USS Sulu - Data Log Archive

"Pants Up, Chin Down"
by Ensign Amy Reese - Nurse
and Chief Petty Officer Sorien Case - Weapons Specialist

Location: USS Sulu, Holodeck One
Stardate: 57908.06, 06h43

***

She'd promised a prompt arrival, but waking up at 06h00 was simply impossible for Amy Polly Reese. Last night had been one of the most horrible nights for her in history. The party in the lounge should have been a blast, but it had ended in a catfight with Cris, who would now likely never speak to her again. Kit had been upset, too, when she returned to their quarters later that night. Their planned night of sightseeing in the holodeck had been ruined, and the rest of the evening had been spent crying on his shoulder while he attempted to console her. Skirt Day would forever be a black mark in her memory...especially upon recalling her kiss with Dr. Potts. She shuddered even now at the thought.

Narrowly missing a collision with some gold-collared ensign she'd never seen, Amy rounded the last corner and sped towards the holodeck, hoping a morning of training with Chief Case would put her in a brighter mood. The tails of her white belt flapped and loose red hair blew into her face as she dashed. After waking up half an hour late, and replicating the wrong training outfit, Amy was hoping she could salvage the time they did have left for her martial arts session with Case. He was handsome and strong, and his smile was nearly dashing enough to make her knees buckle. They would be working closely with one another that morning, perhaps even touching. But, she was resolved to keep their relationship completely platonic - she loved Kit and wasn't too keen on hurting him again, although her body always did have other ideas. Today would be different, though. She promised herself it would be.

She arrived at the holodeck in record time and was still running as she slipped through the heavy doors breathlessly. The recreation of the Academy Physical Training Facility's interior was complete, even down to the students doing various types of physical training under the backdrop of San Francisco. Some were running, some were performing gymnastics, and some were in full anbo-jytsu gear - blindfolded and lunging at one another with long poles - while still others practiced the complex unarmed offensive and defensive moves of the sport. Case was in a semi-circle of four opponents dressed in Academy gis. His own had been discarded on the padded floor and the sweat from several matches glistened over his thickly-muscled torso, making his scars and burns appear even more prominent. Before Amy could say anything, there was a guttural grunt from one of the bystanders and the circle tightened.

Case sidestepped a rushing Andorian, planting one foot firmly on his instep and doing a remarkably quick leap and pivot, catching the blue-skinned alien behind the knee with his other foot. The awkward move left Sorien with both feet at a steep angle to the floor and gravity pulled him down with the collapsing Andorian, the two landing in roughly similar positions face down on the mat. Improvising, Case rolled over onto his opponent so that both were back-to-back, delivered a headbutt with the rear of his skull and shoulder rolled backwards just as a Vulcan accidentally crushed the Andorian's lower spine.

Case got to his feet and a Bajoran made the mistake of grabbing him by one of his powerful shoulders. Sorien struck like a snake, wrapping up the Bajoran's arm in a painful lock with his own and suddenly shifting his considerable mass. There was a crack and a groan as the opponent's limp form sailed through the air in a half-flip and landing in a tangle with a slow Human's legs, taking both out of the fight.

The Vulcan came at Case again from his blind side, almost managing to get a clawed hand on the base of his neck but Sorien threw an elbow that caught the somber face square in the middle, prompting simulated green blood from the simulated opponent and did a leg sweep that sent the Vulcan towards the mat. Not as easily defeated as the others, the Vulcan gripped Sorien's thick wrist as he dropped and followed with a powerful leg sweep of his own. Both of Sorien's legs came out from under him almost comically high and with one arm locked tight, the Chief landed on the padded mat with a heavy thud. There was a 'whoosh' as air pushed from his lungs. The Vulcan brought his hand down like a hammer towards the Chief's throat.

A sailing ball of white and shocking blonde hair slammed into the Vulcan as his fist grazed Case's throat, throwing him off the crewman. It was followed by a squeal as Amy Reese rolled uncontrollably away and stopped flat on her back a good distance from the fallen Vulcan. She groaned and muttered painfully a comment about Vulcans and repressed violence her ass.

The Vulcan leapt to his feet in a single smooth movement and advanced on his new target. With two amazingly swift steps, he leapt high in the air and had sailed halfway to Reese, poised to deliver a snap kick when Chief Case yelled, "Computer. Freeze program!"

Amy gaped at the attacker hovering above her head, and with a yelp she quickly scrambled away. Sitting at the edge of the mat, with her hands resting behind her for support, she exclaimed, "Are you serious! This program's way too advanced!"

Case wanted to be angry but instead managed a chuckle. "This is my program, Ensign," he said, pushing off the mat and walking over to her. "I did have to entertain myself...my student was over a half hour late." He held out a hand to her.

Slapping hers into his, she sighed. "I know... I'm sorry--" She yelped as one tug from him had her fully upright. The action was unexpected, and Amy fell forward into Case. His solid body stopped her, and she smiled up at him dreamily as two strong arms encircled her. "Whoopsie," she whispered.

Case looked at her with an appraising eye. An awkward silence passed between them as Sorien was distracted by the warmth of her in his arms. "In the future, you might not want to help me. The safeties are minimal and even I can't beat the Vulcan at this setting. The forcefields absorb most of the impact but you still could have been hurt." He ran his hand along her cheek briefly and nodded at the deadly opponent in mid-air. "He's as strong as a real Vulcan."

Amy whimpered softly at the touch and nodded dumbly. His concern alone had her breathless, but his body's proximity had the greater effect. "I-I'll remember that," she managed, watching his lips and appreciating their crooked smile. "Vulcans...bad...so bad."

Sorien chuckled again and took a half-step back. "Computer. Clear program of all opponents and students." The stated holograms fizzled away, giving Reese and Case the appearance of being alone as well as the reality. He looked at her again, a little more harshly than before but still with a slight smile. "If you're serious about this, Ensign, you can't be late...not even a minute. For every minute you are, I'll have five push-ups from you. Are we understood?"

Amy bobbed her head up and down briskly, straightening out her white uniform. "I won't be late again," she promised, though she was still grinning.

Case did his best not to let the grin infect him. "You said that you like martial arts...what styles have you studied?"

"Um...." Amy puzzled over this, nervously swatting at the loose ends of her belt. "I...kick, and punch and stuff..." she answered. "That sort of martial arts."

Case tried to frown. "A hybrid of styles, then? Did you have an Academy instructor?"

She shook her head. "Just the holodecks. Is that bad?"

Case was shaking his head. "Depends on the programmer," Sorien admitted. He jutted his thumb over his shoulder at where the frozen Vulcan had been. "My green-blooded friend is an excellent instructor...when's he's not trying to kill you." Case smiled with a teasing thought. "Maybe I should reactivate him...you could be a handful..."

"No!" Amy sputtered, lunging forward to grip Case's forearm; it took both hands to get a proper grasp. "Something easier...please?"

"Something easier," Case said, smiling. "For starters, kick me."

"O-Oh..." She frowned, and squinted up at him. "Are you sure?"

"Aye, sir," Case said, standing flat footed. "As hard and as high as you can please. Proper stance. Tuck your chin."

Amy nodded tentatively and gently released her hold on his arm. "Well...okay," she said while backing away. "But if you get hurt, it's not my fault!" Her expression changed to one of extreme focus, although it was comprised of a comical pursing of her lips and narrowing of her eyes that appeared not at all as menacing as she'd intended. Her left leg was pushed back and her right extended forward with a slight bend at the knee. Exhaling deeply, Amy raised her arms in a defensive pose, locked into place to compose herself, then abruptly emitted a shrill cry. Her lower body twisted to shoot her hind leg up and forward. It reached barely high enough to impact with his chest...which it never did, as Case's large hand closed around her foot. Amy squeaked and hopped in place, with arms flapping, to keep herself upright. "Hey! You never said that would happen!"

Case ignored her protests, regarding the leg with an appraising eye. "You have good extension," he declared, still holding her foot as he shifted his body for a side view. "Your power was good...even if you had to put your entire body into it. And your balance is better than you would have me believe." Case reached out with his free hand and felt her firm sartorius muscle, traversing the short circumference of her inner thigh to her gracilis. "Very nice muscle tone."

Amy's flailing lessened while she watched raptly his hand examining her leg. She sighed unsteadily and dreamily at the arousal he had inadvertently initiated; it was so intense, she feared Case would feel the throbbing from between her legs vibrating up her thigh. Chuckling breathlessly, and watching him with unintentional desire, Amy whispered, "Thanks."

Case let her foot drop. Amy surprised herself by recovering her balance quickly. The two looked at one another closely and shared dangerous smiles before he turned from her.

"Okay," Case said. "Anbo-jytsu. Unarmed. First form. Watch me carefully."

And she did, a little too carefully and with a physical reaction that should have otherwise been reserved for Kit at the sight of Case's defined back muscles flexing and his roguish smile. She absently dropped onto the mat cross-legged and cradled her chin in her palms as she propped her elbows on both knees. Like an infatuated schoolgirl she gazed upon Case, at the deep clefts of muscle shaping his upper arm as he punched at the air, and at the raised blocks of solid flesh centering on his abdomen. He was a dream and had her heart racing. But he was off-limits, for the sake of her relationship. Smiling, though, she realized simply watching wasn't against the rules, nor was an innocent fantasy or two...or three.

"Manning the Nightingale, Part 1"
by Lieutenant Commander Jabari Zareb - Engineering Consultant
and Ensign Shirik Lektar - Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Lieutenant Commander Zareb's Quarters
Stardate: 57908.06, 10h00

***

Jabari Zareb was disappointed in Mason Farrell and he had never even met the man.

Farrell had seen fit to get himself in trouble right before leaving Bajor, effectively removing himself from consideration for the Nightingale crew. Zareb had a reputation as a strict disciplinarian but he had to chuckle at the written antics of the Operations officer that had been his first choice. Had Farrell been picked for this mission, he may well have grown to loathe Zareb and his intolerance for some of his more colorful behavior. Still, all indications were that Farrell was a highly intelligent resourceful officer that had stalled out at Ensign because of a moderate to serious problem with discipline. Maybe more trouble than he's worth, Zareb thought, tossing the PADD aside and not wanting to believe it.

Zareb was in a makeshift office set up in a corner of his VIP quarters on Deck Three. Display panels had been added on the bulkheads around his desk, showing various cutaways of the Nightingale along with full starship schematics of a new ship class at the end of the design process. The ship that Zareb hoped would one day incorporate the technology he was going to be perfecting over the next few months in the Gamma Quadrant.

Lieutenant Sam had proved as efficient as one would expect an android to be and had provided Zareb with an extensive list not only of Operations personnel but of every last man and woman on the Sulu and their respective strengths and weaknesses. Although she hadn't been one of Sam's first choices, her being a recent arrival to the ship, Zareb was intrigued by one Operations officer in particular. Sam had been kind enough to arrange a meeting between Zareb and Ensign Shirik Lektar.

***

Shirik rode in the turbolift, frowning slightly in puzzlement. She had her ever-present PADD in one hand, where she re-read the message for her to report to the new Assistant Chief Engineer on board. She disliked being pulled away from her duty station during shift, but imagined it must be for something important. A special project. Well, maybe he needed her computer expertise, she thought.

Unlike most of the rest of the crew, she hadn't had any time to look up the personnel record for this new person, so she didn't know anything about him yet. Only what little she'd heard floating around the ship, that he and Thaine didn't like each other. She wondered which, if either, she'd get along with.

With a slight shrug, she straightened her uniform and straightened her back. Good first impressions, that's what she was always aiming for. The turbolift doors opened and she made her way down the corridor to the VIP quarters. Finding the door she was looking for, she rang the chime and waited.

Inside, Zareb looked at the chrono and smiled; punctuality was a good start. With a finger on a button, the displays on the walls went dark and Jabari almost let her in but as an afterthought said instead, "Computer, decrease lights thirty percent." The room went dimmer. Might as well have Lektar feel at home.

"Come."

Shirik stepped inside and looked around curiously. The lights were noticeably dimmer than normal for humans. She looked to the man seated behind the desk as she stepped forward, wondering if perhaps he were something other than human. "Ensign Lektar reporting as ordered, sir," she said, standing straight.

Zareb stood up at her greeting and came around the desk. He was taller than most humans with dark brown skin and voice rich in timber. "Mister Lektar," he said, his Standard accented slightly. "It is a pleasure to meet you." He offered his large hand in Terran fashion.

He towered over her, but that wasn't unusual with her small stature among humans. She took the offered hand to shake as was his people's way, and inwardly winced. She always hated being referred to as 'Mister', but didn't say anything. Her skin was jet black, hair stark white, a study in contrasts. It was braided into one long braid down her back. "How may I be of assistance?" she asked.

"I might be of assistance to you," Zareb stated, offering the empty chair in front of his desk with a gesture as he rounded it and returned to his own seat. He stood there without sitting. "Did Lieutenant Sam tell you anything about the nature of my work on the Sulu?"

"No, sir," she said, settling into the offered seat. "All I've heard was through unofficial channels..."

Zareb took his seat after her, his face a blank. "And what have you heard? Unofficially?"

"Only that we were to pick up a new Assistant Chief Engineer at DS9. I presume that was you."

Zareb actually smiled at that. "You think I'm the new Assistant Chief?" The man looked like he wanted to laugh but was restraining himself.

She shrugged. "I don't know. As I said, I wasn't told anything officially. And I know how unreliable rumors can be on this ship."

"As well as logic, Mister Lektar," Zareb said still in good humor. "It's not many Assistant Chiefs that outrank their superiors, correct? Or have you not met Lieutenant Thaine?

"Actually, sir, it is not uncommon for a visiting officer on a temporary project or assignment to outrank other officers on a ship during the project, yet defer to the department head of that ship," she said. "But in any case, I have met Lt. Thaine only briefly, and was unaware of your rank. I merely told you what I had heard." She folded her hands in her lap, uncertain whether his words were meant as a veiled insult or merely sounded that way.

"In which case, the visiting officer would not be an Assistant Chief," Zareb said, studying her closely in the dim. "The project I'm heading up is for Utopia Planitia and has nothing to do with Lieutenant Thaine or the Sulu, save for the fact that she'll be my home and source of personnel while I'm here. And I'll need an Operations officer."

Shirik shrugged, letting that topic drop, since it was irrelevant. She listened to this new topic, much more interesting. "May I ask what sort of project?" she said. "And what the role would be for your Operations officer?"

"As of this moment, I cannot tell you much more than you would be helping to test experimental technologies." Zareb stood again and gestured to the replicator. "May I get you something, Mister Lektar?" His accent managed to hit both the 'k' and the 't' hard.

Although she would have liked some Klaas, she knew the replicator wouldn't do it very well, and the smell alone might make Zareb sick, so she said, "A glass of water will be fine, thank you."

Zareb nodded. "Raktajino, hot, and water, cold." The drinks obediently appeared in the replicator chamber. Zareb retrieved them.

"As I said, you would be on a testing team working the bugs out of some experimental technologies." Zareb took a sip of his Raktajino as he handed the Ensign her water. "Your duties would be the same as an Operations officer aboard any ship; allocation of resources. As the ship in question may have some fairly unique resources requirements, your knowledge of both engineering and operations could prove invaluable."

Shirik sipped at her water. Allocation of resources had never been her favorite job, but this sounded intriguing. Experimental technologies. An experimental ship? Something new, different, cutting edge. "It sounds like an interesting assignment," she said. Certainly more interesting than working in the bowels of the computer core. "How long would the assignment last?"

"Indefinite," Zareb said without a beat. "I'll be spending the coming weeks getting everything in order with the Engineering staff. In the meantime, there is a hitch."

She nodded thoughtfully as she sipped. "What would that be?" she asked.

"An upgrade to your security clearance," Zareb said, steepling his hands in under his chin. "Requiring an extensive look into your background by the security group at Utopia Planitia. Is there anything you want to tell me first before I start the process?"

"No doubt you've already perused my file," she said. "I'm a member of the ruling family of a non-Federation world. If that's not a problem, then I don't foresee any others."

"It may be," Zareb said, tempted to retrieve his PADD with the Drokari information even though he didn't need it. "Your people...the Rennari...they're slave owners." It wasn't a question or an accusation, simply a statement of fact.

She knew enough about Earth history to know that this man's ancestors had been slaves on his homeworld. She wondered if he'd take personal offense at her people's customs and use it as a means of rejecting her from the assignment. She'd not yet come across a situation where slave-owning had caused a problem. She nodded. "Yes... But I don't see where that should have any bearing on this assignment," she said carefully.

"I beg to differ, Ensign," Zareb countered without sounding particularly passionate about the matter. "I think a culture that embraces the concept of owning another individual might produce a population with a tendency to categorize other species favorably or unfavorably and a member of such a population might have a bit of trouble giving others their proper respect. Other crewmembers, for example. Would that be the case with the Rennari, Mister Lektar? Or yourself?"

"I think you will find that my service record speaks clearly on that," she said. "No, that is not the case with myself. In fact, from what I've seen of the Sulu, I probably respect my fellow officers considerably more than some others on board." She wondered if respect might be a problem he had, in her case.

Certainly, her record wasn't as clear on the point as she was suggesting. There were numerous small mentions of Ensign Lektar's arrogance and those mentions took on different meaning when one knew the Rennari background. But while it wasn't quite the same as Vulcan arrogance, Zareb didn't want to judge Lektar on the sins of her people in absence of any real evidence that she subscribed to their belief system. "Okay," he said simply.

She nodded. "Anything else, sir?"

"No," Zareb said, shaking his head. "As soon as I'm able to establish communications with Utopia Planitia, I'll order the security group to begin the process. You'll be informed if you're chosen. In the meantime, I must ask you not to speak even of the very little I told you today. Should you happen to overhear any speculation, a report can be made to either myself or Lieutenant T'Kal."

She raised an eyebrow. He wanted her to file a security report if she overheard any rumors? On this ship, that could lead to quite a few reports. "Yes, sir," she said.

"Dismissed."

She nodded, rising gracefully to her feet, and exited the office. She wondered who else had been chosen for the mission, and if she was up against Farrell for the Ops position. That should prove interesting. She headed back down to the computer core to finish off her shift.

"The Mud Wrestle"
By Ensign Amy Reese - Nurse
Ensign Annikafiore Szerda [NPC] - Nurse
Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse
and Lt. Cmdr Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Holodeck 4
Stardate: 57908.06, 11h00

***

Amy Reese, or at least the sludge-monster version of her, smiled viciously at the handful of dripping, thick mire piled in her right palm, then shifted her menacing gaze back to her buxom nemesis. She wound back her arm, and the woman's eyes became as wide as saucers. A dollop of the muck coating her hair dropped onto the tip of her nose before she could toss the mudball, and Amy crossed both eyes to spy it, causing a momentary pause. She blew up at the blob, and shook her head to dislodge it, then yelped as a speck shot into one eye. It snapped shut and Amy squealed, though her other remained open to stare daggers at the minx before her. She looked far too clean for Amy's liking, and she was determined to change that.

Only a single teardrop of mud rolling down her cheek marred the porcelain-like skin of Annikafiore Szerda's face. The wild curls of her lengthy hair hadn't faired as well; her face was framed by the thick brown mud coating her vibrant, red hair from root to tip. Random smears of mud were apparent along the length of her bare arms, bare legs between her mid-thigh length shorts and mud-caked knee-high boots, and the front of her hot-weather uniform, while the back of her uniform was completely covered in a heavy layer of muck. With her hands already firmly gripping Amy Reese's shoulders, Annikafiore snarlingly kicked off from her crouched position, knocking Amy onto her back with the weight of her own body.

Amy shrieked, then coughed as she caught a mouthful of mud. Blindly, she mashed her handful of muck into Szerda's face. Spitting clear the muddy treat, Amy gave a deranged peel of laughter as Szerda's arms flailed and hands groped to pull free Amy's. She released her hold, and transferred it to Szerda's arms. Legs kicked in the thick sludge, and hips bucked against Szerda's to dislodge the red-head. With a strained grunt, Amy surged upright and tossed Szerda onto her back, bringing a grating cry from the medical officer. Amy straddled her deftly and pinned both mud-coated arms back with a triumphant cackle. Szerda's slippery body writhed beneath her.

With a heavy grunt, Annikafiore drew up her knees, slamming them into Amy's back. Despite how jarring it was for both of them, the grip on Annika's arms wasn't released. Displaying a flexibility usually saved for other activities, Annikafiore spread her legs in a v-shape, and pulled them closer to her torso, to crush Amy's arms between her knees.

Amy screeched, fingernails digging into Szerda's livid flesh. Her hold broke, arms splaying outwards painfully as she pulled them free, then Amy received a faceful of mud. Her squeal receded to deep in her throat as she sealed her mouth tightly against the onslaught, and just when the urge arose to suck in a breath, and likely a mouthful of thick mud, the hand came away. Amy rolled onto her side, knocking Szerda face-first into the sea of mire, while she coughed the dirt she'd inhaled. Only the whites of her eyes were distinguishable through her mudmask, and they glared at Szerda with ferocity as she pushed onto her knees and began sloughing off the sludge. With a ululating, guttural warcry, Amy launched herself at the monster from the depths of the thick bog and tackled her. There was an upsurge of mud as the two entangled girls landed, followed by a volley of the dark brown, high-velocity droplets during the ensuing tussle. Squeals and screams and squawks were rampant.

Rolling Amy off of her own chest, Annikafiore continued her momentum to roll atop of her and grab a fistful of Amy's blonde hair, recently dyed brown by the mud. Before Annika had a chance to tug at it, she squawked even louder than before, when Amy began yanking at Annikafiore's own muddy locks. With her free hand, Annikafiore slapped Amy across the face, which only left her unprepared for Amy to knock her onto her back and get a better grip on her hair.

And from there, the chilly air was filled with shrill, unified shrieks and hisses, and the sloshing of thick mud as bodies thrashed. Neither of them, however, appealed for mercy.

***

Before.

"Here we are," Damhnait Sefton announced to the line of medical officers following her, as the dirt trail ended at their campsite - a circular clearing surrounded by hundred-year-old trees. Damhnait could have programmed the holodeck to deposit the group here to begin with, but she supposed a rock climb, followed by a brisk hike, was appropriate to begin this two-day wilderness team-building exercise. Sefton had briefly considered locating the holosimulation on Betazed, but ultimately decided that that would be too hospitable an environment; a Terran forest would provide many more challenges for her staff. If successful, the rest of the medical staff would embark on a similar excursion the following week. That was a fairly sizeable 'if', considering the current members of Damhnait's experiment to work out the staff's interpersonal problems were herself, Raina Derrell, Kremer, Saffron Pakarinen, Corran Quezith, Amy Reese, Annikafiore Szerda, Brennyn Scott, Cristobel Sefton and Tynann Taylforth.

Aside from the normal holodeck security precautions, Damhnait had only set out two rules for this exercise. Firstly, no one was ever allowed to be alone; everyone would always be working with others. If they could all survive two full days together, duty shifts would feel brief in comparison. Secondly, anything that must be said aloud about a person, must be stated to said person. The gossip situations concerning Raina Derrell and Amy Reese would never have escalated as they did if the staff had been previously prevented from whispering in secret.

Already knowing exactly how she wanted the campsite to be set up, Damhnait started by ordering, "Amy, Annikafiore? You two are responsible for locating firewood."

Amy gaped. "Commander...but...shouldn't I just go alone?"

"Ensign Reese, it is heartening that you already feel comfortable enough with me to openly question my orders. Most nurses don't reach that stage until they've performed their duty to a level deserving of a commendation, and yet here you are already. I can respect that," Damhnait evenly said to Amy. Suddenly harsh, Damhnait demanded, "Now, don't question my orders, and go fetch some firewood with Ensign Szerda."

The surface of Amy's eyes trembled with tears and her face blanched. Fearing her voice would crack and give her away, she nodded quickly and rushed off down the path. She sobbed in frustration at the thought of Szerda and the other nurses laughing behind her back.

Skip-sauntering down the path several paces behind Amy, Annikafiore called out, "You forgot the axe, Amy, darling." Nearly catching up with her, Annika held out the Starfleet-issue tool for Amy to see, and tapped the control on it twice: once to reveal the blade, and once to retract it again.

Hastily passing the back of her hand across her nose, Amy smirked and sang jeeringly, "That's because you're doing all the cutting, Annikawhore."

"That. Hurt." Annikafiore mocked condescendingly. "I don't think that kind of language is in the spirit of what we're out here to do, on-her-kneese-Reese."

Amy scowled at her fellow nurse, then growled and marched forward at an increasing pace. She heard Annika's footfalls in the spongy soil hastening to catch up. "I don't know what's wrong with you, Szerda!" she hollered. "I didn't do a thing to you!"

Taking longer strides, Annikafiore seriously insisted, "It's not about the sex, you know. I think you should feel free to have sex with whoever you want. Boyfriend or not."

Amy whirled on her, Szerda barely stopping in time to avoid colliding with her. "Then what the hell is your problem!"

"You expect acceptance or forgiveness or attention for all of your sexual activities. Instead of being who you are, you choose to whine and cry and shriek about what a dirty little slut you are, forcing everyone around you to have to put up with it and make you feel better. Again. And it just about makes me want to vomit," Annikafiore explained bluntly.

Amy clenched both fists at her sides and leaned forward to bring her face menacingly closer to Szerda's. "Well you didn't have to listen. And you certainly didn't have to spread all those rumours! I think you just like the attention because you know you'll never be as popular as you like to think you are."

"Projection much? I don't care what the crew thinks of me. In fact, I think it's a little scary how amused they have been by my lack of tact," Annikafiore asserted. "Besides, I don't know why you've started this little vendetta against me. 'Fellatio Fuchsia' was going around long before I knew about our common hobby of being mattresses for attractive officers."

Amy gasped and reflexively shoved Szerda back. "That was you who started the mattress thing!" she shrieked. "You bitch! Even some of the patients were talking about it."

"Don't. Touch. Me," Annikafiore growled, and roughly shouldered past Amy. Striding down the curving path, Annika declared, "What right do you have to play the wounded victim?" She spun around to face Amy, but continued walking backwards along the path. "I know you were the one who came up with that song: 'When Annikafiore / the dirty little whore / comes knocking at your door / just screw her on the floor / pay two credits, nothing more.' It won't be long until the Suluists are singing it, I'm sure. Or, sorry, is it truly the Soloists now? Didn't they all quit because of you, except for" -- Annikafiore vocally made a whipping sound effect -- "your Kitty."

Amy shrieked and lunged at Annika to deal her a sharp blow across the cheek. "You leave him out of this!"

Losing her balance in her impractically-heeled boots, Annikafiore lurched backward at the impact of Amy's hand on her face and screamed from deep in her diaphragm. She snatched for Amy's wrist, to keep from falling, but only ended up dragging Amy down with her. The women hit the muddy ground beyond the path, and immediately started rolling down the steep incline.

Amy's cries were interposed by grunts each time she was slammed face down into the hill. There was time enough to spit out loose blades of grass mingled with soil, but barely enough time to scream as the two girls were launched off a ledge at the base of the hill. A thick splash followed as both bodies landed heavily in a foot deep bog, and was ensued by groans as their battered bodies protested. "Annika," Amy rasped. "You bitch!"

"Don't you ever shut your mouth?" Annikafiore groaned. Lying on her back, she attempted to push herself up with her elbows, and when that proved pointless, she flailed a leg out, connecting her boot with Amy's shoulder.

"Ow!" Amy brought both hands to her left shoulder, grabbed Annika's foot, and twisted. "Watch where you're putting your skis!"

"Knulla," Annikafiore cursed at the pain in her ankle. Sneering, Annika spat, "Oh, that's right! You must be used to Kit's doll-sized feet." Feigning another attempt to stand, Annikafiore kicked Amy's other shoulder with her other foot.

Amy gave another pitiful cry and scrambled away from Annika, hands and feet sliding on mud. "You're jealous!" Amy shouted at her. "You wish you had someone like him! But no one will go near you!"

"I thought you said I was a slut? Now I'm suddenly desperate for a man? Let's try to get our facts organised, Reese, darling," Annikafiore condescended. Squirming around, Szerda managed to get up into a kneeling position. "As I'm sure Crewman Davies will attest, and attest, and attest, he came very near me in the seventh junction of Jefferies Tube 12 two nights ago."

"And is probably too disgusted to go near you again!" Amy clambered onto her feet, but was pulled down again by the slick mire. With a frustrated scream, she splashed both fisted hands into the pool of mud, creating an upsurge that threw specks of the brown liquid onto her cheeks. She frowned at Annika. "This is your fault," she said in a quiet, ominous tone. "You're gonna pay for this, whore!"

Remaining on her knees, watching how pointless it would be to struggle as Amy was, Annikafiore simply retorted, "You've got it backwards again. It's the whore who gets paid."

Amy's face contorted into a mask of shock and rage. Shooting a piercing stare at Annika, she closed her hand around the mud, thick tendrils of it squeezing through her fingers. With a sinister grin, she raised the handful of sludge and retorted, "Oh, we'll see who gets paid, Annika." Then cocked her arm back.

A dollop of the muck coating her hair dropped onto the tip of her nose before she could toss the mudball, and Amy crossed both eyes to spy it, causing a momentary pause. She blew up at the blob, and shook her head to dislodge it, then yelped as a speck shot into one eye. It snapped shut and Amy squealed, though her other remained open to stare daggers at the minx before her. She looked far too clean for Amy's liking, and she was determined to change that.

***

After.

"How refreshing to see you respect your uniforms as much as you respect one another," Damhnait Sefton chidingly called out to the two women, still a distance away, trudging back towards camp.

The mud caked into Amy and Annikafiore had long since dried out, just like most of their venom and physical energy. Walking side by side along the path, they each carried a pile of chopped wood. Annikafiore's pile appeared to be slightly taller, and she also appeared to be walking with a limp.

"So...who won?" Annikafiore rasped -- her throat sore from all the screaming -- with honest bewilderment.

Amy snorted gruffly. "Can't say. Though," she added with a cheeky smile, "I do look better in mud than you do."

"Fine," Annikafiore acquiesced. "Then I'll look better swimming naked in the lake."

"Only if I'm not also swimming," Amy riposted with a haughty thrust of her chin upwards.

"Like you're going to pass up a chance to tear your clothes off?" Szerda doubtfully asked.

Amy scowled. "Don't make me find another mudpool, Szerda, because I will dunk your head in it again."

"Now while we're in front of Doctor Sefton, if you want to avoid court martial," Annika said through clenched teeth, as she grinned broadly for show as they approached the campsite.

Amy's own forced smile was vicious, but she did restrain herself from sticking a leg out to trip the red-head. Instead, she announced brightly to the group, "Wood! It's a little muddy, but...." She glanced sidelong at Annika and narrowed her eyes. "It'll do."

Annikafiore merely retained her smile, refraining from making a comment involving wood in Amy's hands.

"Right. Tynann and Saffron have already fetched kindling." Damhnait eyed the pair suspiciously, waiting for one to viciously turn on the other. When Amy and Annika continued to smile, Damhnait warily continued, "See if the two of you can get a fire ignited, and we'll get started on preparing lunch."

When Damhnait marched away to investigate Raina and Brennyn's difficulty with setting up the tents, Tynann graciously took the pile of wood from Amy, while Saffron did the same for Annikafiore.

"What happened?"

Amy rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. "Oh, what didn't!" She looked side to side for prying ears, then leaned in towards Tynann and whispered, "It all started when that she-male Szerda...." And the entire tale of their wrestling bout in the mud was relayed, while Amy exaggerated her feats and injected far more wit into the caustic remarks she'd spouted at her nemesis. In her version of the story, Amy had undoubtedly came out the victor, and Szerda had begged pathetically for mercy.

"Ouch!"
By: Ensign Marp, Flight Control Officer

Locate: USS Sulu - Mess Hall
Stardate 57908.06 11h35

***

Ensign Marp entered the mess hall and looked around. There were already quite a few people talking and enjoying their meals. He walked to the replicator and after thinking for a bit said, "Snail Juice, with extra shells."

The replicator seemed unimpressed with the order as all it gave him were two discordant beeps. Marp sighed, "Water then, can I have water?" I am going to need to get some real food programmed for this thing, he thought as he took his water and sat down at a vacant table.

Marp sat back in his chair and looked around the room. The room was a buzz in general conversation and gossip. Several crewmen were discussing the skirt day activities of the previous day and others were talking about the command staff. It seemed that the crew were obsessed with the love life of its senior staff. All of this mildly amused him, however; he noticed several people in the room casting quick glances in his direction. There was a table with three human females who kept looking in his direction. After a few minutes of this and a good deal of giggling, Marp got up and walked over to their table.

"Hello ladies," he said as he sat down with them. "I'm Marp." He flashed them a smile before turning to the one on his left. "And you are?"

"Umm," she faltered, "I... ah... am going to be late for my shift. Bye." She got up and left, looking back over her shoulder, smirking at her friends.

"That is too bad," muttered Marp. Looking at the remaining two, he smiled again.

"We gotta go too. Nice meeting you, Marp," she said barely, managing to contain a laugh as she said his name. The two ladies got up and they too left the mess hall. This has got to be a new record for me, he thought as he looked at the chronometer. At the table next to him another crewman who had been watching the entire conversation let out an amused chuckle. Marp winked at him and said, "Ouch!"

"This Could Be The Start Of A..."
By: Ensign Marp
and C1C Ken Smith

Location: Mess Hall
Stardate 57908.06 11h36

***

"Looks like you struck out there, Ensign," the Crewman said. Setting down his cup of coffee the Crewman joined Marp at his now empty table. "I haven't been aboard that long, my name is C1C Ken Smith," Ken said, extending his hand.

"It happens all the time," said Marp, smiling at Smith and shaking his hand. "I am Marp."

"Nice to meet you, Marp. So what brings you to the Sulu?" Ken asked.

"They told me that I could not stay at the academy anymore and told me to report to the Sulu," said Marp with a note of humor in his voice.

A loud laugh erupted from Ken Smith as he rapped on the table. "You're a funny guy, Marp, funny funny," he said as he shook his head. "You know what? I don't think you should worry about being shot down by those girls. I don't know about you but I joined Starfleet for action and adventure. Well, the action mainly but I suppose I am getting the adventure here on the Sulu, not to date women."

Now it was Marp's turn to laugh, "I am not worried about those females. I only joined them because they seemed to find me so amusing in their conversations. I thought I would continue their amusement by joining them."

Marp looked at Smith. "So you are totally devoted to your job eh? No time for women? I myself have no expectations. I am just going with the flow."

"I wouldn't say devoted, but chasing after tail is distracting. When you get distracted people get killed, and you're lucky if it's you. And besides on a ship this small, well the old adage don't stick your pen in the company ink, it definitely applies here." Taking a sip of his now tepid coffee Ken continued, "Besides, so far this place reminds me of "The Stars Always Shine", sometimes any way. You know what this place needs? A charity," Ken said with an evil grin.

"A charity?" Marp looked at Ken Smith. He didn't understand.

"Well." Pausing only to take in breath and for dramatic effect Ken leaned in close and started his pitch, "I was thinking that the CPO and Officers Mess fund could probably use some extra funds, and let's be honest an exploration mission even to the gamma quad is going to get boring, so I was thinking about starting up a casino - small stuff: black jack, poker, dabo, tongo those kinds of games. I figure we could organize it, find a nice holo program and set it up. Two rules though: No credit, we avoid accusations of impropriety, and 80% goes to the CPO and Officers Mess fund split evenly. 10% goes to a holding fund so we can build up the bank and we as the organizers split the rest.What do you say, are you game?"

Marp considered Smith's proposal. He was not convinced that it was a profitable venture. Fist of all they were giving most of the profits away. Second, he did not think that people would spend their hard earned money in a computer generated casino. They could do that for free. Third, we had no start-up money to fill the bank with. The first customer to win would break the bank. "No," Marp thought. "Not yet, not like this."

"Let me think about it and get back to you." Marp looked at the human. He was not sure he wanted to enter into a business deal with him having only known him for a few minutes.

"I just figured, you know, you being--" Smith tapped his ears and pointed. "Might have had an inside track on such things on board. I suppose not. Well that's good, keeps us both out of trouble. Well I tell you what, if you ever get bored and want someone to hang out with buzz me, I am always up for anything."

"I will keep that in mind," said Marp and he stood up. "Well, I better get going. It was nice visiting with you, Crewman Smith." Marp smiled at Smith and then left the Mess Hall.

"Do the Math"
By: Ensign Sanat Vijay - Flight Control Officer
Dr. Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor
Ensign Mason Farrell - Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Mess Hall and Corridor
Stardate: 57908.06 12h11

***

Dr. Ilan Potts looked down at the orange, the saltshaker, the grape, and napkin on the tabletop and tried to wrap his mind around the concept. It was decidedly difficult when you had the soundtrack to Renlin Craw's musical masterpiece Ode to Cheese continually running through your head. Potts rested his face in his palms and his elbows on the table.

"Explain it to me again, Mister Vijay," he said. "And this time, pretend I'm either a small ignorant child or an extremely educated Counselor with absolutely no knowledge of warp theory."

With a friendly smirk on his face the ensign began, "I'll err on the side of caution, Doctor." He gathered the different 'instructional aides' and placed them together again making sure to center the orange and placing the saltshaker and the grape just so. Grabbing the napkin, Sanat stood up and carefully paced out about 10 meters, his crude measurement placed him at an empty table in a direct line of sight from theirs.

Causally tossing the napkin down, Vijay walked back and proceeded to sit down when he noticed an operations waitress about to remove it from its new location. "Please don't touch that just yet...I'm giving an impromptu lecture on warp theory. And that's Sector 997."

When the enlisted woman moved away shaking her head and muttering something uncomplimentary about officers, Sanat sat down and pointed to the orange. "Now, this represents DS9." He leaned forward and picked up the salt shaker, "and here is the Sulu," putting it back, Vijay placed his finger on the Rio rolling it around while stating, "and last but not least, here is the Rio Grande."

"It doesn't look much like a proper river," Potts mused without even wondering why the grand tributary would be hovering in space near Bajor. He grabbed up a glass. "Maybe a little water --"

Vijay grimaced. "NO!" He reached out and firmly latched onto Potts' hand, removing the glass before the good doctor could splash water all over their table. "The gra...I mean...the Rio Grande is our runabout...not some terrestrial river!" The half human was beginning to feel his first pangs of exasperation as he tried to keep everything in its proper place and fend off Ilan's attempt to recover the glass.

"Okay, okay...it's a runabout," Potts allowed. "But I want a drink, Mister Vijay!" Potts tugged hard on the glass, and for a split second of insanity, surprised the half Vulcan's musculature, allowing Potts to catch a mouthful of water before the glass was liberated from his grasp. Potts swished the liquid around inside his mouth happily.

Having won the contest, Sanat placed the container on a nearby table and looked around the room to make sure no one was watching him wrestle the cup from Dr. Potts. Sanat spotted Mason coming their way and breathed out with a sigh of relief, "Ah good. The admiral is here."

Potts spit his drink across the table and leapt to his feet. "Attention on deck!" he shouted, drawing more than a few puzzled stares from the other mid-day diners. Two or three actually jumped from their tables in surprise.

"Thank you everyone, thank you," Farrell said with a mischievous smile, holding out his hands to gesture people back to their seats. "Really not necessary, but thank you." He moved to Vijay and Potts. "Afternoon, Sanat," he said, pulling out a chair. As he sat, he looked to Potts. "Sir, we haven't met. Mason Farrell. Pleased to meet you."

Sanat nodded and brushed a few droplets off of his uniform as Farrell sat down. He waited to see what the doctor would say after almost spitting his water on everyone in the vicinity.

Potts pumped Farrell's hand enthusiastically as he settled in next to Mason. "Wonderful party last night, Mister Farrell," he said with a wild grin, not noticing Sanat's newly moistened uniform. "Simply wonderful."

"Well, it wouldn't have been the same without you, Doctor Potts," Farrell chuckled. "Not at all. So what are we talking about?"

Sanat tilted his head towards Ilan. "Dr. Potts had asked about warp theory and I was attempting," Sanat gestured towards his impromptu training aides, "to explain that sending the Warp 5 Rio Grande ahead of the Sulu which is capable of Warp 9 was tantamount to a...I believe the correct term is...a fool's errand." The flight controller noticed a few more water droplets on his sleeve and stopped talking to flick them off.

"It would have been a rescue mission, Mister Vijay," Potts said with a bit of challenge. Ilan had been talking to Sanat long enough to know he wasn't a Vulcan who strictly adhered to all things logical so the casual way he was describing it was disconcerting. "How is such a thing ever a fool's errand?"

Vijay looked up and smirked, "Let us use the orange as DS9, the salt shaker can be the Sulu, the grape...the Rio Grande," he raised an eyebrow looking at Potts, "not a planet bound river - and the napkin can pose as Sector 997." When the good doctor said nothing to rebut his declaration of the grape's true status, Sanat stated, "Sector 997 is 37.781 light years from Deep Space Nine. Assuming that they had gone to Warp 9, the Sulu could reach 997 in roughly 12 hours, 18 minutes. 4 seconds."

"Ah," Potts exclaimed, thinking he had a thread. "The runabout would have left much earlier. At least thirty-one hours."

"Warp speeds are exponential," Farrell chimed in, nodding as he realized where Vijay was going. "The Rio Grande's got a maximum Cruise speed of Warp 5. So in thirty-one hours, which is what their head start would have been, they'd have gotten," he paused and looked at the ceiling, working the math.

"13.361 light years from DS9," Sanat rolled out the answer without any hesitation. He grinned at Mason's respectful nod and then turned back towards Potts, "Before the Sulu would have left to follow." The half Vulcan moved the grape to the edge of their table, and added, "Our runabout would have reached this point here." Giving Potts an uneasy sidelong glance, Vijay slowly took his hand off of the grape.

Farrell pointed a supportive finger at Vijay. "And at warp 9, the Sulu would get to the 13.4 light year mark in about four and half hours."

Vijay nodded.

"Damn," Farrell shook his head and chuckled ruefully.

"Yes. Damn," Potts agreed gravely before suddenly asking, "So what are you saying?"

"It means it was a fool's errand from the start," Farrell said quietly. "It was something that would let Salinger feel like he was doing something without actually doing anything."

Lifting the saltshaker and placing it next to the grape, Sanat said for emphasis, "The Sulu would overtake us, the Rio Grande, here before the runabout got even halfway there. They would have had a whole sector to go through still."

"But what if the Sulu had been delayed?" Potts asked. He was new to the ship and in a department where trust in the command staff was vital. "She was undergoing repairs after all."

"With Thaine down there cracking the whip?" Farrell asked skeptically. "If we hadn't been ready on schedule, he would have put the entire Engineering staff in harness and had them pull us."

Vijay shook his head negatively. "Even if the Sulu had been delayed another...say, twenty-four hours, it still would have caught us at 7 hours 51 minutes 36 seconds after their launch. And with 13.65 light years left to go before 997."

Potts settled into deep thought and soon sparkled with one. "Who says the Sulu would follow at Warp 9? Isn't that the ship's maximum safe cruising speed?"

"An S&R is exactly the situation for the maximum safe cruising speed," said Farrell.

Sanat's face took on a rueful look. "Even if the Sulu followed at Warp 6, the runabout would have to leave no less 39 hours 57 minutes earlier to get there first." He pointed to where Mason had moved the saltshaker further ahead of the Rio. "That doesn't account for time spent actually searching for the missing Jemison...as was planned."

Potts digested all of this. "And you're both saying that Captain Salinger and Commander Lyrr knew?" Potts asked both Farrell and Sanat, looking both troubled and confused. As a junior senior staff member, he was a little uncomfortable with the suggestion.

"Of course they knew," Farrell said. "It's all gamesmanship. Captain Salinger wants to look like the man of action. So he puts together this little S&R display knowing it's worthless. I'm surprised nobody called him on it."

The red clad half human man picked up the orange and held it as though to examine it carefully. In a low voice he murmured just loud enough for his two companions to hear, "And who is going to call him on it? He's the Captain, and we're," Vijay motioned to his collar and Mason's, "just ensigns."

"True," Farrell nodded with finality. "True," he looked around the room, and his gaze fell on a table across the room. "Oh, wow," he chuckled slowly.

Before Potts or Vijay had a chance to respond to Farrell's 'wow', a lilt of pleasing feminine laughter rose above the din and directed their table's attention to where the Mason was looking anyway. Lieutenant Tagliesh was having an intimate lunch with a rather tall muscular officer in gold collar. She was laughing at something he'd said and they both shared similar secret smiles. Xayella swatted his hand playfully and let it linger there for a long squeeze, her pale hand dwarfed by his large dark one.

Potts looked back and forth between Sanat and Farrell still watching the couple. "Who are they?" he asked, picking up the Rio Grande and eating it. Being relatively new to the ship, he still hadn't met most crew.

"The woman is Lieutenant Xarella Taglieashe." He intentionally slurred her name a little after learning about her disdain for Vulcans from a fellow ensign in Sciences. Sanat frowned, "I do not recognize the man."

"That, friends, can only be Jabari Zareb. Lieutenant Commander Zareb, lately of Utopia Planetia," Farrell revealed quietly. "Lunching with our very own Lieutenant Tag-le-ass. Nice body language. Way to advertise."

Sanat muttered to himself, "Well that makes finding him a lot easier." He looked over at the chronometer. 12:30. In another 10 minutes it would be time to report back to the bridge and his station keeping responsibilities. The appointment with Lt. Commander Zareb wasn't until 15:30 hours and the helmsman didn't want to interrupt the engineer's conversation with Xayella. Although whatever they were talking about seemed, literally, fascinating as the odd couple laughed at some private joke.

"This is bad news in a big way," Farrell said thoughtfully, watching the pair across the room continue to make eyes at each other.

Potts stood up with his tray and plates. "Well, Gentlemen...it has been educational. If you should ever wish me to return the favor, I have a stirring speech I once gave on Xythrothgamine and its effect on the Klingon mind. It caused a spontaneous bout of narcolepsy in half the Klingon High Council." Potts bowed slightly and made his way towards the disposal replicator and the door.

Vijay watched with a mix on confusion and relief on his face as Ilan left their presence. "I don't know about you, but that topic would put me to sleep as well." He mused for a second in silence and then commented, "Although I'm sure Dr. Potts would liven up the speech somehow." The half Vulcan man shuddered when he thought about Ilan dressed as Marie Antoinette at the skirt party...a sight best avoided in the future he decided without verbalizing his decision to Farrell.

"True," Farrell nodded, then snapped his fingers, remembering something. "Damn, I need to talk to him. Catch you later, Sanat?"

"Sure," said Sanat while nodding in the Texan's general direction. Farrell nodded in return, and followed Potts out.

Vijay proceeded to peel the orange in his hands...their discussion about warping around the universe in a runabout had cut into an already short lunch break and the flight controller was still hungry. As he laid pieces of orange peel on the table, an odd thought occurred to him; something was missing from the smooth glass surface...his grape. Taking a moment to scan his immediate area, he put an orange slice in his mouth and started to chew. After several seconds of looking he decided the rascally Dr. Ilan Potts had either eaten the Rio Grande or made off with it. Damn. Sanat sighed out loud, there was no way around it, he 'd have to go back to the replicator for some more.

"Doctor Potts," Farrell called after the swaggering bald man in the corridor.

"Hmm?" Potts grunted, turning back towards Farrell. He was looking at the Operations officer without a hint of recognition.

"I need to set up a session with you. I've got an order," Farrell handed over a PADD.

Potts accepted the PADD with a bald brow so furrowed, he looked like a half-Klingon. Reading through the official part silently with slightly moving lips, Potts soon broke out a smile. "Anger management!" he exclaimed. "That is wonderful! Simply wonderful!"

Farrell looked blankly at Potts for a moment. "Absolutely," he said, his voice neutral. "I'm sure it'll be great."

Potts certainly looked tickled. "Yes, yes it will be. And I can see you today!" he exploded. "My five o' clock cancelled. So come by at around..." Potts trailed off, grasping for the equivalent in Starfleet time.

"1700?" asked Farrell.

"Yes," Potts said, pointing two fingers at Farrell. "Is 1700 hours good for you?"

"That should be fine."

"Excellent!" Potts was actually bouncing in place a little. "I shall see you then, Mister Farrell." He pumped Mason's hand once and took off down the corridor, nearly at a full run.

Farrell watched him go, then exhaled deeply and shook his head.

"Manning the Nightingale, Part 2"
by Lieutenant Command Jabari Zareb - Engineering Consultant
Ensign Sanat Vijay - Flight Control

Location: USS Sulu, Shuttlebay
Stardate: 57908.06, 15h24

***

Of all the areas aboard a starship, shuttlebays always proved to be one of the most difficult to control environmentally. When the ship was at warp and peaking on power usage, shuttlebays could get downright chilly as the cold vacuum of space seeped into the ship's metal frame. More often that not, environmental systems then mismanaged the heat causing it to elevate as the stars streaked by. That was somewhat the case in the Sulu shuttlebay as it made its way through the second day in the Gamma Quadrant. It bordered on slightly uncomfortable and the smallest bit of labor could soon have a healthy person dripping sweat.

Zareb had stripped off his uniform jacket and was wearing the sleeveless variant gold colored undershirt as he did some work outside the runabout. The holographic sheath was up, covering the runabout's unique charcoal hull coloration with normal white and Zareb stood away from the ship working at a makeshift workbench on some components he'd pulled from the Nightingale. Contrary to his assurances to Lieutenant Tagliesh the day she joined the team and at an intimate lunch a few hours earlier, Jabari was still having trouble with the environmental controls and between that and the shuttlebay, the interior of the Nightingale had swiftly gone from broiler to incinerator.

***

"Sorry, Sir. You can't go in there."

He stopped and regarded the security guard with a curious smirk planted on his lips. "I have an appointment, crewman."

"It hasn't been cleared through us, sir."

Sanat raised an eyebrow...it made him look mildly sinister when combined with the offensive looking smile. "Perhaps if you would be so kind as to call Commander Zareb to clear this matter up before I call Lieutenant T'Kal to do so myself."

"Yessir. Just a moment." A tap on the combadge. "Crewman Franks to Commander Zareb."

"Let him in, Crewman," Zareb replied, sight unseen.

The pilot merely said, "Thank you. Quite gracious of you...crewman." Vijay walked past the security detail and barely missed walking into the force field when it conveniently dropped mere milliseconds before he would have come in physical contact with it.

Entering the area, Sanat looked around for Lieutenant Commander Jabari Zareb after noticing the engineering consultant wasn't present on the port side of the runabout. After a few seconds of searching, he located him working on something at a makeshift workbench. Vijay wasted no time, "Sir, Ensign Sanat Vijay reporting."

Zareb was already wiping his hand on a rag as he turned. He offered it when he was convinced it was clean. "'Commander Zareb," he offered by way of introduction. He gestured to the rather unremarkable looking runabout. "And this is the USS Nightingale."

"Sir." He shook the hand firmly, taking note of how large it was in comparison to his own. Maybe that's why Xayella is stalking him, Sanat thought silently. Releasing it, the helmsman turned to look at what appeared to be Jabari's pet project.

The Nightingale looked like an ordinary runabout...nothing special to indicate why so much security was present...two and two were not adding up to equal four at the moment. Sanat decided to be cautious. "I see you are planning an experiment, Commander. Something that might involve a flight controller perhaps?"

"I'll be needing a bit more than just a helmsman...I'll be needing the absolute best the crew I assemble has to offer," Zareb said, leaning back against his makeshift workbench. "Are you interested in being a part of it?"

Letting his eyes continue to roam the exterior looking for clues to indicate any obvious improvements of this particular runabout he answered, "If it involves putting 'Gale through her paces, you bet...um, Sir."

"That is all that will be involved, Mister Vijay," Zareb said, narrowing an appraising eye at Sanat. "Tell me what happened aboard the Kennedy," he said bluntly.

His head turned towards Jabari. A literal mask descended over his partially human, partially Vulcan features as he mulled over how to properly respond to Zareb's unexpected question. Vijay answered, "Does the Commander want to know why I did it? Or that I made a decision I considered my best available option given the circumstances?"

"Both. But tell me why first."

The ensign shifted his stance a little. "Would you let your family die if their salvation was in your hands?" When the engineer said nothing in return, Sanat continued, "The Dominion was systematically sterilizing the Badlands as they retreated from the Alpha Quadrant, Ioterthe` was only a few days away from being obliterated as their fleet drew closer." He tilted his head down and then back up. "Most people there had no way to escape, my parents included. The Kennedy was close to that section of space, but she had orders to remain outside of the Badlands."

Feeling a little uncomfortable, he glanced down at his chest; Sanat lifted a hand to adjust his commbadge.

"When the Captain refused to rescue anyone on Ioterthe`, to intervene in what was going to happen there, I took a runabout from the ship and saved as many people as could fit inside." The helmsman stopped adjusting his communications device and looked back at Jabari to see if his explanation was enough to satisfy the senior officer's curiosity.

"You would do it again then?" Zareb asked, not unkindly. "We're not likely to meet any of your family on this side of the galaxy but if I gave you an order you disagreed with morally, could I expect similar consideration as the Captain of the Kennedy?"

His face remained a mask devoid of emotion as Vijay retorted, "Sir. I know that the decision I made was not exactly...the best one. For many reasons, but, my parents are alive because of it; that part I do not regret." There were some parts he did, but they were not germane to this particular conversation.

Sanat moved his arms behind his back to clasp the hands together. "I did not endanger the crew or the Kennedy by my actions, and I will not do so now. During the war I followed hundreds of morally questionable orders without hesitation...does one act of disobedience wipe all those other instances of stringent loyalty?"

Zareb didn't answer but looked at the half-Vulcan like a Ferengi appraising an artifact. "I need to know that you can separate your personal morality from that of Starfleet or the Federation or even my own, Mister Vijay. In your position, you do not and will not always have the information that your commanding officer is basing his or her decisions around." Zareb narrowed his eyes at Sanat. "I know you know that, Ensign. I need your assurance that you'll always keep that in mind before you second guess my orders."

The pilot stared back trying to decipher Zareb's intentions. When Jabari didn't give any signal as to whether he was simply probing or insisting on a vow of fealty, Vijay replied with a certain amount of formality, "I will follow your orders, Sir. To the letter if need be."

"I cannot ask more than that," Jabari said, turning back towards the makeshift workbench. He picked up a radiant heat regulator and began making adjustments.

"If I might hazard a question, Commander?" When no protest was made by the engineer to the contrary, Sanat asked, "How did you find out about the Kennedy?"

"You were my first and only choice for the flight control position, Ensign," Zareb answered with his back to the half-Vulcan. "As such, I began your security clearance upgrade before I came aboard. The security group at Utopia Planitia is very thorough."

Feeling slightly boosted by Jabari's answer, all Vijay could manage was, "Ah."

Zareb turned back to him. "In your position, I might have done the very same thing." Zareb turned back to the workbench slightly and sat down the RHR. He looked back to Sanat and took a half step closer. "I just need to ensure that disobeying orders is not something you intend to make a habit."

"I fully understand, Sir."

Zareb seemed to examine him closely, as if trying to ascertain if that were true. "There seems to be only one thing left to say, Mister Vijay," he said, finally.

He cocked his head slightly and with a questioning look asked, "And that is, Commander?"

"Welcome aboard," Zareb offered, extending his hand.

"Thank you, Sir," Sanat offered a small smile as he shook Jabari's hand.

Inside he leapt with a certain amount of joy. It now appeared he was going to get a chance to do some real flying in the Gamma Quadrant after all....

"Full Circle"
By: Ensign Ainsley Chambers; Counselor
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Chambers' quarters
Stardate: 57908.06 16h11

***

Ainsley stretched as she stepped through the doors into her quarters. The day had really dragged and she was happy to be home. As much as she enjoyed spending time with Mason, last night had been emotionally exhausting. He'd needed her badly, and she felt happy to have been there for him, but it had been hard to see him like that. She had been wondering how to finally reach him, how to get into his head, and last night he'd let her in farther than ever before. His guilt was perfectly normal, of course. Survivor guilt was a clinically accepted problem, and quite treatable. Mason had just kept it all in.

She could still feel him against her, too. That memory brought her mind away from clinical considerations and into much more personal territory. They'd managed to temporarily get over Mason's guilt, and necked some more. She'd had some very interesting dreams after that.

She smiled at that thought and ordered the computer to play some music for her. Mason had recommended some music from a neo-bluegrass revival that he'd been following a little, a movement that popular culture was referring to as Moongrass.

So as Fatrue Geshtai and the Tycho City Boys' cover of Foggy Mountain Breakdown piped into the quarters she made her way to her bedroom.

The door opened as it should have, and Ainsley jumped at the sight of her quarters. The room was filled to the ceiling with balloons. Balloons of every imaginable color. They flowed through the doorway past her, and out into the main room where they bobbed gently against the furniture. Hanging from the ceiling just inside the door was an envelope suspended from a single length of ribbon.

She reached up and plucked it out of the air. Smiling she looked around the room again. The man was completely nuts. She giggled then.

Inside the envelope was a single long pin.

Getting the idea she began to pop balloons, looking for whatever it was that Mason had hidden inside them. She was halfway through the room when a note finally floated down to her from a busted one. At least this time it was a complete note and she didn't have to piece it together.

The message was simple:

"We started out with balloons. What do you say we call that a trial run and just start again? Holodeck 3, midnight. Second verse, same as the first."

She smiled. She'd need to find those shoes.

***

Midnight in the corridor outside holodeck 3 was a quiet time. Deck four had no quarters on it, and was nearly deserted at this time of night. Ainsley made her way down the corridor wearing the same cream coloured dress that she had worn the last time they had gone dancing. Of course, this time she knew what to expect and was wearing a better pair of shoes.

And there, leaning against the wall and dressed to the nines in the same dapper brown suit, was Mason. He looked up at her the same way he had the first time, and smiled the way that melted her every time.

"Fresh start?" he asked, holding out a hand.

She smiled and nodded as she took his hand. "Fresh start," she echoed.

He pressed the doorkey, and she heard the drums as the portal opened. "Then let's dance," Mason said as he led her in.

"Anger Management"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell - Operations Officer
Dr. Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor

Location: USS Sulu, Dr. Potts' Office
Stardate: 57908.06, 16h58

***

Dr. Ilan Potts flitted around his office like a hummingbird, more nervous than a prom queen at a prison benefit. Mason Farrell was the first patient that had been required to see him and Potts desperately wanted to make a good professional impression. His office was as clean as it had been since an hour after Ilan moved in - the books that were normally strewn about open to various pages of interest had been closed and shelved, the PADDs had been neatly stacked on his desk, and there was nothing waiting in the sofa or chair cushions to surprise Mister Farrell when he took his seat. Potts was in a Class-A with the appropriate footwear and didn't even mind the fact that his toenails were folding over. He was practically giddy and could not wait for the healing to begin.

At the chime, Potts actually yelped like a schoolgirl and clasped his hands together in excitement. He gave his uniform a quick preening, batting hysterically at a stubborn piece of lint until it dislodged and floated out of sight and mind. He quickly gave his reflection in the portal a look, licked his thumb and index finger and smoothed over his wild eyebrows while the foreign stars of the Gamma Quadrant passed by in the background. When he was satisfied with his absolute gorgeousness, he leaned on his desk and did his best to look nonchalant.

"Come," he said, his voice going so high that it was inaudible. Some few decks up, Ensign Gui's dog Joji perked her ears and yipped at the deck. If Ilan's office portal had been glass instead of the traditional transparent aluminum, a breach might have been imminent. Potts cleared his throat and repeated, "Come." The door hissed open.

"Ensign Farrell reporting as ordered, sir," he said nonchalantly. He looked relaxed enough to have slid beneath the door instead of walking through it.

"Mis-ter Farrell," Potts greeted enthusiastically, walking over to shake the Ops Officer's hand. "It is an absolute pleasure to see you again. I'm looking forward to working with you for the next eighteen months." After Potts finished speaking he simply stood there, grinning and pumping the man's hand heartily.

Initially, Farrell's heart sank at the words eighteen months. Eighteen months of hand pumping and couchwork with Potts may well lead to murder, if the party had been any indication. But, he decided, he could at least have a good time while he was at it. Potts was an oddball, as was Farrell on some level. Who knew where eighteen months would lead, when it came down to it?

"As am I, sir. As am I," he grinned and shook Potts' hand with gusto.

Potts tilted his head quizzically at Farrell without releasing the man's hand. "Funny," he mused. "You don't look particularly angry." Potts leaned up and a put his face even closer to the much taller Mason, who did not flinch away. "Ah," he said with a small bit of triumph. "There it is...nevermind."

Farrell nodded. "As you say, sir."

Potts pivoted away but kept Farrell's hand, almost as if he were helping a pageant winner down from the stage. "Keeping it very formal are we, Ensign?" Potts asked, leading him to one of the highback black chairs and finally releasing his hand. "A little get along to go along, eh?" Potts made it to his own chair and spun back towards Mason. "Well, I don't put a lot of stock in formalities, Mister Farrell. You can let go o' them 'sirs' if you'd like."

Farrell glanced to the side, as though looking for the imager recording all this for a comedy show. "Fair enough," he smiled, and sat.

Potts settled into his own chair and crossed his legs. "Soooo," Potts said, smiling. "You hit someone. Gave him a knuckle sandwich? The ol' One-Two? Smacked his bitch up?"

"Smacked his. . .?" Farrell frowned in thought. What in the hell did that mean? "Uh, yeah. I hit someone," he shook his head slightly to get himself back on topic.

Potts leaned back in his chair to retrieve something from his desk. A narrow band of shiny white stomach revealed itself for a quick beat before Potts was back upright with the PADD in his hand. "You assaulted a Professor Thomas Meredith? On Bajor? Yes?"

"That's right. I'm sure it's all there," Farrell said. "I have no argument with the facts as they're presented in the reprimand report."

"What'd he do to you, Cowboy?" Potts asked without taking his eyes off the PADD in his hands. His lips moved a little while he read.

"He tried to seduce a woman I'm seeing," Farrell said. It was still odd to actually say he was seeing someone. "And he insulted her deeply when she --"

"Ainsley Chambers!" Potts blurted out, courtesy of what he'd just read.

"Uh, right," Farrell said simply, deciding that was as good an end of the story as any.

"A lovely woman, Ainsley," Potts said, dropping the PADD to his lap and watching Farrell closely. "I should warn you that I would have had designs on her myself if she hadn't been an underling and completely disinterested." Potts smiled wistfully at the thoughts in his head. "She reminds me a bit of my third and fifth wives."

Farrell regarded him with an eyebrow arched, frozen. Was Potts serious? "So," he said tentatively, "they were both pretty blondes?" He was completely lost, the question a vague fumble for subject matter.

"No, Klingons..." Potts said, getting a far off look. He actually shook his head to bring him back to the time and place. "So, this Meredith fellow gotta little handsy with your lady fair Ainsley, you went and gave him the what for mano a mano and ended up in Dutch with the Bajorans. Do I follow?"

"Right," Farrell said slowly. His eyes flicked to the wallchrono. There was no wallchrono. Potts' office lacked a chrono. It was the office that time forgot. Sweet Mercy.

"I asked you what Meredith did to you," Potts reminded Mason, narrowing his gaze at him. "And you told me what he did to Ensign Chambers. Do you follow?"

The legitimate question snapped Farrell back. "Absolutely," he said, fumbling to slot back into his groove. What was the question? Damn, it was hot in Potts' office.

"I find Ensign Chambers perfectly capable of taking care of herself," Potts remarked. "Do you happen to know how she handled it? The attempted seduction?"

"She--" Farrell paused a moment, gathering himself and thinking about the night in question. "She came and told me. She turned the guy down, and then came and told me what happened."

"She told you so you could take care of it?" Potts asked with a tilt of his head. "Or was the matter settled as far as she was concerned?" Potts was genuinely concerned himself. Ainsley soliciting her boyfriend to commit violence against someone was extremely inappropriate for any Starfleet officer and utterly inexcusable for a counselor. It could end her career.

Farrell looked down. "She just wanted me to know, and wanted to know that it hadn't changed anything between us. The rest was all me. I'll admit that."

Potts was nodding and looking at his PADD, not at Farrell. "You're not lying to me, are you?" he asked, his eyes rising to Mason right at the question mark.

Farrell chuckled. "No."

"Lieutenant Sam seems to think you have a bit of trouble with honesty," Potts said, looking back down at the report. He twisted his head to one side and Farrell could have sworn he heard a tick like the one Sam had displayed in his office. It almost made him jump out of his chair. "An item of note regarding Ensign Mason Farrell. During the meeting with the ensign, it became quite clear that he is highly skilled at deception. He showed no qualms in his efforts to deceive me during the interview until I pressed him with the penalties of such action." Potts read it all in a reasonably good imitation of the android's voice.

"Well, there's no real way to respond to that, now is there?" Farrell said frankly. "Sam's in a position of authority over me, and I've pretty well got to go with what he says. Right or wrong."

"But you did lie to him," Potts pointed out. "He asked you about your actions on Bajor and you did tell a lie. Correct?"

"Yeah, I did," Farrell nodded resignedly.

"Why?"

"Because on some level, the punch was just part of the conversation. I didn't consider it part of the fight. Just a punctuation mark."

"Punctuation marks usually come at the end of a sentence," Potts said, snorting laughter.

"I suppose you're right," Farrell laughed along, tentatively at first, but then genuinely.

"Oh, Mister Farrell," Potts sighed, his mirth wobbling to a stop like a spun top. "I don't think you're angry at all."

"You have never been so right," Farrell grinned. "Mind signing it off?"

"You have a whole other animal," Potts diagnosed, ignoring the flippant request. He looked down at his PADD again. "There was your plan on Risa with the Ferengi. A certain incident involving computer simulations in the Academy. And there was that little situation back on Starbase 242. Not necessarily the acts of an angry man but certainly indicative of a self-destructive impulse control problem."

Farrell's lingering laughter faded completely to a flat look at Potts. "Why does everyone keep calling this impulse control trouble?"

"Maybe everyone is on to something," Potts noted, his eyes twinkling. "If it helps at all, I do think your problem is laced with a fair amount of narcissism."

"Narci--" Farrell looked away and bit the word off. "What do you mean?" he asked, recomposed.

"Well, let's take a close look at everything," Potts said, warming to the chance to analyze. "You make inappropriate plans based on impulse and even when they take minutes or hours or days to unfold, you stick by them. You're highly intelligent, Mister Farrell...more so than most even. Is it possible you don't rethink your plans because you're firmly convinced of their utter superiority?"

"Do they work?" Farrell shrugged.

"Ah!" Potts exclaimed, genuinely excited. "Do they? Your involvement with the Ferengi Malthus eventually got the both of you shot and two other crewmembers killed. It is also what firmly earned you the initial ire of our lovely Executive Officer, no?"

"If Commander Lyrr hadn't straightjacketed me with Lieuten--"

"And was having the pleasure of sitting here with me all part of the most recent Master Plan, Mister Farrell?" Potts interrupted. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the young officer with a fair amount of sympathy. "May I ask what Ensign Chambers thought about your assault of Professor Meredith?"

"She wasn't happy," Farrell shook his head at the subject jump. This was like shooting skeet. With a BB gun. "Look, I admit it. It was a bad plan. It didn't work. I'm a fool, and my plan was foolish. There it is. Fine."

Potts continued to lean back in his chair, scrutinizing the young Operations officer to a point that Mason began to feel even more uncomfortable. Just when Farrell was about to ask a question of his own, Potts showed his uncanny timing by saying, "I'm not sure it'll be my place to help you with this, Mister Farrell."

Open-mouthed, Farrell glanced aside for the imager he was now almost certain had to be concealed somewhere in the room. "Come again?" he asked, cautious.

"You were sent to me for anger management," Potts pointed out. "Until I'm convinced that you're capable of handling your problems without turning to violence. Sure, I can run you through the program and teach you to count to ten but I'm already convinced that you can handle your problems without first turning to violence. You have a much more deep seated problem that you'll have to work out in intensive counseling. Have you seen Ensign F'Zal yet?"

"Tomorrow," Farrell said. "I start with him tomorrow. What happened to eighteen--" he trailed off. "You're signing me off?"

"Eighteen?" Potts said, cocking his head quizzically. He looked completely mystified.

"Months?"

"Ah, yes. Eighteen months," Potts confirmed before his face screwed back into a question mark. "For?"

Farrell watched Potts wryly for a moment. "You," he waved a hand. "Nevermind."

Potts shook his head as if to clear it. "Well, in any case I can't sign you off just yet. I'll have to present the facts to Lieutenant Scott and Ensign F'Zal so we can make a few decisions about your course of treatment. And there will be the unpleasantness of informing those folks with the nice red collars that they've misidentified your problem. They might disagree."

Farrell chuckled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Something amuses you, Mister Farrell?" Potts asked, sounding almost amused himself.

"No, sir," Farrell composed himself with a smile. "I'm just. . .it's nothing. I had one of those half-formed thoughts that seem funny but really aren't. It's nothing."

"Ah," Potts nodded in understanding. Nearly all of his thoughts were like that. "For what it's worth, my recommendation is going to be a therapeutic course focusing on impulse control and some of your other more charming behaviors. It may extend your required counseling beyond the six weeks mandated by your punishment but you shouldn't have to attend anger management sessions. It should all balance out."

"That sounds fair, sir."

"Well then away with you." Potts hopped out of his chair and shooed Farrell out of his own and towards the door. "I'll let you know when the decisions have been made," he added cheerfully to the Operations officer.

"Sir," Farrell said automatically as he was ushered to and through the door. "It's been a pleasure."

"The pleasure has been all mi --" Potts said before his high-pitched voice was silenced by duranium.

Farrell stood outside the door for a while after that, wondering. That was one odd duck. Eccentricities aside, however, he'd been analytical and pleasant at the same time. Ainsley had been right, he was something, but it was a good something. And the half-Deltan had kept Farrell off balance, which was damn tough to do. He'd gone into the visit in full game-mode, and Potts had defused and deflected it right from the start. The phrase came to him, then; his grandfather had used it before: Crazy like a fox.

Farrell smiled to himself. Crazy like a fox.

"The Corner Pocket"
By: Lt. Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
Lt. (jg) Arthas Hex - Asst. Chief of Security

Location: Holodeck 1, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.06 17h15

***

Benedict stood back and leaned on the cue stick. The pool club was a common program in the holodeck archives and Arthas Hex and Benedict T'Kal had it to themselves. The table was set out in a large wood floored room with high rafters and dim lighting. A bar ran along the length of one side, polished wood and a long mirror with shelves and bottles and a friendly old bar keeper in an apron and a handle-bar moustache.

Ben looked pensive. He was mulling over things in his mind and was a little withdrawn. He'd asked Arthas to join him for a little off-time - the Trill officer was shaping up to be a friend as well as a good assistant chief. Benedict respected his abilities and his insights. It was the first time that he'd gotten to know a Trill - especially a joined one, and he had to admit it wasn't as strange as he'd thought it would be. "Your shot," he smiled as Arthas surveyed the table.

The balls were scattered and the Trill officer was on the 'smalls' - he had to hit the white ball into the coloured balls, making sure that he only hit balls with smaller circles with numbers rather than the larger circles with the numbers. He moved to consider the angles as Benedict sat on a stool. The Security Chief lifted a frothy ale and sipped. "Arthas." His tone told the Trill that he was about to say something important. The low light over the table cast a yellowed glow across the Trill as he leaned on the table rim. "I can trust your discretion...can I ask you something?"

Arthas placed the drink on the table and looked back up at Ben, his face as serious as Ben's voice. "Of course, Ben, anytime."

"You've been in a few relationships right?" Benedict sat with his ale glass between his fingers. "I mean - your symbionts and you - have some experience on both sides of the fence yes?"

I'm guessing you have, right? Arthas asked his symbiont automatically.

A chorus of, 'Yes, of course's, replied him and without a second having passed he nodded, "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

Benedict sighed, looking back at his friend he took a long pull of the beer. Arthas was right it did hit the spot...all jokes aside. "I need your opinion on something - and I need to know that it won't go further than you and I."

Arthas nodded again. "I'm not much of a gossip, I promise you."

"I've been seeing Lyrr..." He let it hang in space for a minute. "Socially...and I think I love her...and she loves me." He watched the Trill for his reaction.

Arthas' eyebrows raised at the mention of Lyrr; there had been rumours but nothing concrete, until now. However, when Ben said 'love her' Arthas felt for him. He knew exactly how he felt, he had the same with Cecily.

It's not exactly the same though is it? asked a disgusted Gredala.

What the hell's got into you? Clavain's voice replied, seemingly close to laughing.

Relationships between the ranks. Lieutenant T'Kal should know better, never mind Commander Lyrr, Gredala replied.

Hang on, hang on, Craz's youthful voice replied. I've been involved with a lower officer, Arthas here is involved with a younger officer, there's no rule.

I protested to you when you met that 'Geisha', Gredala spat back. And as for Arthas, I've been keeping quiet because we are new to him, but I certainly don't approve. And there should be a rule. Especially for older, more experienced officers.

Arthas, who had been listening all the while, took on the appearance of concentrating very hard. Although he had not meant it, he hadn't replied to Benedict yet.

Ben waited. Arthas was obviously listening to his symbionts, he'd learned to recognise that far-away look. He waited patiently until a consensus could be reached. He sipped on his beer.

Look, you lot can have your argument between yourselves. I'm not very experienced when it comes to relationships, I'm in my first serious one now. I, uh, think? Arthas asked his symbiont.

Well, why don't we invite Benedict into this conversation? the cool, commanding voice of Ashly spoke up.

Um, how? Arthas asked.

Clavain sighed, How about telling him what we say so he can reply? Idiot.

Ignoring Clavain, Arthas looked up and realised that he hadn't simply been communicating for seconds but it had in fact been more than a minute.

"Ben," Arthas said, looking around dazed. "I'm sorry. How long was I silent?"

He grinned. "Long enough to let your beer go flat!" He shook his head. "Do you go through that every time you have a choice to make?" he laughed softly. "Body rule by consensus...."

"No, I don't usually do that." Arthas shook his head. "I apologise. My symbiont thinks it would be fine if we just had a normal conversation about this. Well, normal as in I talk for five people. But let me put my experience in."

He potted a ball and moved around the table.

"I've never been in a serious relationship before a few weeks ago," Arthas began. "But I have recently been seeing Cecily Torsten from Command and I now fully understand what I believe to be love. What you must have been asking yourself a lot is whether you really believe that you love Commander Lyrr. Any conclusions?"

He missed his next strike and indicated that it was Ben's turn.

Benedict stood and hefted the wooden cue, absently twirling it between his fingers so that it blurred with speed before he snapped it to a stop level with the table top. "I feel like I do...I mean I've been in relationships before - I was married once and engaged - my fianc�e was killed five years ago. I've had a couple of very short relationships since - nothing that really hit me the way Lyrr seems to have." He looked up at Arthas as the Trill sipped his beer. "Trouble is - I've never had feelings like this for someone in Lyrr's position...she's my commanding officer." He looked away as he sighted along the cue. "We talked a couple days ago." He took a shot and his ball went bouncing around the table, doing nothing but re-arranging the position of several balls.

"She's got doubts about whether what we're getting into is the right thing to do." He stood back and rested on the cue. "So do I, Arthas. I thought it didn't matter. But seeing her...talking to her about it.. I don't know any more. Storm's service kinda put things in perspective. Seeing Moreau...what it's done to her." He looked up at the Trill. "I don't know what would happen to either of us if that was one of us in that coffin - and in my position, I can't afford to go to pieces at Tactical - and as for Lyrr - hell if she fell apart she could get everyone killed." Thinking about it was one thing - actually voicing his greatest fear was another. He looked up at the Trill in the hopes that he could say that Lyrr was capable - or that even he was - but he couldn't tell the Trill about Lyrr's state of mind. That she was as fragile as the glass sculpture she kept in her quarters.

Let me talk, Arthas, a very stern voice startled Arthas, almost so much so that he jumped. He had never heard Clavain communicate to him so seriously

Arthas looked up at Ben and said, "Ben, Clavain wishes to speak to you, so I'm just going to repeat everything he says, ok?"

Benedict nodded.

Arthas concentrated and repeated each and every word, trying to get the same feeling and sound that Clavain gave. "Benedict. When I was very young I was a pilot of a Trill starship, the biggest of the few ships Trill has produced. I was about 22 years old, and it was before I had Hex, and my superior officer, 3rd in command she was, and I got on really well. We would bicker amongst ourselves on the bridge, as close as we dared to flirtation. But soon enough it became much more than that."

Benedict sipped his beer, listening to the symbiont's story.

For once, the Hex symbiont was extremely quiet inside of Arthas, it was obvious that the other previous hosts had never heard of Clavain being an officer on a Trill ship let alone this relationship. Clavain continued, and Arthas repeated as best he could.

"We both played protania, a sport of strategic prowess, and this one time in my room with my bunkmate sleeping, we touched hands accidentally and there was just something there. We began to undress each other feverishly, our mouths connected and then my bunkmate stirred," Arthas said, feeling awkward as he continued. "She was horrified and ran out of the room, pulling her shirt back on as she ran. We avoided each other for a long time and when we eventually spoke again she admitted that she felt the same way about me but she was reluctant to continue any relationship as, like with Starfleet, relationships between the ranks was frowned upon greatly."

Benedict held his tongue. Relationships in Starfleet weren't that frowned upon.

"Well, we talked for most of the night and she convinced me that we shouldn't see each other again. I couldn't take seeing her everyday and not being able to kiss her, hold her and touch her so I dropped out of the fleet and joined the symbiont committee." Clavain's voice shook within Arthas as he said, "The ship was destroyed by marauders a few weeks later, with all hands lost."

Clavain stopped talking, and Arthas stood there letting the moment hang.

"Are you saying - go with it because tomorrow we die? or are you saying don't go with it because it might bring pain?" Benedict asked confused. "Straight answers would be appreciated - I have little need for riddles, Clavain. Is there a woman's perspective in there somewhere?" he asked Arthas.

"I hadn't finished, human," Arthas blankly said, even though Clavain's voice shook within him, only now with fury. "My advice is simple, I regretted every single moment I wasn't with Stephanie, as soon as I left that starship and if I had died with her on that starship I would have died an extremely happy man."

"Ahhh okay - that's a little clearer," Benedict grinned. "No offence meant, Clavain - but that's the kind of thing I'm looking for - short answers."

Arthas smiled; he didn't like the idea of having his superior officer and a part of himself angry with each other. Turning around he potted another ball on the table, meaning he now only had the black to pot whereas Benedict had three more balls.

"Well, I'm pretty sure Gredala would like to speak to you," Arthas said, teeing up for the black and missing the difficult shot. "Your shot," he said.

Gredala said inside of Arthas, Sure, I'll talk to him.

Benedict nodded. He stepped up to the table. "Okay, what advice can a Flag officer give me?" He knew Rear Admiral Gredala Hex from his advanced tactical staff courses at the Academy. Brilliant tactician and a life-long space faring officer - he had to remember that. Hex had some heavy weight slug inside of him.

Arthas frowned as he knew what he was about to say was going to be very harsh indeed. "Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal you should be ashamed of yourself for even contemplating having a relationship with your commanding officer. You are very correct that any possible relationship with Commander Lyrr would be disastrous for the ship and that it would send out a terrible example to the rest of the crew."

"Okay," Benedict nodded. "I can accept that opinion."

Arthas shot Ben a look that said, 'Sorry about this', but Gredala hadn't finished yet. "I married a wonderful man, but I couldn't have had him on my starship, as much as I would care for my crew I would always pick somebody else for the dangerous mission. Commander Lyrr appears to be a delightful woman who is very good with her discipline. She may be attracted to you but neither of you should pursue it. If you can't keep away from her you should transfer off the ship as soon as possible."

Benedict sighed. "Unless you failed to notice, Admiral, we're in another Quadrant."

There was an argument brewing within Arthas and Arthas decided to commentate for Ben's. "Uh, this is Clavain again he's saying: 'And live a life of what ifs?' Gredala: 'Yes, for the good of Starfleet and his crew. Yes he should.' "

Arthas shook his head at this. "Nobody on the Sulu would expect either Ben or Commander Lyrr to deny themselves what they want, and I know for sure neither of them would put the ship in danger."

Benedict shook his head. "You know, Arthas - thanks for the vote of confidence. But I'm siding with the Admiral." He walked around the table. "I just needed to hear someone else say it. Coming from a Rear Admiral - I think I can take it as Written By The Prophets." He leaned on his cue and considered Arthas Hex. "It's my duty to face danger - that's my job. I can't accept failure, Arthas. If Commander Lyrr fails to send me into harm's way because she loves me - and someone gets killed - or the ship gets hit.... Captain Salinger has to wear our failure. I love the woman...and she loves me...but duty always comes first. It has to." He gave Arthas a sad smile. "Thanks, Admiral. Your opinion is noted."

Arthas frowned. "Ben, duty will always come first for everyone. You're going to take the advice of a rear-admiral that died 100 years ago. Her days have gone, Ben. If you love her you have to give it a go. I don't know how I could stay away from Cecily."

Arthas potted the black ball and smiled for a moment at the victory. The smile faded as he stood back up to his drink, looking at his superior and shaking his head "Gods, I'd hate to be in your shoes right now."

"Cecily isn't the XO, Arthas." Benedict shook his head. "If she was only someone else...any position other than my superior officer I'd not even think about that...but she is." He sat heavily on the stool. "She loves me...and she can't break it off, Arthas. She told me she couldn't handle it. I don't want to break it off either. I don't want to, but I have to." He took a long swallow of his ale. "She'll hate me, Arthas. I can't see anything but more pain - I don't even want to think about it. What the hell am I going to do?"

Arthas downed his beer and whistled. "You're going to get me another drink, uh, sir."

"Yeah..." Benedict said softly. "I guess the rest is up to me." He went to get more drinks.

"The Only Second Chance We Get Is The Chance To Make The Same Mistake Twice"
By Lt. Cmdr Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer
Lt. Brennyn Scott - Nurse / Chief Counsellor
Ensign Raina Derrell - Medical Officer
Ensign Kremer - Medical Officer
Ensign Amy Reese - Nurse
Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse
Ensign Annikafiore Szerda [NPC] - Nurse
and Corran Quezith - Civilian Medical Trainee

Location: USS Sulu, Holodeck 4
Stardate: 57908.06, 23h00

***

Everyone ached. The first day of the medical staff's team-building experiment had been physically, emotionally and intellectually exhausting, and they hadn't even attempted any of the team-building exercises that Damhnait had designed to dominate the following day. Fortunately, as far as Damhnait knew (with the telepathic help of Corran and Cristobel), none of the staff had been talking about any other member of the medical staff behind his or her back. Many of them had gossiped about crew members in other departments, but they managed to refrain from gossiping about their immediate co-workers. It was...a start.

With the medical staff sitting around a crackling campfire, Damhnait handed a box around the circle. Although some of the Terrans had been hoping for marshmallows, Damhnait quickly dismissed those things as being devoid of any nutritional value. "What you'll find are lugn blossoms - edible flowers with a sweet and sappy core," Damhnait explained of the treat to be toasted. After a moment of thought on her description, she good-naturedly added, "Kind of like Amy."

Amy wrinkled her nose at that, and gazed up inquisitively. "The edible part...or the sweet one?"

"I'd say the sweet one, it suits your personality," Kremer piped in, looking at the confused Terran with a smile. He looked back down at the box filled with lugn blossoms. He found it unusual that other species chose to eat what could otherwise be used as some sort of decor. Plucking a blossom from the box he continued to pass the box around.

Raina was exhausted before this campout started, since the incident in sickbay. Now their recent activities only added to that. The rock climb had been interesting but the vantage point from the top had been unbelievable. Listening to the various campfire conversations was good enough for her right now. Dr Sefton's intentions were good but from what Raina had seen so far, getting all of the medical personnel to be a cohesive unit was going to be more than a challenge. Content to roast their lugn blossom.

"I say," Amy mumbled around a mouthful of lugn, "we all take a dunk in the lake after. I mean, I'm all sticky and sweaty after that treasure hunt." She snorted. "Who knew a holographic changeling would be so hard to find!"

Cristobel, meanwhile, was content to silently let his lugn blossom burn, until he felt a sharpness on his palm - a jagged edge of the branch he used to toast the blossom would have cut him, had it not been for the holodeck safeties. Cris hadn't felt much like talking since the rock-climbing, which had placed him physically attached by a rope between Amy, who ignored his existence, and Corran, who grew more and more distasteful of Amy's existence. Of course, Cris still retained his foul mood from Ethan's death and everything that had happened with Amy because of the message to Potts.

Corran shrugged his shoulders openly as he ate his flower. There was a time when he might have jumped at the idea, but he just didn't feel like swimming. Then again, he hadn't even wanted to camp to begin with, but had been convinced solidly by Damnhait that this was a 'golden opportunity.' He glanced over to Cristobel and smirked curiously before saying anything. "We reek of alienness. I'm for showering at the very least."

All Cris could do was smile back weakly in confusion. Corran hadn't been quite as civil in telepathically sharing his negative opinion of Amy's babblings and exclamations when they'd been scaling the rock-face. He supposed it might have just been the stress of that situation. Cris' smile fell away when he repositioned himself on the log he was sitting on, and ended up sitting right on a damp spot.

Brennyn looked at Amy as she continued to munch on her campfire treat. Like many people, she hadn't felt like roughing it on the holodeck, but as a counselor she knew the importance of team-building, so she needed to be a good sport. To her surprise, she was actually enjoying this little adventure, even if it was on the holodeck. Growing up on the Breedlove, her parents wouldn't let her do anything like this by herself and as usual, they were too busy to ever do anything like this with her. "I'll go swimming with you, Amy. My muscles could use the relief after trying to put the tents together today." She rolled her eyes. "I think I finally figured it out."

Her muscles were sore and she was still more than a bit mentally exhausted. A swim sounded nice but Raina wasn't sure she'd make it without falling asleep first. Not really in a social mood lately. Too much unexpected had happened and it wasn't stuff she could easily deal with in a few hours, or a day.

"The lake's water is cold and the bottom is slimy," Cristobel grumped. Going camping, which Cris had never done before, wasn't nearly the great fun that Corran had once made it out to be. Cristobel sneezed - reacting poorly to the pollen replicated for this particular holoprogram.

"Oh, it is not," Amy chided harshly. Still watching him, she tore another mouthful from the blossom and munched on it happily. "So...who knows a good campfire song?" she asked.

It's a lot funner when you know the people you're with, a lot better, hun. Corran pathed the message over to Cristobel and smiled at him, sending images of what they could be doing if this had just been a camping trip with the two of them, or in the company of friends. He then projected the image of bathing under a waterfall, which is what he had in mind now. Or was he thirsty? He looked around himself for his canteen.

Corran looked at Amy and shrugged his shoulders. The only campfire songs he knew were in any other language than Federation Standard. He looked at the rest of the team, hearing disparate songs forming in their heads. He grimaced, hoping they sung better than they thought, which brought him to distracting his senses with other things...where was his canteen?!

Pulling out his own slim canteen, which was strapped to his boot and got stuck before he pulled it completely free, Cristobel nudged it against Corran's side. You can share mine, Cris offered. Before Corran took the container, Cris sheepishly admitted, I added some sjo flavour to the water, because that new flower in your quarters kind of smells like a sjo fruit.

"We could sing Across the Quad," Crewman Tynann Taylforth suggested cheerily. "I reckon that's more of an Academy pub song than a campfire song, but..."

"I feel," -- Annikafiore Szerda chose her words with great care, since Damhnait was sitting across from her -- "that Across the Quad was the most brainless, unmelodic song I ever came across at Starfleet Academy. I would make a suggestion of my own, instead of merely providing criticism (as accurate as it may or may not be), but all of the campfire songs I know are in Swedish, and wouldn't rhyme even with the efforts of a hyperactive Universal Translator."

Kremer munched on his roasted lugn blossom and found the taste to be quite enjoyable. His pointed ears perked the minute he heard Szerda speak up. "Oh and my dear crewman, what would you consider melodic? Perhaps one of your Swedish songs hmm? I'd suggest something myself, but lest us forget Caitians cannot carry a tune, as the Terrans would put it: 'It sounds like you're beating a baby with a cat!' " Popping the rest of his blossom Kremer then remarked, "But who I'm kidding? Judging from your singing in Sickbay to yourself, you most likely have more trouble carrying a tune than myself in the native terran language."

"I feel like you are applying judgements to my abilities based on judgements of unrelated aspects of my personality. I also feel that your opinion of me is worthless, since we don't socialise and we only worked during the same shift for a short period of time," Annikafiore responded, still careful with her diction, but allowing some acid into her tone.

Corran gulped before he took the offered canteen from Cristobel and started drinking from it. It was a pity he hadn't said 'it has alcohol,' for that might soothe his senses considerably! He smirked to himself as he simply sipped from the container, wishing for once that this had been a natural environment so he could lose himself in the mind of a bird or some other creature.

Are they always like this? he asked Cristobel, following having flashed a very brief image of something he was making in the arboretum's lab for him.

Always. That's the whole point of this trip. To make it stop, Cris replied to Corran.

Frowning at Szerda's lack of manners, yet not eager to receive a tongue lashing by the CMO for snapping at Szerda, Amy broke into an off-key tune sung at the top of her lungs. She still glared at Szerda.

Damhnait held her tongue. But only long enough to telepathically hear, from Amy's head, how the song was supposed to sound, and then began singing along mostly on-key. She wasn't about to interfere with personal conflicts that were occurring openly, since she had given everyone permission to speak freely, and knew that silencing them would only force them to return to secretive gossiping form.

'The hills are alive, with the sound of music...' No, wait a minute, that's not what they were singing! Corran pushed the stray thought coming from god knew who on the Sulu and tried to tune in with Damnhait. Unfortunately, he wasn't nearly as tuned as she, and possibly worse than Amy.

After a while Raina was sick of it. Personal conflicts were what started the whole mess to begin with. Honestly she was tired of the cat fights. Her dull headache had turned to something more severe. Finally enough was more than enough and Ensign Derrell got up from the campfire and walked away. She didn't make a big scene but she wasn't going to sit there any longer and just listen to them bicker over stupid things.

Since most of the medical officers had joined in on the singing, Damhnait lowered her voice, backed away from the campfire, and then stopped singing altogether. She went after Derrell, to speak with her in hushed tones. "Further isolating yourself from the staff will not solve anything, Raina. If something is upsetting you, you must confront it, or nothing will change when we all return to Sickbay."

"I didn't come on this trip to listen to their cat fights," Raina commented with sincerity yet it also appeared something else was distracting her. Isolating herself further from the staff wasn't the reason she walked away from the campfire. It was difficult to focus with her head hurting.

"Tell them that. Don't leave it up to inference," Damhnait urged her, as she palmed a hypospray from a pouch on her hot-weather uniform. Proffering the hypo to Derrell, the Betazoid doctor said softly, "For the headache."

Raina accepted the hypo and placed it against her neck. "Thank you." Silent for a moment: "We've seen how well they try and listen or ignore what's being said."

"They're all Starfleet officers," was the explanation Damhnait gave. "They can change, or they won't be on the ship for much longer, but they'll never change without being given the time and opportunity to do so."

Honestly Raina wanted to believe that. Sure she was fully aware they were all Starfleet officers but if they truly could change then maybe that incident in sickbay wouldn't have happened at all. "I know, Ma'am, and I also think you know what example I'd use to counter that. Medical is a walking time bomb as far as I'm concerned right now. Professionals certainly aren't acting that way." Being diplomatic was more than a bit difficult. "Perhaps I should go join the others because that is what this trip was about and I've tried but I can't keep doing that only to be rejected because when it really counts my job comes first."

Slowly leading Raina back towards the group around the fire, Damhnait asked, "Do you really think you'll be able to perform your duty in Sickbay if you can't develop trust with your fellow officers? I'm certainly not suggesting that you instantly forgive, but you need to find a way to work with them."

"No I don't but I'd also say this works both ways. From the moment I set foot on this ship my only intention was to be part of the team and trust those I work with. Instead I've so far been handed with a more difficult transition than intended and I'm not sure they quite understand what they undermined by doing what they did," Raina commented quietly. "All I wanted to do was help a fellow crewmate."

"Alas, they're all individuals. Not all of them offended you, and for those that did, you'll have to gain trust with each of them uniquely," Damhnait whispered to Raina, and then parted to return to her own spot in the circle by Cris' side.

Promptly after the medical officers finished singing their campfire song, Kremer remarked, "It sounds as if my singing has improved from beating a baby to beating a harp with a dead cat." Off of the perplexed looks towards him, Kremer admitted, "Alright, bad joke."

His sour mood intensified by all of the off-key chanting, Cristobel venomously stated, "Kremer, you don't have to say that your joke is bad. We all already know that your joke is bad."

"Oh for crying out loud. Why don't all of you just take phasers and take a shot at each other. The jumbled thoughts you all have about how sour you all are is both a waste of time for each and everyone of you as well as for those of us not involved!" Corran's eyes had shifted to an icy blue after having been affected by Cristobel's mood-swing to throw him over as well. He couldn't believe these people were so unhappy.

He hopped up to his feet and looked at them uneasily, his anger dissipating into insecurity. "I don't know most of you, but if I were a patient walking into your sickbay, I sure as hell wouldn't wanna be treated. What's going on!? Why are you all so...tense?" He sounded desperate enough, and he hoped they'd let it all out! Damnhait wanted it, and he could see why now. It might cost him getting along with them, but at this rate maybe hiding out in the arboretum 'wasn't' such a bad idea.

"Responses anyone?" asked Bree casually. Her eyes swept over Raina's as she did so. She wasn't trying to put Derrell on the spot, but she also knew that Raina, as well as the others, needed to work out their differences out in the open.

As she expected, there were no immediate takers. "Well ok," Scott replied agreeably, "I guess I'll start." She folded her arms and allowed her eyes to sweep the ground and then look up again in disappointment. "Since I've been aboard, I've heard nothing but gossip from the nursing staff. I've listened quietly as you've talked about Amy and Kit, and T'Kal... And what I wanna know is, what makes a good target? How do you all decide whom to humiliate? Hmm? Are there criteria or what? Because I'd really like to know."

Her tone was carefully neutral, but if one looked closely, one could see the anger. At the very least she wanted to get a dialogue going. This happy family facade was crap. And it was skirting the real issues.

"Falsely presenting oneself as infallible," Annikafiore quickly answered in a clear, flat tone. "It's not a group decision, as you suggest, but that is what tends to incite me. T'Kal's entire manner, with an officer I've spoken to, has always reeked of condescension. Amy and Kit talk about having a perfect relationship, while Amy still can hardly control her wandering eye...amongst other body parts." Slower, to punctuate every word, Annikafiore repeated, "Falsely presenting oneself as infallible."'

"I never said I was infallible," Amy protested. "And I never said it was perfect!" She pouted at Annika, then petulantly turned her head away. "Besides...we were talking about Lieutenant T'Kal." Amy giggled, then, and scooted to the edge of the log, leaning forward in preparation for a tidbit of juicy gossip regarding T'Kal and a certain Commander. Dr. Sefton immediately fixed her with a menacing glare and Amy backed down. Sefton was obviously familiar with the mischievous gleam that developed in her eye when Amy had the urge to spread a rumour.

Few races have perfect relationships for they are races that can tolerate such boredom. Corran pathed the message to all of them as he walked around the campfire and tossed a twig into it. Some shifted uncomfortably in response to the disconcerting and disorienting invasion; others looked truly momentarily startled. Corran looked at Damnhait with a smirk, and then sat down again, reverting to verbalizing his thoughts. "Rumors tend to be fun for most people; it's just when they get out of the private little circle that they become dangerous, especially if the people involved aren't conscious of their own duty to reason out what the truth must be, or get it directly from the source. It's also everyone's duty to step on and stop rumors where they're ugly and untrue, or at least, that's what I've learned of the Federation's social structure..."

And boy do I wish we had the perfect relationship. Corran sent that message to Cristobel only, reaching over to him to grab onto his hand reassuringly. They had their ups and downs, their interests, their disagreements, and maybe it wasn't perfect, but they tried to reach perfection by adjusting accordingly without really compromising the other's lifestyle... He preferred not to dabble in Amy's 'social life', and he'd decided to avoid her when he'd returned from Achicar based solely on her uncontrolled libido.

Raina sat there and listened to them air their grievances. Until this point she'd remained quiet. "I think this staff needs to grow up. None of us is infallible. But there is a place and time for personal conversations. We have to be able to work as a team. So far I've seen everything but that. Trust isn't something to take lightly." She paused before continuing, "I don't care what happens outside of sickbay - if we get along off duty or not, but when we walk through those doors we hold the keys to life or death in our hands. We should be able to work as one cohesive unit without hurting each other emotionally or physically."

"You're right," Saffron Pakarinen softly agreed.

"But how do we do that? How do we work as a team when you walk away from the circle?" Annikafiore Szerda demanded of Raina. "I am not about to simply turn off my personality or pretend I don't have a personal life when I walk into Sickbay. It's my job to interact with patients, and I can't do that unless I am purely myself."

"And if we can't be ourselves," Amy piped up, actually agreeing with Szerda and hating it, "then we don't belong in the sickbay because we'd be miserable, and cranky, and all resentful...." She sighed heavily. "That would be no fun at all!"

Raina was doing her best not to just blow up at those who'd caused her so much pain. "Neither am I. But when things go beyond good taste and turn hurtful then its not in my job description to ignore my emotions either. There's only so long I can be the consummate professional when the work place erupts into a sea of lies. If you want to earn my trust, want me to interact as myself then what's happened so far isn't a way for that to happen."

"I never asked you to change your behaviour, and I am sorry for what I was the cause of, but there was no lie involved with what happened to you," Annikafiore Szerda said. Her tone was firm, but there wasn't any anger in it. "As I explained to Commanders Sefton and Lyrr, all I did was confer with colleagues about a suspicion. I honestly thought you could be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, from the way you freely spoke of your captivity. I admit, the social forum I used was highly inappropriate. I allowed personal discomfort with you to effect my judgement, and I have been formally reprimanded for that, but there was never any intention for you, or anyone, to be hurt."

"No, there is no lie involved in what happened to me but contorting the truth around it and doing so in that manner was wrong. You say all you did with colleagues was confer a suspicion, yet no one asked me directly. I heard a distorted version during a time that I was supposed to be doing my job. No one thought it appropriate to ask if what they'd heard was true or simply an example, instead they just jumped to wild conclusions. The fact that I can talk about it at all hasn't come easily. Those experiences left a mark I hope no one else has to ever become acquainted with." Raina wondered just where that type of belief started in the first place.

"If you were suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, you wouldn't know it. That's what makes it insidious. And, I don't know, maybe I'm just a ditzy, big-mouthed nurse, but I've always found that, in medicine, sometimes you have to jump to wild conclusions before you can prove said conclusions, for the sake of your patient," Szerda affirmed. "For the rest, I am still sorry for causing you such pain."

Amy appeared indignant and jammed both fists into her hips. "And what about me!" she asked, her voice peaking to a shrill pitch. "You've never apologized to me, and you've caused me more pain than you know."

"Did you hyperventilate into unconsciousness? No, you turned around and told everyone that I fellate the entire Gamma Engineering staff, and that you were going to tear my hair out if we were ever alone in a turbolift," Annika dismissively hissed at Amy.

Amy shrugged, and smiled proudly. "But it's the truth at least, isn't it?"

When it looked as if Annikafiore might slap Amy, Cristobel jumped to his feet to wryly declare, "Well, now, hasn't this been productive?" He gave small pointed looks to the instigators, Brennyn, Corran, and, of course, his mother.

Bree caught the look, but did not take it personally. No one enjoyed conflict and it was not unusual for people to react to it by simply refusing to confront it. "As opposed to not talking about it? How's that working for us?" asked Bree rhetorically. She met the gaze of each person in the circle before continuing. "I think the thing we're missing is that it isn't about the accuracy or the intent behind the things we say, it's about the impact they have on other people. I don't think there's anyone here who actually believes that the gossip as of late was, or will ever be, worth the fall-out."

She found her eyes resting on Szerda. "Stockholm Syndrome, eh? I must say I find your preliminary diagnosis to be most interesting... We'll have to discuss it some other time..." It was telling that none of the nurse's consultants regarding a psychological problem included her or any other counselor that she was aware of.

"What is there to discuss?" Annikafiore asked haughtily. "My suspicion was disproven before I had even a week to make observations to gather tangible evidence to support my purely instinctive theory."

Scoffing, Cristobel ignored the aside to Annika to proclaim, "I will be the champion of speaking out, and will defeat the king of not-talking, but I still don't see us as getting anywhere. Everyone here is still defensive and still non-trusting. And, honestly, we're all adults; we already know that gossip can hurt people. But, to me, it seems like what we don't know is: what is gossip? Where is that line between passing on legitimate second-hand information and 'gossip'? Is there anything wrong with me objectively telling Shyla Moreau precisely what I saw and heard here tonight, or is that gossip? How is that recollection of events different than Annika communicating what she thought she saw and heard in Raina's behaviour, if not in the accuracy and the intent? Does it have to be third- or fourth-hand information for it to become gossip, like when Saffron passed on Annika's thoughts? This situation is considerably more complex than just some naughty nurses who say bad things."

Corran bowed his head in something akin to feeling shame, though it was probably something else. He lifted his eyes to look over at the rest of the circle. "I'm a telepath, that's no news to you, and a lot of you are afraid about what I might find out about you...many are scared to death at the prospect of their privacy or intimacy being uncovered in my mind. I do my best to make it apparent I'm not going to infringe on your privacies, sometimes I stumble, but it's given me the chance to see how fragile a known and intimate truth makes one of you. Someone might be having a love affair with someone, and well, that's their problem to deal with...rumors will modify how that person deals with that situation, but it could be for a lot worse rather than for a lot better. If you, Amy, knew that Cris were about to die in a few months of a vicious illness, it might change how you treated him completely - his wish might be for you to never change, so that he can die a normal person, not someone that was put in an uncomfortable spotlight because of his condition."

Silence settled in for a moment, Corran let everything he'd said digest, and then he finally completed it with: "Sometimes people shouldn't know the truth. That's basically it. For the same reason, there probably should be a major effort to avoid gossip and rumor. If it comes up, ask the parties involved directly, and discreetly."

Considerably more calmer, Cristobel said, "I truly appreciate your point, Corran, but your examples are extremes. Half the gossip in Sickbay usually falls into shades of grey -- passing along information that seems innocent enough at the time and snarls into a viscous life of its own because of faulty communication or emotional stress."

When silence fell upon the circle once again, and eyes were shifting from person to ground to person to ground, Damhnait stood tall and stepped towards the fire. "It is time for lights out," she announced. She didn't yet want to judge what had, and had not, been said tonight. The medical staff was no closer to solving their reputation and interpersonal conflicts, but at least they all had a better understanding of the problems at hand.

Lifting up a jug of water, Damhnait poured it over the campfire. Despite the complete dousing of the massive slow burn of the logs, the embers beneath the fire continued their soft red glow.