"Meeting The Crew, Part 2"
By: Ensign Shirik Lektar
Lt. Saavar

Location: Saavar's quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.30, 00h35

***

Shirik had gone back to her quarters for a while to reflect on her meeting with Lt. T'Kal. It had been far more interesting than she'd expected, and left her with the curious desire to speak with him at greater length about some things. She would make notes about other things she wanted to ask him later, but first she settled on her bed to look over her list.

She decided she would speak to Saavar next. But the best time for it would be sometime during Gamma shift, when they were both off duty. That would require a nap, she thought. She set her PADD aside, ordered the lights out, and laid back on her bed to get some sleep so she could make her Gamma shift visit refreshed.

Waking sometime later, she showered and changed into a fresh uniform before setting off in search of Saavar's quarters. She had considered sending him a note first, but decided to be spontaneous instead and simply show up at his quarters.

She didn't much mind being awake on Gamma shift. It was usually quieter on a ship at that time, with less people moving about. Consulting her PADD as she walked, she located his assigned quarters and keyed the chime, then waited patiently for a response.

The door swished open to Saavar's vocal command. He was standing at the view port overlooking the DS9 pylon, his quarters in semi-darkness, only three candles burning in sconces around the room. He was dressed in a Vulcan styled robe of rich blue metallic fibre. The yellow candlelight seemed to reflect and dance on the shimmering material as he turned to face the door. "Come," he said softly. The woman who stepped into his quarters was a stranger. At least he had never met the individual in Operations uniform. "Can I help you, Ensign?" His eidetic memory told him that she was a Drokari Humanoid of the sub-species Rennari. One of the Noble ruling class as that society had a strict caste and cultural system. She was shorter than the Vulcan science officer by a head. Her white hair gleamed in the backlighting from the corridor, her dark skin made her into a silhouette. She blended with the shadows as the door closed behind her.

Shirik moved carefully into the room, as quietly as possible. The low light level was to her liking, and she relaxed a bit as the door closed to bathe the room in darkness once more. "I hope I'm not disturbing your meditation," she said softly. "I'm Ensign Lektar, from Operations. I had hoped I might have a moment of your time to ask you a few questions."

Saavar nodded. He motioned with one hand to the chair, but did not otherwise move. "You are indeed interrupting my meditation," he said without inflection. "It cannot be undone, and so I will answer your questions. Please, have a seat. How can I help you, Ensign Lektar?"

Inwardly, she winced. She hadn't meant to interrupt, and knew that meditation was important for Vulcans. She also knew that an apology wasn't necessary, but felt compelled to give one anyway. "Please forgive my intrusion," she said quietly, and moved to take the offered seat. "Do you have much familiarity with Betazoids?" she asked.

Saavar waited until she was seated before answering. "I am familiar with the species as a culture, methodology of communication, language and mythology. I know several individuals of that species - both joined and unjoined. Does that answer your question, Ensign?" He voice was quiet, fitting the mood of the room and his personal demeanour. He examined the female Drokari before him and noted differences between them. Coal dark skin and pointed ears, pure white hair and violet eyes. Of course she was well suited to darker environments, her spectral range being in the higher frequencies. His hands shifted into the sleeves of his robe and were once again stilled. He remained where he had been standing when she entered.

She folded her hands in her lap. The atmosphere of the room was relaxing, the light level comfortable for her, and her voice automatically stayed low like his. "Not exactly...more specifically, what I'm wondering about is if there is a way to keep them from reading one's thoughts. I ask you because Vulcans have a wide range of mental disciplines at their disposal, and I thought you might have some knowledge in this area."

He nodded, thinking of his conversations with Cristobel Sefton on the same subject. "Yes, there are several ways one might do so." He paused, ordering his thoughts. "One with no natural ability, nor skill can for a short period of time use a method of mental obstruction - basically one imagines an image or a word and concentrates solely upon it. For example conjure in your mind the image of a black cube. Completely featureless, it hovers in your perception and nothing else exists besides this black cube. That is one way to hide one's surface thoughts which are more prone to be sensed by a Betazoid telepath. However it is extremely difficult for one untrained in mental discipline to hold on to that type of imagery for long.

"Another method is to fasten upon an emotion or thought of an offensive nature to the telepath. Something upon which the telepath would not wish to dwell. Directed at them, this method is effective for detecting whether a telepath is actually probing one's thoughts. Offensive thoughts often result in physical reactions on the part of the telepath reading them. None of these are preventative measures to prevent probing of the mind, but they can be short term distractions.

"With a small amount of training, one can learn to direct one's thoughts onto subjects or imagery that disguises one's true thoughts. Again, against a determined telepath, it is not preventative. One requires telepathic abilities of even a small nature to learn to erect barriers to telepaths. So barriers are natural - and effective - for example, the Ferengi four-lobed brain is impossible to probe by a telepath with a two-lobed brain. The thought processes are simply too complex for understanding.

"If you truly are concerned for your mental privacy, there are devices available that provide shielding from a Betazoid telepath. The Ktarian's have developed psionic technology along those lines and I believe they are available commercially and may be worn, carried or implanted to provide protection."

Shirik listened carefully to everything he had to say, a small smile coming to her lips. Yes, this was useful information. She had obviously come to the right place. She nodded, carefully removing the smile from her features. "That is exactly the sort of information I was looking for, thank you," she said. Then her curiosity took hold. "Do you use any of those methods personally?"

He nodded. "I am a trained telepath," he replied. "My thoughts are my own. It would be difficult for a Betazoid telepath to read my mind." He regarded her a moment and then because he was curious he asked, "Why is it that you ask, Ensign? Are you concerned that someone is abusing your rights to privacy?"

"I've never met a Betazoid that didn't," she said, her expression darkening. "At least until you complained about it. Some of them just don't care, it seems. They don't have a concept of privacy, or because their people don't, they don't see why anyone else should." She paused. "I've had my share of run-ins. I just want to have some sort of defense short of avoiding them altogether or having to always argue the same point with each one I meet. It gets rather tedious."

"Yes," he replied softly. "I have had discussions on prior occasions that allude to a Betazoid member of the crew flagrantly admitting to the breach of the privacy of others. As a trained touch telepath myself, I take great care to avoid touching others, and would not impose my abilities on others without their absolute consent. I too consider the breach of privacy to be contrary to common morality codes in the Federation. Betazoids have a 'metaconscious' - a membrane surrounding their paracortex; the area of their brain that acts as the psionic center of activity. Normally, Betazoids avoid being driven insane by constant mental chatter by withdrawing behind the metaconscious - thus shutting out the thoughts of others and keeping their own thoughts private. To sense the thoughts of others they have to actively seek them - it is not a subconscious act. Therefore breaching the privacy of the mind of any non-telepathic person is an invasion no less intrusive than physical assault."

He frowned. "In fact, for non-telepathic races, it would likely cause acute problems of a mental nature to so abuse access to their private thoughts. Betazoids are a race of true telepaths - lying and deceit are foreign to them as a species because their abilities largely make those concepts invalid. That is not so for non-telepathic races. The belief that their thoughts are their own, that they are safe inside their own minds, that what they think can be different to what they express verbally, is extremely important to the psyche and self-image of the individual."

"Indeed, and that is one thing I find admirable about Vulcans," she said. "They do respect the privacy of others. Just because Betazoids can read minds, doesn't give them the right to whenever they see fit." She frowned slightly. "The way I see it, I simply want some means to protect myself from what I consider an attack of sorts on my person." She paused for a moment, considering, then her violet eyes sought his. "Assuming I am unsuccessful in obtaining a technological means of protection... Would you be willing to try to teach me some of these other techniques? I am not a telepath....but some of my people are, including my mother and my oldest sister. I am hoping that perhaps some level of dormant ability resides in me, enough to allow me to learn these techniques."

The Vulcan scientist considered her request for a long moment. He had already discovered aspects to mind melding that were discomforting - but she wasn't asking for that. She was merely asking for assistance in developing a natural talent - if she had one. It did not require a meld, only a contact of minds at the basic level. He looked at her again and saw that she was quite willing to wait for an answer. Her patience and forthright manner was appreciated by the Vulcan. He nodded once and said, "That would be acceptable, Ensign Lektar. First we should ascertain whether you carry a dormant talent or ability similar to your birth mother. I would estimate that it is ninety six point nine one percent probable, as female chromosomes are the dominant recessive for such abilities and your mother and elder sister have already exhibited the ability."

He waved at a cushion close to his low table. The polished wooden table was a deep red with a grain of palest grey running through it. A single small burnished lamp sat in the centre with a single flame burning from a wick. "Please sit," he said as he knelt opposite. He arranged his robes as he made himself comfortable and waited until the Ensign was ready.

Shirik nodded, and moved to seat herself carefully where indicated, settling on the cushion cross-legged. She looked across the table at him curiously, not sure what to expect.

Saavar extended his hand from the voluminous sleeve of his robe and lightly touched her pulse-point on the side of her face with two fingers held together. "Concentrate upon the flame," he said. "Visualise the point at which the flame springs from the wick and feel it with your mind." Saavar closed his eyes and made contact with her mind on a peripheral mode. The imagery was beautiful. It was unexpected. Lektar saw in higher frequencies and could discern heat in all its shades. Your strength of will is impressive, his mind intoned. Your concentration is most effective. I am unable to discern any telepathic ability, however I believe with some training you may learn to close your mind sufficiently to obstruct a telepath from interpreting stray thought.

She flinched involuntarily at his touch. But she forced away her momentary fear of the contact, focusing on his voice, and turned her eyes to the candle. She focused in on it, on the various red shades to her eyes of the flame's varying temperatures. Beyond it, she could see Saavar's form, it too glowing reddish in the dim light of the room. Her mind instinctively recoiled from the contact with his, for just a moment, before she forced herself back to calm once more. She nodded slowly, disappointed that she held no innate ability like her mother, but hopeful still that at least she could make those damned Betazoids work for her thoughts.

Yes, he agreed in her mind, I can see that you will become most effective should you concentrate upon the simple forms first. Imagine the Black Cube. He formed the solid image in his own mind and shared it. It is most important that it not have a discernable defect. The sides should be smooth yet dull, the edges straight, the corners sharp. Nothing must attract the eye of the mind except the total form of the cube. He rotated it in his mind, seeing it spin slowly, his concentration fully upon it to the exclusion of all else. The cube filled his mind and hers. This will be your first defense, he thought into her mind.

Shirik closed her eyes to better focus on the cube. She'd seen similar shapes at home, a cube of solid tas-mer, the metal her kemla was made from. It was black, perfectly symmetrical with sharp straight sides and corners, dull matte to hide it from the eyes of enemies. She focused on it until there was nothing else, nothing around the cube but empty darkness, and nothing around her. There was just her, and the presence of Saavar in her mind.

That is good, Saavar thought. Do not give the cube more detail than is necessary. It is not a metal, nor is it a knife. Both concepts are distractions to your mind. You think of home, which projects images that are not under your conscious control. Remain focused upon the image only. It is simply, a cube. It is made of nothing. It reflects nothing. It makes no sound. It simply is.

Shirik nodded slowly once more, shifting her focus to the shape alone, and casting other thoughts aside. There is only a cube, she thought. Nothing more. Only a cube...

Yes. Saavar smiled in her mind. That is better. He allowed her to continue the image, letting time slowly pass to the exclusion of all else. His mind retaining focus, he finally extracted himself from her as his fingers slipped away from her skin. The contact broken he sat back in total silence.

Lektar remained still. Inward focused and eyes closed. Saavar regarded her in the dim light of the lamp and could appreciate the play of light across her dark skin. She was beautiful. Her face composed, smooth skin of ebony and pointed ears like a Vulcan. She could have been a Vulcan but for the pure whiteness of her hair and violet eyes. Her lips were slightly pouted, feminine bows of perfect composition. Saavar found himself examining the angles of her face and the hollow at her throat. His fascination puzzled him. She was aesthetically pleasing that was a fact, but her mind also was most intriguing; unlike any mind he had touched before. He had not felt this type of attraction before.

From the age of five he had been bonded to his life mate. That bond had been severed. What did that mean? It was a question he had never expected to have to answer. The bond he now shared was something different. It was with a Human female who to all observations was a highly sexual creature. Was that it? Was Saavar feeling her motivations and desires through the bond? He felt a wave of nausea at the prospect of being influenced in such a base manner. Yet he was blood Romulan in nature as well. Untamed emotional aspects of his psyche could well be being heightened by the bond he shared with Tagliesh. It was chilling and at the same time it struck a chord with Saavar. He was still studying Lektar. His skin felt hot. No, his mind reasserted its pure logical attitude to his emerging emotions. In a logical manner he dissected them, examining their probable cause and effect and dismissing elements until all that remained was bare concept. Logic always prevails, he thought as he opened his eyes once again to see that Lektar was again conscious of him.

Shirik was still and silent for what seemed to her a long time, just seeing the cube in her mind. She didn't even notice for a time that Saavar's presence was no longer with her, so focused had she become. She hadn't even noticed his mental smile, which would have surprised her had she. When she finally became aware of her surroundings once more, she opened her eyes and stared silently across at the Vulcan. He was silent and still as she had been, but no longer touching her. Was he meditating? Was he in deep contemplation of something?

When Saavar opened his eyes she was still watching him, somewhat curiously. Had she seen something in his expression, some hint of what was in his mind? When she spoke, her voice was still low and soft. "Thank you," she said simply. Her posture and expression was one of relaxation and calm. The mental exercise had helped clear her thoughts and that clarity showed in her eyes as they reflected the dancing candle flame.

His thoughts were settled once more and he smiled. Her calmness was soothing. The simple expression of gratitude was accepted with a nod. "You did extremely well. May I call you Shirik?" he asked softly. Her eyes were a vivid violet and they regarded him with a luminous gaze. He felt an emotional response stir and it brought consternation. He was normally so controlled that it was at his discretion whether an emotional response was accepted. It seemed that he was losing that exact level of control and he was helpless to know why. What disturbed him so? Was it Shirik? She was admittedly very beautiful. Saavar could discern beauty - Shirik's was regal.

She raised an eyebrow at his smile in a very Vulcan-like manner. She had read that he was half Romulan, but still she hadn't expected to see him smile. His question also took her off-guard. She hesitated for a moment before replying. She preferred a more formal title from people she didn't know very well, but that he asked at all was an honor she didn't want to refuse. "Certainly," she said.

"Will I need to return for more lessons?" she asked. "I will practice what I've learned tonight."

"If you feel it appropriate, Shirik," he nodded. "Practice in solitude when you are able. I can assist you in the meditational exercise," the Vulcan replied. "I will be at your disposal when free time permits."

She nodded, rising gracefully to her feet. "I will practice, and contact you again should I wish another lesson." She paused a moment, then added, "And I'll call first, so I don't interrupt you."

He nodded. "Very considerate," he replied, "thank you." He watched her smile at him and then leave his quarters.

Saavar sat contemplating his reactions to the Drokari woman. It was emotive without doubt, and it disturbed him immensely that his control seemed to be slipping. He felt vaguely troubled that it might be the bond he shared with Tagliesh. He was out of his depth. He didn't know how to handle it and he had no one to turn to for help.

---

"Julan'yo"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal

Location: Holodeck 2, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.30 05h00

***

Oh-five hundred hours was a quiet time of the ship's day. Three hours before Gamma shift finished and early enough that Alpha shift was barely awake. It was Benedict's favorite time of the day, and recently he had spent most of his mornings with Lyrr Tayla, playing her favourite game: Springball. She was very good at it, and even though she consistently won more than she lost, she liked exaggerating his losses. She played mean. Sometimes if he was winning, she played very very mean. It kept him on his toes and not once had he resorted to the same tactics. Though he was on the verge of asking the nurses in sick bay to reserve a spot for him with a dermal regenerator on a regular basis. He had bruises. His XO was beating him up with regularity - and it reminded him so much of his wife Alayessa T'Kal. The Klingon! It had been a mating ritual. He prayed to the Prophets that Lyrr wasn't more like Alayessa - even though he had loved her dearly, she never did appreciate his softer side.

He tapped on the controls of the holodeck and a moment later the computer told him that his program was ready. He entered the simulation wearing a traditional hard-wearing Gi. White jacket, black pants and belt and bare feet. The dojo was an eight tatami mat square on polished wooden floor with ricepaper walls on lacquered wooden lattice. Various Japanese Katakana scrolls draped the walls. On one side a solid wall was devoted to martial arts weapons of a great variety. The whole room was lit on the third side by natural sunlight streaming in through opened partitions that looked out into a Zen garden and a fenced masterpiece of Japanese Flower Garden complete with pools, bridge and paper lanterns.

Instead of activating the usual opponents for a work-out he started his stretching and meditation. The ritual movements were calming but the isometric nature of the exercise began to warm him very quickly. He was going through the second Kata form when the holodeck doors parted to admit Lyrr Tayla. He remained within the ritual form until its conclusion, circular movements of cat-like grace and blurring strikes mingled together in a dance of perfect form.

Lyrr watched him with a raised eyebrow, remaining in the archway to refrain from disturbing his exercise. Rifling through the computer's archives, she had come across a description of the 'gi' T'Kal had mentioned. Her own was fully white, and while he was without footwear, she had chosen to wear her Starfleet regulation boots; she wasn't about to walk around the ship in bare feet, for the outfit was odd enough. She had to admit, though, that it suited him nicely.

When it was finished he smiled at her and bowed, never taking his eyes off hers. His raven hair fell in glossy wings beside his face, loose and past his shoulders; his violet eyes showed clearly that he was pleased to see her. "Good morning, Julan'yo." He used the Bajoran term for dearest friend or brother/sister, an endearment used customarily between siblings or best friends to denote that they were family. He said it naturally, without really thinking about its significance until it was said. He almost apologised briefly, fearing her reaction to it.

She smiled tautly at the remark, and casually stepped forward to allow the doors behind her to close. They were soon replaced by another decorated wall to match the three already being projected. "This is an interesting program," she commented with a cursory inspection of the surroundings. Lyrr stopped before the mat and smiled down at her shoes. "Am I overdressed?"

"Just a little," he smiled, recovering from her reaction. "I thought it might be a good idea to add a little constructive training to the morning. I've been neglecting my normal regimen. You've been teaching me some Springball moves - I'll return the favor with some unarmed combat." He grinned. "Not that you haven't been beating up on me lately...."

Lyrr shrugged innocently, though her prideful grin belied it. "Well, if you think you can teach me...." She questioned him with a single look, then mounted the mat. With arms opened wide, she asked, "Okay...where do we begin?"

"For starters you take your boots off." He stepped back as she complied and waved her into the center of the tatami mats. When they were facing off he bowed slightly, and she copied him. "Okay, we'll start with some stretches and warm up routines."

Benedict started slowly, simple routines that prepared the body for the real exercise. For ten minutes he took her through a series of exercises that got more fluid and exerting as it went along, until finally they were warmed up and limber. He wasn't surprised by the level of suppleness she displayed.

"Now we start with strikes, kicks and blocks. I noticed you fell into the standard stance for the self defense training taught by the Bajoran militia. I know you can fight in that style." He smiled as he stepped closer to her. "I want to show you some block attacks that you can adapt to suit your style. I'm talking about some pretty nasty variants - definitely not to be used during Springball!"

"Oh?" She smiled. "And why not?" But all joking was set aside, and Lyrr fell into complete focus when T'Kal shifted his body into a defensive posture. He just grinned.

He faced off and asked her to throw a strike at him. She did as he asked, punching for his head. He moved aside almost casually and used both hands to trap her arm at the wrist and just above the elbow. Snapping the elbow away from him while pulling the wrist toward him with a simultaneous movement designed to break the arm at the elbow joint, just demonstrating it by locking her arm. He smiled as she stepped back. "Now you try."

Lyrr lifted both eyebrows in an expression that clearly, and overconfidently asked, 'Are you sure?' Then, with impressive recall and mirroring of his technique, she mimicked the series of maneuvers. After succeeding in immobilizing his arm, she leaned forward and said sweetly, "Like that?"

"Just like that," he laughed. "What you lack in physical strength you can apply in speed. It won't take much to break a Human arm this way, Vulcans are a little harder - and Klingons have a skeletal structure that has reinforced joints, you won't be able to apply anything but an arm lock." He nodded. "You learn fast."

For the next hour Benedict went through a series of attacks and defences, counters and strikes designed to inflict damage on opponents. She learned quickly, hardly needing more than a second demonstration before she tried it herself. Perfecting technique through slow forms and questions, he showed her as much as he could in the time they had. He acted the serious teacher, knowing that they had both encountered a determined foe that had almost killed them a short time ago.

Viata had been the most skilled opponent that Benedict had ever faced. She had beaten him because he had wanted to take her alive, and in the end his only solution to saving Lyrr had been to kill the assassin. Viata had been the only woman he had ever been forced to kill and though he knew that he'd had no choice, he found it difficult to bear.

He'd admired Lyrr's courage. She'd looked death in the face and not shown anything but defiance. Benedict respected her, and that was important to him. She'd earned that respect. Over the last few weeks he'd gotten to know her more, and apart from her denial of her past, there was nothing that he could fault. He was beginning to see her open up to him too. The looks she gave him were less guarded and more open. She also smiled a lot more - even though she tried not to.

"It's no wonder you're security chief," Lyrr commented breathlessly, after the training exercise was complete. She tossed T'Kal one of the replicated towels, then passed her own over her face. Her speech now muffled, she added, "You fight like a Klingon...I think."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he grinned as he towelled his wet hair. "You did well. Very well." He hung the towel over his neck and regarded her with a serious gaze. "With regular practise you'll be able to match a Klingon, though I'd have to show you some particular tricks for them - they have redundant nervous systems. I'll give you access to my training program; you can go through those techniques with the simulated me if you like."

Lyrr laughed softly as she balled up her own towel and dropped it to the ground by her boots. "Why use a simulated T'Kal when I have the real one at my disposal?" She shrugged, then, and leaned over to place on her footwear. "Besides, when will there ever be an occasion where I'd be required to subdue a Klingon? Last time I checked, they were allies."

"There are allies, and then there are allies," he grinned. "Not so long ago a renegade Warbird by the name of the Warheart tried to do some diplomatic damage between the Romulans and us...." He shrugged. "Klingons are about the best warriors there are. They are bred for it - and evolved for it. Training against them gives us a pretty good benchmark." He grinned, "I meant that you can use my program when I'm not available - I wouldn't want you to settle for a pale substitute."

Lyrr glanced up at him from her partially inverted position, and smiled. "Then I guess you'll just have to be available for me when I have the urge to train." Her eyes flashed down towards her laces, and satisfied that they were securely tied, she straightened up fully. "Thank you for this," she told him sincerely. "It was...invigorating."

He laughed softly. "Anytime you have those urges...just call." He held her eyes for a moment longer than he needed to and turned away. "I'll trade you," he said as he walked toward the holodeck doors. "Springball for this. I think my game's improved immensely." He looked back at her. "I have an inspection to attend to, I'll see you in the shuttle bay later - don't forget." He grinned as the doors let him out.

Lyrr studied the closing doors with befuddlement and curiousity. "The least you could've done was walk me to my room," she muttered, then shrugged and ordered the computer to end the program. Yellow grid lines atop a black backdrop replaced the traditional dojo T'Kal had created, and Lyrr waited a few moments before following him out.

She chuckled to herself as she thought back to the training session, to the almost intimate knowledge he had bestowed upon her. Did he want her capable of protecting herself if the need arose again? He had called her his Julan'yo, but did he truly see her as such? Was she more? Or was it that she wished to be more? Lyrr absently shook her head and sighed. Thoughts such as those would get her nowhere, and bring her nothing but grief, as she had learned with Sean. But despite her own warnings, Lyrr couldn't help the word-image that came to mind when she thought of T'Kal: Julan'ya, the masculine form of the endearment he had used on her. The most disconcerting part, however, was that it brought a warm smile to her face.

---

"Another Mess Hall Chat"
by: Lieutenant Saavar - Science Officer
and Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse

Location: USS Sulu, Mess Hall
Stardate: 57907.30, 07h45

***

Cristobel bounced in front of the replicator, and looked over the colours of the LCARS display as he pondered his selection. Needing only a moment of thought, Sefton then ordered, "Iced spiosradh coffee, cinnamon-wheat blossom and fruit salad number sixteen." Cris took a sip of his coffee, before picking up the entire tray of breakfast that was replicated for him. Just as he was about to step away from the replicator, he was overwhelmed with déjà vu. Turning around, he found Lieutenant Saavar behind him, waiting to use the replicator.

"Hello," Cristobel enthused with a bright smile.

"Ensign Sefton," Saavar nodded. "You are better rested than our last encounter." He ordered Sh'Arash, a hot broth with high protein and mineral supplements for Vulcan metabolisms and a mug of Mocha Kenya. "I had heard that you departed the Sulu?" He took his tray and indicated a free table.

"Risa caused me more stress than relaxation," Cristobel understated, before matter-of-factly oversharing, "and so I went to Betazed, to spend the rest of shore leave with my family. You see, my sister has a psionic disease, and the doctors had hoped that familial presence would soothe her. Unfortunately, my parents and I soothed her into complete lucidity, which allowed her to be uber-aware of her troubles, and sent her into a catatonic state." Cris sat at the table Savaar had pointed towards and placed down his tray. "How did you savour the rest of your shore leave?"

"I did not partake of shore leave," he replied with typical Vulcan neutrality. "The Science department required leadership during Lieutenant Tagliesh's personal crisis. I took it upon myself to remain on the ship and make sure that none of the projects suffered." He paused for a moment and considered Sefton's story. "I hope that your sister overcomes her difficulties," he added.

"Thank you," Cris said softly, and took a long swig of his coffee. "Was the Science Department really falling apart?" Cris asked immediately after he swallowed. "I mean, wasn't everyone, but you, Firj, Moreau and Ai'Pal off-ship?"

"Not the entire department," Saavar shook his head. "Shore leave does not mean that a ship stands still in its day to day assignments for Starfleet. Skeleton crew needs to be maintained at all times."

Cris snickered. "I guess you never went back to Sickbay after your first visit. As I understand it, Medical redefined the bareness of 'skeleton crew' until the Captain was hurt. And then all of the severe injuries in the crew were handled by Risian doctors, without even Starfleet consultants."

Saavar changed the subject. "Have you met the ship's EMH program yet?" The discussion over the poker table came to mind. Saavar wanted to forewarn him of likely mistaken identity. "Viraj changed its appearance. It now looks like you."

"Hunh," Cristobel vocalised -- his own non-verbal 'fascinating.' Smirking realisation came across his face. "When I suggested using the EMH for vaccinations Nurse Szerda looked, practically in terror, towards Amy, and Amy then changed the subject. And there's a holoengineer scheduled to be working in Sickbay today. I suppose it won't look like me for much longer."

Saavar raised one brow. "Viraj mentioned that Nurse Reese apparently tried to ride the EMH thinking it was you, and it criticized her hair. There would be much room for practical humor should you decide to act like the EMH." The Vulcan almost smiled. "Vulcans are accused of not having a sense of humor, would that juxtaposition be humorous?" he asked seriously. "I have been studying Human patterns of humorous behavior and have determined that such a displacement, you for the EMH where the EMH was mistaken for you earlier may be deemed 'funny.' "

"You ought to be sharing your insights with Ensign Ai'Pal, because that probably would be funny," Cristobel nodded and munched on a purple melon. Sombrely, he tacked on, "But I couldn't do that to Amy. She hasn't told me what's gone wrong, but I know that something is not right. I'll have to talk to her about it today."

"It appears she is having difficulty with Ensign Kit Markham and an incident in sickbay with Ensign Farrell and Nurse Szerda. The details are numerous and diverse." He looked across the table and raised an eyebrow. "Vulcan ears hear many things and I am sure that those details are erroneous. She seems to be the current topic of ship gossip, primarily thanks to Nurse Szerda I believe. I firmly hope that the new Chief Medical Officer solves the problem."

"I think it might be more than just that," Cristobel affirmed, deftly ignoring the mention of his mother. "There's something going on with Amy - she might not even be consciously aware of it - but it's more than simply being in the wake of a gossip storm. How do Vulcan's deal with gossip? I mean, obviously not 'gossip' in the Terran sense, but what is the logical way of communicating a subject, which seems important enough to communicate immediately, even though one only understands a fraction of the entire situation from a single point of view?"

"One only ever understands a problem from a single point of view. Vulcans do not lie - unless there is a logical reason to do so. We communicate as other species do unless it is between mates or bonded brothers, in which case we may mind-meld. I cannot say that I fully understand the Human predilection to 'gossip' - or exaggeration of the truth into a lie. It is hurtful to an emotional species."

"In most cases, I don't believe the untruths are intentional," Cristobel insisted matter-of-factly. "Verbal communication is sloppy, and so often discoloured by personal perceptions and body language. Gossip simply has a life of its own - creation from the chaos of synergy."

"I believe that you are not as familiar with Humans as I," Saavar insisted unemotionally. "I have witnessed many examples of intentional most hurtful gossip. Humans lie prolifically. Why tell the truth when a lie will serve? They ask each other How are you? with no intent to really know - and answer with a bland lie most often. For species such as ours, who are highly developed and with telepathic abilities, there is no need to lie, simply because it would do no good. We have evolved. Humans are yet to do so. They lie to conceal the truth even when the truth is obvious." He ate some of his meal and sipped his coffee.

With an uncomfortable laugh of incredulity, Cristobel asked, "How can you think it's okay to make generalisations about an entire species? I severely doubt any one person's familiarity with humans is enough to provide adequate authority. And how, exactly, is it that you manage to learn a person's intentions behind his or her words, with your touch telepathy so infrequently used?"

Saavar looked across at the medical officer and took a moment to compose an answer. "Perhaps I am relying on information reliably gathered over the last century," he said evenly, "as well as personal observations. Generalisations about entire species are often accurate - for example - all Ferengi are governed by greed. As you indicated, I can only report on a singular point of view, I do not intend to be an 'authority.' You rely on your telepathy to gather the truth - why not experiment? Withhold your abilities and observe the Human condition. You will find as I, that it is fraught with untruth and deception."

"You're lucky that there isn't the time before Alpha for me to go into how 'greedy' is an unnecessarily negative attribution to assign to all Ferengi, when all they seem to want is to find their own places in the universe...within their relatively simplistic culture of commerce and material gain," Cristobel smirkingly said. More seriously, he continued, "I am not disputing that humans have a tendency to lie unnecessarily, I am simply saying that, within the last few decades, there has been significantly less intent along the lines of why tell the truth when a lie will serve or intent of a more malicious nature. In Starfleet, at least, people genuinely care more."

"That is true," Saavar conceded. "But the Human race is not made up of Starfleet Officers. If it were the Humans would be a most noble race indeed." He smiled. "There is much about Humans that I admire - I do not intend to sound as if I am an opponent of the Human race. There is much that confuses me also."

Cristobel nodded with a subdued smile, drank a gulp of his coffee, and then his smile became even more subdued as a thought occurred to him. "Did you meet Ambassador Serek?" Cris non-sequitured.

"Yes," Saavar replied. "Why do you ask?"

Sounding as if he knew how ridiculous his questions might be interpreted, Cris asked, "Did he seem like he might be a Romulan in disguise? Or a changeling? Was there any behaviour that was unusual for him?"

The question stopped Saavar's hand moving the food to his mouth. He stared blankly at the Betazoid for a moment and cocked his head to one side, his mouth still open. Slowly he frowned, closed his mouth and put the fork on the plate. "It was the very first time that I had been in his presence, I would say that my observations of him were not 'unusual' or rather 'illogical.' There would be nothing to indicate that he was a Romulan in disguise, and if he were a Changeling, I would not be able to tell the difference, unless I entered a Mind Meld with him. As that is clearly impossible I do not know with complete certainty and would not wish to guess." He sat up a little straighter and asked, "Why do you ask such a question?"

"He's missing, along with Ensign Storm," Cristobel explained with serious concern. "I'm trying not to get too worried yet, but at random intervals a new theory or possibility arises in my head. Serek could very well be the cause of the disappearance, if Serek wasn't Serek. I hope Operations or Security will look over the transporter logs."

Saavar showed concern in the deepening of his frown. "Missing? I have heard nothing of this," he replied. He hadn't been on Bridge duty since Tagliesh had returned to active duty. His role mostly coordinating the labs while she performed on the Bridge with the captain. "I would assume that Captain Salinger will coordinate a search immediately. Your assumptions, Cristobel Sefton, if overheard may spark wild rumour. I would not speculate too loudly about Serek. How long has he been missing?"

"A few days," Cris responded uneasily, not particularly caring about the Sulu's rumour communication channels at the moment. "Apparently the Captain isn't coordinating the search or even taking part. It has been decided that the Sulu must complete its repairs at present, and several other ships have been dispatched to undertake the search and rescue."

"I imagine that would not sit well with the Captain." Saavar replied. "Do you know if he is planning on sending a search team in a Runabout?"

"It doesn't sound like it," Sefton offered with disappointment. "But I really don't know. I heard it from Crewman Moreau, not the Captain."

"Perhaps he will," the Vulcan said as he took a sip of coffee. "With a Federation Ambassador on board with Ensign Storm I would imagine that more than one vessel has been tasked to the search. They will not stop searching until they find them, rest assured. There is a high probability that the shuttle has had a failure of some type and will be discovered quickly."

"You're probably right," Cristobel nodded, sounding apologetic. "Sorry about my pretty much groundless Serek supposition. I tend to try to find solutions outside the normal realm of possibility before I start looking for the obvious. And now I have to go, or I'll be late for my duty shift. I'm glad I got to meet you again, Saavar -- without crippling sleep deprivation this time."

Saavar nodded. "I too am pleased that you have returned to the Sulu. I will no doubt see you again." He smiled at the Betazoid as he stood. "Have a good duty shift," he added to be polite in the Human/Betazoid fashion.

---

"Pharmaco-Nauseant"
by Doctor Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer
Doctor Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor
and Ensign Ulag [NPC] - Science Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Corridors and Sickbay
Stardate: 57907.30, 08h14

***

Ilan Potts shuffled slowly through the corridors of the USS Sulu, trying to find his space legs.

Potts was certain that he was having some reaction to Bashir's concoction. Knowing a small something about medicine himself, Ilan had spent most of the last year suspecting Deep Space Nine's Chief Medical Officer of having a hair trigger on his hypospray. Of everything he was leaving behind on the station, he would miss the good Doctor's frequent inoculations the least.

Whatever the cause of Ilan's discomfort, the need for space legs was at least a little dubious: Countless stabilization tests had conclusively proved that there was no appreciable difference between the deck of a starship, the deck of a space station, or even a land mass provided that said ship's inertial dampeners and gravity generators were operating normally. At that particular moment, there wasn't even a worry of such malfunctions: The USS Sulu was firmly attached to one of the pylons of Deep Space Nine and wasn't even in motion.

Nevertheless, Potts walked along shakily, using both hands to carry his large old-fashioned suitcase off to one side and drawing more than a few stares at his odd attire. True, he was mostly in uniform but he had dressed 'for traveling' which mainly consisted of pulling a natty brown wool blazer over his uniform, pushing a battered fedora of the same color low on his head, and slipping a pair of well-worn sandals onto his oversized feet. The civilian additions to his ensemble looked a good few centuries out of place and the sandals made quite a display of his well-manicured and clear-polished yet curiously long tapering toenails. Not to mention that the only 'traveling' Potts had involved himself in that morning was walking over on the personnel umbilical from Deep Space Nine's repair pylon and through the Sulu corridors. All told, a distance of some few hundred meters.

Potts stopped wrestling with his suitcase and leaned against a bulkhead as he fished a bright red handkerchief out of his pocket. He quickly removed the aforementioned brown fedora to wipe the dripping sweat from of his curiously large, slightly misshapen baldhead. The head came courtesy of the Deltan half of his DNA but it was about the only thing his mother had ever given him: Ilan was an incredibly short, incredibly squat man with long spindly limbs and curious teeth. Save for that head, he looked about as far from a Deltan as a Vulcan from a Horta.

Stuffing his hanky back in his coat pocket, Ilan mimed a retching motion. He had hoped his check-in with his department head might prove a welcome distraction to his growing nausea but a computer check had revealed that Lieutenant Scott had already begun her day's appointment schedule and was unavailable until 1100. It was true he also needed to check-in to both Operations (to receive his berthing assignment) and Command (to receive the standard Starfleet lecture on how his various wee eccentricities were not going to be tolerated at this duty assignment) but he didn't look forward to either, at least not while he was under the weather. As he tilted back his head and flipped his hat back on his sweaty head, he noticed that he was standing right in front of the Sickbay.

He also remembered he was a Doctor.

With a whisk of the door, Dr. Potts entered Sickbay, dropping his suitcase with a small thud and a flourish not unlike that of a flamenco dancer but no one was there to observe his performance. The Sulu had only just put into Deep Space Nine yesterday and its medical staff was probably still in the process of passing out their own inoculations. Usually a department like Medical was very nearly always empty in spacedock. Judging from the look of the ship when she had put in, Ilan guessed Engineering probably still had all hands on deck.

Potts let his eyes travel around the empty room, even spinning on his heel. Noticing a tray of hyposprays, Ilan took one greedy step towards it before something moved in the corner of his eye and he froze like a predator noticing prey. The Sickbay was not empty at all: A rather striking woman with long dark hair was in the CMO's office. Through the transparent wall, Ilan watched her sitting at the desk and studying something on the computer screen. Either she was intent on her work or not a fan of dance; she had yet to notice Potts noticing her.

Ilan was suddenly torn in two, his libido declaring war on his upset stomach. On one hand, there was a lovely humanoid female who had not yet had the pleasure to meet his acquaintance. On the other hand, she was almost assuredly the Chief Medical Officer and might not take kindly to Potts raiding her hyposprays, even though his need was dire. She might even insist on an examination first. She might even say 'no.'

With a dreamy sigh, Dr. Potts decided not to seek a second opinion.

Retrieving his heavy suitcase, Potts launched it on top of a console with a heave from his shoulders and a little help from his knee. Humming softly, he removed his old blazer and folded it lovingly before laying it aside. Next, he unzipped the suitcase, flipped it open, and began rooting around the mess inside. He soon emerged with a faded blue medical lab coat and slipped into it. Admiring his reflection in the transparent aluminum separating him and the presumed CMO, Potts thought that he looked like the consummate professional. A Doctor. Indeed.

Potts achieved a short gallop and slid to a stop in front of the hypospray tray. Swaying strangely as if performing some exotic yet completely unappealing dance, Potts went through the action of picking up differing hyposprays and turning his nose up at the programmed contents until he finally seized upon the difyrenide. Smiling manically, Potts pulled out his blue collar and he prepared to hypo himself in the neck.

It was at that moment the door to the sickbay whooshed open allowing a Ferengi in a Starfleet black and blue to rush in with one hand pushed to the front of his forehead and a look of great anguish on his face. His beady eyes darted around the sickbay quickly and fell upon Potts, there in blue jacket and brown fedora looking a little startled at the Ensign's sudden appearance.

"Something is wrong Doc-tor," the Ferengi spat his words in a typical Ferengi fashion. "My head hurts!"

Damhnait Sefton looked up from her terminal with concern. The new patient immediately owned her attention, as she tried to recall recent cutting-edge practices for treating Ferengi patients, but the Starfleet officer whom the Ferengi had addressed as 'Doctor' caused even more concern. He wasn't a nurse of Damhnait's medical staff, as she had assumed when she'd heard someone enter; therefore, he didn't belong in her Sickbay.

Without a thought, Potts had grabbed up a tricorder and made his way to the nearest biobed. He patted the edge of it and said in his nasally voice, "Well, hop up here beanpole and let me get a look at you." Normally, Dr. Potts would never act as a general practitioner but the Ferengi had caught him in his lab coat and rules were rules, even if one were making up said rules as one went along. The Ensign was holding his head...it was quite possible the illness was psychosomatic and therefore right up counselor alley. Maybe it was fate.

Ulag crossed to the exam area, looking Dr. Potts warily in the eye. As the Ferengi hopped up to sit on the edge of the biobed, he tried to recall the last time he looked another Starfleet officer in the eye - it had to have been the one time he shared a turbolift with Kit Markham. Ilan began programming the tricorder for the scans.

"Who exactly are you, and what do you intend to do with my patient?" Doctor Sefton demanded, from the doorway of the office, even though she had already heard the answers to her questions in Potts' head by the time she had said 'intend.'

"Ah," said Potts, smiling affably and seeing her rank pips. "Potts, ma'am. Dr. Ilan Potts. The Sulu's newest counselor. Assistant Chief Counselor, in fact though I'd wager a finger that ruffled more than a few skirts. Our Ferengi shipmate here has a bit of a headache so I think he'd appreciate us keeping it down." As he said these last few words, he trailed off in volume as if to demonstrate, even going so far as to bring his index finger to his pursed lips.

"Damhnait Sefton," she introduced herself at her softer, normal speaking volume. "I'm the Chief Medical Officer, which means I have free reign to keep counsellors away from my patients until their physical needs are met."

Potts began to scan Ulag with a bit of a high-pitched scoffing laugh. "I have attended Medical School, my dear sweet lovely Lieutenant Commander Sefton. I think you'll find me unbelievably qualified to meet their physical and their mental needs. Perhaps you've read my medical tome: It Turns Out You --"

"Perhaps you have read my medical tome," Damhnait interjected evenly, before snapping, "It's called Your Tricorder is Backwards."

Potts was nonplussed and continued scanning. "I know that, my dear lady. I was merely performing a physical on myself which I believe is standard Starfleet procedure for new arrivals and required before serving in a medical capacity." He handed the tricorder to Doctor Sefton and tapped a part of the screen. "I think you'll find my fertility rate particularly phenomenal." He leaned in to conspire. "Don't feel like you have to keep that confidential."

Sefton scoured over the readings displayed on the tricorder for medical cues suggesting unfitness for duty, but Potts' vital signs all appeared to be completely normal. Ulag looking back and forth between the two bickering professionals, decided his head didn't hurt as much as he thought and made a motion to get off the bio bed. Potts caught him by the shoulders.

"Where are you off to, Too Tall? Worried that the basketball team can't win the big match without you, huh? Well, let's get you all fixed up and have you back scoring field goals and probing lobes with Susie Jo under the bandstand, okay?"

Damhnait's eyes narrowed upon Potts. She could read his mind, and yet she still didn't know what he had just said.

Potts began a prodding physical examination of the Ferengi which covered him from head to toe and caused no end of squirming and discomfort while Ilan mainly uttered sage phrases such as "Hmmmm" and "That's interesting" along with a few questions like "Have you always had this?" and "Is this any bigger than from your last examination?". The exam culminated in Potts reaching out to the Ferengi's kneecap and squeezing in rapid succession until Ulag began to snort laughter.

"Yup, he's girl crazy," Potts diagnosed gravely to Doctor Sefton who observed the whole examination with skeptical curiosity.

Setting the medical tricorder to compare its readings with Ferengi standards, Damhnait held it out towards Doctor Potts. With only a hint of airy condescension, she suggested, "You might try searching for a physical cause for his headache."

"A brilliant idea," Potts agreed, taking the tricorder and beginning the scans. With one eye on the tricorder and one eye on Doctor Sefton, he noticed her solid black irises. Potts silently congratulated himself for even noticing she had a face this early in the relationship: The good Doctor was quite shapely.

"You're Betazoid," he observed, flashing his crooked teeth at her.

"You're a Deltan/Human hybrid," Damhnait retorted with sarcastic fascination. "You truly have the observational skills befitting a counsellor."

"I was just wondering if you could tell what I'm thinking?" Potts asked, even closing his eyes and straining a bit. He had a lascivious look on his face.

Damhnait's brow knitted. "You don't normally propose to women within ten minutes of meeting them?" she asked, sounding tired. "I'm not going to be the exception for your rule, as I am already married."

"Pity," Potts said, sounding truly disappointed. "It's always surprised me that monogamy is the norm on Betazed: Your people are otherwise so open and free and considerate of deep seated sexual needs. You should take a page from the Deltan book." Potts paused briefly to consider the other choices. "Or Andorians. Andorians. Now there are a people who know how to --"

An insistent beep from a tricorder drew Ilan away and he studied the reading with interest as he moved the device right in front over one of Ulag's protruding nodes on his forehead. A few more beeps had Potts suddenly silent and grave-faced. He sat the tricorder to the side.

"Open your mouth please," Potts asked and Ulag did, prompting Potts to squint one eye closed and look inside. "Have you had any nosebleeds recently?" Potts asked, staring past the cavern of pointy Ferengi teeth.

"Uh huh," Ulag affirmed with open mouth. His eyes rolled wildly trying to keep Potts in his field of vision.

Potts nodded and tapped the Ferengi's chin, prompting him to close his mouth. Ilan went to put his ear up to his forehead but the brim of his forgotten fedora foiled the move. Potts flipped it off and looked from side to side for a handy place to put it when he noticed Doctor Sefton's empty hands. Naturally, he placed it on her head. Damhnait looked up at the fedora, and only moved to tilt the brim back, to keep it out of her own line of sight. Ilan held his ear up to Ulag's forehead for a count of ten before he turned and walked to the replicator. On his way, he grabbed up a metal tray, letting the hyposprays on it slide onto the tray below in a smooth motion.

Sighing heavily, Doctor Sefton chided, "Am I going to have to call in a Medical Technician Crewman, fresh from the Academy, to give you a lecture on proper Sickbay and medical tool etiquette?"

Potts held out a finger meant to silence the Betazoid and in another smooth motion took it right to the medical replicator. With a few deft key taps, he opened the perimeters to replicate something beyond mere medicine. "Please replicate a reasonable facsimile of Shemlok Dung please," Potts said cheerfully as if he were speaking to an old friend. "Two hundred grams. Thirty-eight degrees Celsius. Moisture level, thirty-three percent."

The replicator made a disagreeable buzz. "Shemlok Dung is a waste product with no nutritional or medicinal value," it announced.

"Oh, I disagree," Potts said, shaking his head. "Replicate it in a bowl with a spoon, if you please. Chop chop."

There was the slightest of hesitations as if even the machine were debating Ilan's sanity before the clear bowl filled with greenish-gray goop appeared in the alcove. Potts seized on it with a certain glee, sticking the tray under his arm as he walked towards a fearful Ulag and unamused Dr. Sefton stirring up the pungent waste with the spoon.

"I'm afraid I've already eaten this morning," Damhnait said acidly, suddenly regretting her decision to tone down her telepathic presence in Ilan's mind, since he hadn't been seeming to be dangerously unstable. Perhaps she needed to reconsider her conclusion.

"This isn't for you, Doctor," Potts observed. "It is the cure for what ails our Ferengi friend here." With that, Potts pushed the foul smelling feces under the Ferengi's nose. "Inhale deeply," he advised and Ulag did for a long while, though it was hard to do so without retching. Steadily, Doctor Sefton was losing her patience.

"Doctor Potts," Damhnait said with a hard edge, "We have a cabinet full of medically accepted aromatics. Nurse Reese just reorganised them all yesterday."

"Look, Doctor," Ilan advised, pointing at Ulag's nose with the filth-encrusted spoon. It seemed a small bubble of blood had appeared in the left nostril of the Ferengi and was steadily growing larger. Potts sat aside the bowl of Shemlok Dung and took the metal tray out from under his arm. With a little coaxing from Potts, the small bloodied mass plopped down onto the silver tray and undulated there on the surface.

Taking a step closer, Doctor Sefton grabbed a tricorder, but before it could reveal all, she asked Potts, "What is that?"

Potts produced a sterilizer and ran it over the unrecognizable lump, cleaning it of the Ferengi blood. On the silver surface of the tray, a thick, pulsating extremely clean worm thrashed about.

Damhnait glared at the worm, wishing she could telepathically understand the Ferengi's thought processes, and then demanded to know, "Did you put that thing in your head?!?"

Ulag looked back and forth between the two Doctors and the offending invertebrate. "You think I did it on purpose?" he asked, incredulous and more than a little offended. He hopped off the biobed.

"It's a tube grub," Doctor Potts offered helpfully, picking up the mottled worm and giving it a closer look. "From Quark's, unless I miss my guess. Correct, Ensign?"

Ensign Ulag looked quietly surprised and nodded once. "Quark's is not forbidden," he offered in his defense.

"No," Dr. Potts agreed, tossing the worm up in the air and catching it. "Quark's is not forbidden. But Quark occasionally adds a li'l Regalian Heartseeker DNA to his tube grubs. Supposedly makes for a tastier, cheaper grub but every once in a while one gets missed in the mouthful and heads north into the sinus cavity." As if to demonstrate, Potts held the worm up to Doctor Sefton and squeezed it slightly. The grub opened its small burrowing orifice lined with sharp teeth.

Without flinching, Sefton's eyes passed over the grub briefly, before levelling a heavy stare at Ilan. "I can see it just as well from a distance, Doctor Potts," Damhnait informed him icily.

"Really?" Potts enthused with wonder. "I find them fascinating." He held the grub up close to his own face and began to singsong, "Who's a good grub? C'mon boy, who's a good grub?"

"The one in your hands is, apparently," Damhnait said as she examined the tricorder readings of Ulag. "It didn't cause him any lasting harm, but I'm going to give him corophizine as a precaution." Fortunately, Tynann the Technician had returned to Main Sickbay during the commotion, and reorganised the hyposprays that Doctor Potts had knocked over. He handed Doctor Sefton the requested loaded hypospray, which she then administered to Ulag.

Ulag rubbed his arm theatrically; the hypospray was virtually painless. He soon recovered a bit of his typical Ferengi bravado as he said, "Thank you, Doc-tor." On his way out he glared at his benefactor ungratefully who was still cooing to the worm that had been in his head.

"Bye." Potts waved wildly to Ulag with his free hand as he palmed the tube grub. He turned back to the CMO. "Well Doctor, I must say this was a pleasure. I thought it would be weeks if not months before I would get to confer on a medical case."

Nodding agreeably, Damhnait told him in all seriousness, "I'll keep you in mind the next time I need a tube grub specialist."

"I shall look forward to it, dear lady," Potts said with an archaic bow. "Now, if you would be so kind as to return my hat."

Damhnait was clearly perplexed for half a moment, wondering if 'return my hat' was a colloquialism, until she recalled the fedora resting on her head. She doffed the hat, and handed it to Potts. "Take care," she offered, as she ushered him towards the exit, barely giving him time to collect his suitcase and blazer.

Potts pushed the hat back onto his rather bulbous head just as Doctor Sefton physically placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved him back into the corridor. Even as he spun around to say his final goodbyes, the door to the Sickbay whooshed shut with a sense of finality and Dr. Potts was alone.

Potts dropped his suitcase to the deck and flipped it open with an overly large foot. Humming pleasantly, he removed his medical coat with care, dropping it back in the case. Again, he slipped into his beloved brown wool blazer, being careful not to crush the tube grub in his hand. He shut the suitcase and stood it upright.

"Remarkable woman," he said aloud, looking back to the Sickbay doors. With glee, Potts realized that the whole affair had taken his mind off his nausea and he even had his appetite back. Without a second thought, he popped the tube grub he had liberated from Ulag's head into his mouth.

"Mmmmm..." he said, munching happily as he struggled with his suitcase down the corridor. "A very good grub indeed."

---

"Tips for the Care and Feeding of an Invernian Fern"
by Lieutenant Brennyn Scott - Chief Counselor
Doctor Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor
and Ensign Ainsley Chambers - Counselor

Location: USS Sulu, Chief Counselor's Office and Reception Area
Stardate: 57907.30, 11h03

***

The Main Counseling Office reception was empty, save for a short, squat cueballed half-Deltan who milled about restlessly in an aimless pace. Dr. Potts had only been on the Sulu for a few hours and was already decidedly uncomfortable. While his visit to sickbay had temporarily quelled his upset stomach, his check-in with Operations and Command had necessitated losing his clothing accessories - his brown fedora and matching tweed jacket had been stowed back in his new minty fresh quarters. That had been no trouble at all - the hat and jacket were his traveling clothes and since he had arrived at his destination, they were no longer appropriate. However, a class-A also required that Potts get rid of his beloved sandals and confine his overly large feet in a standard Starfleet issue boot. As he felt the synthetic leather pressing against his gloriously long, lovely toenails, Potts counted the minutes until they would be freed.

Even on a ship as small as an Intrepid-class, the waiting area for the ship's counselors would have normally held at least one or more restless souls waiting for their allotted time, as well as a few stragglers whose need for a counselor was one of immediacy rather than appointment. Potts had looked over the staff and crew breakdowns transmitted to him when he had accepted the transfer - the Sulu had a fair share of its crew either in counseling or desperately needing counseling. Ilan had hoped to write a book about his soon-to-be-had adventures in the Gamma Quadrant during his tenure aboard the Sulu but it seemed unlikely he'd have the time. Not if this crew was as crazy as been reported. Apparently, the need for counseling staff was so dire that the ship had even accepted an enlisted crewman as an on call counselor. Potts, in his experience, had never heard of such a thing.

His aimless pacing brought him back to the row of cushioned seating and he threw himself down with a heavy sigh. The crewmember who had just finished meeting with Lieutenant Scott had left over ten minutes ago and Potts could imagine that the Chief Counselor was busy composing her notes from that session while they were still fresh in the mind. As Ilan glanced restlessly about the room, he noticed a rather pitiful looking red-colored fern tucked away in the corner between two sets of seats.

"Hullo!" Potts greeted, flashing his interesting teeth at the plant and crossing his legs at the knees. "You're a pitiful sight, chickadee. And I know a thing or two about pitiful sights - I've been married seven times. No one talking to you, I take it?"

The fern, of course, said nothing. It simply regarded Potts mutely.

Ilan laughed and shook his head. "I know, I know," he agreed, stretching his arms up high over his head. "All this talking going on here and no one does to you. It's downright ironic, if you ask me."

The plant certainly asked him no such thing but agreed silently, prompting the half-Deltan to scoot to the edge of his seat.

"I should tell you," Potts confided in a whisper, getting close to the fern. "I'm new around here and could use an advance scout report. You're down here all day, tucked away in your corner. You see all the people coming and going. What can you tell me about Lieutenant Scott?"

The plant didn't answer.

"Well, I know she's easy on the eyes...I've met her before you know," Potts scoffed, now wondering if the fern had any useful information at all. "But I was wondering if she always takes this long to write up a session summary?"

"And if she did, would you have a problem with that, Doctor?" The reply, naturally, did not come from the plant, but from the aforementioned Lieutenant Scott. The dark haired Chief Counselor had entered reception to greet her new Assistant Chief only to find him--talking to her fern? Bree had really hoped he'd been talking to another crewmen waiting for an appointment, but she would come to realize that that would be too simple for Ilan Potts. The scene might have been comical, and indeed for a split second she laughed at the cliché, and then she had been reminded this man was supposed to be her right hand man. It definitely didn't bode well.

"No problem at all, Lieutenant," Potts enthused pleasantly, uncrossing his legs and getting on his feet. If he was bothered by getting caught in a conversation with a plant, he didn't show it but offered an odd move somewhere between a masculine bow and a lilting curtsey. "It's truly a pleasure to see you again."

Brennyn nodded once and smiled, extending her hand. Bree couldn't say she knew Ilan Potts well, but she had occasion to attend a few of his seminars at the Academy. As far as she could tell, he hadn't changed much. She shook her head at the image of him talking to her plant. "It certainly will be an interesting pleasure having you aboard. I assume you're up to speed on department operations?"

"Of course," Ilan said, shaking her hand graciously. "They didn't pull me right out of the classroom, Lieutenant. I've been back in Starfleet for six years."

Brennyn nodded and gestured that he should follow her into the corridor that led to the individual offices. "I'd be happy to address any particular questions or concerns you might have once I show you to your office, but first, I'd like to introduce you to Ensign Chambers. Ainsley is still learning a lot, but I'm quite pleased with her progress. For all intents and purposes, she has been acting as the Assistant Chief for some time now, and she has definitely risen to the occasion."

It was difficult for Brennyn to keep the edge from her voice, but she managed. In fairness to Dr. Potts, he did not ask to be put in a position to do an end run around the current department command chain, but it still bothered Scott that Ainsley had not been given the opportunity to broaden her command experience by accepting the position of Assistant Chief, and it bothered her even more that Starfleet Command had taken the decision out of her hands. However, she had decided to give Dr. Potts a chance to prove himself before she passed judgment. Scott was not going to become Lyrr Tayla, passing sentence on Mason Farrell for the sins of his past. Still, Bree had to admit she was not sure about Dr. Potts' abilities to counsel effectively and she planned to monitor him closely. After all, potential clients who saw him talking to nearby plants might decide their own problems weren't worth bothering someone who clearly had enough to worry about!

Bree stopped outside of Ainsley's office, moving her hand towards the chime as she turned back to Ilan but she found his face hidden by the brown-edged red leaves of the fern from the reception area. Apparently, Potts had retrieved the plant before following her. Somehow even the leaves managed to droop sheepishly.

"Claiming the plant as your own?" Scott asked, no longer surprised by anything Potts might do today.

The plant shook as Potts struggled with its position in his hands. Soon, his face broke through the foliage, smiling broadly. "Not at all. But this is an Invernian fern; a plant on the evolutionary cusp that has adapted to utilize a kind of audiosynthesis on its sunlight poor world. Normally, buzzing insects would provide the needed sounds but what about on a starship?" Potts looked down to the plant in his arms with a certain kind of sadness before looking back to Bree. "Waiting rooms are such quiet places, Lieutenant. Would not a relocation be in order?"

Bree smiled. "If it'll make you feel better, sure thing." She had no doubt Potts was correct about her Ivernian fern, but what was more she realized Potts would not be satisfied unless he was the one responsible for nurturing her foliage. Fortunately, that was when the door opened.

"Hi!" Ainsley responded brightly when she saw Bree. She recognized the man standing with her almost immediately. Though her smile did not falter her mood sunk just a little.

"Hi!" Potts returned, brightening a little himself upon sight of the lovely Chambers. He shifted the potted plant in his grip to offer the Ensign a hand. "Dr. Ilan Potts, at your service." Looking beyond her, his face broke into an even larger grin. "This is your office?"

Ainsley shook his hand. "Ainsley Chambers and yes, this is my office." She responded, stepping back and motioning them both to come in. She made a promise to herself that she would give Potts a chance, it wasn't his fault that he had been assigned to the Assistant Chief's position when she thought it was hers.

Bree smiled and nodded to Ainsley, giving her a look that said, We'll talk later, before adding by way of explanation, "I wanted Dr. Potts to meet you before I showed him his new office. I figured he would like to hear a little about how we do things from someone else besides me."

Potts deposited the fern in Ainsley's unwilling arms and moved inside the office, twirling around theatrically. "This is absolutely marvelous," Potts said, grinning wildly. "You simply have to help me decorate mine."

Ainsley glanced down at the plant in her arms, not quite sure what to do with it. "Uhh...sure," she responded with an awkward glance at Potts. "It's not much really."

"Oh, I must protest," Potts disagreed, wagging a long finger at her. "You have a knack, a gift, an eye for decorating. Two of them in fact...very beautiful blue ones not unlike my own." Potts swiftly moved until his face was but a scant few inches from her own, allowing an inspection of his milky blue orbs. They looked nothing like Ainsley's sparklers.

It took all of Ainsley's counselor training to stop her from taking a step back away from the little man. Her eyes were huge as she looked down at him. It was an uncommon feeling for her to be looking down at someone and it actually made her smile. "Thank you," she responded to the compliment he had given her. She turned and placed the plant on her desk for him to pick up on his way out. "Why don't we sit?"

Bree smiled politely as she watched the exchange between Potts and Chambers. Her first instinct had been to rescue Ainsley from the awkwardness of the meeting, but Scott realized as Assistant Chief, Potts and Ainsley were going to have to get along and feel comfortable interacting with one another. Scott took the chair opposite Ainsley.

Potts nodded in kind and sank to the floor, using his hands to force his uncooperative limbs into a cross-legged position. "It looks even better from down here," he said happily to a moderately surprised Ainsley. For her part, Bree had not even raised an eyebrow. She was rapidly becoming accustomed to the man's antics.

"There is a couch you know. Or I have a crazy kinda beanbag chair in the closet if you'd like to sit on that." Ainsley stared down at the small bald man. Certainly no one that strange could really be in his position. Was he for real?

"Nonsense," Potts said, patting the floor beside him. "I wouldn't dream of having you dig around in your closet just for me. Please sit, Ensign Chambers."

"Call me Ainsley, please." She wasn't quite ready to sit down yet though. "Tea? Coffee? Anything?"

"Just your company," Potts said, smiling. He was still patting a spot on the deck next to him. "Please," he repeated.

She couldn't bring herself to actually be rude and not accept his invitation so slowly she sat down beside him, though not too close. "How long have you been onboard, sir?" Ainsley asked him.

"Only a few hours," Potts said, grabbing his feet and rocking a little, looking all the word like an extremely old, unattractive child who was getting to stay up late at and crash his sister's slumber party. As if to reinforce the image, he shifted suddenly onto his side and leaned on his elbow. "Do you have a boyfriend, Ains?" he asked.

It took quite a bit of restraint for Bree not to open her mouth in Ainsley's defense. In fact, it was all she could do to stay seated. A part of her knew she should offer to leave and come back later. She hadn't scheduled appointments for Potts today so he could settle in and become familiar with his surroundings. But another part of her was fascinated by Ilan's gall and equally as interested in how Ainsley would handle such direct questions.

"I'm working on it," Ainsley responded with a smile, looking down to where Potts was sprawled on the floor, and then decided to turn the tables around. "What about you? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Pet?" She grinned then.

"No. No. And No," Potts offered sadly. "This is the longest I've been divorced without at least being engaged." He leaned a little closer. "Sometimes they've even overlapped a little," he admitted quietly, holding his index finger up to his pursed lips. "Shhhhhhh," he admonished.

Ainsley couldn't help it, her grin widened. "How long's it been?"

"An entire year," he lamented, almost in a pout. "I met, married, and divorced Kelera all within my first two days of being assigned to Deep Space Nine. Never marry a Dabo girl," he advised, shaking his finger sternly at Ainsley. "At least not until you know where she lives."

"I'll keep that in mind!" Ainsley responded.

"It's sage advice," Potts said with a wink and a smile. He looked at Ainsley closely before nodding at Bree. "The Lieutenant tells me that you've been functioning as a defacto Assistant Chief for some time. Any static from the other more senior counselors?"

Bree interrupted things then. She didn't want Ainsley put in such an awkward position. "You'll find that the counselors aboard the Sulu are quite respectful of the chain of command. They understand that rank alone does not entitle someone to a command position. Trust and confidence must be earned, especially in a field so delicate."

"And to be honest I don't see a lot of the counselors on the other shifts and they don't see a lot of me, other than department meetings. We stay off of each other's toes and it all goes well." Ainsley leaned back against the couch and thoughts for a few moments.

"Of course," Potts said, answering both of the women. "My only concern is how I must now fit into this mix. I am the interloper, after all." He looked to Ainsley and smiled. "And it wouldn't do if there were any ill feelings."

Ainsley smiled back at him. She'd found that her ill feelings she had when the door first opened were quickly seeping away. "I think all you have to do is be yourself and everything will be fine."

Potts grinned warmly, reached over and patted her hand. "I think we'll get along famously, Ainsley." He looked to Bree. "We all will, won't we Lieutenant?"

And despite her own personal reservations, Bree had to admit Ilan was making a genuine effort to fit in, even if he was quite a bit more eccentric than what she expected. She would give him the benefit of the doubt, not only because she was the Chief Counselor and had to set a good example, but because it was the way she would hope to be treated were she in Potts position. Honesty was always Bree's best policy. "I'm certainly willing to try," she replied with a smile.

Potts bounded off the floor with surprising limberness. "Then try we shall," he spouted, his enthusiasm almost making up for the corniness. He went to shake Bree's hand again but it somehow developed into a quick friendly hug with Lieutenant Scott staring in wide-eyed shock at Ainsley who was rising to her feet and smiling at Bree's plight. Their roles reversed swiftly when Potts hugged Ainsley in kind, only a little tighter and more lingering, before the curious little man made his way for the door.

"If you ladies will excuse me," Potts said, waving over his shoulder. "I should like to get a look at my office now. I still have to beam over my books and put up shelves. Oh, there is so much to do."

Bree chuckled. She'd never seen someone get so excited about an office before. "Then we best let you get to it," replied Scott with a smile. He was like a child with a new toy.

Potts stepped out the door and swung back in to smile hugely. "Don't forget to take your plant to your office, Lieutenant." And then he was gone.

"Well that was interesting," Ainsley said to Bree and made her way behind her desk. "He's different then I thought he would be from his bio."

Scott smiled ruefully, thinking of Ilan's exchange with the plant on Ainsley's desk. "He's different, that's for sure. I found him talking to the fern in the lobby. I get that he's into plant mental health, but it's not exactly the best image for a counselor." She shook her head at the memory. "He deserves a fair shot, but I would appreciate it if you kept your eyes and ears open for anything that might be...disruptive to morale and client trust, if you know what I mean."

Ainsley nodded, but had a feeling things would probably be ok in that area. "I'll keep a look out for anything of that nature."

Bree smiled one last time and headed for her own office. She didn't remember her plant until she was back sitting behind her own desk.

---

"Snatch and Grab"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Ensign Farrell's quarters
Stardate: 57907.30 12h00

***

His alarm gave a soft click and activated, mariachi trumpets brassing clean and crisp into his bedroom. Mason, as usual, rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head, but let the song play to wake him:

Love, is a burnin' thing / and it makes, a fiery ring / bound, by wild desire / I fell into a ring of fire.

Mason sat up slowly in bed as Johnny Cash continued crooning about falling down as flames went higher, and shuffled to the bathroom.

He started the hot water in the sink, splashed a little on his face, and opened his kit for his razor. He'd never much cared for power-shavers. No matter how advanced they grew, he remained of the opinion that nothing got closer than an old fashioned blade.

Which was missing from his kit.

He dug around in the bag, shifting its contents first one way, then the other. Finally he carried the bag out to the table and dumped it, sifting its contents as "Ring of Fire" wound down back in the bedroom. Toothbrush, a half-rolled paste tube, soap, and so on, all there. But no razor. Where could it be?

He looked back into the bag, just in case, and then reached in to dig at it. Something had been affixed to the bottom. He came out with a slip of paper. Familiar heavyweight cream-colored paper. He frowned at it first, and then smiled, opening it with a flourish. Ainsley.

"If you ever want to see your razor alive again, come to Café Thalja, Gerha city, Tejaun province at 1700 hours today."

His mind shifted into warp. Today? He had duty. Damn. He'd need to make some calls and do some fast talking. T'rii could cover the shift without a problem, and she would. She was like that. And he might be able to con Frazier into pulling a double. That would certainly cost, but he was apparently going to be on Bajor anyway, so he'd be positioned to acquire her fee. That could work. But first things first.

"Computer," he sighed at the replicator. "One power-shaver."

---

"Close the Door, Open the Door"
by Ensign Amy Reese - Nurse
and Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse

Location: USS Sulu, Sefton's Quarters
Stardate: 57907.30, 12h08

***

Because of their dedication to duty the previous night, having worked overtime, Doctor Sefton had allowed Nurses Reese and Sefton to take a slightly extended midday meal break. As such, the pair had opted to spend it in Cris' quarters, which allowed them the privacy to gossip about situations that would be better kept between just the two of them. They sat across from one another at the dining table with a pair of chocolate-raspberry milkshakes and a large platter of oskoid between them. Each pile of oskoid on the platter was seasoned and marinated in different flavours from different worlds. Despite the decadence of the meal, the nurses were just picking at it, to save more time for speaking and listening.

"--And so what did you say to Annikafiore then?" Cristobel asked in delight.

"Well, I told her that the minute she lost her reputation as the cattiest nurse in sickbay, and that little rumour about her groping Ensign Tomkins in the lounge vanished, then she could judge me and go around labelling me a slut." Amy picked up one of the leafy vegetables and dropped it into her upturned mouth. Chewing briskly, she continued unintelligibly, "And another thing...I told her she wasn't even that pretty!"

Cristobel giggled hard, tenderly telepathically 'hearing' Amy's recollection of the event. Cris picked up a spicy piece of oskoid, but just held onto it, to deadpan, "Y'know, her hair is pretty." With a snicker and a touch of defensiveness, he continued, "Seriously. I have no instinct when it comes to determining a woman's sexual attractiveness, and Annikafiore does happen to do less than nothing for me, but all that curly, naturally-vigorous red hair is gorgeous. I mean, I still think you should tear it out, if it wouldn't give you a slight case of court martial, but I'm thinking that maybe what you verily need to do is write a song. A song about Annikafiore. Because, hey, Annikafiore rhymes with skanky little whore."

Amy snickered, then coughed to clear her windpipe of the pungent vinaigrette that had trickled into it. After a long draw from her milkshake, she recovered, though her expression took on a serious quality. "I don't get it, Crissy," she sighed. "I just can't drop this reputation, and witches like Annika aren't helping! I mean, look at me" --she gestured vaguely to her toned-down hair and naturally applied make-up-- "I've even tried to look sweet and innocent but no one's buying it."

"Then your next priority is to pay less attention to your reputation than anyone else. You can't obsess over it. If you make too dramatic a production over changing your ways, everyone will think it's merely a show, behind which lies an actress who's more sexually insatiable than ever," Cristobel bluntly said. "It won't be that hard to start ignoring the gossip, will it? Would you actually be caring about the opinion of strangers and Annikafiore if it weren't so viscously about you?"

Propping one elbow atop the table, and leaning her cheek into her fisted hand, Amy sighed woefully. "I guess not...but it is about me! I just wish..." Slowly, a conniving, mischievous smile formed and her blue eyes shifted up towards Cris'. "Now, if people had something even juicier than my sexcapades to talk about...." Unexpectedly, Amy thrust her arms out across the table and latched onto Cris' wrists; one hand was level with his mouth and dangling a leaf of oskoid from its fingertips, while the other had been resting atop the table. Circulation in both was restricted as her grip tightened with her excitement. "You have to help me, Crissy! I need you to help me make up the best rumour ever and spread it around this ship...and fast!"

Grimacing sympathetically, Cristobel stated, "That's not gonna help. Rumours have a way of dying of age-related natural causes on their own. Wouldn't you laugh in the face of people who thought they were being mischievous by gossiping about Salinger and Tagliesh today?" Cristobel let the question hang in the air for several seconds, biting the leaf from his unmovable hand, before eventually releasing a relenting sigh. "...So, do you have a rumour in mind?" The left side of his lips curled up into a deliciously wicked smile that could even be seen in his right eye -- his left eye being covered by his long bangs.

Amy shrugged as she retrieved both hands and folded her arms atop the table. "I was thinking something very scandalous. Like...Farrell and his womanizing ways - that'll teach him for getting me in trouble with Kit." Her mouth screwed into a knot as she thought deeply. "Or...maybe...like...." She sulked and puffed up her lips dolefully at Cris. "I suck at this. I may like to gossip, but I just don't have it in me to be vindictive. I mean...you're good at that sorta stuff." Then she winked playfully.

"Um... thanks?" Cristobel said with wounded sarcasm. He shrugged helplessly and babbled, "I dunno... Farrell seems like a good guy to me. I think I'd lean more towards how Ai'Pal seems to worship" -- Cris paused to accurately remember the ancient Terran colloquialism -- "insane troll logic. Or, perhaps, the gossip could be something about how Andrea Collins was thrown in the brig for making a sexual advance towards Lyrr, involving baring the tattoo on her chest. I mean, it's not like anyone saw what actually happened in the ready room. We could add that the reason Andrea threw a tantrum is just that she wanted show the entire crew that she really, really, really is a bad grrl. Aaaand that she wanted to be thrown in the brig, where a security officer is ordered to watch her, so she could bitch him out for supposedly staring at her breasts. Oh! ...Wait, am I talking about Collins or Niesha? I can't remember."

Cristobel stifled the snigger at his own joke with a couple of lemony oskoids. Swallowing without chewing, he spoke with more speed and enthusiasm as the thoughts came to him quicker, "I've heard that the Security Chief has a thing for Surface Operation Blacks. Maybe there was an engineering officer in the gymnasium's locker room who saw the Chief ball up his SOB uniform and sniff it real hard before saying, 'I'll be in my bunk.' Oh, and Shyla told me about this Science Officer who pretended that vinegar was corrosive acid and insisted that he be called VT. Well, I've been thinking that it'd be kind of funny if people started 'accidentally' calling him VD." Cristobel gave Amy a suggestive wink, just in case she hadn't been certain what the intended V.D. stood for. Cris then stuffed his mouth with a handful of honey oskoid, and chewed only long enough to mentally review all that he'd said. "Mo dhia, I am a horrible person."

"You're a wonderfully talented person," she enthused. "Oh, Crissy...you may just have saved my reputation!" Amy lunged forward across the table, knocking its edge and disturbing the neatly laid oskoid on each plate, while their milkshakes sloshed over the brims of their glasses. Her arms flung around Cris' neck. "I absolutely adore you!" Snickering, she added, "Won't mama be proud."

"Buail," Cristobel cursed softly. "I'm sure this time it'll be a funny guilt trip. I'll be able to laugh at my pain." He squeezed Amy extra-tight, before he let go. "Now... since you adore me...how about telling me what exactly happened 'tween you and Kit while I was gone. Slowly."

Amy sighed, her excitement instantly dampened, and sank back into her chair. "You had to ask..." she muttered. "I mean...it was so horrible, Crissy. I thought he was gone forever." Grimacing bitterly, she fumed, "And that Farrell! I heard he was totally blaming it on me! At least, that's what the rumours say... But you know it was his fault! He just...refused to let go...sorta...."

"There is no blame. The rumours certainly don't matter. There is no reason to put faith in them; I mean, obviously. ...Amy," Cristobel said forcefully, without losing his tone of sympathy; "I want you to tell me what happened."

Amy nodded sullenly, then whimpered and slumped forward in her chair, burying her face into her hands. "I was there...Farrell was there... We were hugging, and maybe leaning towards more..." Pouting and eyes glistening with tears, she lifted her face to gaze across at Cris. "He caught us...and I tried to lie, Crissy. I don't know if I could ever forgive myself for that part. He does, though.... We're moving in together." She tried to smile, but her frown remained firmly in place. "I'm trying to change for him, but I don't know if it'll work. I-I don't know if I'm meant for monogamy, Cris. I just...don't know anything anymore."

"Do you know if you love him?" Cristobel asked in a comforting, hopeful tone.

Amy succeeded in smiling this time. "I do, Crissy. I love him so much! I just don't know if he loves me enough to stay around the next time I screw up."

"Okay, this will probably sound like the Universal Translator shut down and I'm speaking Betazoid, but maybe you don't have to look at it as screwing up. Maybe you shouldn't have to change for him," Cristobel said earnestly. "Do you think the two of you could work together on rules-based polyamory?"

Intrigued and leaning forward, she asked, "Rules-based? What does that mean?"

"Basically, the two of you could have an open relationship. You would have to unanimously agree upon rules regarding what sorts of sexual acts and behaviours will be acceptable with other partners, or what sorts of potential partners are acceptable in the first place. Kit would still be your primary boyfriend, and the two of you, as non-telepaths, would absolutely have to set time aside every single week to talk about the state of your relationship. This certainly isn't something to take lightly - the two of you would have to be brutally honest with one another at all times - it would be disastrous to sugar-coat any dialogue about your relationship," Cristobel explained with all seriousness. "I just think that if you had even a little bit of breathing room to express yourself sexually, you wouldn't feel as panicky or trapped, and you might even stop having regular compulsive desires for other people, if it wasn't considered taboo."

Amy nodded thoughtfully. As much as she knew Kit would hate the idea, it made sense to her. "That might work..." she mused. "But...what if he doesn't go for it? Should we talk this over with the counsellor, you think, or will she think I'm crazy for suggesting it?"

"If he doesn't go for it, then you discard this idea. You can't attempt an entirely new relationship philosophy if either of you has doubts about it to begin with," Cristobel affirmed. "It's too soon to be coming up with reactions to rejection - you just need to talk to Kit and your counsellor about this. If your counsellor disregards the idea as crazy, without even considering it, then your counsellor isn't terribly open-minded. That isn't to say that the counsellor will approve of the idea - maybe it wouldn't work for Kit and you, but only you and Kit can figure that out."

"Well, I do like the idea of being open with him," she said slowly. "I-I have to consider it, though. Things are fragile right now. I don't want to freak him out, you know?"

"Of course," Cristobel assured her. "Of course. This is just another perspective - just a suggestion. I hate how you always fall back on narrow Terran value systems, and simply write yourself off as a slut. It does nothing but cause you unnecessary pain."

"And give stupid Annika something to hold over me," Amy added with a bitter twist of her lips. "I'll show her. I'll show everyone." Her features softened as an appreciative smile formed. "Thanks, Crissy. I knew talking to a fellow slut would help." She giggled and winked at him. "But talking to a friend is even better."

"I'm happy to help-y," Cristobel grinned. "On...both accounts." Munching on a particularly spicy piece of oskoid, Cris took finally the time to savour the flavour.

Amy sighed happily. "This will work...I think." She smiled fondly at her friend and affectionately patted his hand. "Anytime I need relationship advice, even with as unqualified as you seem, I'm definitely coming to you." Pushing away her plate of oskoid, she stood up and stretched out her arms. "I'm gonna head back early. Might as well get in good with the evil Medical Chief while everything else in my life seems to be going well." She waved at Cris and thanked him for the meal as she started off, far more content with her position in life than she had been for weeks...at least she would be until Kit was made aware of Cris' zany plan.

---

"Confrontations"
By: Lieutenant (jg) Natalia Druschev - Science Officer
Ensign Ainsley Chambers - Counsellor

Location: Lounge, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.30, 13h35

***

Natalia sat at the bar in the crew lounge and sipped a frothy cappuccino. She'd been working hard lately, burying her head in her work and studies and staying out of her usual patterns. The more she immersed herself in her holodeck novel the more tense she had become. It wasn't usually the way it was. Now she had a notification that security was taking training precedence and all holodeck leisure use was reduced accordingly. It made her angry that she had to cope with that too - but she kept thinking about Mason. He was no good for her, she knew it and Counsellor Chambers had talked her into staying away from him. She'd tried. But how could you just forget?

He certainly hadn't called. He'd said he would. He hadn't. She sighed. Take the hint stupid, she remonstrated herself as she sipped the strong brew. She was dressed in casuals - off duty. Jeans and t-shirt, well worn. The t-shirt had a band logo and a concert date from a few years back. She wore a metal studded belt that looped around her waist twice. A shadow moved over the bar and a person sat beside her.

"Hey," a woman's voice said in a friendly manner. "Mind some company?"

Natalia turned and regarded the new face. Red hair, green eyes and a nice smile. Still in uniform, gold - ops or security. She gave her a smile. "Hi," she said. "Natalia," she introduced herself.

The redhead grinned. "Ella." She reached out and shook Natalia's hand. Waving at the bar tender she said, "Scotch." He smiled and nodded. She turned back to Natalia. "Pretty quiet," she remarked as she looked around.

"Da," Natalia answered with a smile. She was beginning to wonder if Ella was trying to pick her up.

"Russian right?" She picked the accent. "Druschev? Your that Natalia?"

Natalia raised a brow. "What do you mean that Natalia?"

Ella turned back to the barman as he slid her drink before her. She took a long swallow before turning back. "Oh...." She laughed uncomfortably. "You know how it goes...the ship's gossip.. "

Natalia frowned. She didn't know anything about being that Natalia. She wondered what she hadn't heard. "What have you heard?" she asked with a smile.

Ella stared at her for a moment and drank more. "About you and Mason Farrell?"

"Oh...that's over." Natalia waved a hand and laughed. It was better to laugh things off than take them seriously. Besides - it was old. She was a mature woman and could handle that stuff.

"Yeah - I heard he dumped you for Counsellor Chambers." Ella shook her head. "I don't know why." She looked at Natalia. "You're better lookin' than she is."

The news that Mason was with Ainsley Chambers hit Natalia like a brick. She put her coffee cup down and looked away for a moment, enough time to compose a smile. "Thanks," she managed to say. "But that's probably gossip too."

Ella seemed to think that was funny. "Nope - I heard he brought her to an ops bash - and she's batting those lashes at him with those big baby blue eyes." She shook her head. "He's off the market, honey. She's got him wrapped around her pinky." She took another swallow.

When she turned back to Natalia she saw an empty stool.

***

Natalia walked through the corridor with her fists clenched. Her belt jingled as she strode to her destination. In the turbo lift she crossed her arms and almost growled out, "Deck five." It was a short ride. The trip to Counselling was even shorter. She slammed her hand on the door chime to Chamber's office, grinding her teeth waiting for that sugar-sweet voice of reason.

***

Ainsley was behind her desk, working on some files and smiling. Everything seemed to be working perfectly. Mason seemed happy, she was happy.

The sudden beep of her door chime made her jump. She wasn't expecting anyone.

She put down the PADD she had in her hand and looked towards the doors. "Come in," she called and the doors parted.

Natalia glared at the blonde Counsellor. She stepped through the door in one long stride allowing it to close immediately. For a moment Natalia almost swung her arm, instead she bunched a fist and held it rigidly at her side. "Is it true?" she spat. "Are you seeing Mason Farrell?" Her words were as sharp as razors and her eyes flashed with the anger boiling her blood. Natalia's temper had full reign.

"Excuse me?" Ainsley asked, her defences rising immediately. She recognized right away that this could get bad.

"That's excuse me, sir!" Natalia snarled. She stepped closer to the desk. "I asked you if you are seeing Mason Farrell as something more than a friend, Ensign."

Ainsley's eyes narrowed slightly. "That is absolutely none of your business...sir." She would not let the woman bully her.

"No?" Natalia leaned forward and put both hands on her desk, glaring at the other woman across its expanse. "Perhaps Counsellor Scott may be interested in hearing of one of her staff giving advice of a sensitive nature to one of her patients who expressed feelings for Ensign Farrell during a counselling session - only to be advised against seeing him because she obviously had designs on him herself! If that isn't a conflict of interest and a breach of professionalism what the hell is?"

"The advice I gave you in your session had absolutely nothing to do with me," Ainsley responded, forcing herself to remain calm. "It was the correct advice for the situation. You barely know Mason. You told me that he told you that he didn't want to be in a relationship with you, that it would be unhealthy for your son. And I agreed with him. No relationship that contains the angry sex that you described can be healthy."

"Correct advice for the situation?" Natalia's voice went up an octave as she glared at Ainsley Chambers. "You don't know what the hell the situation was! We might have worked it out - but you told me to avoid him! You told me to avoid him!" she shouted. Her temper was totally unchecked - anger, frustration and helpless rage all boiling out of her in a torrent directed at the counsellor. She slammed one hand into the desk, tears welling in her eyes. "Damn you!"

"He flat out told you that he did not want to be with you." Ainsley felt her control slipping a little. Her anger was rising in her stomach and her voice was rising in volume. She got to her feet then, but forced her voice back under control. "I told you that I was friends with Mason, and I offered to refer you to Counselor Scott. In my opinion I gave you the right advice. The man you wanted told you that he did not want to be with you, so why torture yourself pursuing someone like that. I would have given you that advice no matter who it was that you were talking about."

"Friends with Mason?" she hissed. "You should have told me you were more than friends! You lied to me, Chambers! Yeah you gave me the right advice! For what you wanted! We might have worked it out!" Natalia snarled as she slammed her hand on the desk again. "But now I'll never know whether it was me or you! Twisting things! Suka! eb tvoju mat' Counsellors! You think you can twist things to get what you want! Well you can keep Farrell - for as long as he wants you! If you can keep him that is!" Natalia had to take a deep breath she was trembling, tears in her eyes.

"What do you want me to do, sir?" Ainsley was able to calm down and get herself back into control as she watched Natalia's last bit slip. "Apologize? I can't do that, and I won't. I told you of the extent of my relationship with Mason as it stood at that time, and I offered to refer you to Counselor Scott, but you refused. But most importantly, the relationship that you described to me was not healthy for anyone involved. Not for you, not for Ensign Farrell and certainly not for your son. It was too intense too fast, and I stand by that opinion now." She took a deep breath then. "I can bring your concerns to Counsellor Scott if you would like. You can write down your concerns and I will bring them to her myself. Or you can do that on your own."

Natalia just glared at her. Too intense? Too fast? She managed to pull back on her anger. So she didn't feel sorry for what she'd done. She wiped away a tear angrily. "I'll see Scott, don't you worry about that," she said in a low voice. She stepped backward and moved to the door. "I hope you're very happy," she spat as she turned on her heel and fled.

Ainsley watched the other woman leave and after the doors slid shut behind her she sank down into her chair. She let out a deep breath and rubbed her face with her hands. She noticed a slight shake to her fingers as she did so.

Suddenly she wasn't so sure of herself. She had promised herself at the time that she was thinking about what was best for Natalia and her son, but now she wondered if she had made the suggestions because it was best for herself. She folded her arms on her desk and put her head down on top of them.

---

"Outsourcing Sanity"
by Lt. Cmdr. Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer
and Lt. Brennyn Scott - Chief Counselor

Location: USS Sulu, Counselling Office
Stardate: 57907.30, 14h00

***

"Lieutenant Scott, I apologise if you were hoping to visit Deep Space 9 last night, but I delayed your vaccination until we both were available for me to perform it personally," Damhnait Sefton explained immediately upon the doors to Brennyn's office opening for her. In hand, Damhnait held a hypospray and a PADD detailing the vaccination status of the crew, and Lt. Scott's schedule for the day.

Brennyn turned, more accustomed to an actual greeting when her doors parted rather than an apology. Upon closer examination, she recognized the newcomer as the Sulu's new Chief Medical Officer, a woman that had made quite the impression on the rest of the medical staff, if the rumors of "Doctor Damnitt" were any indication. Noting the padd with Bree's schedule in her hand, Scott couldn't decide if the CMO was efficient, nosy, or had just consumed too much caffeine. Never the less, it was time for her to meet the new arrival and to receive her vaccination just in case she found time to visit Deep Space Nine.

Scott smiled good naturedly. "No problem at all, Doctor, but please call me Brennyn or Bree. I appreciate your taking the time to vaccinate me personally. I imagine you're already quite busy."

"Your vaccination is just as important as any other," Sefton explained simply. Gently taking Brennyn's proffered arm, Sefton applied the vaccination. "Of course, it's also important for us to meet, to be able to co-ordinate between our departments."

Brennyn took a moment to feel the medicine enter her body, but then turned her attention to Damhnait. "I completely agree. In fact, I was hoping Starfleet Command would assign someone to the CMO billet in time for personnel transfers. I haven't yet encountered anyone unfit for duty, but I was hoping to meet with you to discuss the crew's status overall."

"To be plain, I'm not nearly close to knowing the crew's current status," Damhnait admitted. "What have you observed of the crew from an overall medical perspective thus far?"

Scott nodded in understanding. It would take Damhnait some time to adjust to her new position. "From a psychological standpoint, and all things considered, I'd say we're doing fairly well. We have had our fair share of personnel issues to contend with, but so far it's nothing we haven't been able to handle. As for the physical health of the crew, I'm afraid I couldn't say."

"Yes, I'll have to speak with Dr. M'lira at length about that, although I can't be sure if she'll know any more than you do," Sefton said. "I have to admit, I read your file before my visit, and there was a design to my wanting to vaccinate you personally. I noticed in your record that you're a registered nurse, and, you see, there appear to be minor discipline troubles among my nursing staff. If the troubles turn out to be more than minor, I would greatly appreciate a professional diplomatic presence, to act as an example, in Sickbay. How would you like to brush up your nursing skills on an occasional basis?"

Brennyn's eyes lit up in surprise. She should have known someone like Damhnait would have done her homework whether or not she saw an immediate need for it or not. In this case, it appeared to have paid off. "I would welcome the opportunity to keep my skills sharp, Doctor, thank you. Although I'm not sure my presence as a nurse will aid your discipline problems, I'll certainly keep my eyes and ears open--" They were interrupted by Sefton's combadge.

"Sefton to Sefton," Cristobel's voice came from Damhnait's communicator. He muttered, "Dhia, that sounds ridiculous," and then stated, "Your presence is required in Sickbay, sir-ma'am-mom."

With a tight smile, Damhnait gave a curt "understood" to Cris' voice, and told Scott, "I'll be in touch." Nodding genially, Doctor Sefton briskly exited the counselling office.

Bree laughed and shook her head at poor Cristobel's luck before turning her attention to her calendar.

---

"A Friend In Need"
By: Lt. (jg) Natalia Druschev - Science Officer
Ensign Kit Markham - Helmsman

Location: Arboretum, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.30, 14h05

***

Natalia fled the Counsellor's offices in a confused mixture of anger and sorrow. She was angry at Chambers for what she perceived as stealing Farrell. She knew that Mason hadn't called as he said he would - but now she blamed that on Chambers. He would have called if Chambers hadn't intervened in Natalia's affairs. As a counsellor the woman had reasonably explained that Natalia should avoid Mason - and she had. Unknowingly allowing Chambers to move in and take him. As she wandered through the ship's corridors in a daze, she found herself at the arboretum - and without a second thought she entered. It was quiet - no one else around.

She wandered the meandering path through the ferns and flowers. The holoimage projectors on the walls made it seem a larger space than it was. A converted cargo hold, it held a variety of green, gold and white foliage from across the Federation. The varieties of flower came from many worlds. It was beautiful and a compliment to the officers that had worked hard to create it. All the beauty seemed pale to Natalia as she found a secluded little grotto and sat heavily on the spongy grass. She knelt with her legs crossed and plucked idly at the grass fronds. Hot tears streaming down her cheeks as her mind went over and over her time with Mason on Risa and the betrayal of Ainsley Chambers. She felt betrayed. She had told Ainsley everything - telling her that being with Mason had been the most perfect time she had ever spent with a man had obviously perked the woman's interest in pursuing him herself.

Natalia had expressed her anger at the woman, and fled the scene. Frustrated at not being able to resolve the situation, she sought solace for some uninterrupted crying. Her sobs were wracking - quiet upheavals to her pain. She wanted to get over Mason Farrell - and she knew that she would have to - and will do, but Chambers had ruined it. She'd come to think that Mason wasn't interested just because he couldn't cope with Domenic - but now she kept thinking that it was because Chambers had headed him off - diverting Natalia away from him to give herself time to entice Mason with her own charms. Why would she do that to her? Why? It was so totally unfair!

She wrapped her arms around herself, slowly rocking as if she was being held by someone who cared. Her eyes closed in bitter thoughts as she cried. Slow drips of tears falling unheeded onto her jeans and her nose running.

***

The sound drew him closer. It wasn't until he was right near her that he realized what it was. Kit Markham frowned as he stepped even closer. "Hey," Kit asked when he got close enough. "Is...is everything alright?"

Natalia looked up at the voice and could hardly see who it was. She wiped at her eyes and realized that she'd seen him before. On the beach on Risa - he'd been playing in a band at the crew party. She felt awful - her make-up smeared and her eyes red, nose running. She just shook her head and looked away. "No..." she managed to say. His expression was concerned and he seemed non-threatening. She didn't have the energy to walk away, or to argue or do much of anything. She hid her face in her hands. "I don't know." She drew in a shuddering breath.

"Typically, though not in all cases, tears are a sign of not-alrightness," Kit said. "You want to talk about it? Oh...um, watch what you touch in here. Some genius decided to make a arboretum where practically everything you get near your skin will give you a rash." He scratched idly at his side, and then caught himself and shoved his hand behind his back. "My name's Kit. If you want to talk, I'm a pretty good listener."

She looked at him and his smile was sincere. "I remember you," she said as she wiped her eyes and then took a breath. "You played at the beach party right?" She gave him a slight smile. "You were pretty good."

"Pretty good? Just pretty good? Why, I heard that Lt. Sam himself said we were bloody brilliant. Or was that Lt. McKenzie? Never can tell with those two. Well, anyway, yes, that was me, and the Suluists. We're going to have a reunion concert soon. Live from the Gamma Quadrant, the Return of the Suluists. So, what's got you down?"

She laughed at his comic attitude, and it allowed her to get her breath back. She sighed at his final question, but decided she needed someone to talk to - and there was no way in hell she was going to see a counsellor. "Oh...relationship problems," she managed to say. Her voice was hoarse from all the crying. "Life sucks," she said thickly in her Russian accent.

Kit nodded. "True," he said. "Though, step out an airlock sometime and talk to me about sucking." He made a loud sucking sound, like air being drawn through a drinking straw. "Life gets really strange when you mix other people and other personalities into it. That free will stuff can really get in the way, especially when people don't do what you want. Easy to say from the outside, but I've been inside too. Things are improving for me, but I've had my share of relationship woes. I'm sure you've heard the rumours. I'm that Kit who's dating that Amy."

"Ohhh..." Natalia let the sound drag as she grinned at him and nodded understanding. "Well I'm that Natalia who was dating that Farrell." She snorted as if it was a laugh.

Kit frowned. "Oh," he said. "He gets around, doesn't he? So, he's--oh. Well, I wouldn't waste any tears on him, Natalia. You'd only be asking for trouble. The other day, I walked into my quarters to find Mr. Mason Farrell getting more friendly than he should with a woman who isn't his own girlfriend. Trust me, if you and he...he'd only just step out on you when your back was turned."

Natalia's eyes widened as Kit expanded on his tale. "Ainsley Chambers?" she asked. "You share quarters with him?"

"Shared," Kit said. "I moved out after walking in on him with Amy. I figure she and I have a better chance at making it if he's as far out of the equation as possible."

"Amy?" Natalia looked confused for a moment. He was with Chambers and tried it on Amy as well? She groaned and buried her head in her hands. "Why do I always go for the bastards!" she cursed. "I thought he was with me, then I find out he's with Chambers and now Amy? I've been played for a bloody fool! I should know better by now...." She still had tears in her eyes - but she was embarrassed. She looked up at Kit. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

"He apologized and swore that nothing happened," Kit said. "Finally they admitted what was happening and almost happened, but didn't. He tried to convince me to let her go, to...I don't know. I was so upset, I didn't listen to half of what he was telling me. I just avoid him now, as much as I can. I don't want anything to do with a guy like that, someone who would string women along like it was all some sort of game for his amusement." He sighed. "And, then to...he was my roommate. It's over now and I'm done with him. I don't know if I'm on or off-base, but I have a feeling that Farrell thinks he's playing the entire galaxy for fools."

Natalia just nodded thoughtfully. "Didn't happen because you walked in?" she asked. "God I feel like an idiot!" She shook her head in amazement. "I blamed Chambers for stealing him...I went and screamed at her tonight. I lost it bad...." She shook her head.

"I'm sorry," Kit said. "Yeah, it's him at the heart of this. I don't think she's stealing him any more than Amy was. He...he just preys on people like some manipulative roach."

Natalia dropped back to the grass and covered her face with her hands. She felt awful and wretched and stupid all at once. "You know we spent a night on Risa...it was the most perfect night of my life." She looked up at Kit Markham. "And now that's turned to crap. Why do guys always do that? You're a guy...why do they do that?"

"Well, they don't always do it," Kit said. "And, sometimes women do it too. I don't know why they do it, but I guess it could be a number of things. Selfishness is probably at the top. They want what they want and don't care who gets hurt in the process. I guess there could be some psychological things that could cause someone to do that too. I guess, when it comes down to it, people can be jerks, especially when it comes to dealing with other people, who have feelings. From where I'm sitting, Farrell appears to be one of those Grade A Jerks who plays his own game, not caring who's caught in it. Unfortunately, we were caught. I'm sure there are enough of us, we could form a support group."

She laughed at that. "I feel so stupid," she said, scrubbing her red eyes. She was no longer crying - that was a good thing. "It's so hard meeting a decent guy...one who doesn't screw around. Is that a hard thing to ask for?" It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that she remembered what the ship's gossip was full of lately. She sat up quickly and reached out a hand, touching him lightly of the arm. "Sorry..." she said, "I didn't mean...."

Kit laughed. "It's alright," he said. "We're moving through that, so...it's good to be able to laugh about it. Besides, I'm the decent guy who's not screwing around. It's my woman I have to watch out for, though she's not doing that now. I still have fears and doubts, but if I can't trust her then it's really over. I trust that she loves me and wants our relationship enough that this time it will work."

Natalia gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his arm. "I really hope it works out for you, Kit." She sighed and shook her head. "I feel like a real mess." She grinned a little awkwardly. "You wouldn't have a brother would you? Amy is a lucky girl!"

"Unfortunately, my parents, and I love them dearly, had a rather strong aversion to seeing each other naked, and therefore there is only one of me. They tried blindfolds once, but that didn't quite go over very well. And, so... Well, I think in our own ways, we're all lucky. Even you. I mean, look. You're smiling, you know the truth about Farrell, and you have options ahead of you. You may not have someone right now, but it's an open field. Trust me, Natalia, I know messes and you're not one of them. Spend an hour with Grixble Flummux, and you'll realize just how normal and stable you are. He's a great guy and an amazing holoprogrammer, but as far as neurotic people go, he's the king."

Natalia laughed. Kit was funny and charming. "I'm a mess...just look at my eyes!" She laughed. "Thanks, Kit. I'm glad you found me...you're a nice guy." She chuckled to herself. "If things don't work out with you and Amy, just give me a call." She was kidding and it clearly showed in her grin. She laughed softly. "I haven't made any friends on the Sulu yet." She looked up at him. "I'd like to count you as one - if you want." She shrugged. "I could use a genuine friend right now."

"You've got a friend here," Kit said. "And, I'm sure that Amy would be happy to be considered a friend too. Maybe the three of us can get together sometime, have a drink in the lounge or hit a program in the holodeck. I know, next time we get together to play, you have to be there. It'll be like a party."

She gave him a warm smile and said, "I'd love to. I have a nine year old son, Domenic. He'd love to be around musicians. He's always wanted to learn something. Would that be okay?"

"I think that would be perfect," Kit said with a grin. "Hey, don't know if you noticed, but you're smiling now. I think that's a good sign."

Natalia nodded and rubbed the heels of her hands across her eyes. "Yeah...I guess. I feel so stupid. I just have to forget all about the jerk. He really played me." She shook her head. "Thanks, Kit." She smiled at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Natalia," Kit said. "And, don't feel alone in that; Farrell's been playing a lot of people. Don't worry though, karma will catch up to him. It always does."

---

"Educational Experiences"
By: Dr. Corran Quezith

Location: Lounge, DSS Delphin
Stardate: 57907.30, 15h00

***

The Delphin was traveling at normal warp velocities now. They'd been forced to drop out of subspace as a consequence of unsettled disturbances across the various realms that were a byproduct of the Dominion War and the weaponry that was used during the same. It hadn't been unusual, and DASC had discovered that such damage was reverted only with time, much like the damage produced to the fabric of space by the unmodified warp field of older class Federation starships.

All this, Corran had learned from listening to the thoughts of separate crew members once he'd felt a sensation of upset and distress at the location of various fields that would make their travel time grow considerably.

He was finally getting used to the diverse minds onboard.

"I wouldn't have thought I would see you out here."

Captain Adair walked over to the railing that Corran was leaning on to stare out at the warp field's visible effects. She smiled softly at him before turning her gaze to the very same field.

Corran glanced over to her with partially distant eyes. They switched their tone from green over to their more common dark brown. "I thought it would take longer, but your crew is smaller than the one I was accustomed to on the Sulu." It'd been the first words he had uttered the entire day, and his voice rasped slightly for it. He reached for a glass of juice that he'd left on the railing before him.

"You're not too used to speaking verbally anymore, are you?"

He shook his head. I'd rather not speak anymore, actually. This is easier for me, but I have a feeling people on the Sulu would rather I spoke. I'll be drinking orange juice for the rest of my life just for the sake of keeping my throat healthy... It makes me wonder how it is my people didn't lose it by natural evolution.

"You still have to eat," she pointed out humorously.

"Good point!" He chuckled and then gestured for them to take a seat at the nearest table in the lounge so that they could continue in more comfort.

"I heard that they had to drop out of subspace because of the aftereffects of the wartime weaponry used in the regions towards Deep Space Nine. Do you run across such fields often?"

She nodded affirmatively before activating a holographic console at the center of their table that brought up a subspace realm map of their region. On it were what Corran saw as blue sores, what he imagined was damage produced by warp travel, and then he saw a series of smaller, medium, and larger sized purplish bubbles. The largest ones, he knew, were the ones they traveled in, since the smaller realms didn't have a space-time correlation with every point in the galaxy... The Delphin crew was still studying this phenomenon.

Celeste lighted up red dispersion clouds and starbursts on the map that spanned over large sections of the map, all separate. There was a direct path in the subspace realm they'd been using that led to Deep Space Nine, but it zagged about too much to be an efficient travel route.

"We spent hours between yesterday and today laying down ground work for this map. We even exhausted our compliment of probes. Ultimately we can make better time to Deep Space Nine right now at maximum warp, and should reach it by tomorrow morning."

She looked up at him, hoping that satisfied his needs, and then shut down the holographic display as a waiter came over with a cup of coffee for her. She was exhausted from having spent several hours in the astrometrics lab helping build the map. She didn't know how her Vulcan crew members managed to stay so fit even through lacking sleep. They too were emotional creatures even though they had suppressed their emotions as part of their philosophy, and apparent necessity.

I think I should find myself a Vulcan, actually.

"Whatever for?" She treasured the flavor of her coffee as she waited for Corran's answer, her mind mildly boggled by the disperse form that Corran was using to communicate with her.

He shrugged his shoulders, eyes glancing off to the side. I need a similar control over my emotions, and I've studied that it helps them control their empathy as well. I'm sure what they gave me back home should be enough, but maybe it can be made better. Differences of opinions and ideas are the foundation to attaining higher degrees of perfected knowledge, defining science over simple theoretical divisions.

"Please, skip the philosophical lecture!" She waved a hand at him exaggeratedly. "I had enough headaches when I was studying. I love philosophy, but I'm more about practice... In any case, I understand what you mean." She grinned, hoping her intention had been caught well.

Sorry... He blushed sheepishly.

"I think you should simply have a counselor like your doctors said. Vulcans can be too cold, and I don't intend to say that you wouldn't be able to modify it to your means, but psychology may be a better application to your specific situation. Starfleet ships carry counselors more often than not these days..."

I know they do, it's just that people stereotype them so often...

"Well, well, well, if you aren't being vane..." She wiggled her eyebrows at him teasingly.

He blushed more, but leaned back in his seat. Okay, okay. I'll see a counselor instead. If anything, it'll hopefully be a humbling experience. That's what I need the most right now, 'cause going home tends to be a heightening experience when you have people considering us illuminated just because we have telepathy.

That made him glance out at the starfield again. His distant gaze had slowly receded during his conversation with Celeste, but he still heard and felt everyone. He was tiring again and would have to go back to his quarters to rest for a while.

"I'm still very curious about you. You told me about your people and your own profession, and even what happened on the Sulu, but you refrained from telling me much more. I'm not one to pry into your personal life, but I am a curious woman."

He brought his eyes back upon her and instantly they shifted over to blue. Humans in particular have shown me to respect their privacy and to maintain it even though I am a telepathic being. I wouldn't ask you of the same considering most of the people on my homeworld knew what I was thinking and feeling, but I do ask for patience.

The waiter from before returned to serve Corran more orange juice, which he drank thoughtfully. He wasn't sure what to talk to Celeste about, though he thought it was probably because he was insecure about too many things. The way he was falling prey to such things was something he considered ridiculous. He was being humanized in aspects he didn't think would ever change from exposure to the more present beings in Federation Space.

"I don't think I like the way I'm changing, Celeste."

"Why not?" Her brow furrowed. She would have thought that expanding one's abilities was something anyone in their right mind would seek out. Humans always struggled to grasp more concepts, to hold more knowledge, and in many cases: to become more. The final and greatest goal was to transcend well beyond a simple biological existence, both through history and in the cases of spiritual people: into another existence.

Such thoughts didn't escape Corran, and he actually agreed with them, but one thing was to believe in it theoretically, and another entirely to try the real thing.

"I liked the way I was before this whole fiasco. I liked being kind, social, funny, warm, playful...and now I'm more sedated, more serious, more frustrated...and I feel like everything I believed in is crumbling apart little by little. It's like I'm being transformed by what happened and by exposure to the...well..." He hesitated from saying it, because it would sound bad, but in reality it was exactly what he felt: "To the people of the Federation."

"Then why not fight it?" she asked simplistically. She was annoyed by the implications of what Corran had said, especially considering he'd first been a proponent to Achicarian integration, but she was trying to understand how he felt. She knew how she had felt when all of her projects towards DASC/Starfleet integration had failed based solely on policy, but in time, she had understood that as an Institution...it had to uphold some basics until changes became popularly acceptable.

He frowned at her this time, his face twisting sadly. "Because it's not an option. It's like growing up: there's no turning back without impairing yourself. I would gladly do that if it weren't because there's a good chance it would cost my life."

"In that case, I hope those friends you had before your change continue to stand by your side, and that your relationship with your boyfriend survives..." She looked into her own coffee as more came to mind, but then she sipped from it as she composed her thoughts to continued.

"Be prepared for the possibility that you will lose your former friendships and Cristobel. Unfortunately fear of change or change itself fragments emotions permanently."

The two of them spoke for a while longer albeit Corran's exhaustion. Talking to a matured woman gave Corran a great deal of insight he didn't have access to personally, and he discovered that no amount of telepathy would ever replace the personal element in an introspective exchange. That in itself made him feel better...

---

"Old Friends, Part 1"
By: Lt. Benedict T'Kal
Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: Main Shuttle Bay, USS Sulu; Admiral Growley's Shuttle En Route to Bajor
Stardate 57907.30, 15h45

***

Dwarfed by the grand shuttle, the two men continued their jovial conversation - the human making animated gestures to accompany his tale, while the Bajoran held a hand to his abdomen as he laughed.

Lyrr Tayla spied them from the shuttle bay's entrance and smiled at the sight. His laughter was a pleasing sound and it drew Lyrr forward. She adjusted the falling strap of her carry-all and crossed the bay. T'Kal's eyes sparkled as his friend - Jeremy, he'd called him - regaled him with another anecdote; it triggered a gentle chuckle from Lyrr. She stopped before them in time to witness another eruption of laughter from the two men, and regretted for a moment that she'd never been able to form a friendship like one they obviously shared. She envied them both.

Benedict turned to see Lyrr striding toward them with a smile on her face. "Hey," he grinned, still laughing. He gripped Jeremy's shoulder and waved the other hand in Lyrr's direction. Jeremy Banner was the same height as Benedict, but larger, broad shouldered and thick waisted, more suited to his desk-bound regimen in Starfleet Operations. His face was softer too, more taken with laughter lines and openly friendly and boyishly handsome. His sandy colored hair was cropped in a Starfleet regulation haircut and he wore his standard uniform, denoting his gold of ops and rank of full commander. "Jeremy - I'd like you to meet Commander Lyrr Tayla - executive officer of the Sulu." He turned to Lyrr and said, "Commander Jeremy Banner - Starfleet Operations on Bajor."

Jeremy Banner held out his hand and shook with Lyrr. He grinned like a schoolboy and pointed at Benedict. "My heart goes out to you, Commander, he's nothing but trouble - that's why he's still a Lieutenant." He grinned lopsidedly at Benedict's scowl, and still held Lyrr's hand. He bent forward and kissed the back of it, and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you," in fluent Bajoran, holding her eyes teasingly.

Benedict cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Lyrr cast a raised eyebrow in T'Kal's direction, then smiled politely at the man, who was making an attempt to either appear charming, or insult her. She decided on the former, considering his innocuous smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Commander," she answered, and after being allowed to retrieve her hand, she did so and wrapped it around the thick strap of her bag. "So, you've volunteered to transport us down to Bajor, have you?" She grinned playfully in T'Kal's direction. "Or is he calling in some favours?"

Jeremy grinned. "Oh no favors required, Commander. I wanted to rub his face in my recent promotion that's all. It's an academy thing." He laughed teasingly. "I'd have thought with all the brave daring-do that's required in Starfleet Security that my Bajoran friend here would have made at least Lieutenant Commander by now."

Benedict smiled a little stiffly. It appeared to Lyrr that he wasn't used to being so openly teased, and was definitely uncomfortable being teased in front of her. "Jeremy's just been telling me about his scavenging abilities - I wouldn't be surprised if he'd scavenged someone else's promotion. What did it cost you?" he asked pointedly. "A case of Denebian Whiskey for Quark?"

Banner laughed. "It was cheaper than that, my friend." He slapped Benedict on the arm good-naturedly. "We'd better get moving." He waved toward the shuttle. "I have to get her back before Admiral Growley finds out she's missing." He grinned to show that he was kidding. "After you, Commander." He waved Lyrr ahead of him.

Benedict shook his head. "You never change," he said, grinning. "Don't mind him," he said to Lyrr. "He has a pathological need to impress women - please don't hold it against him. He's harmless. Besides, he's no good at it. If he was, his wife would kill him."

"Leave my wife outta this," Jeremy grinned. "She can't wait to see you by the way." He looked at Benedict seriously as they walked around the shuttle. "Can you make it for dinner?" He looked at Lyrr to include her in to invitation. "You'd be most welcome," he said to her.

Lyrr looked aside at Ben uncertainly, then gave Jeremy an apologetic smile. "I really shouldn't.... And I'm certain you and Ben have much to catch up on without my presence distracting you." It was her turn to tease Jeremy.

"Ohh the distraction would be well worth it!" He grinned and winked. "I can fill you in on all sorts of information that an Executive Officer should know about her Security Chief!" He laughed. "Please, Commander - do come. It would give me an excuse to embarrass him."

"I have nothing to hide," Benedict said defensively. He looked at Lyrr and smiled. "If you can spare the time..." His eyes told her plainly that he would like her to join him.

"Oh my God," Jeremy grinned. "The Look!" he laughed as he stepped into the shuttle, leaving the two Bajorans standing beside the portal for a second.

Benedict blushed. He didn't know what to say at his friend's open recognition of what he saw. Helpless he waved Lyrr into the shuttle.

She took notice of his bashfulness, and refrained from telling him what an attractive colour it gave his complexion. Instead, she boarded the shuttle behind Jeremy, hoping to catch up to him and tap him for more details regarding her CSO...especially what exactly 'The Look' truly meant. "You know, Commander," she mused, "maybe I will take you up on that dinner offer. One can never know too much about their department heads."

Banner turned to look into her eyes for a moment and smiled, nodding. "Good," he returned casually, "he'd be all moody otherwise." He waved her to a seat - a plush white leather chair in the passenger section. There were four of them, swivel mounted with Starfleet Admiralty insignia embossed on the headrests. The shuttle was an executive model, blue carpeting and tasteful striping with the pilot and co-pilot seats sunken slightly forward so that the crew stepped down into their positions. Jeremy waved at the pilot, a pleasant looking female Bajoran officer wearing Bajoran Militia uniform. She nodded. "All set, sir," she said in Bajoran.

"Let's go then," Banner replied and sat next to Lyrr so that Benedict had to sit opposite the pair. Benedict was still trying to compose his features as he strapped in. "Well, Lieutenant." He turned to Benedict with a grin, stressing the rank title. "How long you been with the Sulu? Four weeks?"

"Yes, sir," Benedict smiled. He looked at Lyrr for a moment who was watching the by-play and listening avidly and knew that Jeremy was going to make the evening as uncomfortable as possible. It irked him that Jeremy had achieved his Commander's rank before him, but it was all good-natured banter between them. They were perhaps as opposite as you could get. Jeremy was as open as a book, good-natured most of the time, easy to get to know and just as likeable. They had become friends in Starfleet Academy when Benedict had been serious and moody, driven to over-achieve and almost friendless. Jeremy had taken him on as a pet project and had worked hard to get through Benedict's self-imposed exile. Benedict had learned a lot about getting on with life from Jeremy Banner.

The shuttle exited the Sulu's hangar deck and shot down the aft hull between the nacelles, accelerating smoothly as it set course for Bajor.

"Glad you're back, Ben, the Windsor mission sounded like a one-way ticket," he smiled seriously. "Though you'll be shipping out into the Gamma Quadrant - God I'm envious!" He turned to Lyrr Tayla. "I'm stuck on this side of the Wormhole running errands for Admiral Growley and getting promoted for 'exceptional efficiency' in the face of paperwork - and you're about to explore the unknown." He shook his head. "I think I'd gladly give up my pip to join you out there."

"And I'm sure Lieutenant T'Kal would just as gladly take it off your hands." She smiled at T'Kal, a touch warmly. "Though considering his performance so far, he should have one of his own in no time."

Jeremy looked at T'Kal and raised an eyebrow. "Impressing the lady after four weeks, huh?" He grinned. "You'll have to tell me the details, Commander. Benedict is renowned for his inscrutable expressions and a complete lack of conversational skills when it comes to his exploits. You have to gouge it out of him with a spoon!"

"And you just shovel it on...." Benedict smiled. "Probably the sole reason he got promoted. You wouldn't want to come with us, Jeremy, an Intrepid is a very limited audience." Benedict laughed at Jeremy's mock-hurt expression. "Besides, Sally would string you up." He mentioned Jeremy's wife of over ten years. "How are the children?"

"Good," the Commander smiled. "Michael is growing up." He turned to Lyrr. "Michael is ten and he's got his sights set on a Starfleet career. He wants to be command staff - just like Captain Picard!" He pulled a wallet from a pocket and showed a holoimage of two children, a boy and a girl. "That's Liah, she's six - takes after her mom." His expression showed his pride in his children.

Lyrr nodded slowly, and expressed far less enthusiasm than she had thus far. She wondered if she took after her own mother.... Clearing her throat, she forced a cheerful smile. "I'm sure they'll make you very proud, Commander, and be very successful. With you serving as an example to them, they can't help but achieve whatever they desire, I imagine."

Jeremy put the wallet away. He could tell by the expression in her eyes that the subject was a tender one. "I'm a bad example," he said with a grin. "But they do make me proud." He looked over at Benedict and caught his signal: the look in Benedict's eyes had turned expressionless - a sure sign to Jeremy that his friend was covering his own emotion. Family was important to the Bajorans and Lyrr was of an age which indicated that she'd been through the Occupation years - perhaps she had lost a child. He knew Benedict's involvement in that time too.

"You were a bad example to me for years," Benedict changed the subject. He looked at Lyrr and smiled at her dark eyes that he found so fascinating. He took in the graceful curve of her neck and pale flawless complexion - she really was beautiful. "Jeremy led me astray at the Academy, a real trouble maker. He'd pull practical jokes and I'd end up preventing other cadets from teaching him a lesson."

"You're a security officer - it's your duty!" Jeremy grinned. "Benedict takes his duty very seriously, Commander." He turned to Lyrr again. "Did he tell you his solution to the Kobiyashi Maru?" He grinned. "He was the only cadet at the academy at the time that gave the order to self-destruct so that he could take out his enemy with a warp core breach and deny them prisoners. He said it was an honorable death!" He chuckled, "The Counsellors thought he had Klingon blood in him!"

Lyrr smiled knowingly, and cast a brief glance in T'Kal's direction. She caught him staring, and encouraged him to continue by demurely looking away. "I think, Commander," she said to Jeremy, "that it's more than just an adherence to the Klingon belief system. Lieutenant T'Kal is a very intense, proud man who values righteousness and the path of greatest resistance, I've found. I think he knows how to make the hard decisions when they become necessary, and knows when sacrifices are required." Again she caught T'Kal's gaze and held it. "That's why he'll make commander someday soon. Rest assured."

Jeremy grinned and laughed at Benedict's discomfort. Although he noted that his friend was almost blushing again and his eyes were shining as he looked at her. He caught the look the two officers shared and shook his head. Got it bad, he thought. "I think you know the man, Commander." He slapped his knee. "Proud is definitely a weakness he shares with the Klingons - and greatest resistance...that's an understatement. He does everything the hard way! But he's loyal." He looked across at Benedict. "Loyalty is a commodity that he has in abundance - sometimes too much. And tenacity. He's like a photon torpedo - once he sets his sights on something..." he grinned.

Benedict raised an eyebrow at him.

And Lyrr couldn't help but chuckle. "Not going to elaborate, are you, Commander?" She nodded regretfully, then sighed. "I guess I'll just have to beat it out of the good lieutenant during our next game of springball," she teased.

"Elaborate? My...my...certainly." He grinned at Benedict. "What would you like to know, Commander? I'm sure the Lieutenant wouldn't wish to contradict two superior officers in a frank and open discussion in regard to his performance appraisal. I'm sure, though, that he'd rather enjoy the prospect of you beating it out of him."

Lyrr's cheeks coloured slightly, and she averted her gaze to a spot on the floor. "I think he just enjoys the challenge," she corrected. "But, tell me," she said, again facing Jeremy, "was he a very good student? Or did he spend much of his time in the holodecks? That seems to be the only place he ever takes me." She shot T'Kal a teasing smile.

Jeremy Banner looked across at T'Kal and cleared his throat. The lady was definitely interested in the Security Officer, and he was smitten - he knew Benedict T'Kal well enough to know that much. He also knew him enough to know that in Benedict's view his rank was a defined barrier. His sense of duty would be in conflict with his desires. Poor bastard, he thought with a grin spreading on his face. "At the academy he was ruthless in his application to study. Single-minded is more like it." He turned to the pretty XO of the Sulu. "He does have a well defined sense of duty - and I've never known him to contradict duty - with anything. It must be difficult for a junior officer to suggest anything more." He looked at Benedict. "For my friend Ben, it would be impossible." He grinned in the face of Benedict's inscrutability. "In fact, Lieutenant, how about you take the Commander here out to dinner someplace nice. We can catch up some other time. Sally will understand. There aren't that many opportunities in the Gamma Quadrant to get away from one's crew and one's duty."

Benedict just looked over at Lyrr Tayla.

She stared back at him skeptically, then at Jeremy again. Was he simply playing matchmaker, or had T'Kal recruited him to drop the suggestion he, himself, was too honourable to make? Either way, Lyrr was taken momentarily aback. "Didn't you have to visit your family?" she asked T'Kal uncertainly. "There wouldn't be time for a dinner...would there?" She nearly scowled at Jeremy for placing her in such an awkward predicament, and at T'Kal for remaining so reticent. Lyrr finally sighed. "I don't think that's what the Lieutenant has in mind, Commander. If you'd still like me to attend your dinner...."

"Well, well...I can see you're as bad as he is!" Jeremy grinned. "How can you complain that a holodeck is the only place he ever takes you?"

Benedict sighed. He looked across at Lyrr and smiled. "There's nothing else I'd rather do than take you out to dinner."

Lyrr gazed sidelong at Benedict, and smiled curiously. "Really? Is that why you let me beat you up during springball all those times?" She hung her head low as she chuckled, then sighed and looked directly at T'Kal again. "Whatever the case may be...I think I'd like to join you for dinner...Ben."

He smiled and laughed, shaking his head slightly. "No pain no gain," he laughed. "I guess you're going to have to apologise to Sally for me, Jeremy. I'll catch up with you tomorrow. I have to be back on the Sulu by 0800 hours, so I'd appreciate - seeing as you so nicely re-arranged my evening, allowing me to use the shuttle again?"

"No problemo." Jeremy smiled at Lyrr Tayla. "The Admiral is away on a conference for two weeks and I have to have a few perks that go along with the extra pip." He turned to the pilot as the shuttle entered Bajor's system. "Lieutenant Denore, please remain at the disposal of Commander Lyrr while she's on Bajor. Lieutenant T'Kal will require transport back to the Sulu before 0600 hours tomorrow."

"Aye, sir," the pilot smiled.

"I'll be going back tonight," Benedict added in Bajoran. He looked at Tayla. He did not want her to get the impression he intended anything but dinner; neither he nor she were ready for anything else. He watched her expression to make sure that he'd made the right decision - she'd definitely acted differently on this shuttle trip. Perhaps getting away from the Sulu was a good thing after all.

"And I'll need to get to Kendra Province," Lyrr added to Jeremy. She shrugged at Ben. "We can share a shuttle after dinner." It was difficult, but Lyrr refused to admit to herself that she was actually looking forward to an evening with T'Kal. Though more than that... She chided herself for the thought and cleared her throat. "This really is generous of you, Commander. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had this planned all along." She didn't verbalize it, but internally, she added, 'Thank you.'

"Not at all, Commander," Jeremy said with a straight face. "To both." He grinned good-naturedly. "You know - I'd really like you over for dinner tomorrow night. I have a feeling that I need to get to know you."

"Really?" Lyrr's eyebrow lifted suspiciously. Was he assessing her qualifications as a potential mate for Benedict? She imagined that's what friends were for. "Tomorrow night, of course," she replied.

Banner looked over at Benedict. "See if you can arrange for a day's leave. I'll send the shuttle for you - I want to know all about that trip you made on a Romulan Warbird - professionally speaking."

Benedict nodded. "Thanks, Jeremy." He looked across at Lyrr Tayla, and smiled. He couldn't believe how nervous he felt. "I'll be there tomorrow."

"Bring your guitar," Jeremy added. "You can entertain us."

Lyrr's attention snapped away from Benedict and quickly onto Jeremy. "Guitar?" She couldn't help chuckling. "He plays a guitar? Well," she said, smiling askance at Ben, "I can't wait to see that."

Jeremy Banner looked across at Benedict as he replied, "Oh yes - he plays. I'm surprised that you didn't know - he used to hold impromptu performances. He's extremely good - he plays it as well as he swings that over-sized toe clipper he likes so much."

"I haven't had the opportunity," Benedict smiled. "I'll bring it - and I'll play - and I've told you before - it's a sword not a toe clipper!" He looked again at Tayla. "I studied art and music on Terra Australis, a long time ago."

"I...didn't know that," she answered, at a loss. "I guess there really is much I need to learn about you." She smiled to herself, liking the prospect of that.

"He paints too," Jeremy grinned. "In fact I have one of his at home. Regardless of what he may tell you, Commander, he has a very soft side that not many people see." He chuckled. "Maybe three people that I know of. You see if he shows you...then...." He broke off, about to complete the sentence before he realized what it was he was about to say. One look at Benedict told him he already had said too much. He changed his words in mid stride: "Then he has to admit that he's not as the Klingons say - a Cold Warrior."

Lyrr shrugged. "I already knew that, though," she explained. "Don't tell him I said this," she whispered to Jeremy, though smiling at T'Kal, "but I've seen that twinkle in his eye, that sparkle when he laughs.... He's a softy, but won't admit it. But I know better."

Benedict scowled. Jeremy laughed. "You know, when you aren't around, Commander, he's going to hurt me." He looked at Benedict's face. "Badly by the look of it."

"I'll just tell Sally," Benedict smiled tightly. "She'll stick up for me. I seem to need a woman to defend me lately." He gave Lyrr a smile, and although he was being casually discussed as if he wasn't there, he was noticing a very different side to Tayla. He liked it - very much. "Perhaps Commander Lyrr will persuade me to be lenient on you - I might be in a different mood by tomorrow..." His violet eyes were looking only at Tayla, taking in the soft curve of her lips as she smiled warmly. Her eyes were sparkling too, dark lashes demure as she looked away occasionally, but still came back to regard him. It was the most feminine expression he'd ever seen on her face. He decided that he wanted to see that look more often. It made his chest ache and his spine tingle.

"Leave it to me, Commander," Lyrr assured Jeremy. "I think I've got enough sway with the lieutenant to convince him your life is worth sparing." The two shared gentle laughter and Lyrr sat back against her seat, allowing Ben and Jeremy to further jest with one another, and exhibit their false bravado.

She smiled to herself as she watched Benedict catch up with his old friend, and saw a lightheartedness in him she'd witnessed glimpses of before, but which was now on full display. It brought a softness to his otherwise strong, bold features, and gave her an opportunity to truly appreciate its nuances, like the shallow creases that formed at the corner of his eyes when he laughed, and the manner in which the edges of his lips curled to give his smile an inherently dashing quality. She wanted to discover more subtle characteristics like those few she'd seen, and she would willingly spend more time with him to do it.

---

"Heisenberg (and other) Compensators"
By Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse
and Ensign Viraj - Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Transporter Room One
Stardate: 57907.30, 15h48

***

"--when I vaccinated N'dalla Firg, I asked her if she could understand Ai'Pal, and she informed me that she doesn't even like to socialise with the other Vulcans on board. Afterwards, Marion Herald seemed painfully pleased for the distraction of the vaccination, and Chief Kora Tawno made a big bitch-tantrum about how I was wasting her precious time, as if she's Xay-ego Tagliesh," Cristobel Sefton babbled, sitting on the floor against the back wall, with Viraj sitting by his side. Viraj wouldn't be on duty for several more minutes, which left Jeffrey Davies manning the controls, while the boys at the back had a chat.

Bewilderment crept into Viraj's understanding nods. "Am I to assume that all of that means your response to 'what's it like working with your mother' would be 'I don't know'?"

"Well, that's the thing. She had me working everywhere, but Sickbay today," Cris whined, unfazed by Viraj's confusion over his own digressions. "She gave me a list of patients to vaccinate that was significantly shorter than Amy's list, and then when Amy starting sighing and huffing about it, my mother told me to get my list done by 12h00, giving Amy the rest of the shift to finish her own list. Then, when we all reported back to Sickbay at 12h00, and I hadn't finished all of my vaccinations, my mother apologised for being irrational, and told me to handle my own scheduling for the rest of the shift."

"How did Amy respond?" Viraj asked, afraid of the answer, considering all of Amy's harsh responses to Viraj at both of Cris' parties.

"She didn't seem upset, but she's still a little bit...off," Cris sighed. "I wish I could just figure out what it is about her that seems unusually jagged, because I can't help myself from overcompensating my wanting her to feel better by automatically being supportive of her every whim. Every whim! I can't control myself, unless her whim is self-destructive. But otherwise: Every. Whim."

"Like with those rumours you made up for her?" Viraj asked with a mix of sympathy and distaste.

"Yeah." Embarrassedly, Cristobel shared, "Mo dhia, there's a part of me that wants to beg you to spread the rumours, since I'm certainly not stupid enough to actually repeat a rumour I've started and let it trace back to me. I don't usually like to gossip at all in public. ...Perhaps the gossip about Amy really will simply dry up on its own, and something else will takes its place, without the need of my rumours."

"Perhaps," Viraj affirmed. An awkward silence fell over both men for a moment, until Viraj asked, "Weren't you supposed to provide my vaccination?"

"Oh! Right," Cristobel muttered, and immediately pressed the hypospray, which he'd been twirling, against Viraj's arm. With his shift almost ending, Cristobel couldn't help worrying about an evening alone in his empty quarters looming ahead of him. "Wanna go get dinner?" Cristobel hopefully asked Viraj.

"I'm about to go on duty," Viraj reminded him apologetically.

"Of course. Right. Sorry." It wasn't a hopeless situation yet, Cris supposed. Even if Shyla was busy, his mother would want to dine with him, to verbally tell him all about her day, even though he'd only been a deck or two away the entire time. And to guilt-trip him over his viscous rumours.

---

"Old Friends, Part 2"
By: Lt. Benedict T'Kal
Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: Jon'Trit, Bajor
Stardate 57907.30, 16h07

***

The shuttle made its final approach to Jon'Trit, a large coastal city of new architecture and old style. The circular patterns to the streets and boulevards depicted with Bajoran simplicity a well-planned cityscape. The shuttle landed on a Federation area of the civilian starport and the three occupants disembarked.

Jeremy said his goodbyes, and reiterated that they were required to attend his home for dinner the next night. Benedict shook his hand warmly, clasping forearms, before he turned to Lyrr Tayla and said, "Well...I think we need to change - I'm not taking you to dinner in uniform." He pointed to the civilian concourse. "I'm sure we can find something suitable."

Lyrr glanced up at him skeptically. "We?" she echoed, then smiled, understanding. "You wanted to show me around. I guess now's a good time to start." She motioned for him to lead, and followed with brisk strides to keep up. "Thank you for inviting me," she told him, and meant it. "I think this will be very informative...judging from what your friend has already admitted about you."

"Informative?" He cocked an eyebrow. He stopped and casually reached over and took her shoulder bag with a smile. As he slung it over his own shoulder he laughed. "Jeremy used to do the same things to me at the academy. He'd do all the talking, and before I knew it I was in some kind of trouble. As for inviting you...I'm still a little confused about that," he admitted ruefully. "But now that we're here, I'm glad." He looked into her eyes and smiled. "I know a great place to eat but first I'm going to buy you something beautiful to match your eyes...."

She chuckled in disbelief. "Buy me something? Ben, I did bring money, you know. I'm capable of paying for myself, if that's what you're worried about."

For a moment he looked offended. Then he shook his head and smiled. "Lyrr Tayla, sometimes you just have to accept a gift. I'm well aware that you're capable of paying your own way - it's not about worry. This time I'm going to treat you to something - because I want to. Okay?" His smile was humorous but his tone left no doubt that he was going to do what he'd suggested - whether she liked it or not. "I want to," he added sternly.

Her lips parted to voice another protest, but his insistent gaze told her it was futile. She sighed and reluctantly nodded. "But I'm paying for dinner," she added. "And don't you dare try to tell me otherwise."

He grinned. "Okay, but if you pay for dinner that means I have to cook for you when we get back to the Sulu." He crossed his arms. "Deal?"

Lyrr frowned her disapproval of his wily ways, then sighed and let a smile escape. "Deal," she agreed. "I think I'm really going to have to watch you, Benedict T'Kal. You're far more clever than you appear." Lyrr chuckled to assure him she was teasing with no intention of offending.

"It's better than appearing cleverer than you are," he laughed. He started walking again, and almost reached for her hand - it had been automatic and he dropped his arm with a rueful smile hoping that she hadn't seen, or if she had, not taken offense. He wanted tactile contact but didn't want to push her into something she didn't want. He started off toward the large concourse.

Lyrr slowed marginally to fall back and smile quizzically to herself. His moods always seemed highly variable, as they had become now. She hoped she was capable of keeping him at least somewhat content while in his company. Lyrr shook her head curiously and lengthened her strides to catch up again. "So," she began, as a segue into casual conversation, "is this where you lived as a boy? It looks to be a very well-kept province."

"No...I grew up on a vineyard, my father made wine - it was a family business - my mother's family. My father was a military officer - he'd travelled all over before settling on Bajor. Then we moved out to Terra Australis when I was still young. When the Occupation happened my father and mother came back to help the resistance. I followed when I was old enough. I stayed here after they had died. I'm half Human, but I feel totally Bajoran. This is my home - I love this place. You should see it in autumn, when the trees are turning golden. Beautiful." He looked at her not really wanting to talk about the past - it held too many bad memories. "I came to the city like everyone else, when the farms were taken. Someday I think I'll settle down and grow something..." he said wistfully, "and have a family."

Lyrr nodded ruefully, knowing that, too, was what she'd sought for half her life. She hoped T'Kal managed to fulfill his vision. "I don't have any plans for my own future," she admitted. "I envy you, in that sense; you seem to have everything mapped out."

He looked at her and shrugged. "I have to find someone to share it with first."

She avoided his eyes, though she knew they were on her. "You'll find someone," she assured him, unconsciously rejecting any notion he might have of including her in that future. "For now," she added as a means of switching topics quickly, "let's see if we can't find something decent to wear. Though," she teased, "I really see nothing wrong with the uniform..."

He smiled. There was that wall again. He knew that she had no intention of ever settling down - she was too career oriented. She'd be a captain someday, he had no doubt of it. He'd dreamed of his own command too, a part of him wanted it - but that was an ambition that he kept hidden. "The uniform, even though it looks good on you, reminds me that you are a commander and I am a lieutenant," he said casually. "If you want me to call you 'sir' all evening and look at you as my commanding officer and not as my dinner companion then we'll forego the shopping." He turned to look at her before they entered the complex. "I'd rather look at you as a date tonight - if you don't mind."

"And I will be," she assured him. "And if the uniform is so bothersome, then I'll wear something else. But," she added, deadly serious, "no dresses."

His face fell. It was almost a pout. "Mini skirts are in..." he said with a touch of hope in his tone. He could hardly keep a straight face. After a moment he cracked a broad grin. "You have great legs...be a shame.."

Lyrr's mouth went involuntarily agape and her eyes wide. She looked away quickly to conceal her shock and embarrassment, then chuckled in disbelief and moved ahead past T'Kal, into the closest shop. If he was this forward now, she only imagined how loose his tongue would be with a few drinks under his belt. Though, she did find the comment mildly flattering...as her warming cheeks indicated. "I'm going to have to watch you very closely," she muttered to herself.

He laughed. "Hey - it was a joke! I was kidding!" He followed quickly. "Not about the legs," he admitted. "But really." He couldn't stop laughing - she'd taken him seriously, but she was blushing! "I was thinking more of something like that." He pointed at a mannequin. It held a female form with a dark midnight blue evening dress inlaid with sparkling diamond-like stones that seemed like a starfield. It had a high collar but was sleeveless. It reached almost to the floor. "That's you..." he said, looking at it. "Classy." He looked at Lyrr with a grin.

Lyrr chuckled at the outfit. "How expensive a dinner had you planned for, Ben? That dress seems more suited for a ball." She scowled playfully at him. "And I thought I said no dresses. You're trying to trap me, aren't you? I bet you think you're really good at that."

He shook his head innocently. "Try it on," he said with a smile. "You'll look fabulous. Wear it to the next senior officer's dinner and I guarantee Xayella Tagliesh would have a fit. Now that I'd like to see!" He laughed. "I'll buy the dress - you have to pay for dinner - but there's dancing involved."

Lyrr smiled wanly as she studied the dress, wondering what exactly T'Kal was trying to accomplish. It unnerved her. "Lieutenant...I thought this was just supposed to be a dinner..." She sighed, searching for the gentlest way possible to let him down. "I think you see something in me that...just isn't there," she said softly. "I don't wear dresses, I've never danced in my life...and I don't want you trying to turn me into the kind of woman I believe you want." Lyrr smiled apologetically and hesitantly, uncertainly laid her hand against his chest. "I'm just the way I am...and I'm sorry that's not enough for you, but I can't change. I won't." Immediately reproving herself and her cowardice, Lyrr shook her head and turned to walk past T'Kal towards the exit, though she found her hand lingering on his chest longer than necessary.

He caught her hand before she managed to turn away. "I'm not trying to turn you into anything," he said seriously, stopping her. "You know - if I don't talk to you about these things - I can never find out. Okay, you don't wear dresses. Fine. You've never danced? Then that's something I want you to try." He held her eyes and stepped a little closer. He still held her hand against his chest. "I like the way you are, Tayla, but if you're going to walk away from me every time I try to find out more about what you like and don't like - it's going to make getting to know you really difficult." He smiled a little uncertainly. "As for not being enough...." He shook his head gently, his heart hammering in his chest.

Lyrr sighed inaudibly, staring at her hand obscured by T'Kal's. She knew it was trembling beneath, and felt her fingers twitch as they yearned to close around the fabric of his jacket and pull him closer. Her breathing became recognizably unsteady as her eyes again found his. "I don't want to wear a dress," she whispered. "I'm not the frail, delicate woman you might be used to." She smiled, then, gently. "But if the moment's right...maybe I will dance after all. Agreed?"

"I'm not used to frail women, Tayla. I'm not interested in delicate women - but a dress isn't the mark of frailty. Don't confuse a suggestion to fashion as anything other than, 'Hey, I think you'd look great in that.' " He shook his head. He just wanted to lean in and kiss her. His eyes strayed to her lips and back to her dark eyes. It was the hardest thing he'd done for a long time not to. Her hand was trembling and he held it more gently.

Lyrr chuckled. "I think I would, too," she replied, a touch playfully. "But...what do you say we work up to that, hm? I really think, in this case, we need to go slowly, Ben. It'll be better in the end."

He grinned. "That's more like it," he said gently. "Now...you're not leaving this place without choosing something - so I'll keep my big mouth shut while you choose." He slid her hand away from his chest, but kept hold of it - he didn't want to let it go, and she hadn't made any move to make him do so. He waved at the selection. "What ever you like," he said with a smile, still looking into her dark eyes.

She sighed in defeat and turned back towards the racks of clothing. Lyrr reminded herself to keep a close eye on T'Kal, for with his charming smile and mesmerizing eyes, she knew he could convince her to do anything, no matter how contradictory it was to how she had chosen to live her life. Glancing down at their joined hands, she realized he already had. She didn't recoil, however, or squirm, or feign offense to conceal a deep-rooted fear weeks of torture, years in her past, had instilled in her. Still, as they stood side by side, she kept just a little distance between them.

---

"Settling In"
by Ensign Shirik Lektar - Operations

Location: Lektar's and Derrell's quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.30, 16h30

***

Shirik tapped at the replicator console, putting the finishing touches on her additions to its database. She re-read her input, checking for any typos, and satisfied, ordered, "Computer. One mug of Klaas, hot." She folded her arms, eyeing the replicator critically as a steaming mug materialized. She sniffed at the acrid odor emanating from the mug and nodded as she took it into her hands, bringing it to her lips to sip. She smacked her lips a few times and shrugged. It was about as good as a replicator could do, but nothing tasted like real Klaas.

Carrying her mug she went back to her desk. The quarters she shared with Raina Derrell were at the moment at a low light level, the one Shirik preferred when she had the luxury of it. Her roommate usually got back from shift later than she did, so she was able to take advantage of the short time before that to lower the lights and relax for a bit. Raina also spent more time out and about the ship than Shirik did, so she usually had some time to herself in her off hours.

So far they hadn't said much to each other, each busy with their own work and activities. Shirik would have preferred if they'd been on opposing shifts, but so far things were going smoothly. They worked in different departments that didn't overlap very much, so had little in common to talk about anyway, and Shirik didn't mind that, either.

So far her job was going even better than expected. Assigned Alpha shift in the computer core, she rarely saw any other crewmen during her shift other than those passing by or who came specifically for information of one sort or another, so she had lots of quiet time to get work done without interruption. She'd gotten the damage repaired that the area had suffered during the attack while orbiting Risa, and had been going over the programming of some of the systems, to see if any scheduled updates had been overlooked or anything could be improved.

As she sipped her replicated Klaas and tapped some personal notes into a PADD, she glanced over the updated crew roster she'd been studying. She had been planning a visit to the CMO, but had assumed that was Lt. M'Lira at the time, but she noticed that a new CMO had been assigned, and suspiciously enough had the same last name as a certain Betazoid nurse she'd had words with. Well, that meeting was certainly not going to happen any time soon, or ever, if she could avoid it.

So, she scratched one name off her small list of crew members she did want to meet with eventually. Among them were the Vulcan Lt. Saavar, the Trill Kelzira Rax, the new Head Chef Sikara, the Bajoran Benedict T'Kal, and Chief Engineer Mark Thaine. Simple cultural and racial curiosity was the reason for most of them, but she had some requests to ask of two of them. Their ranks relative to hers were irrelevant to her, each of them had been chosen for either their race, area of expertise, or knowledge, and her calculated guess as to how approachable they might be to her questions and requests. It promised to be an interesting experiment.

She had no names from medical staff on her list. If anything, most of them were on her avoid list. She had no plans to visit sickbay unless she were mortally wounded, and was hoping to never have to set foot in counseling ever.

---

"In the Bajoran Rain"
By: Ensign Ainsley Chambers; Counselor
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: Bajor, Gerha city, Tejaun province
Stardate: 57907.30 16h42

***

The warm evening was overcast and humid, rain clouds filling out the sky with the threat of summer storms. In spite of that, though, the market was bustling with the commerce of Bajor's new boom. The Dominion war had brought all manner of visitors to the system, and the businesses that sprang up to serve that population were still going.

Two senses were assaulted most heavily in the marketplace. It was impossible not to notice the smell. Leather goods, bread, fish, smoke, fruit, spices, and a hundred other scents competed in the air, each claiming their own position over the appropriate stall or tent, mingling at the edges, and giving way to each other as browsers passed.

A third sense, vision, played heavily as well, as the clashing colors and vibrant hues of the thousand market awnings dizzied the viewer in spite of the muted light of the cloudy day, but the second of the main two was most readily noticeable. The place was loud. The cries of bakers and jumja sellers and hasperat vendors coupled with the music of the street performers to create a sound beyond noise. Here was a street painter cursing his canvas. There was a butcher hawking the day's cuts. The discordant notes of a S'tar floated through the din, accompanying the coin dancers. Buyers and sellers haggled with mad glee. It was bedlam.

To the trained eye, however, the mark of four decades of oppressive poverty still sat on Bajor and its people. Beside the baker's brick ovens lurked dirty children waiting for their chance at the cooling rack while the proprietor's back was turned. Surly teenagers stood in clumps on opposite sides of the lane, alternately whispering to themselves and glaring at their rivals. A pickpocket's victim chased the perpetrator into an alley to beat him soundly with a stick.

Mason nodded to himself, and nonchalantly checked his pockets after being jostled by a passerby.

It was then that he noticed Ainsley, sitting by herself at a table in the Café Thalja. She was sipping at a cup of tea and reading a local newspaper. She looked very much at ease in the crowd, and didn't appear to notice the distractions around her.

"Wow," he remarked, walking up behind where she was sitting. "You lived here?"

Ainsley put the newspaper down and turned to look at him. "For a few months," she replied with a smile. "Quite a sight isn't it?" She looked around the market place. "It never changes." She indicated the café. "I used to come here on a daily basis."

"So what's good?" he asked, pulling out a chair and settling in. He rubbed his chin absently. "I'll never get used to power-shavers."

Ainsley giggled softly. "You'll get it back.

"Everything's good really. Larish pie is the special today, it's a Cardassian dish but Bajorans seem to like it so much that they'll make it for themselves," she explained. "The remoutah and the retamba stew are also good here, unless something's changed since I left."

"The special, please, with a beer," Mason told the waitress. He returned his attention to Ainsley, pretty in a scoopnecked summer-weight dress. "How've you been?" he asked.

"Not bad," she responded with a smile. "I'll have the retamba stew," she told the waitress. "And an iced cappuccino please." The waitress nodded and left, and then Ainsley looked back to Mason, handsome in a loose wraparound shirt. "I've been good. I've missed you," she ventured.

Mason chuckled. "Enough to kidnap my razor? Your boss would probably call that 'stalking,' " he said dryly. Then serious: "I've needed the last couple of days. Thank you for letting me have them. And thank you for still being interested enough to break into my quarters." He broke the seriousness with a smile, his eyes sparkling with the humor.

Ainsley grinned in return. "It wasn't hard. Your new roommate was quite accommodating in that respect."

Farrell looked at her sideways, then threw his head back and laughed out loud. "Of course," he nodded. "Of course. So what are we doing tonight?" he asked as their food was brought out.

"Looking for your missing razor, of course!" she replied with another grin.

He twisted the top from his bottle. "And where will we be doing this?"

She just grinned at him.

***

About an hour later, after eating the fabulous Bajoran food, Ainsley led Mason towards their destination.

The museum building was a solid, traditionally built quadrangle whose artistic flourishes were cosmetic rather than structural. It was a building constructed to preserve history, and the builders apparently decided that the best sort of structure for such a purpose was one that should last a long time itself.

It was certainly not an unattractive building, however, simple though it was. Creeping vines studded with small blossoms crept across the museum's face, twining around upper windows. A simple tile roof was interrupted regularly by gargoyle-style statuary. The front doors were gorgeous antiques of thick burled wood, varnished to a deep glow, with massive brass handles mounted on them rather than a powered opening mechanism.

"And my razor is here?" Mason asked, impressed with the building.

"Possibly," she replied with a twinkle in her eye, then she grabbed his hand and practically dragged him up the steps towards the entrance.

They moved through the main doors, passed the information kiosk, and walked into an artifact-laden wonderland. All manner of items were present. Preserved and stuffed animals, current and extinct. Weaponry and armor. Art of all sorts. Early technologies. Trivial minutiae. Collection upon collection upon collection.

It was a calming place, Mason thought. The sort of place one could get lost in for days at a stretch. Had he been alone, he'd have happily done so. It occurred to him that he probably should be looking for his razor, as well. But on this particular afternoon, he was far more interested in watching Ainsley.

Ainsley was enraptured by the place, moving from display to display, holding forth on subject after subject, explaining cultural significances to Mason, questioning the docents, and considering their answers. He'd been around excited women before, but this was different. Prior to today, his 'type' of woman was one that would act this way in a shopping district, not a museum. Ainsley was capable of being infectiously excited and smart at the same time. It was surprisingly sexy. Keeping the lessons of the past few days in mind, he kept his own speech minimal and let her talk.

She hoped that she wasn't boring him too much. She got the impression, when she looked in his eyes, that he was actually enjoying the time almost as much as she was. She knew the majority of the displays, without having to read the descriptions or listen to the audio that accompanied them, from her time living here. She brought him around to the most interesting ones and to any that were new.

"I read in the weekly Bajoran newspaper that I receive in my mail, that they have a very new display from a dig that was completed late last year. I'm not sure where it is in the museum, but I want to go find it." She looked at him, hoping he wouldn't object.

"Lead on," Farrell said, gesturing dramatically forward. She took his hand and they moved along.

Their searching carried them through several wings of the building and into the central courtyard. In the open courtyard a quartet of musicians played a pleasant tune to accompany the burbling of the central fountain. One held a round-bellied S'tar, one played something resembling a cello; there was a percussionist with a number of wood blocks and sticks, and a player with a long flute. They had moved under an acoustic arch at the threatening weather, just in case, but were clearly intent on their music.

"It's going to rain," said Mason, looking at the grey sky.

Ainsley nodded. "It's been threatening all day. Thank God it at least waited until we had cover." She turned and looked at the musicians again.

"They're good," Mason said, nodding to the players. "Head back inside, I want to give 'em some money. I'll catch up," Mason said, releasing her hand and heading for the arch. The S'tar player looked up and smiled as Mason approached.

She watched him approach the musicians for a minute and talk with them over a few slips of latinum, and then she headed back in. She was impressed and happy that Mason would think to give the artists something for their playing, so many people nowadays just passed on by. The rain started, a light patter that could be heard on the roof.

Once back inside she found some signs directing her to the new display. It concerned an ancient tribal burial ground that had been discovered in one of the hill provinces. The archaeological team had been excavating it for a good couple of months and had been about to call it off as nothing new when they had stumbled upon what they now had determined to be a Chieftess' burial plot. It had been a fantastic find as no information or articles from chiefs of that time had ever been discovered previously.

The most amazing thing, to Ainsley, was the chief ceremonial head dress. It had obviously been treated with something and then placed on her head just before she was placed in the tomb. There was also a staff which, to Ainsley's surprise, reminded her very much of the staffs that the Ancient Egyptian Pharaohs used to be buried with.

Mason crept behind Ainsley and leaned close behind her, his head over her shoulder. "Come dance with me," he whispered softly in her ear.

She'd been so taken by the display that she jumped a little when he spoke to her.

"Dance?" she asked, facing him. "Here?"

"The courtyard." He slid his arms around her waist, bringing her close.

She looked at him with a strange expression on her face, then her nose crinkled when she grinned. "Is that what you were doing? Paying them to play us a song?"

He just grinned back.

And they danced, rain and all. In under a minute they were both soaked, clinging to each other beneath the grey Bajor sky. The musicians, true to their craft, stayed beneath their awning and kept up their tune. It was a gently moody piece, suited to the rain, but introspective, thoughtful rather than depressing.

"Ainsley," he spoke quietly through the hiss of the rain. His voice seemed thicker, rather like a raincloud itself.

She felt like she was in a dream. People didn't actually do things like this in real life. Dancing in the rain as the band played on only occurred in holonovels and old movies. She lifted her chin and looked up into his eyes, realizing what he was going to do an instant before he did it.

He kissed her. Softly. Gently. Tenderly. The rain seemed to get distant, and the music louder and fuller. The quartet had no horns, but Mason heard them anyway -- the sort of distant horns that play richly to accompany the high strings when the hero kisses the maiden at the end of the show. It was a long and slow kiss. And a great kiss.

Ainsley's dream feeling increased. She felt like she was floating. Kissing in the rain. It ran its course after several long delirious moments, and Mason looked deeply into Ainsley's eyes, smiling fondly.

"Easier to get forgiveness than permission," he murmured. "Couldn't resist."

"I'm glad you didn't," she replied a little breathlessly.

"Because you would have refused?" he asked, a little tentative.

She shook her head slightly. Lifting up onto her tip toes, placing her hands on either side of his face to pull him down to meet her, she kissed him firmly.

He held her close, his arms laced low around her waist to support her weight, the kiss turning urgent and deep.

Unseen by either dancer, the S'tar player gave an appreciative look to the percussionist.

"You're a fascinating woman, Ainsley," Mason said when they came up for air. "You're beautiful, and know how to give a kiss. You're a master diver but an amateur dancer. You can throw a punch, and you can still have a civil conversation. You're gentle when--"

"Mason," Ainsley said, low and deep. "Shut up." She kissed him again just to get him to stop talking.

He let her kiss him, and willingly returned it. When they broke it again, he abandoned the rest of his planned speech, and cut to the chase.

"Ainsley," he breathed, very close to her ear. "I've been thinking about what you said, about being exclusive. If the offer's still open, I'd like to take you up on it."

She looked up into his eyes. "You're sure?" she asked.

"I'm sure." The look in his eyes told her he meant it.

"Okay," she responded simply.

"Okay," Mason echoed. He smiled then. "That feels good. Committing like that. Surprisingly good," he chuckled.

He kissed her again, but a raindrop landed in her eye and they both laughed at her wince.

"Should we get inside?" Mason asked, holding her gaze again.

Ainsley looked up at the sky. "I guess we should," she responded. She liked the feeling of the cool rain falling on her warm face, even if one did get her in the eye.

She turned her eyes to Mason again and put her arms around him, under his arms and around his chest. She gave him a squeezing hug, let him kiss her forehead again, and then turned to head back to the building.

Mason followed her, admiring the way her dress now clung to her curves. As he stepped into the doorway back inside, he poked his head back out into the main courtyard. The quartet was watching him in unison.

He raised a hand and mouthed: 'Thank You.' The Cellist raised his bow in salute. Mason ducked back inside.

"We should probably get back up to the ship," Ainsley said to him, looking down at his clothes and then her own. "We're not really presentable anymore."

Mason smiled and shook his head. "You've still got to give me back my razor."

"Ah yes," Ainsley responded with a smile of her own. As it turned out they were not far from where she had hidden the small bag that held his confiscated blade. Deciding that he had definitely earned its return she retrieved it and offered it to him.

She jerked the bag back as he was reaching. He gave her a humorously suspicious look.

"There's still the matter of the ransom payment," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. She tapped her finger to her lips and said, "Right here."

"No such ransom is too great," he drawled with theatrical relish as he pulled her in for another kiss. Two. And a long third.

They walked back through the museum hand in hand, careful not to get too close to anything that wouldn't appreciate a drip. Mason reached out for the antique handle of the main door when it swung forward suddenly. He let go of Ainsley's hand and leapt to the side as a tall figure soaked to the skin rushed in.

"Damn this rain," it said, the accent very British. He straightened and ran his hands through his collar-length hair, flinging a cascade of water to the floor. He looked around, then, and his eyes met Ainsley's.

Ainsley's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe it. How could he be here, now? "Thomas?" she asked.

"Ainsley?" he said, amazed. "Ainsley, is it you?"

He laughed a hearty laugh and swept her into an embrace. "Ainsley, you delightful creature! What an amazing surprise!"

With Mason temporarily forgotten she looked up at him. "I can't believe this. How are you? You look amazing!"

"As do you," Thomas answered, holding her out from him to get a good look at her again. "A bit bedraggled, I suppose," he chuckled. "But still my fantastic Ainsley."

Farrell moved out from behind the door with a glance at the curator, who was bustling over to see what the commotion was about. He waited patiently to one side of the happy couple, studying the newcomer.

Thomas was tall and lean, fit rather than skinny. His hair was slightly wavy and swept back from his forehead to fall to just below his collar. He carried himself with confidence and style, the dapper Englishman to a T.

"I can't believe I've run into you," he was saying jovially. "Here, of all places! Are you still in Starfleet?"

"Yes, I'm a counselor on the USS Sulu," she responded with a nod. "Oh!" she said suddenly, remembering that Mason was there. "This is Mason Farrell." She turned towards him. "Mason, this is Thomas Meredith. We were friends at the University of London."

Thomas released Ainsley and put out a hand. "Well met, sir."

"And you," Mason nodded, grasping the hand firmly.

The handshake lasted just long enough for both men to wonder what to do next. Thomas seemed to come to a realization. "Oh good lord," he said slowly, looking from one to the other. "I'm interrupting, aren't I?"

"No no," Mason said, quickly and brightly. "What brings you to Bajor, Thomas? May I call you Thomas?" My fantastic Ainsley, he had called her. What did that mean?

"Teaching an extension course," Thomas smiled. "Terran philosophy. It's a new elective at the University here. And Thomas is fine, Mason."

Mason nodded politely, unsure what to say next.

Ainsley looked between the two men and decided it was time to end their discomfort. "It's been great seeing you again, Thomas. As you can see we got caught in the downpour as well." She grinned at Mason then. "We really need to get back to the Sulu and get into some dry things." She turned her gaze back to Thomas. "We should keep in touch."

"Absolutely," Thomas nodded, looking gladly back at Ainsley. Then he regarded the pair. "Well, you two go get dried off. I've got research that needs to be done." He smiled at Ainsley, and shook Mason's hand again. "I'll call you?" he said to Ainsley as he motioned the curator forward.

"Sure." She looked at him again, remembering the first time that she had seen him and how she had been so drawn to him. "I'll look forward to it."

Thomas nodded to the pair, and left with the curator.

Mason cleared his throat.

"Sorry," she replied, coming out of her thoughts. "I was lost in memories for a moment." She smiled at Mason. "He used to be a really good friend of mine."

Mason shrugged. Old friends. Fair enough. He had those, too; a pair of faces from the Academy drifted into his mind. "No problem," he smiled. "Shall we go, then?"

She looked down at her wet and clinging dress. "Yes, definitely."

They stepped outside, and he fished his commbadge out of his pocket, signaling Ensign Viraj to beam them up.

---

"Bouquet"
By: Lieutenant Mark Thaine
and Crewman Emma Summers

Location: Main Engineering, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.30, 19h30

***

For what seemed like the hundredth time that shift, Ensign Perry Thorpe sneezed.

This time, though, his grip wasn't sufficient to keep hold of what he was carrying, and the Chief Engineer turned around just in time to see Perry making a few desperate, and ultimately futile attempts to catch even one of the dozen or so neuro-gel packs as they fell from his arms to the floor.

"Oh, good grief..." said Thaine, as he watched Ensign scrabble to gather the packs. Next to him, Petty Officer Hanako Ito moved to give him a hand, amusement on her face.

"Sorry, sir, I was just - and, well, I sneezed, and I..."

"Ensign, are you sure you haven't caught something from Deep Space 9?" Thaine asked, as he too picked up a couple of packs, handing them back to the Ensign.

Perry shook his head, as he finished gathering the gel packs. "No, sir...it's cat hair. I'm sure of it. I only react this way to...to..." Perry sneezed again, with similar consequences to the last time.

Thaine just sighed. "Ensign Thorpe, get the hell down to sick bay for some anti-histamine, or whatever they can give you. I'm not having you drop those again this shift."

"Here, give them to me, sir...I'll take them," said Hanako, with her usual quiet efficiency, and Perry complied while Thaine shook his head sadly at the situation.

It wasn't so bad, really. In fact, Thaine's mood was definitely improved of late. The repairs were coming along nicely, though the ship still had a few scars left from the battle over Risa. The only thing that was really worrying Thaine was that Zareb, who was supposed to be arriving in a few days...

A thought struck Thaine, as he watched Perry leave Engineering. There was something he'd forgotten.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he told Hanako, who responded with a muffled affirmative from behind the gel-packs she was carrying in her arms.

***

"Four hundred..." she breathed with a grunt. "Four hundred and one." She sucked in a breath. The monotonous movement of her upper body doing sit-ups brought her into view of the desk terminal. It was half-way across the room and playing an old movie. She listened half-heartedly, just noise in the background as her mind turned over. Sweat trickled down her abdomen as she moved and occasionally blew off the end of her nose as she spoke out the count. She wore sweatwear - Starfleet regulation issue (exercise for the purpose of: Female), red shiny skin-tight shorts, a matching form fitting bra and soft ankle exercise boots. Her dark hair was pulled into a pony tail, her feet were lodged under her low table in the joined living area for the two crewmen who lived there. Shayla Morgan was on duty, they were on opposite shifts and that suited Emma - she hardly ever saw the woman. She was easy to live with.

At five hundred she stopped and collapsed onto the deck. Breathing hard and bathed in sweat she closed her eyes and focused on the movie - she couldn't even remember what it was called, it had just been a random selection from the library. The door chime startled her. She groaned. Climbing to her feet she stepped over to the door and opened it, still breathing hard. "What?" she barked as the door hissed open.

The sight of the Chief Engineer was not what she had expected, and judging by the startled look on his face, he hadn't expected to see her. At least, not wearing so little. He also seemed to be hiding something behind his back.

"Crewman," he stated by way of greeting, his gaze staring straight ahead, and focusing somewhere in the distance over her left shoulder.

Emma raised a surprised eyebrow and leaned casually against the door frame. He seemed to be trying very hard not to look down at her. She grinned. "Chief Thaine." A slightly puzzled expression touched her face. "Won't you come in...?" She waved her arm and stepped aside. "Sorry - I've just finished my workout.. I hope you don't mind." She gave him a demure smile while showing a sleek profile. She knew that she looked pretty damned good. Tanned legs and tiny shorts, midriff showing a tight muscular belly and she was slightly flushed, her skin burnished with perspiration. She snatched up a towel and began drying herself casually. "What can I do for you, Chief?" she asked, while the Chief stood just inside the doorway.

"I..." He said, and then thrust a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back and toward her. "This is an apology," he said simply, and then shook his head. "Well, this is a bunch of flowers... I mean, I'm apologising. For during the battle. And the 'tubes. And...all that...." The man trailed off. He had managed to actually look at her now, though still kept that air of old fashioned chivalry by refusing to even glance anywhere below her neck.

Emma smiled at him. It was a beaming smile. The kind that any man would love to get from a woman he'd presented flowers to. She took them from his hand and smelled them, and from the bouquet of color she looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "Thank you, Chief," she said as she reached up on tip-toes, and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, one hand on his chest, the other clutching the flowers. A long moment later she drew back slightly and said, "I love flowers" in a way that told him it was the best present he could give her. She gave him a slow smile, still standing very close. "I guess I'd better put them in some water." She stepped back and gave him a mischievous grin as she smelled them again. "Lovely," she remarked as she turned and walked over to her replicator. She ordered a vase of water and set about arranging them on her dining table, she watched him the whole time with a smile on her face. It had been so long since she had received flowers from anyone. In fact she couldn't remember the last time. It was such a 'girlie thing' - but she was blushing anyway.

Thaine coughed, and his voice seemed to have recovered its usual confidence - bordering on arrogance. "I have to get back to Engineering, Crewman. Would you like me to request a different medic to be posted at Main Engineering during Red Alert, or are you happy to keep that assignment?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked with a laugh. She seemed satisfied with the arrangement and stepped back to him. "Don't you dare ask for someone else!" She looked up at the tall engineer and gave him a wicked grin. "Of course I'll expect flowers on a regular basis..." and bit her lower lip as she looked directly at him.

"Hmph," said Thaine. "Don't press your luck." The corners of his mouth twitched in what could almost be considered a smile. "See you next time we're under attack?" It sounded as close to a statement as it did a question.

"Maybe." She smiled. "If you can think up an excuse sooner that might be nice." She chuckled as she looked up at him. He was tall.

He took a step backward, out into the corridors of the ship again - whether to put some space between them or to lesson the angle Emma was having to tilt her neck to look at him, his guarded features gave no clue. Nor did he respond to her suggestion. "As I said, I have to get back to Engineering."

"Okay then." She walked him to the door. "See ya." She gave him a little wave as he retreated out the door and watched him leave. "Well...you're just a big teddy bear," she whispered with a smile as he walked away. It was silly. It was down right stupid. He'd given her flowers!

She walked through her quarters with a stupid grin on her face. Looking at the flowers as she passed them she inhaled their sweet scent again and laughed softly all the way to the shower. She must have made an impression on him, she thought. She hummed a tune as she shucked out of her clothes and for the first time in a very long time she sang to herself in the shower - all because a guy had given her flowers..

---

"Walking on Air, Falling to Earth"
By Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ensign Sanat Vijay; Flight Control Officer
Ensign Cristobel Sefton; Nurse

Location: USS Sulu, Quarters 22C
Stardate: 57907.30 21h00

***

Mason floated home. He'd taken the plunge, and committed. And it felt good. It had gotten a little odd there when that Thomas guy showed up, but Ainsley had gone home with Mason, and he considered that proof enough of what was what. Ainsley had kissed him again in her quarters, if it could be called a kiss when it lasted an hour. But then she'd thrown him out so she could change her clothes, if it could be called being thrown out when the person doing it kisses you all the way to the door. He had considered seeing if she would let him stay, but decided against it. There would be time enough for that later.

Oddly, he considered that he'd never thought that before about a woman, and he reflected on it a bit as he walked. Why hadn't he pushed the sex? The date had been fantastic, the kiss excellent, and the timing flawless. But he'd let it go, and not even made an attempt. Why? Was he simply content with things as they were? No, content was the wrong word. He certainly wanted sex with Ainsley; she had an amazing body, and certainly enjoyed being physically affectionate. Apparently he just didn't want sex with Ainsley right now. So it wasn't that he was content. He was just content for the moment. He could watch her smile all night, and he could kiss her even longer. So he swaggered down the corridor with a stupid grin on his face and reviewed mentally the way she tasted, and the way the skin of her neck and shoulder felt against his face.

Looking up from his book Sanat smirked as Farrell drifted into their room with a satisfied, almost dreamy look on his face. It appeared that his roommate had had a quite a good time on Bajor....

"So. Look at what the targ dragged in." His smirk stayed put as he added, "You look like you've been using your genetic enhancements again, Admiral. Have fun with two or three woman this time?"

"Sanat," Mason said, stretching the last vowel to make it friendly. He flipped a strip of latinum into the air, which Sanat caught easily. "I understand you've won the bet."

Vijay's smile broadened to a more friendly expression. He fingered the strip of universal currency. "Yes, I believe so. And I like a man who pays up on a wage...dare. A good time then?"

Somehow Mason's mood must be related to the pert blond who introduced herself to Sanat the evening before, he reasoned. There was no real cause to watch Ainsley as she rummaged through something of Farrell's in their bathroom last night. As long as it didn't involve any small canine pests...he'd chosen not to interfere with whatever she had in mind. However, she did do a lot of giggling to herself while doing...well, whatever she was doing.

"A great time," Farrell said, flopping into a chair and throwing a leg over the arm, sprawling comfortably. "Ainsley is amazing. With a body..." he trailed off, lost in momentary reverie.

Placing the strip in his book as a marker, Sanat closed it, and put the text on Ancient Orion Ornithology down on the divan. He stood up and walked over the replicator. "Sounds like it. Want something to drink?" When Farrell didn't reply, he shrugged, "Water...make it 15 degrees Celsius."

As the glass appeared, Vijay grasped it and slowly walked back over to the couch and sat down. He took a sip, asking Farrell afterwards, "Is she going to want access to our quarters again?" When his roommate looked up, Sanat said with what could be perceived as a wink, "I can always use the money."

"If it leads to anything like what just happened, I'll pay you for every visit," Farrell said, smiling dreamily as he flopped his head back.

His face faded to neutral. "Consider it a deal." It was a normal expression for the half human, half Vulcan man. Especially when venturing into unknown terrain. He regarded Mason lounging in his chair, and for the lack of a better word, daydreaming about his date. Taking another sip, Sanat put the glass down and retrieved his book.

Opening it to the marked space, Vijay stared at the shiny strip of precious metal. It glimmered a little bit in the light and looked inviting, like sugar candy wrapped in foil. Why Farrell had dared him in the first place still remained a tiny mystery, but so seemed the juicy details of his date too.

Curiosity was building in his mind about what had happened. Glancing down at the page illustrated with a small bird-like dinosaur equivalent from Orion, Sanat asked as nonchalantly as possible given his desire to find out what occurred during Mason's date, "Where did you go on Bajor?"

"A Museum." Farrell's eyes were closed, his head back on the chair. "It was excellent," he mused. Sanat was about to inquire further when Farrell spoke again. "She can kiss like nobody I've ever kissed. It's like she's starving and just sat down at a banquet. She's amazing."

Vijay's right eyebrow twitched. Inside, his mind asked, What kind of museum did he take her to? An erotic one? It wasn't a place that rated highly amongst bachelors for cultivating romantic feelings in the opposite sex; leastwise, in his limited experience anyway. Outside he answered without looking up from his book, "Ah. I'm sure the curator found that amusing." Acting uninterested and flipping a page, he let Farrell decide what would be said next.

"I'm sorry. I'm sitting here bragging about my date and interrupting your reading. I'm an ass. I'll go put my razor away," Farrell said, rising and starting for the fresher.

His mind chastened, Oh...that worked well...you dolt! Sanat replied as he closed the book, "No, I've read this text before or rather...looked at the pictures." Putting it aside, he looked to where Mason was headed and with a questioning grin asked, "Why a museum?"

"She stole my razor," Farrell said without turning. He held up a small bag and waved it. "Rather," he called from the fresher, "she kidnapped it. The date was a ransom."

He came back out and sat again. "Very nice, actually. It is an antique, so she hid it in a museum. We were supposed to spend the evening finding it, but we wound up kissing instead," he finished with a wink.

Vijay cocked his head, smiling, said, "A much better choice I think." He grabbed the glass of water again and took another drink. Bringing it down, Sanat asked coyly, "So what's next? Is she going to kidnap your chair?"

"I don't know," Mason mused. "I'll have to think of something to get her back with. In a good way, of course." He flopped his head back again.

The door chimed twice in rapid succession.

"Come in," both Mason and Sanat called in unison. The door slid open. Mason did not move.

Sanat turned his head from Mason towards an ensign with golden brown hair that he'd never met before, dressed in a standard blue 'fleet uniform, and now standing inside their room. His face quickly went from a smile to a straight lipped, virtually emotionless state in front of the stranger.

"Hi," Cristobel Sefton blurted, with an awkward wave, as he stepped into the room. In the time it took him to breathe in, he considered asking Mason how well he knew Ethan Storm, or explaining that Shyla wanted Mase to know about Ethan's situation, but didn't feel up to telling him herself. All Cris breathed out was, "Ethan is missing."

Mason's head came off the back of the chair. "Come again?"

"Ensign Storm and Ambassador Serek's runabout dropped off of transponder logs just before stardate 57907.28," Cristobel enunciated clearly and matter-of-factly. Pissily, he went on, "Where have you been all day? Are we back on Risa with optional duty shifts?"

Mason ignored the catty remark. "Dropped off transponder logs? Does that indicate a crash?" he looked at Sanat.

The Flight Controller thought about several possibilities and then posited, "Not necessarily. It could mean they have entered an area that severely reduces the output range of the signal...maybe they strayed off course, perhaps an unintentional navigation error of some kind." He paused and then mentioned, "Or possibly, the transponder antenna has been damaged in someway, possibly by a minor impact of some type. There could have been a system-wide failure that shut down transponder transmissions as well."

When Sanat realized that his ongoing list of options was getting worse by the minute, he abruptly stopped talking and strove to regroup before suggesting other alternatives to a crash. After giving himself a short respite, the half human-half Vulcan offered, "They could have been forced to land and shutdown the transponder to conserve power for life support. It does consume a fair amount of energy to broadcast a signal any distance."

Vijay halted his short analysis; there were other possibilities all right...frightening ones.... A Breen or Romulan cloaking device negates a Starfleet transponder signal readily enough. The small ship could have been captured by either for nefarious reasons...possibly even destroyed...however, a crash was the most logical assumption. The one conclusion anyone searching for a missing runabout would assume first.

Mason nodded thoughtfully. That was quite a list, and raised more questions, but first things first. "Wait a minute," he said, looking to Cris. "Why are you telling us this?"

"Shyla said you know Storm, and obviously you know Storm's girlfriend Shyla. I thought you'd want to know what was happening, since the topic of missing officers and ambassadors doesn't seem to travel through official or gossip comm-channels as fast as Amy's sex life," Cristobel explained to Mason, his tone expressing how obvious it seemed to him. Sheepishly then, Cristobel continued, "Plus I was hoping you might be able to contact - I dunno - mercs or smugglers from the area who might have noticed what happened to the runabout, but wouldn't necessarily talk to most Starfleet officers. Or that you might quadruple check the transporter and shuttle logs for anything unusual about Serek's arrival and departure."

Mason stared at Cristobel, one eye open a little larger than the other, for a moment. "Storm's girlfriend Shyla? Moreau is seeing Storm? Storm was seeing someone?"

It was obvious by Farrell's reaction to Sefton's news that this little tidbit of information was not widely known throughout the ship. He thought back to their conversation of a day earlier and snorted to himself, So much for reputations. Without changing his demeanor, Sanat shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch and sipped his water waiting for Cris to answer Mason's latest barrage of questions.

"You were the one who rudely presumed that Storm was Shyla's very first boyfriend," Cristobel accused of Mason. It then only took him a second to pick up on Farrell's continuing confusion. Instantly deflated, Cris blanched; "Mo dhia, she never said that Storm was her boyfriend."

Farrell sucked his teeth for a moment. "Nope. She told you about our conversation, did she?"

"It came up in a conversation of our own. Apparently, it wasn't a precise recital of your conversation with Shyla," Cristobel explained apologetically, worrying that Shyla was likely about to be drawn and quartered by the steeds of gossip.

"They never are," Farrell said with a small smile. "But that's not important right now. Storm's got priority. You want me to put out some feelers and see what I can see, you've got it. Any word on an official search?"

"Utter silence," Cristobel answered. "I suppose the senior staff is assiduous with the repairs and vaccinations, but I think I'll be able to stop having flashes of terrified worry if I know someone's looking. It's hugely appreciated."

"No problem," Farrell reassured. "I'll put my ear to the ground. Why the transporter logs, though?"

He listened as the other two men discussed options about what to do unofficially. The flight controller was hesitant to involve himself in another 'incident' after only being on board for one day now...but Sanat continued to follow the conversation with interest. There might still be a way for him to help.

Remembering Savaar's criticism of the theory, Cristobel blushed slightly crimson, but he didn't let that affect the confidence in his voice when he explained, "To ensure Serek was exactly who he claimed to be."

Farrell and Vijay shared a look, and then both looked back to Cris. "Come again?" Mason asked.

"The runabout's threat wasn't necessarily external, it could have been internal. I know Storm; I don't know Serek, and throughout history, ambassadors are always turning out to not be what they appear. Maybe he was Romulan, or Changeling, or Ryuck. Do we even know if he was successful in his talks with the Opai?" Cristobel questioned and surmised aloud.

Mason looked thoughtful about that.

He spoke for only the second time since Cris entered their quarters, "To prove...or perhaps...validate Serek's mission success will be difficult. It requires a diplomatic clearance to ascertain whether he was telling the truth." Vijay looked over at Cris and queried, "Did any of the Vulcans present detect anything unusual about the ambassador when he came aboard?"

Shrugging dramatically, Cristobel replied, "Most of them had never met him before. Even Saavar couldn't be sure one way or the other, and he had been a student of Serek."

"I see." Sanat barely shook his head as he spoke. It seemed that maybe Cris had a point about the disappearance of Ethan Storm and Serek...something didn't add up and when the sums won't equate properly...the formula was flawed.

"I'll have it checked out," Farrell said, nodding thoughtfully.

After offering a heartfelt, "thank you," Cristobel sheepishly grinned. "I suppose I should go run into a few more quarters on this deck and frazzle their occupants with worry as well."

Farrell chuckled. "Thanks for telling us, Sefton. Come back anytime and spread whatever news is spreadable."

"Sure thing," Cris nodded, and as he stepped out of their quarters, he said, "Have a good night, boys."

Vijay simply dipped his head as Sefton departed after dropping a literal bombshell in their lap; the news meant a change could be coming in the Sulu's scheduled departure for the Gamma Quadrant.

Mason watched Cris go, and shared another look with Vijay. "Well, looks like I've got calls to make," he said, rising from his chair. "See you tomorrow."

"Yes. It seems you will be busy for a while." Raising his glass in a mock salute, Sanat said, "Best of luck." He wanted to say, "You'll need it." But Mason Farrell appeared to be unusually savvy in these matters. The half human man also had his own resources back on Vulcan that might help determine Serek's authenticity, however, he wanted to conduct a discreet investigation; his Vulcan contacts would not want their identities besmirched in a sloppy search for the truth.

To do otherwise, it might be construed as illogical. And while that did not concern Vijay all that much, true and logical Vulcans would be greatly offended. Putting his glass down, the helmsman stood up and walked over to their small terminal. He had a few calls to make as well....

---

"Progress"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal

Location: "Diun'jar Restaurant" - Jon'Trit, Bajor
Stardate 57907.30, 21h35

***

He was watching her again, as he had been doing since the start of dinner. It was a wonder he managed to get any food at all into his mouth. Though she, too, was guilty of the same, no matter how consciously she tried to avoid doing so. There was just something about his eyes that night that made it impossible not to glance up every second bite.

He was dressed as usual in dark colors, a deep purple jacket that was almost black with a high collar cinched by a silver clasp of Bajoran design. The fabric was soft, woven with a pattern of cross hatching that held strands of metallic thread that gleamed as the light shifted. His white shirt showed at the collar as a thin line, but extended past the cuffs of the jacket. The raven darkness of his hair was loose, falling in glossy wings over his shoulders, the white streak extending down his left side. The purple of the jacket complimented the violet in his eyes and made them glow as he gazed at her.

She didn't quite know what the look meant, but the inspective gaze combined with the almost amused smile he wore indicated her presence was welcomed. He had said as much the moment she appeared in the outfit he'd helped her select. The white, muslin shirt was flowing and elegant, despite its simplicity of design. It had a collar that fit high around her neck and was trimmed in a silken, yellow band of ribbon, while secured closed at the back by an opalescent, round button. The shirt concealed much, but its tight bodice hugged her bosom and seemed to flatter just as well as a low-necked outfit might. Another band of yellow trim circled her elevated waistline, and from it the delicate material flared out to drape over her torso and the curve of her hips, where the hem swirled around the straight-legged black pants she wore. Much was concealed by the outfit; only the smooth contours of her slender shoulders were visible, teasing T'Kal with but a glimpse of her bare flesh where a cutaway was fashioned into the shirt's butterfly sleeves. They, too, only provided a flash of pale, flawless skin as they slid back whenever her arms were raised to take a sip of wine, or consume another forkful of their meal.

The dinner itself was comprised of a thick ratamba stew with a side of maaza stalk salad in a spicy vinaigrette. The meal was sumptuous, and served in rustic dinnerware that reflected the open-air restaurant's bucolic design, it put Lyrr at ease. A single candle at the center of their small, round table splashed a soft, orange light onto everything, and gave T'Kal's eyes a fiery glow that had made her blush more than once.

Dinner had passed in silence, and it seemed dessert was to be the same. Lyrr spooned a morsel of larish pie into her mouth, and again caught him staring at her. She covered her smile with a hand and demurely glanced down into her sparkling summer wine. After dabbing her mouth with the corner of her napkin, Lyrr chuckled and narrowed her eyes accusatorily at her dinner date. "You haven't said much all evening. Does that mean something's wrong, or everything's right?"

"I think it's just about perfect," he smiled as he reached for his wine. "Great food, good wine, candlelight and a beautiful woman to share it with. What more could I ask for?" He regarded her across the table. Her dark eyes were soft and deep in the flickering candlelight. Tiny sparks of amber showed in their depths and he was drawn to them. He'd studied her face in the light all through dinner and he had the urge to draw her, to paint again as he'd done so many years ago. He was memorizing her; the way she smiled, turned her face, looked away and then back. He traced the curve of her neck with his eyes and the slender shoulders, long fingers that moved with an unconscious grace. He hadn't thought he could feel this way again. Just looking at her made him nervous and self-conscious. She was strong and vulnerable at the same time, a combination that drew the protective instinct in him and a respect for her spirit.

Lyrr sighed and turned her head aside to observe the small band of instrumentalists providing ambient music to the tranquil setting. She propped her chin on one fisted hand and allowed herself to listen in silence for a moment, before glancing sidelong at T'Kal. "What's strange," she began with a slightly playful smile, "is that earlier, you said you wanted to learn more about me...yet you haven't asked me one question aside from 'How's the stew?' I think I'm failing to see your logic here, Ben."

"I figured you'd tell me in your own time," he grinned. "I want to know everything about you, what you like, what you hate, what you think...." He leaned forward on his elbows, gazing into her eyes. "Sometimes it's better to just listen. We have all the time in the world, why rush? I've just spent a little time enjoying your company and we didn't even need to talk to do that." He took a sip of wine. "I feel comfortable enough to share silence with you. I like that. So...tell me all about you." He smiled, pushing his empty plate to one side and gave her his total attention.

She'd finally come to the point where she wanted to share without him pushing for it. It was an old tactic used by security officers everywhere. Now she had to talk - she'd built herself up for it. He wanted her to tell him everything, but he knew that if she felt he was pushing she would clam up tightly - the walls would come back. This way, she would give him far more than he could ever get by asking blind questions. He held her gaze with a violet stare, taking the whole of her in - almost breathing her in.

"Well." She cleared her throat and shifted in her chair to find a comfortable position, and hoping she'd shake off T'Kal's steadfast gaze in the process. Her hands fidgeted with the utensil she held, fingers picking at the tines idly as she searched her mind for a place to start. There was so much to tell, and even more to conceal, but how much did she tell him? Lyrr sighed and shrugged. "My life isn't that interesting, really. I was in the resistance, as many Bajorans were, decided I wanted to join Starfleet when all the fighting had ended, and now I'm here, deciding if I'm really cut out for an Executive officer position on a starship." She smiled tightly at T'Kal. "Good start?"

He nodded. "It's a start...." He smiled, wanting her to continue without too much prompting. "What made you enter Starfleet?" He decided to skip her past. Starting from there seemed easier.

Lyrr sighed and folded both arms atop the table as she relaxed into the discussion. "I don't really know," she answered. "See, I was a technician to begin with...then my department head mentioned one day that I was far too stubborn and strong-minded to be taking orders - I should be giving them. So...I decided if I wanted to pursue a command position, I had to join Starfleet officially." She shrugged lightly. "Wasn't really a decision...it was more instinct. How about you?"

Benedict considered his answer for a moment, sitting back and sipping his wine before he spoke. "My wife was killed in a raid on a Cardassian depot, I didn't see any reason to keep fighting. I came back to Bajor not really knowing what I wanted to do. After a while I just needed to do something that was constructive. A friend of mine - a Vedek told me that I should consider Starfleet instead of the Militia. So I did. I guess I joined up without a clear understanding of where I wanted to be - it seems like I ran away to join up sometimes. I had a little help from the Bajoran government in getting in. It was considered a favor to the Bajoran government - as I was half Human." He shrugged. "When I got to the Academy I found out that I was meant to be there. Natural," he smiled at Tayla as he nodded. "Instinct like you I guess."

"Must be in the Bajoran blood." She chuckled softly and lowered her eyes to the half-eaten dessert in her plate. "You see," she continued, studying the pie, "I also knew it was the only thing I could ever be. I wouldn't make a good wife, a good mother... So, Starfleet seemed the best place for me. On Bajor, I would have been expected to be something other than what I am - Mother Yalen would have demanded it. Starfleet was my salvation from that. Not a very good reason to join, I know, but it was a valid one in my mind."

"I guess we're both refugees," he smiled. "We're better for it, joining up. I know I am. Who's Mother Yalen?" he asked softly. He reached over the table and took her hand in his, just holding it gently on the surface of the table. The contact was almost electric. Her skin was slightly cold, his was warm.

Lyrr tensed, whether from T'Kal's touch or his probing question, but placed herself at ease with a deep breath. "She's my foster mother," she replied. "It's not such a surprising thing, as you know. The Occupation robbed many children of their blood kin - it was no different for me."

He nodded, fully understanding. "Me too," he said softly. He idly stroked the back of her hand as he looked up at her. "I was fostered too - in a way. I was only sixteen when I graduated university on Terra Australis. My mother and father had returned to Bajor to help with the resistance. They forbade me to return." He smiled sadly, remembering. "My father used to be a trader. I used a contact he had to get smuggled to Bajor. I arrived shortly after both of them had been captured. I never got to see them. I was taken in by a foster family - they are the only family I have now." He spoke quietly, remembering the times vividly in his mind. He looked up at her and his violet eyes were moist with unshed tears, not quite enough to make them fall upon his cheeks and he smiled to cover his raw emotion.

"Are you going to visit her?" he asked.

Lyrr nodded. "She and my Father Derna. I always visit when I'm in the area." She smiled wanly. "If I didn't, she'd follow me to the ends of the universe and back just to scold me about it." Sighing, she admitted, "I hate visiting."

Benedict laughed softly, squeezing her hand. "She loves you," he said and shook his head. "Mine are almost strangers," he admitted. "They didn't understand me, they were mostly afraid of me... I was so focused, so driven to do what I did. They supported me, but they didn't love me. How could they? I didn't let anyone get that close until later... By then it was too late. I see them out of obligation - they knew my father and mother." He shrugged casually. "I don't know if I'll see them this time." He felt oddly comfortable talking about his feelings with Lyrr. "I think your foster parents would be proud of you," he smiled. "You have a destiny. I can see it in your eyes, Tayla." He gazed into the depths of her chocolate eyes. "You are far more than you think you are. There's no question about where you belong. You'll have a ship of your own someday. You will." He was completely sure of that, and his conviction was plainly in his expression.

She laughed softly, despite attempts to mask her flattery. Her hand still trembled nervously in his, but she was surprised to feel her thumb brush lightly against his. "And what's in your future, Benedict T'Kal? You mentioned a wife and children...maybe a comfortable home on Bajor?" she ventured.

He grinned. "That's my parents' wish for me, I think. I'll do that one day...maybe...." He sounded unsure. "At the moment I love Starfleet - I really can't see that changing." He looked up into her eyes. "I want to see the universe. I want to experience the unknown. I need to see where Starfleet takes me - and if that's a lifetime career I'll be happy with that, I think. My duty to Starfleet hasn't finished. But it's not Giri - obligation - it's deeper than that. I feel a part of something bigger than myself - valued for my contributions." He laughed at how he sounded. "I sound like a recruiting commercial."

She smiled and shook her head quickly. "No, you don't," she assured him. "I mean maybe a little..." Lyrr laughed softly to convince him she was teasing, then leaned forward an intimate distance that allowed him to see the sincerity in her eyes. "You're dedicated to something, and that's honourable. Besides...I think we all search for a path in this life, a calling that will lead us to where we're meant to be. Who are we to ignore that? You aren't...and you're going along for the ride to see where the future will lead. It's brave of you." She shrugged. "Many people would be too cowardly to just give themselves over to it; you aren't. Nothing to be ashamed of there."

She was so close all he had to do was lean forward just a little.... He wanted to. He really wanted to. He closed his eyes momentarily and then sighed. He wanted to kiss her. It was in his eyes and he couldn't hide it, but he didn't make a move. He'd enclosed her hand in both of his without thinking about it. He could feel her pulse at her wrist. "You're doing it again," he accused softly, gazing into her eyes. "You're supposed to be telling me all about you...and I'm spilling my guts here." He smiled, glancing at her lips and wondering how they would feel against his.

"I've spent years perfecting the art of evasion," she explained. Her eyes fluttered towards his, noting they weren't staring back, but were lowered, in line directly with her mouth. She tugged at her trembling bottom lip with her teeth; it wasn't a cool night, yet she felt herself shivering. "Besides," she continued with a noticeable quiver in her voice, "I prefer hearing about you. It's much more interesting than my life."

"Not to me." He flicked his eyes back to hers. He spoke almost in a whisper, close enough to feel her breath on his face. His heart almost skipped a beat when she softly bit her bottom lip. The music was non-intrusive but its beat was romantic. It seemed that they were alone in a crowded room. All he could see were her eyes - dark pools with motes of gold that he could fall into. His hand came up on its own accord and he was surprised at how it trembled as he touched her cheek. "I want to know you...all about you," he whispered.

Lyrr's breath left her suddenly, and closing her eyes was the only thing she could do to keep herself from habitually recoiling. His hand was warm and felt like silk against her cheek, but her mind rebelled. All the night terrors of the violations inflicted upon her quickly consumed her thoughts, warring with the desire and yearning she held for T'Kal. She wasn't ready, as much as she wished she were; she didn't know if she would ever be. And Oresh was to blame.

Lyrr's eyes opened slowly to find T'Kal's, and for an instant they were no longer his, but Oresh's dark, fathomless ones. She emitted a choked gasp and jerked her head away, then tugged her hand free of his. There was an instant where her other hand closed around the fork sitting by her plate, prepared to jam it into his throat, but T'Kal's eyes returned, their warmth fled and only concerned puzzlement remaining. Lyrr relaxed as much as she was able and sighed. "I'm sorry," she mouthed wordlessly, then waved apologetically to clarify. Instead of laying her hand down again, she lowered her head and shielded her eyes with it. "It's just... you said you'd go slow," she muttered. "I...you caught me off-guard."

Benedict sat back. Confusion reigned - he'd touched her cheek and she'd recoiled like his hand was a viper. He didn't miss the way her hand had found the closest weapon either. It shook him. Totally. She was embarrassed by her reaction and he looked away so that he didn't see it. "No," he said softly. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...." He'd ruined it. Her reaction wasn't to him - he knew that. He'd seen her eyes change to something he never wanted to see again. She'd looked at him as if he was repulsive. But she'd been feeling what he had - he was sure of it, he never would have touched her otherwise. He sat back, calming his racing heart and composing his features before he looked back at her. "Perhaps we'd better go," he said. "I'm sorry, Tayla, I didn't mean to cause you any hurt."

"You didn't," she told him firmly, finding the resolve to look directly at him again. "You did nothing wrong, Ben." Lyrr smiled regretfully. "It was nice," she whispered, "for a moment, at least. I just-- I think we need to get some things clear before this goes any further. No surprises." She laughed weakly."No more surprises."

He sat forward again, but not close enough to make her uncomfortable. "Tayla...I...." He sighed. "I don't want to hurt you, and I did. Whatever it is, I don't want you to look at me that way again." He looked into her eyes. "So...whatever you say...it's okay."

Lyrr held his gaze resolutely, and overcame her momentary fright by closing her hand over T'Kal's and holding it tightly. "You know it wasn't you," she told him. "You know I've lied about my past... You know what happened to me. I may have been hurt, Ben, but it definitely wasn't by you. Maybe you did startle me a bit...but no damage done. Please believe that."

He nodded looking at her hand clasping his. She was trying to make him feel better about what had happened. He could still see the look in her eyes. The look of horror. It was the same look as the one she'd given the mirror the night of the assassin. If the pain was so strong so many years afterward, she may not ever get over it. Almost as if she'd been programmed. The old hatred burned in his gut but his eyes were neutral. He looked back at her. No damage done. He didn't know what to say.

He let silence speak for him. He just held her gaze, waiting for her to continue, but he placed a hand over hers. She was still trembling.

"This is awkward," she said quietly, "isn't it?" Sighing, she looked away and caught sight of the musicians, still playing their tranquil melody. Lyrr smiled back at him. "Didn't you say something about a dance? We...we could try that. I mean, it'd be a waste for them to play without anyone to play for."

He glanced at the musicians and then back to her. She was right about it being awkward. If she was willing to dance with him then he couldn't say no. He nodded and stood. Still holding her by the hand, he led her toward the small dance floor. There were a few other couples dancing and the restaurant was dimly lit, candles and the night sky the only illumination. He walked her to the edge of the area, where the light was dimmest and turned back to her. Without pausing he drew her into his arms, one hand still holding hers, his other reaching around her waist so that his palm rested gently on her back. He pulled her to him, holding her gingerly as if she would break. He closed his eyes and felt the music; his heart still hammered its own beat and he was sure that she would be able to feel it.

The urge to shrink away from T'Kal reappeared, but Lyrr consciously resisted it this time. Having to concentrate on where she put her feet helped take her mind off the fear, and continuously reminding herself that it was T'Kal holding her and not Oresh was a greater help.

She willed herself not to close her eyes - he would reappear in the darkness if she did - and instead focused on T'Kal's lips, which were taut still and seemed to reflect his inner feelings. Did he resent himself or her? Lyrr sighed and lowered her head in disappointment. Her forehead brushed his warm lips as she made the motion, but there was no flinching away from the touch this time.

As her forehead came to rest on his chin, he tilted his own head slightly, her hair pressed against his face so that he could smell her perfume. He held her gently, fearing her reaction, not wanting to do anything to scare her again.

Dancing so close, she gathered her courage and resolved herself to overcome the past's relentless torment. Her fingers, resting lightly on his broad shoulder, flexed to gather the material of his jacket between them. She'd let Sean slip away without a fight, and she was determined not to let it happen to a second man, no matter how uncertain she was of their future together. "This is scary," she whispered. "I hadn't realized how much of a coward I was before."

Her voice was soft as a whisper, but he was so tuned in to her that he heard every word above the music. The fact that she had admitted fear of any kind rocked him. She was afraid of being with someone - afraid of loving them, afraid of letting them get close. He'd felt like that once. Tayla's fear was rooted in something that happened to her - her admission of lying to him about her past had also surprised him, but she had admitted it openly. He wanted to hold her, protect her from everything that might make her afraid - but how could he protect her against himself? He couldn't. He just wanted to hold her, and as the music flowed they began to dance.

He closed his eyes and let the music take him, feeling her relax in his arms, feeling her body against his. He cradled her in his arms like something precious - she was. He felt fear for her. He was falling in love with her and every woman he'd ever loved had died.

As with T'Kal, the inner conflict within Lyrr was mounting and growing in intensity the longer she allowed herself to be held. Not even her foster parents had been allowed to do that for more than a moment at a time; now, Ben was and for longer than she could recall being embraced by another. Her mouth parched and her heart battered her chest with the ferocity of her struggle to maintain calm; she clutched Ben's jacket more tightly and trembled with the effort.

Lyrr was more angry, however, than anxious or afraid now. Oresh had done this to her, had robbed her of the ability to connect emotionally and physically with others, even a man who could potentially be something more than a friend. But with that anger still came a sense of fear, one that would someday be overcome. But not quite today.

When the song ended, Lyrr took a deep breath and slowly pulled away from T'Kal. Her chest stopped constricting and her body ceased trembling. No matter how much at ease she'd been in his arms, it still felt unfortunately good to be free again. She smiled up at him, then awkwardly looked away. Sighing, she again regarded him. "See? All we needed was a short dance."

He smiled at her but he could tell that she was totally uncomfortable. "Let's go," he said. "Let's take a walk. It's a nice night." He motioned to the waiter and passed over his credit chit.

As they walked out the door onto the Plaza the breeze turned chilly. The darkness of the street was dotted with colourful glowing crystal lanterns. The paving slightly uneven, gave a rustic feeling to the place. The Plaza was on the shore of a lake. Shops and businesses lined the shore on a raised walk that cut a curved path along the shoreline. Benedict started a slow walk toward the water and the walkway. There were a few couples doing the same.

He removed his jacket and placed it over Lyrr's shoulders. The breeze ruffled his loose white shirt and whipped his raven hair across his face as he brought the jacket clasp together at her throat. The chilled air helped to clear his head. He took her hand again - she didn't seem to mind that, so he felt comfortable holding it. He smiled down at her. "Thank you for trying," he said softly. "We'll leave the dancing for a while."

Lyrr produced a relieved chuckle and nodded her gratitude. "It was that obvious, was it? Though, it wasn't completely horrible." She glanced up at him and added, "Thank you for trying."

He raised one brow and chuckled. "Not completely horrible...." He shook his head. "Well, I've never had quite that response to my dancing skills before." His eyes showed amusement as he turned to walk along the path. Water lapped against the smooth barrier, the breeze being stronger as they walked.

"You've kept this hidden for a long time haven't you?" he asked carefully, not looking at her, rather out at the small rippling waves. He felt her hand tighten in reflex, but he held on to her, twining his fingers in hers and gripping back - making a solid bond.

"I haven't admitted it to anyone," she said, keeping her face turned slightly away and towards the water. "I don't want to admit it to anyone, and I really don't want to talk about it." Lyrr sighed and hazarded a glance in his direction. "You can understand that, can't you?"

He nodded, still not looking at her. "Yes, I can," he admitted. "I also know that protecting it won't do you any good at all." He turned to look at her and stopped. His gaze held hers. "I care about you," he said softly. His look turned serious, no amusement, no hiding his feelings. He took a deep breath as if to steady himself and let it out slowly. "I'm falling in love with you. I've wasted so much of my life holding on to old feelings as if they were treasures no one else could look at. Love and pain. I don't want to waste more time and I'm not going to go away. I'll not leave you, Tayla. However long it takes."

She wasn't certain how long she stood, simply staring at him in puzzled silence. His admission frightened her, but the realization that they were genuine feelings was far more disturbing. How could she possibly push him away if he refused to leave, no matter what the circumstances? How could she possibly maintain that buffer of emotional and physical detachment if he was determined to penetrate that barrier? Lyrr Tayla had suddenly become vulnerable, and she was paralyzed with fear.

She inhaled a shaky breath and exhaled a nervous chuckle. "So...this is slow for you?" Sighing, she continued. "I'm honoured that you'd take a chance and tell me that...but you know my past, you know how hard this is for me." Her eyes searched his, pleaded with him to retract his statement, but she saw only firm resolve there. "By the Prophets," she whispered. "Ben...you can't expect me to answer that now. A-And you can't expect yourself to believe it. I mean...is this what you really want?"

"Does it matter what I really want? The heart does as it does with no regard to what's proper. I believe what I feel is real because I've known love before. I tell you how I feel, because I'm being honest with you. No, I don't expect an answer - it wasn't a question. All you need to know right now is that I care for you - and I'm here for you. That's all. I don't expect anything more. How can I?" He smiled as he looked into her dark eyes. "I know how hard it is. I know that it will only get harder. But I also know that you have the strength and will to overcome anything - all you need is the right reason to do it." His gaze was a deep violet, almost luminescent in the dark. "I want to be your reason, Tayla."

She smiled weakly and looked out upon the lake, seeking inspiration or a safe haven from his profound offer. He wanted to save a woman who had lived her life based on the struggles of her past. Who would she be when she no longer had to rely on them to drive her? Lyrr could only chuckle at the dilemma. "You're a very frustrating man, you know that?" she told him fondly. "But...I don't want to undermine what you've just said by evading the issue or giving in to fear and rejecting it without a second thought." With his hand still in hers she squeezed it gently. "Give me time to take it all in. This is all so new; there'll be time to explore it if we both choose, but I really want to think about it instead of making rash decisions." She smiled warmly at T'Kal. "Trust me?"

"Always," he smiled back, meaning it. "I'm a patient man. You have all the time you need." He gave her hand a returning squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere...you can count on that."

Lyrr chuckled. "Good." Motioning to the stretch of walkway still ahead of them, she said, "Do we go forward, or is this where the journey ends for this evening?"

"It's getting cold," he replied. "I have to get back aboard Sulu, and you have to visit Mother Yalen. I'll call for the shuttle - we still have some time." His raven hair was blowing across his face, windswept. "Our journey has just begun, Lyrr Tayla." He grinned and tapped his belt where his communicator was clipped.

As he exchanged brief words with the pilot, Lyrr watched his lips move and for a moment wondered how it would feel to have them working against her own. She blushed at the thought and looked away towards the water. When the call was complete, Lyrr again regarded him with expectancy. "Our evening's come to an end, then." She smiled. "Thank you for the outfit and dinner... And I really did enjoy our talk, Ben. Really."

He grinned. "It wasn't completely horrible," he admitted. "Really." He lifted her hand where it was still clasped in his and kissed the back of it as he watched her eyes. "Don't forget we have a dinner date tomorrow." He didn't want to let her hand go; it was almost as if it was the only solid proof of their relationship. Her hand was chilled and he rubbed it to get the circulation going.

"How could I forget? Jeremy would be disappointed if I didn't attend." She glanced down at her hand, noting how the action, while producing heat, somehow made her body shiver with greater intensity. She knew full well Ben was a passionate and physical man, while she was the near opposite out of necessity. Trying to integrate the two extremes would be a challenge, unless T'Kal had plans to completely convert her. That would pose problems for Tayla; she had lived with the misery and solitude so long, she wasn't certain she could function any other way.

As she gazed into his eyes, radiant even in the darkness, Tayla wondered if he would be the man she could change for. It seemed far off, but it was at least a possibility. Smiling thoughtfully to herself as she regarded him, and realizing how truly he desired her and was determined to stand by her, Lyrr Tayla felt completely in control for the first time in her life.

---

"Privatorum Incepta"
By Ensign Sanat Vijay - Flight Controller

Location: USS Sulu, Quarters 22C
Stardate: 57907.30 21h45

***

"It is agreeable to see you again...cousin."

The face on his, no, their small quarters' monitor was filled with the visage of a truly emotionless, petite female Vulcan. Sanat smirked to himself; T'Posk it seemed, was her usual logical and stoic self.

Vijay resisted the urge to smile back at her and start another protracted argument on how he should be holding to their Vulcan family's strict adherence to logic. In his humble opinion, logic was vastly overrated, especially given how quickly the Human race passed the Vulcans in space dominance. And all by totally irrational and illogical beings....

He pushed the thoughts aside to answer flatly, "Yes and you, T'Posk. I see that you've been promoted once again. Congratulations." Her face remained as though it had been etched in stone; except for her lips moving, Sanat could've sworn she was a statue and not a living entity.

"My selection for Assistant Attaché was logical. And you need not congratulate me. The words mean nothing to me. You should know that by now, Sanat."

The half Vulcan fought the urge to call her a liar, a grand one at that. If rank, position or title didn't mean anything, why have them at all? Surely a society of emotionless robots would have little need for something denoting who was in charge of whom.

Sanat nodded instead and replied, "Yes of course. How are your parents?"

"Well as always." She cocked her head slightly. "My father is on Adonis Seven studying the ancient culture left behind by The Preservers. Mother's just returned from a symposium concerning the Breen Neutral Zone."

"Excellent. And Syrok?" His eyebrow barely moved as T'Posk effectively bragged about her parents' accomplishments. Logic indeed.

She smiled just enough to break her stern appearance. "He's just transferred over to the USS Vengeance. His transfer was accompanied by a promotion to Commander. He will make an excellent executive officer for Captain Manes."

Without a doubt, that was dig, his mind decided silently. Ensign Vijay just answered, "Yes. I'm positive he will do fine...just fine." Sanat's tone was tinged with a hint of bitterness that his older male cousin had done so well while he fared poorly. But then the cost of his last promotion denied had been worth it, regardless of what his detractors thought.

T'Posk seemed to be content with his response. She was still smiling a smug little smile. "I am puzzled. You didn't call all the way from DS9 to enquire about my family...did you, cousin?"

Not dwelling on events from the recent past any further, Vijay stated, "I was wondering about a subject that you would have considerable knowledge of."

"And that would be?"

His mind turned over the possible permutations necessary to ask the question without really asking it. "It concerns certain negotiations undertaken...and recently concluded."

She now raised an eyebrow and let the smile disappear. "I see. And these talks might involve our staff?"

"Possibly." Sanat's lower lip curled a little bit. T'Posk had answered as though she understood the delicacy of what he was attempting. "Were they long, intensive negotiations?"

"It depends on your definition of intensive." T'Posk slowly brought her right hand up to her cheek and placed it there as though pondering what had been asked of her. Then, quietly without an overt sign or gesture to indicate otherwise, she gradually moved her delicate forefinger in strange movements that only took on a significance for anyone well versed with the Vulcan alphabet.

Sanat looked at her digit movements for several seconds before realizing that she was drawing the letter S on her cheekbone in Vulcan. "That is true. And while definition is important, so is resolution." He mused, So she does know about what I'm referring to... Serek's disappearance is more serious than I originally thought.

She dipped her head slightly and ceased movement with the forefinger. "Logical. The resolution was somewhat incomplete, but then are not things always thus? It takes character when dealing with illogical beings...does it not?"

He started to reply, "You're asking me?" But refrained himself, because to do so might alert someone that they were discussing something of significance. "I suppose it takes a special courage in those instances."

"It does, cousin." The Vulcan woman dropped her arm back out of sight.

"More than is required I expect?"

T'Posk concurred, "Yes, much more."

Sanat let his eyebrow arch this time. Something unusual had occurred then...but what and by whom? And how did the Ryuck and Serek fit into this enigma? He opted to ask, "Did they achieve what they set out to do?"

"Yes and no. Success is an issue of perception by both parties, not reality."

Vijay shook his head in agreement. "I understand. Does that mean we can expect more of those involved?"

"It remains in the purview of people most currently involved. We know that if all the options are properly outlined, then success is assured. If not...it becomes a matter for the universe at large to define."

Sanat allowed himself a small grin, just enough to torque T'Posk's jaw. "Yes, cousin it does. Thank you, T'Posk, for taking the time to consider my question. It was an enlightening chat."

She bowed her head slightly. "As was it for me, cousin. Live long and prosper, Sanat." As a true Vulcan T'Posk tried to hide her displeasure at Vijay's wanton expression of emotion, but could not completely displace the tightening of her jaw. Et tu Brutus? the Vulcan attaché wondered to herself.

Vijay intoned, "Live long and prosper, T'Posk." He returned the bow and cut the transmission signal. At least he managed to throw a small stone at logic tonight without starting a long-winded discussion on the virtues of it and its place in Vulcan society.

Chalk one up for his side.

However, that was the third call tonight and yielded similarly vague results. Something had them all concerned. Sanat had waited to call T'Posk directly as a last option. She was an arrogant person at the best of times and an outright snob at the worst...still she did take the time to give him a few nebulous clues about Serek and his talks with the Ryuck.

They were all worried about Serek's disappearance in their typical emotionless way. That much was certain. Did the talks end with less success than Starfleet knew of? If so, why the sudden withdrawal of Serek? Surely his work wasn't done then?

Sanat shook his head at the barrage of questions that kept popping into his tired mind. He could only hope that Ensign Ethan Storm hadn't been duped by a doppelganger in the guise of Serek...if he had been, his very life was now at stake....

---

"Reluctant Homecoming"
By: Lyrr Tayla
Ferl Yalen [NPC+]
Ferl Derna [NPC+]

Location: Tanova Street, Kendra Province, Bajor
Stardate 57908.31, 11h00 (57908.30, 23h00 Standard)

***

After only a minute of stepping into her town, Lyrr decided the holographic version she'd created of the same locale required major revisions. She hadn't seen such a thing in all her years living in her village, but there it was, more abundant than she'd ever known anything to grow in her region: lush beds of grass flanking the gravelly dirt roadway in two thick bands, and running as far into the distance as she could see. Lyrr chuckled in disbelief. "Father Derna must've bowed down to the Prophets when that happened." She imagined he probably had a hand in it, too. A farmer till the very end....

Sighing, she adjusted the strap of the carry-all hanging from her shoulder and crossed towards her parents' humble dwelling. For a time, she experienced anxiety at the thought of what other changes had occurred in her absence, especially to the memorial she'd erected for her true parents in the back garden. Had Father Derna gotten carried away with the soil's new fertility and cleared the entire space for fruit trees and vegetables? Lyrr's pace unconsciously hastened and her heart pounded frantically. Did those stones symbolizing her last, physical connection to the two saviours who had given her life serve as buttresses for Derna's fence posts now? Her anger flared.

She leapt onto the cracked stone landing and shouldered her way through the split-wood door that gave a yielding groan as it swung wide. Her adoptive mother's startled ranting and her male counterpart's rich laughter followed her as she thundered through the small kitchen towards the back door. She was too driven by fear and anger to hear them, or to notice the welcoming aroma of fresh bread hanging in the air. All the while, her mind reeled with pleas to the Prophets, appealing to them for one moment of mercy. I won't lose them again, she exclaimed to them. Not again!

Throwing down her bag at the doorstep, Lyrr burst through the back door. The bright flash of sunlight encountered blinded her and Lyrr stumbled onto the cobbled path. It was still there, at least, and once her vision returned and she reached the end of the trail, she realized the grave consisting of two inscribed, oval rocks and a scattering of dried flowers did as well. With a heaving sigh of relief, Lyrr dropped to her knees before them and smiled ruefully. "Hi," she whispered.

"And hello to you, too," the scolding voice of Mother Yalen retorted. Lyrr rolled her eyes, a juvenile gesture, but one not misplaced when dealing with her foster mother.

"I'm sorry, Mother Yalen," she muttered. "I just thought--"

"You thought we'd touch any of that?" The older woman exhaled a snort. "We may not be a typically old-fashioned couple, your father and I, but even we know some things are meant not to change." Yalen's sun-weathered face dimpled as she smiled, giving her a youthful glow that belied her fifty years. Lyrr had always considered her a beautiful woman and she still was, no matter how much time passed; she suspected it was the vigor with which she did everything in life, and her still burning fire that kept her young.

With a reluctant smile, Lyrr looked back at the woman who had been her mother for almost fifteen years, then rose and moved forward to embrace her - a far more appropriate greeting, one she deserved. Yalen sighed contentedly. "Welcome home, Tayla."

"Thanks," she answered softly. The gesture was short-lived, a brevity in displays of affection Yalen was accustomed to from her. It was one regret she would always have: that she could never truly get close to Lyrr.

Yalen smiled fondly at her as she looked Lyrr over. Noting a marked reduction in weight, she pinched at Lyrr's stomach and frowned when she failed to gather enough flesh. "Are you eating?" she asked, one eyebrow cocked. "I don't think you're eating."

"I'm eating," Lyrr began to protest, but Yalen wouldn't hear it.

"It's a good thing you told me when you were coming," the woman continued as she began leading Lyrr into the cottage. "I've got a hearty meal prepared. A flight halfway around Bajor you said? You must be hungry!"

"She's been cooking all day," Derna added from the doorway, and when Lyrr was close enough, he pulled her into a crushing, yet tender hug. Lyrr held onto what little air her lungs hadn't forcibly lost, but was offered relief when Derna let go. She hadn't time to recover fully, however, before he was steering her into the kitchen and pushing her down into a creaking chair. She didn't think she'd ever catch her breath for the duration of her stay on Bajor.

In the background, Yalen fluttered about, stirring sauces and chattering away as vegetables were cut, while Derna and Lyrr regarded one another - he in amused contemplation, and she in awkward silence. Derna, a burly, strong man was the first person Lyrr could ever remember being intimidated by, and the gentlest soul she had ever encountered. She always wanted desperately to love him, but she couldn't bring herself to commit such a betrayal to her true father. Derna, however, had refused to love her any less.

While Yalen continued occupying herself with cooking and idle conversation no one aside from the bubbling sauce was sharing in, Derna smiled at Lyrr and affectionately patted her hand. "You look well, Tayla. How is this new ship of yours, hm?"

"It's fine - I'm fine," she answered. "We're docking at DS9 for a week, then we're off again. It should be interesting, to say the least."

"Well, at least you're keeping busy," he commented. "Though...can you not leave your work behind for just a moment and change out of that uniform?" He chuckled and shot her a good-humoured wink.

Lyrr smiled wanly, and nodded. "After I get settled. I should only stay a day or two, though."

"You're staying a week on DS9," Yalen suddenly interjected, "but you refuse to visit with us more than a day?" Her pursed lips and squinting eyes conveyed her displeasure.

"I think," Derna told Lyrr with a slight chuckle, "you'd better reconsider."

"Alright," she sighed. "I'll stay as long as I can. But there are things to do--"

"I knew it," Yalen snapped. "You're working yourself too hard. I could tell the moment I laid eyes on you! You're tired, Tayla, and you're going to get yourself sick."

Lyrr cleared her throat to refrain from arguing with the stubborn woman, then answered with great control, "I am not sick. I'm quite well. Stop worrying."

"Oh, I will worry. I can't very well expect you to tell me if something is wrong. You always were a secretive one..." And she continued yammering on about the same subject, now to the frying peppers in her skillet, the only attentive ears she would find in the whole kitchen.

Lyrr smiled wearily at Derna and rose from her seat. "I'm going to go freshen up, then take a walk before lunch."

"It's good to have you home, Tayla," he told her. Derna's large, calloused hand dwarfed her own as he clasped it and squeezed it gently. "We'll talk later."

Lyrr glanced down at their joined hands, and felt a pang of remorse when her own refused to squeeze back. Derna and Yalen had given her everything, including love, but she had always been unable to give them even the smallest sign of affection in return, no matter how much she truly did care for them. Maybe someday.... "I'll see you soon," she said quietly, then let her hand slip away as she departed, with her bag again on her shoulder.

Derna sighed and looked back at Yalen, who was now quiet and watching Lyrr's sullen motions. "Something's wrong, Derna." She shook her head morosely. "I always know when something's wrong with her."

"You leave her be," he told his wife gently. "She's the same as she's always been. I've stopped trying to reach her long ago, and instead just concentrate on loving her as she is." Derna smiled warmly. "You just have to learn to do the same."

Resignation and disappointment clear in the set of her hunched shoulders and her sad smile, Yalen resumed her dinner preparations with less enthusiasm than previously. She wondered where they had gone wrong, but knew the fault did not lie with them. Lyrr Tayla had been damaged long before she had been given to their keeping, and her experiences during the Occupation only compounded her troubles. Derna and Yalen had never been made privy to any of Lyrr's thoughts, feelings, or anything that might give them insight into who their daughter was and might never, but for now - as had always been the case - they were content to love a stranger.

---