared.

"What is it, Ethan?"

"Bad news," he said, not looking at her as he handed her the PADD.

---

"Roommates"
By: Ensign Shirik Lektar
Ensign Raina Derrell

Location: Derrell's quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.13, 10h00

***

Raina had been rather busy settling in since she first reported aboard. So far she hadn't seen her roommate. But knew from experience that could change on short notice.

Shirik made her way easily to her new quarters. Once she'd been assigned, she didn't need directions to find them. She was very familiar with the Intrepid class ships.

She barely even watched where she was going, having called up the personnel record of her new roommate to see if she'd be suitable. Raina Derrell, human, medical. "Hm," she said to herself. At least she wasn't a Betazoid.

Arriving at the assigned quarters, she rang the chime.

"Enter," Raina called. Presently she engaged in a pilates session, stretched out on the floor. Dressed in something that resembled dance attire, a sapphire blue midriff top and black pants.

Shirik entered the room at the invitation, and glanced around to find the source of the voice. "Ensign Darrell?" she queried. "I'm Ensign Lektar, your new roommate." Her gaze travelled appraisingly over the human on the floor.

Glancing up from her stretch Raina smiled as she slowly and gracefully returned to a sitting position then stood. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I was curious who they were going to assign. My apologies for the appearance I've been finishing off my daily workout."

"Don't let me interrupt you," she said, her gaze shifting to the sleeping area, determining which bed might be the unused one, and thus hers. "I'll just unpack my things."

Raina smiled, "You aren't bothering me at all." The left side of the room looked to be the one lived in. Ensign Derrell's personal belongings were evident on the desk and shelves in that area. "Things have been rather quiet since the ship was officially on shore leave when I reported in."

"Indeed, I noticed the planet below," she said dryly, moving to the unoccupied area of the room to unpack her belongings. She didn't have many - a few Class B uniforms, three leather-bound paper books written in her native language, a few PADDs, a sheathed bladed weapon of some kind, which she slipped under the mattress of her bed, and a long narrow bundle of red velvet which she placed out of sight in a drawer. The last thing she removed is what looked like a small terrarium, its inside coated with black fuzz. This she likewise slipped into a drawer and closed. Stashing away her bags, she straightened and took one of the PADDs to look over it. "I still need to report to medical," she said.

"I can walk with you if you want. There's a few things I need to check on anyway. Dr M'lira doesn't bite." Briefly Raina disappeared so she could change then returned dressed in a medical blue uniform. "I'm part of medical but not one of the ship's doctors. Emergency Medicine is my area of expertise."

Shirik shrugged. "I'm going to sickbay, if you want to walk with me I won't stop you." Her attention was on her PADD as she headed out the door into the corridor and made her way to the nearest turbolift without really looking.

Raina followed her roommate. Sickbay was on her list of things to do for other reasons. It only made sense to walk with Shirik that direction. In the few short days she'd been aboard things had been most interesting. Along the way she studied some data of her own.

Shirik said nothing more the rest of the way to sickbay, reading from her PADD until she arrived.

Her current assignment was a sideways move at best. Same rank, position, and type of ship as her previous post, only a different group of people. Ops wasn't her favorite post. It tended to be a bunch of not very interesting administrative tasks. In her opinion, a trained monkey could do the job as well most days. Seeing that the head of the department was an android only confirmed her opinion that one didn't need much skill to be in Ops. If a machine can do it, surely anyone can.

She wasn't on duty until the next morning, and thankfully she'd been assigned to the main computer core. It should be quiet and give her plenty of time to see to any residual damage from the Farehn'ti attack, analyze the systems, and see if any improvements could be made.

Once they reached sickbay Raina entered to take care of the reason she was here in the first place. Either way her new roommate didn't appear very talkative, but at the same time proved to be rather interesting from what she'd seen so far.

---

"Appropriate Choices"
By: Lt. Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
Ensign Taylor Bennett - Security Officer

Location: CSO's Office, USS Sulu
Stardate: 570907.13, 13h21

***

Benedict sat with both feet perched on the corner of his desk and both hands wrapped thoughtfully around a mug of tea. The mug was one of those non-tip kinds with a wide base designed for ships, it also held the logo of the USS Windsor and her registry number. He was deep in thought. The invitation to the senior officers' dinner lay on his desk, the fancy scrollwork naming Benedict and a plus one...

Plus one.... He frowned. His first impulse had been to grin and think immidiately of Lyrr Tayla. They had already dined together and Benedict found her company to his liking. She had a sense of humour that was somewhat irreverent and dry, and she could smile if she really tried. They had shared something of each other, but Benedict had woken the next morning with the distinct knowledge that he had somehow shared more than she. He could forgive her for that; she had shared more than enough on Risa. He just couldn't get the image of her in the shower out of his mind. Not that he tried particularly hard.

His hand had strayed to the desk terminal to send a message asking her to be his dinner companion, and then he had realized that perhaps he had misread her the other night. Maybe she was just trying to get to know him as the XO. Maybe...perhaps...so many questions.

There was no doubt in Benedict's mind that he really was drawn to her. They were so much alike and also different in all the right ways. It was the look in her eyes that mattered. He'd seen it momentarily when she'd said she would leave - but made no move to do so. She'd wanted to stay as much as he'd wanted her to - at least he imagined so... He'd glimpsed a real part of what she could be - if only she took hold of her future and made a decision to be happy. He liked her. Perhaps in time it could be more than that. In time.

That thought made him hesitate to send the message. It stopped him. Did she feel the same way? She was the XO - and that made Benedict more circumspect in his thinking. It wouldn't be good for them to form any attachment. He thought back to all the trouble he'd been in in the past with Dieran Casey and Tebrianne - Miran Casey, Nilani Khan...Julia Reynolds. It seemed that the whole ship was talking about the Captain's dalliance with Xayella Tagliesh, the Chief of Science. There was a current betting pool amongst the security department as to how long it might last before the 'old man' dumped her. Everyone knew what a hell-raiser Tagliesh could be...but the captain was also known to be somewhat of a ladies man. There would be plenty of collateral damage if that happened - and Benedict knew that Tayla would have to deal with anything that affected the captain. Could he even contemplate putting her in the same situation?

He sighed heavily. It was a matter of duty. She was his superior and he owed her a debt - Giri: Obligation. She had saved his life and he had almost failed her. He knew that he must put any personal feelings aside. So...that left a burning question. "Who?" he mused to himself as he sipped his tea.

His eyes wandered down his department roster. Mentally ticking off names and discarding them...he didn't want to take a male partner - that would make him feel uncomfortable and perhaps send an entirely wrong message. His eyes scanned the female security staff roster.

Taylor Bennett. She had been on the Bridge the night of the Farehn'ti attack and had handled the situation with cool professionalism. She was a good tactical officer - and she was half Human and half Vulcan - the mix of features was particularly striking to Benedict. Tebrianne had been half Human-half Romulan - not that there was much difference in the green blooded side of their shared genes.

He grinned to himself as he tapped his comm-badge. "Ensign Bennett, this is Lieutenant T'Kal would you please come to the Security office." He would attend the dinner with a member of his security detail - that would be entirely appropriate. It would also serve as a reward for the Ensign's performance on the Bridge - at least he hoped that she would see it that way. Maybe attending a formal dinner with the Sulu's senior staff wasn't such a wonderful reward.

"Aye, sir," Taylor Bennett answered. "I'm on my way, sir."

He took his feet off the desk and straighened up as Bennett crossed the security office and made for his glass-windowed alcove. He stood as she entered and gave her a smile. Benedict waved her to a seat. "Please," he said and turned to the replicator. "Can I get you something?" he asked as he ordered another Green tea.

"Tea would be fine, sir," she answered after he'd ordered himself a cup. "My mother was always fond of teas, especially Terran teas." She took the offered seat and used a technique her mother had taught her to calm her rapidly beating heart. It wasn't often she was summoned to see her superior officer. Though, she was quite certain she had performed her duties adequately over the last several days. "It is good to have you aboard, sir. I did not have the opportunity to get to know Lt. Thalan while he was here, but your record is most impressive. I look forward to serving in your department."

As Benedict passed over her tea he smiled widely. "Thank you, Ensign, I'm glad to be here myself." He sat himself down and gave her a speculating look, still with a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm going to be meeting with all of my staff on a one-to-one basis over the next week. Departmental appraisals are due. I'd firstly like to commend you on your performance on the Bridge during the Farehn'ti attack." His face was serious as he looked across his desk. "You did well - more than well. Your readiness appraisal will no doubt put you in a good position for that next pip on your collar. It's only a matter of time." He sipped his tea.

Taylor smiled. "Thank you, sir. That means very much to me."

"There's another reason for meeting you this morning...." His voice was serious, his eyes bright, seemingly at odds with his voice, indicating some hidden amusement to what he was saying. "I have a rather delicate mission for you.... It may be frought with hidden dangers, and it will require a certain flair for diplomacy." He sat his cup on the desk. "It's voluntary - you don't have to volunteer if you don't want to."

"I'm ready for anything, sir."

With a grin he slid the invitation across the desk. He waited until she started reading and said, "I'm asking as a collegue - I don't really know anyone to ask. If you decline, that's fine." He laughed at the expression on her face.

"I understand, sir," Taylor said, then smiled as she wondered what he was driving at.

"I don't know that you'd see it as a reward for what you did the other night - but getting some quality time with the senior staff can't hurt a junior officer's career. It's strictly duty, Ensign - but you don't have to be restricted to dress whites. Take the opportunity to dress up if you like. It's an operations department bash - so it's not formal in the stricter sense. I hope you like spicy food - I've heard it's Sikara's specialty."

"Oh...I love spicy food." She grinned. "I would be happy to attend, sir. Strictly duty, of course."

Benedict smiled. "I didn't want to give you the wrong impression, Taylor, thank you. I'm sure we can get through it unscathed. So if you happen to mention it to anyone - please make sure the rumour mill gets the story straight." He grinned, knowing that she knew exactly what he meant.

"Of course, sir," Taylor said with a smile. "I will make certain any rumors are quickly corrected."

"Setting that aside - how do you feel about what's been happening on Sulu lately? In security..any problems?"

"The department seems to be coming together, sir. I've only been aboard for a short time, but it seems as if we're beginning to learn to work together as a team. The conditions are certainly not optimum, but I believe the chance to work on the investigation helped to bring us together. I am unaware of any problems in the department." She grinned. "I'm actually very happy to be here, sir. It's a great ship and a great crew."

Benedict grinned. "She is that, Ensign. I served on a Galaxy Class a while ago. Big ship, big crew - and one thing I really liked about the security department was a division between Tactical Ship operations and Security. Tactical Ops is something I'm considering for the Sulu - although I haven't run it past the Captain yet - all things considered, I haven't even met the man yet. Basically I'm thinking of identifying members of the security department for specialist tactical training - advanced starship tactics with a view to formulating a group that can think-tank encounters. I'd consider you for that - if you're interested. Of course it won't mean losing your other security duties, but it will mean an advanced training regimen and a lot of hard work. The other side of the security department will identify officers with particular talents in general security areas - investigation, protection, diplomacy...." It was the first time that he'd aired his future view of security on the Sulu - he wanted a 'grass-roots' reaction to it before he floated it past the XO. "What do you think? - and speak frankly - I need your reaction to it."

"I believe specialization is a very good thing, sir," Taylor answered. "I am always looking forward to additional training, and welcome the opportunity to take part in this new program." She grinned. "I guess I just love learning new things, and...and being good at what I do. I'm not overly competitive by nature, but I do consider myself a competitive person. My main competition, however, is usually myself and trying to beat the goals I have set for myself. I like the idea, sir, and I believe the security department will be better for it."

Benedict nodded and smiled. He'd pass it along then. It was up to Salinger. "Excellent, thank you. Well...I'll let you get back to duty - I have a few things I need to take care of. Consider that your appraisal for the readiness report done. I guess I'll see you just prior to the senior officer's dinner. Thanks again for that...I appreciate it."

Taylor gave him a grin. "Thank you, sir," she said. "It will give me a look into a place I someday hope to be. I'll make certain to dress appropriately, sir."

"You do that," Benedict grinned. "I'll look forward to the evening."

---

"Therapy, Whiskey, and Pharmacology"
By: Doctor Hank McGraw
and Counselor Ainsley Chambers

Location: Risa, a bar on a beach
Stardate: 57907.13 14h35

***

Hank had been to the ship and stowed his belongings in his room. He was impressed by the size if, not the decor. He could see many hours of redecorating in his future. He'd stopped into sickbay, looked around a few moments then determined he was still not to report for duty for a few more days.

He dabbed some sunblock on the tip of his nose and transported back to the planet. He planned on drinking himself stupid then returning to his room on the Sulu and sleeping off the effects until he began his duties.

Before leaving for the planet again, he left a message for his superior, introducing himself and telling her where he could be found if she wanted to chat before his duties began.

Arriving on Risa from the ship was like stepping into a blast furnace. The ship, with its climate controlled neutral temperature was down right frigid compared to the hot and sunny surface of the vacation planet.

He made his way to the tent bar; he tended to stick to places he knew and rarely ventured farther than a generalized area anywhere he ever went.

The place was packed but he managed to find the bar and took a seat.

"Give me three inches of scotch, one ice cube and three dozen sugarcubes."

The bar tender looked at him and shrugged and brought a bowl of sugar cubes and a tumbler of scotch.

Hank began to break apart the sugar cubes into his drink while humming, "Mello Yellow."

***

Ainsley had come down to the surface of Risa hoping to occupy her mind for awhile and get her thoughts off of Mason. She'd briefly entertained the idea of going diving but just didn't quite feel up to it when she got the diving hut. She'd looked at the guy who would be guiding the tour and he'd had eyes the same colour as Mason's. With a sigh she'd given up on that and made her way over to the bar where she'd had a drink with that Doctor a few days before.

She was surprised to see the doctor sitting at the bar in almost the exact place that she'd left him a few days ago. She approached and heard him humming to himself. She slid onto the stool next to him and said, "Have you left the bar at all since you got here?"

"Yes and no." He crushed the last sugar cube and tossed back the confection with a wince.

"That is horrible." He looked at the bar tender and held up his finger for another one.

He looked at the young lady and noted her glum appearance.

"If you don't mind my saying so" --he took the new drink and started smashing sugar cubes into it as he'd done with the last-- "you look a tad bit..." He held up a sugar cube and popped it into his mouth. "A tad bit glum?"

Ainsley shrugged and ordered herself a margarita. "Ah it's nothing." She grinned at him. "Just men problems...you probably wouldn't understand. Being a man yourself I mean!"

Hank nodded and tossed a full sugar cube into his mouth and crunched it between his teeth. "I see. You know contrary to popular belief some of us Neanderthals who are referred to as men occasionally do know a thing or two and have valuable input on various subjects." He took a sip of his drink and winced.

He sat the tumbler down and crushed more cubes into the mixture. This time when he sipped it he smiled and smacked his lips. Hank looked over at the young woman and smiled.

"Let me guess, girl meets boy, girl thinks boy is great and girl hopes boy feels the same but boy is so caught up in his duties that he can't make time for girl?" He stopped and thought a moment longer. "No, no. Wait, is it girl meets boy and girl likes boy and hoped boy feels the same way but boy has a girl and girl, that is the first girl, doesn't understand why boy doesn't ditch girl, that is girl number two?" He sat his drink down and rubbed his chin. "Wait wait...I got it. Girl meets boy, girl likes boy. Girl hopes boy feels the same but boy is an emotional wasteland and doesn't get it, so girl gets depressed that boy cannot exhibit emotional connectedness and girl then drowns her sorrows in alcohol while boy continues to be distant and aloof." Now he was on a roll.

"Or perhaps...."

Ainsley held up her hand. "Please, no more..." she said with a soft laugh. "Try this one. Girl meets boy again. Boy brings girl dancing. Boy brings girl Risan chocolates. Girl finds out the morning after being brought the chocolates that boy spent the previous night with a woman he barely knows. Then boy comes to apologize and girl brushes him off." She sighed. Yeah that about summed it up in a confusing sort of way. "How's that?"

Hank blinked in surprise.

"I see." He downed his drink and ordered another.

"Well lord knows I can't blame you." He shook his head. "It always boggles my mind when men think they can just hop in the hay with one person and expect someone else to be ok with it." Hank remembered the last time he'd been with a woman. Her name had been Tina and she had been the first and last relationship he'd ever had. Point of fact she'd been the only woman he'd ever been with...ever. It was after they parted ways he'd determined that relationships and the like were not in the cards for him.

"But looking at the way you're feeling right now" --he took the drink the bartender offered and began crumbling more cubes into the mix-- "I assume you have mixed feelings about giving him the brush off. I assume he presented a good reason for his little romp?"

Ainsley shrugged then. "I don't know if it was necessarily a good reason...but it was a reason. He met her on Risa before we went dancing and they had a one night little flingy thing, not realizing they would be serving on the same ship. Then they ran into each other on the Sulu. He claims he needed to find out if it was just Risa that had created the magic they had had together.... Now he says he knows that it was." Ainsley knew what that sounded like. She'd heard it before, a million times, by patients and she always told them to forget him. "Like I said, not a good reason..." She shrugged again. "But I can't seem to convince myself completely that I have to give up on him."

Hank threw his hands up in disgust.

"Magic my ass," he said, feeling the alcohol doing its magic. "Let me tell you what really happened. He met this young lady, and I'll use the term loosely, once and they had your "flingy" thing." Hank threw back the rest of his drink and ordered another one. "Then Mr.Testosterone sees her again and figures he's gonna get him some free" --Hank leaned in close so no one else could hear-- "funny business." He leaned back and tapped the side of his nose as if he'd just shared a secret. "And then he meets you and you're obviously a quality female, because you didn't fall for his shenanigans. In the twentieth century they called men like that "players," I think, and I applaud you for not falling for his asinine and let's not forget juvenile, attempt to rationalize a hurtful situation."

The bartender brought the next drink and Hank ignored the sugar cubes and just took a hit straight from the glass.

"What's to say he wouldn't be with you one minute then meet someone he'd met at the local grocery years ago and just had to see if it had been the Ferengi Carrots he had purchased or if it had really been love?" He slammed his glass down on the bar, sloshing liqueur on his hand, which he licked off quickly.

Ainsley looked at him for a moment. He was telling her what she would tell any of her patients. She knew that men like Mason rarely ever changed.

But...

There was always that 'but.' She saw something different in Mason, something that she believed she could work on.

"To be completely fair though, he and I have no relationship other than a friendship. I think we both would like it to be more, but it's not at the moment. And wasn't when he had this thing with her."

"Ahh!" But Hank held up his finger and waggled it at her; he didn't care for the way it seemed to leave a trail behind it as it traveled back and forth. "But it's not exactly an auspicious beginning now is it? Relationships are built on trust and dependence on the other person's ability to fulfill needs and all that rot." Hank lowered his finger and looked at his nearly empty glass. Had he drank that much?

"But the long and the short of it is, if you like this Neanderthal and can forgive something he'd done when you weren't even involved intimately" --he popped a few stray sugar cubes into his mouth and crunched them as he spoke-- "then forgive and forget. And if it doesn't work out and he leaves then turns up one day at the grocery and says he needs to know if it was love or the fact you were the only consenting adults on a shuttlecraft, you poke him right in the eye." He made a fork with his two fingers and thrust them forward as though gouging someone in the eye.

Ainsley laughed then. "I'll remember that!

"What the heck are you drinking anyway?" she asked, feeling her spirits raised quite a bit.

"Whiskey." He popped another sugar cube in his mouth. "With a liberal dose of sugar." He was quite sure he was drunk at that point in time because his nose was completely numb and he couldn't feel his tongue either.

"Right!" Ainsley said with a grimace. "Sounds awful!" She looked him over a little; he looked about ready to call it a day and she could hear the slur to his words when he spoke. "I think it's time to get you to a bed, Doctor!"

Hank blinked in surprise. "Young lady I hardly know you and after the conversation we just had I thought you would be the last person to want to do such a thing on such sort notice." He stopped a moment and blinked again. "Ahh you mean me sleeping off this little drunk I have going right at the moment. Sorry. My brain isn't firing on all cylinders at the moment." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pill bottle and rattled it slightly.

"Andorian Habiscus root." He took out two green capsules and popped them in is mouth. The effect was instantaneous. The amino acids in the pills reacted with the sugar and caused his body to instantly pull the alcohol from his blood and tissues. The positive effect was he was no longer drunk, not even tipsy; the downside was that his bladder was now contending with enough fluid to cause him to leap to his feet and start towards the restrooms. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said quickly as he ran to the bathroom.

Five minutes later, looking a little flushed but none the worse for wear he rejoined her at the bar.

"I love pharmacology." He picked up his unfinished drink, "Do you karaoke?"

---

"Blackbird"
by Lieutenant JG Arthas Hex - Deputy Chief of Security
and Ensign Cecily Torsten - Yeoman

Location: Lounge, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.13, 15h41

***

Arthas walked into the lounge as he sometimes did before he went on duty. He had never done it before he had gotten Hex, but he believed that it was something that he had inherited from Gredala - one of the Hex symbiont's previous hosts. Nothing alcoholic or otherwise intoxicating as that could damage his performance, but just being around the people he was sworn to protect, and who he would actively be doing whenever he stood at the tactical console, it was relaxing.

The joined Trill had been on board for a few weeks now, and each time he entered the lounge at a similar time, the place was pretty full. But today it was much worse, so much more worse in fact that there wasn't a free table.

Squashing himself a place at the bar, he ordered his usual fruit juice of Stencil's choice. He looked around for a spare chair somewhere, and soon spotted one. Near to one of the large windows a pretty blonde-haired human sat by herself, at a table designed for two. Arthas stood and watched her for a few moments. The woman appeared to be about 22 to 24 years old, she wasn't very tall, without being considered short. She was looking at a PADD that sat in her lap and from where Arthas was standing he could make out that she had blue eyes. Very beautiful eyes, he thought to himself.

Normally Arthas wouldn't have approached her; she looked busy, she looked happy by herself. But the Trill security officer didn't have too many friends on board yet, and he was used to having at least 2 or 3 close friends on a starship. He felt lonely, he admitted to himself.

Clearing his throat and feeling through his hair to ensure that it was all still in place - even though he had only put it in place twenty minutes before - he leisurely walked over to the young ensign's table.

"Excuse me," Arthas said, when he was standing close enough. The blue eyes came up from the PADD and looked at him. "Is this seat, uh, taken?"

Cecily looked up from her PADD to find herself met with a tall Trill with a friendly face. She managed a small smile and gestured to the empty seat across from her. "No, it's not, please umm...feel free to sit down, sir." Cecily studied the Trill across from her carefully. He looked to be taller than herself, and had short black hair and dark blue eyes. Hesitantly she offered her hand to Arthas. "I'm Ensign Torsten, umm... Cec-Cecily Torsten."

"Junior Lieutenant Arthas, uh, Hex," Arthas replied, shaking her hand.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence: "What are you reading there?" he asked, looking at the PADD.

"A Terran novel, it's called Of Mice & Men. You want to take a look?" she asked, holding out the PADD.

"Sure," Arthas replied, smiling as he took the PADD. He read aloud, " 'That's Crooks, he's a nigger.' "

Arthas looked at the ensign. "Nigger?"

Cecily expected a curious remark about the words contained within the literary piece. "During the...20th century when the book was written, it was not uncommon for Terran humans to use...how shall I put this...umm...racial terms when speaking of one another from a different race."

She took a sip of her mint milkshake before adding, "It's actually quite a good read otherwise though...have you read much Terran literature?"

"No, I haven't," Arthas replied, smiling as he also took a sip of his fruit juice.

Arthas handed the PADD back to Cecily. "Thank you. I have read some Shakespeare however, and I found the man very interesting."

"One of the literary greats of history. Which of his works have you read?" Cecily asked, gaining interest.

"Macbeth, Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet," Arthas replied, smiling. "Macbeth was my favorite, the way supernatural beings can interfere with a proud experienced officer and send him mad, is a lesson to us all."

"Indeed, have you considered reading other Terran literary works, Hex? Or is umm...Arthas preferred?" Cecily queried, wondering as to whether or not the Trill was Joined or Unjoined.

"Arthas would be great. And before you ask I am joined. I have a 200-odd year old symbiont with four very annoying past hosts," he smiled.

Oi, we don't insult you to our friends, Ashly spoke from within Hex.

What friends? You're inside me, remember and you do insult me between yourselves, Arthas spoke inside of him, leaving no trace to Cecily that he was doing anything other than drinking.

"Very annoying past hosts? I'm sure you get this a lot but...how do you manage to put up with that day in day out, He... I mean, Arthas?" Cecily blushed after she made her last minute correction in addressing the Trill; part of herself hoped he didn't notice.

Arthas saw the slight blush but he ignored the error. "To be totally honest" --he took a sip of his drink-- "I don't have a clue how I put up with them. I don't even have a clue how I communicate with them. It baffles anyone I try and explain it to, even the symbiont authorities. All I know is that it's not meant to be this way between symbiont and host. So in some ways Hex and I are special."

Cecily's brow furrowed in confusion; could it be possible that Arthas had been one of many Trill who was only available at a certain time to save a dying Symbiont despite his not having any training for being Joined? "I see...have you been receiving any sort of help or training from the Symbiosis Board on Trill? I...don't mean to sound rude but in your case you would seem almost as vulnerable as a Betazoid who's just become aware of their telepathic skills."

Arthas sighed. "You are very perceptive. It is very hard, the Symbiosis Board on Trill doesn't understand my con... No not condition. It's not a problem, well not one that I am not solving, slowly. They don't understand and therefore can't help. I checked myself out of their help after three months. It wasn't helping and I could see in their faces that it wouldn't start helping any time soon."

Arthas took a sip of his drink, the end of his drink in fact. "And it wasn't rude, I found it quite caring, thank you."

Reaching out Cecily touched Arthas' hand and smiled sincerely. "You're welcome, and if you ever want someone to talk to, feel free to ask..." She lowered her eyes briefly before looking back at Arthas, chuckling. "You have cold hands...they tickle..."

Arthas gritted his teeth as Cecily felt his hand; he found it a very nice experience. He put his hand on top of hers, sandwiching it.

He smiled at her reaction; ,his hands must have been very cold, as she took her hand away. "Your hand is very warm, as comforting as your words," he said, looking into her eyes.

"I...I...umm...thank you." Cecily smiled shyly, certain she was blushing from Arthas' compliment.

At that moment, Arthas' watch beeped. Hex jumped at the sound and looked at it, silently cursing it.

He looked back at Cecily's face and smiled warmly at her. "I'm going to have to go. I take Beta shift on the bridge."

"Okay, I'll probably have to get going soon myself...duty'll probably soon call me as well."

He stood. "I look forward to seeing you again."

"You too, Arthas, take care," she stated, smiling at him.

"I will." Arthas smiled back, and walked away. When he reached the door, he risked turning around once again. She was still there, but she was now looking out of the window, her book on the table.

Arthas smiled to himself as he left for the bridge.

---

"Waiting for Response"
by Ensign Cristobel Sefton

Location: A cottage on Betazed
Stardate: 57907.13, 22h17

***

Clad in burgundy Starfleet Academy athletic shorts, and a golden Betazoid style sleeveless hooded shirt, Cristobel made his way out to the lake again. It had been difficult, of late, for him to find time for just himself.

The Cataria Institute's doctors had decided, two days ago, that Andraia Sefton required a week in isolation on the orbital platform, and ever since then, Cristobel's parents had restlessly required Cristobel's company. Damhnait dragged Cris along for a tour of Inbillar University, where her father taught psychology. Fortu hadn't felt like preparing or replicating meals, and so the Sefton's had eaten in different restaurants every night, where Damhnait would loudly think to the waiter how much better Fortu could have prepared the food on her plate. Damhnait had also insisted on Cristobel touring museums of art, and science, and musical history, because, as she had explained, she'd begun studying old Achicar Prime, and worried that she hadn't properly raised Cris to be cultured enough for Corran's liking. Although Cris had tried to disagree, Damhnait had sternly pointed out that pop music and erotica did not a sophisticated sense of culture make.

But, now, Cristobel was alone. He couldn't sleep, because the Delphin was supposed to be returning to Federation space the following day. Either Corran would be on board, or they would have word of his expected date of arrival, or they would at least have word on his recovery.

Trying to push the impatient worry from his mind, Cristobel played his trysette, and sang a song he'd been writing...

"I met you in a garden / I remember your pardon when I sneezed on you / I listed all of my ailments / Before I asked you your intents or learned your name"

"So tell me why your heart's aflame / Your tears remain, you point the blame / Just tell me how your day went / I'm the listener"

"The next time that I met you / Your left ear had been deaf to sounds all around / Despite your disability / You heard of my stability before I left"

"So tell me why your heart's aflame / Your tears remain, you point the blame / Just tell me how your day went / I'm the listener"

"Let me know how you're feeling / Once I can stop squealing about my regret / For never being attentive / Unless you give the incentive of listening / To me, ohh"

"This happens ev'ry time / I always try / To hear you out / To be a help / But my problems are so big / They just come first / And so I still / Don't know your name / Don't know your name"

"So tell me why your heart's aflame / Your tears remain, you point the blame / Just tell me how your day went / I'm the listener / I'm the listener / I'm the listener"

The PADD in his trysette case chimed urgently when Cristobel was nearly finished the last chorus. Grasping for it, he read on the screen that the Delphin was within the Federation's communication network ahead of schedule. On his feet in an instant, Cristobel ran towards the cottage, to get to the communication terminal in his room, as he used the PADD to set up a communication link with the Delphin.

And then he waited for response.

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