"Private Performance"
By: Ensign Kit Markham
Ensign Amy Reese

Location: Amy and Kit's Quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.05, 00h25

***

Kit sat on the bed, one leg thrown over the side, the other beneath him. Resting on his outstretched leg was his guitar. With eyes closed, his fingers carried on a dance across the strings. It was a lively little tune, one he was making up as he went along. Earlier he'd been making up silly lyrics, but that had ended with a pillow that nearly knocked him from his perch. It appeared that Amy had tolerated one bad pun too many. It still made him grin.

"Socks in satin," he sang again, though staying well away from the accursed pun. "Slipping on carpets. Give me shoes, and I'll..." Without stopping his playing, he looked over at Amy. "What rhymes with carpets?"

She growled with renewed irritation, and glanced up from her terminal to reply snarkily, "How about 'that's enough'!"

Kit shook his head. "No, no I don't think so. I need a rhyming dictionary. Oh! Marmosets. Give me shoes and let me run with marmosets. La las or ooh oohs next?"

Amy groaned miserably and swivelled in her chair to regard him with wide, pleading eyes. "Kitty, you know I love you more than anything...but you're driving me nuts! What kind of song rhymes carpets with marmosets anyway?"

"The kind that doesn't rhyme carpets with 'that's enough,' " he said with a big grin. "What's wrong, Amy? Don't you like my silly songs anymore?"

She sighed and smiled wanly as she dragged herself from the chair. "I love your silly songs," she admitted sullenly, then sank down onto the bed. "I'm just upset, that's all. I mean...Crissy betrayed me. How can I trust him again?"

"Is it really betrayal if he's looking out for your best interests?" Kit asked. "I dunno, Amy. We got a pretty lightshow out of it, even though I think Dr. Potts resents me for some reason. Did it seem like he was competing against me or something? And, he kept trying to stand up straighter near me, so he could look down at me or something. I'd swear the chair he gave me was two centimeters shorter than yours and his." He slipped his arms around her and nuzzled his face into her neck. "Best thing to do is talk to Cris. I'm sure he was only worried and concerned, that's all. I mean, it could have been worse. He could have sent what he did to the captain or Vee or Commander Lyrr. He sent it to the guy who's trying to help us get better though."

"And if he thinks something's wrong," Amy replied, "he'll send it to the captain and Lyrr." She sulked and curled up against Kit while she buried her face into his chest. "I'm not unstable and suicidal," she murmured. "How could he think that?"

"Maybe you said something to him that gave him that impression," Kit said. "But, you're not, right? I think that, even though he's a little nutty, Dr. Potts will see that you love living and life far too much to ever really consider stopping. I think a lot of people, when they hit a low point, will usually have the thought to end it all at least cross their mind. 'It'd all be easier if...' but it rarely ever goes beyond that point. I think usually that's just reaching out and trying to get some help, someone to give you a hand up from the despair you're sinking in. I'd be lying if I said I didn't at least think I'd not want to go on without you. But, if I did end it, that snuffs out all chances of us ever getting back together right there. Maybe they were just overreacting, but it's done and the best thing to do is keep going. And, you'll just have to show Cris, and Dr. Potts and the captain and Lyrr that living and life are more important than any passing thought of no-more-life. And, I'm just the guy to help you do it."

Amy giggled and looked up at Kit dreamily. "You're so wise... And I would never end my life, Kitty! I mean...we have to get married someday, don't we?"

The largest smile that Kit could ever remember having on his face grew there then. His eyes couldn't move from hers and he grinned. "Yes," he said. "Yes we do."

She smiled, satisfied, and pushed her head against this chest again. "Good. Which means you can get to writing again, so we have some music to play at the wedding."

Kit started strumming the guitar again. "How about something other than carpet," he said. "Sheets and sweets? Those rhyme. Satin and sheets, they go well together too. And Amy and sweets, as in my sweet and beautiful Amy."

"And corny and hor--" Amy covered her mouth and snickered against her hand.

"Oh," Kit said with a grin. "I like that one. That's a good one."

She giggled. "You do? Not too risqué?"

"Do I have to remind you who you're talking to, my love," Kit said with a playful grin. "When have I ever thought of anything as too risqué?"

She shrugged with a coy smile and pushed his guitar aside, slinging her leg over his waist to take its place. "Well...we can try something new today and see...."

"Oh, I like that too," Kit said with a grin. His hands slid to Amy's waist as he lost himself gazing into her eyes. "I like it very much."

"I bet you do," she quipped, then helped Kit along by pushing his shirt up and leaning forward to kiss his chest. "So...you really think I should have a talk with Crissy and not yell?"

"I think you should," Kit said. "He was probably just worried. I'm sure he had your best interests at heart. I mean, how would you react if he made a comment about possibly ending it all?"

"I'd be worried," she admitted reluctantly. "But...they were just thoughts, Kitty. They meant nothing!"

"I guess you'd think a telepath would be able to pick that up," he said. "You never know with those telepathic types though. I think you should talk to him and get it all cleared up."

Amy sighed, and studied her hands massaging Kit's chest idly. "I guess I should... Maybe I can do it at the party."

"Party? Oh, Farrell's miniskirt party." He let out a long sigh and shook his head.

"What?" Amy pouted attractively and smoothed a hand across Kit's abdomen. "You're not interested?"

"First of all, Farrell is organizing this thing. I'd prefer to have nothing to do with him or anything he's involved in. Second, if it were anything but the skirted uniform variant, I'd be fine. But...it's a miniskirt, Amy. I really don't see how women can wear them, and I certainly don't want to. If it were any other kind of skirt, sure. But...my legs are private display only."

She giggled and lightly swatted Kit's stomach. "But...they're cute legs! And if you don't go, who am I gonna go with? Hm?"

"You'd go without me?" Kit asked. "I was sort of thinking we could have our own party."

"Really?" She smiled slowly and lay down fully atop Kit. "What kind of party?" she whispered, then kissed his lips briefly.

"Well, I hadn't really thought that far ahead. I just knew it would be you and me. What kind of party would you like to have?"

Amy shrugged as her kisses moved towards Kit's throat. "A small...intimate one. Is there any other kind?"

"Just me and you and a pile of skirts to make love in," Kit said with a grin. "Oh, that's a nice spot."

Amy made a purr of acknowledgement and focused on the hollow of Kit's neck, while her hands occupied themselves with pushing into his pants. "But," she murmured, "you don't want to go to a real one?"

"Not wearing that uniform, I don't," Kit said. "I just-- That uniform should be choice only, and shouldn't be forced on anyone. And, if I have to wear it to go to the party, I...I guess I'd rather not go."

"And if you're not going" --she craned her neck to smile up at him-- "then neither am I. Okay?"

"Okay," Kit said with a smile. "We can have our own party. Maybe...maybe we can reserve some holodeck time and have a gathering for those not going to the other party."

Amy giggled. "Another little party?" As she groped around in Kit's pants, and earned a sigh from him, Amy gasped and closed a fist around the flesh within. "The Suluists could play!"

"We could," Kit said with a big grin. "At least those that aren't already going to the other party. You suppose Dwayne will be putting on a skirt for Farrell?"

She shook her head quickly. "Though...you'd want him there after everything?"

"He seems pretty harmless," Kit said. "And, he played with us after. He just seems a little flaky is all. If you're okay with him still being part of the band, that's fine. Just...I really wish he'd lay off that twentieth century sap-fest during practice sessions."

Amy giggled. "He's a depressed individual. Though...I think the party should be just you and I. I mean...we can create a romantic program and just spend all our free time in there. We could even write music!"

"A home," Kit said. "With all the rooms we could ever want, and a studio. I think a studio where we could record music would be wonderful."

She gazed into his eyes, caught in a far-off stare, and smiled curiously. "I was talking about a party, but.... A home?" Amy chuckled and walked her fingers along Kit's chest. "Where our little children can run around?"

"That sounds nice," Kit said with a smile. "We could make our perfect home in the holodeck. Though, we'd probably have to scale back some when we make our real home. It can be our dream home, with everything we want our home to have."

"And where would this home be?" Amy asked, playing along. "On Earth?" Her nose wrinkled. "But the kids would never have to visit my parents. No, never!"

"Oh, we could make it anywhere," Kit said. "Where would you like to be? What about Alpha Centauri? I hear it's beautiful there."

"Never been there," she mused. "Let's go there!" She giggled excitedly and slid down Kit's body to spread kisses over his abdomen. "That means we'll have to give up Starfleet, though," she added with a glance up.

"We can later, after," Kit said. "I'm not ready yet, not to give it up yet. But, we can use the holodeck to plan. And, our next shore leave, we'll take a shuttle to Alpha Centauri."

"That won't be for six months," Amy pouted. As she worked at opening Kit's pants, Amy sighed and asked, "We'll still be together by then...right?"

"Considering how we're doing now," Kit said with a smile, "I think I would have to say most definitely."

Amy grinned. "Me too. And," she added as, with a sultry gaze, she pushed Kit's pants and undergarment over his hips, "you'd never find anyone as good in bed as me."

"I'll never find anyone that makes me feel ten meters tall," Kit said as he gazed down at her. "And, I'll never find anyone as good as you who can make me feel so amazing and wonderful and happy outside of bed."

Amy filled with joy so overwhelming it forced tears from her eyes. "You're gonna be my husband one day," she whispered. "No matter what people tell me to do, no matter who thinks it's a horrible idea. I'm not letting you go." She grinned slyly then. "And I'm going to keep giving you reasons to keep me around." She demonstrated by lowering her lips to his groin.

"Oh my," Kit rasped. "Yeah, that's a good start..."

---

"Ordinary Morning"
by Ensign Cristobel Sefton

Location: USS Sulu, Sefton's Quarters
Stardate: 57908.05, 06h30

***

Cristobel was blessed with a good thirty seconds of ignorant wakefulness before he remembered that Ethan Storm was dead. Having spent the prior evening in tearful grieving, Cris felt an undefined freshness from the previous night's catharsis, and from fully completing his sleep cycle according to his circadian rhythm instead of a harsh wake up alarm. Kicking the heavy duvet from his naked form, Cristobel sat up and padded directly towards the sonic shower. Since he'd moved back into his quarters, this had been the first night Cris had chosen to sleep in his memory-associating bed, rather than on the couch. Despite Corran's return to the Sulu, and promise to occasionally spend the night, Cristobel was now determined to make his quarters feel like a home of his own. He didn't want to give up the large couples' quarters, with the master bedroom, spacious living/dining area and a second bedroom for guests or children, but with Corran in his own quarters, Cris wasn't yet sure how he'd avoid being shuffled out by Operations.

When the dim lights and gentle sonics of the shower activated, one of Cris' decisive changes was apparent. Cris had had the fixtures of the water shower removed, since he almost never used it himself. Sonic showers had always felt infinitely more soothing and cleansing to Cristobel; he never could grasp the recent resurgence of showering in water.

After the shower spent in mental silence, Cristobel walked back into his bedroom, and stared at the replicator. He would have to replicate a dress uniform for Ethan's memorial, and he'd have to make a modification to his Class A uniform for the rest of the day.

It wasn't until Cristobel was clothed in the ivory jacket of the dress uniform that he realised something. He brushed the bangs covering one eye away from his face to study his reflection more intently.

It was missing.

---

"Skirt Day"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Master Chief Petty Officer Kora Tawno; Ship's Purser [NPC]

Location: USS Sulu, Quarters 2A, Operations Office
Stardate: 57908.05 07h45

***

Lyrr Tayla was certain she'd ordered the computer to wake her at 07h00. It was now 07h45, and having awakened herself to find her chronometer displaying those startling numbers, Lyrr cursed and flew out of bed, leaving her bedsheets trailing behind on the ground. "Computer!" she snapped. "Why didn't you--" The rest was lost within her top as she frantically tried to pull it off over her head while veering towards the refresher. With a forceful tug, it finally gave, and Lyrr whipped it aside. "Why didn't you wake me, Computer!" she finished with increasing irritation.

"There was no such command given," the computer responded in its annoyingly dispassionate tone.

Lyrr growled and kicked off her pants. It was the last time she trusted the computer for something as important as rousing her on time. With her sleep attire and undergarments strewn about the refresher and the hallway leading up to it, Lyrr had only time enough to hop into the sonic shower, then out again into the chilled air. Were the environmental controls acting up too? Lyrr was determined to tear apart every system and find the glitch herself.

Shivering so violently her vision blurred, Lyrr hugged her arms around her trembling body and dashed back into her bedroom. Drawers were heaved open, and articles of clothing spilled over the edges as she burrowed through the sea of undergarments. She was very particular about which she wore on what day, and even now, with ten minutes to go before shift, she could do nothing to break herself away from routine.

"Computer," she hollered above the scraping of her nails against the bottom of the drawer, "replicate a standard Class-A uniform, specifications Lyrr-Alpha1." The computer complied, and in the background she vaguely heard the hum of the replicator activating. At least it did something right. With a triumphant sigh, she found the ensemble she simply had to wear for that day and slung the bra over her shoulder while she jumped into the panties. A glance at the chronometer had her muttering venomous invectives at the computer again. There was only five minutes to dress then rush to the bridge. She had never been late for shift a day in her life.

In the living area, she saw the replicated uniform in a neatly folded pile. It was difficult with all the jouncing, but by the time she was there, Lyrr had managed to clasp her bra into place. Both arms shot out to clutch the fresh uniform and in one deft flick of her wrists, the suit came unfurled. As she looked down to realize the pant legs were missing and had been replaced by a skirt, she cried out in frustration. "Computer! I said Standard Class-A uniform!" She balled up the skirted variant and crammed it back into the replicator alcove. "Try again," she sneered.

The uniform dematerialized and Lyrr watched a new one resolve, with one foot tapping rapidly and her hands briskly rubbing her arms to generate warmth. "And while you're at it, raise the damn temperature in here by two degrees." The computer chirped to signal acknowledgement, just as the uniform fully formed. Lyrr sighed and snatched it from the replicator, already turning to slip it on. "Computer!" she hollered as, again, a good third of the uniform simply wasn't there. "This is not a Standard Class-A. Why do you keep replicating a Class-A variant, you idiot?"

"Standard Class-A duty uniform was replicated as per your request," the monotonous drone of the computer answered.

Lyrr laughed incredulously. "No...I'm looking right at it. This is the wrong one. Replicate another."

The computer obliged and another uniform appeared. Lyrr crushed it in her hands when it revealed itself as another variant. "Commander Lyrr to Ops-- Computer cancel that."

Her lips curled into a vicious smile as all the pieces fell into place. Chance computer malfunctions, all in one morning? She snorted wryly. Or an enterprising operations officer who had expressed an interest in seeing her participate in 'Skirt Day.' There would be no time to have the problem looked at in order to get a proper uniform replicated, and with as frigid as it was in the room, she would have no choice but to slip it on before she succumbed to hypothermia.

"You clever bastard," she said under her breath, then she tossed one uniform back into the replicator and unzipped the other. "Computer, inform Captain Salinger that I'll be arriving a little late."

There was going to be hell to pay for this particular prank, and she'd do it in a skirt if she had to.

***

"C'mon, Chief, it doesn't look so bad," Farrell was saying as Lyrr blitzed into the Ops office. She pulled up short, torn between shock and manic, hysterical laughter at a scene so surreal.

"It looks awful," Master Chief Tawno, the ship's purser, muttered, sounding as though she'd muttered it before, and likely would again. The Tellarite woman was ugly on her best day, and being in a skirt made her look even frumpier than usual. Veins could be seen on the backs of her knees, which were knobby and dry. Her thick legs fitted tightly into the high boots, which, though certainly fitted perfectly by the computer, looked a size too small.

Slightly better, if more surreal, was Farrell. He had opted for the class B uniform today, sporting the band of gold across his shoulders. His uniform, too, was skirted, and while his legs were a good deal more shapely than Tawno's, and bare where hers were lightly furred, the sight of him in a skirt was almost enough to pitch Lyrr into laughter in spite of herself. He noticed Lyrr immediately.

"Would you excuse us, Chief?" Farrell asked politely.

Tawno harrumphed and left, shaking her head and muttering about humans and their books and someone named Alice and somewhere called Wonderland.

"Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?" Farrell asked, smiling pleasantly as he affected the very picture of innocence. He moved toward the desk.

Lyrr's frown returned as the object of their amusement departed. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, though she disentangled one to self-consciously tug at the hem of her skirt. "What did you do?" was her question.

"I'm sorry? Did I do something?" Farrell asked politely.

She snorted in disbelief. "Do you think I voluntarily put this thing on?" At his blank stare, she sighed sharply. "You reprogrammed my replicator to produce only skirts!"

"I am shocked to hear such an accusation," Farrell said, not sounding particularly shocked.

"And you are a liar, too," she shot back. Lyrr narrowed her eyes at the ops officer and advanced upon him. The desk provided a convenient barrier, and also provided perfect cover for her legs. "Did you also disengage my alarm? And mess with my room's temperature controls?" She chuckled wryly. "I bet you think you're so clever."

"If your room is experiencing system problems I'll certainly have it looked into," Farrell said placidly.

Lyrr's lips pressed into a thin line and both palms were planted firmly onto the desk as she leaned forward. Suddenly conscious of her skirt raising in the back, she gasped softly and quickly straightened up. "Dammit, Farrell! I know you did this! Only you have this disturbed a sense of humour. I cannot walk around in a skirt for the duration of my shift. Do you know what people will think?"

"That you're in a skirt?" Farrell offered. "You certainly aren't the first officer to wear a skirt, sir."

"But I'm this ship's commander," Lyrr pointed out. "I have an example to set." Flattening the back of her skirt with both hands, she leaned forward again and hissed, "And I don't wear skirts!"

"Why not?" Farrell asked, the question genuine. "I'm enjoying mine. A little breezier than I'm used to, but not bad."

"Well, for me, it is," Lyrr snapped. "You don't understand.... I just don't feel comfortable this...exposed."

"For what it's worth, three-quarters of the ship is going to be exposed today, sir," Farrell drawled with a smile. "You'll be in good company."

Lyrr rolled her eyes wearily and pushed away from the desk far enough to bring her legs into view. The skirt was wrinkled, evidence of her futile attempts to pull it lower; she did so again. "I want my replicator fixed. Do you understand me, Ensign?"

"Absolutely, sir. We'll get on it as quickly as we can."

She smirked. "Oh, I'm sure you will. You're enjoying this, aren't you? Well...you think you're the only clever one around here, but you're in for a rather unpleasant surprise." Rather imperiously and petulantly, Lyrr turned on a heel, though she blushed as she felt the skirt whipped up by the swift move. She paused to straighten the skirt again, then with chin held high, she marched forward.

"Commander," he called as the door slid open.

Affecting a falsely sweet smile, Lyrr halted and looked over one shoulder. "Yes, Ensign?" she intoned.

"You do look good," Farrell said, without humor. "Just sayin'. Sir."

"Just sayin'..." she echoed with a skeptical nod. "And if you don't mind my saying," she added with a barely suppressed grin, "Chief Tawno has horrible legs. I should put you in the brig for that alone."

Farrell laughed out loud. "If you get to feeling too self-conscious, just think about how she must feel. But you can both come to the party tonight now, at least."

"Oh, no," she replied with a long chuckle. "You are not tricking me into that. I have to salvage some self-respect, after all." Lyrr turned again, but halted long enough to utter, "Thanks for the invitation, though." With a mischievous sidelong glance back, she added, "But you're still getting what's coming to you." And with more confidence than she had entering, Lyrr strode out, skirt bouncing jauntily as she went.

---

"Accountability"
By: Captain Matthew Salinger
Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Lieutenant Sam; Operations Manager
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: Operations Manager's Office, USS Sulu
Stardate 57908.05, 08h05

***

Lieutenant Sam sat alone in his office. His desk was clear, clean, save for a computer access terminal on one side and a single PADD in its center. A portrait of a dark-haired man in Starfleet uniform hung on one side of the room, a carved model of the USS Sulu rested on a low table at the other side. Behind him, Deep Space Nine hung in space, a sentinel guarding the now-invisible wormhole.

The chime sounded. Sam, already looking at the door, merely had to say, "Enter."

On the other side of the door stood Mason Farrell.

Before he could say a word, Sam motioned him inside. "Please sit, Mr. Farrell," he said in an expressionless voice, though perhaps it sounded colder than the android's usual vocalizations. Or it could have merely been an effect due to the austere decor of the room. Once Farrell was seated, Sam continued: "Ensign, tell me about Thomas Meredith."

Farrell nodded. "Mister Meredith is a professor at a University on Bajor."

"Were you aware, Ensign, that last night Professor Meredith was assaulted in his cottage on Bajor?"

Farrell regarded Sam a moment. He hadn't really talked to Sam since Lyrr had mauled Farrell over the Risan street race based on Sam's report. He'd kept clear after that, dealing with the android only when duty required, assuming anything Sam learned would go immediately to Lyrr, for better or for worse, and probably the latter. Sam was an open conduit to command, without finesse or discretion.

Which made this question especially sticky. It was obvious that Sam wouldn't be asking if he didn't already have the story, or at least Thomas' side. While he was irked that Thomas would have run and informed, he certainly hadn't ruled out the possibility. He'd even planned for it. There was no proof of anything that happened on Bajor. No witnesses had been present, which made the whole affair a question of word-on-word. He could theoretically just spin it, and there'd be no way to get at the real truth.

"Why do you ask, sir?"

"Ensign, Professor Meredith claims that you came to his home earlier this morning and assaulted him. He claims that you warned him to cease any attempts at contacting Counsellor Chambers. I will be direct, Ensign: did you assault Professor Thomas Meredith in his cottage on Bajor at 00h55 on stardate 57908.04?"

Farrell looked down and quirked a rueful smile before calming his face and meeting Sam's emotionless gaze evenly. "We assaulted each other, sir, yes. I did go to his home to warn him against contacting counselor Chambers. We argued, and we fought."

"Who threw the first punch, Ensign?" Sam asked.

"I'd call it simultaneous, sir. We were arguing one moment, and grappling the next. I don't think a timeline can be adequately applied to it. He tackled me, and we fought."

"Ahh," Sam said, nodding thoughtfully. He consulted the PADD before him and made a tsking noise while shaking his head. "It would appear that Mr. Meredith's account of the situation differs. He claims that when he opened the door, you asked him his name, when he confirmed that he was Thomas Meredith, you struck him in the face. Is this an inaccurate description of the beginning of your encounter with Thomas Meredith, Mr. Farrell?"

"The loser always claims to be the victim, sir," Farrell replied. "We started arguing as soon as the door opened, yes. The fight didn't start until he tackled me as I was leaving."

"Answer the question I asked you, Ensign," Sam said. "Did you punch Professor Thomas Meredith after first asking if he was Thomas Meredith, and his responding answer of yes? Yes or no."

Time to roll the dice. "No," Farrell said, calmly and simply.

Sam cocked his head to the side as he regarded Farrell, then after a moment, he straightened and leaned forward. "Ensign, are you aware of the signs a human being exhibits while lying? I would theorize that Commander Lyrr will be disheartened by the events contained within my report when submitted to her, after she spoke up for you during the meeting yesterday with Commander Zareb." Sam's head ticked to the side, and the next words that came from his mouth were in the crisp British dialect used by Thomas Meredith:

"I've...I've got...got an uncle who's got this saying and it goes like th-this: If you hit a man very hard in the face, he will listen to every word you say. So listen close, mister Meredith. Don't you ever contact Ainsley Chambers again. Hear me?"

Farrell found that unnerving. All the more reason to avoid Sam in the future.

Another tick, and Sam's voice returned to normal. "This matter is very serious, Ensign. The Bajoran authorities are taking this matter very seriously. It would be within my rights to summon a telepath to certify the veracity of your replies. Being caught lying to your superior officer would be a very serious matter, Ensign Farrell. I ask you again, did you punch Professor Thomas Meredith after first asking if he was Thomas Meredith, and his responding answer of yes? "

That was a brushback, plain and simple. A warning, and another chance. Maybe he hadn't given Sam enough credit. Either way, this complicated things. Farrell was quite confident in his ability to tell masterful lies to those in positions of authority. But those in those positions had never before been androids with near microscopic perceptive ability. Given that, there was no way, no matter how he did it, to completely avoid suspicion. In fact, Sam had probably analyzed him completely already, and based Farrell's physical carriage on comparisons to every Starfleet criminology text ever written. Lying was out.

Which left the truth. But the fight had been one of emotion, based on relationships and humanity. Concepts Sam had demonstrated through his report to Lyrr a shaky grasp of at best. Coming fully clean here would earn him a clinical punishment, as it had earned Storm one. So there was really only one way out. Brass through it and take the case to a higher court.

"Yes," said Farrell; he did not wait for an unconscious response from Sam, as he knew full well there would be none, "and I think before this goes any further we should involve Commander Lyrr or Captain Salinger."

Sam tapped the communicator on his chest. "Lieutenant Sam to Captain Salinger and Commander Lyrr."

***

As the final words of Thomas Meredith's statement faded, Sam turned to face Commander Lyrr and Captain Salinger. "This message was received at 06h37. As Ensign Farrell's direct supervisor and the operations manager of the Sulu, discussing the situation with him before taking the matter to you appeared to be the appropriate course of action." Sam quickly relayed the events of the meeting in synopsis form, then continued with: "Ensign Farrell requested the matter be taken directly to you."

Sam had, of course, revealed in his synopsis that Farrell had changed his story after being warned about lying. It hadn't been a brushback after all, Farrell decided. It had been a trap. And he'd walked right into it. Sam moved firmly onto his "not to be trusted" list.

Matt glanced between Sam and Lyrr, then back to Farrell. He glanced back to Lyrr again and raised an eyebrow.

She kept her gaze on the blank screen, but overlooked Farrell entirely as she shifted it towards Matt. He'd let her down for the last time, and it disgusted her far too much to look at him. After accusing her of operating under impaired judgement because of her relationship with T'Kal, Farrell had proven himself guilty of the same fault. He had suddenly lost any sway with her he had acquired, and now would be the time to assure him she would not allow her personal relationships to interfere with duty. "Formal reprimand," she told Matt succinctly, took in a breath to say more, then sighed and shook her head disheartenedly.

Farrell almost shook his, too. Almost. His game-table instinct overrode the temptation. Everything that had happened on Bajor. Everything risked. And nothing gained. And just as he'd finally started seeing Lyrr as a real person, too. It saddened him. He let that show.

"Six weeks mandatory counselling," Matt said, keeping his eyes on Farrell. "You will meet with Counsellor F'Zal daily. You will be honest and open with him and you will fully cooperate. If he suspects you are holding back or lying to him, Ensign, Commander Lyrr and myself will be informed and we'll be right back here, and the next time won't be so pleasant. You will attend weekly Anger Management sessions with Doctor Ilan Potts until such time as he thinks you are capable of handling your emotions without turning first to violence. You will make a formal apology to both Professor Meredith and the University of Bajor. You will pay reparations for his medical expenses to come out of ship's rations, including replicator and holodeck time. You are ordered to stay away from Professor Meredith, on or off duty." Matt looked at Lyrr, sighed, and then returned his gaze to Farrell. "You were under consideration for Dr. Zareb's project, as a member of the operations department. Not any more. You will maintain your standard duty schedule. Inclusion in outside and side projects will be at mine, Commander Lyrr's, or Lieutenant Sam's discretion.

"We're disappointed, Mason. You have potential, don't squander it like this. There is a system here, it may not be the best, but it's what we have. Go around the system and you're only asking for problems. Maybe you can redeem yourself over the next six months in the gamma quadrant. It's up to you."

Farrell met Salinger's gaze evenly. Salinger was not an android, and thus was familiar ground. He met the captain's gaze just long enough to show his own strength, and looked away at just the right moment to show deference.

"Yes, sir," he said, simple and polite.

Matt smiled, then laughed. "A sullen nod is always a nice touch as well, Mr. Farrell," he said. "And, if you try to get an almost imperceptible quiver in your bottom lip, almost to the point where it can't be perceived on the conscious level, that one's a wonder. Sighs tend to be overdone, and can really backfire if misdelivered. But, timing is always, and will always be the key. Gotta know just when, hm? I've heard that Ensign Rax is looking for others to help form a company of actors for the theatre here on the Sulu. I think you'd be a natural. Anyway, make sure to check in with Ensign F'Zal and Dr. Potts. We still have a few hours left to work on that apology, but you'll need to deliver through subspace radio. We can use the one in the observation lounge. Keep the chin up, Ensign. I'm sure you can make it. Just remember the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf and everything will be fine. Dismissed."

The ensign left without a final, thinly veiled quip, with Lt. Sam following behind. Lyrr studied her hands, folded atop the skirt of her uniform - it reminded her of Farrell immediately and of how incensed and disappointed with him she was. The day was still young, and each time she became aware of the skirt she wore, her mind would be consumed with images of the betrayal she saw in his eyes as he looked upon her; it enraged Lyrr further that he could be so selfish. Holding back a snort of derision, Lyrr regarded Matt and asked, "Captain, I know this is an odd favour...but can you replicate a new uniform for me?"

---

"The Man in Black"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Quarters 22C
Stardate: 57908.05 09h30

{This post was written 12 September 2003, and is dedicated to the originalman in black, the late great Johnny Cash, who moved it on over a little farther down the line today}

***

I hear the train a comin'; it's rollin' 'round the bend, / And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when. / I'm stuck at Folsom Prison and time keeps draggin' on. / But that train keeps rollin' on down to San Antone.

When I was just a baby, my mama told me, "Son, / Always be a good boy; don't ever play with guns." / But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die. / When I hear that whistle blowin' I hang my head and cry.

I bet there's rich folk eatin' in a fancy dining car. / They're prob'ly drinkin' coffee and smokin' big cigars, / But I know I had it comin', I know I can't be free, / But those people keep a movin', and that's what tortures me.

Well, if they freed me from this prison, if that railroad train was mine, / I bet I'd move it on over a little farther down the line, / Far from Folsom Prison, that's where I want to stay, / And I'd let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away.

Mason sat in the living room, letting Johnny Cash express it all. Vijay was on shift, which gave him some time alone to ponder.

His first thought was celebratory. Reprimands, fines, and apologies were easy. He'd given up hope of getting promoted on this ship the moment Commander Lyrr first called him "inappropriate" anyway, and while his hope had glimmered briefly over the events on Bajor, he was no worse off than he had been, really. He had to attend counseling with F'Zal, which would be tough until he'd adequately felt the betazoid out. And there was no telling what would happen in Potts' anger management class. But it would be a new adventure, that was certain.

Unfortunately, it looked like he and Lyrr were enemies again. She'd done what she felt she had to do, of course. Not that it made it easier to stomach. Her own relationship with T'Kal and the obvious conflicts it brought on forced her to lay down the law hard. She probably hadn't refused to look at him because she was disgusted, but because she knew now he was right. She'd never forgive him, but even then he was simply back to square one, and would likely be staying there. He recalled his words to her the day before. "You matter, and I don't." If anyone on this ship had potential, it was Lyrr Tayla. She needed to be shown how to lead in spite of her feelings, he supposed. Perhaps it was best if, to her, he was forever the black mark in Operations.

Operations. The domain of Lieutenant Sam. Sam's stance, perceptions, and abilities were now quite apparent. Farrell's mood moved from introspective to dark. This would be the last time he trusted the android to be discreet.

Discreet. Discreet the captain certainly was not. He quirked a smile at the man's hamfisted dissection of Farrell's glance-away after sentence had been pronounced. Salinger was obviously no gambler. No good gambler gives away the tells. And Salinger had given away far more, making it quite clear that he was a petulant, insecure last-worder. Apparently he'd been promoted without actually having to face a discipline problem before, as he came down on it hard without asking a single substantive question. The tranquility of his ship had been disturbed, and he had moved to quash the disturber with no thought to the future. Nothing else mattered. Tagliesh's Magna Cum Laude sexing had whacked him in the head. He had to crack down now in order to maintain the appearance of control. He had to be as tough as possible so as not to be seen as soft. Which meant dishing out punishments without hearing both sides.

The iron triumvirate: Salinger, Lyrr, and Sam. All of whom were in charge, and none of whom knew how to lead. This ship was going to be a living hell. If the Sulu survived the Gamma Quadrant with those three in charge he'd eat his uniform.

He was struck oddly then by a humorous thought. He looked at his legs, and realized he'd faced down the entire tribunal in a skirt. And maintained complete composure. If he could keep it all straight and display only what he wanted people to see while wearing a skirt that displayed a shaving nick on his knee, he could face anything.

In fact, he needed to face the rest of the ship. It would take a day for the rumors to really get rolling, so the party should be able to go on. He idly considered spreading the rumor himself, just to attract people to the party in search of the truth. But he needed to tell Ainsley first, and needed to do it soon. She'd need to be prepped for this.

And that was what made it tough, he thought, getting somber. He'd been dressed down more harshly by better men than Salinger, and didn't much care about what the captain thought of him. It was the non-regulation issues that were going to really hurt. He'd have to face Ainsley with this, something he dreaded worse than any administrative discipline. He'd have to deal with the rest of the Ops staff, most of whom would understand, but a few who'd probably carry out their own little crucifixion of him for it. And he'd have to once again carry the stigma of the Man in Black; the one who was the discipline problem. No, the real punishment for him had nothing to do with people whose collars carried a fistful of pips. It was going to come over the next weeks, months, and years as he endured all the sidelong glances, all the whispering, and all the conclusion-jumping this would entail.

A reminder alarm beeped, and he rose. Now was as good a time as any to start dealing with the rumors. He headed out the door.

---

"Sayonara"
By: Capt. Matthew Salinger
Commander Lyrr Tayla - XO
Lt. Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
Lt.(jg) Arthas Hex - Asst. Chief of Security
Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Medical nurse
Crewman 1st Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Astrometrics Tech.

Location: USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.05, 10h00

***

The Sulu's forward Photon Torpedo Launcher Bay was a sombre place. Usually there were two security officers and one engineer manning stations during an alert. This morning saw the total compliment of security officers serving aboard the Sulu lined up around the bay and along the three launcher tracks that led to the firing chambers of the Mark V photons.

Upon the tracks lay three torpedoes. Their black casings gleamed. A draped UFP flag rested upon the central torpedo. The launcher systems had just delivered them from the upper deck loading bay and silence had descended upon the gathered officers as they lowered slowly to the curved launch tracks.

Starfleet had many traditions. This was one of the oldest that dated back to the times when navies sailed seas and oceans of water instead of space. Seamen were launched to sea - buried in the place where they sailed. It was no different today.

Ensign Ethan Anderson Storm, was having his official send-off with full honors. Ensign Storm was officially DIA but there hadn't been enough of his body to recover. The two torpedoes flanking his were low yield weapons for the 'gunners' salute.

As Chief of Security and head of the detail, Benedict stood apart and one pace forward, in line with the portside casing. Beside him Arthas Hex stood ramrod straight. Dress uniforms shone white along the silent rows of security personnel. Captain Salinger and Lyrr Tayla stood at the head of the central casing. The only difference was Chief Petty Officer Malcolm Douglas who stood separately atop the Loading Deck. He wore traditional kilt and tartan with the time-honoured set of ship's Bagpipes in his hands.

Benedict looked across at Shyla Moreau who stared blankly at the flag draped torpedo. Beside her and giving some support was Cristobel Sefton. Shyla held a book in her hands, clutching it as if it was a shield to her chest. The redness of her eyes and her pale expression showed the emotion that she felt. Benedict wondered if the medical office had given her something to help her get through this.

As the casings came to rest Douglas began to play. The tune was mournful and eerie in the enclosed launch deck. The pipe music seemed primal and haunting, a tradition that was rich in symbolism and reflected the spirit which rested upon the assembly.

Benedict had performed this service already above Risa for the two fallen officers. Now it was Ethan's turn. He hadn't known the other two officers - and Benedict regretted that. He had known Storm only briefly, but enough to know that this service was a fitting testament to his Starfleet family. It too was a tradition.

The music came to an end.

The Captain said a few words. It went by without Benedict taking much notice. Lyrr's voice snapped him out of his reverie as she spoke about the officer she knew. Her face was composed in a mask which hid her personal feelings. This was an official occasion for her - and Benedict could tell that she hated every second of it. It was one more loss that she took personally.

Shyla stepped forward to speak at the podium. Opening the pages of the book she clutched her tears started. She tried to speak - but failed. Benedict saw the loss and devastation of her feelings clearly, and he had to swallow the lump in his own throat. Sefton stepped up to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. She turned into his chest and held fast to him as she let her grief take her. Sefton looked stricken for a moment, but composed himself as he opened the book once again. He read a short passage and at its end he closed the book and held Moreau.

Silence extended for a few moments. There were several officers silently sharing Moreau's grief, tears and hard faces. Duty was being served. Ethan Storm was a security officer - a part of this extended family.

Salinger nodded and four of the security detail stepped crisply to the draped flag and lifted it in unison. It was folded in a precise manner above the torpedo and the chief spun on his heel and presented the folded triangle to the Captain. He held the UFP flag between his hands and looked down upon it as he gave the final order. The flag would be presented to Storm's mother later.

The Bosun's Mate stepped out of line crisply and brought the ship's whistle to her lips. She blew the parting notes precisely.

"Detail," Benedict's voice boomed across the deck. "Ten - shun. Present arms." The entire detail came snapping to attention and saluted.

The torpedoes began their trek down the short track. The piper started again, this time it was a march. The torpedoes were swallowed by the launchers and as the pipes subsided, Benedict gave the order. "Gun salute. Fire." The two torpedoes left the ship in a blaze, streaking away to detonate harmlessly but gloriously in space. "Fire Away," he gave the order for the last torpedo. It too detonated in a blaze of glory as it was symbolic - holding no remains.

"Detail. Disss-missed." Benedict snapped his salute down in perfect unison with the security detail.

The officers filed away, some talking quietly, others looking at the distraught Moreau or anywhere but the crying girl. Benedict exchanged a glance with Lyrr but said nothing as he too filed out.

---

"Extra Chores From Mom"
Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh
Ensign Vincent Chan

Location: CSO's Office, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.05, 10h15

***

Vincent wiped his hands against his pants. They were wet with nervous sweat. It was a habit of his to get sweaty palms when he was nervous, and right now he was very nervous indeed. The CSO had asked him to see her in her office. After their initial meeting a while back, they had met on several other occasions, and despite Vincent's tireless efforts, nothing rose above that level. The Lieutenant was as cold towards him now as she had ever been. His charm was not working. But this occasion, Vincent had a very big reason to be nervous. The lieutenant had not told him what she was summoning him for, but she had hinted to something about 'extra duties' and 'making his life a living hell.'

Vincent reached the door to her office. He was suddenly beset with another onrush of anxiety and nervousness. He had repeated many times to himself that the lieutenant would not get to him, but he was not kidding anyone. He pressed the doorchime, and waited there patiently, rather like a misbehaving schoolboy waiting at the door of the principal's office. He had experienced that before, and knew the full unpleasantness of what awaited. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that all his school principals combined would not be as bad as the lieutenant, and all their punishments could not be as bad as what the lieutenant had in mind. This happy chain of thought was interrupted when the door hissed open.

"Sit," was the summons he received, and with it was a snaky grin utterly devoid of geniality. "Ensign Chan," Xayella Tagliesh drawled. "Busy again with nothing at all? Hm?"

Vincent put on the charm like a mask. "I was busy in the labs, reading up on the civilizations of the Delta Quadrant, but the minute I heard you ask for me, I rushed straight to your side." Vincent decided against the sarcastic battering of eyelashes. "Thank you for asking though, Lieutenant."

Xay shrugged and let out a long sigh. "Small-talk," she explained. "But, now how about we get to the real issue, hm?" Before he could inquire as to the nature of the issue, Xayella drew out a broad, wolfish smile and said, "Bridge duty."

Despite himself Vincent let out a small gasp. To him, there could be no such thing more boring than bridge duty. All you could do was sit there and stare at the screen, occasionally reporting something, over your shoulder to the commanding officer. It did offer insight into the operation of the ship, but frankly, Vincent found the atmosphere there most tense; one had to keep on his toes so as not to offend superior officers, and that condition was most unopen to jokes and humor. He wouldn't survive a week on bridge duty. "Which shift?" Vincent asked nervously. Vincent didn't claim to premonitions, but he could sense her answer.

"Gamma," she answered. There was a slight upbeat quality to her voice as she said it.

Vincent stared at her with a blank expression. He was going to be on the bridge, doing one of the most boring jobs, during one of the most boring shifts, with boring and mindless nobodies to keep him company. His leisure time would be cut as well now he was pulling double shifts. He could see that she was enjoying this. She could probably see his insides squirm as he worked up the nerve to nod. There was no fighting it. As long as he was a science officer, he was her slave.

"So?" Xayella spread her hands wide in a questioning manner and watched him expectantly. "Your eyes are open, so you couldn't have fallen asleep..." She smiled slyly. "Or, you could have.

Vincent returned her smile, and tried best to reply despite his gritted teeth. "Thank you, ma'am. That should be fun, eh? I'm just so pleased that you've given me the job. Thank you so much. Is there anything else you wish to reward me with?" His sarcasm was bordering on insubordination, but he couldn't help himself.

Xayella's smile curled into a snaky grin as she leaned forward in her seat, gazing at the ensign with slitted eyes. "I like your attitude, Ensign," she drawled. "That's why, after every shift, you can write me a report on your activities during bridge duty and have it sent to me before I get on shift in the morning." Her smile transformed into a condescending smirk. "Even more excitement for you, hm?"

Vincent wanted to give a smartarse reply, or slap her or something, but he thought better of it and nodded to show his comprehension. She was going to push him until he cracked. But until he cracked...

"Will that be all, Lieutenant?" he asked, not sure if lieutenant was the right word. Something like Comrade or even Fuhrer would fit her just the same.

Xay sighed airily. "No...but if you could, please have a report on my desk by the end of shift regarding...whatever it is you've been doing in my science lab." She smirked. "Would you be a dear and do that for me? Hm?"

Vincent's voice was choked and husky with anger as he said, "For you, Lieutenant, I will do anything."

Vincent could sense his own tension, and he knew the lieutenant could see it. It was becoming very hard for Vincent not to start telling the lieutenant exactly what he thought of her, which wasn't much, and after their previous, and current meeting, he felt sure the feeling was reciprocated. He could only hope that the lieutenant was done playing games with him, and like a cat playing with its food, would hurry up and eat him.

Instead, she made a shooing gesture with one hand, while the other went behind her head as she relaxed against her chair. "Enjoy Gamma shift tomorrow, Ensign." She chuckled. "I know I certainly wouldn't."

Vincent mentally agreed with her. He stood, thanked her and gave her a mocking salute as he left the room, stopping short of slamming a door that couldn't be slammed.

---

"Lie Light"
by Crewman 1st Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Astrometrics Technician
and Ensign Mason Farrell - Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Ensign Storm's Former Quarters
Stardate: 57908.05, 11h17

***

There was a hiss and corridor light streamed into the darkened room, Shyla Moreau framed by the bright rectangle of the doorframe. She hesitated to cross the threshold into the quarters that had been her home away from home for a scant couple of blessed weeks a million years ago. She had come directly from Storm's hastily put together memorial and was still in her enlisted dress uniform with an actual bound leather book tucked under her arm. The edges of her eyes and nostrils were pink-rimmed and the streaks of tears were still on her cheeks.

"Computer. Lights."

The room obliged by brightening to a standard lighting setting and that small event drew a single tear from her eye. For most of her unofficial cohabitation with Ethan the computer commands in his quarters had been set with voice recognition protocols and she found herself coolly ignored whenever she tried adjusting the lights or using the replicator. Tactics, Storm had explained: Never give a potential hostile the same edge as yourself on your home turf. At the time, it had all seemed vaguely cute in a paranoid Security kind of way and just days before Ethan left on the Jemison, he made quite a bit of the fact he'd added her voiceprint to the protocol registry. Probably after a complete background check, Shyla thought to herself and almost managed to smile.

The room was Spartan bare with no personal adornments. Two beds were on either side of a high dividing counter. The one that had belonged to Steele had been stripped bare for weeks. Ethan's had been made the morning after her last night here and hadn't been slept in since.

Shyla walked through the room, running a hand over the bare counters and bureaus and allowing a certain sadness to settle back into her. She rued that they were together so briefly that she had not yet felt comfortable letting some of her personality creep into his space. She settled down on his bed and let the book she carried slide out of her grip, tempted to bury her face into the sheets and breathe deep and cry hard but she knew they wouldn't have his scent. She had replicated them herself, the morning he left on the Jemison. He had never touched them.

Ethan replicated and recycled nearly everything he owned. He never wore the same uniform twice. Even things that many people got sentimental about like a favorite book or piece of sporting equipment, Storm dismissed as foolish sentimentality. Shyla lay back on the bed and reached over her head, opening the small nightstand drawer that contained the length and breadth of Storm's nostalgia. From it she removed a small hardwood case and a lock of white hair.

Hands trembling, she slipped the hair lock between two fingers and opened the case. Admiral Anderson Storm's Grankite Order of Tactics glittered at her in the low light. It was a slightly tarnished golden oval with a silver misshapen chevron inverted on it. The center of the chevron had been inlaid with a radiating pattern of various greens denoting the Class of Excellence designation. Ethan had been awarded the same medal and that was the only reason he kept his grandfather's original - he had recycled the one awarded to him.

The hair lock had belonged to Storm's fiancée, now dead for more than a year. Ethan had never spoken of her but Shyla knew well so much of his inner torment had to do with guilt over the death of the young Andorian. Letting the soft fine hairs brush her fingertips, Shyla was shamed to find herself a little jealous of the dead girl: Ethan and Seja had not been together long either in the scheme of things but they had certainly enjoyed more than just a couple of weeks. Shyla wondered if they now had an eternity.

Moreau lifted her book into her lap, it falling open at a creased page. Shyla placed Seja's lock of hair gently inside her book and looked at it, bottom lip trembling. Soon the cracks in her composure shattered her resolve and she began to cry anew.

***

Mason walked thoughtfully down the corridor with the PADD containing the inventory checklist. Storm's quarters had been ordered returned to 'open' status, which meant a final inspection had to be done. Sam had passed it to Mason, which meant that Mason's duty was to get it done whether he was on shift or not. At least he was still trusted to deal with the personal effects of the dead. Maybe there was a comment from Sam in this assignment.

He considered what to do with Storm's personal effects, in fact. The man hadn't seemed the sort to keep much around. Mason figured he'd just send a transmission to Storm's listed next of kin. What else could he do?

Then he remembered Shyla. She had been Storm's girlfriend. As much as Farrell himself disliked the word, he figured Ethan and Shyla were both young enough to apply it. He rounded the bend in the corridor to Storm's quarters and wondered if he should let her know. Perhaps there'd be something she wanted. Some small memento. That would be perfectly understandable.

He stopped outside Storm's former door, and hesitated with his hand over the button.

"Computer, location of Crewman Moreau," he ordered.

"Deck 13, quarters 14B."

Mason nodded and pushed the open button. His eyes widened as he did so, as the last thing he saw of the doors before they slid apart were the printed numbers stenciled on their front. 14B.

Shyla startled at the whisk and instantly began wiping the tears away from her face while looking away from the door. She vaguely thought that maybe Cris had sought her out for some further comforting and although she needed it, she felt embarrassed to be found sitting in Ethan's quarters bawling her eyes out. She struggled to compose herself.

Farrell closed his eyes and looked away as soon as he saw Moreau sitting on the bed. She was having a moment to herself, which was also completely understandable, and he'd just walked in on it. Him, of all people. He looked back at her.

"I'm sorry, Crewman," he said softly. "I'll come back in a little while. Take the time you need."

Farrell's voice simultaneously told Shyla just who it was and who it was not and the tears stopped instantly. She spun her head to the door and for a moment Farrell imagined he saw some anger there in her puffy red eyes but that swiftly subsided and left him looking at a very sad, very young girl. Still, Shyla stiffened a bit and tried her best to look professional as her training took control of her body and mind.

"What can I help you with, sir?" she asked, a slight crack running through her words.

It wrenched Mason deep in the gut to see Moreau this way. It wrenched him to see anyone this way: grieving openly, with no help possible. Her flash of anger toward him mirrored his own at his own helplessness. He couldn't make this go away, as much as poor Shyla deserved to have it banished. He couldn't call in markers or make a deal and smooth this over. Storm was gone, and nothing anyone could do would change that. It made him feel guilty.

He lifted his PADD absently, suddenly very conscious of how stupid he must look in his skirt. "I just need to check the room back into circulation, ma'am. But, um," he paused and looked away a moment. Young though she was, Moreau appeared to already have mastery of the drilling stare, which was unnerving. "I . . . I was just about to call you, to see if you wanted anything before I collected Ethan's things."

Without a word, Shyla held out the hardwood case to Farrell that represented half of Storm's possessions. Surprising herself, she decided to say nothing about the lock of Andorian hair closed in the pages of her book. The decision puzzled her and it showed on her face.

"This is what you want to keep?" Mason asked, flipping the case open. He almost smiled. "I called him Grankite once, just in passing. He didn't appreciate it."

"I don't want to keep it," Shyla clarified but softening a little at Farrell's memory of Ethan. "It belonged to his grandfather. Ethan has uncles and aunts and cousins in the fleet who might want it. There is also an Anderson Storm collection at the Academy Archives. They might appreciate it if the family members wish to donate it."

"Okay," Mason said simply, tucking the case beneath his PADD. "Was, uh . . . was there anything you did want, then?" He almost winced at the insensitive wording.

"He didn't have anything else," Shyla said, telling a rare lie. Her brave front also folded with the words and she began to cry again. The idea of giving up something that represented so much pain for Ethan cut deeply and Shyla wanted to save it even if it was a reminder that someone else had loved him. Her petty jealousy of Seja was dissipating into an odd connection between her and the dead Andorian. They had Ethan in common and that seemed to trump everything else she was feeling.

He didn't have anything else. The thought was odd to Mason. This was it. A medal. All there was of Ethan Storm was a medal and a weeping woman. A weeping woman. It wasn't right, dammit. It was brutally unfair that the young mourn. Mason almost reached out for Shyla, then. She needed something no one could give her, but maybe just a little contact from a sympathetic crewmate would help. He stopped himself with his hand halfway to her shoulder, and pulled it back. There was no telling how Shyla would react to him touching her. But she was crying, and he had to do something.

He settled for a hand on her upper arm. "Shyla," he said, his voice as gentle and soothing as he could make it. She didn't stiffen at his touch but Mason was a little surprised that there was no reaction at all. Just when he was wondering if she even felt it, she placed her hand on his and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you, sir," she said, dropping hot tears into her lap.

Dammit, he couldn't just sit here. He set his PADD aside and gathered her into his arms, cooing as many words of comfort as he could think of, letting her cry as she deserved.

Shyla hadn't forgotten about Farrell or his reputation but in that moment she didn't care. She clung to him tightly and cried as hard as she ever had...harder than she had cried as a child when her Mom died. Farrell just rocked with her and said nice things until the room and Mason and everything fell away, leaving her there alone wrapped in her grief.

Mason just closed his eyes, held her close, and let her bawl. She didn't deserve this grief. She was too young. No one this young deserved this grief. He moved through a vast repertoire of soothing words, letting the whispers flow even as his mind spun. What could he say? What could he do? He went quiet when she did, her sobs wracking to a slow halt. He cradled her silently, speaking just before it felt like too long.

"I'm sorry, Shyla," he whispered, kissing the top of her head and patting her back a final time before letting go.

Shyla wiped her eyes. "Thank you, sir," she repeated, following with a sniff. She bent down and gathered her book from where it had fallen on the floor. Seja's hair lock was still firmly pressed inside its pages.

"What's this?" he asked gently, indicating the book.

It almost started her again. "It's a book of epitaphs," she said, touching the cover. "I wanted to read one at Ethan's memorial but..." She thought of the memorial and herself breaking down at the podium. Cris had just walked up and put his arm around her and finished what she had started. "...Ensign Sefton had to do it."

"Sefton's a good man," Mason nodded, then chuckled. "He sure had us jumping to try and find Ethan. He had me crawling though the smugglers' networks and Vijay pumping the Vulcan grapevine like a maniac."

Shyla shrugged a little but not dismissively. "I don't think I would have made it without Cris. I don't really know Ensign Vijay but I know he wanted to help. Could you thank him for me?

"Absolutely."

"I would appreciate that," she said simply, looking back down at her book.

"If you don't mind me asking," Mason asked, "which epitaph did you want to read?"

"It's the one on the tombstone of Mark Twain's daughter," Shyla said, looking at Farrell. "I read it at my mother's funeral when I was seven."

"I've heard that one, I think," Mason nodded. "Soft sunlight? Is that in there?"

Shyla bit her bottom lip and opened the book. Seja's lock of hair still lay in the fold but she didn't disturb it. In a surprisingly steady voice, Shyla read the words that she'd been unable to read just one hour ago:

"Warm summer sun shine kindly here...Warm southern wind blow softly here...Green sod above lie light, lie light...Goodnight, dear heart...Goodnight, goodnight."

Mason nodded, and both were silent for a time. He considered a number of things to say. Shyla deserved something. Something to carry with her. Something of Ethan. She deserved the warm summer sun.

"You know," he said gently at last, "Ethan put in for a quarters transfer. For you," he added.

Her face somehow managed to brighten and diminish the same time. "Really?" she asked, a little wary to believe it.

Warm southern wind blow softly here, he thought, nodding. The motion played into the words. "Really. He loved you, Shyla. He wanted to be with you."

Shyla smiled soft and looked back down at her open book. She touched the print with her fingers and ran them over Seja's lock of hair. "I have something to tell you, sir," Shyla said unexpectedly, the smile fading.

"Anything," He shrugged, giving her his full attention.

Shyla picked up the lock of white hair and held it out to Farrell. "This was Ethan's too."

"What is it?" he asked, taking it.

"Andorian hair," Shyla said, getting surprisingly choked up. "He was engaged when he was on the Yeager. She died."

Mason nodded gravely, still holding the lock of hair. "Did, uh," he indicated the book in Shyla's lap the lock had been resting in. "Did you want to keep this?"

"Yes," she said without a beat, looking at it in Farrell's hand. Her brow was furrowed. "I'm not sure I can explain why."

"Then it's yours," Mason said, placing it back in the book and closing the cover. "I never saw it, and inventory won't reflect its existence."

"Thank you, sir," Shyla said, pulling the book to her chest and getting up on shaky legs.

"Anytime," he responded, rising with her. "If you'd like more time here, I can come back."

Shyla shook her head. "No," she said. "I'll leave. There's nothing here for me anymore."

Mason picked up his PADD and brought up the inventory list while Shyla walked to the door. At its whisk, she stepped into and paused in its frame. "Sir?" she said.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry," she said. When his expression went from sympathetic to puzzled, she clarified: "For that day in the Operations Office. I'm sorry about that."

"It was my fault," Mason shook his head, smiling. "I have it on good authority that I talk too much."

"Sometimes just enough, sir," Shyla said, only glancing at him one last time on her way out. "Your skirt looks nice." The door shut behind her.

Mason looked down as she said it, and was going to respond when she let the door close. He settled for a smile, and stared at the door for a time in silence. She'd cheered a bit. It had worked.

"This sod here lied light, tonight," Mason recited softly to himself at last. "Goodnight, sweet girl, goodnight, goodnight." He returned his attention to his PADD and commenced his checklist with a gentle smile.

---

"First Joining"
Lieutenant Commander Jabari Zareb - Engineering Consultant
and Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh - Chief Science Officer

Location: USS Nightingale in the USS Sulu Shuttlebay
Stardate: 57908.05 13h25

***

After the meeting with most of the senior staff his first day aboard, Jabari Zareb had gone right to work in the Sulu shuttlebay. The ship's shuttle contingent needed to be moved to the port side to make enough room for the oversized cargo carrier holding the USS Nightingale to get out of the landing path and take over starboard. After that had been accomplished, the Captain had ordered the shuttlebay vacated long enough for Zareb to remove the carrier panels on his own and start working on the Nightingale's protective systems. It took the Lieutenant Commander into the wee hours of the next morning.

The Sulu could hardly be expected to shut down her shuttlebay for the duration of testing but the runabout had to be removed from the cargo carrier so Jabari could continue work aboard the experimental craft. Although his specialty was design and ship structure, the engineer took some pride in a holographic system he created for making the Nightingale's unique charcoal armor coloration look more like a typical runabout hull. After installation of a few hidden emitters, a normal looking "holographic sheath" soon covered the Nightingale and the Sulu had her shuttlebay back for the general crew assignments. If the runabout hadn't been behind a Level Ten force shield, it probably wouldn't have drawn any attention at all.

Not surprisingly, Lieutenant T'Kal had proved to be a small but frustrating thorn in a relatively short period of time. Zareb's request for five security officers assigned to the shuttlebay for the duration of the Nightingale's stay had been dropped to four and would probably be limited to two per shift once the Sulu got underway. As it stood, only the detail supervisor had the command codes to lower the shield which was to stay up for the full day's rotation, save for when either Zareb himself, the Captain, or Commander Lyrr ordered it lowered. As a further courtesy, Jabari gave authorization for lowering if he was present should any of the senior staff wish to see him. With some unfinished business to attend to with some of them, it was not unforeseeable for one or more to stop by for a visit.

Zareb stripped off his Class-B tunic and tossed it aside, glad he'd opted for the sleeveless variant in gray undershirt. The Nightingale environmental systems had been giving him grief all afternoon and the inside of the runabout was broiling in spite of the open hatch. Zareb stretched his long, well-muscled arms over his head to remove the display membrane from the master environmental control.

"Well...isn't this quite the view?" the silky voice from behind asked. When Zareb turned to seek out the source of the suggestive comment, he found Xayella Tagliesh, in her flattering skirted variant, standing at the base of the ramp. She smiled slyly and added, "The runabout, I mean."

Zareb lowered his arms, the normally stoic man allowing a half-smile to creep onto his face even while reminding himself to discipline the guards on duty. He didn't mind the senior staff paying a visit but he'd preferred to be warned when they were on their way inside. Zareb turned to her fully.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said before using the display panel in his hand to point at her accusingly. "You were having a bit of fun with me at the meeting...or is Lieutenant Saavar your legitimate recommendation?"

She chuckled and started up the ramp with both arms tucked beneath her bosom. "Why? You would prefer not to have a Vulcan on board?" Winking, she amended, "Or you'd rather have a female working by your side?"

"Half-Vulcan," Zareb amended, leaning onto the back of a chair. "And half-Romulan. A half-Romulan who spent six months on Romulus just three years ago. You did know, didn't you Lieutenant?"

Xayella nodded slowly and leaned casually against the frame of the hatch as she regarded Zareb with a knowing smile. "You don't trust him, then? You think because of his half-Romulan blood, there'll be a conflict of interest that might jeopardize your mission?"

"It's not just that," Jabari said. "I'm quite sure that Lieutenant Saavar is an impeccable Starfleet officer but his history does create a problem. His background check would have to be quite intensive...no longer so easy since we'll soon be on the other side of the wormhole." He paused as one in deep thought. "Do you trust him?" he asked finally.

"Does it matter?" Xay asked, all at once her humour vanishing. "I hardly know the man." She knew him far more than she ever wished to, in reality, but it by no means instilled her with trust of Saavar.

Zareb leaned back towards the console and grabbed up a PADD. "There is one other Science officer aboard the Sulu fully rated on Danube-class design configurations," he said without looking at the PADD. "You. And your security clearance is in order. Perhaps we should just go with the path of least resistance."

Xay chuckled and sauntered closer to Zareb. "You haven't known me long enough, then," she quipped. "But at least I get the job done, and well."

"The first part is easily remedied," Zareb said standing up to his full height and fairly towering over the already fairly tall Tagliesh. The Nightingale was a furnace and beads of sweat were forming everywhere on Jabari's ebony skin. "The second remains to be seen. Welcome aboard, Lieutenant."

Xayella smirked imperiously and languidly held out a hand to the engineer. "No, you're welcome, Commander. Trust me, you'll be thanking me soon enough."

"Let us hope," Zareb mused as her hand disappeared into his gentle grip. His eyes drifted off hers for a fraction of a second. "Is that skirt just in honor of the day, Lieutenant? Or does Captain Salinger normally allow the variant?"

"A bit of both," she answered, smiling coyly. Xay shifted onto her left foot, and pushed her right forward slightly to expose far more of her pale thigh. "Interested in one for yourself, Commander?"

"I think it's a tradition I'll avoid," Zareb said, breaking into a clear white smile. "And I'm all in favor of your observation just as long as it's on the Sulu...but I'm afraid it cannot be allowed on the Nightingale."

Xayella pursed her lips sourly and slowly pulled her hand away. "And why not, Commander?"

"I don't need the distraction," he said with good humor. He thought it a pity that she had taken her hand away but didn't let it show. "We will be testing this ship Lieutenant, not my resolve or concentration."

"I had no idea I was affecting you in such a way, Commander." Her smile was sly and her long lashes batted attractively at him. "Will it help, as well, if I wear an oversized jacket, so the rest of my feminine" --she leaned forward and stretched the word for added enticement-- "assets don't distract you?"

"I'll make you a bargain, Lieutenant," he offered, attempting to admire Tagliesh coolly and rather briefly. "We'll try the dress code your way. If we survive our initial outing without me ordering the ship into a pulsar by mistake, you can wear any uniform you want. A deal?" He offered his hand again, the large palm facing up.

Xayella regarded it warily, but with a lopsided grin, then slipped her hand atop his. Deft fingers brushed lightly over the flesh of his upturned palm. "Deal...though I fear I will lose my side of the bet." She winked alluringly at the engineer.

Zareb let out a rolling laugh, rich in timber. He closed his fingers gently on her hand as he led her toward the cockpit. "I believe a tour is in order for the first official member of the Nightingale crew," he declared, tossing his PADD in the chair's seat and grabbing up his tunic. At the thought of wearing it, the excessive heat was again on his mind. "I must apologize for the temperature...the environmental control is first on my repair schedule."

"Oh, it's no bother," Xayella assured him with a dismissive wave. "Leave the tunic off." The remark was innocent, but the smile accompanying it added a lascivious quality to it. "I can take mine off as well if it'll make you feel comfortable."

Zareb smiled again, though he was becoming a bit wary. "You could make an intelligent man act quite foolish, Lieutenant." The door to the cockpit whisked open and they both settled into the frame. "As my second-in-command, I'll trust you to let me know when I'm going in that direction in front of the crew."

"Oh, don't worry," she assured him, "if you're being an idiot, I'll definitely call you on it. It's my specialty, really."

"I would imagine it is," Zareb said, his grin finally waning a tad. He looked into Xayella's eyes and something passed between them. A memory of something showed in his face and he was embarrassed by the emotion. He cleared his throat. "We'll start in here. It's a standard Danube class cockpit with --"

Xay laid a hand on his arm, getting a feel for the solid muscle against her fingertips. She smiled imperceptibly. "Commander?" she asked, turning in the narrow opening to face him.

"Yes?"

Her smile stretched. "I think you should close the hatch."

Jabari Zareb narrowed his eyes and smiled carefully at Xayella Tagliesh. She was up to something, there was no doubt. But he still closed the hatch anyway.

---

"Sneak A Peek"
by Ensign Shirik Lektar

Location: Computer Core, USS Sulu
Stardate 57908.05, 15h30

***

It was quiet in the lower decks of the ship where Shirik worked. There was only the low hum of ship's systems at work, the thrum of the engines when they were moving and the sounds of the computers. She had become accustomed to the regular sounds there, and with her keen hearing she could sometimes tell when something was amiss just by a subtle change in the surrounding noises.

It was one such change that roused her from her intense study of a piece of code on one of her screens. Looking up, she cocked her head slightly and listened. There it was...the soft, quick sound of a maneuvering thruster firing. Then another. They were moving.

Quickly her fingers flew over her console. She had hoped they wouldn't go through the wormhole until her shift had ended, so she could see the wormhole close up from a view port. But no such luck, so she'd get the next best view from here. With a few commands, she tapped into the main viewscreen's imager, so she could watch.

With a smile, she pulled her chair closer to the screen and stared at the empty space ahead, imagining she was on the bridge. After a few moments, the wormhole burst open in all its glory before her, and she stared wide-eyed as it grew bigger and closer in the image. She'd seen the wormhole a few times before, from the ports on DS9, but never this close.

The colors fascinated her, and she watched them swirl as they grew ever nearer, and then the ship was enveloped. She had to squint at the bright flashes of light from the screen, taking instinctive hold of the edge of the console as the ship vibrated ever so slightly.

It didn't seem very long at all to her before the flashes ended and on the screen was black space with points of light. The Gamma quadrant. It didn't look so different from their own quadrant, she thought. With the show over, she severed the connection to the imager and her screen filled with code once more.

---

"Chief Case"
by Chief Petty Officer Sorien Case - Weapons Specialist
Petty Officer 3rd Class Mitchell Mullens - Security Crewman [NPC]
and Crewman 1st Class Mark Rinaro - Security Crewman [NPC]

Location: USS Sulu, Corridors and Armory
Stardate: 57908.05, 15h21

***

The Scar drew stares and Case knew it but didn't care.

Chief Petty Officer Sorien Case was probably going to be the last new crewmember to board the USS Hikaru Sulu for the next six months so they might as well stare now and get it out of their system. When he'd walked over to the ship on the personnel umbilical, people had stared. At the airlock makeshift boarding station, the Operations officer on duty had stared. The security assigned to the airlock had stared as he'd given a courtesy scan to the Chief's personal effects. As he walked down the corridors with a duffle slung on his shoulder and an impossibly large metallic rectangular satchel gripped firmly in his right hand, nearly everyone he came across stared. Scars were rare in Starfleet. They might as well stare now. And get it out of their system.

By the time Case got down to Deck Six and the Armory, the Sulu had left Deep Space Nine and was moving towards the wormhole. As a result, Sulu personnel had all moved to the various portals throughout the ship for a vantage point on the pretty lights. The Armory, set as it was in the center of the deckplan, saw no such foot traffic and was locked. No one on duty.

Chief Case dropped his belongings in a heap and input the Intrepid-class default Armory override code, smiling grimly when the harsh buzz denied access. At least someone was thinking ahead. Working the keypad expertly, he input a simple security override algorithm that he had learned nearly a decade ago. The door was opened in five minutes.

***

Petty Officer Mullens and Crewman Rinaro returned from the Lounge, the prime viewing spot for the inner wormhole spectacle. The Lounge had been quite crowded and the display a little hard to see but the time away from their workspace had afforded them both an opportunity to fraternize with some female crew. There weren't enough in the Security department these days and the memory of the small flirts and knowing looks carried them from the Lounge back down to Deck Six with smiles on their faces that didn't fade until the opening of their duty station's door.

The Armory looked like it had been hit by an ion storm.

Fully half the rack of phaser rifles were on the deck. Worse still, they had been disassembled into individual components and were strewn about haphazardly, the pieces forming small unrelated piles. In the middle on the mess was a powerfully built man in a security gold. He had closed-cropped brown hair and a Chief Petty Officer patch on his collar. His left eye was milky white and had a scar running through it.

"How was the wormhole?" he asked, not unkindly. He even had somewhat of a smile on his face.

Mullens and Rinaro glanced at one another. "Uh, fine. Chief." Mullens volunteered, being the more senior of the two.

"Ah, good. I'm glad you both enjoyed yourselves." The unknown Chief Petty Officer took a step towards them. He still smiled but it reminded both Mullens and Rinaro of a large animal stalking them. "What happened here?" he asked, sounding truly concerned.

"Uh," Mullens thought about it. "We don't know, Chie--"

"WE DON'T KNOW, CHIEF!" The man screamed at the top of his lungs. Both stiffened to attention even though Mullens felt spittle hit his face from a good meter away. He didn't wipe it off but almost moved to do so. Case was instantly inches away from his nose. "Why don't you know, Petty Officer..?"

"Mullens, Chief. Petty Officer Mitchell Mullens." Mullens searched his mind for an answer that might mean less yelling and saliva. "I don't know because I wasn't here, Chief."

"YOU WEREN'T HERE!" Case repeated. He shot a furious look at Rinaro. "What about Crewman..?"

"Rinaro, Chief." Mullens provided.

"What about Crewman Rinaro? Was he here?"

"I wasn't here either sir," Rinaro piped up, feeling bad for Mitchell taking the brunt.

"SIR?! SIR?!" Case was right on Rinaro. "I work for a living, Crewman. Chief Petty Officer Case. Repeat it after me."

"Chief Petty Officer Case," Rinaro and Case said together with even Mullens mouthing the words. Case looked both the enlisted men over and took a step back.

"Approved substitutes are Hard Case and Head Case," Sorien said, putting his back to them and starting to pace. "But neither to my face or in my presence...only behind my back. Understood?"

"Yes, Chief Case!" Mullens and Rinaro screamed together, trying to match his volume. They both looked at one another (ironically behind Case's back) and Rinaro pointed at his right eye, mouthing the word "Betazoid". Mullens mouthed the words "Shut up."

"You left your station unattended," Chief Case said, tuning to look hard at them, the black iris of his one good eye drilling deep. "You failed to make use of the Armory's primary security protocols as established by Lieutenant T'Kal. You are a travesty to enlisted men and a disappointment to me, the Lieutenant, the Captain, Starfleet, and all of your immediate family."

"Yes, Chief Case." The volume had muted.

"The cat is no longer away gentlemen," Case said, squaring his shoulders towards them. He gestured to Mullens. "No more low level non-coms in charge playing grabass with you down in the Armory and setting a bad example...I'm with you day in and day out for at least the next six months. Your attitude changes or I break you both in two trying. We clear?"

"Yes, Chief Case." Utter defeat.

"The ship belongs to Captain Salinger, the department to Lieutenant T'Kal, and your asses belong to me. " He looked Mullens and Rinaro up and down once more. "I'll be gone on check-in for no more than two hours. I want this space back in order by the time I return." He walked for the door and his belongings. "Get to it."

Rinaro exchanged a furtive glance with Mullens as they both stooped to gather up phaser rifle components. Their shift was ending in minutes but somehow neither thought it wise to mention that fact to Chief Case. In fact, Mullens waited for the door to close fully before he dared to even whisper what had been on his mind from the moment Case had started screaming at them.

"We've got another one, Mark."

---

"And the Prophets Smiled"
By: Ensign Ainsley Chambers; Counselor
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Deck 3
Stardate: 57908.05 15h25

***

Ainsley straightened the PADDs on her desk and picked up her glass of pepsi and took a sip. She was thankful that she hadn't had any real appointments scheduled for the day, as most people seemed more interested in watching the wormhole as they went through. She hadn't been sleeping well the last couple nights; she still hadn't heard from Mason and she was worried that she had indeed ruined everything.

She went to her chair behind her desk and sat down. She had a slight shock when the cold fabric of the seat rubbed against the back of her thighs. She looked down at her lap and still couldn't believe she had worn the variant. She'd seen some of the nurses in Sickbay wearing them but had never believed she'd build up the courage.

Her comm console beeped an incoming message, text only.

She looked up at the console with a slightly puzzled expression and then pressed the button to display it.

"Deck 3. Photon tracking compartment 2. Quick, before the show's over."

A wide grin sprang to her lips. It had to be Mason. No one else would be sending her messages like that without signing them. She jumped out of her chair and headed for the door.

***

She approached her destination and paused just before she reached the sensor that would trigger the door. She glanced down at her uniform again. At least she had seen other members of the crew wearing skirt, even a couple of men. She pulled down on the hem a little self-consciously; when she had looked in the mirror that morning she had found that her thighs looked fat. She sighed, it was too late to run back to her quarters and change. As she stepped forward to activate the door she decided that she wanted Mason to see her in the skirt, and she hoped he liked what he saw.

Photon Tracking Compartment 2 was a tiny closet of a compartment. A large conduit pipe ran horizontally through the middle of the room at about waist height, and there was a cramped workstation in front of an observation porthole. Against the far wall leaned Mason in a skirt of his own, looking as nonchalant as ever. He whistled when she opened the door.

"That is a good look on you, ma'am," he drawled.

Ainsley's face blazed red for a moment. "You too. Look at those legs. Wow!" She grinned at him.

"I nicked my knee shaving, though," he looked down and regarded his knee with humor.

Ainsley clucked her tongue disapprovingly at him as she approached. "I think you need lessons, and some tips on waxing. Waxing keeps the pickies away longer. See?" she motioned down towards her perfectly smooth legs. "Two weeks ago and not one pickie."

" 'Pickies?' " Mason asked, smiling at the obvious slang. "And doesn't waxing hurt? I hear women talk about that all the time."

"Every woman knows it hurts to be beautiful," she responded, and then added, "but don't tell me that you're afraid of a tiny little pain like that."

He laughed out loud. "I'll be sure and call you to kiss it better next time."

She looked into his eyes, wanting to kiss him right there and then, but not quite sure where they stood since the Thomas incident. "I'd come running," she replied truthfully.

"Oh yeah?" he asked facetiously. "Well, I did nick my lip just the other day, it may need a little TLC."

"Really?" Ainsley responded, stepping closer so that she was standing right in front of him. "Well, I should be able to help you with that." She placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

He returned it, and smiled when they broke it. "Much better. Thank you."

Ainsley smiled in return."You're welcome."

He smiled, switching his tone from tender to casually pleasant. "So," he said. "I bet you're wondering why I've called you here."

"Well I guess it could have been just to kiss your lips better," she responded with a smile, "but that really could have been done anywhere." She looked around the room.

"We're scheduled to cast off from DS9 and head through the wormhole any minute," he chuckled, wanting to kiss her again. But time was moving on.

"I figured the lounge would be packed with people trying to get a look, so I scoped us out our own little spot. If you sit up here," he indicated the conduit pipe, "and I stand behind you, we should have some of the best seats in the house."

She looked up at the conduit and then back at Mason. "That'd be fun, I think." Then she put her hand on Mason's chest. "How are you?"

He looked at her hand and took a deep serious breath. "I'm okay," he said. "We do need to sort some things out, but first things first," he finished with another smile. "Climb up here, or we're gonna miss it.

"Of course," he said softly as they got situated and he slid his arms around her waist, "this also gives me an excuse to hold you." He cradled her against him, nuzzling her cheek a bit.

"I was hoping," Ainsley responded with a soft giggle.

The porthole view tilted, the ship obviously moving away from the station, though inertial dampers and sound baffles made it necessary to look out a window to establish that fact.

"You know, I'm told that when two people kiss under the opening wormhole, the prophets will bless them, and they will always be close." He swept her hair to one side and kissed the nape of her neck.

Ainsley felt tingles on her neck where his lips had touched her. "You just made that up," she said matter-of-factly after a moment.

"Yes I did. Want to try it anyway?"

She turned slightly and looked up at him over her shoulder. "I don't think it'll hurt."

"Here we go," whispered Mason, looking past her. She turned as well, and they shared the view of the wormhole as it spiraled open, a great heaving blossom of light, growing to fill the window as the ship accelerated. She leaned back, he leaned forward, and they kissed deeply.

"Think the prophets saw that?" he asked with mock thoughtfulness. "We ought to make sure," he said, sharing her smile. "Come here." He kissed her again.

If they hadn't seen it the first time they definitely did the second. Ainsley was sure there were sparks flying around the room as he kissed her senseless.

They broke the kiss and looked into each other's eyes for a time. Ainsley used the moment to get her breath back. "We really should do that talking now."

Mason looked down and sighed. "Yeah." He chuckled and shook his head. "Seems like whenever we get together now it's so one of us can confess something to the other. We need to get back to the 'going on dates' concept."

"Yeah I know," Ainsley replied sadly. "We need to get back to the simple things."

"Yes we do," Mason said. He went silent and thoughtful. The aurora of the wormhole's interior streamed into the room.

"I hit Thomas," he said finally, keeping it simple.

She was still leaning back against him and was quite comfortable. It took a moment for her to realize what he had said, when it sunk in she sat forward and turned slowly so that she could look at him. "Excuse me? you did what?" Her voice was laced with disbelief.

"After you left the other night," Mason admitted, with a small touch of embarrassment, "I went to find Thomas, and I hit him."

She looked at him incredulously. "Why would you do that Mason? Did you hurt him?"

"I broke his nose," Mason said guiltily. He hadn't intended to share that, but it just came out when she asked. Damn, he really couldn't lie to this woman. He scratched his eyebrow nervously, unable to completely meet her eyes. "The scam he ran on you is an old one, and one most guys like to run. I was angry at him for doing it, and got madder and madder the more I thought about it. I wasn't thinking."

"That's no excuse," Ainsley replied, sliding off the conduit and onto the floor. "The situation was over and done with. What were you hoping to prove by something so barbaric?" She found herself getting quite angry at him, and angry that he would use her as his excuse.

"I don't know," Mason said. That sounded stupid. He soldiered on. "I don't know. I was angry, and I acted on impulse, and I just," he searched for the word, "did it. It was a mistake from the start, and I felt like you needed to know." He was starting to babble again. He stopped before he made a bigger fool of himself, waiting for what was obviously coming. He wondered if Szerda would be the one that fixed his eye again.

Ainsley took a deep breath; he was so hangdog he was making it hard for her to stay mad at him. "What I don't understand, Mason, is how you could go down there in anger and do that to him. Did you hit him more than once? You must have hit him pretty hard to break his nose."

Mason closed his eyes. "I hit him, he hit me, we hit each other a lot. We rolled around on the floor. It wasn't pretty."

"Does anyone else know?" she asked.

He opened his eyes. The look on his face answered the question before he could speak. "Yes," he said. At her expectant look, he continued. "Thomas contacted the local authorities and they contacted Sam. From there it went to the captain. It all happened this morning."

She crossed her arms over her chest, and glared up at him. "Was it worth it?" she asked.

Farrell looked down and shook his head. "No."

"Good!" she responded. "What did you get from Salinger?"

"A formal reprimand, a public apology to Thomas, payment of damages for his furniture," he winced at that. She looked even angrier. He was doomed. "Six weeks of daily counseling with F'Zal, and Anger Management with Potts."

"Well the last two might actually do you some good!" she said, a little harsher then she really meant to. "Mason, really! His furniture? What excuse did you give the captain?"

"I didn't give any excuse. He didn't ask," Mason answered flatly.

"I guess he probably wouldn't, the reason doesn't really matter." Still standing with her arms folded and looking up at him, her voice softened a little. "I can take care of myself you know, Mason. If Thomas deserved to be hit I would have been the one to do it. What he deserved was to be completely forgotten about."

"I know," Mason said softly. "I know. I'm," he made a vague gesture, "I'm sorry."

"Thank you, though," she said suddenly. She hadn't meant to say it, she didn't really want to encourage him, but now that it was out she might as well continue. "I don't recall anyone ever beating a guy up for me before." She paused then. "That doesn't mean that I ever want you to do it again, though."

"Absolutely," Mason said. "From now on, I'll let you . . . hit people," he trailed off, and then chuckled. "That sounded really bizarre."

Ainsley allowed herself to crack a smile then. "How about neither of us hitting anybody." She giggled then. "Except every now and then when you deserve a good shot."

"For a minute there I actually was expecting you to pop me again. You didn't see me brace for it?"

"Now that would have been kinda hypocritical don't you think?" she responded facetiously. "They'd be sending me to Potts with you!"

"I'll probably need the help," Mason grimaced. "I've heard he's really something."

She nodded. "That's one way to put it. But it's a good something. I've spent a little bit of time with him and he's ok."

"Alright," Mason said, looking at her sideways. "I'm trustin' you on that."

She looked at him sadly for a moment and thought about that word, Trust. He had said earlier that they always seemed to be meeting each other to make a confession, and that certainly seemed to be the case. Trust didn't seem to be something they were instilling deeply in each other. But they were still in the beginning of this relationship. It would get better. It would have to.

"It's a start," she said quietly.

Mason met her eyes. "I'm sorry, Ainsley."

"I know," she responded.

He nodded and took a deep breath. "I ought to let you get back to your day. Party tonight?" He mustered a smile.

She smiled up at him. "I've already got my party clothes on!"

He gave a genuine laugh. "And completely pickie-free."

She giggled. "That's right!" She got up on her tip toes and kissed him quickly. "I should let you get to work, and I have to finish closing up for the day."

He kissed her on the forehead. "Thanks for coming."

"You're welcome. Now we just have to see if the Prophets were watching." She turned and walked out of the small room. "See you tonight," she called back just as the doors began to close.

He smiled and nodded as the doors closed between them, then looked back to the porthole. The pearlescent nimbus of light radiated from it warmly, a window on heaven.

"Yeah," Mason said, smiling thoughtfully. That had gone better than he had hoped. He moved to the porthole and, with one hand on either side, leaned forward until the sea of light filled his vision. "Thanks, guys."

---

"Wormhole Alternatives"
By: Doctor Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor
Ensign Raina Derrell - Medical Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Ship's Lounge
Stardate: 57908.05, 15h29

***

Doctor Potts pushed through the crowd gathering in the Sulu Lounge and wished he were just a wee bit taller. While he normally enjoyed being eye level for so many bust lines of tall female personnel, it was making it decidedly difficult to spot the whole reason he was in the Lounge in the first place: The extraordinarily lovely Raina Derrell.

The medical officer had been weighing on his half-Deltan mind ever since their chance encounter some days before. Derrell had obviously been quite taken with his crooning and after he'd taken the risky step of confessing his attraction, Raina had agreed on this little intimate get-together with just her, Potts, half the Sulu crew, and some unknown number of wormhole aliens. It was all quite romantic.

Potts wormed and fought his way through the crowd and as luck would have it, came out very close to a table right at the portals that Ensign Derrell had claimed as her own. Her skin was absolutely flawless and Raina was already looking out at the motionless stars, a small smile touching her red lips. Potts actually placed a hand on his heart and thought beautiful as he sidled up to the table.

"Raina," he gushed, sliding into the empty seat. "How very clever of you...a window seat. I have to admit I'm very impressed."

"The whole point is to admire the view out there," Raina commented. "Besides I've always had a fascination with the stars."

"It must have been difficult to keep the seat open," Potts observed, looking at the assembled crowd. "An incredibly beautiful woman with an empty chair is often seen as an invitation to sit. How many crewmembers did you have to shoo away?"

She met his gaze. "I haven't been here all that long so there hasn't been much time for that. You arrived just in time."

"To admire the view?" he asked, with a smile. He was looking at Raina and not through the portals.

Raina just smiled very aware that he was looking at her rather than out the window. The medical officer's gaze remained fixed on the stars. Something about watching them intrigued her. "I've always enjoyed astronomy."

"You're certainly in the right place for it," Potts enthused, making a motion that indicated the Lounge when he actually meant the starship. "Did you consider Science for your career or where you always set on healing?"

"That's an easy one to answer," she replied. "Healing fit more naturally as a career. Sciences such as Astronomy have always been more of a hobby for me, a way to relax after a busy day."

"It sounds more like stacking more work on top of work," Ilan smiled. "And I only double down on elevens, unless the dealer has trash and I'm working in the soft teens with only a few chips left, ya know?"

Raina had to laugh at that. "For the biological related sciences maybe. But stargazing doesn't require more than a good reference book and one's imagination. Though I've always been one to challenge myself or be too focused."

"Where do you find the time Raina?" Potts asked, impressed. "Your duties in Sickbay require a lot of odd hours, yes?"

"On occasion yes they do," she answered his question.

"Not a lot of time then for a personal life." Potts looked down at the tabletop. "Is that intentional?" he asked, looking back at her.

Briefly Raina met his gaze. "I've never thought so. That side of me has always existed. And you, what are your observations of all of this?"

"My observations?" Potts asked. "About your life?"

"Your observations about the stars, this evening? Any of it," Raina commented. So far he'd been looking at her but rather quiet it seemed. "It hasn't escaped my attention that your focus has been on me rather than why we are here."

"You are why I'm here," Potts said with a sly grin. "I don't have your love of astronomy." Ilan put his hand on hers, prompting a few more eyes away from the heavens and onto the odd courtship in progress. "You're far more lovely than any star."

The gesture clearly caught Raina by surprise. "I wasn't really referring to astronomy. You were the one that originally suggested watching our transit through the wormhole. Unless of course you had other ideas."

"I did," Potts admitted. "I don't think I made that a secret exactly." Potts took his hand off of hers, not sure if his touch was appreciated. "Were you looking forward to the wormhole especially?"

Raina laughed slightly at his comment. "No I never indicated either of us tried to. Was I looking forward to the wormhole...as far as I'm concerned wormholes are wormholes. Beautiful but they tend to be a lot alike once you've seen one."

"Well, we'll have to figure out something you haven't seen on board," Potts said with a sly smile. At that moment, the Sulu disengaged from the docking pylon and a loud 'whoop' ran through the assembled crowd. They were on their way to the Gamma Quadrant.

"Let's see," Potts continued oblivious to the crew's excitement. "I have a number of holodeck programs we could enjoy. Then, there's always the arboretum. Would you care to see that?"

"I hear the arboretum is nice, but that's something we can see anytime and well perhaps a bit crowded on a night like this." Raina wasn't sure what had gotten into her. "Maybe someplace quieter..." She left the thought unfinished purposely for Potts to interpret.

"My quarters has like zero foot traffic," Potts said, checking his naked wrist. "At least at this time of day." He looked back to her, his eyebrows fluttering suggestively.

To both their surprise, Raina didn't shy away. Though she was certain she had come down with something or other. A simple look was all she gave him rather than attempt to answer with words.

"Raina," Potts gushed again. "How very clever of you!"

Potts took Raina's hand and pulled her out from the seat. A few people standing close to the vacated table had heard the conversation and couldn't help but watch the strange pair running for the door. And when the Sulu did enter the wormhole, they found themselves unable to enjoy it.

---

"Through The Rabbit Hole"
By: Captain Matt Salinger
Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lieutenant Xayella Tagliesh
Lieutenant Giles McKenzie [NPC]

Location: Main Bridge, USS Sulu
Stardate 57908.05, 15h30

***

They stood in his Ready Room, looking out at the empty space where the mouth of the wormhole waited for them. Matt Salinger glanced aside at Lyrr Tayla as she gazed out into the infinity, thoughts unknown within the safety of her mind. Matt gave her a smile, looked to the door that would lead to the bridge. "We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started... and know the place for the first time." Matt glanced at Lyrr and chuckled. "T.S. Eliot."

"Earth poet?" Lyrr asked with a curious smile.

"Poet was one of the hats he wore," Matt said. "But, yes. That's how I feel at times, with regards to exploration."

"Well, you're getting to do something not many captains have had the opportunity to do yet," she told him. "The Gamma Quadrant. It's still relatively unexplored. You get to do that." Lyrr smiled and added, "And I get to help you."

"My right hand through this," Matt said. "And, I'm happy and proud to have you along."

Lyrr chuckled. "Well, even if you weren't, it's a little late to change now. It's time to go."

"I hope the engines are ready for this," Matt said. "With the way Commander Zareb and Lieutenant Thaine have been glaring at each other, it wouldn't exactly surprise me if things were running hotter than normal down in engineering."

Lyrr sighed. "Well, hopefully they can keep this ship in shape, despite their differences." Gesturing for the door, she smiled and asked, "Ready for this?"

Matt started toward the door. "Ready," he said. "Let's go see the Gamma Quadrant."

As he'd said, Lyrr was at Matt's right when they walked onto the bridge, and took her seat on his left when they reached their chairs; she raised an eyebrow at him as he seemed to bounce in his.

"It's an exciting moment," he said to her with a crooked smile. "You should try it, it makes the next part so much more fun."

Lyrr frowned sternly, and said, "I do not bounce." She winked at him, then grinned. "Go on. Your crew's waiting."

Matt chuckled, then turned to face forward. "Stand by to clear all moorings," he called out. "Mr. McKenzie, plot a course for the wormhole." He glanced at Lyrr, flashed her a grin. "Release docking clamps. Maneuvering thrusters, Giles. Back us out nice and easy."

"Nice and easy, sir," Giles McKenzie said. "Aye, sir."

The ship glided back from Deep Space Nine, easily and steadily. Once they were far enough away, Matt stood from his chair, wanting to be on his feet for this part. "Ahead half impulse, helm. Steady as she goes. Commander, stand by to open her up for us." He looked to Lyrr once more and nodded. "Let's see those colours."

Lyrr smiled quizzically at the captain. "You don't want the honours?" Matt chuckled. "I'll get it on the way back," he said.

"Well..." Lyrr shrugged. "In that case..." She smiled at Matt, and once within range, said, "Lieutenant, activate the verteron pulse."

"Aye, Commander." The flight controller moved his fingers deftly over his console. "Verteron pulse activated."

The blue-white swirling disc blossomed before the words could fully leave McKenzie's lips. Lyrr had lived for years on Bajor and DS9, watching the wormhole opening and closing for passing ships numerous times, but this one was by far the most breathtaking. She smiled with wonder at Matt. "Ready?"

"Lt. McKenzie," Matt said, eyes fixed on the viewscreen, "take us in."

At McKenzie's acknowledgement, the ship sailed forward towards the looming eye of the wormhole. The sleek Intrepid-class vessel seemed to fit easily into the opening, which contracted behind them. They were soon enveloped within the crackling electromagnetic storm, blue tendrils lashing out at the ship and providing a blinding light show. Lyrr Tayla gripped the armrests of her chair to minimize the disorienting effect; the gentle rocking of the ship as it weaved through the tangled maze of the wormhole was proving upsetting to Lyrr's stomach, despite the dampening provided by the inertial stabilizers. She wondered how merchants and other tourists to DS9 did it so often.

Matt leaned close to Lyrr. "You alright?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "It's just a strange sensation, that's all. Before we get back, though, I think I'll have Lt. Thaine tweak the inertial dampeners for a much smoother ride."

"Good idea," Matt said. "Could you imagine going through in a shuttle or runabout?"

Lyrr frowned at Matt. "I really don't want that image in my head right now. Could we just watch in silence?"

"Would you like something to settle your stomach?" Matt asked with a smile.

"Don't poke fun, Matt Salinger," Lyrr warned. "I'm really good with a phaser."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Matt said. "Though, you'll have to get the phaser before you can use it on me. And, that would be very obvious, wouldn't it? Besides, I don't know if we have anything on the bridge for spacesickness."

"I'm not sick," she insisted, then sighed. "Though...how much longer?"

"Not much longer," Matt said.

"Captain, we're approaching the terminus," Lt. McKenzie announced.

Lyrr gave a great sigh of relief. "Finally," she muttered.

Matt chuckled. "Prepare to take us out, Lieutenant," he said, then glanced at Lyrr. "And, not a moment too soon by the looks of it."

She offered a scowl back, then stubbornly lifted her chin as she faced the viewscreen again. Her stomach seemed to sigh as a break appeared in the funnel, revealing dark space and pinpoints of stars almost within reach.

"Steady, Lieutenant," Lyrr urged him gently. He nodded and aimed the ship at the opening. As if seized by the electromagnetic arms within, the ship was tossed out of the wormhole and into space. Lyrr sighed and sank back against her chair. "That's the last time I do that."

"You'll have to do it at least one more time," Matt said softly. "We do have to head back through to get home. Unless you plan on settling down out here in the Gamma Quadrant."

Lyrr made a show of contemplating his suggestion, then shrugged. "It's a possibility."

"I guess we may have to make a side-mission finding you a suitable plot of land...just in case."

She smiled facetiously and thanked him with a bow of her head.

> From the front of the bridge, Lt. McKenzie glanced up, then over > his shoulder at Matt. "Captain...well...where to now?"

"Set a course for system Oh-Seven-Oh, our first stop in the scenic Gamma Quadrant. Warp Three. Lieutenant Tagliesh, drop a few probes out and let's have a look at the neighbourhood."

"Aye, Captain," the flight controller replied.

"Yes, sir!" came Tagliesh's reply, with zest and a brilliant smile in his direction.

Matt shot her a surreptitious wink. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said. "Your department is free to begin any en route surveys they have planned."

Her gaze was sultry and indicated she'd prefer to survey something entirely different, but she obliged with an affirmative and turned back towards her station.

"Captain, course laid in," McKenzie announced.

"Let's see what the Gamma Quadrant has in store for us," Matt said. "Engage."

McKenzie's fingers walked over his console, then he gazed ahead at the viewscreen as the engines powered up. "Here we go..." he sang to himself.

And the starfield before them stretched into thin threads of light, converging into the distance, and guiding them to the beginning of their journey.

---

"Alice through the Wormhole"
by CPO Calyca Boothroyd, Engineer's Mate

Location: USS Sulu, Ship's Lounge
Stardate: 57908.05, 15h30

***

Calyca had just squeaked onboard before the Sulu entered the wormhole. Perhaps just squeaked was not quite the proper term as she had time to stow her gear and get settled in before the big event and thus found herself gazing out into space with the majority of the crew. She'd seen wormholes before.... From a distance.... And never facing into the jaws of one. She was so excited that her toes were tingling although not much of that excitement showed on her features. Save for her eyes which were alight with the suppressed feelings.

She tilted her head a bit, listening to the subtle changes in the sounds of the ship that were always there in the background, always speaking if one listened. At least they always seemed to speak to her. The soft, distant sound of a thruster firing was nearly drowned out by the noise of the lounge. But Caly could hear it... Or perhaps she sensed it more than heard. At any rate, they were on the move, lining up with the wormhole. Caly peered a little more intently at empty space before them. "For some minutes Alice stood without speaking, looking out in all directions over the country -- and a most curious country it was...." she murmured quietly under her breath, quoting Lewis Carroll.

And then the wormhole burst open in a sudden kaleidoscope of colors and bright flashes that caused Caly to draw in an excited, ohmygod breath and cover her lurching stomach with one hand as it echoed the ship's very slight quiver of vibration. She watched as the ship was enveloped in that bright array of lights for what seemed endless moments. One of those moments that seemed to suspend itself in time and hover on the brink of continuation.... Then it was gone and she was looking into the star dotted black space of the Gamma quadrant. She let out her breath in a soft huff, unaware till then that she'd been holding it. "Curiouser and curiouser," she grinned and kept up her vigil as her stomach slowly settled back to normal.

Calyca finally tugged her green, still slightly awed gaze from the view port and pulled out her PADD. Time to get to know the Sulu and her crew. Ship first, people later, what a warped sense of priorities she had. But they were hers, warped or not and she began a solo, self-learning tour of the ship. Curious glances were given to some of the main parts of the Sulu as she committed the ship's personal quirks to memory... Until she got to Engineering where she engaged in a more hands-on, direct and up-close look at her new home.

Life was good and Caly finally headed back to her own quarters with a contented smile on her face, smudges of dirt here and there, her mussed hair a bit more mussed, and looking for all the world as if she'd just spent an intensely satisfying time with a new lover.

---

"A Hard Case"
By: Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
Lieutenant (jg) Arthas Hex - Deputy Chief of Security
and Chief Petty Officer Sorien Case - Weapons Specialist

Location: USS Sulu Security Offices
Stardate: 57908.05, 15h53

***

Sorien walked into the Main Security office just a step down the corridor from the Armory. A quick glance around with his single ebon iris ensured that Lt. T'Kal was running a pretty tight ship. There were a few things that bothered Case offhand and might deserve a mention were his opinion ever solicited but the only thing that he deemed urgent was he had yet to see a single weapon holstered on any of the Security office personnel. This wasn't Risa or even Deep Space Nine anymore...they were in a different quadrant with different political systems and different rules that Sorien had learned the hard way when they bled over onto his homeworld. The men and women on patrol and in the office needed to be armed.

Case dropped his travel chest with a heavy thud and slung his duffle off on top of it. The officers and enlisted he passed on the way to the Security Chief's office regarded him with everything from polite nods to furtive glances. Case had been through this more times than he could count; he was new and it was possible he might be the first one taken out in the GQ. It didn't matter that he was a Chief Petty Officer with more years in than most of the crew; an energy beam could find him as easy as the next man or woman. No one would even try to get close until he'd cracked the first few months and he understood. In fact, he felt exactly the same way.

The door to the Security Chief's office had been programmed in the open position. Lieutenant T'Kal was behind his desk sipping from a mug marked USS Windsor. Lieutenant Hex was sitting in front of the chief and both men shared smiles, momentarily distracted by a private joke. Case regarded them from the open doorway, his face a blank mask. Lieutenant T'Kal was what he remembered from the man's Academy days; fit, strapping, and now even more of an amalgam of cultures. The long streaked hair was a change and a bit of a mistake in Case's opinion - sure, it was real pretty but it afforded too many opportunities for an enemy to get a handhold and crack your neck. Case was outright shocked by Lieutenant Hex...the Trill officer looked to have a good five or six centimeters on both Sorien and T'Kal but was as whisper thin as he'd ever seen a man. When the Jem'Hadar had annexed Rixx on Betazed and cut off the food supply to urban rebels in the southern district, most of them had more meat on their bones after a year of near starvation than Hex did at this moment.

Case kept his face a blank and struck the doorframe three times in observance of centuries old Naval tradition. It was so rare to find an open door anymore to use it on. "Chief Petty Officer Sorien Case requesting permission to enter, sir."

Benedict grinned widely as he saw the man at his door. He nodded in greeting and stepped around his desk, one hand extended to shake the man's hand. "Chief." He gripped the man's hand hard, but not hard enough to turn it into anything but a firm shake. "Been a long time.." Benedict's grin widened, "You picked up a memento there?" he indicated the eye.

"On Betazed," Case said, trying to stay lighthearted but simmering internally at what the memory meant. He turned his head a little for T'Kal to admire the work. "A Jem'Hadar didn't like an answer I gave him so he hit me with the butt of his rifle and popped the eye right out." Case paused long enough to give the punchline some menace. "But he doesn't do that anymore."

Benedict stood back and laughed. "Arthas - this man beat the shit outta me at the academy. First time I ever got truly stomped into a mat. Be careful - the only way to stop him is to kill him." He folded his arms across his chest as he regarded the senior non-com. "It's great to have you on the Sulu, Chief."

"Thank you, sir," Case said to T'Kal as he shook Hex's hand. He was tempted to handle it gently given the look of the Lieutenant JG. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," he offered Hex.

Arthas shook the man's hand and said, "I'm glad you're on my side then. I couldn't imagine many people being able to tackle Lieutenant T'Kal."

"Well, he was younger, sir," Case said, shooting a somewhat mischievous look at the Security Chief. "A little thinner... Occupied Bajor hadn't been a banquet." He leaned in close to Hex and mock-whispered, "He didn't have quite so much hair then either."

"Jealousy's a cursem Chief," Benedict laughed. "Get settled, and find your way around. I'd like to run a few things past you later - how about eighteen hundred in the officers lounge? We've got a good chef," he grinned.

"Sounds good, sir," Case said, resisting the urge to use the skeletal Hex as evidence of the Chef's prowess. "I've already had a look around the Armory. Found it practically unsecured while the assigned crew were off enjoying the wormhole ride."

"I'm sure it won't happen again." T'Kal gave Case an understanding nod. "I'll leave you to take care of those issues - you know what has to be done." At the academy they'd called him Hard Case - or Head Case - but he was fair if a little gruff with his methods. "You know we're going to have to be on our toes from now on. We're in enemy territory now. The captain likes a nice quiet ship - smooth running. I want the detail to be sharp. For the last three weeks I've been running them ragged with holodeck scenarios. We've taken most of the available time while the ship was being taken care of on DS9 to get them physically and mentally fit. We've lost three of our security officers already. I don't intend to lose any more."

"I'll remind my men that dying is against orders," Case said, managing a smile in spite of a grim topic. "And I'll make them believe I mean it."

Benedict nodded. "I'll let you get on with the job then." He held out his hand. "I'm happy to have you here, Sorien, I couldn't have asked for a better man."

Arthas nodded curtly at the elder Human. "It's good to meet you, Chief. Your experience will be very useful I'm sure."

Case shook officer hands in turn. "I'll see that it is, sir," he said to Hex. "Good day to both of you." He left the office.

Arthas looked back at his superior and raised an eye-brow. "Interesting scar. I've had a quick browse of his Starfleet bio, he seems... 'experienced' to say the least."

"He is, Arthas, he is." Benedict watched the non-com leave, a slight smile on his lips. "Starfleet Command did us a favor I think. Just let him do his thing."

---

"Weight, And How We Carry It"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Chief Petty Officer Sorien Case; Weapons Specialist

Location: USS Sulu, Deck 6
Stardate: 57908.05 16h16

***

"Chief!?" called the ensign strolling down the corridor.

Case turned his thick neck towards the shout and got a look at the ensign walking towards him. The golden field on the top half of his chest could have identified him as fellow security and therefore one of the Chief's immediate superiors so Sorien slapped on his game face even as he realized he might not be able to maintain it: The man was wearing a skirt.

"Yes, sir?" Case answered, turning fully towards the officer and squaring his shoulders. He still carried the large duranium chest and the duffle slung over his shoulder. He looked like he had been carved out of rock.

"Ensign Farrell, Operations." He put out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Chief Case," Sorien said curtly, Case's sinewy hand giving Farrell's a respectable grip. He kept Farrell's eyes and didn't look down while he tried to remember the various species on the galaxy that looked human but favored female clothing. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I've got your rooming assignment, and figured I'd just come find you."

Case's eyes narrowed...that is to say, his one eye did. The other only flexed as much as paralysis allowed. "That's kind of first class treatment for an enlisted man, sir. I was going to stop by Ops after Medical."

Farrell laughed. "Well, let's just say I'm steering clear of Deck 1 today," he quipped. "Can I give you a hand? I'll help you get stowed."

"I have it under control, sir," Case said, continuing to carry his gear as the two fell in alongside one another, walking to no clear designation. "Are there quarters available on this deck or the adjacents, Ensign? I'd like to be as close to the Armory as possible."

"I can appreciate that," Farrell nodded, "but unfortunately all I've got is deck 13. Unless you want a roommate, and then I might be able to find you something on 7."

Sorien nodded but was troubled. In an emergency, Deck 13 was further away from his duty station than he wanted. "Can I submit a pending request for a change in quarters should any become available on six, sir? I don't want to climb seven decks in a Jefferies tube if the turbolifts fail in an emergency."

"Absolutely," Farrell nodded. "I'll tag your message account with the file form."

They entered the turbolift along with two women, both in the skirted uniform variant.

As they whirled downward, Case regarded the females in their skirts and Farrell in his, a thoughtful frown on his face. Farrell caught the look, looked himself, and chuckled.

"Morale," Farrell said to Case. "A way for everyone to celebrate the Gamma entry without disrupting duty. Ladies," he said to the women, "very nice. Party tonight?"

"Only if you're there," one shot back. The other was trying very hard not to look at Case's scar.

Case lost the frown but still looked thoughtful. "Begging your pardon, sir but I don't quite get the connection. Skirts and the Gamma Quadrant."

"There's an old Earth story called 'Alice in Wonderland'," Farrell explained. "The main character, a girl named Alice, falls down a mythical rabbithole into a place of wonder and fantasy. We're heading down a rabbithole all our own into the Gamma Quadrant, so some of us in Ops decided we'd pay a little homage to Alice," he shrugged with a smile.

"Ah," Case said, mastering his face to be appropriately noncommittal. He could appreciate what the Ensign was trying to do from a morale standpoint but the Gamma Quadrant had him on edge. The minute the Sulu had burst onto this side of the Galaxy, every hair on Case's body stood up straight and his nerves pulsed. This was the home of all that he hated; Founders, Vorta, Jem'Hadar. The home of the Dominion.

The lift whirred to a halt at deck 13, and the doors opened. Farrell stepped out, and Case followed.

"You've got 14B," the ensign said, appearing to know exactly where he was going. "It's a double room, but it's yours alone."

Case thought he recognized the tone in Farrell's voice. "And whose was it before, sir?" he asked, gambling on that recognition.

Farrell thought a moment before answering. "Ensign Storm. He was lost in action," the ensign said, simply and without inflection.

Case considered that. "And have you had trouble reassigning it, sir? A lot of redshirts wouldn't want the quarters of a dead man."

"We just checked it back into circulation today. This is its first reassignment." Farrell nodded as they approached the door. "He was a good man. His quarters deserve another."

"Again, begging your pardon, sir...but you don't know what kind of man I am. Yet." The door to 14-B hissed and Case stepped inside.

"I read your file," Farrell shrugged affably and smiled. "If you don't turn out to be a good man, I'll throw myself out an airlock. This ship needs good men in positions of authority, and on behalf of the Ops department," he put out his hand again, "welcome aboard."

Case accepted the shake with a small smile, both men on either side of the door frame. "Computer. Lights."

Storm's old quarters flared into view: two Spartan beds on either side of a dividing counter.

"We can pull the extra bed and replace it with a desk if you'd like," Farrell offered.

"I would, sir," Case said, dropping his chest with a heavy thud and slinging off his duffle. He walked into the quarters, running his hand on the dividing counter. "Can engineering pull this out as well? It splits up the room."

"I'll check," Farrell said. "I don't know how tight it's attached, but I'll check with engineering." He regarded the counter for a moment, and then took a breath and clapped his hands once. "Anything else you need, chief?"

Case disappeared into the head, presumably looking around. "No, sir. Everything looks good," he confirmed, his voice drifted back into the living area.

"Fair enough," Farrell nodded, eyeing the chest. He tried pushing it with his foot. It didn't budge. He heard Case using the fresher and glanced in the direction of the head. He bent and grasped the chest's handle. It was murderously heavy. He contemplated squatting to use his legs, but remembered he was in a skirt. The sink started running, and Farrell let go, shaking out his hand where the weight had made the handle bite into his fingers. The chief came back, and Farrell snapped his hands behind his back, a picture of nonchalance.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then," he said pleasantly.

Case looked from Farrell to his chest and back again, a small smile touching his lips. "Thank you again, sir. Best of luck with your party."

"You're invited, you know, so long as you abide by the dress code," Farrell said with a mischievous smile. He turned to go, but stopped in the doorway.

Sorien politely ignored the invitation by smiling as he opened his duffle. He needed to get to medical and the PADD with his service record was inside.

"Chief?" Farrell asked, turning back.

"Aye, sir?" He looked up at Farrell.

"You know people will talk, and make up their own stories." Farrell tapped a finger below his eye, corresponding to Case's ruined one. "Want me to spread the truth, or would you rather I make up something especially fearsome?"

The smile faded and there was something positively icy in the way Case looked at Farrell before he turned back to his duffle. "Jem'Hadar. On Betazed. Anyone needs more than that, send them to me. Sir."

Farrell stood a moment, digesting the look he'd just gotten. Then turned and left without another word.

---

"Pants Down, Chin Up"
by Lieutenant Commander Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer
Ensign Amy Reese - Nurse
Ensign Annikafiore Szerda - Nurse
and Chief Petty Officer Sorien Case - Weapons Specialist

Location: USS Sulu, Sickbay
Stardate: 57908.05, 16h55

***

Amy harrumphed at the wall chrono and petulantly stuffed the last of the tricorders into the equipment locker. It was well past Alpha shift and she was still on duty. The party in the lounge was scheduled to start soon, and she was stuck making up for the hour she arrived late for shift that morning. It seemed she and Kit would have to tone down the enthusiasm and start getting some sleep at night. Sighing woefully and sullenly plodding off to straighten out the trays, Amy was only moderately interested in the sickbay doors whisking open.

Chief Case entered, his broad shoulders passing close to either side of the door. A quick glance around with his one good eye placed the Doctor at her desk in her office with what looked to be a nurse, judging from her youth, working near one of the consoles. She was fairly tall with a long lean shape and strawberry blond hair cut short. Her uniform was tight and presumably in honor of Farrell's skirt day; a skirt fell mid-thigh. She had a single pip on her collar.

"Sir?" Case said with a slight question. He had a PADD in his hand. "I'm here for check-in...Chief Petty Officer Case."

Amy turned to come eye-level with Case's broad chest. She blushed hotly and smiled as she gazed up at him. "Hi," she said, her tone detectably dreamy once she took in his features. Despite the marred eye, she decided he was ruggedly handsome. Blindly, Amy accepted the padd, and held up her free hand for the chief. "Ensign Amy Polly Reese," she announced breathlessly.

Sorien accepted the hand, business-like but taking care to handle it gently. "Nice to meet you, sir," he said. "I suppose I'll need to strip down now. I'm due for a full physical. Complete scan and visual examination."

"Oh..." Amy grinned and stepped back. "Right this way, Chief." She motioned towards the examination alcove, then followed him as he obeyed, taking the liberty to survey his body from behind. It was as pleasing as the front. "So, you're new..." she mentioned. "How do you like the Sulu?"

"Ask me again in a few days, Ensign...I'm too new to have an opinion yet." He found the door and looked back at her, almost smiling. "About all I can say so far is I like the dress code." He made a point of looking in her eyes and not down at her long pale legs.

Amy grinned bashfully and absently scratched at a bare thigh. "Well...it's only for today...the whole skirt thing. Something about the wormhole and celebrating..." She shrugged. "I wear one most of the time anyway." Amy hugged Sorien's padd to her chest, giving a goofy laugh. "I bet you'd look good in one, Chief."

Case crooked a smile as he turned from her. "We're not going to find out. Sir." He began to strip off the outer jacket of his uniform.

Amy stared at him with a dumbfounded smile, especially at the shifting muscles beneath Case's tight tunic, which were revealed once the garment was removed. Amy gulped audibly and gawked at his back, all firm, rippling muscles decorated with slashing scars of pale pink. Her hand twitched, yearning to trace them with her finger. Amy sucked in a steadying breath and whirled away quickly. "A-Almost done?" she squeaked.

"I'm not sure," his voice came from behind her. "Bottom half too?"

Amy nearly giggled and nodded briskly. "Everything, Chief. We do want to be thorough, after all."

There was no answer except the sound of Case presumably removing his pants and boots. A few shuffle sounds later, Amy heard him say, "Ready, sir."

Amy hesitantly turned, then let out a deep breath. He was decent...unfortunately. "Okay," she said unsteadily while patting the biobed. "Hop on." Amy smiled sweetly at him as she took up a tricorder. "Don't worry...it won't hurt a bit."

Case got up on the biobed, taking care that the exam gown didn't open up at the back. Reese began running the tricorder over his thick arms and legs, Reese often regarding him with a shy look that she diverted every time he returned it. He smiled to himself as she did her scans.

"So...uh..." She chuckled nervously as the tricorder dipped lower, then quickly swept upwards again to a less precarious area. "You're...um...you're really in good shape, Chief. Although, I could tell that the moment I saw you." Her demure smile returned.

"Thank you, Ensign," he smiled back and admired her own shape. "It's good to see that most of the crew makes an effort to stay fit. What do you do to keep yourself in condition?"

"Oh, I--" She snickered abashedly and shook her head. "No...it's silly. I mean...well, I do some martial arts stuff, but I'm really no good." Amy skirted the biobed as she moved around behind him to scan his back. "I'm also in a band, and strumming a guitar works up a sweat sometimes. Does that count?"

"Looking at you, I'd have to say yes, sir," Case said, while Amy continued scanning. "I taught Physical Fitness and Self-Defense at the Academy for three years, Ensign. I could show you a few things, if you were interested in improving your skills."

"Oh, I don't know." She giggled nervously as she came around to Case's left side. "You'd really wanna teach me? I mean...I'd likely just end up tripping you up or something. I'm really a big klutz."

Case looked to his left. "I think I can handle you, Ensign." He smiled at her teasingly. "Or do I look incapable to you?"

"Oh, not at all!" Amy exclaimed, truly fearful she'd insulted the chief. "You look...quite capable." She grinned despite herself and boldly held his gaze. "So...sure, I'd love it if you could teach me a thing or two."

"As soon as I settle my schedule and get the Armory running smoothly, we have a date, Ensign." He lifted a thick arm so Reese could get a good read on his ribcage. "Are you up at 0600?"

Amy lifted one side of her mouth and wrinkled her nose in a comical look of incredulity. "Are you serious?" One look at his impassive, stern expression and Amy's question was answered. She sighed, resigned. "So...0600? In my skirt?" She giggled.

"If you wear your skirt you may get to use some self-defense after all," Case smiled. "Fending off other junior officers. I think a training uniform would give you the proper range of motion. We'll get into advanced skirt techniques at a later date," he teased, winking with his good eye.

Amy laughed heartily and dealt Case a flirting swat to the arm. "Oh, you're so funny! I bet you're real popular with the--"

Nurse Szerda knocked Amy aside with a swing of her hips, and offered both of them a warm, "Excuse me." Despite the hardly-dressed man before her, Annikafiore's eyes were on Amy's face, once she showed her a PADD, on which Annika had entered: Starfleet Regulation 69: A nurse has no need to remove her own clothes to perform a patient's physical examination.

Amy scowled at Annika, planting both hands firmly on her hips. "Annie, don't you have other patients to attend to?" she asked between gritted teeth, motioning her eyes pointedly out of the room. "I think I can handle this one on my own."

"Yeah," Annikafiore agreed facetiously. "I can see that. And if I can, I'm sure Doctor Sefton can too." Soft enough for only Amy to hear, Annika said, "She must want to shut down her Betazoid brain when you get in heat like this." With a saccharine smile, Szerda turned away to saunter off.

Amy gasped and nearly pitched the tricorder at Annika's head of bouncing red curls. She stomped a foot petulantly and shoved both arms into a tight knot over her chest. "It's not fair," she grumbled to no one in particular. "Why is she always picking on me? Why is everyone always picking on me!"

As a veteran, Case was both amused and dismayed by Amy's reaction. Amused for obvious reasons; dismayed because both 'Annie' and Reese were his superior officers. They were young still, he reminded himself as he sought to make eye contact with his pouting nurse.

"You know," he began, lifting Amy's chin with his fingertips. "Martial arts are an excellent way to build some self-assuredness. In a number of weeks, I can probably have you standing so tall that no one will be picking on you."

Amy's breath caught and her eyes flicked towards his hand cradling her chin. She smiled. "You think you could do that for me?" she asked, a detectable silkiness in her voice. Amy unwittingly brought her own fingers up and brushed them against Sorien's. "We should start tomorrow, I think," she breathed.

"If not tomorrow then as soon as we can," Case said, smiling back. He briefly cupped her cheek before pulling his hand away. "I'll need you to make a commitment to this, sir. It'll seem very unrewarding at the beginning."

"Oh, I'm committed," she insisted with one hand over her heart, though resting more closely to her breast. "I'll be there early tomorrow." Amy winked at him, then giggled. "Until then...you're free to go! If you have to...of course...." Her smile was alluring and suggestive. "I could perform another scan just in case."

"I should probably get back down to the Armory, Ensign," Case offered with a light regret. "I have two crewmen down there who will be so disappointed if I don't return." He hopped off the bed. "Tomorrow then. 0600. Holodeck One."

Amy nodded briskly, and smiled up at the tall man as he towered over her. She sighed. "Tomorrow...I will definitely not be late."

"I'm sure you won't, Ensign Reese." Case favored her with a grin which she broadly returned. A few seconds made the moment awkward. "Ensign Reese?"

She giggled. "Yes?"

He looked down at his exam gown as if it were obvious. "I need to get dressed."

Amy blushed and chuckled bashfully as she backed away. "Sorry," she whispered. "I'll just...I'll go. But it was nice examining you, Chief." She squeaked when she impacted with the wall, missing the doorway entirely. Her cheeks coloured a deeper shade of red and her giggles became boisterous. Amy took a single step to the side and managed to back through the opening this time. "See you tomorrow, Chief!" She winked and saluted him before the door closed on her.

Sorien looked at the door for a long time, his face tinged with bemusement.

***

"I apologise for not overseeing your physical exam myself," Damhnait Sefton said to Case by way of introduction, just as she walked out of her office, to stop him by the exit. "It seems none of my nurses were trained on appropriate patient interaction."

Case smiled. "They are quite young, sir," he said, offering his hand. "Sorien Case."

"Damhnait Sefton," she returned, giving his hand a squeeze between both of hers.

Case took his free hand and cupped the Doctor's in a similar gesture. "A pleasure, sir. It's always nice to see some homeworlders aboard a ship. It brings back fond memories."

"I'll take your word for it. For the Seftons, a return to Betazed tends to mean tragedy," Damhnait said with a touch of detached irony. "And, obviously, I cannot feel what you are feeling. It's peculiar that your damaged paracortex hides your mind behind such a strong psionic wall."

"Compensation," Case said, shrugging a little and meeting the Doctor's level gaze. "At least, that's what they tell me, sir. A man loses one limb, the other becomes stronger through constant use. My defensive nodes are all I have left."

Damhnait just slightly smiled bitter-sweetly at the irony - defensive nodes were the only thing her daughter lacked, and that prevented Andraia from living within society. "How long have you had to cope with the mental silence?" Damhnait asked.

"Thirteen years," Case said, rather nonchalantly for a Betazoid. It was akin to a human casually mentioning that they had lost their sight or hearing. "My wife could still get through for awhile before the walls got reinforced. But she never could get me in her head." His face went somber with thoughts of his dead wife. "We married mindblind," he admitted.

Nodding, Damhnait offered, "If you ever particularly need reminders of home while we're out here, just let me know."

"You're presence will be enough, sir," Case expressed sincerely. "Truth to tell, Betazed holds a few tragedies for all of us. I just put more effort into recalling the fond memories. They're hard to find, sometimes."

"I suppose that effort would be best put in creating new fond memories," Damhnait suggested contemplatively.

"That's good advice, sir." Case nodded thoughtfully. "And it does happen, now and again." A slight grin appeared. "I'm getting just old enough to consider two lovely young nurses making some minor fuss over a broken down Security Chief a fond memory. I'd consider it a personal favor if you didn't give them too much grief over it." He winked his good eye at the Doctor. "If you do, it might not happen again."

Smirking lightly, Damhnait promised, "I won't. Besides, it is their more destructive behaviours I'm watching out for, but those tend to arise out of what starts as innocent fussing."

"I'll do my very best to not be at all charming," Case agreed, still smiling. "From what I've been told, that shouldn't be a problem for me."

"No. It shouldn't be a problem," Damhnait deadpanned in agreement. "I have to get back to work; I foolishly let the beta shift staff leave early because of the skirt party..." Sefton then cracked her serious expression with a lopsided smirk, as she slowly backed away towards her office.

Case was still grinning at her light jab. "I'll leave you to it, sir. Good day to you, Doctor." He strode to and out the door, leaving Doctor Sefton behind to look over the readings of Case's paracortex.

---

"Boys Will Be Boys"
by Ainsley Chambers
and Domenic Druschev [NPC+]

Location: USS Sulu, Deck 2
Stardate: 57908.05 16h55

***

Ainsley walked down the corridor towards her quarters, the day had gone well. She was happy that things seemed to have cleared up with her and Mason. She still couldn't believe that he had beaten up Thomas. She grinned. Now that she was away from Mason she could admit to herself how satisfying it was to think that Thomas had gotten what he deserved.

As she was walking by the doors to holodeck 2 she noticed a blond boy, about 9 or 10 years old, pulling up a program. She recognized him as Natalia Druschev's son, Domenic. She was pretty sure he was the only child that age on the ship.

"Domenic?" she asked.

He turned like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. His eyes went wide as saucers as a stunning blonde in a short skirt walked toward him down the corridor. She was even better looking than the girls on Risa and that was saying something! He tried a smile, his hand still hovered over the holodeck interface. It was too late now. The program was active and the computer chirped to tell him so. This was the first time he'd gotten a chance to try it - the Risan Resort program that he'd gotten from the guys on the beach. What was he going to do? She was getting closer with a smile on her face that would light up a room....

"Yes?" He swallowed a lump in his throat. His Russian accent was as telling as his mother's. He just stood there in board shorts, thongs and a Hawaiian shirt. His necklace of shark's teeth was stark white against his tanned skin.

"Hi," she responded and held out her hand to him as she stepped up to him. "I'm Ainsley Chambers." He was a cute kid; she was sure that in the next couple years he was going to have girls lining up to date him.

"Hello," he replied a little-tongue tied. He took her hand like a grown-up and grinned, blushing as he shook it. "You're a counsellor yes?" He'd looked through the ship's personnel roster and he had a good memory - especially for very pretty ladies. He still held her hand, slightly bemused. She was shorter than his mother, but where she was dark Ainsley was completely the opposite. She was like an angel.... He just stared into her big blue eyes like a rabbit caught in a set of headlights.

"Yes I am," she responded, giving his hand one final squeeze and then letting go. "I was wondering how you're settling in here on the Sulu? It must be hard being the only one your age!"

"Awwww..." He looked away, blushing furiously. "Not so bad," he said. He waved a thumb at the holodeck. "I get some time to play - I mean...surf...in the holodeck." He'd forgotten everything in a split second. He looked back up at her. "Would you like to come inside? I don't have a lot of time allotted to me." He looked hopeful and then the realization that the program was 'hacked' rushed in on him and he swallowed the lump in his throat at the momentary panic. He smiled unevenly to cover it.

The holodeck doors had slid open and the Risan beach resort was displayed in all its glory. White sand and verdant green palms stretched into the distance and beach goers dotted the sands in a variety of beach wear.

"I'd love to," she responded and stepped through the doors onto the sand. "This is a beautiful program. You must have really liked Risa when you were there." She wondered where a young boy would get a program like this; she was pretty sure it wasn't part of the computer stores.

"It was the best," he grinned as he followed her in. Down the beach a woman stepped out of the water wearing nothing, and she gave Domenic a smile and a wave. His eyes went wide and he looked away quickly. He ignored it, hoping that Ainsley had missed it too. He pointed in the opposite direction. "This was the resort we stayed at," he said eagerly. "Let's go that way!" Away from the beach. The Royale Casino stood majestically atop the cliffs and the resort complex sprawled in several domes amongst trees and gardens, pools and rock spires. "I haven't been in the program before," he explained. "I got it from a friend I made when we were visiting Risa. It's to teach me how to surf and stuff."

"Uh huh," Ainsley replied, deciding not to comment on the very nude woman who had just waved at them. "You want to learn how to surf, eh? Ever been SCUBA diving, I'm told that I'm pretty good at it. I could take you sometime."

He looked up at her with wide eyes. "You would?" he grinned widely. "You bet! That would be sooooo cool!" He literally danced on the sand with excitement - just a nine year old full of glee. Ainsley was so cool! The image of her in a skin tight wet suit wasn't something he'd object to either! His eyes had really been opened to the mystery of girls while he'd been on Risa.

"Mom wouldn't let me go with my friends - she said they were too young and stupid," he grinned.

Ainsley suddenly wondered if Natalia would let him go with her - the women weren't on the best of terms. Hopefully Natalia would understand that Ainsley was just trying to give the boy some positive contact and teach him some new things. Going SCUBA diving with her was certainly better than hanging out with the naked women in this program.

"Sure I'll bring you. It's fun and I love diving."

"Wow thanks, Ainsley you're the best!" He laughed and kicked some sand at her - and ran away. The beach was so real it was really like being on Risa again. He ran with wind in his hair and laughing, doing a cartwheel. "Bet you can't do that!" he yelled at the blonde counsellor.

A sultry redhead walked along the path to the resort and she gave Domenic a wide smile. She was semi clad in a short floral skirt and several flower lays. He panicked as she changed direction and started to walk his way. He looked at Ainsley who was looking directly at him. "Computer, make the program characters ignore me.." he said in a stage whisper into his commbadge that his mom had given him.

Program alteration accepted, the computer said loud enough for everyone to hear.

Domenic went beet red as he looked up at Ainsley just as the red head's face went blank and she walked right past him. He hoped he wasn't going to get it - he knew his mom would blow a nacelle if she found out he was in an adult program. Maybe he could bluff it?

Ainsley walked towards the young boy with a knowing smile on her lips. "Does your mother know that you have this program?" she asked. She knew the answer already but wanted to try and get an open conversation going with him.

Oh crap! "Sure..." he lied. "Maybe...well...no." He couldn't lie to those big blue eyes. It was horrible! He just knew his face was bright red. He was gonna get in trouble. "It's for surfing! Really..." He was thinking fast - he was nine but he wasn't stupid. "You're a counsellor right?" he asked hopefully. "Then I'm your patient! And you can't break confidentiality can you?" He knew about Starfleet counsellors - he'd been to a few with his mom.

Ainsley sighed deeply. "Unfortunately it doesn't work that way in this case, Dom. If you were to tell me anything that could indicate that you're in danger some how then I would have to tell your mother." She could see the blow up that would occur if Natalia found out about this program. She didn't know that she wanted to do that to the kid. There was no harm done yet, she could just take the program and everything would be ok. "Have you used this program before, Dom?"

"No," he said sullenly. "It's mine...." He eyed her with suspicion. "Are you going to rat me out?" he asked.

"I'm going to take it, Dom, I have to. But I'm not going to tell your Mom," Ainsley replied.

"Awwww come on, Ainsley...please.... I promise - I won't do nothin! I wanna learn to surf honest. Pleeeaseeeeee." He gave her his best big blue eyed innocent expression and knew instantly that it wasn't going to work. She had bigger blue eyes - and she knew that trick! He kicked at the sand with a sullen puppy-dog hang the head expression. "It's not fair."

"I'm sorry, Dom." She walked over to him and put her hand against his cheek, and then down on his shoulder. "We'll get you another program for learning to surf, I'll even make sure it's Risa. We just need to get rid of a few of the other occupants." She patted his shoulder. "I have a Risa program that I use for diving. I'll get it modified a bit for surfing as well. Ok?"

"Okay..." he said with a slight quiver to the lip...the last resort of the young. "You won't tell mom? She'd freak." He scowled. "I got in trouble with the counsellors back on the station...she wasn't happy. But she's never happy right now...so what's the difference."

"She's just getting adjusted. Everything will get better, Dom." Ainsley smiled down at him. "I won't tell her this time, but if I find out that you've got anymore of these that might be a different story, deal?"

He gave her a grin. "Okay - deal." He turned to walk along the sand and after a moment looked back at Ainsley, his face serious. "Mom's been pretty down lately," he said softly. "She cries at night...I hear her. She thinks I'm asleep. I guess she misses the station a lot huh?"

"Yeah," she responded and joined him walking down the beach. "Sometimes it can be very hard for us to get readjusted to where we are after a move. Routine, though it gets boring, is also soothing, and when we lose that it can be hard." It wasn't her place to tell the boy about how hard it could be when you didn't have a lot of good relationships, or even one special relationship.

"I keep to myself a lot," he said as he kicked at a shell. "I'm starting a new educational program that Mister V'Ral says is gonna be really fun. I have to do all my lessons on my own - that's not much fun at all." He scowled. "I miss Risa - there were loads of kids my age. Ccan I take lessons on ship protocols, Ainsley? Like a cadet?"

Ainsley thought about that for a moment. "I can't see why not," she responded. "We'll have to clear it with Mister V'Ral, but I'm sure they have that sort of thing set up." They walked a little more. "Do you want to join Starfleet, Dom?"

"No...I hate Starfleet! But there's nothing else to do and I may as well learn something worth while."

Ainsley nodded. "Sounds like a good plan. Why do you hate Starfleet?"

"Look at my mom," he waved a hand like that was the obvious answer. "She's not happy - we get shifted around all the time because like the last time, she got involved with this guy who was her boss and he didn't like me and they split up and she couldn't work there any more so we got here...." He kicked another shell. "We always go where we're told - I never get a say in anything and I have to live on a ship and there's no kids and everybody ignores me!" He kicked savagely at a piece of kelp. "I hate it! My grandparents were Starfleet too - like I have a choice about what I wanna be? Surrree like my mom has already picked out that I'm going to be a famous scientist! I hate science!"

"Keep taking the classes, maybe you'll come to like it. If not then pursue something that you do like. No one can choose what you're going to do with your life, you have to like what you're doing or it doesn't work." Ainsley put her hand back on his shoulder. "Who knows though, you may end up loving science."

He looked up at her, with her slender hand on his shoulder and it was like looking up at a Sun Goddess...she was...like...wow. "Uhuh..." he said as he smiled up at her. "What's it like being a counsellor?" He moved a little closer as they walked. He was tall for his age. She could bend her arm at the elbow and it was level with his shoulders. The sun was hot and the breeze cool, and it was the best feeling in the world, walking along a beach with Ainsley's hand on his shoulder. "Maybe I could see what you do...?" he suggested. "We could hang?" He smiled up at her hopelessly.

"We could arrange that. You could come and see what I do in my office." She would probably agree to anything to ensure the boy wasn't getting into trouble.

"Coool." He grinned. "Wanna go for a swim?" Without waiting for an answer he darted toward the sea. The waves were rolling gently against the long white beach, foamers crashing farther out where the reef gave a natural protection from the tides, ensuring the beach was safe to swim without worrying about rips. He laughed as he leaped from wave to wave, tossing his Hawaiian shirt on top of dry sand before taking a plunge in the warm water. "Come on!" He waved at her...and she was in a uniform. Dope, he thought as she stood out on the sand. He dived under and the world went silent but for rhythmic surf. The water was crystal clear and he swam strongly along the bottom grabbing for brightly coloured shells.

Ainsley stood at the water's edge smiling as she watched the boy jump and swim in the waves. She was glad that she had caught up with him before he entered the program. She didn't even want to think about what he would be doing if she wasn't here. He'd come up with some good ideas about schooling and learning new stuff and she wanted to make sure he was allowed to pursue them. There was no better way to keep him out of trouble.

---

"Silly Pig"
by Ensign Kit Markham
and Ensign Taylor Bennett

Location: Arboretum, USS Sulu
Stardate 57908.05, 17h00

***

With a guitar slung over his back, Kit Markham strolled through the arboretum, singing to himself. He hopped up on a bench and skipped his way to the end. As he touched a high note, he leapt off of the bench and onto the walkway, not wanting a repeat of the Plague Grass Incident. Still singing, he continued down the walkway, toward the patch of pink flowers and down toward the blue plants. As he added a spin for effect, he made a mental note to take a trip through here with Kelzira. As a botanist, she'd be able to give him a better name for the big thing at the end of the third aisle than the Blue Thingie-Whoozit. Of course, when he was having dinner with Amy, Tchi and Kelli the other night, when he mentioned it, Kelli was laughing for nearly five minutes, and then informed him. "Oh, Kit, you're so funny. But, I call those antennae. I would say boobies, but that would embarrass Tchalla, I think." She was right, Tchi did blush brightly, but a loving kiss from Kelli was an apology. Fortunately, later that evening, she'd seriously told him that it sounded like either a Centauran Snapdragon or a Trill Flowering Asvo'kish.

Still, he thought hauling Kelli through here would be a fun trip, especially if she brought Tchalla along. Watching the two of them together was refreshing, and bound to make anyone happy, except maybe the grumpy security officer who half the crew risked their necks for and her thanks to them was the equivalent of a flatulating Klingon after a meal of Cardassian Spud Beans.

He stopped in his tracks when he came across a young woman in security gold at the end of the path. She was barefoot, standing on the grass and seemed to be going through some form of martial arts exercise.

Taylor Bennett was deep in a mixture of meditation and exercise. She felt a slight nervousness about the party tonight, not having attended a ship-wide function in some time. She didn't count the senior officer's dinner since she was the only junior officer in attendance who wasn't working the dinner. As she moved out of "High Pat on Horse" and into "Cross Waving Lotus," she heard the sound of booted feet on the walkway approaching. Finishing the movement, she centered herself and allowed her consciousness and thoughts to return to normal, as if breaching the surface of a body of water. Taylor turned and gave the small man approaching a smile. "Hi there," she said.

"Hey," Kit answered. "Oh, I'm...I didn't mean to--. I was just walking in here, I didn't mean to...to disturb you. I'll go..."

"No, I was just finishing up," Taylor answered. She hadn't been, but it seemed a plausible enough story. She glanced down at the skirt she wore, leaving her long legs bare. She still wasn't used to the garment, not having worn the variant uniform before. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn such a short skirt or dress, and it definitely made for an awkward feeling. "Just working out some nervousness before the party tonight."

As she looked at her own legs, Kit couldn't help looking either. "Well, for what it's worth, they're nice legs," he said. "I think long legs look nice in a skirt, which is why I won't be attending the party tonight. Short Kit, short legs, bad in skirt. So, I've got a private party with my girlfriend instead."

Taylor laughed. "Oh, I'm sure your legs would be fine in a skirt," she said. "But, I think a private party with your girlfriend sounds like it'd be better than a mess hall filled with a bunch of people all gawking at each others' legs." She noticed that Kit made an effort to quickly stop gawking at her legs. "I'm generally not one to spread rumors or talk about people behind their back, but there are several people in the crew who I just can't imagine in a skirt."

Kit laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Though, on the other side of that, I know of several who have probably been waiting for this event their whole lives to have an excuse to wear a skirt."

They both shared in the laugh and Taylor took the opportunity to retrieve her boots. "Well, I'm not one of those," she said as she began pulling one of the boots on. "I happen to think you'd look very good in a skirt. For me, I think enough of wearing one of these, and I could get used to it. It'd make it difficult to be a security officer though. At least, I think so. How much will you respect the person who's throwing you in the brig if she's wearing a skirt."

Kit was silent for a moment, holding his tongue. Finally, a laugh broke free. "I can think of so many naughty things to say to that," he said with a grin. "And, I'm not sure about respect exactly, but I can assure you that no one would complain. And, I'm quite certain that there are a number of people on the ship who could get used to you in a skirt."

Taylor gave him an amused look. "Such as you?"

"Oh hey, don't drag me there." He pointed to his chest. "Happily involved in a relationship." He was silent for a long moment, then looked back up at her. "But, I wouldn't complain."

Taylor smiled and felt a bit of color wash over her cheeks. "Thank you, I think."

"My pleasure," Kit said, then quickly stammered: "In a completely, platonic and already-got-a-girlfriend kind of way."

There was a long moment of very uncomfortable silence as they both tried very hard not to look at each other, then finally Taylor broke it with a laugh. "It's alright to admire and approve," she answered and then finished pulling her boots on. "I've heard that looking, but not touching is generally considered acceptable."

Kit thought about it, and then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it is. Though, my girlfriend has had some trouble with the not touching part."

Taylor was quiet again, then nodded. "I've heard some of the rumors. Well, a lot of rumors. Small ship, they tend to breed like tribbles."

Kit sighed and plopped down on the grass. He glanced at the green blades poking up at him, taunting him, and moved to the walkway that he hoped hadn't been poisoned by some psychotic gardener. "We're getting better about it, but I guess I still have moments of neurosis."

Taylor moved and sat across from him. "It says much that you're still together, and that you're working to make things better. A lot of people would have probably broken it off and went their own ways." Kit stared at his hands, remembering Amy's fingers laced with his. "We almost did, but we...we couldn't."

"It's what you do that counts," Taylor said. "You didn't stay apart, and you're back together. That says much about both of your characters. It says that you're willing to work hard for something you believe in. It's a quality I admire in a person, Kit."

Kit frowned. "How'd you know?"

"Your name? 'Short Kit, short legs, bad in skirt,' " she quoted. "Only one Kit on the ship, so you must be the short-legged, bad one."

Kit laughed. "I'm not that bad."

Taylor arched an eyebrow. "The rumors of Amy cheating on you aren't the only rumors that go around this ship, you know. Such as that bed of grass over there. And, I believe a couple of the holodecks have been christened by you two as well." She smiled at the bright color that suffused Kit's cheeks. She brushed one finger over the other in the universal sign of chastisement. "Very bad. Naughty, naughty."

Kit laughed again, doing his best not to hide his face until the colouring returned to normal. "If Amy saw us in here, she might...might not like it. Especially with you in that skirt. But, it's not like there's anything wrong, right, we're just talking...uh--"

"Taylor," she said. "Taylor Bennett." She watched him for a moment, and could see the look in his eyes. "Don't worry, Kit. You're cute, charming, and funny. But I know what you're trying to make work with Amy, and I won't try to get in the way of that. Just two friends talking, that's all."

Kit smiled, watching her in near-awe. "Thanks," he said. "It's...most people on the ship, they don't really care about things like that. They just think about what they want and go after it without any regard to who they'll hurt. Hell, with the hormones on this ship, if we were anyone else, we'd probably be...okay, not going to even continue that thought. It's just, so many people have no consideration for anyone else and just take what they want. And, it seems like Amy usually ends up getting caught up in that sort of thing. My former roommate, for example. No, I shouldn't though... I just...thank you, Taylor."

"You're welcome, and I think I got a whiff of some juicy gossip there," Taylor said with a grin. At his look, she continued: "While I may try to keep out and not listen or spread rumors, I still have half a human's curiosity. But, it's probably best to let it drop."

"It'd be really nice if Amy and I could stay out of sensor range for a bit. It'll give us a chance to get everything together, and get going on the path we both want to be on."

"Good luck," Taylor said. "I don't have much experience with relationships myself, but I know they're lots of hard work. From the look on your face when you say her name though, my guess is all that hard work is well worth it."

Kit smiled, his mind suddenly off thinking about Amy. "Yeah." Several moments later, he realized she was still talking and he laughed. "Sorry, daydreaming. What?"

Taylor laughed again. "Ah, young love."

"I'm not that young," Kit protested. "And...what of it?"

"It's cute," Taylor said. "And, I'm happy for you, and I hope it works out, Kit."

With a smile, Kit flashed her a grin. "Me too," he said.

"I should be getting to the party soon," Taylor said, "but...before I do, I...I just wanted to ask about your band."

Kit's eyes lit up. As usual, when the subject of the band came up, Kit seemed to get rather excited, this time was no different. "Really? Well, what did you want to know? We sort of went away, but we're coming back. Things sort of fell apart, but we've got me on bass, Amy on guitar, and Tchalla and Kelzira are going to be backup singers. Gordo transferred, and I'm not sure about Cristobel or Dwayne, but we'll see. So, what'd you want to know."

"I was at the party on Risa, and you guys were great. I didn't have a chance to say anything, but I just wanted to. And...and I should go." She started to get up.

"Wait a minute, is that all? I don't need to do a mind meld to know that something's not being said here."

Taylor grinned. "Well, don't worry, I can do a mind meld, but...but I'm not as disciplined as my mother with it. Also, it's...it's better to not do it. So, so... I should...the party's soon..."

"It's alright, Taylor," Kit said. "You're avoiding whatever it is, but if you don't want to talk about it..."

She sighed. "I can't really play an instrument or sing or anything like that, but...I'm a good dancer and a fast learner."

Kit beamed. "You want to join."

It was Taylor's turn to blush. She looked away, then back. Despite the embarrassment she felt, she was smiling. "Yes. It's something I've always wanted to do, but I don't know how to play anything."

"Amy didn't know how to play a guitar before we formed up, and look at her. So, what do you want to play?"

Taylor fretted. "I don't know...oh, I didn't realize it would be this difficult. Well, what don't you have?"

"Well, we've got bass and guitar, like I said. If Dwayne's back in, we've got someone on keyboards. So, drums would be good. Beyond that, could be anything. Amy says we should ask Savaar to join up and play the Vulcan lyre. Well, anything really, though if you choose bagpipes that would really change our style."

Taylor chewed her bottom lip for a moment then grinned. "Drums."

"You want to be our drummer? I think...I think that'd be great, Taylor. So...well, I guess next thing is teaching you how to play. Which shift are you on?"

"Gamma."

Kit frowned. "Well, that'll leave us Alpha to practice. Amy's on shift then, so it'll work if we don't mind missing a few hours sleep. I've got a good batch of training simulators for the holodeck." He stuck out his hand. "Welcome to the Suluists, Drummer."

Taylor took his hand and shook it. "Wow. I came in here to get rid of some nerves, only to find some for a different reason. Thank you so much, though, Kit. This is amazing."

"Hey, thank you. We can start practicing first thing tomorrow. Just let me know when you're ready, and I'll meet you in one of the holodecks."

"Alright," she said. "I'll make sure not to stay out too late at the party. Oh! The party! I have to go."

Kit grinned and stood. He held a hand down to her and helped her up. "Welcome aboard, Taylor, and have fun at your party."

"Have fun at your private party," she said as she started off toward the exit. "And, it was great meeting you, Kit." She waved.

"You too," Kit called. "And, not to sound like a sexist pig, but that uniform suits you."

Taylor laughed and gave him a mock bow. "Go back to your girlfriend and let her know how much you love her, you silly pig," she called. "And, stop staring at my legs."

Kit watched her leave the arboretum and laughed. Well, the Suluists had new a drummer and he'd managed to find a new friend. Well, hopefully a friend. Taylor seemed intelligent and fun, and encouraged him to go back to Amy, despite any flirtation. Which meant that she was looking out for him, a good quality to have in a friend. And, she enjoyed the flirtation for what it was. Just flirtation, silly pig, he told himself, with a grin. Now, go back to Amy and enjoy your private party. And, so he did.

---

"Let Them Eat Warp Plasma"
by Lieutenant Mark Thaine - Chief Engineer
and Marie Antoinette - Queen of France

Location: USS Sulu, Main Engineering
Stardate: 57908.05 17h04

***

Thaine tossed his PADD down on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Alpha shift had transitioned into Beta and Thaine wasn't about to leave his precious engines for one minute longer than necessary. Zareb may have insisted that his mission aboard the Sulu had nothing to do with ship but Thaine still sat guarding his territory from any last minute coups by the senior ranking engineer.

Thaine released the bridge of his nose and looked up. And in an instant he decided that none of it mattered anyway; he was obviously quite mad.

Marie Antoinette was in his Engine Room.

Marie Antoinette was in his Engine Room, talking to a markedly composed Ensign Thorpe who was smiling and nodding and gesturing towards the Chief Engineer's office. Thaine rose in disbelief, debating if he should slam the door shut, toss himself at Marie's feet and pledge fealty to France, or try to do something between the two. He had to make a decision soon; Marie was tromping his way unsteadily.

"Who the hell are you?!" he blurted out, before realising that was probably no way to speak to royalty. Well, he'd said worse to more important people before.

"Lieutenant Thaine," Marie said in a high pitched whiny voice. "I'm afraid that I have an engineering problem." And on that tidbit of information, Marie lifted her great skirt and exposed her lower half.

Thaine thought her even though she was obviously a he and he was Doctor Ilan Potts. In drag in Main Engineering. With his skirt pulled up to his waist. Through the skeletal skirt frame, Thaine could see he was wearing obscenely baggy red boxer shorts and was otherwise all knobby knees and pasty white thigh. He could see how that would be a problem but didn't really know what he could do about it.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you want?" He folded his arms, though any possible chance of intimidation was lost due to the skirt Thaine himself was wearing. It was more a comical stance, than anything else.

Potts looked at Thaine as if he were daft and didn't even seem to notice the engineer's skirt. "Lieutenant, can't you see? The structure is coming apart. The dress will lose its shape. I have need of your skills."

"I'm an engineer, not a tailor! Is this some kind of joke?" The Chief's temper was rapidly rising. "If you don't have something serious to say, get the hell out of my engine room." Besides, he added silently to himself, I know sod all about sewing.

"Not the dress, Lieutenant," Potts insisted, growing impatient. "The frame. It is right up your alley!"

Resisting the urge to tell Potts into exactly what alley he could stick the frame, Thaine clenched and unclenched his fist. "No. Starships and dress frames have nothing in common."

"Bah!" Potts exclaimed, waving his hands manically. "Structure is structure and there's not a man, woman, or child on board who knows more about it than you." Potts looked Thaine over, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. "When was your last psychological evaluation, Lieutenant?"

Thaine stared. "You wouldn't..."

Doctor Potts gave a rare malicious smile.

***

"This is ridiculous," said the Chief Engineer, as he glanced quickly to the door of his office and back again. Hopefully, nobody would glance into his office through the transparent 'window' that looked out of main engineering. He'd never live it down if one of his engineers saw this...

Potts was up on a small step stool with his skirt slightly raised while Thaine worked along the simulated whalebone, fusing the broken parts together. It looked quite a bit like Thaine was hemming the dress and the Chief Engineer even had a mouthful of microrivets to help complete the illusion.

"Your expertise is quite appreciated, sir," Potts said, looking down and admiring Thaine's handiwork. "I knew I came to the right man."

"If you so much as breathe a word of this..." threatened Thaine around his mouthful of rivets, as he made his best attempt to piece the skirt together. "And you'd better damned well forget about that psych evaluation."

"What psych evaluation?" Potts asked innocently, sniggering at his own cleverness.

"Yeah. Exactly." The whirr of the small, hand-held carbon fuser ended, and Thaine began putting the microrivets in place.

"However," Potts said, with a kind of inevitability. "I can't help but point out that if you didn't have such an aversion to visiting us down on Deck Five, you'd be less vulnerable to this kind of blackmail. Is there something on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah," said Thaine, as he finished fixing the last rivet in place. "I think most of the crew is going off the deep end, and they're dragging me along with them. Now turn around. I want to make sure it isn't sagging anywhere."

Potts took small, shuffling steps to turn in a circle. "Care to elaborate?" he asked, once he was in position. "What crewmembers are you particularly concerned about?"

"One springs to mind." He studied the skirt with a critical eye and nodded, satisfied. "Alright, that's fine. Get down now, I'm done."

Potts hopped to the floor and repeated his curious shuffling turn, looking over the structural repairs with a skeptical eye. "Excellent job, Lieutenant," Potts enthused, finding no flaw and dropping his skirt. "You are a credit to yellow collars."

"Whatever. And if that's everything, you're gonna let me get back to work now, right?"

Thaine folded his arms, glaring at the counsellor as if to drive him through sheer force of will from his office. But the counsellor, undeterred, instead hugged the Chief Engineer soundly. It was over quickly and Thaine was still blustering towards a verbal response when Potts left his office. He watched the peculiar little man walk through Main Engineering, smiling and waving at his engineers as if he were Marie herself.

The worst part was, they all smiled and waved back.

Shaking his head, Thaine sat down in his chair. He'd met some loopy counsellors in his time (weren't they all nutcases? Even Andrea had her eccentricities) but Potts was further off the deep end than any he'd ever met.

Thaine leaned back in his chair and noticed for the first time a small piece of rolled parchment tied with a red bow. The Chief Engineer stared at it with the same worried glare he would have given a Romulan Warbird. He reached for it hesitantly and untied the ribbon. The words were handwritten in a stylized bold script.

Assuming that the price of your handiwork is to forget about your required Psychological Evaluation, you should be made aware that the Queen of France has no authority in this matter...such a periodic evaluation is required by Starfleet Command and can only be waived by the ship's Chief Counselor and only then with the agreement of the Captain of this vessel. Your appointment will be with Dr. Ilan Potts at 1700 hours on Stardate 57908.15. You have ten days to come to terms with the idea. Love Always, Marie.

"Bloody hell," said Thaine. This just got worse and worse.

---

"Party People"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Warrant Officer Sikara; Head Chef
Petty Officer Second Class Malcolm Nebbs; Ship's Steward [NPC]
Petty Officer Third Class Luis Espinoza; Gamma Steward [NPC]
Crewman First Class Jeff Davies; Transporter Officer [NPC]
Crewman Second Class Leilani Pfeiffer; Lounge Staff [NPC]

Location: USS Sulu, Mess Hall
Stardate: 57908.05 17h30

***

"Hey Pfeiffer, gimme some sugar," called Farrell.

Crewman Pfeiffer gave Farrell an unimpressed look. "Aren't you spoken for, sir?"

"In a container," Farrell said flatly. "To put in my iced tea." He held up the glass. "You've been hanging around Hamilton too long."

Pfeiffer smiled and rolled her eyes, and headed for the replicator. Her bootheels clacked on the decking behind the counter.

Espinoza and Davies strutted into the room like they owned it. Pfeiffer snorted with laughter.

"Ai, Sasquatch," Farrell said, turning to regard Espinoza as Nebbs came out of the galley and stopped cold. "Tell me you're standing behind the bar tonight."

"I've never seen legs that hairy," Nebbs said, stunned.

"They make mine look pretty good, though, don't they?" Davies cracked.

"It's good for the traction," Espinoza said simply, completely unconcerned.

Mason rolled his eyes, Nebbs groaned, and Davies chuckled. Pfeiffer looked confused. "Traction?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah, for when I'm kneeling at the delta, if you know what I mean. So I don't slide back."

"That's disgusting, Luis," Pfeiffer said flatly.

Davies and Espinoza guffawed, slapped palms, and gave a collective wolf howl. Nebbs put down his tray of cookies and headed back into the kitchen.

"So what's the pool like so far?" Davies asked, swiping a cookie.

"Odds are highest on Flummux and Lektar," Farrell shrugged. "I've had a couple of people actually put wagers on Lektar, though. Apparently she's got a following among lonely engineers who desperately yearn to see those," he paused for dramatic effect, "long, lean, ebon lengths."

Davies pantomimed feminine curves and laughed. Espinoza gave an appreciative whistle and a slow nod.

"You guys are all disgusting," Pfeiffer jibed, eliciting a laugh from the three men. Nebbs and Sikara came out with more trays, this time of pastries.

"What about senior staff?" Sikara asked.

"Even split," Farrell shook his head. "It's close to a toss-up no matter who you're talking about. The Tagliesh factor makes the Captain a slight favorite, but after that, who knows? T'Kal might, and the rumors may force Thaine into it, but nobody can say."

"Nice rumor about Thaine, by the way," Davies said.

"Come again?" asked Mason.

"Oh come on, sir," Davies prodded. "You know you put that into circulation."

"Hey," Mason held up his hands, "I can neither confirm or deny."

Davies laughed again. Pfeiffer slapped Espinoza's cookie swiping hand. Espinoza got serious.

"Uh, sir?" he ventured.

"Sir?" Farrell chuckled. "What's up?"

"There are some rumors starting to float, if you know what I mean."

Farrell stopped chuckling and looked down, thinking. He was really going to have to remember how small this ship was, and how much that sped rumors. "What's the word?"

Nebbs cleared his throat. "There are a lot. You know how much play you already get in the Mill, sir," he said. "The common thread is that you got hauled in front of Salinger. Some say you got in a fight."

"Some say you killed a person," Sikara added seriously.

"Damn, you heard he killed a guy?" Davies said, serious.

"Okay," Farrell said quickly, before it went any farther. "This is rumor control," he said, in a singsong drill instructor voice. All listened up.

"Early in the morning of the fourth, I went to Bajor and got in a fight. The guy I fought did not die. He just got hurt really bad. He ratted to the staff, and I'm being reprimanded. That's it. Spread it right."

"Why'd you get in the fight?" Espinoza asked. Pfeiffer punched him lightly on the arm, and he held up his hands. "Just askin', sir. People are gonna want to know, and they'll make up stuff if they don't get an answer."

Farrell sighed and nodded. "True. Alright, here's the short form. You all know I'm seeing Counselor Chambers. So this guy I fought with was an old flame of hers who's teaching at a university down there. He tried to get back with her, and said some really hurtful things to her when she said No."

Espinoza shrugged with understanding. "So he had it comin'." He looked to the other three men, who nodded with acceptance of the concept, Nebbs a little slower than the others.

"So you just beat him up?" Pfeiffer asked. "What's the point?"

"Leilani, the guy was defending his girl," Davies said. "That's got all kinds of point."

"But she said no, right?" Pfeiffer pressed.

"Right," Farrell nodded, interested.

"So nothing happened, and we're half a galaxy away from the guy now. What's the point of beating him up?"

"Whatcha mean, what's the point?" Espinoza said. "You gotta defend your chica."

Pfeiffer sighed. "Nebbs? What do you think?"

Nebbs scratched his head and thought. "Wow," he said to no one in particular. "I mean, I understand why you'd do it, sir," he looked to Farrell. "But I've kind of got to go with Leilani on this one. I mean, it's not like we're on a station where he'd have to be brushed back like that. If we were on a station or something," he amended quickly, "I'd be right behind you. I think we all would."

"I'd have held him for you, sir," Espinoza said with finality.

"Sure, and I would have, too," Nebbs carried on. "But we're not on a station, sir. We move around, and as long as nothing happened between them, maybe you could have just let it ride. I mean, we're gone now, and you two have each other to each other and all that. If he was a fool, he was a fool, but now we're a long way away and you don't have to worry about him."

Farrell had taken in the discussion, and appeared relived that it had stayed calm. "You're right, Nebbs. You are. I should have thought first. I should have thought it through. But I didn't, and now I've got to deal with what I've got coming."

"We're all with you, sir. You know that," Pfeiffer said. Sikara nodded behind her.

"I do, and thanks," Farrell said. They all regarded each other solemnly for a moment.

"So, uh," Sikara asked, searching for a new topic. "What about Lyrr? I'd have thought she'd be the biggest longshot of all for this skirt thing."

"Well," Farrell chuckled, glad for the subject shift, "apparently her replicator was acting up this morning when she ordered a uniform."

"Oh, no," Nebbs said, frowning. "She didn't call me about-- wait..." he trailed off with a suspicious smirk.

"No way," said Davies, grinning anew.

"Hell yeah," Espinoza said, picking up the thread. "I was getting off shift and heading for bed this morning when she came ripping out of her quarters in a full-on class A skirt. And I gotta say wow, man. She was a little preoccupied, so she didn't catch me staring, but I admit I did. I got no pride like that."

"Whoa," interrupted Davies. "You checked out the Commander?"

"Hell yeah!" Espinoza repeated emphatically. "She's an athlete, you know, so she's got killer definition on her legs. And from now on I'm gonna mean it when I call her a hardass, if you know what I mean."

"Right on," Davies grinned. He slapped palms with Espinoza again.

"Am I even standing here?" Pfeiffer asked Farrell, unimpressed with the two men's antics.

"Luis, Jeff," Farrell called. "Cool it down a little, willya?"

Davies and Espinoza held up surrendering hands in unison, and Davies got another cookie before Pfeiffer could smack him.

"Luis, get behind the bar," Farrell said. "We'll have arrivals any time. You know what to do."

"Jeff," he turned to Davies as Espinoza moved to comply, "You're at the door. Compliment people without being nasty. Can you handle that?"

"Compliments are my specialty," Davies quipped. Pfeiffer rolled her eyes.

---

"The Mock Turtle"
By: Crewman First Class Jeff Davies; Transporter Officer [NPC]
Ensign Andrea Collins; Security Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, just outside the Mess Hall
Stardate: 57908.05 17h50

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

Andrea gave Davies the most spine tingling glare she could muster. Of course the person before her was in the stupid get-up, but she wasn't. She wasn't about to flaunt herself while in uniform, that being the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.

"Whoa there, sir," Davies said with mock gravity, clearly used to receiving spine-tingling glares. "No skirt, no service. The lounge is serving meals tonight for the--" He stopped himself and switched whatever word he was going to use for another. "For the non-attendees, sir."

Andrea's scowl deepened. "It's a party ain't it? Let me in." To herself she said, 'Fool.'

Davies gave an affable grin. "C'mon, sir. Didn't you hear? You need a skirt."

"Oh how stupid is that?" She'd, by this time, crossed her arms and refused to move.

Davies tapped his communicator. "Davies to Farrell, door jam, Davies out." He regarded Collins. "Sir, there are a couple of reasons why you really ought to wear a skirt to this party. The word went wide that this was a skirt only thing. Everybody knew. And besides, there are ranking officers in there," he jerked his thumb at the door to the Mess Hall, "who skirted it up just for tonight, and aren't liable to take kindly to somebody crashing the party, if you know what I mean, sir."

"Well, isn't that just too bad, because that's what I like to do best, crash parties." She moved forward as though to step through the door, which opened briefly. Farrell stood in the doorway. Behind him, a room full of people in skirts glanced up at the new arrival, but did not glimpse Collins, as Farrell stepped through and let the door close.

"Ensign Collins," Farrell said affably, holding out his arms in greeting. "I don't think we've been formally introduced. Ensign Farrell, Operations. Pleased to meet you." He put out a hand.

She refused to let him hinder her, and moved forward again, still intending to crash the party. She didn't even bother to return his greeting, at least not with anything intelligible.

"Computer, kill this door," Farrell said nonchalantly. The light at the keypad winked out.

"Can we talk for a second, Collins?" Farrell asked quietly, nodding toward a side door.

She didn't even bother to try the door. When someone 'kills' the door, they intend for it to not open unless someone authorized ordered it to. She crossed her arms again and nodded, letting him lead the way.

The side door led into a supply compartment, small but not cramped. The environmental controls in here were apparently not active, and it was a little stuffy.

"OK, Collins, let me explain three big reasons why you should wear a skirt to this party." His speech was clipped and rapid-fire, leaving no room for response. "One," he unzipped his class B jacket and started shrugging out of it, "you know as well as everyone else this is a skirt only party. Everyone in there's wearing a skirt. And a woman as attractive as you certainly shouldn't be afraid of her legs. Don't be a turtle. Two," he held up two fingers, partly to denote the list order, and partly to shush her, "there are several senior officers in that room who aren't going to appreciate a crasher. People are already unsure of you. Don't turn yourself into the bitch of the night over this, especially in front of department heads. Three, and probably most important to me personally, is right here," he whipped up his under-turtleneck and turned his left shoulder-blade to Collins. "You know what that is, right?"

She didn't respond verbally, but she nodded. She knew the scar for what it was, a battle scar of some kind, but she didn't know how he got it...

"That's where I got shot crawling through the Risian slums chasing down leads trying to save the life of some lone-wolf security bitch I'd never even met. So how about you do everyone a favor, get the hell over yourself, and either put on a skirt or go the hell back to your quarters?" She could hear the anger, hot and menacing. This was no pleasant attempt at persuasion. He meant what he said, and said what he meant.

...and how he got it was explained after she nodded. She wasn't taking kindly to him calling her names. Her arms were still crossed, and she was looking what some counsellors would call closed off. She didn't care. She wasn't wanting to be open with these people. She was here to do a job and do that job she would. However, the room the 'party' was in was the very room she wanted to go in. She usually ate in the mess, and this party was screwing with her schedule. When it was her turn to respond, she did, and very quietly. The tone of her voice wasn't so she could keep the brass inside from hearing her, but because she was wanting to get something clear and the tone sounded more menacing when she spoke quietly.

"One, I'm not being a 'turtle,' the only time I wear a skirt or a dress is in my down time, and right now, this isn't it. Two, If I gave two damns about what people thought about me, I wouldn't have let the XO shove me into the brig when I arrived on board. And three, I didn't ask anyone to get killed, or get court martialed over me. I can damned well take care of myself."

"You can take care of yourself, can you?" Farrell dropped his turtleneck and put an arm back into his jacket. "I liked how you took care of getting arrested. And that thing where you got kidnapped by the Farehn'ti, that was a choice little bit of care-taking. That was nice. But you had it all under control, I'm sure. I'm sure it was only a matter of time before you scraped your toothbrush into a knife and took on the crew all by yourself. And then maybe a little freelance piracy, get back to the old way of doing things? I mean hey, you'd have a whole ship under your command, since you'd have killed the crew with your toothbrush and all. Why not pull a couple raids on your way back to the Federation, where you'd be hailed as a hero for your one-woman-army efforts against all odds? Hoo yeah," he zipped his jacket with relish. "Grankite, here we come. You got a deathwish? Fine. Go throw yourself out an airlock. Just don't mess up the party on your way down."

"First of all, I was doing fine till the ambassador had the bad taste to get killed soon after I left his hotel room. I hadn't planned on getting arrested, nor was I planning on getting kidnapped. I do know my limits, even if no one else does, and taking on a security team of like fifteen seemed to be a bit of overkill, even for me. As for getting 'kidnapped,' that wasn't a part of my plan either. I didn't ask them to take me from my comfy cell on Risa for another cell someplace else. And I've given that part of my life up. I had to. And while I was a mercenary, I didn't kill anyone. Never did, and won't. That's not a part of my make-up. I'm not here to be sociable. I'm not here to pander to everyone's idea of a good time. I'm here to do a job. That doesn't include showing myself off to God knows who on this ship." Again, her arms crossed, and Andrea was looking very ticked off.

Farrell had sat while she ranted, and looked at her calmly. "Then what are you doing here? What's your concept of 'the job' you say you're here to do?" The question was honest, the look on his face devoid of anger now.

"Use my skills and education in security to protect this ship and the people on her," was her reply.

"Do you care at all about the people on this ship?"

What was it with these people, why should her job hinge on whether or not she cared for the people? "Does it make a difference?"

"You tell me."

She was beginning to feel confused, and she didn't like to feel confused. For her to feel confused was to make her angry, and she liked anger better. "I'll still do my job. I don't have to like the Klingon Chancellor of the High Council, but I'll still guard him, if it came to that. I don't have to like the President of Starfleet, but if I was assigned to guard him, damn straight I'll do it." Her motivation before was the latinum, her motivation this time was so the Admiral who found her wouldn't put her back in the Penal Colony where he'd found her. "I'll do my job," she finished lamely, the returning confusion wiping the anger away.

"I can respect your view on that. Can you respect mine?" Farrell showed absolutely no mockery, and met her eyes evenly.

Respect his? If his was her liking everyone, then it wasn't likely. She didn't find it easy to respect someone on the first, or even the second, meeting. "I haven't had an easy life. So my level of respect for someone, anyone, is limited. The ones I do respect here have earned it, and that's a short list," she replied.

"So, your answer is 'no', then," said Farrell. It was not intoned as a question. "You do not respect my point of view."

"How can I respect your opinion, when essentially, I don't even know what it is?" Andrea's anger was beginning to rise again...again due to her confusion.

"Alright, here it goes," Farrell said. "In order to get into this party, you're going to have to show some willingness to get in the same boat as everybody else." There was clearly more to that statement than the immediate. It was clear he wasn't talking about just tonight. "You can't lone-wolf your way through Starfleet and expect people to want you around. Will you please think very carefully about that concept?"

The closest she could come to thinking the way he did was as a family, and she didn't know what a family was. Her family either died or didn't want anything to do with her ever since she was a young child, so she had to learn how to do things all on her own. Even with the Knights, she was basically alone, they didn't coddle their mercenaries. "If you're talking like a family, you're talking to the wrong girl, I haven't had one since before I was born."

"Maybe it's time you got one."

"I don't even know what it is like to live with a family. All I've had since I was a kid was me, and I learned then that I had to take care of me, number one, because no one else would. My aunt wouldn't, and I was trained...before...to take care of myself." Andrea's voice softened considerably and she didn't like the soft sound of tears that seemed to be there as she spoke, but there wasn't any help for that.

"Andrea," Farrell said gently. She didn't look up. "Andrea, there's a whole mess hall full of people in there who're waiting to welcome you as a comrade, as a friend, as a co-worker, and as family. We've got to be here for each other; we're all we've got for the next six months. If we can't associate on a level field none of us are going to make it out alive. Are you willing to give it a shot and be part of a group? You don't have to love everyone you meet," he held up a hand. "I sure as hell don't. But we as a crew have got to get some cohesion. There are a whole lot of people in there who would never have done this in a million years, but they're willing to go with it to help build a community here on the Sulu."

Farrell stood, and offered her his hand. It was a simple gesture, but the symbolism ran deeper than that. "Help us out, Andrea. Please?"

Andrea hadn't cried since she was a small child, but she thought oddly that if people kept being nice to her, she may start up again. A lone tear slid its way down her cheek seeing his gesture. No one had ever been this nice to her. Not even those who were supposed to love her, like her Aunt. She was just a commodity for them to pass around, till she'd been passed around one time to many. She didn't know these people and yet, they lost two members of the crew, had nearly court martialed another and this man himself was injured in trying to prove her innocent and to save her from her kidnappers...her Aunt wouldn't have gone that far. Her aunt wouldn't have cared less.

That was it, the warmth of tears formed in her eyes and they began to flow. Silently, gently. Not a sound escaped her mouth as she stood there, arms crossed with his hand out to her in an offering of friendship. Her legs began to waver and he stepped forward to catch her before she could sink to the floor. She cried, and he held her while she did.

After a few minutes, her silent sobs drew to a close, and Farrell whispered. His voice was soft and friendly, and tinged with humor.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Ensign Collins, but what do you say we get you out of these pants?"

A short bark of humorous laughter escaped her lips. The suddenness of his joke took her off guard a moment and her tears dried on her face, and a smile spread over her lips. "If I was the type to do so, and I am, I would take it the wrong way...however, I do know what you mean, so I suppose I'll go to my quarters and change?"

"I'll see you at the party."

---

"Our Own Pet Blindnesses"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Crewman First Class Rett Charla; Operations Crewman [NPC+]

Location: USS Sulu, Quarters 2A
Stardate: 57908.05 18h00

***

"No! I said tea! Tell me how that translates into 'Class-A Uniform'?" Lyrr exhaled a string of curses as the computer explained that tea was exactly what was replicated. Staring at the folded uniform resting in the alcove, it was clear her replicator had not been reconfigured to its original settings, as Ensign Farrell could have been kind enough to do, no matter how much he resented her. It was also clear that Ensign Viraj was making his way towards her quarters at a most leisurely pace; ten minutes had already elapsed, and the computer was still trying to pass off uniforms as cups of soothing, Diruvean tea without the Deltan in sight. Lyrr really wanted that tea.

"Farrell...you bastard," she seethed and gave the replicator console another vicious jab to deactivate it. Her fist impacting coincided with the musical chime of her door sounding. It seemed Viraj had finally deigned to drop by. "Come in!"

The door opened at her command, and a bald crewman in Ops gold stepped quickly through, toolkit at the ready. "Good," Lyrr snapped, still sneering at the device. "Viraj, fix this thing." She slapped it for good measure.

"I'm sorry, sir, who?" the voice was measured and calm.

"Vir--?" She turned her back to the replicator, and now faced the visitor who was anything but a bald Deltan, though he had no more hair than one might. Lyrr's expression was curious as she regarded the much older man, meek in appearance and whose eyes were kind, but bright with knowledge one gained only after a long life. The Bajoran nose ridges told her all too well what kind of knowledge he had likely gained in his time.

She gave him an imperceptible smile, and glanced at his lips briefly to see the small, white patch of hair on his chin drop slightly as his bottom lip curled to return the gesture. Her eyes then shifted to the pips on his collar, of which there were none; instead, there was an enlisted badge. "Crewman..." She lifted a questioning eyebrow at him as their eyes met again.

"Rett," the man bowed his head slightly in respect. "Rett Charla, sir. Crewman First Class," he amended with a touch of dry wit.

"Well." Lyrr sighed and stepped aside to reveal the replicator behind her. "Can you fix this? I asked for tea, and all it does is give me a Class A uniform." She grimaced and added, "Skirted variant."

Rett stood a moment, soaking that up. "And it's never misproduced an order before?"

Lyrr shook her head. "I suspect someone programmed it to do this." Smiling wryly, she corrected, "I know someone programmed it."

"Ah," he said knowingly. "Well, let's see what we can do, then." He set his toolkit down next to the replicator and opened an access panel. He then laid on his back and shimmied into the crawlspace beneath the unit, such that his head and shoulders were underneath.

He fiddled under there for a moment, and then reached blindly for his kit. "Hand me the one-centimeter bolt driver, will you, sir?" he called politely, abandoning his fumbling and simply holding out his hand.

Lyrr looked down at the toolkit by her feet and smiled nostalgically. She hadn't assisted an officer in a repair since the Davies. It seemed so distantly in the past now. Kneeling down by Rett, Lyrr reached into the kit and retrieved the driver. She slapped it lightly into his hand. "This is an interesting role reversal," she quipped.

Rett chuckled. "How so, sir?" She could hear the driver whir as Rett worked the bolts.

"I'm the commander," she explained with a touch of humour. "I'm the one who should be giving the orders. At least...that's what my department head used to tell me aboard my old ship. Until that person became...well...me." Lyrr shrugged. "Though, I don't really mind...as long as you fix my replicator."

"Well, I'm sure we can fix it, sir. Hand me the tricorder and the diagnostic module, please."

Lyrr did so without an exasperated sigh or a roll of her eyes. She did it with a wistful smile. "I wonder if many Bajorans who join Starfleet prefer Ops," she mused. "It was my field of choice, yours, I'm assuming.... I guess we're just natural tinkers." Shrugging, she added, "We had to be during the Occupation. Making weapons out of nothing but the scrap we could find. That's bound to hone some repair skills."

"Actually, sir, I was an accountant. The resistance got along fine without me," Rett said, shimmying back from beneath the replicator. He keyed on the tricorder, and set it to its business. "This will take a few minutes," he indicated the tricorder and set it on the floor, sitting himself peacefully against the wall.

Lyrr nodded and waited in silence, though she cleared her throat from time to time to break the awkward lull in conversation, despite it being not much of one considering Rett's reticent tendencies. Sighing, Lyrr gathered her feet beneath her and rose. "If you don't require my assistance, I'll get out of your way." She smiled. "You don't need me looking over your shoulder. I always hated that."

He smiled. It was a hospitable smile, warm and genuine. "I don't mind a bit, sir. People have looked over my shoulder my whole life. I would ask for a glass of water, but," he nodded his head upward at the replicator, "I can't drink a skirt."

Lyrr laughed softly. "And I couldn't wear one. Though, someone obviously thought I should."

He nodded. "A secret admirer, no doubt," he said affably. His face paled, then. "I'm sorry, sir. I spoke out of turn. I apologize."

Lyrr dismissively waved away the comment and again settled to the ground, this time sitting beside him and leaning her back against the same wall. "Hardly an admirer," she explained. "Just a certain ensign who thinks practical jokes are humourous." Glancing aside at him, Lyrr smiled curiously as the colour began returning to his cheeks. "You're not that afraid of me, are you, Crewman? I don't think I'm very intimidating...at least I hope I'm not."

"Old habit, sir," he said, a little wistful. "Sometimes it creeps up on me."

Lyrr nodded slowly, skeptically. " 'It' what, Crewman?"

Rett looked confused by her question, then nodded with understanding. "I've been a servant my entire life, sir. My deference is deeply ingrained, I'm afraid. Old habit."

Recognition dawned in Lyrr, and her features reflexively hardened. "Servant to the Cardassians? You were in the camps then, that's why you never entered the resistance." She nodded, everything seemingly making sense now.

Rett looked deeply at her, searching her eyes. When he had apparently found what he was looking for, he simply said, "No."

She frowned, and at once her entire demeanour and gaze became leery. "No? No, you weren't in the camps? No you never served the Cardassians? Or no, you did serve them, but not in a camp?" Her eyes narrowed fiercely and she stiffened at the man. "Or, no, you did serve them...but it was of your own free will. Is that it?"

Rett nodded absently, and leaned his head against the wall. "I was two years old when the Cardassians occupied Bajor," he said quietly, looking alternately at her and then at nothing while he remembered. "I grew up in a Cardassian household. I knew no other life." He was not making excuses. Simply explaining calmly.

"But you knew what they were like!" she told him, physically pushing away from him and shifting around to fully face the man. "You knew what they were doing to our people and you helped them?" She laughed incredulously and hastily climbed to her feet. All she could do was stare down at the humble, quiet man, and all she could feel for him was disgust. "People died," she said coldly, "and you were balancing their books." Her body trembled and Lyrr's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Shame on you."

"Indeed," he nodded sadly. "I've offended you, sir. I'm sorry." The tricorder beeped, signalling the end of its diagnostic cycle. "Shall I call for another technician, sir?"

"Just finish and leave," she replied curtly. "You shouldn't even be serving on a starship, Crewman. You're a traitor...you should be in a Bajoran prison, not here, living in luxury compared to what our people on Bajor have to put up with after your friends were through with them."

"I did, sir," Rett said simply, picking up the tricorder and examining its findings.

Lyrr frowned, her anger momentarily replaced with confusion. "You did what?"

"Spent time in prison, sir." Rett was still placid. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Lyrr nodded, slightly bemused.

"I grew up, was educated, was employed, married, and had a son, all in a rural Cardassian plantation household," Rett said humbly. "We were well treated, and served proudly. I lived through all forty years of the occupation peacefully and gainfully serving my," he hesitated, "my master." The word was obviously distasteful for him now. "When it ended, my family and most of the other servants, were imprisoned. The Ilvian proclamation."

"You weren't exiled?" she asked, intrigued but still guarded.

Rett absently looked at the tricorder and exhaled heavily. "Not officially. We weren't sympathizers in the literal sense. We were simply ignorant. But I was punished just the same. My son was beaten to death by the guards. My wife left me just after our release. No," he shook his head, not sad, but certainly weary, "I was not exiled from Bajor. I was simply exiled from Bajorans."

Lyrr snorted, again expressing derision towards the man. "Our own people murdered your son? I find that hard to believe."

"You wished me dead just a minute ago," Rett said.

She watched the man intently and saw truth in his words, only to find shame within herself. Lyrr all too often preferred to exalt her people to the status of heroes, martyrs, when many were no different than the Cardassians themselves. She sighed and slowly dropped to her knees again, regarding Rett only with mild sympathy and greater curiousity. "How did you get away? They simply...let you go?"

"There was no proof, and rightfully so," Rett shrugged. "Had I known what was happening outside my own province, perhaps I would have joined the resistance. But I was blind. We all have our little pet blindnesses."

Lyrr gave the man an admonishing smile. "You had to have known what they were doing to our people. And if not...what did you think they were doing with us? Co-existing peacefully? Forming lasting bonds of friendship? You're not a stupid man, Crewman. I could tell that right away."

Rett smiled sadly. "I was. I was exceptionally stupid, Commander. When I was released I began traveling, and I asked myself every day how I could have been so blind. Every widow made me ask myself the questions again. Every orphan. Every cripple. Every grave-arch. They all brought the questions. How much did I know? How much had I seen? How much had I ignored? How much had I explained away because my own life was comfortable? I still have no answers," he shook his head. "In retrospect, I can see all manner of hints and clues, but at the time. . ." he sighed. "I would not see."

It was understandable, turning a blind eye to the truth. Lyrr had been doing it her entire life. Despite her better judgement, she refused to admit her parents were dead. Rett had refused to admit that his people were dying while he lived in relative comfort and splendour. She couldn't fault the man for choosing the more idyllic reality to cling to.

"So," Rett said, picking up the tricorder and continuing to talk as he worked. "Here I am. I intend to spend the rest of my life serving. It is what I was born to. It is how I expect to die."

"And instead of serving your people, you serve Starfleet?" Lyrr smiled wanly. "I believe I can identify with that, Crewman Rett. I am here, as well, am I not?"

"Yes, you are," he smiled pleasantly again. "It would appear we both chose to serve a greater good."

"Or chose to leave behind pasts we'd rather not face," she amended with a pointed smile at the man.

"Indeed, sir," he said, bowing his head to acknowledge her point. The tricorder beeped. "Ah," he said. "Try it now." He stepped away from the replicator and motioned her toward it.

She took in a deep breath, then squared herself with the replicator, giving it her best staredown. "Computer...one Diruvean tea, lukewarm." Lyrr looked aside at Rett as the device hummed, and in that short moment she felt an affinity for the man she never felt with strangers. She allowed herself a kind smile, before returning her gaze to the replicator. In the alcove was sitting a perfectly shaped cup, and when she picked it up to sip the liquid, she confirmed that it was, indeed, tea. Lyrr gave a relieved chuckle. "Well...it's not a uniform. Thank you."

"Yes, sir." Rett began to bow at the waist, but caught himself. "I'll just put the access panel back together, and be on my way, sir." He made short work of the task, and was soon heading for the door, his toolkit slung over a shoulder. He stopped before the door opened.

"Sir?" he asked.

Lyrr looked over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"I hope I didn't," he frowned thoughtfully, "say too much, sir. I'm a rambling old man sometimes, and I haven't spoken meaningfully to a Bajoran since I left for Earth two and a half years ago. I hope I didn't get carried away."

She smiled thoughtfully into her cup, then regarded him again. "You didn't. I'm just sorry I jumped to so many conclusions so quickly. The young are always so impulsive, are they not?"

He smiled his kindly smile. "Indeed, sir. Good evening," he said simply, and left her to her tea.

It was neither an acceptance, nor a rejection of her apology; but whatever it was, he had done it more politely and humbly than anything she had ever heard prior.

Lyrr watched the doors slide closed behind him, and was at once intrigued and suspicious of the man. "Rett Charla..." she murmured. There would be some digging to do.

---

"Getting Reacquainted"
By: Ensign Ainsley Chambers - Counselor
Ensign Jackson Thompson - Engineer

Location: Thompson's Quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.05 17h35

***

Ella Fitzgerald extolled her lover's imperfections as Jackson Thompson ran a hand absently through his hair, his attention focused on the novel in his lap. Growing up he'd had access to his parents' large private library and he had developed a love of real books. There was something in the heft of the tome, the feel of the pages and the smell that just made it so much preferable to reading off of a padd. He laid the book aside, an amused smile touching his face, and slid off of his bed. He'd been sitting there with his legs crossed long enough for a tingle to begin running down his right leg.

"Is your figure less than Greek, is your mouth a little weak," he sang softly as he padded across the room to the refresher. He'd been off duty for a while, but he was still trying to figure out why it seemed that the entire crew was wearing skirts today. It had been a bit distracting, especially the XO. She might be a bit harsh, but she did have surprisingly nice legs. Go figure.

He shrugged and walked over to the replicator, calling up the specs on the skirted variant. "That has to be drafty," he mumbled as he quickly added a few centimeters to the bottom of the skirt before replicating one. When in Rome...

***

Ainsley was just stepping away from the bar when she noticed a tall man step through the doors into the lounge. "Jackson?" she called. She hadn't seen the engineer in ages.

Jackson stopped short and glanced towards the bar, a smile touching his lips. "Ms. Chambers," he drawled. "A pleasure to see you." He walked over, noticing with relief that she looked much better in the skirt than he.

"Same here!" she responded. "Where you been hiding yourself?"

He smiled and gestured to the bartender, quickly ordering a single malt Irish whisky, on the rocks of course, before answering. "I buried myself in engineering, it's..." He looked around. "It's different than I expected. Tougher in a lot of ways."

She smiled then. That seemed to happen a lot when people were first posted to starships. "That's a good thing though right?" She took a sip of her margarita.

"Of course." He picked up his now ready drink and sipped it, smiling at the warmth of the liquid. He'd kept himself locked out of sight for way too long. It was time to actually join the crew. "But you know what they say about all work and no play..."

"And we certainly don't want any dull boys on board," Ainsley responded with a smile.

Jackson laughed and raised his glass. "How about a toast, Ms. Chambers?"

"Ainsley, please. Especially here," she replied and held up her glass. "What are we toasting to?"

He looked around the crowded room, his eyes twinkling as they danced from person to person. "To our crewmates, to our mission, and to a promising friendship." He gestured towards Ainsley with a smile.

"If that's not a good toast I don't know what is." She smiled and lightly touched her glass against his and then took a drink.

Jackson sipped his own, once again relishing the warm trail the whiskey left as it traveled down his throat. He smiled again. "If it's not too forward of me, I must say you look rather nice." He nodded towards her.

"Why thank you, sir," she replied with a slight bow of her head. "It's kind of you to say so. I noticed that your skirt looks a little longer than most... What did you do? Alter it?"

Jackson grinned and shrugged. "Guilty as charged. What can I say? I don't have the legs for this."

Ainsley grinned and then leaned towards him. "Don't feel bad. You're legs aren't hard to look at. I've seen worse, much worse tonight."

Jackson let out a guffaw of laughter and shrugged. "Well, when you put it that way..."

Ainsley laughed with him. "Have you managed to make any friends onboard yet?"

He frowned slightly. "Present company excluded, no." He glanced around. "I've been too involved in my work to really socialize... It's no excuse I know."

"Well," she said. "It's an excuse, it's just not a good one." She grinned at him. "There's no time like the present, why don't I introduce you to a few people?"

He nodded and gestured towards the crowd. "After you, Ms. Chambers."

---

"Curiouser and Curiouser"
By: Crewman First Class Jeff Davies; Transporter Officer and Door Guard [NPC]

et al

Location: USS Sulu, just outside the Mess Hall
Stardate: 57908.05 17h50

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

Xayella Tagliesh stopped, and even her attractive features appeared frightening as she frowned at the man. "What?" she asked acridly. "Do they have to be a certain length, too?" Her eyes motioned pointedly to the skirted portion of her uniform, reaching just above mid-thigh.

"Hey," Davies chuckled, stepping aside, "just doing my job, sir." He waved her in.

She muttered a disapproving comment as she threw her head back and stalked inside. Her skirt swung from side to side as her hips moved, giving Davies a much better view than the one her scowling face had provided. One he openly took a look at.

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

Taylor Bennett looked up at Davies and laughed softly. Still wearing a smile from her encounter with Kit Markham earlier, she presented herself to Davies.

"Proper uniform for the party," she said. Her legs were long and shapely, and between the skirt and boots, she was showing off more than usual. She wasn't averse to it, exactly, but it didn't normally come into her day to day life. Most security officers avoided the skirt variant for duty reasons, though it was far more comfortable than she'd originally expected it to be, not that it would be regular daily wear. Though, from the occasional whistles she'd drawn and the way Davies was checking out her legs, perhaps wearing it every once in awhile wouldn't be such a bad thing. "Good enough?"

At Davies' grinning nod, Taylor gave him a smile and a wink and slipped on inside the party.

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

Turning around, Nathalie curtsied with a small flourish and smiled. "As you can clearly see, I'm wearing a skirt, Jeffery. Can I go through now, or do you wish to check for shaving nicks?" Nathalie quipped.

"Is this how you address all the party guests?" Torsten piped up from behind Gui, currently making an effort to get her skirt to better cover her small legs.

"Unfortunately, for Jeffery this is standard procedure," Nathalie replied.

"That's true," Davies grinned wolfishly. "And I must say I've had no complaints, about any of my procedures."

Cecily blushed deeply in embarrassment at Davies' remark.

"You ladies go right in. Enjoy," Davies laughed.

"Are all the Operations officers like him?" Cecily asked, quickly falling into step next to the taller officer. Nathalie smiled and patted her arm reassuringly as the two headed into the mess hall.

"Trust me, we have just as many princes as we do frogs in Ops...though some are still caught at the stage of crossing over...don't worry, it's normal. Especially for Davies."

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

Tchalla Mel'Chir looked up, startled at the voice, blue eyes wide with not-quite-panic. She glanced at her companion, who beamed a smile back at her and at Davies who stood before them waiting for some thigh to be shown. Tchi gave him a shy smile and looked down at her cobalt legs showing beneath the hem of the black skirted uniform she wore.

At her side, Kelzira Rax thrust a leg out to show Davies that she wore a skirt as well, with spots disappearing right down into the tops of her boots. "That's my leg, Jeff," she said. "I think you remember it."

Tchalla giggled. "Oh, is he that Davies?"

Kelzira nodded. Tchalla blushed. "Yes, he is, my love. All of him."

Tchi squeaked a response and hid her face against Kelzira, whispering something as she did. Kelzira, watching Tchalla's antennae, giggled and gave Davies a wink.

"You've embarrassed her," she said. "Well, I guess my stories have embarrassed her. All in the best possible light, Jeff. But, dear Jeffie, that is the past." She glanced down at her hand, linked with Tchalla's. "She's my only now. But, with your talents, I'm sure you won't miss me...much."

"I miss you every day, my sweet spotted lady." Davies placed both hands on his heart, intentionally overplaying the theatrics. Then he leaned close to TChalla, whispered, "And I use the term 'sweet spot' in its broadest possible sense," and winked.

Tchalla looked at Kelzira, who nodded. She looked at Davies, and then gave him a wide, wicked smile that could have only come with the confidence Kelzira's presence was giving her, and said, "I know." Then, she folded herself into Kelzira's arms and kissed her passionately. Had it been their first kiss, much of the intended effect would be lost. However, Tchi had made sure they'd have plenty of opportunity to practice. After a long moment, she pulled away, delighting in the excited flash in Kelli's eyes. She turned back to Davies. "Can we go in now?"

"Certainly," said Davies, grinning. "You can go on down. In," he corrected the obviously intentional mistake. "You can go on in," he said pleasantly as he waved them through.

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

His eyebrows raising up his forehead, Cristobel Sefton blew out the corner of his mouth to momentarily lift his bangs away from his eyes to clearly give Davies a skeptical look. "Have you gone blind?" Cristobel curtseyed in his grey and black Class-A skirted-variant uniform.

"Nice," Davies said, stepping back and waving Cris through.

"Thank you, kindly," Cristobel smiled, but the smile faded once he stepped into the Mess Hall. He silently wished, once again, that Corran had felt up to attending the party. With neither Amy nor Shyla expressing much interest in attending either, Cris hoped he'd find someone else in attendance that he knew better than simply in passing.

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

Dwayne stepped up. He knew he could make this work, but how could a woman deal with the breeze? He didn't bother to give the man at the door the chance, but he scooted back so he could see that he, Dwayne Sanchez was indeed in the skirted form of the Class A uniform.

"Thank you, Ensign Sanchez, sir," Davies grinned, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't worry. I looked from a bunch of different angles when I put it on myself this morning. Mister Happy won't peek out." He leaned back and motioned Sanchez inside.

Dwayne grinned. He too took several glances at himself in the mirror, just for that reason. He didn't want any other part of his anatomy to peer out from under the very short skirt of the uniform he now wore for this very strange day. He strode into the mess hall confidently.

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

"Eyesight check," Tristan Percival Finn retorted. He glanced down at the skirted uniform he wore, then beyond the hem of the skirt to the fishnets and go-go boots, then back to Davies. "If you're unable to tell that I'm wearing a skirt, then get thee to Sickbay man; Retinax Five awaits you." Davies chuckled and Finn gave him a smile. "Back at the Academy, there was a Cadet Casanova; well, I called him that anyway because he always seemed to have two or three female cadets hanging off him at all times. Well, one day, I was talking to a good friend, and I said, 'I really don't understand it. What does he do, bring them in with fishing nets?' Well, my friend, taking that to mean that I wanted two or three women for myself, got me--" he plucked at the stockings he wore "--fishnets. So anyway, I take it that my skirt passes muster and I can go inside for the soirée? Good man." And, with that Tristan Percival Finn, who was really jealous that Nathanial Kitridge Ozymandius Markham had more names, entered the party.

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping to block the door with a smile that completely defeated his attempt at a serious tone. "Skirt check."

Lieutenant Saavar raised a single brow. "Crewman," he said in his most exact Vulcan tone, "one can easily see that I have complied with the dress code for this evening."

"Great legs, sir," Emma Summers laughed behind him. She was wearing a very short variant of the skirted uniform in green. In fact it would barely cover what it needed to if she decided to tilt at the waist for any reason at all. The non-regulation knee high stiletto boots were an added accessory thanks to Amy Reese's extensive wardrobe and replicator catalogue. "You'd look great in these." She showed off her boots. They were black velvet and laced all the way from ankle to knee along her calf, showing a thin line of flesh. The heels were tipped in silver. Emma wore her hair loose and tightly curled so that it resembled a glossy mane of dark brown with the barest of red tint. The polonecked shirt was also figure hugging and a pale green to denote her medical/counselling department.

"Indeed, Crewman. You also are aesthetically pleasing." Saavar complimented Summers before he walked past Davies and into the crowded mess hall.

Emma gave Davies a wink and sauntered in. He openly watched her rear swaying in the tight skirt that bounced as she walked.

***

"Hold it," Davies said, stepping into the corridor, but still looking over his shoulder at Summers' delightful backside. "Skirt check," he turned to check the next arrival and jumped aside in shock. "Whoa!"

Dr. Ilan Potts was dressed like Marie Antoinette.

The good Doctor had a powdered white wig half as high as himself piled on his head. His skin had been paled with generous amounts of white pancake makeup and his lips were painted the color of red rubies with a dark black press-on beautymark adorning one cheek. The real vision was the dress; a stunning baroque gown the color of gold with lots of silver embroidery and gold filigree complimenting the ruffles and lace of the floor-length dazzler. The gown differed from the traditional by being both low in the back with a generous scoop of cleavage in the front propped up by a corset made of simulated whalebone and what looked to be an equally simulated fleshy chestplate complete with molded breasts. More simulated bone flared the hips and gave the bottom hem its phenomenal hoop circumference, forcing some gawkers to hug the bulkhead or be swept away by the fashion statement. Free-footed Potts had even gone to the trouble to squeeze his oversized feet into small high heels covered with beautiful gold embroidery. He looked unsteady on them.

Davies struggled to wrap his mind around the image, finally chuckling good-naturedly. "Doc," he said, smiling large. "Some people get into the spirit of things and some people are the spirit of things. You're in," he said, holding a welcoming arm toward the door.

"Ah, I'm in," Potts said nodding before he cocked his head forward with a slight tilt. "In what, Crewman?" he asked, with a completely believable curiosity.

Davies' chuckle wound down instantly. "Skirt Day Party, sir," he said, no longer feeling so amused.

"What's 'Skirt Day'?" Potts deadpanned as the door slid open, revealing a fairly packed Mess Hall filled with both men and women, all wearing skirts. Potts smiled hugely and patted Davies on the shoulder repeating the word 'Skirt Day' to himself as he walked inside leaving both the hapless Crewman and a fair number observers to debate if the Assistant Chief Counselor had been joking. Or if he had just happened by dressed like Marie Antoinette.

---

"Skirt Night"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Warrant Officer Sikara; Head Chef
Petty Officer Second Class Malcolm Nebbs; Ship's Steward [NPC]
Petty Officer Third Class Luis Espinoza; Gamma Steward [NPC]
Crewman First Class Jeff Davies; Transporter Officer [NPC]
Crewman First Class Yvan; Steward [NPC]
Crewman Second Class Leilani Pfeiffer; Lounge Staff [NPC]
And More

Location: USS Sulu, Crew Mess
Stardate: 57908.05 18h15

***

And the people came. Skirts were flaunted in abundance. Cheers and jeers were traded, and laughter rang through Sikara's newly redecorated mess hall, the splashes of color on people's uniforms blending with the vibrant hues of the walls and furniture. Chan from Science was particularly impressive, his toned legs drawing compliments. Vijay from flight strutted in impressively with Lieutenant McKenzie, who admitted he only made it through the day by pretending he was wearing a particularly tight kilt. Counselors Scott and Chambers were of course stunning, demurely accepting compliments as only counselors could. Most of the off-duty Medical staff sashayed in together, making Doctor Sefton look vaguely like a high-class madam.

And then there was Thaine. He had glared Davies into absolute silence when he entered, the rumor-pressure simply too great to bear. He'd brought a number of engineers with him, ostensibly for moral support, though it was quite possible the engineers had dragged him along, rather than the other way around. They moved in a clutch, staying together where the medstaff went into a diaspora throughout the room just after entry. While the women in the group seemed understandably more at ease, the rest looked nervous to a man, with the exception of Thaine who simply glared at any one who seemed to be staring, but realizing everyone was dressed comparably went a long way toward loosening them up.

After a few minutes of general mingling, Farrell stood on a small riser and called for attention. He called several times before things quieted down. Next to him on a stand was a rounded object covered with a cloth.

"Today we entered the Gamma Quadrant," Farrell began impressively. A ragged cheer went up from various quarters of the room, and several people slapped Lieutenant McKenzie on the back. Farrell held up his hands for quiet. "We are ultimately here to celebrate that, but first, we should take a moment to remember those who could not join us on this trip."

Pfeiffer, Nebbs, Yvan, and Sikara were already moving efficiently through the crowd distributing glasses of champagne. Farrell lifted the cloth next to him, revealing a deeply polished brass ship's bell.

"It is an old Earth tradition to ring a bell in memory of lost mariners. Please join us in a moment of silence for friends and companions who could not join us tonight."

"Ensign Terrence Socrates Phillips," Farrell enunciated clearly, pulling the cord on the bell. It gave a bright resounding chime. Lieutenant McKenzie put his arm around Ensign Larkin, who looked like she might cry. Several other blue-collars in the crowd bowed their heads remembering the science officer who had died on Dorvali 449.

"Petty Officer Second Class Geraldine Magdalena Amezcua Romero." The bell rang again. Security officers throughout the crowd looked to each other proudly.

"Ensign Hon'Kal." Another chime. Hon'Kal and Romero had died on Risa. Their security comrades nodded to one another in respect.

"Ensign Ethan Anderson Storm," Farrell said, as the bell sounded the fourth and final time, the ring reverberating into silence. Several security officers glanced around for Shyla Moreau, who was at that moment conspicuous in her absence.

"Please lift your glasses with me, and drink to the memory of our comrades." Farrell lifted his glass to the assembly. "To our friends."

Every glass in the room was raised in unison, the three words repeated, and a moment of silence was observed, the assembly paying tribute to those who had journeyed far beyond the gamma quadrant.

"Thank you," Farrell's voice moved gently into the still room. He covered the bell, and the mood shifted noticeably.

"Now then," he grinned. "We're here to enjoy ourselves and celebrate the day's events. If you want a piece of tonight's contest, and you all know what I mean" --a ripple of laughter ran through that crowd-- "see PO Nebbs and have him put you on the list. We'll start the judging at 1930 hours. With that," Farrell looked to the bar, "Espinoza?" He looked back to the crowd and lifted a conducting hand.

"Set 'em up!" roared the crowd.

---

"Skirting The Issues"
By: Ensign Amy "Partey" Reese
Crewman Emma "Buffy" Summers
Lt. Saavar
Lt. Xayella Tagliesh

Location: Mess Hall, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.05, 18h35

***

Arm linked with Emma's, Amy Reese skipped alongside her friend into the Mess - Party Central, more accurately. She'd promised Kitty she wouldn't be long, and after flashing him some thigh, he made no further protests. So, with skirt bouncing upon every jaunty step, she entered the mix. Her first sight of male officers in their skirted uniforms brought out a giggle, and an even louder one as she pointed to the officer in front of her. "Oh my... Is that who I think it is?!"

Emma grinned. "Yeah I came in behind him." She looked at the Vulcan's legs. They weren't at all bad - solid muscle and shaped perfectly. "Pity Vulcans are so cold blooded," she confided in Amy. She looked around, searching the sea of faces but couldn't see who she was looking for. "Shall we say hello?" She didn't wait for a reply, dragging Amy by the hand until they both stood before the tall Vulcan. He stood surveying the crowd, quite unfazed by the fact he was wearing a skirted Class A uniform.

He gave the two women a smile. Saavar had received a few comments since his first encounter with Davies by the door. Humans were sometimes amused by the smallest of things. The fact that he wore a skirt was not in the least unusual for a Vulcan who specialised in cross-cultural and racial diplomacy. In fact he had been invited to a Betazoid wedding where he had worn nothing at all and still felt totally at ease. He looked down at Amy Reese and said, "Are you enjoying the gathering, Miss Reese?"

She grinned foolishly at the Vulcan - 'hunky' immediately came to mind. "I don't know....we just got here." Her eyes roamed over his frame, slow enough to take every muscular curve in, then she gazed up at him again. "You look great in a skirt, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Miss Reese. You also," he replied with a charming smile. Saavar did notice that she was particularly feminine. His eyes noted the details of her womanly shape before he came back to her eyes. He'd copied her slow gaze exactly. It seemed to be a common Human mating ritual and for some reason he'd just copied her. It was disconcerting. It was un-Vulcan.

She blushed and giggled under his scrutiny, clinging to Emma as if she were swooning. "Thanks... Oh! This is Emma." She shoved her friend forward, pushing her into Saavar. The Vulcan hardly budged.

"Yes we have met." Saavar gently pushed Emma back while making sure she didn't fall over.

Emma grinned and elbowed Amy for throwing her against the Vulcan. He was really attractive, and the way he'd looked at Amy she would have thought that he was Human. He was also solid as a rock. She knew all about Vulcan biology and knew that their muscular density was far superior to Humans. They were strong. Really strong. "Hey," she smiled. She glanced at Amy and made a face.

"Could I get you ladies a drink?" Saavar asked politely. He hadn't come to the party with anyone and wasn't due to meet anyone. He had come to observe the gathering. Another Human ritual.

"Sure...a drink sounds great," Amy enthused. Her smile was helplessly dreamy.

Saavar raised a single brow. "Perhaps you might choose a beverage?"

"I'll have a martini - extra dry," Emma smiled. She looked at Amy and chuckled, "Amy'll have a multiple orgasm--" She looked back at Saavar. "It's a drink - sir."

"Of course." Saavar gave them a smile. Human sexual innuendo was not missed on the communications specialist. "I will be back shortly." He moved off to the bar.

Emma watched him go and audibly groaned, "You know, Amy... Vulcans define the seven year itch. " Her voice was slightly wistful. She shared a look with her friend.

Amy sighed whimsically, threw the back of her hand to her brow, and leaned against her friend. "Where are those strong Vulcan hands when I need them...." She giggled, then bounced upright. "Let's dance!"

"Sure." Emma allowed Amy to drag her toward the area set aside for music and dancing. All the while she was looking around with a slight frown on her face. The mess hall was filling up quickly and she hoped that the face she was looking for would show up soon.

After a few minutes of dancing, and laughter as they put on a little show, Saavar approached the pair with two drinks in hand. He waited patiently watching the two women as they gyrated with the music.

A figure brushed up alongside him, carrying with it a fragrance of citrus fruits and tropical flowers. The voice coming from it confirmed it was a female, and revealed her identity. "So, you like the young ones, then?" She chuckled. "And I thought you Vulcans considered yourselves superior."

Saavar did not even turn his head. "My preferences are not at issue here," he said mildly. "I am observing a Human custom. I believe it is called mingling. Vulcans are superior in many ways, Lieutenant." He still watched the women dance out of a stoic choice to not look at Xayella Tagliesh. "Physically and logically, but I hope we do not appear to act superior in nature." His mind was on the conversation he had recently with Corran Quezith.

"And when has that ever been a goal of yours?" she quipped. Xayella raised an eyebrow at the Vulcan. He wasn't even watching her out of the corner of his eye. She turned and faced him directly, with both arms folded over her chest. "I haven't seen you in a long while, Lieutenant. There are...things I've been wanting to discuss with you and haven't had a chance."

He finally relented. Forced to look at her he maintained an expressionless mask. "Perhaps this is not an opportune moment to discuss those things," he said carefully. The sight of her affected him in a manner that was entirely disconcerting. "I have made an effort to remain at a distance...Lieutenant." He had almost called her Xay. "I presumed that you would not be disposed to seeing me."

"I have to see you," she told him wryly. Xay's green eyes glanced from side to side, ensuring their privacy. Leaning in towards him, she whispered, "You're in my dreams. Ever since that night, when you...you linked minds with me, not a day has gone by where I haven't thought about you." She snorted, adding, "And believe me, you're the last person I want to think about, Lieutenant."

Saavar raised one brow. "It seems we have some things in common, Lieutenant." His words were almost whispered, not for other ears. His eyes searched hers and he wondered once again if she knew what her presence was doing to him. It was a strange mixture of familiarity and loathing. He knew her yet did not wish to. Were her dreams affecting him emotionally? He'd been terribly undisciplined for days - arousal with Lektar, anger with Corran... "I too have been strangely affected." He was still Vulcan enough not to discuss matters that were intensely private. How could he possibly reveal to this Human woman that they were mate-bonded? The thought enticed and at the same time repulsed him.

Xay pursed her lips at him, unhappy with the answers he was not providing. "You did this to us!" she whispered sharply. "Damn you, Vulcan. I can't even make love to Matt without thinking about you." She took a step closer, staring up at him fiercely. "You have to fix this, and now!"

He looked down upon her and for a moment his gaze showed a hint of emotion. "I...cannot fix this." His voice was quiet. "Please, Xay...another time. Not now...not here." He couldn't help calling her by name nor keep the familiarity from his voice. With an effort of will he slammed the door on his emotions. His face became the Vulcan mask once more. "This is not the place to discuss personal and private matters."

Xay physically took a step away from Saavar, the fleeting glimpse of intimacy startling her...mainly in that she experienced the same everytime she exchanged glances with him. She needed their connection severed, and fast. "We have to discuss this, Saavar," she told him, pleaded with him. "Can't we just...go somewhere, and talk. This is driving me insane!"

"Very well." He turned back to the two human females dancing and walked directly to them, handing them their drinks and making an apology before he returned to Tagliesh. "Where do you wish to go?" he asked without preamble. He felt most comfortable in his own quarters, but under the circumstances he would abide by her request. Her assertion that the situation was driving her insane struck a chord with Saavar's prior conversation with Corran. He could not in good conscience allow the situation to continue without being truthful to her. To do so would be placing himself in Corran's position - one of false superiority. She was involved. She had a right to know.

"We can go to my office," she told him. Her voice was disconcertingly unsteady. She was either anxious to put an end to this, or nervous about being in such close quarters with Saavar. She didn't trust herself with him. "If anyone asks," she continued as they stepped away from the party, "we're having a meeting...which we are." Consciously, Xayella put a foot of distance between them while they walked. She sighed, and gazed up at him. "I really hope you can fix this, Saavar." Then she shook her head and looked away.

He followed her. Maintaining distance, he kept pace as they walked out of the Mess Hall. Davies gave him a grin, looking at the Vulcan's legs and holding up a crude hand made sign that read "8 1/2". He was just putting one away that clearly said "9", that he had briefly waved in Xayella's direction. Neither officer paid much attention.

They were silent for the walk to her office, Saavar pondering just what or how he was going to inform her of the reality of the situation. They were in the Gamma Quadrant now. All hope of seeking assistance gone. He remained calm and made an attempt to retain his control, averting his eyes from the bouncing skirt and swaying hips before him.

Once inside the office Saavar stood with hands clasped behind his back.

"Okay, let's get this over with," Xay said, letting out a long sigh. She leaned her rear against the edge of her desk and crossed both legs at the ankles, giving Saavar an unintentional view of their full length up to midthigh. Xayella's facial expression indicated she was too perplexed to notice. As she gazed across at him, finding herself admiring his eyes and further troubling herself, she whispered, "Saavar...what's happening to me?"

He cleared his throat and stared behind her, and for a long moment there was only silence. When he looked back he made sure to look at her eyes. The situation would have been funny, both officers dressed identically, male and female in short skirts. Saavar stood at ease, ignoring her dress and her extremely long legs. He looked back up at her eyes. "The mind meld," he began. "I have never before attempted such a feat with a non-Vulcan. Believe me when I tell you that it is distressing for me to be in this situation. It is difficult. Intensely personal." He made a further effort to remain completely devoid of emotion, dismissing the quickening of his pulse as a result of his stress. "Vulcans are mated very young. I was bonded to T'Sirra at the age of five. I have known no other. Until...." He looked away and then back, uncomfortable at having to even discuss this. "The meld we engaged in to discover the Captain's assassin. It was difficult for me. I almost failed. Your mind was so emotional - I was not prepared adequately for the impact of such emotions. I was overwhelmed by it."

He looked at her, his face revealing a hint of emotion. "I was not adequate to the task without suffering consequences. I no longer feel my wife's bond."

Xayella's pensive expression faltered, and her mouth worked soundlessly, until she managed to utter, "What does that mean? What...what are you saying?" But in the back of her mind, she already knew all too well.

"Vulcans are mate-bonded by way of an intense mind-meld." He looked at her significantly. "You are experiencing that bond. As am I." He looked away. "I am sorry," he whispered. "If I could undo what is done I would."

Xayella closed her eyes and swallowed back the bilious taste in her throat. She covered her mouth with a hand and quickly turned away. It was no wonder he invaded her dreams at night, and no wonder she woke up in the middle of the night longing for him. What would she tell Matt? Could she? "We have to stop this," she said quickly, frantically. Xay whirled around to face Saavar, and in another instant, she had rushed towards him and was gripping what little of his tight uniform jacket she could grasp in her hands. "I can't go on like this! I can't even look at you without my heart going arrhythmic...and I don't even like you! What the hell did you do to me!"

He was surprised by her sudden grasping of his uniform and even more by her proximity. Her small frame was close and he gripped her hands in consternation, staring at her wide eyes and feeling a sudden rush of emotion as they made contact. His telepathic nature instinctively formed the bond and he jerked his hands away as if stung, but not fast enough to avoid the rush of feelings. She felt it too. He stared helplessly at her not knowing what to do and all at once knowing that her Human nature was expressing a desire that filled him with longing and revulsion. How could he? How could she? It was a mistake. Saavar's Romulan blood sang with it.

Xayella's chest rose and fell rapidly with every aroused breath; inwardly, she sobbed. "You have to stay away from me," she told him, though hearing herself say it sparked a twinge of heartache within her, despite the hatred she knew she held for him. Gripping the back of the chair she now leaned on for support from behind, Xayella resisted the urge to return to him and deliver another futile entreaty. "I don't care what you do, Saavar...but you have to make this stop. Neither of us can go on like this."

"Do you imagine that I enjoy this?" he asked, his voice sounding bitter. He felt angry, frustrated and totally lacking in discipline. "I should not be this way!" He turned away from her and with one powerful swing slammed a hand through a console. His fist clenched in inhuman strength and emotion that he needed to control. He gripped the edges of the workstation and clenched his eyes shut against the rampaging anger - no rage that was consuming him. His skin felt hot - burning hot. "I cannot make it stop," he hissed. "It affects me as it does you! You are a Human! I am...Vulcan. I feel you in my mind all of the time. I feel you every moment, tortured.. and I have no power to stop it!"

Xayella was rendered speechless from fear and shock. Her grip on the chairback tightened and her breathing grew shallow, hoping she would become silent enough that Saavar would forget she had ever entered the room. The damaged console had gone blank, though through the puncture he had created with his bare hand alone, she could see the exposed circuitry still giving off brief sparks. He could have split the station in two if he wished it. She imagined that was next.

His breaths were ragged and quick, gentle growls audible with every exhalation as if there were a creature within him struggling to burst free. She now felt only fear. Slowly and as quietly as she could, she sidled away from the chair, keeping her eyes fully on Saavar and any sudden movements he might make to necessitate a hastier retreat. Through their connection, she was vaguely aware of his distress and inner torment; there was an instinct to go to him and comfort him, but she forced it away fervently. The stoic, dispassionate and placid Vulcan she knew and hated had been suddenly replaced by an erratic, unpredictable madman...one she had an uncontrollable attraction to, but was fighting with all her will's might.

With an uncontained gasp, Xay darted for the door, next to which Saavar was still slowly attempting to recompose himself. She didn't plan on being around long enough to see it.

As she vanished down the corridor she heard an anguished howl that echoed in her mind long after she left him.

---

"Friends Forever"
By: Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse
Ensign Amy Reese - Nurse
Lt. Cmdr. Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer
Crewman First Class Yvan - Steward [NPC]
and Crewman Second Class Leilani Pfeiffer - Ops Crewman [NPC]

Location: USS Sulu, Mess Hall
Stardate: 57908.05, 18h47

***

"How is a skirt feminine? It's a piece of cloth. It's not even natural cloth; it's been replicated. I mean, mo dhia, how is it that Terrans have evolved their propulsion techniques amazingly over the past few hundred years, and yet still hold onto painfully archaic gender roles?" Cristobel bluntly questioned Annikafiore Szerda, in response to what she had intended as a compliment. And then Cristobel noticed something, and walked away without comment.

Cristobel hadn't noticed Amy when she'd initially arrived. For a moment, everything was normal again, and Cris sauntered over to her to ask, "I thought you were at a private party of your own?" The emotion drained from his last few words, once he could feel the tension. In all of their not talking about his message to Potts, Cristobel had felt various stages of rage, betrayal, and confusion from Amy, and in all of that time, he'd been too afraid to look too closely at her thoughts. Now was no different.

Gazing out at the crowd of dancers, Amy cleared her throat, avoiding his eyes at all cost. "I will be... I just promised a friend I'd drop by with her." There was a slight edge to the word, and her posture grew more petulant.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cris asked, already defensive.

Amy shifted around to face him, her folded arms and puckered lips conveying utter condescension. "My friend...Emma Summers? Someone who actually defends me instead of stabbing me in the back with a hypospray, and don't you dare pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, traitor."

Cris silently mouthed 'Emma who?' as Amy was talking, but then scoffed at her last point. "I let you know exactly what I did. How is that a stab in the back?"

"Cocktail?" asked Crewman Pfeiffer brightly, presenting her tray of fruity drinks. Her smile was permanent, but genuine, and she clearly sought to head off the argument that appeared to be starting.

"Because," Amy whispered hoarsely, pointedly ignoring the waiter, "I trusted you. I told you that because I trusted you. And you let me down, Cris. You of all people..."

"Let you down? I performed my duty. We're medical officers, and talk of suicide is hugely serious, Amy. I wish I could say that I only told Potts because you told me while I was in Sickbay, but I honestly would have done the same thing if you'd told me in my quarters," Cristobel admitted at a hard whisper. Concentrated as he was, he hadn't even noticed Pfeiffer until he caught the crewman's flash of worry and suspicion. Cristobel gave the waitress a pointed look and slowly guided Amy towards a more secluded part of the mess hall. Pfeiffer looked at his tray of drinks, and then headed quickly for the bar.

Amy remained stubbornly distant, but grudgingly followed Cristobel. "You could've warned me," she grumbled. "I didn't say I was going to do it. I just...I said it was a thought."

"A thought is all it takes to start," Cristobel told her, condescension unintentionally dripping into his own tone. "I mean, dhia, what have you been doing during all of your counseling sessions if you never bothered to mention this to anyone?"

"I mentioned it to you," she shrieked in exasperation. "Cris, I told you for a reason!" She gripped his arm, her hand barely going around the full circumference of it. With a single jerk, though, she managed to push him up against the nearest bulkhead. "You hurt me, Cris," she whispered, no longer anger in her features, but grief. "I trusted you and you let me down. You were my confidante, my friend...and now I-I don't know what you are to me."

Wincing and looking down from the jolt of the shove, Cristobel awkwardly stated, "I don't know what to say." Slowly looking up to meet Amy's eyes, he continued, "Other than don't touch me again. I have to be honest here: if I had to do it again, I would do it the same, except I would have also suggested you be tested for bipolar disorder."

Amy frowned, lips trembling and a lump knotting in her throat. She removed her hand from his arm, and took a step back while shaking her head in disbelief. "I hate you," she whispered; it sounded like a sudden revelation and her eyes displayed surprise at hearing herself say it. "I don't even know you anymore." Her eyes blinked rapidly as initial tears escaped, but not a single sob did. "Have a nice life, Cristobel Sefton," she spat, "because I certainly won't be in it." Amy spun on her heel, skirt twirling, and stomped away. Her shoulders shook visibly as she finally allowed her emotions to spill over.

"Luis!" Pfeiffer hissed across the bar. The bartender cocked his head to one side to turn an ear toward her while he poured out a martini. "Trouble. Where's Yvan?"

Running after Amy, Cristobel stepped in her path and held his palms up to keep her from going any farther. "Stop. Amy, I need you to think hard with me for a minute," Cristobel pleaded -- not even for their friendship, but simply for Amy's well being -- as his eyes burned with tears. "When was the last time that we had a meaningful conversation in which you did not burst into tears, followed by sudden maniacal laughter? I am worried as hell over you, and I can't help feeling like everyone on this ship is so distracted by the sex thing that they're entirely missing that that is only a symptom of what's hurting you."

"The only thing hurting me is you," she managed in a choked shout. "I passed my psych evaluation at the Academy before I got on board. They didn't think anything was wrong with me; only you, Mr. Perfect, seem to find fault with me and I can only wonder why." Amy narrowed her eyes, squeezing out fresh tears. "Why do you think you're better than me, Cris?"

Cristobel suddenly couldn't breathe. His fingers curled towards his palms until he gauchely dropped his arms to his side -- he couldn't understand what he'd done to turn this into a contest between the two of them; his mind raced to think of personal and professional reasons he might be better or even worse than her; all the while he knew he should simply say, 'I'm not better than you'; he supposed she had been better trained as a nurse and that her sunny disposition served as a better bedside manner than his own; he supposed she was certainly more popular with the crew and had many more friends; he supposed she probably even had what it took to be promoted to Head Nurse ahead of him; and then he thought of the wrong answer. But it felt right -- and the pleading apologetic grimace on his face imperceptibly turned into a sneer. The varying degrees of anger and defensive hurt were gone completely from his voice. "I haven't become a caricature of myself."

Crewman Yvan moved smoothly up to Cristobel and Amy just in time to be taken aback by the Betazoid's snark. "Sirs, may I - -"

Amy shook her head wildly in frustration. "What? What the hell are you talking about!" She stopped and the rusty gears in her mind slowly turned. "Wait...you're insulting me!" she shrieked at Cristobel. Amy shoved him roughly, advanced on him, then pushed him away again. Yvan bustled along with them, trying to get a calming word in. By now, many of the partygoers had stopped to watch, but the music still played on. "Leave me alone, Cristobel Sefton! You're a bastard and I can't believe I ever thought you were a friend!" As an added outlet for her rage and pain, Amy swatted his cheek sharply.

"Sirs, please," Yvan said, quiet but insistent. "You're in public."

Damhnait took a breath to shout a strident, 'that's enough', but Cristobel silenced her with a simple telepathic, Shut.

Tears streaking down his face and dripping from his chin, Cristobel backed away from Amy with pronounced steps. She had hit him. Hit him! And the worst part was that it wasn't particularly surprising. With each unsteady placement of his foot, the exit to the mess hall felt increasingly impossibly far away. His voice cracking and gaining rasp, Cristobel said, "You're right, Amy, I must have been mistaken. All of these violent outbursts? Perfectly normal. You're a freakin' model Starfleet officer. Your mother would be so proud."

Amy stared at Cris with tangible fury mingled with a hidden agony that seemed to become magnified by the layer of tears coating her eyes. She was unaware of each long, determined stride she took towards Cris, her hands clenching to drive her nails into her palm, and unclenching to mitigate the pain she was inflicting upon herself. "You leave that bitch out of this," Amy warned.

Cris stopped lurching backwards once he heard the doors open behind him. Not taking his ruffled-bangs-covered eyes away from Amy, he exhaustedly remarked, "Sorry about the party, Mase," and turned to walk through the doorway.

"Don't walk away from me, Cris!" she hollered after him, but with far less conviction and fire now. "My mother may have been aloof and distant, but...but..." She stopped halfway down the corridor, thinking of an especially damaging comeback. All she could think of was: "At least the picture of mine isn't something the boys in the lower decks jerk off over late at night!"

Yvan stopped as the doors closed behind Amy and the comment about Sefton-inspired fantasies. He turned back to the crowd to several nervous titters. He hesitated only a moment, then smiled his best waiter's smile.

"Well," he called. "What would a party be without entertainment? Bravo, I say!" He clapped quickly at the closed doors. A few people clapped with him, and the crowd relaxed, some having been entertained, and some simply seeking to forget what they just saw.

Damhnait didn't forget. She stared at the door, and grumbled to herself, "Have to get off this ship."

In the corridor, Cristobel strode quickly and slowly turning his head to look back over his shoulder. Only Amy was following; no one had come out of the mess hall. "Mommy-issues?" Cris asked incredulously. He looked directly ahead, and continued walking with more purpose. "You're just pathetic."

Amy smiled ruefully then, no longer evincing pure disdain and hatred at her former friend. Feeling no self-pity or resentment, she chuckled weakly and muttered, "Funny...that's exactly what she said." And with a resigned shrug, Amy started away down the corridor, opposite to Cris.

---

"Gratitude"
by Ensign Amy Reese - Nurse
and Dr. Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor

Location: USS Sulu, Corridor and Sickbay
Stardate: 57908.05 18h58

***

In the relatively small confines of the Mess Hall, the exchange between Cris Sefton and Amy Reese had been impossible to ignore. Although he was momentarily annoyed that the outburst had taken so much attention away from himself, he blanched when he saw it was his patient Miss Reese engaged in it. Potts tried to push through the crowd to her but the giant hoop at the bottom of his skirt foiled the move until he lifted it at an angle and with red colored boxer shorts showing, finally made it to the door.

Ilan kicked off his high heels and took off, losing the powdered wig about ten meters in his full-sprint and taking a precious few seconds to retrieve it. He almost lost the race because of that wig; Amy was already at the turbolift and was in the process of placing one long leg on board when he huffed up to her.

"Miss...Reese..." Potts said, gulping air. He may have been limber and spry but his chubby belly made running a painful chore. "A...word...if...you...please."

"Oh, not now, Dr. Potts," she sniffled. "I-I need to...I just...I have to go!" Amy threw an arm over her eyes and sobbed as she rushed blindly into the lift.

Potts very nearly collapsed in a heap at the thought of further exertion but the sliding door prompted another quick sprint. Before the turbolift door shut, Potts shoved his bare oversized foot to block it. There was a distinctly fleshy crunch followed by a high-pitched scream that echoed through all the decks. The party continued unaffected.

***

"I really am sorry, Dr. Potts," Amy said for the tenth time, after passing the regenerator over the bruising on Potts' bare foot. She could barely bring herself to look at the grotesque appendage propped up on the biobed; the sleeve of her uniform jacket brushed against the hideously long nail of his big toe from time to time, emitting a sickening dull scrape as the fabric passed over it. She shuddered.

Potts pushed the hoop of his skirt back horizontal so Amy could see his face instead of only pale white legs encased in red boxers. "It's really quite alright, Miss Reese," Pott smiled, seeming for all the world like it was quite alright. "I would have thrown myself in front of a quantum torpedo, if it would have stopped you from getting on that lift."

She smiled guiltily at the counsellor. "That means a lot to me, Dr. Potts.... It's just...I was so upset." Amy sighed and looked down at the probe making a final pass over his foot and healing the purple markings. "I just lost one of my best friends tonight...I wasn't thinking clearly."

"It was quite a display," Potts said, nodding. "And quite upsetting to me as well. It was disappointing to see a failure of mine happening before my very eyes."

"I am not a failure!" Amy snapped. She deactivated the dermal regenerator, and tossed it ill-temperedly onto the cart. "You're finished," she told him curtly.

Potts hopped off the biobed and tested the tender hoof. "Good as new," Potts said, smiling at Amy. "I would never presume that such work could be done by a failure, Miss Reese." He gathered up his wig and shoes. "In this case, the failure was mine." Potts drooped his shoulders a bit and walked for the Sickbay door, his huge powdered wig dragging the deck behind him.

"Dr. Potts!" Amy hurried towards the tiny man, hopping in front of him to impede his exit. "I-I'm sorry.... I'm just so sad." She frowned and lowered her head sullenly. "I don't know...can we talk?"

"That's what I had hoped." Potts was smiling again. He walked off to one side and gestured for the nurse to follow. "Do you really feel you've lost a friend tonight, Amy?" he asked, dropping the wig and shoes atop another biobed.

She shrugged. "He was insulting me and saying all these horrible things, Doctor." Amy's face scrunched up indignantly as she exclaimed, "He said I was bipolar! And...and pathetic!"

Potts nodded. "Ensign Sefton spoke entirely too bluntly and isn't quite qualified to make such diagnoses. But he also spoke defensively and in anger. I did hear the whole argument, Miss Reese."

"Then you know he deserved everything I said." She snorted and shook her head disparagingly at the memory. "I thought he was my friend... I thought he would protect me and defend me. Instead..." Amy let out a whimpering sigh and rested her head upon Potts' shoulder, which took much awkward hunching. "He was all wrong, Doctor. I'm not pathetic." She frowned. "Am I?"

Potts patted Amy's back with one hand and cradled her head with the other. "What you have to stop asking so often is what other people think of you, Miss Reese." He smoothed over her back with both hands and took her by the shoulders to stand her up. He smiled up at a tear-streaked face. "What I might say...what Ensign Sefton said...what your mother may have said, none of that should be so soul crushing as to prevent you from answering that question yourself. Are you pathetic, Miss Reese?"

"I..." She paused, mouth agape, and could only think to shrug. "I do stupid things all the time...I hurt people, I can't keep my legs closed...Maybe I am, Dr. Potts."

"And is that what you want to be?" Potts asked, a little sternly.

Amy pouted. "No...of course not!"

"Amy, if I could fix it with a snap of my fingers I would," Potts said, trying to comfort her and even snapping his fingers just in case it worked. "And if Ensign Sefton could do it by yelling at you, he would." He laid one hand over her heart, high on her chest. "You'll have to do it, Miss Reese. Only you're able."

She studied his hand, and heard herself sigh at the pressure upon her chest. "Well...can't you help me?" she asked, and glanced down at him from beneath her lashes. "Can't you, Dr. Potts?"

"Of course, Amy," Potts said, smiling at her. "But you simply must try to listen to my suggestions. A deal?"

She grinned and covered Potts' hand with hers. "I'll listen to whatever it is you have to say, Doctor. Maybe we can go back to your office and talk there?"

"Of course, Miss Reese," Potts said, seemingly relieved. He wrapped his arms around the young nurse and hugged her soundly. "I must admit I'm looking forward to getting out of this dress," he said amid hug, his voice a little muffled by her shoulder. "Just between you and me, I don't know what I was thinking. I hate high heels."

Amy giggled, arms tightly girthing Pott's neck. "And I hate you in them!" After an extra constricting squeeze, Amy released, though Potts failed to do the same. She stared down at the little man still attached to her like a small child clinging to its mother, and gratefully returned the embrace. "Doctor?" she said softly. "Thanks for being here."

Potts let her go enough to look up at her and smile. He reached up with his hand and smoothed over her tear-stained cheek. A silver chain bracelet with a locket charm dangled from his wrist.

Amy smiled and fingered the sparkling band with wonder. "So pretty," she breathed. "Is it part of your costume, Doctor?"

"Oh!" Potts exclaimed, smiling broadly and reaching for the bracelet clasp. "I almost forgot....this is for you." He held it out to her.

Amy gasped and cradled the gift in both palms reverently. Her smile seemed to grow the longer she stared in awe at the bracelet. "I don't understand," she whispered. "I...I didn't do anything to deserve this."

"Open it," Potts advised.

She regarded him uncertainly, searching his face for approval. His smile was enough, and giggling exuberantly, Amy wedged a fingernail into the miniscule opening, and popped the locket's lid. Her lips turned downwards in what initially appeared to be disappointment; but as the tears began dribbling over her cheeks, it was clear she was overjoyed. Within the locket, on either face, were pictures of Amy and Kit respectively, and both seemed to be looking aside at one another, with loving gazes. Her vision, bleary now, obscured the two photographs. She diverted her gaze to Potts, whose oddly shaped head was still recognizable amidst the fuzzy haze, and threw her arms around his neck. In the same impulsive moment, she planted her lips firmly upon the doctor's and kissed him soundly, gratitude abounding. Potts, still in dress with fake molded breast chestplate, flailed his hands wildly behind Amy's back at the surprising affection before somewhat relenting to the sheer force of Amy's sexual will.

The door to Sickbay whisked open for Leilani Pfeiffer. The Crewman had put a small nick in her finger cutting limes and the citric acid was proving to be enough of a discomfort to take care of the minor wound. Doctor Sefton had sent her down to the Sickbay with orders to put the EMH online and as Pfeiffer raised her head slightly to do just that, the sight before her gave her pause:

Dr. Potts. In a dress. Kissing Ensign Reese.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Pfeiffer said, finding her voice. This had been the second time she'd been subjected to evidence of Potts' strange prowess in less than a week. It was intolerable.

Amy gasped and pulled away, blinking dumbfoundedly at Potts, then shifting her gaze to Pfeiffer, who was watching with clear distaste. She smiled nervously at the woman, and held up the bracelet for display. "I was...just...it was a thank-you, that's all!"

"Uh-huh," Pfeiffer said, folding her arms skeptically in front of her.

Potts only stood there with the bodice of his dress spilling open and revealing the fake molded breastplate. He pulled his wig over to cover himself.

Amy frowned at Pfeiffer, and mirrored her pose by tightly crossing her own arms over her chest. "Fine...tell people what you want. But it's not what it looks like!" She nodded decisively at Potts. "Right, Doctor?"

Potts' ruby-red lipstick was smeared enough to make Amy's assurance laughable. "It's true," the Doctor insisted, adding to the comedy. "She was merely thanking me."

"I was," Amy insisted. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't jump to conclusions, Crewman, and I imagine the doctor would as well." She cocked a pointed eyebrow at Potts.

"Right," Potts said, nodding enthusiastically. "What you saw here does not leave this Sickbay." Potts looked up to Amy. "Are we understood, Crewman?" Potts asked, sounding uncomfortable with the rank pull.

"Whatever, sirs," Pfeiffer said, stifling her disgust and her near smile. "I cut my finger and I need a quick regen. I want to get back to the party."

"Then..." Amy stepped aside and gestured for Pfeiffer to proceed. "At ease," she said imperiously.

Pfeiffer took a step, stopped at the order, and looked at Amy with a furrowed brow. Potts gathered up his shoes like he was making a getaway while Amy took the Crewman in hand. "Well, I'll leave you to your duties Am...er...Mis...Ensign Reese," Potts stammered. He paused at the open door. "Thank you, Ensign."

"No, Doctor," Pfeiffer volunteered with sarcasm. "Thank you." Amy looked at Pfeiffer with dark eyes and squeezed the Crewman's finger.

"Ow!" Leilani exclaimed.

---

"Being Anywhere But a Skirt Party"
By: Lieutenant (J.G.) Arthas Hex - Deputy Chief of Security

Location: Tactical Station - Bridge
Stardate: 57908.05 19h10

***

Arthas completed the detailed security scan of the passing freighter and sighed, half in relief that it hadn't been teeming with Jem'Hadar and half in disappointment at the lack of action.

That's not a good thing to wish for, Arthas, Gredala said from within the Hex symbiont.

Arthas had been trying desperately, over the past few months, to make a stable bridge between himself and his new symbiont. At first it had seemed strange, an alien intruding into his life. Four individuals all crammed into his chest that could read every thought and that experienced everything that he did.

It had been extremely unnerving in those first two weeks aboard the Sulu, so much so that Arthas had actually developed a rare Trill condition that hadn't occurred for centuries.

He and his symbiont had managed to pull through that though and now he felt the relationship with his symbiont couldn't be better.

Arthas smiled slightly at Gredala's comment and didn't reply subvocally to her. There was so many positives to having Hex, he mused. For one, the wealth of experience from a wide variety of areas. Another was that I will never be lonely ever again, whenever bored or wanting to talk to someone I could simply talk to Clavain, Ashly, Gredala and Craz.

It's about bloody time, Clavain's sour voice drawled from within him.

Arthas imagined Clavain standing near him while he continued his duties.

What do you mean? he subvocalized to his symbiont, without moving a muscle.

I was beginning to bore of you in the downers all the time. Maybe this Cecily girl has a good influence over you, Clavain muttered, sounding bored.

I still don't get you, Arthas replied, performing another scan of the local area in an automatic flurry of his hands

Clavain just sighed and then remained silent

Craz's familiar voice replied for the old pilot. He means, Arthas, that you haven't exactly been too thrilled about us four have you?

Craz's voice seemed so familiar to Arthas. This was because Craz had been his department chief during his spell on his first starship placement, 'Blizzard'.

Arthas replied, Ah, I see.

Arthas continued performing his routine scans for a further ten minutes. He then looked at his watch.

With a smile he subvocalized, That skirt-only party's going on now.

You wouldn't get caught being within a few kilometres of that party, Clavain grunted.

Afraid? Ashly teased, Arthas imaged the former prime minister of Trill smiling.

Clavain simply grunted and shot an insult back at her. At least my legs weren't totally white.

Craz laughed. I think it was a great idea by that Ops officer, uh, Farrell. A real team-building party to get the morale higher. Don't you think Gredala?

Gredala grunted very Clavain-like. Not something the higher ranks should attend, but for the 'lower' ranks I suppose so.

Arthas performed a diagnostic of the rear phaser array, requesting an engineer to check a gel pack nearby. Half concentrated on the conversation within the symbiont.

Not wanting them to stop as he was incredibly bored he said, I'm glad I'm on duty. I don't think I'd like to see my fellow officers in skirts. With the exception of Cecily of course.

Gredala laughed as if she had found a terribly funny joke.

After a few moments of silence following the outburst Clavain said impatiently, Go on, don't keep the suspense, I've already died once.

Gredala replied, I just remembered when I was about Arthas' rank. I was on board the Oberth-B and a newly transferred Ensign threw one hell of a party. This was all before the invention of Synthehol and I remember that half the alpha shift didn't turn up the following morning.

Ashly said bitterly, You nearly poisoned me that day, Gredala.

Gredala replied, Ah, you loved it.

Tell us who this Ensign was then, Clavain piped up, sounding bored for someone who wanted to know more of a story.

Ensign James Kirk as a matter of fact, Gredala started.

Gods, Clavain said irritably. Does every story you have to tell involved that damned man. You speak of him as if he was one of the Gods himself.

Gredala replied scornfully, James Kirk is, was, a wonderful man, if it weren't for him...

The Federation would not be the same today, if it were still alive, Arthas finished for her.

Clavain gave out a low chuckle at this, I think I may grow to like you after all, Arthas, that sense of humour shows some promise at least.

Gredala simply gave a 'hmph' noise and didn't continue her story. Arthas hoped that he hadn't hurt her feelings but he was sure she wouldn't stay mad at him for too long. Hex's previous hosts couldn't have much to do inside that slug could they?

---

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

Location: USS Sulu, Mess Hall
Stardate: 57908.05 19h20

***

The night was rollicking along. People were enjoying themselves. Synthehol was flowing freely, and nearly everyone had tossed back one or two of Espinoza's best. Mason had made several rounds through the crowd, complimenting legs, being complimented himself, and generally being the ebullient master of ceremonies. Then Davies had started up his repertoire of bar tricks and party games, and Mason had been able to ease clear, collect another drink, and get to a side table.

He sipped the cool sour slush and thought. The four dead officers had weighed on him since the moment of silence, and he considered them as he drank quietly. He hadn't known Phillips, as he had died before Farrell even came on board. Still, it was probably telling to remember that the first officer to die on this ship had been from Science. The Sulu was going to be visiting some strange new places, and everyone would need to be careful.

He hadn't known Hon'Kal or Romero either, though he'd watched them both die, and had almost died himself in the same encounter. He was pondering that when he heard her.

She leaned down and spoke softly beside his ear. "What's a man with legs like that doing sitting all alone in a corner?"

Mason closed his eyes and let the words soak into him. "You have no idea how glad I am you're here," he said softly.

Ainsley pulled a chair closer and sat beside him. "I'm glad that I'm here too. You sure know how to throw a party, Farrell." She watched him try to muster a smile and took one of his hands in both of hers. "Something's wrong."

"Yeah." He stared at the green ice in his glass and flicked fallen salt onto the floor with his free hand.

"What is it?" she asked, unconsciously lacing her fingers with his.

"Just thinking," he said softly. "Feeling a little guilty, I guess."

"Guilty?" She couldn't even think of where to begin with that answer. "What are you feeling guilty about, Mason?"

Mason sighed a bit. "I'm not sure. Risa, I think. I was in the fight where Romero and Hon'Kal were killed. I guess I'm thinking about that."

Ainsley closed her eyes for a moment and said a silent curse. Mason certainly wasn't having an easy go of things. She opened her eyes and looked at him again. "You're feeling guilty for being in that fight and surviving, and now being able to salute the others who didn't make it through?"

"I reckon so," he whispered. "I just. . .if I'd gotten there faster, or something--" He shrugged and let the phrase trail off.

"Mason!" She squeezed his hand tightly. "You can't be thinking like that, honey." She slid her chair even closer. "You'll go crazy if you think like that. If you'd gotten there faster all that would be different is that you probably wouldn't be here."

"I know," he said. "I tell myself that. I do. But still." He grimaced, and then gave a hollow chuckle. "I just got a little down all of a sudden. I'm sorry," he said, his tone perking up. "This is a party, and I'm a little black raincloud." He looked at their hands, and a sudden thought seemed to hit him. "Did you just call me 'honey'?"

"Uhh..." Ainsley thought back to what she had said. "Did I? I guess I did," she grinned then. "I guess I did!"

Farrell looked around at the crowd, enjoying themselves and ignoring him. "Want to get out of here?" he asked Ainsley, with a sly smile.

***

"Has anybody ever told you what amazing kisses you deal?" Mason asked. They were on the floor of his bedroom, Ainsley's back against the bed, Mason stretched out on the floor, his head pillowed on her skirted lap.

Ainsley felt her face burn. "No," she answered with a shake of her head. "But I don't think a person can be a good kisser all on their own. If the person they're kissing stinks at it then it's going to be a crappy kiss." She ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "We just kiss well together."

"Together," Mason said with a smile. He closed his eyes, enjoying his position, and laced his fingers across the front of his tunic. "So if we're together, what are we? What do we call each other?"

"I don't know," she answered. "I really liked it when you called me your lady the other day."

He made a thoughtful face. "Fair enough. You're my lady. What am I, then?"

Ainsley leaned her head back against the bed and thought. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "I've never really thought of what you would call someone in this situation, I mean you're not my boyfriend. That's what I would call you if we were 12 years old."

Mason chuckled, his eyes still closed. "Agreed. No boyfriend girlfriend. We're not teenagers. Significant Other?"

Ainsley shook her head, "No, that one's even worse I think. It seems so impersonal. Partner?"

"Makes us sound like criminals," he smiled. "We'll keep it in mind, though. What about 'the man I'm seeing'?"

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. She looked down at Mason again, laying there with his eyes closed, obviously enjoying himself. "That's better than the other choices, but something about it just doesn't seem right. How about just 'my guy'?"

"Not bad," Mason replied. "I've always liked being a guy. A little informal, but not bad for just between us. Do you like that one?"

Ainsley thought about it for a moment. "It's better then anything else I can think of. Growing up I always believed I would be married by now, I thought I would go from being young enough to have a boyfriend to having a husband and then this question wouldn't apply."

"So what happened? Why Starfleet over marriage?"

"It wasn't really like that," Ainsley responded. "I never picked Starfleet over marriage. I didn't have the opportunity to get married. No one proposed, hell there wasn't even anyone to propose."

"No," Farrell said with disbelief. "Nobody?"

She shook her head a little sadly. "Nobody," she sighed. "Through my entire adult life Thomas was my only serious relationship." She paused after saying it, realizing that it hadn't been as serious as she had always considered it to be. "And now we all know about that."

"I apologize on behalf of men everywhere," Mason said with a slight smile.

"It's ok, Mason," she replied and brushed her fingers across his forehead. "It was all a good learning experience for me."

"I'm sorry, Ainsley," Mason said, doleful again.

"For what?" Ainsley asked.

"For all my stupidity."

She tapped her finger on the end of his nose. "You're not stupid, Mason. Sometimes you may not think everything through, but you're certainly not stupid. And I kinda like you. Just the way you are."

"Thank you. I'm glad you're sticking with me." He reached beside his head to pat her thigh, and murmured, "Sorry the ride's been so bumpy. Thanks for risking it."

"Hey you," Ainsley said softly. He was still laying there with his eyes closed. "Look at me." He was obviously still feeling down.

Mason opened his eyes and met hers.

"I think we need to get back to what we were talking about before I called you honey and started this whole wonderful side track," she said.

He tried a smile again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You caught me again," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"What's happened? What's going on?"

His smile turned weary and then faded. "I had to check Storm's quarters back into circulation today. I found Shyla Moreau there." He took a deep breath and shook his head. "She was shattered, Ainsley. I haven't seen that kind of grief in a long time. I tried to cheer her up a bit, and I think I managed to, but it got to me."

She brushed the hair out of his eyes but didn't say anything. She knew when to ask questions and when to shut up and listen.

"So I thought the little memorial would be a great idea. Help everyone, and me, get past it and move on. Ring the bell," he waved a hand in the air, "and it's over. It seemed to work for a lot of people, but not me. All it did for me was dredge up more."

Now the words were flowing freely. She'd never seen Mason like this, his eyes and voice both haunted and far away. "Romero and Hon'Kal got killed because I followed a lead to Malthus and got him placed under guard. Storm's gone because I directed him to the information broker on Risa who sold him the datalogs that got him disciplined and stuck on that runabout mission. They're dead, and I--" He found her hand and held it firmly, looking up at her with unfeigned anxiety. "Tell me it's not my fault, Ainsley. I just need somebody to tell me it's not my fault."

She could feel him shaking against her and she felt like crying for him. "Come here," she said to him and helped him to slide up beside her. "It's not your fault, Mason. It is completely not your fault." She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, wanting to protect him from all the hurt that he was so obviously experiencing. "It's the fault of the people who killed them, and you did not kill them, Mason."

"How long will it be before I stop replaying it in my head?" he choked, returning the hug fiercely.

"It may be a while," she answered honestly and leaned back from him so that she could look him in the eye. "And you're going to need help getting over it, but you will. And you'll have as many people to help you as you need."

He chuckled, trying to cheer himself up. "I guess it's a good thing F'Zal's going to be seeing me daily, then."

"It'll be ok, I promise." She kissed him then, gentle and soothing. They held each other for a long time.

---

"De-Skirted"
By Ensign Sanat Vijay - Flight Controller
Ensign Annikafiore Szerda [NPC] - Nurse
And a few cameos by various people

Location: USS Sulu, Crew Mess
Stardate: 57908.05 19h35

***

"Nice skirt."

"Why thank you--"

She smiled. "Annikafiore Szerda...but you can call me Anna."

"Sanat, Sanat Vijay. Pleased to make your acquaintance Anna...friends call me Sanat or Veejge for short...take your pick."

"I think I like Veejge. It has a certain ring to it."

He grinned back, "Yes. I've heard that a few times before."

"Oh?"

The half Vulcan shrugged. "A few friends from the Kodiak called me that...dunno what it really meant to them...." His face showed a hint of sadness, raising the crystalline glass, he said, "To friends departed."

She followed suit. "To friends."

***1 Hour Earlier***

"Thank God that's over."

He looked at the acting flight department chief. "Why?"

"Too much damn brass on the Bridge."

Sanat slightly nodded as they followed two engineers in skirts through the final stretch of hallway to the crew's mess. "I suppose it's much quieter normally?"

"Hell yes! Usually just the Captain or First Officer, rarely both at the same time, much less damn near every senior chief on the ship."

He replied as if on cue, "Ah. I guess that does make things more hectic than normal." Crewman Davies opened the door and demanded the two engineers stop. Vijay's sharp Vulcan enhanced hearing overheard the operations crewman declare, "Hold it, gentlemen...skirt check."

"Actually, the brass wasn't so much the problem as this damn dres...skirt. Feels like someone's...tied a fan between my legs."

Vijay looked at Mac. "I did volunteer to pilot us through; skirt and all."

"Yes, yes. And I appreciate it, but the Captain wouldn't want me to shirk my duties off onto an ensign. No offense."

Sanat smiled thinly. "None taken." That answer wasn't exactly true, but he was beginning to warm up to Lieutenant Mac's way of doing things...however bizarre they may seem....

"And whom do we get to thank for this idea?"

"I'm not totally sure. My roommate suggested we do this to celebrate going through the wormhole, but I understand that Commander Lyrr may have had a part in it too." He stopped in front of Jeff awaiting the affirmation of his skirted status.

"Really? The Commander?"

Vijay shook his head 'yes' to acknowledge Mac's question.

Davies motioned to both flight controllers. "Go on in, gents. You are confirmed skirt wearers, and by the way, nice legs...both of you." He finished with a wink.

Sanat raised an eyebrow, bending slightly to the right to whisper to McKenzie, "He's not the same Crewman Davies I've heard so much about...is he?"

"I think Davies is just having a little fun at our expense."

"Ah." He managed to walk into the crowded room just to the left of Mac without turning to give the crewman a second glance. Arrayed before the pair was most, if not all, of the ship's compliment of officers, noncoms, and crewmen wearing skirts in varying degrees of length and fit. Some hung nicely, and a few were probably too short, some a little long, and definitely, a few were very tight.

Appreciatively tight....

"I think it's a good thing I thought this silly skirt was a kilt all day...don't think I could've done any other way."

He swiveled his head back towards McKenzie. "A what?"

"A...never mind. I'm off to find something to eat. I'll catch ya later."

Sanat pointed to the bar. "That's where I'll be."

"Gotcha."

The tall man picked his way through the crowded mess hall heading straight for the bar Mason had set up earlier. "I'll have the usual please."

Espinoza nodded. "Sure thing, Mr. Vijay."

Sanat regarded the enlisted crewman with a sly grin. "For tonight, you can call me Sanat, Luis. Understood?"

"No problem. One Fireball coming right up, Sanat."

The helmsman sat on a stool and turned to look around at the assembled crowd. He nodded at Mason as the Texan walked by in hot pursuit of someone Vijay didn't recognize.

***

The spat was brief, but definitely an attention getter. It resulted in the 'Pack of Blue' (as Mac likened them to) breaking up into smaller groups of twos and threes...except for one knockout redhead who stood alone after Amy and Cris left the party.

She seemed a little lost at first, idly milling around by herself, but then, the well proportioned woman gradually swiveled around, scanning the room; she spotted Sanat looking her over without disguising the fact he was interested.

Very interested.

Sanat gave her a genuine smile as she returned his appraisal with one of her own. She appeared to come to a decision of sorts and sashayed over to the bar stool where he sat sipping a drink (fifth of the night). The half Vulcan tried to not to look as though he was anything other than helpful and friendly as Mason Farrell had suggested his first night onboard the Sulu. Although it was a tough thing to do as the sexy medical officer got closer.

The woman smiled, as she walked up to him. "This seat taken?"

He shook his head 'no' and pulled the stool out a little further for her. "Make yourself comfortable," returning her smile with a slightly crooked grin.

She looked over at the steward. "Screwdriver."

Nebbs replied, "Screwdriver coming right up."

They looked at each other without saying a word for several minutes. It was if they were trying to mind meld or telepathically communicate with each other, but it was a skill that Sanat lacked and so it seemed for her as well.

Ironically, neither stopped smiling during a brief period of silence that was marked only by Malcolm's confirmation of her drink order, "One Screwdriver for the lady."

The redhead took it and lifted it to her luscious lips, taking a long smooth sip. After bringing the glass down, she ran the tip of her tongue over her delectable lips, slowly, and then pointed at Sanat's Class A variant. "Nice skirt."

***

It could hardly be called dancing, even though Anna and Sanat were attempting to mimic others as they danced close together. While the pair slowly gyrated to a song called 'Dreamweaver', Anna lightly rubbed her left inner thigh against Sanat's, letting him feel the rising heat of her desire as they moved in unison to the old Terran music.

Becoming mildly aroused by her closeness, Vijay did nothing to stop her as he let his hands gently glide down her back, pausing to caress it here and there until they stopped on her slender hips. He squeezed them softly as they turned to the left and the half Vulcan gradually pulled her a little closer towards him.

She went with the turn and giggled quietly as the band started another song. It sounded like 'Destination Unknown', however, neither one of them stopped caressing the other to find out for sure.

On a whim, Anna leaned forward looping her arms around Sanat's neck to kiss his ear. The nurse started with a soft voluptuous kiss that evolved into a playful, but passionate tug of his ear lobe with her teeth.

He reveled in the touch. It felt like a cross between fire and ice to his partially Vulcan physique. As her firm breasts pressed tightly against his chest, consequently sending the blood pounding through his ears, Sanat brought the right hand up to her pert cheek and tilted Anna's face to look into his dark brown pupils. Their eyes met and he bent down, brushing his lips against hers lightly, seductively. The music's tempo changed slightly and he straightened up somewhat, dropping the hand back down to its former resting place to keep pace with everyone else around them.

The nurse kept her eyes locked onto his, as they spun again to the left. She asked demurely, in a low voice, "Are you...a real...true Vulcan?" Her question was neither challenging nor threatening, merely inquisitive in nature, but her motivations were obvious.

He thought about it for a second while soaking in her iridescent blue-green eyes. Vijay answered sincerely, "In some ways, in others not." The half human's feet kept moving to the music without missing a beat.

She smiled and blushed a little, "I mean...do you...umm...uh...have...relations...outside of...you know...."

"Ah, is this a scientific evaluation of Vulcan anatomy perhaps?"

Anna giggled coyly, tilting her head towards him. She moved her left hand onto his chest slowly twirling her finger on his uniform. "You might say that."

The flight controller took Szerda's hand with his, entwining their fingers together. Sanat asked, "Would this be the time for a proper sample?"

Anna smiled sensuously at the well-built man. "Yes."

Sanat bent his head down once more, bringing his lips down onto hers.

They began kissing deeply, their tongues dancing in a unique rhythm inside each other's mouth as Sanat pulled Anna tightly against him. He could feel her heartbeat quicken with his by the close contact between them.

She responded by curling her arms around his broad back and returning his fervor with her own, digging in firmly with her fingernails. After several seconds they quit 'dancing', and stood there locked in a fiery embrace oblivious to everyone standing around them.

Doctor Sefton stopped her march across the dance floor long enough to breakup their kiss with a loud clearing of her throat. "Uh-hmm!"

When they looked up, the lieutenant commander cocked her head to one side indicating that the couple needed to take their passion elsewhere.

Anna broke the embrace, quickly nodded to her superior, and grabbed Sanat's hand leading him towards the exit. Once they cleared the door, she stopped, quickly spun around and planted a long kiss on Vijay's cheek. In a sultry voice she murmured, "C'mon, I know the perfect place to continue my...evaluation."

---

"Just Tonight"
By: Ensign Nathalie Gui; Operations Officer
Crewman First Class Jeff Davies; Operations Crewman

Location: USS Sulu, Mess Hall
Stardate: 57908.05 20h02

***

The "Best Gams" contest was over, and no winner had been selected. Plenty of images had been taken, of course, and voting would run through the next few days. But there had been significant laughter, and everyone was in high spirits. Thaine's calves were as tight as the rumors said, and he'd garnered significant applause.

Now there was music and dancing. Nobody threw a party like Ops. Morale was part of their job, after all. In the middle of the dance floor Nathalie Gui danced to the rhythmic music clearly enjoying the moment. Mason had disappeared some time ago; to where she was not certain, if anything she was certain he'd probably be back soon. In the meantime she figured she should at least try and enjoy herself.

She moved from partner to partner, twisting and swaying and touching, when she felt the hands slide onto her hips. They were skilled hands with just the right firmness to bring her in against their owner. He moved with her, bodies synchronized to the thumping rhythm.

Nathalie continued to dance still aware of hands on her hips. Most likely male and a damned good dancer at that. Continuing to dance she made a half turn, allowing herself to be dipped. Cattily she smiled, recognizing the dancer right away. She knew Davies' reputation on the ship well enough already, so she figured having a little fun with him wouldn't hurt. "Knew it was you all along," Gui whispered knowingly as Davies pulled her up.

"And I knew it had to be you tonight," Davies breathed, close to her ear. "You're the hottest girl in the room, you know."

"I'm touched, you know I've been watching you all night," Nathalie remarked, letting her lips lightly brush his cheek before performing the next move in the rhythm to the dance.

"I've been thinking of you ever since you walked by," he replied, his eyes speaking volumes.

Allowing him to hold her close, she asked, "Wanna go somewhere else?"

***

Nat hit the wall of the turbolift, her back engaging the Stop button. Davies was against her full-length, his kisses burning at her throat, his hands already inside her tunic. The rumors were true, he did have fast hands.

Nathalie moaned as he trailed kisses down her skin, waves of desire covering her body, leaving her skin feeling as though it were on fire. Threading her hand through Jeffery's hair she pulled him close, locking his lips with hers in a passionate kiss.

"Computer," Davies said, breaking the kiss reluctantly, "place this liftcar out of service. Run a level 2 diagnostic. Davies Alpha Two."

The computer chirped, recognizing his technician status, and the interior lights dimmed.

"Right here. For the next 47 minutes." She could feel his hands slide into the waistband of her skirt.

"Nothing, you hear me, not a word about what happens here tonight leaves this liftcar," she breathed, pulling open his tunic as she began to drop feather kisses along his throat and down his torso.

"Discretion is my specialty," he said, his hands profoundly inside her skirt now.

She whimpered as she pushed Davies' tunic aside, letting it drop soundlessly to the floor. Feverishly Gui kissed him as she pulled him to the floor with her, party long forgotten.

---

"Cold & Callous Grief"
By: Lt. Benedict T'Kal - Security Chief

Location: T'Kal's Quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.05 21h00

***

T'Kal dropped heavily onto his bed and unzipped his uniform, staring at the ceiling. It was a day of mixed emotions. He could still see the despair on Shyla Moreau's face as she stared at the black torpedo casing that symbolically contained Storm's remains. He thought back to Lyrr's words, that she might not be able to cope if anything happened to him. He had told her that both of them would be able to do their duty. Was it a lie? He didn't truly know. He knew only that after Teb had died he'd been ready to commit seppuku. He had prepared for it. Dressed for it. He had taken up his tanto and been calmly ready to slice his belly open.

The Prophets had intervened. Why? He still had something to do. Only he still didn't know what it was. For a time he had yearned to know so that he could accomplish whatever it was and then follow Tebrianne into the void. Her memory had been so powerful - so strong that he hadn't wanted to live without her. He'd been ready and willing to die. He'd lived with a death wish. He knew that part of his motivation for facing Viata with a blade had been his wish to join Tebrianne. He'd almost joined her - but Lyrr had pulled him back. He hadn't spoken to anyone about it. Definitely not a counsellor. He'd seen himself - looking down at his bleeding body and seen Lyrr trying to stem the flow of bright blood. She had brought him back to face the world again.

Was that why he felt so strongly about her? Did he love her or was it some misplaced devotion to the woman who had saved his life? It was Karma. Now the blank space on the wall mocked him. Seeing Shyla's face as she cried in her grief had affected him more than he could say. She was so young. Was he serving his captain and his ship by continuing his relationship with Lyrr Tayla? Her doubt was his now. Would she be able to cope if that black coffin had been his? Would he be able to cope if it was hers? He closed his eyes and felt the tears flow down his face. He cried - not for Ethan, for he had died in the line of duty, doing what he knew. Serving and dying with honour. He cried for Shyla's grief and his own. He had lost so many people in his life - but still Tebrianne's death affected him. He'd lost his soul-mate. The one woman who he knew without reservation or doubt that really truly loved him for who he was. They had loved so much and shared so much - mind to mind. How could Lyrr Tayla possibly equal that? She was a woman - just a woman. Tebrianne had been...more.

Grief. What of it? Just a word with no meaning unless you encountered it like Ben, or Shyla. Sudden stricken grief that swooped into a love and stole a life. Cruel, damaging, callous and cold hearted grief. He raised palms to his eyes and wiped the wetness from his face and balled fists against the rage at the grief. Impotent and alone he cried still, until no more tears could be shed. Once again he could be Benedict - the warrior and not the poet. Ying and Yang - balance. His father had once said that a man had to be joyful to truly know sorrow.

What did he have to do? He didn't know yet. He thought again of Tayla and he saw her dark eyes, so full of fear, so needing to be free of a past that engulfed her. Did he just want to save her? Was that it? He had told her that he loved her. The memory of saying those words brought other memories. He sat up and breathed deeply, calming his spirit as he looked across the room at the shelf beneath his swords. It held a single black lacquered box.

With an effort he stood and retrieved it before sitting once again on the bed. He ran his fingers over the polished surface, feeling the inlaid carvings of the Acacia Blossoms, the coolness of it, and the age of it. With trembling fingers he opened the box and laid atop red velvet was a circlet of silver, platinum and gold. The scent of flowers drifted up from the box, and Benedict closed his eyes and once again he knew the scent of his mother's perfume. His fingers touched the circlet and felt its cold metal. It was a Bajoran heirloom, passed down from Mother to son for seventeen generations of his mother's family. It was a bracelet - finely fashioned by a long dead artist for his bride to be. The Betrothal Bracelet was traditionally given from son to bride and from mother to son. Benedict T'Kal had once given it to Tebrianne Bancroft. She had accepted it. Now it was back in his hands and mocking him for his choice. Karma. He had bad karma with women.

Would Tayla be the same? Would he be signing a warrant for her death by loving her? Death was an ever-present spectre of Starfleet service. They were about to go into the unknown and Benedict's duty was to be the ship's protector. His duty called for him giving his life gladly in service. As Samurai he would. As adopted Klingon warrior he would. As a man who loved a woman - how could he?

He could see her face in his mind - wrapped in grief like Shyla Moreau. Torn apart by Storm's death. Lyrr Tayla had been badly shaken, she was already damaged by her past - could he expect her to open herself to loving him, only to lose him? It was something he had to face. Would she do her duty? Would she send him to his death? Or would she balk at it and thus cost the life of the crew of the Sulu?

He couldn't face that. That alone would kill Benedict T'Kal.

---

"De-Skirted, Part Two"
By Ensign Sanat Vijay - Flight Controller
Ensign Annikafiore Szerda [NPC] - Nurse

Location: USS Sulu, Cargo Bay 3 via Turbolift 2
Stardate: 57908.05 20h48

***

As soon as the two security crewmen exited, Anna reached over and mischievously pulled Sanat by his uniform collar over to where she was leaning against the wall of Turbo Lift 2. She adroitly wrapped her right leg around his waist pulling the taller, larger man closer into another passionate embrace.

There was now no Lieutenant Commander Damhnait Sefton to stop them from consummating what synthehol had initially started.

Well, except for one, minor, teensy weensy, technicality...neither had command access to the turbo lift's lock-down codes. So, in effect, there was no way to abscond with it for an evening of pleasure no matter what both soon-to-be lovers felt at the moment...they would have been interrupted in any case.

And that was unacceptable.

For this brief instance of opportunity, Sanat let himself to be tugged into her arms because he wanted Annikafiore Szerda just as badly as she desired him; perhaps even more now that they were finally alone. The half Vulcan let his hands slip slowly under her top as their lips hungrily sought to rekindle the fiery touch of several minutes ago.

She moaned into his mouth as the calloused, rough hands meticulously worked their way up her stomach, massaging the silky smooth alabaster skin as much as skillfully exploring their way upward towards her well formed breasts. Anna let her hands move from Sanat's neck down to his waist. Grabbing his skirt tight, she pulled his pelvis the remaining distance to hers.

He caressed her breasts underneath the satiny cover of the bra she wore. They felt firm, warm to the touch. Squeezing them firmly elicited a strained, "Yes!" from her mouth as she broke their kiss to exclaim in ecstasy. He felt himself becoming firmly aroused by contact with her pelvis as she rubbed up and down against his manhood.

Just then the chime sounded and the lift's door opened to reveal a gold sleeved Chief Petty Officer starring at both officers.

"Oh, excuse me, Sirs!"

Sanat managed to sputter, "It'ss...okayy, Chief...this is ourrr...stop anywway," as they struggled to disentangle themselves from each other. He pulled his hands down from under her top as quickly as possible and tried to back away from Anna, although her leg around his waist was making that a little difficult.

Anna let Vijay go by dropping her leg. She stood up and pulled her top down clumsily almost acting irate by the untimely interruption. "Chief," she said in a husky voice. Without waiting for him to reply to their missives, she exited the turbolift without looking back.

Sanat followed her, nodding and winking to the chief as he trailed out behind her.

The petty officer's aged face never changed its expression while the doors were still open. As soon as they closed, he stated his ultimate destination to the computer and with a shake of his head, muttered, "Officers these days...."

***

"A cargo bay?"

She motioned for him to enter the dimly lit storage area. "C'mon, you're not afraid of the dark...or me...are you?" Anna snickered as she sauntered forward.

"Well no...." The door slid shut and Sanat slowly trod behind her, going wherever she led him to through the twisting maze of towering drums and containers. He'd secretly hoped for a medical biobed instead of a crate, but as he watched her shapely legs and bottom move in a sexually symphonic harmony, his passion became aroused once more; suddenly, it didn't matter.

They walked until Szerda stopped and swiveled on her heels towards Sanat. The couple had arrived in a corner of the cargo bay where there was just enough light to see each other and still retain a little mysterious ambiance as well. She'd picked an isolated spot amongst the Sulu's fresh supplies from DS9 for their own little exploratory mission; there was a very remote chance of them being disturbed for a considerable period of time in Cargo Bay 3.

As the tall half human drew closer, he quickly glanced at the bare metal floor surface and then back at her with a questioning look growing on his face.

She smiled seductively. "Oh don't worry, Veejge, I'm not that sadistic." Annika closed the small gap between them and threw her arms around his neck, pulling Sanat to her. The redheaded woman crushed her breasts against his chest as she voraciously sought his mouth.

He didn't resist one bit. They started passionately kissing as though they'd never been interrupted in the turbo lift. Vijay let his arms encircle her as he returned her lips' powerful caresses. The half Vulcan could hear their combined heartbeats and his ears throbbed from the emotive power coursing through them. It was as close to feeling the primordial urges of Pon Farr as he would ever get.

They let their kiss continue for several seconds until Anna dropped her hands down to his waist and started pulling, tugging down his skirt, thus de-skirting him for her continued pleasure.

He soon followed by allowing his hands to move from Szerda's back to her breasts for a short pause to tickle her nipples before meandering down to her sensuous hips. Within milliseconds, Anna's skirt also fell to the floor.

In short succession, the remaining clothes quickly fell to the deck plating, as the two lovers wasted no time undressing in an attempt to further explore their wanton lust for each other's body. Soon, they stood there naked, embracing, almost writhing in pleasure, locked together by their lips and limbs.

It could have lasted for hours (the kiss), but both man and woman wanted to explore their passion in a much greater detail as it was meant to be by a universe determined to recreate itself in their sexual foray.

The nurse broke their kiss first. Arms still clinging to Vijay's neck, she motioned with her head towards the floor. "See? All taken care of...." Her voice was husky, filled with desire. Without another word, she slowly separated from him and put her hand in the center of his broad chest.

Sanat raised an eyebrow as Anna pushed him downwards to the pile of clothing they had so recently worn. He wanted her. And he wanted her badly enough to surrender to her whim for domination. For the moment anyway....

Anna huskily laughed as she said while straddling him, "It's time to play, Ride the Vulcan...."

***

A light sheen of sweat still covered them. They lay on the rumpled-up uniforms with Anna partially atop of him. Her creamy white flesh contrasted, almost clashed with his darker reddish-brown complexion. Both were still breathing hard from their lovemaking.

She moved her head enough to kiss his chin. "Quite the performance," the nurse half whispered, half moaned. An alabaster hand rubbed his bronzed, chiseled abdomen in idle movements. She moved her leg a little further on top of his.

Sanat stroked her damp crimson hair. It still faintly smelled of a sweet, flowery shampoo. "As to you...Anna." His tone low, his voice still feral sounding. The man allowed his fingertip to draw an imaginary line down her cheek and towards her neck.

They said very little else as they continued to caress, rub each other as the flame of sexual passion began to rekindle once again. The time passed quickly. Sanat propped up on his elbow and bent down to kiss his lover. His hand gently massaged her throat, feeling its every curve and nuance.

Szerda reached up and ran her hand through his coarse hair. It seemed to crackle with wild, undulating electricity. She felt the heat renew as his finger moved over her tender skin, literally scorching a trail to her firm breasts. Anna let her hand run down Vijay's muscular shoulder and towards his right nipple.

It wasn't long before both Anna and Sanat made more aggressive gestures stroking, kneading each other's body towards another bout of sexual passion. They could feel the temperature rising between them as the night waxed to its peak.

Soon, Sanat was atop of Anna. He wanted to feel her legs around him, her lust afire again.

So too, did she want the same of him. Digging her nails into his back, Anna urged him on pining, "Yessss...V...Veejge...." Her words trailed off only to be replaced with cries of ecstasy driven by primeval sensations.

Though the touch, the closeness of their entwined bodies spurred them on, both knew deeply in their hearts that they were simply two ships passing in the night and tonight was all they'd ever have together....

---