"The Early Hours"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lt. Commander Benedict T'Kal

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 04h20

***

The sedative's hold was weakening and consciousness overcoming its influence. Her voice, so hoarse and feeble, sounding so unlike her own, formed a groan while her head lolled sluggishly upon the pillow. Eyelids peeling back and tongue passing over parched lips, Lyrr Tayla awoke to find her dream had not been made manifest. She was still in sickbay, still in moderate pain, and still wearing the uncomfortable medical gown that hardly concealed all that should have been hidden. Sighing with mild irritation, she raised a hand to rub the sleep from her eyes; still clasped to it was a larger, darker-skinned hand whose fingers threaded so neatly through her own. Lyrr smiled slowly, chapped lips cracking but the ensuing pinpricks of pain meaning nothing in the face of Benedict T'Kal, the man who had won her over, hunched over her bedside with his head upon the mattress and eyes closed. Asleep.

A loose string of deep black hair hung over his cheek; disentangling her hand from his, carefully so as not to wake him, she pushed the strand behind his ear. She had no sense of the hour, but from the darkened lights and scant personnel, she guessed it was still very late in the day. Though, when had Ben arrived and fallen asleep at her bedside? Had he stayed the night, simply to watch her sleep? Lyrr derided her own foolishness. He wouldn't have...couldn't have chosen to sleep in such an awkward position just to be with her and not even be certain she would be aware of his presence. But deny it as she might, Lyrr knew it to be certain. He'd stayed with her, just to be by her side when she awoke. Lyrr smiled ruefully. "I didn't deserve that," she whispered, and stroked his hair.

The touch of her hand woke him, and he opened one eye and yawned, as he lifted his head. His back felt cramped. Tayla was awake and she was smiling at him, and he just smiled self-consciously. "Hey...you're awake. How d'you feel?" he whispered tiredly. It was still sometime in Gamma shift so he kept his voice in a near whisper. He took hold of her hand again and kissed it softly.

"I'm still groggy," she answered, or mumbled rather. "Though, I imagine I look far better than you do." She grinned. "How long have you been here?"

He grinned. "Thanks." He ran a hand through his hair. She was right, he needed a shower. "Long enough," he whispered with a smile. "I couldn't sleep." Not that he'd tried to, but it served as an excuse.

"Could've fooled me," she quipped. "Why don't you go to bed? I'm not exactly going anywhere."

"I'm okay." He looked at his wrist chronometer: 0435. "No point sleeping." He looked at her and with his free hand he stroked her cheek as she lay on the pillow. "You slept okay." It wasn't a question.

"They stuck me with those sedatives," she grumbled. "I feel far more tired than I did before I got some sleep."

"I know." He smiled. "I spoke to Ensign Derrell last night." He leaned on the bed, so that they were very close. "The ship is fine, everything is going smoothly...." He rested his chin on their arms. "And I missed you."

She smiled dubiously. "You did? Am I that entertaining, then?"

"You make these little sounds when you sleep...I guess I got used to them." He grinned. "I know you hate sleeping alone."

"You're right." She sighed. "It wouldn't have been prudent of me to wake up in the throes of a nightmare, would it?" All humour vanished, and Lyrr pensively lowered her gaze to their joined hands. "I need to get out of here. Has the doctor said anything?"

"You won't be in here tonight," he assured her with a smile. "You can be restricted to quarters, so I guess sometime today you can come home...but that's on the condition that you stay in bed." He chuckled. "I said I'd post a guard to make sure if they allowed you out. They can't have me not sleeping now can they?" He pressed a finger to her chin.

"No guards," she told him with a challenging smile. "Walking about isn't going to harm me. It'll only do me good." She lowered her lips to the tip of his finger and kissed it gently. "You worry too much," she whispered against it.

"I worry just enough," he whispered. "Walking around will harm you, Love, please do as they say and stay in bed. I won't post guards, but Prophets you can be stubborn and I want you to promise me you'll stay in bed...please. For me?"

Lyrr was nodding before she could even deliberate or decline. It was then she realized she would do most anything Ben asked of her. It was disconcerting. "I'll stay in bed," she promised. "Just for a day, though. I have to get back to work, Ben. The captain needs me."

"A day is all you'll need." He smiled and leaned forward; he had to get out of the chair as he kissed her. For a moment he held his cheek next to hers and felt her warmth. His cheek was a little scratchy and he needed a shave-cloth, but his arm slipped around her for a moment before he sat back down, looking into her eyes. "Do you need anything? I can bring you something from quarters...something to sleep in maybe?" He grinned. "Though I could get used to the backless style...."

"No, you couldn't," she warned with a playful swat to his chest. "I'll ask the nurse for a uniform later in the day. I'll feel more at ease wearing one, and at least I can pretend I'm working instead of lazing away in this biobed." A frown expressed her distaste for such enforced indolence. "You wouldn't, perhaps, concede to sending some reports my way, would you? Just to keep me occupied?"

"Oh I think I can manage that." He grinned. "You're going to have to cover for me if Sefton catches you though...I'm not going up against her!"

Lyrr laughed gently. "What's this? The valiant Benedict T'Kal frightened of a mere doctor? Well, don't worry" --she leaned her head forward towards his to confide-- "I'll protect you."

"You'd better do as she says." He grinned. "She's no mere doctor...." He held on to her hands and pulled them against his cheek. Gazing into her eyes he smiled; he missed curling up against her in the early hours of the morning and he felt the separation keenly. "Pity the beds aren't big enough for two," he whispered.

"That's because they don't wish to encourage certain activities that could overexert a recuperating patient." She smiled suggestively while trailing a finger along his strong jawline.

"Right," he drawled. "I knew there'd be a reason." He held her eyes for a moment. "You should really try to sleep some more."

Lyrr sighed, all signs of humour fading in the face of Ben's gravity. "Alright...I'll close my eyes, but I'm not making any promises." Settling into a comfortable sleeping position, she glanced aside at Ben one final time. "You're leaving?"

"No," he smiled, and settled himself more comfortably, one hand holding her arm.

Her own smile returned, skeptically at first, then fully. "Thanks," she whispered and following a lingering, tender gaze she closed her eyes. What further validation of his love did she require? Lyrr couldn't see what else he could possibly offer, yet still there remained a single doubt. She hoped, when next she awoke and he was still by her side, not even that small uncertainty would continue to plague her.

He watched her eyes close, the smile still there for a few minutes. He grinned when she opened her eye for a moment and quickly closed it as she settled into the pillows and curled around his arm. He sat next to the bed with her head almost resting on his shoulder. "Night, Love," he whispered and stroked her hair. She fell asleep within moments and he stayed awake, pondering what he had to do for the rest of the day. He felt good, even if he had a sore back. Every so often a nurse would smile at him and look at the way he held onto Lyrr, but they didn't comment and he didn't care.

---

"Detail Forward March!"
By: C1C Ken Smith

Location: USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21 06h30

***

The group of 12 enlisted crewmen took the first steps forward at the command of the 1st class who had been placed in charge of them. Made up of various departments and divisions they set out for their destination two decks up.

Once they reached their deck the 1st class began to assign rooms to each person. Ken was assigned three offices: Flight Control, Deck 1 Maintenance, and Petty Officer Karl Rosebaum's Offices.

He decided to do PO Rosebaum's Office first, it was likely the worse of the three. He was right, tailoring equipment lay strewn around the small room. It had just enough room for a uniform replicator, a small desk,  various tools of the trade. The PADDS that had come out of the desk he stacked to one side and returned the LCARS table top screen to its rightful place.

Deck 1 Maintenance Ken realized was what he should have done first; the place contained cleaning equipment that people would soon be clamoring for. As soon he had righted the log desk and replaced the log in/out on the door PADD, several other members of the cleaning crew came in and checked out some gear.

Ken was lost in deep thought, worried about what might happen because of his actions during the crisis. He liked Starfleet, he didn't really want to leave, but that looked like what was going to happen.

He finished with maintenance as the ops Crewman assigned to stand watch in the office arrived to take over. She was grateful for Ken's assistance and made it clear that she would be glad to show how much she was so over dinner. Ken declined, as he often lamented he hadn't joined Starfleet to meet women.

Why did I join Starfleet?

---

"Pedantic Prognosis"
Lt Cmdr Damhnait Sefton
Ensign Shirik Lektar

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 07h30

***

Shirik was awake. Her sleep schedule had been off-kilter since coming to sickbay, but she was trying to keep on her normal rhythm, and usually she'd be awake, getting ready for shift. She had her PADD in her lap, reading quietly.

The doors whispered open to allow Doctor Sefton's entrance from Main Sickbay. As a show of confidence, she wore no facemask, considering the sterilisation field in Shirik's room remained at an intense, emerald-light-producing level. "Good morning," Damhnait said aloud, her voice still thick from sleep and her lengthy hair still perfectly pulled back from her face.

Shirik looked up from her PADD, and gave the doctor a nod of greeting. She hoped Sefton had some good news for her this morning.

Regarding her PADD one last time, before making eye-contact with Shirik, Sefton announced, "The virus has halted its reproduction in your lungs. It has no predilection towards continuing its infection to fatal levels. Your provacillium treatment is also proving successful, as your body is not rejecting your mutated lungs."

She relaxed and a smile found her face. 'Does that mean I'm cured?' she typed out. 'When can I go back on duty?'

"Essentially, you are cured, but you will not be returning to duty for at least a week. Your body will require time to regenerate and rehabilitate your lungs," Damhnait said seriously, despite her own smile.

Her eyes lit up as her hopes were confirmed. She wasn't going to die. She'd still have time to do the things she wanted to with her life, things that until recently she'd taken for granted. 'Thank you, doctor,' she typed, wishing she had her voice to truly convey her gratitude.

Her smile growing, Sefton simply stated, "I did what I had to."

'You did it very well, too,' she smiled. 'How is everyone else? Are we all recovering?'

"All of the patients are successfully immune to the virus now," Sefton affirmed. "We can begin regenerating your lungs immediately."

She nodded. 'I trust it will not be painful. Will they be just like my old lungs? Will there be any residual effects?'

Only needing a moment to consider the question, Damhnait explained, "There are medications to counteract any pain from regenerating your lungs, but there will be moderate discomfort when your body first learns to breathe with them again. Structurally, they will grow to be, and will operate, the same as before, even if they will not be genetically identical."

She nodded, having expected that. 'Could there be problems arising from the fact that they will be genetically altered?' she asked.

"I don't believe so," Damhnait answered honestly. "I designed the resequencing to be as minor as possible, without losing effectiveness. Something I could not have done had Lieutenant Tagliesh not organised that vigilante away mission to the planet..." She trailed off, rather than point out that the frowned-upon mission had occurred while the command triumvirate had been doing very little to aid the fight against the virus.

'Does that mean I will be immune to any further infection by the virus?' she asked. Her darkening expression was evidence of what she thought of Tagliesh, though she said nothing.

"Completely. The virus is only interested in its target, and it will not mutate fast enough to include your DNA to its kill list," Sefton assured her.

'That's good to know,' she typed. At least she wouldn't have to worry about re-infection.

"Do you need anything?" Sefton asked both for Shirik's needs and wants. Glancing towards the cabinetry, she recalled what medications Shirik was scheduled to receive.

'Actually, I've been meaning to ask you if you know what's become of my kemla. I was wearing it when I collapsed in the turbolift, and since I was stripped of everything once I arrived here, I don't know where it is now. It's very important to me.'

Damhnait's eyes narrowed to a momentary dubious expression, before she uncertainly said, "A nurse was supposed to have told you that all of your personal effects are in medical storage in the lab. Once you were moved to this private room, though, someone might have locked it in one of the cabinets..."

She frowned. 'You mean you don't know where it is?' Her whole posture showed her agitation, and she almost looked like she might try to get out of bed to look for it.

"I don't. Personally. But I'm sure one of the medical technicians must know," Sefton said, her interest clearly remaining on Shirik's lungs, instead of her knife.

'Which one?' she asked. She'd ask Sorg to look into it for her as soon as he arrived, if it wasn't found by then, she decided.

"Crewman Taylforth," Sefton responded unevenly, irritated by Shirik's demands for this knife, considering she would not be leaving Sickbay shortly.

She nodded and let the subject drop for now, hearing the doctor's tone. She couldn't possibly understand what the kemla meant to her, its value among her people. She'd never been without it on or near her person for an extended time before, and not knowing its whereabouts or that it was safe was unnerving to her.

Administering Shirik's latest medicinal needs, Damhnait told her, "If the continued treatments proceed as expected, I hope to have your lungs functioning on traditional ventilation mechanisms by tomorrow. You should be breathing on your own, with some difficulty, by the following day or the day after that. By then, perhaps we can speak of daytrips out of Sickbay, although, you should not expect returning to duty or engaging in any strenuous activities for over a week."

She blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected the treatments to work so quickly, but her smile showed she was pleased with the news. She nodded agreement, anything to be able to leave sickbay again. Although she'd only been there a few days, it already seemed like much longer.

"Rough estimates. You have been my first non-theoretical Drokari patient," Sefton admitted.

Hopefully the last, too, she thought.

---

"Can The Center Hold?"
by Captain Matthew T. Salinger - Commanding Officer
Lt. Cmdr. Sam - Chief Operations Officer
Lt. Cmdr. Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer
Lt. Cmdr. Benedict T'Kal - Chief Security Officer
Lt. Brennyn Scott - Chief Counselor
Lt. Xayella Tagliesh - Chief of Science
Lt. Mark Thaine - Chief Engineer

Location: USS Sulu, Briefing Room
Stardate: 57908.21, 08h00

***

Once the entire senior staff had begrudgingly settled around the conference table, nearly all of them clutching caffeinated beverages, Doctor Damhnait Sefton rose from her seat. She had been the first to arrive, and had placed herself closest to the wall-mounted computer console. There was no need to speak of Lyrr's absence; she remained in sickbay, under doctor's orders, until her wounds could fully mend. Sefton activated the first of several prepared visuals to accompany her report - a rotating holoimage of an adeno-associated virus - but spoke of matters of a personnel nature, before speaking of the medical sciences.

Forthrightly, Sefton said, "I insisted upon this meeting today, because I felt it important that you all be aware of the Medical Department's status. I am growing deeply disturbed by the lack of awareness displayed by the crew at large, resulting from our lack of communication. There are officers and crewmen on board, who still hardly even know that there was a viral emergency on the Sulu. As such, I would like all of you to communicate to your departments that the viral pathogen is no longer Sickbay's highest priority.

"The virus has stopped replicating in the lungs of Tchalla Mel'Chir, M'lira, Kremer, Yulik and Shirik Lektar, as a result of their gene therapies," Damhnait reported with a small satisfied smile. "Because of the data obtained from the planet, detailing the virus' origin and its mutation sequence, Tagliesh and I were able to narrow the specificity of the adeno-associated viral vectors. The virus I designed and introduced to the patients caused the cells of their lungs to rapidly reproduce healthy genes, which were similar to each patient's natural genes, but not identical. There had to be enough of a difference to ensure that their genetics were outside the estimated range of the viral pathogen's DNA targeting. Despite the genetic changes to their lungs, their respiratory organs can be restored to working order. I believe all of the patients will eventually make full recoveries, without any further respiratory problems."

"At least that's something," muttered Thaine, after taking a sip from a mug of coffee. The engineer seemed to have been living on caffeine alone for the last few days, and it was starting to show. A few people had remarked that he had been even more caustic than usual, and his appearance was markedly suffering. He had at least a full day's growth of stubble on his face, and his dark hair was looking unkempt and untidy.

"I have very closely examined all logs pertaining to the infection point, and have determined that the away team did follow regulations precisely," Sefton reported. "Mel'Chir was likely infected by a very small quantity of the pathogen's particles that were released from the faulty stasis chambers when she first found them. The sensor dampening qualities of the facility would have hidden the pathogen from her tricorder, and the particles in the air would have died before the chambers were removed from the facility. It was she who unknowingly carried the virus aboard the shuttlecraft and then the Sulu, because the infected stasis pods were safely quarantined on the planet, and remained as such for their entire duration on board the ship. Our exposure to the virus is no one's fault, save for the dead genegineers who designed it."

Doctor Sefton displayed several historical files recovered from the hidden laboratory on the planet. She explained, "From what the computer has translated of the virus-creators' files, we have confirmed what I suspected: no mathematical model can predict the virus' mutation sequence. Essentially, the people's scientists designed the virus by throwing away the core laws of physics and mathematics, since those are precisely the weapons anyone fighting the virus would use. They decided to deconstruct a piece of literature into consonant representations of mathematical expressions and used those expressions as the template for their new laws of the universe. Based on their new laws, they created this virus. They attempted the literature deconstruction hundreds of thousands of times unsuccessfully, but eventually managed to turn a large volume of a mythology text into their virus. The probability of this succeeding is virtually zero, and yet the virus exists."

In conclusion, Damhnait said, "This is what made it nearly impossible to predict the virus' behaviour; it was not behaving according to any mathematical models. Of course, the individual attributes of the virus made sense - they exist elsewhere in the universe - but this particular combination of attributes should not exist." Summing it up for those who may have been lost, she said, "These people created a virus around a framework of literature rather than mathematics."

"The hell!" Thaine's baritone contained a great deal of surprise. "They made a virus to kill as many people as possible, and to stop a cure being found based the virus on a...what? A book?"

"Yes, a book about one cultural group's creation myth, their gods, and the eventual downfall of the Old World. I believe the myths even belonged to the people who were targeted by the virus. The volumes were entirely written according to a complex system of iambic metering; its author was clearly straddling that fine line between brilliance and insanity," Damhnait remarked. "Of course, the geneticists who created the virus were brilliant in their own way, and began their designs for the virus by using traditional scientific methods, and continued to use them, wherever literature was insufficient."

"So how can we use the pattern to our advantage? Can we introduce something which throws things off just enough to fool the virus into thinking it's still the same?" The question came from Bree Scott, who naturally was more interested in focusing the discussion rather than giving in to emotions no matter how close to the edge they all were.

"I believe we have done everything that needs to be done on the Sulu; there is nothing to be 'thrown off', since no one is being effected by the virus at this time," Sefton assured her. "We have changed the members of the crew who can be infected by the virus. As such, the virus cannot harm them any longer. There remains an acute potential for the virus to mutate to infect those of us on board who are naturally immune, but the virus exists no where on the Sulu outside of quarantine, and our current efforts will destroy the quarantined virus within the next twenty-four hours."

"What can we do about the virus?" Matt asked. "It's been dormant on the planet, but somehow we managed to activate it, and it managed to infect several of our crew. How do we make sure this sort of thing doesn't happen to other ships coming here, if it hasn't already..."

"We establish a navigational protection zone, sir. Regulations allow us to restrict ship passage through this system with buoys warning of a plague world." Benedict drummed his fingers on his mug of raktajino. "Establish a Red Zone in the system."

"We can't necessarily restrict transit through the system," Matt said, "but we can warn anyone passing through. Doctor, if you could also work toward a solution to clean the planet below, that would be a better option. If you're able to give me an assessment and a timetable on when it might be a possibility, it'll help me make my decision."

Returning to her seat at the conference table, Damhnait said, "As I understand it, an away team disposed of all samples of the virus in its creators' laboratory, and we...lost the stasis chambers, which were the source of the virus that infected Mel'Chir."

"By some fortuitous accident," Tagliesh spoke up at last, "the hold was depressurized...and everything lost."

"As all of our initial studies suggested, the virus cannot and has not survived in the open atmosphere of the planet. The virus was not dormant and then mysteriously activated; it was sustained within a contained environment on the planet. I doubt there could be many more contained environments in which the virus is present on the planet," Sefton asserted, "but we will have considerable difficulty finding any other pockets of the virus, considering how sensor-proof most of their construction materials are. Neutralising the virus will not be a problem, but I will need much help from engineering and operations to find the instances of the virus, to be able to remove it."

"The operations department is at your disposal, Doctor," Sam said, with a nod to Dr. Sefton. "We will assist in any way necessary."

The Chief Engineer also gave an affirmative nod. "Once the ship is properly fixed up, we'll be able to spare the people to help you."

"Thank you, kindly. What is the status of the ship?" Sefton asked.

"We're running level 1 diagnostics on key systems. Once those are done, we'll know for sure. But I'd say we'll be properly up and running again within the next few days."

"And what about the computer systems?" Tagliesh asked. "What is the status of the entities that were infecting it?"

Benedict looked across the table at her. "There are three," he said. "Makesh and his companions are indeed sentient, and their presence in our systems was of our own doing. Commander Sam inadvertently loaded them into our computer systems while trying to solve a puzzle posed by the data we retrieved from the planet. They were unaware of the damage they had been causing, and are now safely in holodeck four, thanks to Commander Sam and Ensign Lektar. We are communicating. It seems that their stasis chambers stored a data representation of them. They are the only survivors of their race - though they are no longer flesh, they certainly are sentient beings."

"Now that systems are restored, we have released the encryption holding them within Holodeck Four," Sam stated. "The entities have proven to be very helpful in assisting restore functionality to all systems. Now that the crisis has passed, we have begun construction on a device that will hold the cluster of data that represents each of the three entities. Once its construction is complete, it will be returned to their world where they can resume their lives. They have been made aware of the differences between the life they knew and what this one shall be."

"Wait," Sefton demanded. "How did Commander Sam 'inadvertently' allow these murderous organisms into the Sulu's information systems? Have we no computer enclaves separate from the main computer?"

"We have attempted to ascertain that information," Sam answered, "but the information is unavailable. Every precaution was taken, and all pertinent systems were protected. From my analysis, the entities bypassed the firewalls that were placed in their path. I assure you, Doctor, the computer security aboard this vessel was not relaxed in any way. The technical expertise of the entities, however, surpassed the capabilities of our systems to keep them out."

"Which means we need better security for the computer," added Thaine, making a note on his PADD, and deciding to discuss it later with Sam.

Matt looked around the table and sighed. "Well, it looks like we're almost through all of this," he said. He looked over to Thaine and Sam. "How much longer until we're able to break orbit and continue on?"

"I would estimate, from an Operations standpoint, Captain, that we will require an additional twenty-four hours before the ship is ready to depart."

"Thank you, Commander," Matt said. "That'll give us a chance to tie up loose ends, and deal with our...guests. Does anyone have anything else?"

"What is the mental state of the crew, Counsellor?" Damhnait asked of Scott. "How can we go about regaining the crew's trust that we're not leading them all to their deaths deep in the Gamma Quadrant?"

Scott looked frank. "I know this probably isn't what any of you want to hear, but it's simply going to take time. There's nothing any of us can do or say that is going to instantly repair any perceived violations of trust. The tendency might be to become defensive or angry with the crew's reactions, but I think the best thing we can do is give people the time and the outlets to deal with their fear and anger and trust that when all is said and done, these are Starfleet Officers prepared to do what they're ordered to do." She looked at Sefton. "I and my staff are at your disposal, Doctor."

"I would not presume that anyone here expects anything other than a slow reparation, but I do not believe we can afford to simply wait and allow the crew to eventually trust this command staff. Starfleet Officers merely following orders is nothing compared to Starfleet Officers wanting to achieve excellence beyond the orders they have been given." Terrified for the morale of this crew that had just barely survived being battered and beaten, and was saved through chance just as much as skill, Damhnait suggested, "After some time of healing, would it not help to create a sort of reasonable short-term symbolic goal? An objective the crew as a whole could act towards completing, to prove that we can achieve something - anything."

"Something along the lines of your camping trip idea perhaps?" replied Bree. Leave it to Sefton to ask for a professional opinion and then tell you why it was wrong, thought Scott wryly. It still wouldn't change the fact that the crew needed time to digest what they'd just been through. "I'm not saying we should completely ignore morale, but given that we did just barely survive, I know we need to give people some time to deal with that in their own way as well." She looked at each of them in turn. "It has been a long and painful journey, but I would submit we have achieved something - we're out here exploring territory many could not even dream of, and we survived this latest crisis when we could have easily given up. I'd say that's one hell of an accomplishment."

Damhnait swallowed the verbal venom boiling up in response to Brennyn's overly-personal inept simile at Sefton's leadership techniques, and retained a respectful tone of voice, when sadly admitting, "I don't see accomplishment. I see bumbling. What did you - what did any of us - accomplish? We destroyed a virus...that only effected a small minority of our crew. We protected the crew from a computer-virus lifeform...that did not even want to harm us in the first place. And we didn't even protect every crew member's life from said lifeforms. We have spent this entire mission reacting to danger, and will soon be leaving once the ship is repaired - what opportunity does that leave for exploration? When are we going to learn of this planet's cultures?"

"The real difficulty in a crisis," Captain Salinger said softly, "is that they never seem to happen when it's convenient. Perhaps that's the reason why they become crises. We know more about the people of this planet than we did before we got here. We have a lot of space to cover out here, and we can't linger too long in any area. We have information to study, to learn." He swept his gaze around the table, to all those seated around him. "We are Starfleet officers. We are scientists and explorers. We are citizens of the United Federation of Planets, or allies. We ran into some trouble, and I'm sure before we slip back through the wormhole we'll run into more. There will always be risks to what we do, but...risk is our business." He paused slightly, recalling a quote garnered from Picard's logs from one of the encounters experienced by the Enterprise. "If we can't take a little bloody nose, maybe we ought to go back home and crawl under our beds. It's not safe out here. It's wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross; but it's not for the timid. We are Starfleet officers, and we had sure as hell better start acting like it. All of us. Discipline on this ship has grown far too lax, and that ends now. As department heads, you will be required to make certain the officers in your respective departments are kept in line. Dismissed."

---

"Need To Remember This"
by Lt. Cmdr. Damhnait Sefton

Location: USS Sulu, Sickbay and Chief Medical Officer's Quarters
Stardate: 57908.21, 08h45

***

For the moment, Sickbay remained quiet, save for its medical officers and the medium-term patients recovering from the now-benign virus and from the ship's attack on its crew. Of them all, Damhnait Sefton was the only one in pain. The others were medicated for their physical hurts, but Damhnait chose to hold onto her pain. She found motivation in the cold fire that burned her. Finding the medical ward well managed by Amy and Cris, Doctor Sefton marched out of Sickbay, her body language and facial expression one of blue steel.

As a mature Betazoid, she was entirely aware of the fire that burned her. It had ignited on deck one, and the more she had tried to forget about its nature, the more she was reminded of how Captain Salinger had completely dismissed the dysfunctions occurring between the members of the senior staff. Even worse than his intentions had been his methods: quoting great men rather than forging words of his own. Not terribly inspiring.

Striding past inoperable turbolift doors on deck four, Sefton felt herself stop. It was only for a moment, and then she was continuing on her way to her quarters once more, her body language and facial expression still solid. But in that moment, the cold fire she carried turned to water, impossibly heavy and impossibly hot. It was for the loss of Amaya Chen.

The moment the doors to her quarters closed behind her, her hunger grew. She needed. She needed everything. She would begin with oxygen. Begin with taking deeper and holding longer breaths. Her physical body growing leaden, Damhnait leaned onto her elbows against the tall desktop of her quarters. She reached a hand towards her computer terminal, but the movement was careless; it knocked her spare medical kit to the floor.

The metallic kit hit the floor, and it surprised Damhnait that it did not crumple to jagged shreds like a turbolift. And there was another pinprick of remembrance. In her mind's eye, clearer than a Terran's, she could see that look of absolute surprise on the face of Sorg Jurell when he had heard that there was a virus loose, following his rescue of Shirik Lektar. His surprise, which had taken place four days after the first infection on the Sulu. Damhnait, and the entire crew, had simply been lucky that the virus could not -- did not -- infect more people than it did. If one person admitted to being unaware of the virus' danger, there were a dozen more who had not. Regardless of how it was being downplayed, shipboard awareness of the virus had been dismayingly nil.

Damhnait reached for the desktop terminal again, and activated it. She could not read the messages, though, as the symbols representing the priority of each message caused another pinprick of overwhelming remembrance. T'Kal's words: "Although the virus is serious, doctor, the senior staff have been a little busy with more pressing matters." Pressing matters such as assigning an animal mascot for security. Pressing matters that allowed both Lyrr and T'Kal to adjusting their shift schedules to work fewer hours, starting on stardate 57908.18. Of course, they had remained duteous and vigilant of the ship's problems once the system glitches became deadly the following day, but the virus had been just as deadly on 57908.18 as it was on 57908.19, when Amaya Chen died and Shirik was diagnosed with the virus. All Sefton had needed was for the senior staff to keep their departments aware of the virus' status, since automated computer messages were unreliable. All Sefton had wanted was to be kept included on ship happenings important to Life Sciences, such as determining if the computer organisms were truly alive.

And then T'Kal's phrasing of the senior staff as a separate third person entity, rather than an inclusive second person grouping, reminded Sefton of Ken Smith's words: "Your duty is to your patients, mine is to Starfleet. You lay neither in my chain of command nor did you have positional authority in that situation." As if she had never fallen messily in love with the ideals of Starfleet. As if she would never die for Starfleet. As if her rank pips of Lieutenant Commander were worthless, since they resided on a collar of blue.

Narrowing her eyes on the tactile computer monitor on her desk, Sefton attempted to prepare a message to be sent to Executive Officer Lyrr's queue, but the hunger got the better of her. This time, it was food she needed. She had skipped breakfast, and so she shuffled to the replicator to access a menu file.

In the end, it was the stupidest thing that did it. For no conscious reason she was aware of, she remembered that Cristobel's quarters had briefly been converted to a Class K environment, which meant that all of his plants had been killed, including his living, slithering vine called AJ.

The words making up the menu on the LCARS display blurred. For half a second, Sefton was afraid that it was a lingering system glitch, but then she knew that it was not the computer. It was her eyes. Before she had the opportunity to consciously choose to embrace the emotion, she was crying so damn hard that she couldn't stand upright. Doubled over, sobbing loudly, dripping with tears and nasal mucus, she stumbled over to the sofa, and tightly curled herself upon it. She needed catharsis.

---

"Visit"
Capt. Matthew Salinger
Ensign Kelzira Rax
Commander Lyrr Tayla
Ensign Shirik Lektar

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 09h05

***

Kelzira Rax hadn't left Tchalla's side since the end of the crisis. It'd taken a very stern reminder about her duty as a Starfleet officer from Dr. Sefton to get her to turn away upon her return to the ship, in the midst of the turmoil caused by the computer entities, to get her back to her duty and not hovering near Tchi's bed. Now, she sat at her friend's side, a blue hand held between her own. She kissed the back of Tchi's hand again, as she'd been doing every so often. She could feel the warmth again, a reaction to the touch. Tchi was getting better; that was what the doctors said. Kelli believed them. She had to.

"How is she?"

"She's doing much better," she whispered, though it was still loud enough for the man behind her to hear. "She's getting rest and...and I'm keeping her company. I know she'd rather be in the labs, but...but I'm making sure she stays here. It'd be just like her to sneak out too."

"I see," said the voice. "Well, you're doing a good job. And, I'm certain she'll be back in the labs before long."

Kelli looked up, started. Then quickly jumped to her feet. "Captain!"

Matt Salinger chuckled. "It's alright, Kelzira. Go ahead and sit; I'm just stopping through. She's lucky to have someone watching over her, you know. It says something special about both of you." He couldn't help thinking about waking up after his own ordeal on Risa. He knew people were upset with Xayella. He knew she was being blamed for much of what happened. No one else knew her as he did, could see her potential. The trick was taming her wild spirit, getting her to temper her fits of defiance. It would come in time, but he wouldn't give up and abandon her. Far too many people were quick to label someone a bad seed, and then never give them a chance to prove otherwise. He knew were it not for his actions, Xayella would have been out of chances and out of Starfleet.

"As you were, Kelzira. I think Miss Mel'Chir's hand is missing yours." With a smile, he slipped away.

He came to Lyrr's biobed next. He took a seat in the chair that had been placed next to her bed, adjusting the covers as he collected his thoughts. He wasn't certain what to say to her, if anything. He chuckled softly and sat back to find her regarding him. "How are you feeling, Tayla," he asked.

"Overwhelmed by all the attention I seem to be getting lately," she quipped and managed a wiry smile for Matt. "How about you?"

"As good as can be expected considering we came within seconds of losing the ship," he said. "I thought it might be good to check in on people here. It seems that Lt. Mel'Chir's getting some tender loving care. Haven't seen anyone else yet." He was silent for a moment, studying -- or seeming to -- the readings on the monitor above her bed. "We got them contained, and we're building them a home so they can exist down on their planet again. They're all that remains of their people, an entire civilization, and all that's left of it is a seemingly sentient trio of holograms."

Lyrr nodded slowly, her tongue in her cheek to prevent her caustic remark from slipping out. Instead she calmly stated, "I see... It's a far kinder fate than many of our crew met because of them."

"The trouble they caused was unintentional," Matt said. "We took them out of their computer, inserted them into our systems, and they were trying to figure out what happened. What happened, they didn't intend for it to happen. And, in the end, their assistance is what allowed us to stop the destruction of the ship. We can't hold them entirely to blame for what happened."

"Entirely," she repeated pointedly. "Which means they did have some sense of what they were doing." Wincing, Lyrr pushed herself upright, holding the sheet close to her chest. "Look," she said, letting out a long sigh, "it's over with. I just...I don't think I'll ever see things your way. I'm sorry."

"What would you have had me do?" Matt asked gently. "And, more to the point, why?"

Lyrr regarded him plainly and answered without hesitation, "I would have had you terminate their control over the ship by any means necessary, not because I would have enjoyed achieving retribution for the losses they dealt us, but to prevent further loss."

"And, in doing so," Matt said, "it's very likely we would have lost the ship. It was their help that allowed us to regain control of the command codes, and therefore shut down the self-destruct."

"And it's very likely, if we had, this crisis could have been over a lot sooner." Lyrr shook her head, realizing this wasn't an argument she wished to have just yet. "It's over now," she said gently. "That's all that matters."

"Have they given you any indication how long you'll have to stay in here?" Matt asked.

"Ben--" She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Commander T'Kal has told me I should be out by this evening. I'll be back on the bridge tomorrow morning, sir."

"I'm impressed with Dr. T'Kal's prognosis," Matt said. "But, what does the ship's chief medical officer say about it?"

"That is the chief's prognosis," Lyrr stressed with a clearly admonishing stare. "My injuries weren't that severe, Captain. I'm fine."

"I've read the report," Matt said. "Sounded fairly severe to me."

Lyrr flashed a smile. "I'm alive, aren't I? Don't worry about it, Captain. Please, don't worry about it, because I'm sick of everyone else doing so."

"I guess everyone's beaten me to it then," Matt said. "I guess it's time for me to move on then."

"Well...thank you for the visit, Captain." Her smile was genuine now. "I miss sharing the bridge with you."

The look in his eyes as he regarded her was skeptical. "I miss having you there," he said. "I know we don't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but that's why I need you the most. Get better, Tayla."

"I plan to, Captain," she promised.

"Good," he said with a smile. "I guess I'll see you on the bridge again soon."

Lyrr's grin was bold. "Very soon."

Matt chuckled softly as he stood. He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled down at her. "If you need anything from me, Number One, don't be afraid to ask. Not that I expect you will, but the offer's there...just in case."

She bowed her head in gratitude. "Don't worry, Captain, I believe I'll be suitably coddled in here as it is."

"I'm sure you will," Matt said with a chuckle. "I'll see you later, Tayla." And, with that he moved on.

As he moved from bed to bed, delivering words of encouragement, he noticed an open door.

"I'm sure you'll back at it in no time," he said to Crewman Banks.

"Thank you, sir," Banks said with a smile.

"You're welcome," Matt said, then gave the man a nod, and moved toward the door.

He peeked inside at the young woman resting in the bed. "Ensign Lektar," he said. "Mind if I come in for a moment? I was just check in on things here in Sickbay, and noticed your door open."

Shirik looked up from her PADD and her eyes widened in surprise. The last person she expected a visit from was the captain. Mutely she nodded, gesturing for him to enter.

"Thank you," he said as he entered. "How are you feeling? I hear your recovery is going well, and you should be out of here soon." He pointed to the chair at the side of the bed and gave her a questioning look.

She nodded at his question and gestured at the chair, then began typing once more on her PADD, showing it to him when he was seated. 'I'm not being rude, Captain, I am unable to speak because my lungs are as yet not functioning. Dr. Sefton has said I am responding well to treatment, and may be released in a few days.'

Matt read over her words and nodded. "I understand," he said, indicating the padd. "And, that's good to hear. I'm certain being cooped up in here isn't easy; I know it wasn't for me. I want to thank you for the work you did to help contain the entities within the holodeck and to stabilize the rest of the systems. Commander T'Kal speaks very highly of your work, and I must agree with him."

His words brought a smile to her face. 'Thank you, Captain. I'm glad I was able to help.'

"So are the rest of us," Matt said. "Some of your work will be used in strengthening security within the ship's computer systems to help make sure something like this doesn't happen again."

'I didn't realize my work had been that instrumental,' she typed. 'Although as part of the work I did, I researched the encryption protocols in use on various ship's systems, and I do have ideas on how they might be improved.' It was obvious she was tired of laying in bed and eager to get back to work.

"Well, while you're recuperating, perhaps you could go over some of those ideas with Commander T'Kal and Commander Sam. I'm certain both would be extremely eager to help fortify the ship's computer systems. If you'd like I can ask them to stop by later."

'No need, Captain. Commander T'Kal has been stopping by regularly, I'm sure I'll see him soon. I'll need time to work on my report anyway.'

"Very well," Salinger said with a smile. "I'll let you get some rest now. I should be getting back to the bridge. I'm sure you'll be out of here in no time."

'Thank you, Captain, for taking the time to stop in to see me,' she typed, returning his smile a bit hesitantly.

"It was the least I could do," the captain said as he stood. "Now, get better. That's an order." With that, he started toward the door.

---

"Ten Ways to Make a Counsellor Cry"
By: Counsellor Brennyn Scott
Commander Lyrr Tayla

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 09h45

***

The stress was starting to wear her down. Tchi and Lektar were suffering and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Bree had done what little she could do to make them comfortable, but there was only so much she could do when other patients needed her.

Scott had been a nurse long before counseling had truly entered her mind, but now it seemed as if she were a mere novice, making the rounds and reporting the worst. When she stopped by Lyrr's biobed, she offered a gentle smile and asked the standard question. "How are you feeling?"

The commander appeared annoyed - at herself for not having noticed Scott before and sought a method of avoidance. Lyrr tried to conceal her reaction with a tight smile and pushed herself upright. "Counsellor," she greeted. "Can I help you?"

Bree smiled. "Actually, I was wondering if I could help you. I'm making the rounds and I was wondering how you were."

"How do prisoners normally feel?" Lyrr countered. "I'm not dead, I'm not decrepit or feeble...I just want to get back to work. Now, if you can't help me with that, then I'm afraid no, there's nothing you can do, but thank you, Counsellor."

Bree shrugged. "You can go if you want, but I think you're going to miss the pain meds. Injuries like yours take time to heal. Do you need something for pain?"

The strain around Lyrr's eyes belied her response of, "No, I'm fine. Though, Doctor Sefton insists I need a day or two to mend." She smirked and shrugged. "I guess she knows me better than I know myself now."

"Does that bother you?" Bree asked, unintentionally trying to draw her out.

"It might if it was true," she answered and the smile she wore was confident. "But, she doesn't."

"Of course not," Bree agreed. "Although you have to respect someone who's ok with seeing you at a time when you're most vulnerable. Something like what happened to you has got to be scary."

Lyrr's laugh was humourous. "Vulnerable? Perhaps when I was unconscious...but I'm not vulnerable now, Counsellor, and after facing death many times before, I'm certainly not scared. Though," she mused, fixing the counsellor with an accusing gaze, "I bet you wish I were. Frightened people are normally more open, are they not?"

The polite smile never left Bree's features. "Most people, frightened or otherwise, are more open than you are, Commander, but this is a very old discussion and I'm simply not in the mood for it. I am not your enemy, nor am I trying to hurt you. Someone else will be by to check your burns."

Lyrr sighed, although with an eye roll, and raised a hand to the counsellor to stay her. "You came to check my burns...so check them. I won't fight you."

"I wouldn't recommend it," replied Bree, looking at the biobed readings and the readouts on her tricorder. "Burns are some of the most painful wounds imaginable. It looks as though you could use some fresh seals. May I?"

Lyrr glanced at Scott's hands warily, visibly shrinking away. Unexpectedly, when her eyes locked with the woman's again, Lyrr Tayla nodded. "Erect the privacy field, will you?" she asked Bree as she reached back to loosen the ties of her gown.

"Of course," replied Bree. "Computer, erect privacy field around this biobed, authorization Scott-alpha-eight." The forcefield like device sprang into place, effectively preventing outsiders from seeing what was happening inside. She then calibrated her tissue regenerator so that it was the right thickness while Lyrr untied her gown.

She kept the counsellor in her periphery, tracking her movements keenly as she pulled the top down and slipped her arms free. She kept herself covered with the material still, though the red remnants of her burns peaked from beneath. What troubled her worse than the injuries that had nearly cost her her life was the absence of those scars she had carried with her for years. She would find out who robbed her of them and... She sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do.

"I didn't know you were a nurse," Lyrr commented to hide her uneasiness. "What are you better at? Counselling or healing?"

Bree chuckled. "I'd like to think I'm good at both." She pulled Lyrr forward, so she could have better access to the burns. "They're both healing of a different sort, although I find nursing to be much easier. It's much simpler to treat the wounds I can see on the outside."

She turned on the device which would strengthen the seals on Lyrr's burns, the seamless bandages which would protect them from debris and disease, and gently guided it over the skin. "This might sting a bit."

"It doesn't matter," Lyrr murmured through slightly clenched teeth. She let her gown fall away little by little as Bree lowered the device. Exposed entirely for the woman now, Lyrr self-consciously covered herself with both hands while still leaving Scott freedom to work. Her eyes remained lowered meekly. "How is the rest of the crew?" she asked to shift focus away from herself.

Bree sighed. "They feel inside about as well as your wounds look on the outside. Although they have many scars as well to deal with, I hope they'll be as pink as yours are, soon."

"Then why is it you're here mending wounds when you could be mending their spirits?" Lyrr asked bluntly. Now, her eyes were upturned towards Bree's. "You're here because you thought you'd find me at a vulnerable moment," Lyrr answered for her. "You thought it would loosen my tongue. Is that so?"

"I'm here, Commander, because before I can attend to anyone's spiritual or emotional needs, their physical wounds must be attended to. And since I have a staff of counselors who can see to the former and not the latter, I'm doing what I can to assist the staff here. I'm not trying to do anything except treat your burns."

Lyrr nodded stiffly and turned her cheek stubbornly to the counsellor. There was silence for a time, Lyrr sighing impatiently, suppressing winces as the device regenerated tissue, and fought discomfort as she was forced to lower both hands from her breasts. Lyrr visibly flinched when Bree's arm brushed against her, and reflexively she slapped her hand away. "Watch what you're doing," she snapped.

"I'm sorry." Of course she noticed the scars, or rather, the indications of where scars had been on Lyrr's breasts, but she did not say anything. Obviously they weren't all burns, but what could she do or say that wouldn't make Lyrr uncomfortable?

Noting Scott's sincere remorse, Lyrr sighed and nodded for her to continue. "Just...not used to being this exposed in front of someone."

"I can understand. I guess we have to do that sometimes if we want to heal."

Lyrr detected the hidden meaning veiled by her wisely chosen words, and commended the counsellor with a bow of her head. "You really must tell me, Counsellor, how much you've discovered about me. It's obvious you know more than I'd wish anyone to."

That brought Bree up short for a moment, but only for a brief pause. There was only honesty left. "I know you've been hurt by someone," she replied, indicating the scars on the woman's breasts, "And I know that makes you angry, as it would anyone. I know because of this and many things, it's hard for you to trust people, and so it's easier for you to assume that all people are out to hurt you. I wonder if you blame yourself, or if you know as I do that none of it was or is your fault."

"Counsellor," Lyrr answered flatly, "you know nothing. Whatever your medical textbooks and experience have taught you, you're still a green, first year cadet when it comes to this, so don't bother trying to understand, or helping." Her eyes were hard as she stared a warning at the woman, and gathered the fabric of her gown to her chest, hampering her efforts. "Are we quite done here?"

Bree almost asked if she could be green when it came to physical or sexual torture, but decided against it. It would do her no good to antagonize her further. But Bree could see she'd gotten her point across, and was glad she'd made it, even if she was saddened that she'd been right. She took one last look at the tricorder and biobed readings before nodding and snapping the tricorder closed. "We are. You're going to be fine, Commander, but you may need some help for a few days."

"No," Lyrr answered significantly, "no help required. I've never needed it, and I don't now. So please...I'd appreciate it if you didn't offer again." Her injuries were long forgotten, now, and the topic instead rested precariously on the knowledge Scott had just gleaned through her intuition. "I trust, Counsellor," she continued, her voice low, "that everything you've seen here will remain here?"

"Of course, Commander. I'll not break privilege. But now that I know, if you ever need to talk, I'm here. And I promise, it will be off the record." It was a risk, she knew, but she had to offer even if it was pushed away. Somewhere, Bree hoped she was getting through. "Perhaps you don't believe me or care, but..." she shrugged.

"Thank you, Counsellor," Lyrr responded, her tone clipped and not at all kind. "That'll be all." Adding a note of finality, Lyrr turned her back to the woman and began fully concealing herself once more.

"You're welcome." She managed to withhold her tears until she was outside.

With the counsellor gone and her privacy reclaimed, Lyrr exhaled deeply, causing her entire body to wilt. Curled up on the bed now, with her back to the world and her hands clasped protectively to her chest, Lyrr closed her eyes, wondering if there would truly be any liberation from her past, and if there was anyone on board who didn't know about it. "Bloody counsellors," were the last words she uttered before she summoned herself to a fitful sleep.

---

"Judging Judgements"
By: Lt. Brennyn Scott, RN - Chief Counselor
Lt. Commander Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer

Location: CMO's Office, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 12h10

***

"Doctor, do you have a moment?" Bree had knocked lightly on the elder woman's office frame to be sure she wasn't interrupting something. Bree had wanted to apologize for what she'd said to Sefton during the Senior Staff meeting almost the second after she said it. Now she wanted to take the opportunity, when emotions weren't quite so high.

Looking up from a series of medical logs from 57908.20 that were displayed on her desktop terminal, Sefton tentatively responded, "I do."

Bree smiled wanly and came in tentatively. She leaned against the desk, arms folded. "I wanted to apologize for what I said to you the other day at the Senior Staff meeting. You and I were looking for real answers for the morale problem, and I was flippant. I'm sorry. We're supposed to be supporting each other, and after everything we've been through, you deserved more support from me. If there's anything I can do, let me know."

"I never said you were wrong -- in the staff meeting. I never said that we should not give the crew time to recover on their own," Damhnait softly said. More firmly, she continued, "But we do need a Plan B. If the crew still has no faith in the senior staff a month from now, action must be taken without any more time spent on waiting. If you can help with designing a Plan B, apology greatly accepted."

Bree smiled. "That's what they pay me for." She shrugged, "In my experience, trust comes from understanding. Maybe it isn't the best idea right now, but I often toyed with the idea of having a junior officer from each department act as department head for a few days. Of course, we'd all be around to take over in an emergency, but otherwise, we'd play the subordinates while they played Senior Staff. They'd have to deal with the hassles and the decision-making. We could even use the holodecks to simulate various crises. The problem with academy scenarios that purport to do the same thing is that cadets don't have the same emotional investment into a crew by the time they get to their postings. The Sulu is real, it's home, and all of a sudden, they're in charge, faced with the same issues they may have felt we botched."

"I can see great value coming from that," Sefton nodded. "In fact, I left Ensign Derrell in command of Main Sickbay for the majority of this mission, while my efforts were needed in the laboratory, and it seems she encouraged self-management among the rest of the staff." Her words came out slower as a thought came to her. "There is a danger, though, if the acting senior staff feels it is performing better than the real senior staff. While unlikely, it has the potential to decrease morale more so, if they must relinquish command to those they see as less capable."

"A possible scenario," Bree admitted, "but hard to imagine likely. We'll be taking crew who more or less has no experience running a department, and asking them to manage their friends, to not only take the reins for day to day operations, but unexpected challenges. The goal is not so much to find actual answers, but to acknowledge the experience and feelings. You and I know a leader is someone who not only gets things done, but learns to accept that he or she has done the very best he or she can, but I'm not sure our junior officers do. They expect us to have all of the answers and even when we do make the choices they expect us to make, they expect certain results. We'll be giving them an opportunity to not only run things their way, but to confront the good, the bad, and the ugly. Besides, if we come out of this with a few ideas that make things better, are we really going to care who thought of it first?"

"I always welcome ideas from everyone; I simply--" Damhnait stopped to realign her words as she would a broken jaw, her eyes drifting to the viewport between herself and the junior medical officers working Main Sickbay. "I fear we could be heading towards having officers who doubt the orders being given to them. Not any sort of mutiny, of course, but half seconds of absolute doubt. Half seconds when our officers need to seriously ponder if their decision would be better than ours."

"Oh you're never going to get rid of doubt, Doctor. As long as we continue to use thinking, feeling, breathing sentients in Starfleet, there is no way to keep people from responding to their environment. But I'm not sure what it is you think the problem is. Is it an obedience problem? Are there people in a crunch who absolutely did not follow orders? Let's be honest, are any of us one hundred percent sure all of the time that what we're about to do is right?"

"I am. Otherwise, I don't do it," Damhnait stated with absolute conviction. That confidence and clarity faltered, when she continued, "But that is not what I'm speaking of. This is not a tangible problem that can be defined. We are early still. It's only a feeling that the crew is in the process of losing its trust in its leaders."

"So what do you think is driving those feelings? Fear?"

"I don't know," Damhnait responded in genuine bafflement. "The feeling does not belong to me. I am merely aware of it. Although... one driving factor would be how quick it was for Tagliesh to be blamed for the virus infections. And Sam to be blamed for the computer infection. And the secrecy surrounding the first contact."

Bree smiled ruefully. "Tagliesh hasn't exactly earned herself many supporters, has she?" She shook her head. "I'm not about to invalidate your concerns, Doctor, but I'm going to need your help in coming up with a way to address them appropriately."

"Honestly, I had hoped this to be something the entire senior staff works on," Sefton remarked, mostly without acidity. "I'm still confident that a successful mission -- a short-term win, even if we partly orchestrate it -- will act as half a cause towards the effect of instilling trust that the larger tour of duty in the Gamma quadrant will be a success as well."

Bree nodded. "I understand what you're saying, but you and I know life out here is a gamble. A success one day doesn't guarantee a success the next, and let's face it, what one person sees as a reason to trust, another might not. I'm not saying we should throw in the towel or accept that we're completely at the mercy of the universe, but a large part of what we face out here we can't control or predict. I know a large part of my frustration comes from having trouble distinguishing healthy feelings from learning opportunities. Case in point, Salinger could have spent a lifetime demanding better security after he'd been stabbed, but no matter how much better things improved, there are no safety measures that can change the fact he had been stabbed, he was vulnerable, and that he needed to grieve."

"But will we learn anything if the senior staff, as a unitary whole, refuses to acknowledge the mistakes that were made?" Sefton emphatically asked.

"One man's mistakes are another's good judgement," Bree replied, "and unless we can all agree that there are mistakes to be learned from, I'm not sure how far you're going to get. Most people tend to get defensive when another person points out his or her mistakes, and that's especially true when the decisions have to be made under stress or there are no clearly right or wrong answers. What, if given the opportunity, would you have done differently, Doctor?"

"Nothing," Sefton responded surely. "I could have taken actions to personally ensure proper communication among the senior staff and the crew, rather than trusting it to happen, but that would have taken time away from studying the virus. If anything, I would have slept more to make my fewer waking hours more valuable."

Bree seemed satisfied with that. "So why didn't you sleep more, Doctor? What was it that ultimately led you to decide to rest less often?"

"I probably would have had to sedate myself. I couldn't stop my brain from puzzling out the virus," Damhnait explained.

Bree nodded. "The point is in high stress situations, we often make decisions that are based on emotion, based on the pressures we feel. You had a choice regarding whether to rest more often and can now only guess as to what the outcome would be. I'm not saying we did everything perfectly, but I also know how easily it is to turn normal emotions into opportunities to blame ourselves and others."

"My main point has always been that I think it dangerous to ignore those choices instead of discussing them now. After the stress," Sefton calmly insisted.

Bree grew thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Discussions can turn into accusations depending on what and how things are said, Doctor. My concern is that your opinions are falling on deaf ears simply because others perceive them to be accusations from someone who is trying to act as an armchair captain. Reviewing our progress is a worthwhile objective, but only if it is something the group undertakes as a whole. I'm afraid the way you've approached the matter will only serve to alienate you from the people you are to work with."

"We don't know how all the others perceived my opinions. The meeting ended abruptly," Damhnait reminded her measuredly.

Scott detected the defensiveness in her tone and spoke carefully. "You're right, we don't know for certain, but I observed people in the meeting, and I'm concerned that might be how things were taken. I also get the impression from you that you're angry with Salinger and a few others and perhaps feeling alienated from the staff. Am I off base?"

Damhnait's dark onyx eyes didn't waver from her steely gaze towards Brennyn; she didn't even blink. Her jaw clenched at the repeat of the word alienation, and she held it stonily for elongated seconds of consideration. Despite the hardness of her eyes, she kept the posture of her body open. She wouldn't lie. Sefton said it all with a terse, "No."

Bree held up her hands. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Doctor, nor do I want you to be made to feel angry or embarrassed by it. You've been through a lot these past few days and it's natural for you to feel more emotional and perhaps more isolated. I want you to know that I'm not trying to gang up on you, and that it's ok to talk about it. You don't have to go through this alone."

"It hasn't been just the past few days," Damhnait told her, her controlled tone cracking. "But this is a conversation better suited for your office."

"Is that an offer, Doctor?" asked Bree with a wry smile.

"It's a request," Sefton replied befuddledly, unable to think of a reason she would hesitate to speak with the Chief Counsellor.

Bree almost sighed in relief. Finally! Someone who not only didn't feel threatened by her job, but also someone who wasn't afraid to ask for help. "Absolutely, Doctor. Just let me know when it's convenient for you." She reached over and squeezed the other woman's hand. "Don't worry, we'll work this out."

Sefton promised, "I'll schedule an appointment."

---

"Interrogation"
By: Cmdr. Lyrr Tayla
Ensign Shirik Lektar

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 14h25

***

Donning the requisite filtration mask, Lyrr Tayla remained apprehensive about entering the quarantined section of sickbay, but not due to fear of contamination. She absently rubbed her bare wrist, the one that had once been adorned by Ben's bracelet; she'd thought to ask for it, just as she had a fresh uniform, which was delivered after a particularly lashing remark to her delicate attending nurse, who had tried to explain the gown was required, but ended up only sputtering and running off weeping.

Why hadn't she demanded its return, then? Because of the woman lying before her, recovering from a near fatal sickness, but still beautiful and vibrant. Ben had spoken of his dinner with the ensign, of the time he spent with her in the mornings, though none of it had truly inspired much jealousy. Only now, seeing for herself those startling violet eyes, and the flawless ebony flesh contrasting with silken, white hair that fell in long waves over slender shoulders - only now did Lyrr Tayla realize she truly had much to be concerned about. She was hardly comparable to the young woman by any standards. Short, dull-coloured hair that was always so unruly - even now errant spikes of it stood up at awkward angles; her skin lacked radiance and her eyes the passion and fire she witnessed now in Shirik Lektar's. Was that what Ben desired? A woman not afraid of old ghosts, not threatened by intimacy, or nightmares that others would have easily forgotten by day, but ones Lyrr Tayla allowed to haunt her doggedly.

She smiled wryly, her fingers twisting and tangling to match the roiling in her stomach. Ben professed love, but was it misplaced? Lyrr knew it to be, for she was hardly capable of nurturing it as he deserved. She would only end up smothering it with her inability to reciprocate, her paranoia, and her cowardice, the same cowardice now that prevented her from stepping through the sterilization field and seeking a conversation with Lektar. But she did just that, unconscious for a moment of her feet carrying her towards the woman's bed until Lektar's violet gaze found her and its intensity thrust Lyrr from her consumptive thoughts. She didn't even smile beneath her mask. "Ensign," she greeted, and her voice nearly cracked.

Shirik had her attention as usual on a PADD, reading when Lyrr approached her room. She looked up when she heard someone enter the field, and her violet eyes widened a bit in surprise for a moment before her face took on a carefully neutral expression. She hadn't been looking forward to this meeting, and for it to happen now, when she was still here and unable to speak, was even less desirable. She was wary, not sure why the XO had come, what she would say, or how Shirik would react to her. So she nodded a greeting, cleared the contents of her PADD so she could type-communicate, and gestured for Lyrr to come closer.

She did, though her movements were stiff and the mild, involuntarily winces betrayed the discomfort her injuries were giving her. "May I sit?" She gestured to the chair adjacent Shirik's biobed.

Shirik studied her intently, her violet gaze traveling over Lyrr top to bottom. She nodded, waving her to the chair, and tapped out a greeting. 'Hello, Commander.'

Lyrr glanced briefly at the PADD's screen. She planned on doing more talking than reading. Seated now, albeit uncomfortably, Lyrr paused to collect her thoughts. She had so much to ask, yet the words were now escaping her. "You're looking well," she did say, a minor formality, but it was something at least. "I imagine you've had a lot of visitors? You should rest if you're to return to duty soon."

She shrugged. 'A few friends. I've been getting a lot of rest, too. Hopefully I'll be able to leave here in a week or so.'

Lyrr smiled tightly. "Well, I promise not to keep you long. It's just...I've been meaning to meet you." Her smile faltered briefly and she leaned a touch closer to Shirik. "I think you know why," she whispered.

She nodded slowly. She tapped out, 'I know why.'

"I thought you might," Lyrr murmured. Her eyes were lowered now, away from Shirik's gaze. The more she looked at the woman, the weaker her resolve became. She wasn't this type of woman, the type to order another woman off the man she was involved with. She doubted she could, even if she wished to. "He doesn't say much," she began, knowing Ben's name wasn't required. Lyrr smiled ruefully. "He doesn't need to. You're his friend, aren't you, Ensign Lektar?" She dared to glance up this time. "Maybe...more?"

Shirik frowned in frustration. How she wished she had her voice now. This kind of discussion shouldn't be done with bland expressionless words on a PADD display. She typed out her answer and showed it to her. Shirik's gaze was steady and even, meeting Lyrr's unflinchingly. It was a strong, proud gaze, one that wouldn't back down from any challenge, but meet it head on. 'I am his friend. Anything more than that isn't up to me. He loves you.'

Lyrr studied the words, and knew them to be somehow not fully true. "Has he told you that?" she asked. "And you believe it to be correct?"

She frowned at the other woman. 'Do you doubt his love for you?'

"That's not what I asked," Lyrr chided gently. "You have spent much time with him, probably know him far better than I... What do you believe?"

She considered her words before typing. She believed in speaking plainly. 'I believe that he believes that he loves you. He's told me he does, and he is a man of honor, I don't believe he lies about it. But what does it matter what I believe? Isn't what you believe more important?'

"I know what I see," she countered. "I know that he shines so brightly, that his smile is so broad and joyful when he returns to our quarters after a morning with you." Lyrr's voice caught in her throat, the admission too difficult to hear, no matter how many times she'd thought about it. "He glows," she continued in a near rasp, "but it's not for me. It couldn't possibly be. You cause that, Ensign, not me."

Shirik frowned in thought. Could that be true? How could it be? 'How do you know it isn't you?' she asked. She echoed Lyrr's words back at her. 'Has he told you that?' This woman seemed very insecure to her, something she never would have expected from the XO, from a woman in command, from the woman who held Ben's love. Part of her couldn't help but wonder what it was that Ben loved about her.

"He's told me nothing," Lyrr answered. "He would be a fool to...or he's a fool not to. If he has feelings for you--" She seemed to choke on the word, and quickly lowered her head. Reflexively, her hand clenched the edge of Shirik's sheets. "If you have feelings for him," she whispered, "please tell me. I won't be angry or jealous... Just tell me."

Shirik studied her closely. Why was she telling her these things? Asking her these things? Did she truly doubt that Ben loved her? If so, she was the fool to Shirik's mind. She thought for a long moment about the question and the answer. She wasn't sure how to answer, because she hadn't actually faced the question to answer it to herself, much less to anyone else. Whether Lyrr would be angry or jealous over the answer was irrelevent to her. She tried to quantify it. 'He is my friend. I trust him, I care about him. There can't be anything more.' She was certain that answer wouldn't satisfy her, but it was the truth. Ben had made that clear, there could never be anything more.

Lyrr scrutinized Shirik's face, searching for the answer to her question Shirik had only alluded to. If there was love between Shirik and Ben, who was she to stand in their way? But Shirik hadn't admitted any such thing, and Lyrr refused to act only on suspicions and assumptions. Sighing, she sat back against the chair. "Very well." Her voice was low and dull, disappointment clearly there. "I'm glad we could talk openly about this, Ensign. And know that if you ever wish to again, if you have anything else to add...I'd be glad to listen."

Shirik couldn't understand her reaction. She seemed disappointed. Why? What did she want to hear? She frowned in thought and typed some more. Tayla wanted them to speak openly, she said. 'I find Ben very attractive. And I know he finds me attractive as well. But that's not love. In truth, I don't know what love is. I've never been in love, I don't know what it feels like. If Ben wanted to explore something more than friendship with me, I would be willing to explore it with him. But that doesn't mean I love him, or that I would love him. He loves you. He's told me that, and because he loves you, there can't be anything more between us than the friendship we have. He made that clear, that's his choice, not mine. Perhaps, instead of worrying about his friendship with me, you should be focusing your attention on him, on what you have with him. On enjoying and treasuring it. On being thankful that you have it. You have nothing to be jealous of, Commander. If anything, I do.'

Lyrr's eyes remained fixed to the pad, even after she'd completed Shirik's statement. There was a part of her being that refused to believe it, for Ben's sake, but she knew he loved her, even if it was unwarranted. Surprising herself, she smiled warmly at Lektar. "I hope you're right," she whispered. "For Ben, not for myself."

Shirik watched Lyrr. She didn't act like a woman in love, she thought. 'Do you feel unworthy of his love?' she asked. Perhaps that was it.

"Aren't I?" Lyrr replied with a raised eyebrow. Smiling enigmatically, Lyrr rose from her seat. "Rest. If Ben drops in, I promise not to monopolize his time."

Shirik raised an eyebrow at that. She said nothing more, only nodded at her and watched her as she went. Now she had even more to think about.

---

"Overwhelming Empathy"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla - Executive Officer
and Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 14h45

***

Making his latest check in with Lyrr, Nurse Sefton noted the readings of her biobed monitor onto his PADD, and brightly asked her, "Would you like anything to eat? Or drink?"

"Nurse Sefton," Lyrr answered, her half-lidded eyes and smirking lips conveying her annoyance, "you're the fourth nurse who's asked me that in the last hour. If I were hungry or thirsty, don't you think I'd let someone know? Do I appear timid or shy to you? Is that it?"

"No," Cristobel responded genuinely, the elongation of the word revealing how far from his mind that had been. "None of the other nurses recorded" -- Sefton emphatically tapped his PADD twice -- "that you didn't want lunch. And one is never an objective judge of when one should be hydrated. You won't feel thirsty until you're already well on your way to dehydration, and you cannot afford that in your state."

Lyrr regarded the nurse curiously and asked, "What is my condition, anyway? It seems everyone has the impression I'm far worse off than I really am." She cocked an eyebrow. "Am I?"

Cristobel's expression became one of consideration, and his brow crumpled into furrows as he considered her with all of his sense, save taste and touch, as well as those of her biobed. His lips parted for speech several seconds before he actually said anything, and his head sadly lilted to the side, as he said, "You're hurt."

Lyrr shook her head slowly, uncertainly. "I...I don't feel hurt," she said quietly. His expression was disconcerting and filled her with insecurity. Lyrr looked away, avoiding his morose gaze. "I feel fine," she whispered.

Although conscious of keeping his hands from inappropriate places, Cristobel gave Tayla a quick across-the-shoulders hug that was over as suddenly as it began. "Do you need your painkillers increased?" Sefton asked formally, eyeing back and forth between Lyrr and his PADD, while idly smoothing out his jacket.

Lyrr cleared her throat, self-consciously scanning the sickbay for any witnesses. She made certain to adjust the back of her gown, in case the ensign had pushed it open in his uncontrollable expression of...whatever that was. "Painkillers..." she repeated, musing distractedly. "I...I'm really not in any pain, Ensign."

"Okay," Sefton nodded, his voice convinced but his eyes not so much. Regardless, he recorded on his PADD that the patient was complaining of no pains.

Not wishing to prolong the uncomfortable moment much longer, Lyrr still had to ask, "So...my discharge? When will that happen, Ensign?"

Feeling much calmer, since Lyrr was merely uncomfortable rather than angry, Cristobel consulted his PADD again and casually guestimated, "Tomorrow. At this point, you're mostly here for observation and relaxation-fuelled recuperation."

"And sympathetic hugs?" she inquired, her expression neutral and not betraying either amusement or disdain.

"Apparently so," Cristobel remarked, with a nod and a grin. His work done, he spun off towards another patient.

Lyrr watched him, her impression of the young man distilled into a single word: odd, and a single question forming in her mind of, Why have I suddenly become the unwilling recipient of everyone's affection? It left her with an almost humourous image of Commander Lyrr, ship's Executive Officer, and everyone's favourite charity case. "If they're feeling so charitable," she muttered, examining her dull blue smock with distaste, "then why can't I find a decent gown?"

---

"When is a Vulcan Not a Vulcan?"
by Lieutenant Commander Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer
Ensign Sanat Vijay - Flight Control Officer
and Ensign Annikafiore Szerda - Nurse

Location: Sick Bay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 15h30

***

"Ensign Vijay. You have to report to Sick Bay for a physical. Now."

Those words were still playing back to him inside his head as Sanat waited for the doors to the Hikaru Sulu's medical center to open. He still thought Lt. Mac, as everyone liked to call him, looked like a troll in a Starfleet uniform. But perhaps, he was being hasty; maybe the senior flight controller could show him a thing or two about piloting an Intrepid Class Star Ship.

Maybe.

The doors opened and he quickly stepped inside and looked around for Dr. Sefton. For some reason unknown to him, she was conducting his physical and not one of the younger doctors. Vijay did not immediately spot her and slowly continued his way deeper into the realm of healing.

"Ensign Vijay? I'm Doctor Sefton," Damhnait announced from a biobed alcove. With M'lira and Kremer recuperating, and having given Raina the day off, Sefton was required to perform quieter tasks, such as scheduled physical examinations. She needed the diversion. Sefton lightly patted the bed, to indicate Vijay where to sit, and asked him, "How would you say you've been feeling of late?"

As he sat down, Sanat answered the doctor's question, "Fine, Doctor." His minded added, Aside from Lieutenant Gui.... Sanat remained composed as he waited for the CMO to proceed with his physical.

"Nothing out of the ordinary?" the Betazoid doctor double-checked verbally, as she swept her flat medical tricorder over Sanat, to check on him physically.

Sanat thought about it for a second before tentatively saying, "I get headaches from time to time for no reason that I'm aware of...they just seem to come and go without warning."

It was a minor mystery to him why his capillaries constricted when they did. Lok never commented on his propensity for headaches as a child, which deepened the enigma for the half human, half Vulcan officer. And Amir was never around long enough to notice these events when they took place. Maybe this doctor could shed some light on Vijay's dilemma.

Looking away from the readings both on her tricorder and on the biobed's monitor, Damhnait ordered Vijay, "I'd like you to begin keeping a log of when you get these headaches, and what your environment is like at those times. You might have to start wearing neurocortical monitors, if they seem serious."

He started to roll his eyes but then remembered who was giving him the physical. "Yes, of course, Doctor."

"Hmm," Damhnait adjusted the readings on her tricorder with firmer taps to the LCARS display. Looking to Sanat, she said, almost accusatorily, "Your physiology is entirely inconsistent with the majority of Human-Vulcan crossbreeds."

Sanat looked at her and nodded his head. "The Kennedy's CMO said as much too, but could not elaborate on what the differences were." Watching as she reran the tricorder over his chest, he queried, "What do your instruments show, Doctor Sefton?"

"To start, your midbrain is underdeveloped, your skull possesses a supraorbital taurus, the epithelium in your nose has a surface area of twelve centimeters, you only have twenty six teeth, you lack hyalothermonic cells in your dermis, your bodily functions are considerably more autonomous than a Vulcan's, your heart is somewhat closer to where a Terran heart would be, and yet your ribcage extends as far down as if it were protecting a Vulcan heart, and your reproductive glands are highly active, which you must already know since--" Damhnait said, but caught herself from going further. Damhnait had tended to enough Vulcan patients to know of the blood fever, and even if Sanat didn't seem the type to keep quiet about the Vulcan affliction he didn't suffer from, she was certain Savaar and the other Vulcans on board would prefer to keep the words 'pon farr' out of the gossipy ears of the nurses in Sickbay. "--Since you already know."

Damn. Talk about information overload. He managed a smile. "Yes...that much I figured out already...." Sanat thought over her description of his anatomical uniqueness and asked, "What does an underdeveloped midbrain mean...in layman's terms please, 'Commander."

"It means that you would be perfectly normal for a human, and that you must not have any readily apparent Vulcan psionic abilities. Most Vulcan-Humans display much more involuntary activity in the midbrain," Sefton explained, using perfect, if elongated, elocution.

His lips pursed a little. "Ah. Thank you for explaining that, Doctor." It elucidated why he'd never been able to master some of his mother's mental disciplinary techniques...he lacked the means. Maybe after they returned from the Gamma Quadrant, he'd discuss this with Lok. It might change a few things in their relationship.

Then again, it might not. Who knows with a totally logical Vulcan?

Sanat watched her make some notes on a PADD. After a few minutes, the CMO took out an instrument the helmsman had never seen before; he inquired, "What's does that do?" Vijay was intrigued, so much so that he forgot the usual perfunctory title.

"It takes more detailed readings of synaptic pathways." Damhnait looked away from the readings appearing on the biobed's monitor, to address Sanat; "It is rare that even a Human-Vulcan would have such little activity on the pathways necessary for emotional control."

The flight controller's left eyebrow rose slightly at the revelation. "Ah. I see...." Another clue to his unusually strong emotional responses; but would his mother believe Dr. Sefton's findings?

She always felt his irrational, highly illogical behavior denoted a certain lack of skill in controlling his more base emotions stemming from weak mental discipline: A strange reaction given her expertise in biology. Vijay's attention was drawn back to his examination when Damhnait's peculiar looking scanner beeped.

Using her own mental senses, rather than the sensitive synaptic pathway scanner, Damhnait cryptically answered his curiosity with, "Pride."

All of a sudden he felt a slight tinge of pain inside his head, the sensation that could not be explained outright. Keeping the doctor from witnessing its effect, Sanat exerted a high degree of facial control. "Pride? What do you mean, Dr. Sefton? Whose pride?"

"Doctor Sefton?" Nurse Annikafiore Szerda trilled from two biobeds down the row. "Can you please assure Ensign Hunter that the pain in his finger is truly psychosomatic?"

With a tempered sigh Damhnait put down the scanner in her hands, and picked up her medical tricorder to stride towards Szerda, who met her halfway, and the two women swapped tricorders. "Vijay's in the last phase of his physical," Damhnait informed Annikafiore.

Regarding the readings that had already been taken, Annikafiore remarked, mostly to herself, "This isn't just a check-in. You've been overdue for a complete physical examination." Annikafiore's voice managed to lack its usual sexuality, even though she said, "I'll need you to remove your clothes and achieve physical exertion. We've moved some of the ex-virus patients into the main ward, and so there is a private room, if you'd like."

The expressionless mask was back in place on his face. He watched her reading the tricorder results while trying to figure out if the attractive woman remembered events leading up to the tryst in Cargo Bay 3. She acted as though their 'liaison' had never happened...or possibly, Anna was simply being professional because Doctor Sefton was close by.

The pilot opted to wait and see. "Yes. I would prefer that." Sanat hopped down off of the bed and waited for the redheaded ensign to lead him to wherever these 'private' rooms resided.

Annikafiore strode towards one of the doors across the bay. The room opened at her touch upon the control, and she quickly replicated a standard flimsy medical gown, with its lightweight sensor technology woven into it. She placed the gown on the biobed for Sanat, and turned her back to him, to allow him privacy and to take her time manipulating the controls that would cause the treadmill to unfurl from its compartment in the wall.

As they walked, he discreetly glanced every so often at her well-shaped posterior as it sensuously danced back and forth with every stride; it still looked enticing, even with Class A trousers masking the finer points. Maintaining his emotionless appearance, Vijay said nothing as they stepped inside and a medical garment was replicated for his use.

When she turned away, Vijay quickly disrobed and laid his uniform down on the bed. He cocked his head slightly to see what Anna was doing while picking up and donning the thin, almost gossamer gown.

His peripheral vision informed him the nurse was working a set of controls that would ultimately deploy a sophisticated running track for the physical part of his examination. Sanat repositioned himself to face Szerda as the treadmill began to lower itself.

"Ready."

Wearing a smile that could be considered genial, at best, she instructed, "The treadmill will operate once you mount it." Annikafiore looked back down to the medical tricorder in her palm, and watched for any abnormalities.

Mount. A curious statement...how does one mount a treadmill? He pondered it for a second before stepping onto the machine. When it started moving, he set an appropriate pace to warm up. Trying to gauge her noncommittal reaction to his presence, Vijay asked matter-of-factly, "Things returning to normal?"

"Pretty much," Annikafiore shrugged. "Accidental injuries have decreased to almost zero, but we're still working on rebuilding the lungs of the patients who had been infected by the virus."

"Ah." The pilot might have said more, but the physical fitness machine started moving faster and faster as it climbed towards a full running profile for him.

Once his heart rate increased to an acceptable level, Annikafiore monitored and recorded his physical reactions silently. Eventually, she slowed the treadmill down to a leisurely walk, and informed Sanat, "You're healthy. As such, you're free to go."

He looked at her and decided that their evening of passion was just that...an isolated affair spurred on by drink and events not totally of their own making. Climbing off the machine, Vijay answered her dismissal with an equally dispassionate, "Thank-you, nurse."

---

"Professional Friendship"
Lt. Brennyn Scott, RN - Chief Counselor
Ensign Shirik Lektar - Operations Officer

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 15h30

***

Brennyn Scott had chosen this moment to visit Shirik Lektar for a reason. Now that things were getting back to what passed for normal aboard the Sulu, officers would be going back to work, working overtime to repair the damage done. It was the time previous patients considered the loneliest there was simply because it was when the real healing began. It was the time when the injured took stock of what was left to be accomplished and what was lost forever. In short, it was the time reality set in.

Scott entered the private room of the young Operations Officer, and peeked in to see if Shirik was awake. The day before, she'd received treatment to repair two collapsed lungs courtesy of the virus. By all accounts, Lektar was lucky to be alive.

Shirik looked up from her PADD, and quirked one eyebrow at the stranger at the door. Stranger in that they'd never really met, but Shirik knew very well who the woman was. Scott, one of the counselors. She just watched, her violet gaze appraising, waiting to see why this person was here.

"Hello, Ensign, how are you feeling?"

She shrugged, since she couldn't speak yet, and the woman was too far away to read anything she might type on her PADD.

Bree brought her palm to her forehead and smiled gently. "Forgive me." Scott moved close enough to see Lektar's PADD, but was what she hoped a respectable distance from her personal space. "Now, how are you doing?"

She shrugged again as she typed her reply. 'I'll live.'

"You seem ambivalent to that, are you?" asked Bree.

'I'm quite happy to be alive. I'll be even happier when I can breathe and speak and get out of this bed once more.'

Bree smiled. "I'll bet. Not many could be that close to death and survive. Is there something I can do for you? Something you need to keep occupied?"

She started to type her reply, then paused in thought. 'Dr. Kremer is also ill,' she typed. 'I've not been able to communicate with him, but if you see him, tell him I sent my greetings, please.'

"I will," Bree replied, then paused for a moment. "Does it bother you that people are worried about you?"

She frowned slightly in confusion. 'Why would that bother me?'

"You seem anxious to be rid of me, and more concerned about Dr. Kremer."

She smiled faintly. 'I don't know you personally, so I surmise your visit is professional. I don't like counselors.'

Bree snorted sarcastically. "Now there's a surprise." She sighed, "Would you be interested in getting to know each other? I'm a person first and foremost, you know."

'I find that counselors are always counselors, even when not on duty. I don't trust them.' She did believe in speaking plainly.

"And why is that?" Despite the commonality of this particular problem, most were reluctant to admit it.

'Because, since they are always thinking as counselors, one must always feel on guard around them. A counselor's job is to get past people's defenses and poke and prod their inner core, whether it's welcome or not.'

"Have you had someone cross that line with you?" asked Bree, eyebrows raised. "I assure you, I'm not about to assault you. But I do have a job like everyone else."

She shook her head. 'Your job is to see to the mental health and well-being of the crew. I am perfectly healthy in that regard, and do not require the services of a counselor.'

"I didn't know you were a trained counselor. Tell me something, if you weren't ok, would you tell me? And how many people do you think do?'

She considered the question. 'No. If I weren't ok, I would not seek out a perfect stranger to spill my innermost soul to. I would speak to someone I knew and trusted.'

"And yet you're unwilling to get to know a person who just happens to be a counselor so he or she was no longer a stranger. A pity." And Bree was truly saddened. "What counselor hurt you so badly that you can no longer trust anyone?"

'If you knew anything about my people, you would know that we habitually don't trust anyone. Trust must be earned.' She paused in her typing to consider. 'Why do you want me to get to know you better? Is it genuine personal interest, or a way to make it easier for me to talk to a counselor?'

"It seems as if we both need to learn about one another, doesn't it? What must I do to earn trust in your culture?"

'I'm not sure,' she answered honestly. 'Because of your profession, there is always the risk that your actions are motivated by an ulterior motive related to that job. Isn't it possible you would befriend a crewmember to gain their trust, and learn more about them, so that you could use that information as a counselor?'

"No," Bree answered. She thought a moment, then replied, "You make it sound as if trust and friendship are simply a means to my end. The truth is, everything in any kind of relationship runs both ways. A person is always in control of what he or she tells me, and vice versa. I don't yank things out of people without their knowledge, but I do make people think. They ultimately make sense of whatever it is we discuss for themselves. I'm merely a sounding board."

'Where I am from, there are no counselors. The closest thing we have are priestesses, and intelligence agents, both of whom use anything they learn to their own advantage. I know that few people enjoy visiting counselors. Why is that, do you think?'

Bree shrugged. "There are a number of potential reasons, all highly personal. Most people only come to see a counselor when they are feeling their absolute worst, when they have reached bottom and have lost control or have had control taken away from them. The very act of reaching out feels like admitting a failure, that something is not right with them or that they are weak. The truth is, reaching out takes the most strength. Starfleet counselors are around to ensure people never get to a point where they feel out of control."

'At what point do you think someone should go to see a counselor?' she asked. 'When something is wrong, when they want someone to talk to? What if they don't believe anything is wrong?'

"Then he or she will come when and if he or she no longer believes that to be true, or a counselor will politely inquire. An inquiry is nothing but friendly concern. A counselor observes what's going on, and if he or she sees a situation that has the potential to hurt another, a counselor will simply offer to listen."

'Surely you don't see such a situation here,' she typed. 'I have no desire to speak to a counselor. However, if your desire simply for friendship is genuine, I may be willing to explore that possibility, once I am released from sickbay.'

Scott made no attempt to hide her smile. Victory. "I would like that, Shirik."

Her eyes narrowed somewhat. 'Just don't make me regret it,' she warned.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Bree replied. And with one last smile, she was gone.

---

"Nursing Staff Postmortem"
Lt. Cmdr. Damhnait Sefton - Chief Medical Officer
Lt. (jg) Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counsellor / Nurse
Ensign Amy Reese - Nurse
Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse
Ensign Annikafiore Szerda - Nurse
Corran Quezith - Civilian Nurse

Location: USS Sulu, Chief Medical Officer's Office
Stardate: 57908.21, 15h45

***

Doctor Damhnait Sefton closed several files on her desktop terminal. Wearing something akin to a satisfied smile, Damhnait opened new notes, and looked to the sole medical officer sitting across from her. Lightly nodding her head, Sefton said, "I have reviewed your logs, evaluated your medical record upkeep and interviewed your colleagues. My findings have been pleasing. The Captain told me that he is quite disappointed with the state of discipline on the ship, but that is simply a reflection on him never having checked on Sickbay during this mission. I am impressed with your performance over the past week, and now that you have had time to digest your experiences, I am curious to know how you would rate your performance during the crisis."

Wincingly, Cristobel Sefton admitted, "For the first few days, I suppose I wasn't as efficient as I could've been. Amy and I still found time for jagged gazes, and I prolly spent too much time helping Corran get... ah... acclimated to Sickbay. After my away mission, though, I put all of my efforts - all of myself - into treating the growing number of patients." Conspiratorially sounding almost surprised, he leaned in to share, "In fact, all my training came back to me intensely quicker and clearer than I expected. Not - not that I didn't consult the medical database and Raina whenever I had a doubt."

***

Lightly nodding her head at the sole medical officer sitting across from her, Damhnait continued, "...I am impressed with your performance over the past week, and now that you have had time to digest your experiences, I am curious to know how you would rate your performance during the crisis."

Annikafiore Szerda crisply responded, "I performed admirably. I attended to my patients in a professional, efficient manner, while always retaining a warm demeanour. Even better, I never once talked to, or about, Amy Reese. Of course, I don't consider the crisis to have started until 57908.19. Everyone bitched about the glitch injuries as being an overwhelming epidemic from the start, but they were never as bad as everyone made them out to be. The nursing staff is simply used to giving priority to providing physical and emotional comfort to patients, rather than providing speed. For the first days, we tried to give every single patient full attention and service, which ended up creating exponential amounts of work for just a handful of more patients per hour. I, along with all the others, found efficiency once the troubles truly began."

***

Lightly nodding her head at the sole medical professional sitting across from her, Damhnait continued, "...I am impressed with your performance over the past week, and now that you have had time to digest your experiences, I am curious to know how you would rate your performance during the crisis."

Corran Quezith had been a little nervous at first, but had resolved to just sit there with his arms crossed. He'd been warned about the interview, but wasn't worried at all. Though the events pertaining to the week before had been more than mind boggling, it was hard to compare anything with a planetary scale war and having practiced as a physician day in and out, non-stop, back home.

"I'm satisfied. It was interesting, and pretty much most of the experience I've needed to really jump into Federation medicine. There're some kinks I need to work out with my technique related to the use of equipment, but I'm getting there." He scanned Damhnait's eyes, wondering how long it would take to be accepted as a doctor.

Damhnait's eyes silently told him to have patience for the duration of this interview and for the advancement of his Starfleet career. Thinking on his response, she looked back to the notes on her screen.

***

Lightly nodding her head at the sole medical officer sitting across from her, Damhnait continued, "...I am impressed with your performance over the past week, and now that you have had time to digest your experiences, I am curious to know how you would rate your performance during the crisis."

"Oh, absolutely tremendous," Potts said happily and sounding like he meant it. "I was a bit of a late comer to your little madhouse here in Sickbay but I'd have to say I performed well within specifications for someone who is admittedly a bit rusty helping with hurts of the body rather than the head."

***

Lightly nodding her head at the sole medical officer sitting across from her, Damhnait continued, "...I am impressed with your performance over the past week, and now that you have had time to digest your experiences, I am curious to know how you would rate your performance during the crisis."

Amy Reese fidgeted anxiously with her cold, pale fingers, while her left foot compulsively oscillated where it hung next to her right calf. Doctor Sefton had called this meeting an interview, but whenever meeting with the stern, intimidating woman, Amy always got the impression it was more of an inquisition. She gulped and tried to answer, but her voice cracked. Her next attempt came out in a whisper, but an audible one at the least. "I-I think I did alright. Me and Cris didn't fight once and...and we saved that crewman." She lowered her eyes under Damhnait's inexorable stare and mumbled, "It felt wonderful."

***

Grinning at that pride, Damhnait encouraged, "With all of the first aid that you had to administer, including the most common tasks from days ago, what are you most proud of achieving?"

Cristobel's eyes darted to the ceiling for a moment of consideration, before enthusing, "On stardate 57908.20, Crewman P'Anik came in with third degree burns on fifty-four percent of his body. I had to diagnose it, medicate him for the lesser burns, and treat all of the burns. All by myself. I mean, technically, a doctor should have been involved, but there wasn't anyone available. And so I did it. I made him better."

"Ensign Mkisha Venn's complicated fracture with arterial lesion on stardate 57908.19," Annikafiore beamed. "I'm sure you recall the log."

"The mastering of how to get a good espresso out of the replicator!" Corran grinned genuinely. It'd taken the better part of three days, but he'd finally programmed what he thought was the best molecular composition for the specific type of coffee he liked for espresso, and somehow thought that that superceded anything he'd done medically.

"Actually, that would have to do more with my specialty rather than my ability to practice medicine," Potts admitted. "On my way to the Sickbay I found Ensign Prem quite distraught and frightened and barely able to function. I talked to her a bit and it seemed to help so I sent her off to her duty station. It shames me to admit it but when the stories filtered back to me about some of the crew rushing for the escape pods a half hour early, I would have bet a shiny strip of latinum that Ensign Prem was among them." Potts smiled with just a small amount of wonder. "But she wasn't. She had gone back to her duty station and stayed until there until the official evacuation order was given. That made me proud of her."

Amy shrugged, insecure about the first answer that came to mind. She verbalized it at any rate. "I-- I guess it was... It felt good knowing I could calm people down, that when I told them they'd be okay, they sort of believed me. I suppose..." she trailed off.

***

Through the response, Damhnait's smile slipped away to be replaced by a thoughtful look. Without a hint of criticism, she asked, "What mistakes did you make that you will never make again?

Bashfully frowning, Cristobel admitted, "When I was assisting Doctor Jacobs with Ensign Thorpe's surgery, on stardate 57908.17, I attached the surgical support frame onto the biobed backwards. I did notice, and correct it, before I began the intravenous medicating, thankfully. Throughout the entire past week, I suppose I spent a sliver more time on consulting the medical database for facts I already knew, but was unsure about."

"I learned that Melorazine is just as effective as Rexlin, but it doesn't cause nearly as much vomiting as a side effect." Annikafiore looked down to her Class A trouser clad legs, recalling how much she ended up wishing she had not worn a skirt on that day.

Corran smirked at her, having to give the question some actual serious thought. Performing first aid was easy for the most part, but there was the occasional inconvenience of those few that had radically different or even mildly but significantly different anatomy, that had to be tended to in a different manner. Any related problems from that had come from taking more time than he thought he should have during treatment. He could get carried away making sure he knew the details about the race and particular person he was treating when in the Federation, for the most part, you just trusted what the computer's scans told you and applied any of several recommended treatments.

He said, "Well, I won't be getting too absorbed in cases that need to be tended to swiftly... but I also won't just bring them in and out in a flash either. Mainly I guess I could've treated more patients."

"In retrospect, it seems that a Counselor roving the decks during the destruct sequence might have been a good idea." Potts licked his lips thoughtfully. "I think perhaps it was a mistake to so readily volunteer my services to evacuating the Sickbay. It seems I may have been needed elsewhere."

"Mistakes?" Amy appeared at once crestfallen and fearful. "I-I'm sorry, Doctor. I didn't know I was doing something wrong. Was the volume of inaprovaline I requested too high?" She whimpered and dropped her face into her palms.

"Amy, you have been working overtime for a week," Damhnait reminded her, with a light seriousness. "There must have been at least one mistake you made that no one noticed except for you, and in the recognition, that mistake is one you will never make again. Mistakes are a good thing. I would transfer away any medical officer who tells me she hasn't made any mistakes, because either she has not learned a thing, or she is simply a liar. I have no use for either."

Amy's head shot upright. "B-But I have made mistakes!" she insisted. "I let my personal affairs affect my performance - I was so awful to Ensign Sefton and let it preoccupy me, b-but when we worked together to save that man...I realized that, in the end, none of that matters. You have a duty to heal people, and that's what you have to do, and you have to work together, even if it's with someone who drives you nuts!" She blushed and smiled guiltily. "I mean...he's a nice guy and all but..." Sighing deeply, she continued, "I guess...I know now that I have to do my duty first. That's all...."

***

"I would like to know what you thought of my performance," Damhnait instructed. Suspecting the question to be too open ended for a junior officer to be too terribly honest, Sefton focused the questions as, "How might you have better organised the triage? How would you have better tackled the virus crisis?"

Cristobel chose to silently answer the question telepathically.

Without hesitation, Szerda declared, "The initial evaluation of the crew's viral status was done anachronistically. You should not have let the nurses manage it, because we spent most of the first shift examining sweaty security officers who had just come up from the planet, while the away team from the previous day was allowed to put off their examinations until the second shift. It left too many opportunities for infection. Similarly, you should not have let the technicians determine their own restocking schedule. The medical kits were sorely useless during the true crisis. Additionally, we should begin instituting armband monitors for medical personnel in future viral crises, to instantly learn of infections among our own staff."

Corran frowned at her openly, not hesitant in the least about answering the question so much as not understanding it. She was talking to a man she knew had witnessed chaos at its worst... there was only so much a person could do to organize themselves and others.

"For all your medical training, your fleet training... basically you did as well as you could have. I don't think there's any other way to tackle a crisis than by just going into it head first to deal with what's urgent..." His eyes turned dark brown as he looked at the computer on her desk. He knew that there were people that were trained for crisis situations, for accidents and the unexpected, but ultimately it always came down to their personality and character more than how well they prepared.

"I don't think I'm someone you should ask that question." Quezith looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm not Starfleet, I'm not even military. When I had to deal with something like that it took someone else's coaxing to get back on my feet and treat patients. You have to understand that as a telepathic race, it's incredibly hard to center your mind on one thing, let alone get around to people around you. I think you did well, but I also don't think my opinion is really valid enough. I don't have any kind of serious experience to fall back on and tell you what you might have done wrong. I just think it went well and that it could've been a lot worse..." and as an afterthought, "a lot worse..."

"Why, my lovely Lieutenant Commander Sefton...you know more than anyone that I just think you're aces." Potts fluttered his eyebrows at her. "Viral pathology is a far cry from my specialty...I would not dare second guess you in that regard."

Amy's face drained and her heart skipped briefly at the thought of criticizing her department head. She balked and absently shook her head in refusal. "You're the chief," she explained. "How could everything not have been done perfectly? I mean-- Well," she digressed, appearing a touch skeptical, "we could have had some cots set up for all those patients before they arrived, so that people wouldn't have had to stand so long." Amy sucked in an excited breath and sat up straight. "Oh! And then there are the medical kits... I know they were stocked beforehand, but during the crisis, it was almost as if keeping the supplies replenished was hardly a priority. Then the triage... We should have teams arranged in anticipation of any future emergencies instead of throwing people together last minute." Noting she had Damhnait's attention fully, as well as her inscrutable, hard stare, Amy lowered her eyes once more and seemed to shrink away. "But other than that...." she finished weakly.

***

"Starfleet's hierarchy provides certain efficiencies, but no sole person can objectively evaluate an entire group of people. Not even myself," Damhnait stated. "Would you commend the performance of any of your colleagues? Is anyone in need of training?"

Without needing much time for thought, Cristobel said, "Raina did an amazing job of managing Sickbay. All she needs to learn is to rest when she needs it, but I suppose that's almost antithetical to the emergency field of medicine. Ensign Jacobs could probably use a little sensitivity training, and I think Warrant Officer Crowe had some trouble with using the microtome."

Again, without a moment's hesitation, Annikafiore stated, "Doctor Jacobs is a vicious bitch, Amy Reese wasn't in the game until things got really crisis-y, Raina was efficient, but impersonal, Corran seemed haunted, and Cristobel has to stop trying to impress you."

"Umm..." It'd been spread across the ship that Sickbay had its issues, but Corran hadn't really been able to pay much attention through the crisis. He'd been under the effects of a few symptoms himself... "I just know we all worked."

"Well, there's you," Potts flirted with fluttering eyebrows. "And I have to say, I thought the EMH performed admirably in the face of the crisis. I nearly fainted dead away when I was told a power fluctuation had deactivated her after I left the Sickbay but I was thrilled to see that she suffered it none the worse for wear. You really should consider giving her more responsibilities, Doctor."

"Well, we could all use more training," Amy replied. "And Ensign Derrell was really good." As an afterthought, she blurted, "Oh, and Cris too! He helped me save that man."

***

"Have you decided on a long-term goal for yourself? Something to have achieved once we return to the Alpha Quadrant?" Damhnait asked.

"I'd like to earn an early acceptance for attendance at Starfleet Medical. With that, I hope to finally decide when, exactly, I'm going to return to Earth to complete a medical doctorate program," Cris said with a light shrug.

"You already know you'll be accepted," Damhnait reminded him in genuine confidence.

"Didn't you already waste many of your favours just to get yourself here?" Cris self-depreciatingly teased.

"Even if I don't so much as write you a letter of recommendation: You already know you'll be accepted," Damhnait nurturingly repeated.

"I think I do."

***

"Have you decided on a long-term goal for yourself? Something to have achieved once we return to the Alpha Quadrant?" Damhnait asked.

"A Commendation from the Starfleet Surgeon General," Annikafiore replied.

"That's very specific," Damhnait remarked, amused by the answer.

"How would I know if I achieved a goal without that goal being measurable?" Szerda asked, mostly rhetorically.

The final line in Damhnait's notes read: Head Nurse?

***

"Have you decided on a long-term goal for yourself? Something to have achieved once we return to the Alpha Quadrant?" Damhnait asked.

"To get my doctor's license. I know that probably won't happen until we get back to the Alpha Quadrant, but it doesn't hurt to reach beyond what's generally possible, does it?" Corran asked.

"Of course not," Damhnait agreed. "About that: you were a physician among the Achicarians, and you clearly" -- she waved generally towards his medical logs on her monitor -- "can diagnose and treat common injuries. So long as you pass the next series of exams, I think you will join the nursing staff ahead of schedule."

Corran had to make a serious effort not to even think about a sarcastic response to that, he just smiled warmly at Damhnait, batting his eyelashes, but one could only last so long... "That's 'great' news." Well, it was, but if they heard about this back home, they'd laugh in his face... or telepathically rather.

"That'll be all," Damhnait said flatly. "Thank you for your cooperation."

He stood up with a light smile towards Damhnait. It was going to be hard to bite his tongue and just keep doing this course, but he would, especially since it meant he'd either work as a fully credited doctor or just as the ship's gardener...

The final line in Damhnait's notes read: It is uncertain if his title-related arrogance or his antisocial tendencies are more worrying. Presumably, joining the nursing staff will force him to get past the M and the E in team.

***

"Have you decided on a long-term goal for yourself? Something to have achieved once we return to the Alpha Quadrant?" Damhnait asked.

Potts rested his chin on his hands and looked at Damhnait dreamily. "I intend to do extensive research into Deltan Betazoid anatomical compatibility. I only need a proper research assistant."

"I'd advise you to find one quickly," Damhnait said, teasingly implying he look elsewhere. "Most of my medical staff has already begun to commit to studies of their own."

"But there aren't all that many Betazoids on board," Potts protested with a slight whine. "At least none with your particular qualifications."

"You will simply have to conduct your research without a Betazoid on-hand. I assure you, Betazoid physiology and genomics are well documented and available on the computer," Damhnait reminded him, even though the grin on her face told him that she knew that wasn't the sort of research he was interested in.

There was no final line in Damhnait's notes. She had forgotten to record any.

***

"Have you decided on a long-term goal for yourself? Something to have achieved once we return to the Alpha Quadrant?" Damhnait asked.

Amy frowned in reflection. "I've never really had time to think about something like that.... I guess...I guess just being a good nurse is what I want." Eyes raised again, and displaying greater confidence in her response, she added, "That's what I want, Doctor. I want to be like you someday. And I'll work hard to do it."

Sefton visibly pondered an idea, before saying, "I don't particularly enjoy medical research -- which is probably why I enjoyed my first impression of M'lira, in that she mostly keeps to her research and stays out of my way -- and yet I have insisted upon research assignments for the entire staff. I had originally intended to continue my personal research into telepathic ailments, but this literature virus we have discovered has stolen my curiosity. You said before that you wanted a partner; would you like to be my research assistant? (Keeping in mind that you will still have to decide on a research project of your own, of which I could be your research assistant.)"

Gaping at Sefton, though with laughter bubbling in her throat, Amy involuntarily nodded. In a burst of shrill squeals and giggles, she leapt from her seat, lunged forward across the desk and trapped Damhnait in an embrace. "Yes! Oh, thank you, Doctor! I'd be honoured!"

Damhnait smiled uncertainly at Amy's exuberance, but gently hugged her back in kind. Releasing her, not long after, Sefton said, "Now, you will have to do some reading before we begin. You should at least read Viral Dynamics by Andreas Sze, to strengthen your knowledge of virology and immunology, as well as The Elegant Universe by Cassandra Bhatt, to ground an understanding of consonant representations of mathematical expressions."

"I will," she assured her, stifling another giggle. "I'll get on that right now...if I'm dismissed, of course."

"You are," Damhnait nodded, finding Amy's smile to be infectious.

Amy grinned, ear to pierced ear, and began backing towards the door, waving vigorously at Damhnait all the while. She giggled as she bumped the jamb, altered course with a single side-step, then performed a quick curtsey for Sefton as she bowed through. The door nearly snapped shut on her nose.

The final line in Damhnait's notes read: She only spoke of the final day. Re-evaluate Reese's logs from 57908.16 through 57908.19.

---

"Economics 101"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Master Chief Petty Officer Kora Tawno; Ship's Purser [NPC]
Crewman First Class Ro Palil; Security Crewman [NPC]
Crewman First Class Ken Smith; Security Crewman

Location: USS Sulu, Operations Office; The Surface
Stardate: 57908.21 16h15

***

"Evenin', Chief," Farrell said as Kora Tawno plodded into the room.

"Good evening, sir," Chief Tawno croaked, putting her thick hands behind her back. "What can I do for you?"

"As though you don't know," Farrell winked. Tawno smiled, which was to say she leered uncomfortably.

"We're swamped with repair requests," said Farrell, "it's taken most of the day just to assess and assign. The fabrication replicators in Engineering are working overtime, and our repmass stores are starting to get low--but you know all that, since you oversaw all the same problems during Alpha," he waved absently at the computer console. "But while I was reviewing last shift's reports, I ran across a flagged entry you left for me from one of the exploration teams."

"Did you, sir?" Tawno asked, with mock innocence.

"Volunteering for a detail, Chief? Get planetside and take a few images for the memory book?" Farrell smiled.

"Oh, sir," Tawno blushed, which was to say that her complexion grew even blotchier. She waved vaguely at him. The oddly mothering attitude she showed to the Operations staff was a little unsettling from someone as tough as Tawno. "No, sir," she said. "I assume you read the report I flagged for you."

Farrell smiled. "I did. And it's still daylight on the surface. Looking to refill cargobay 9?"

"Yes, sir."

***

"So this is it?" asked Farrell, adjusting his sunglasses, and rolling his shoulder as though working out a kink.

"Yes, but I don't know if they have restored the power to this place. It has some nasty automated defense systems." Entering the structure Ken pointed to the open vault door in the back. "That, of course, would be the vault." Thank you, Crewman Obvious.

Farrell presented his tricorder to the vault door and commenced scanning. "I get no energy readings. Chief?"

"Agreed. It's dead," Tawno nodded, checking her own tricorder.

"Comparative scanning says it's the way you two left it, Smith," Farrell glanced at the pair of security crewmen. "Anything look different?"

"Nope." Crossing the floor, Ken opened the vault and with a grand sweep of the arm proclaimed. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the lost archives of a dead world."

Tawno snorted, which was probably meant to contain humor, but came off a bit like a derisive warthog with the croup. Farrell stepped forward and looked inside. "Ro, bring those lights. It looks like all the internal power's out."

***

"So what are a couple of good moral folks like you doing raiding abandoned banks?" Ken asked. He had been standing around for a half hour doing nothing which was better than dealing with the fall out from his confrontations with the good Doctor. "You aren't really a bunch of pirates arrrrrrrrr you?"

"Watch yourself, swabbie," Farrell said, his twang making the pirate slang sound particularly silly. "Chief Tawno here keelhauls runts what don't mind their P's and Q's, says I."

"Chief, say it ain't so, I be a good swab and a good mate also. So you be looking for treasure, eh?" Ken ignored the chief's look of disgust at the pirate theme that had started to take hold. "Well, there be treasure here," he said, indicating several rows of ancient looking books. "By my reckoning these be the oldest among the lot of 'em."

Tawno looked nonplussed. Crewman Ro put on her best disappointed look, too, but the old Tellerite was obviously better at it.

"So anyway," Farrell said, shaking off his pirate reverie. "Before we start using the words 'plunder' and 'booty' in the same sentence, what do you think, Chief? Of this stuff, I mean."

"Well," Tawno said, looking back and forth from her tircorder scans to the objects themselves. "Some of this looks to be of decent make. It was valuable to these people, but how valuable others will find it is debatable. I like the look of these sculptures here," she indicated a set of abstract art pieces. "The stone is cut along the same grain in each piece. As a set, they could be reasonable."

"No offense, Chief, but how often have you been to the Trader markets?" Ken asked.

"Pardon, Crewman?"

"The Trader markets. The Federation likes to shut them down so they move around a lot, pop up once in a while, collectors show up to trade, and then it disappears. Statues are pretty common, even cavemen can make delicate statues. But actual printed texts are rare, rarer still are texts in dead languages, and the crčme de la crčme are the texts of dead races. Hence these books would be the best, notice how the lettering on the binding is different from the ones over there? I would say these are from a dead language, one that died before the race did."

"Are you done?" Tawno asked flatly, her tone indicating he'd better be.

"No, Chief." With a maniacal smile Ken added. Closing one eye and raising the other's brow Ken scrunched his face up in the perfect rendition of a pirate from a cheesy holodeck program he had once swashbuckled his way through. "Arrrrrrrrrrr. Now I would be done, chief."

Tawno and Farrell shared a look, Tawno unimpressed, and Farrell shrugging his lack of desire to get between her and the young security crewman.

"Have you ever actually been to what you describe as a trader market, Smith?" Tawno asked.

"Well, Chief, I will neither confirm nor deny that I have been there. The current climate in the Federation is not very accepting of those who covet artifacts for themselves." Ken shrugged then continued. "But if you are near my quarters please by all means stop by and view my classic comic book collection. Before leaving New Berlin I acquired a Federation Founders #7 and a Tellarite Terrors #101, the Death of Ungo the Amazing."

"And what exactly has you so convinced that the Federation cares one way or the other about book trading?"

"It is not so much the books, but the other artifacts that get traded at the markets. A friend of mine is serving 18 months in a penal colony for marketing Nazi and Zuppadian military equipment. That is where you make the biggest trades, there is also the fact that more illicit items end up there right along with copious amounts of gold-pressed latinum. It is rumored that Kivas Fajo was one of the founding members of the Markets."

"Smith, you were raised on Earth, yes?" Tawno asked, already knowing the answer.

"For a part of my life."

Tawno made another of her croupy warthog noises. "Allow me to correct a couple of misconceptions you have, then. The trade markets you will not confirm having visited are not, in and of themselves, suppressed by Starfleet. People like your friend get arrested for dealing in illegal goods, like weaponry, and he was either dealing in significant quantity, or had the poor sense to try and sell to a Starfleet sting buyer. Kivas Fajo remained out from under scrutiny, even after purchasing a Barron-T disruptor, until he graduated to significant crime, like kidnapping Starfleet officers."

Fortunately for Miles wasn't selling weaponry. He wouldn't be getting out for at least five more years before being up for parole.

"That said," Tawno carried on, her voice gravelly and unpleasant, "trade markets like the ones you won't confirm having visited close their doors not because the Federation closes them. They close because all too often they fail to allow supply and demand to meet, the principal problem with any barter system. If no one wants what you have, you move on. Savvy?"

"Of course, Chief." Fool, Academics meet the demand and then some, not to mention many of the other types who like to visit them. Socialites looking for artifacts and thrills, thieves, smugglers, collectors, all manner of riff raff ended up at those markets. Ahhh how I miss the good old days of-- Using his stare of realization and understanding, one he had perfected while being lectured by Principals, bosses, and superiors, Ken let his peripheral vision take in what was really in the room. They would eat this stuff up, a Status symbol is what they want. In fact, Dr. Ito would love to buy this whole collection from me including any background info. Probably earn enough to buy a small moon. Or maybe he might part with 21st Century man #6. Greed is good and will always lead to greener pastures, thank you Dr. Hiro Ito for the quote of the day. Ken just nodded and kept his thoughts to himself. The Chief was typical of Federation citizens in Ken's eyes, believing everything that the authorities told them.

Tawno sniffled a snorting sniffle, nodded at the completion of the discussion, and stumped back into the recesses of the vault.

Ken stood up and looked around, the Ops officer and Ro and wandered off while the Tellarite had grumbled. Ken smiled. Alone at last. He wandered around, the vault was larger than what he had originally thought. It had many rooms filled with cabinets, book shelves and storage bins. Perhaps this was some kind of auction house in addition to being a vault, the front room probably didn't have the most pricey items, but then again, Ken, aliens might value things differently than you. Shut up, Dr. Ito will want what ever was rare to them. He and his Archeologist and Xenologist buddies love dead races and their artifacts. Ken was inspecting a pile of what might have been money. Real money. The market for any type of old money was large. He slipped a few of the plastic disks with blue green and red markings into his pocket. He heard voices approaching and busied himself with the art that had been stacked against the wall.

Farrell rounded a bend in the aisle, his sunglasses hanging against his chest by a black tether, his tricorder out and scanning. Ro was beside him, her rifle slung, one thumb hooked beneath the sling, the other thrust into a hip pocket.

"Materialism may be easier for you to understand," Farrell was saying, "since you actually grew up using money."

"I never had any anyway, sir," Ro shrugged. "I may as well have been raised on Earth."

"Not an exact comparison, unfortunately," Farrell chuckled. "Let me see if I can lay this out." He sucked his teeth a moment as he holstered his tricorder and sat on a crate.

"On long-established Federation worlds," he began, "money serves no significant day-to-day function. Everyone can be fed, clothed, sheltered and transported through the use of replicators and other technologies, and the vast majority of people are content with that."

"Then why money, sir?" Ro asked, sitting across the aisle from Farrell.

"Well, Vast Majority doesn't mean Everyone," Farrell explained. "There are two principal factors that keep a monetary system in place. First, there are substances that can't be replicated, like dilithium or latinum. If it can't be replicated, laws of supply and demand dictate that it will be assigned a value of some kind."

"And value translates to price," Ro added.

"In a roundabout way, that's correct," said Farrell. "And if a thing has a price, you have to trade for it. The easiest way to do that is with a currency of some kind. Money. That said, let's talk about luxury goods."

Ro said nothing, so Farrell went on. "I'm sure you've noticed that replicators don't always do the best job. I still can't get decent ice cream out of a replicator, and I've been trying for over a decade. So there are things people can get, but prefer not to get, through simple replication, and therefore a demand exists for non-replicated goods. And when a demand exists, the supply will eventually acquire--" he held out a hand for Ro to finish the sentence.

"A price," Ro said.

"Right," Farrell pointed at her to emphasize her correct answer. "Call it the snob factor."

"Snob?" asked Ro.

"Human slang," Farrell answered. "A snob is someone conceited, or overly proud."

"Oh," Ro said. Then she smiled. "So Smith's a snob for wanting his Tales-of-Whatever-number-whatever books?"

Farrell laughed. "In a minor way, probably. See, he could replicate these things easily. The files exist. He could probably put his entire collection on a PADD or two and have an easier time reading them. But having the actual printed pages, that appeals to some people."

Ro thought on that.

"Let me see if I can elaborate on that," Farrell said. "The Federation itself doesn't really use money internally, save for the acquisition of non-replicatables like dilithium. But most of our neighbors, and many worlds on the fringe of the Federation itself, do use currency in one form or another, and in order to maintain relations with them, the Federation trades for those currencies. Bajor is a good example. Bajor has a currency-based economy, and the Federation trades goods like technology, or service like defense guarantees, partly in return for that currency. When a Starfleet vessel pulls into Bajor, Operations receives an allocation of local currency from Starfleet Command, based on formulae that account for the ranks and time served and so forth," Farrell waved a hand in the air to punctuate the list, "of the individual crewmembers. Operations disburses those 'credits' of local currency into special accounts set up for the crew by treaty, and the crew is then free to debit those accounts at their leisure.

"This is where a lot of people from, say, Earth, or Andoria, or even Tellar, can get hung up," Farrell continued. "They grow up being able to get all the standard stuff out of their replicators, and then when they first encounter money, they tend to go through a materialistic phase where they get greedy and hoard things. Human history is full of people who got greedy and hoarded things. We're almost hardwired that way, and it's taken centuries for us to even start to outgrow the desire to acquire," Farrell smiled at his rhyme. "Most of the time there's no real value in what we want, but we think there is because the thing we want can't be replicated, or can't be replicated well, and is therefore in finite supply, and is therefore--" he held out his hand again.

"Assigned a value," Ro finished.

"Right," Farrell said, smiling.

"So what are we doing here, sir?" Ro asked. "These people are dead. Their currency's worthless."

"Trade goods for later," Farrell answered. "The Federation's treaties in the gamma quadrant are few and far between. Until they firm up a bit, we're on our own if we actually have to purchase anything while we're out here. We can use simple things like soil or water and turn them into repmass, if we need to. But if we need something exotic, like dilithium, we're going to need to buy it, and that means we'll need access to local currency, which we acquire in turn through trade or service. Just like the Federation diplomatic corps, save that we'll be doing it on a much smaller, case-by-case, impermanent basis."

"So we're going to steal their things and sell them to other people?" Ro asked, a little incredulous.

"In a way, sure," Farrell shrugged, then gave a mischievous smile. "But are we stealing if there's no owner?"

Ro thought on that. "Good point, sir."

"Possession is 9/10ths of the law, Sir, and I am pretty sure this place is possessed." Ken chuckled as he slipped out from behind a full rack of books. The art he had been inspecting turned out to be more amateurish than he would have preferred. "And besides, nothing can beat the feel and scent of an old comic book, hell even a newly printed comic book beats replicators and PADDs any day. You really can't tell a replicator to produce the scent of times, memories, experiences, and lives gone by, now can you?"

"Does he do this with everybody?" Farrell asked Ro.

"Do what, sir?" she was perplexed by the question.

"Compete needlessly."

"Compete? With an officer and a Gentleman? What contest would there be?" Ken pointed at the art he had been investigating. "There is some arrrrrrt over there. Ensign, what is the rule on bringing things back to the ship? I was hoping to snag some of those discs to have shipped back to my parents for souvenirs once we get back to civilization."

"I don't particularly care if you decide to pick up a trinket on your way out. Just clear it with Tawno. She's compiling the list of stuff we'll be taking aboard."

"Aye Aye, Sir. Sir, you were mentioning currency, the Captain said this planet was pre-warp, do you think any exchange markets will honor it? And if they do won't we be in essence cheating them? Not that I have a problem with that."

Farrell gave an almost imperceptible wince at Smith's last sentence, and glanced at Ro, who was rolling her eyes. "Smith, you're going to make me break a promise and use a phrase I swore I'd never use."

"What would that be, sir?"

"Word to the wise," Farrell said dryly. He let that hang in the air a moment, then, "Here're your words of wisdom for today. Don't use the word 'cheat' in the same sentence as the phrase 'no problem'. Ever. You have no idea who I am and how I'd respond, and if you keep up this verbal diarrhea you're going to get yourself in real trouble someday. And while I'm on that subject, if you even attempt to tell Tawno her business again, there'll be hell to pay. She's been doing her job longer than you've been alive. She's doubtless cutting you some slack this time because we all get to be stupid once. She won't let it go a second time, and if you start arguing with her again nobody will get between you and her. Get me?"

"Yes, Sir." I have a problem breaking promises but not with cheating other races. What a fine example of Starfleet Academy Training. I doubt I will be in Starfleet much longer. Maybe I should let the good officer in on the theory behind the word 'institutionalized.'

"Now, to answer your question," Farrell was continuing, his tone softening back into its usual easy-going twang. "Nobody's going to honor a currency they've never seen. This people's money is pretty well worthless for anything more than souvenirs. Besides we're here to load up on anything non-replicatable first, followed by art and suchlike that we can sell at future ports."

"Well then." Not sure what to say, Ken turned his thoughts inward while Farrell and Ro continued searching about. *Ken, now listen here, your business with Dr. Sefton is going to be sorted out. Who cares if it will be sorted out? I was doing my job and now I will probably end up relaxing in the brig until we get home or being an E-1 again. Ken, why don't you put the discs back. Why should I? Because it would be good karma. Why does my Id believes in Karma while my super ego doesn't? Well, wild man, just so you know your ego sides with me. Fine I'll put them back. Ken emptied his pockets onto a shelf, then started after the pair with a, "Sir, wait up."

---

"It's Where You Live"
by Ensign Cristobel Sefton - Nurse
and Petty Officer 3rd Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Astrometrics Technician

Location: USS Sulu, Moreau's Quarters
Stardate: 57908.21, 17h00

***

Since Cristobel was scheduled to complete a holo-test the following day, regardless of the various crises, Cris now felt that an emergency study session was required. He crawled out of a jefferies tube a section away from Shyla's quarters, and felt refreshed, in an achy kind of way, to have finally managed a longer bout of exercise in climbing all the way down, after days of just standing and walking in controlled measures within Sickbay. Cris pulled back the flap of the messenger bag he wore over his shoulder, and ensured the bottle was unbroken and the chocolate was unsmushed. He hoped one or both would be enough to convince Shyla to quiz him without prior notice, but then snickered; Shyla would want to study even if the ship was still glitching the hell out of everyone. The chocolate was to keep himself going, when his medical text got dry, or when its diction took painful liberties with the Federation Standard language.

Sefton tapped the doorchime once it was within reach, and the first thing he beamingly said to Shyla when she was revealed behind the doors was, "I am ecstatic that I have not seen you for the past few days."

"And why is that?" Shyla asked, beaming just as brightly. She hugged Cristobel soundly in spite of him being ecstatic about not seeing her.

Squeezing back, Cris exclaimed, "Because I hardly left Sickbay!" Dropping his arms to his sides, and taking half a step back, he explained, "If I'd seen you, it would have meant that you were hurt."

"Well, maybe I was hurt that you didn't see me!" Shyla said in a mild tease. "All things considered, I am equally glad I did not see you." Her face grew slowly serious. "Sickbay was pretty bad, wasn't it?"

"The influx of patients was relentless," Cristobel sighed, as he followed Shyla into her quarters. "What do they have you doing in the land of Astrometrics?"

"Looking ahead," Shyla grinned over her shoulder. "We have to be ready in all directions once flight control gets the next course heading."

Nodding, Cristobel set his bag on the floor, and dropped himself into the chair by the desk. Tentatively, he asked, "Would you care to help me look ahead towards my test tomorrow?"

"Subject?" Shyla asked, ducking into her bunk and sitting cross-legged.

"Diagnostic Parasitology," Cristobel responded seriously, as he retrieved the bottle from his messenger bag. It was fizzy Betazoid mineral water, which was roughly translated as simply, Clarity, because of the effect it was purported to have on the mind.

"That's it?" Shyla scoffed. "I can quiz you on that without even putting on my thinkin' cap... Where do pediculis humanas captias typically lay their eggs?"

"Under your thinking cap - in pretty much any humanoid hair," Cristobel answered.

"And animal hair," Shyla pointed out. "I'll need your answers to be complete and concise," she warned.

"Of course, sir," Cristobel saluted inaccurately. "Next question."

There was silence for a moment. "Okay, I'm a liar," Shyla said, thrusting her hand out for Sefton's study materials. "I know next to nothing about Diagnostic Parasitology."

"How about" - Cris started, but then spun around on the desk chair until he was facing Shyla's bunk again - "the next time we study" - he spun again - "we do so on the holodeck" - Cris planted his feet on the floor and sat forward, handing Shyla his PADD - "I've got this program of a cruise ship on the Deill ocean on Betazed. The crew is comprised of male gymnasts and synchronised swimmers."

Shyla leaned against the bulkhead reading Sefton's PADD and didn't look up though she did manage to smile and raise an eyebrow. "Not a ship based in reality, then?" she lightly teased. "And certainly not a distraction-free environment."

"Perhaps not, but they're perfectly acceptable distractions," Cristobel insisted, only half-jokingly. "Two thirds of them are tricked out with the EMH's knowledge base. It'll just take a command or two to grant the rest of them expertise in the other sciences if you want to study."

"I'm all for a collaboration of minds," Shyla affirmed, looking up and scooting to the edge of her bunk. "Even those made up of data bits and photons but would you really have me give up all this--" Shyla gestured, PADD in hand, around her cramped enlisted quarters with its two stacked bunks and single bed "--for a luxury cruise ship filled with handsome Betazoid boys who put the sum of my knowledge to shame?" She pointed her PADD at Sefton and couldn't keep a smile off her face. "I'm hormonal here, Cris. Are you trying to give me a complex?"

"Why are you still living here?" Cristobel asked in honest bewilderment, without any actual derision towards the living conditions. Tauntingly, he supposed, "The magic of making your crewmen roommates call you 'sir' must have evaporated by now."

She leaned back into the slightly shadowed alcove of her bottom bunk. "I'm biding my time. It won't be too terribly long before I'll have another roommate to contend with...and at that point I should be able to get enlisted family berthing." She looked a Cris thoughtfully. "Besides, I'd probably have to throw in with one of the PO3's from security and most of them are male."

"From the sounds of that, I'd say you have to create some new options," Cristobel said, taking on a thoughtful tone of his own. "What... if... you could share an officer's family quarters?"

Shyla examined Cris carefully, her face sliding quickly between hopefulness and stubborn resolve. "I couldn't ask you to do that, Cris," she said, beginning to shake her head. "We're only now getting back to normal duty shifts and I'd just be in the way. Corran and you need the time alone and he'll be cleared to move back in soon enough anyway." She caught a look in his eye, pushing her to clarify her impressions. "Right?"

"We still have no estimate on when Corran's brain chemistry will normalize enough to permit sleeping in close quarters," Cristobel responded flatly. Quietly vulnerable, he admitted, "I'm not even sure if he'd move in full-time, if he were all better tomorrow. I mean, when he came back to the Federation for me (the first time) we pretty much jumped right into pseudo-married life, and I think it might have been too quick. For the moment, we both need some independence; not romantically, but geographically. And for the moment, Viraj can't keep operations from reassigning me from out of my sweet couple's quarters, with the master bedroom and a guest room, and into junior officer's quarters, with no separate bedrooms, to share with a stranger. Probably a security officer." A smirk coming to his face, Cristobel teased, "Don't think that I'm trying to play the hero, here. My offer was entirely selfish. But it seems that mouth-talkers tend to do what I want, when I phrase it in terms of what they want."

Shyla gave his smirk a smile. "Okay, you're a complete and total jerk and I am tempted by your entirely selfish offer but have you spoken with Corran about this?" She scooted herself back out to the edge of her bunk again. "I'm not sure what he thinks of me anymore...I thought we were getting close but I haven't spoken to him even once since he's been back."

"How could he not adore you? I honestly don't think he's talked to anyone since he's come back," Cristobel shrugged. "He refuses to admit it, but he's having a tough time finding enough time for juggling the arboretum, the café in the arboretum, shifts in Sickbay, and his medical training. And then, I suppose I end up stealing all of his social time, because I have so little of it, of my own. Besides, he knows that regulation is demanding that I have a roommate. It's an unalterable fact."

"But it's also a fact that he will be moving back in," Shyla pointed out, though she wanted nothing more than to accept his generous offer. "I mean, I know it's a spare room but before long, your one pudgy roommate is going to become two and that second roommate will be fussy and crying all hours and I'll be absolutely insane." She met his eyes. "What if I can't get enlisted family berthing, Cris? You could get stuck with me and mine."

"The Starfleet Corps of Engineers put brilliant sound-proofing in the walls," Sefton reminded her, keeping his eyes on hers. "And I would enthusiastically deal with your insanity, over most of this crew's supposed sanity. And we know Mason Farrell; there's no way you would be refused enlisted family berthing, once you're ready to move."

A slow smile dawned on her face, brighter than Cris had seen in some time. "I guess there's really no reason to continue being coy with you," she said, referring to his telepathy. "I want to move in and you know I want to move in and that places you at an advantage in this debate." She put her hand on his and gripped it. "Cheater," she said fondly.

"I did know that you'd say yes, before you knew," Cris admitted with faux-chagrin. "But I had no way of knowing if your arguments would persuade me into rescinding the offer."

"I'm suspending further arguments pending inspection of my new bedroom, sir." Shyla beamed at Cris then gripped him suddenly in a fierce hug. "Thank you, Cris," she said into his ear, her voice already thickening with tears.

"You're welcome, but, really, all you need to thank are Starfleet regulations and pliable Operations officers," Sefton playfully insisted. "Now, how well did you get on with your roommates? It just might be the perfect time to tell them what you really think of them. Or I could do it for you; it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

A laugh shot out of Shyla, brief but genuine. "I'm afraid that I like my roommates very much, Cris." She released the Betazoid from her hug and looked at him. "I just don't like living with them...I'm sure I get on their nerves the same way."

Dramatised concern crossing his expression, Cristobel said, "Maybe I didn't think this through... Do you have any particularly annoying habits?"

"Besides the sleepwalking and occasional violent outbursts?" Shyla asked with mock-sincerity, doing her best to veil thoughts in the hopes of giving the tease some legs. "Of course, the night terrors will take some getting used to..."

Shrugging, Cristobel deadpanned, "My bedroom door locks. Hell, I can probably lock your bedroom door from the outside. Is that all ya got?"

"That's all I got," Shyla said fondly. "Thank you, Cris."

"It's my pleasure. Selfish, remember?" Cris remarked, pointing at himself. "Wanna go get something to eat? You two must be hungry, and I've read that female Terran brains generally function better on a full stomach."

Shyla scooted out of her bunk and got to her feet. "And your Betazoid brain could use a boost too," she grinned. "You just agreed to let a pregnant woman share your quarters." She went to chuck him on the shoulder playfully but something in the moment and his eyes made her think of Ethan. Her hearty swing became only half-hearted and never quite made it to Cris.

"Are you okay?" Cris asked, rising to his feet to meet her.

Shyla was looking down and blinked, taking her eyes back up to Cris. "You remember what you were talking about on the Rio Grande? Universal balance and all that?"

"Yes..." Cristobel tentatively asserted.

"I was just thinking of Ethan. And you. And how you both interacted." She flashed a wan smile. "It just all seems to have a certain...symmetry to it." The soft smile became a slight frown. "Does that make any sense?"

"I suppose so," Cristobel answered, sounding less than certain. "If by symmetrical, you mean funhouse mirrored?"

"Or just mirrored," she said, seizing on the analogy. "Not the way things should have been...reversed and yet somehow still right." She looked at Cris. "You were a good friend to him, Cris. I wish he had gotten the opportunity to know that."

"I think he did," Sefton offered with a knowing nod and a soft satisfied smile that turned sombre. "Albeit, briefly."

"I promise that I'll know it for the rest of my life, Cris," Shyla said with an earnestness that would have been corny coming from almost anyone else.

Leading the way out of her quarters, Cris just said, "Knowing it is not as important as living it."

"Then let's get started," Shyla said, thinking of Ethan again. The door to Shyla's old quarters closed behind them.

---

"Doing The Rounds"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla - Executive Officer
Ensign F'Zal - Counselor

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21 1700hrs

***

F'Zal nodded and smiled grimly as he passed through the portal into Sickbay. It was early on Beta shift in the ship day, and as usual, the Betazoid Counselor had rounds when Sickbay was occupied. He spent the first thirty minutes with a crewman from Engineering who had recieved some nasty burns from a minor EPS grid short-out. The Betazoid sat beside him and discussed what had happened, using his mental talents to go over the event and showing quite nicely that the man had performed his job, and had gotten the relay off-line in time to avoid a major plasma vent into the port nacelle crawl-space in which six crew members had been forced to work. The burns were off-set by the man's relief that yes he had saved lives and had not failed in his duty. It made F'Zal once again surprised at an individual's need to take upon themselves blame for failure when none truly existed.

After a few minutes of talking about the man's home and family, and a few encouraging words F'Zal left him and drifted to the next bed. Commander Lyrr. She'd been half listening to the discussion with the engineer. F'Zal could already sense her determination to remain closed to the Betazoid.

He smiled charmingly as he drew up a seat next to her bed. "How are you feeling, Commander?" he said gently. The Betazoid's dark eyes were deep pools of innocent openness that usually elicited a favorable response. His easy manner and casual friendliness smoothed many argumentative minds.

The suspicious gaze she fixed him with suggested otherwise, and her smile was outright hostile. "Are you and Counsellor Scott tag-teaming me, Ensign? One of you is quite enough."

F'Zal grinned. "The counselling department doesn't quite work that way, Commander." He leaned back in his chair to give her the illusion of personal space and wondered why she resented counselors so much. "I agree, it's often counter-productive for two counselors to work with a single individual. So...putting that aside for now, how are you feeling? I was told that you went through quite an ordeal."

"By who?" she asked with a harsh laugh. "If that was an ordeal for some, then they aren't cut out for life in Starfleet."

F'Zal's mind recognized the fear behind her scorn. It was a defensive mechanism to ward off the fact that she had been confronted by her mortality. His tone was light. "Your medical record indicates that your heart stopped. They had to revive you." His smile was innocent still. "You had second degree burns, electrocution and shock. I'd say that was an ordeal in anyone's language. You still haven't told me how you feel - other than emminently indestructible. Do you feel that way, Commander? Indestructible?"

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest - gently so as not to aggravate her injuries. "No one is, Counsellor. It's ridiculous for one to assume they are. And what I feel is irrelevant. I'm alive, so I should thank the Prophets, and those who revived me. It has nothing to do with emotions."

He nodded gently. "I'm glad you don't feel that way. Sometimes people do you know." He smiled at her and kept his body language open even as hers was closed. He refrained from delving into her mind without invitation, but could see that she was skirting the issue of her emotions. "Sometimes I find that a person can survive something so dramatic that they walk away with a feeling that nothing can ever touch them. Then of course they take more risks...and wonder later why another event reached up and slapped them down. How you feel after an encounter such as yours is totally relevant, Commander. It will affect the performance of your duty, and it's my job to recommend any action as a result of how you feel about what happened to you. So...how do you feel?"

Lyrr's jaw clenched and her eyes froze over as they locked onto F'Zal. "How I feel has nothing to do with my ability to perform my duty," she told him acridly. "To even think that suggests you don't know me at all, Ensign, which also means you are hardly qualified to give me a mental assessment. Now, before you go, you'll tell me who sent you and why, and I won't tolerate evasion or deceit." She gestured towards him sharply. "Now, speak."

F'Zal laughed. It was a clear melodic sound that showed his true mirth. He shook his head and held her eyes with amusement on his face for a moment. "How you feel, Commander, can have both positive or negative effects on your duty...you know that. It's called morale. I could launch into an explanation of command responsibility and morale, but I know you passed those academy courses - and you're a very good Executive Officer, which means that you put into practise those skills every day, so I won't go over things that are totally unneccessary. In point of fact - it's true that I really don't know you that well. Just because I don't know you, Commander doesn't mean that I am unqualified to assess your mind. I am after all a Counsellor. I'm also qualified to practise Betazoid Psychological Medicine - so with my eminently able qualifications laid to rest, that only leaves your last request." He watched her eyes. "It's my job to circulate around the patients in medical during my shift after any crisis encounter. It's my job, Commander, plain and simple. Your suggestion that I would prevaricate, evade or otherwise provide you with a falsehood is ridiculous. I'm Betazoid commander - we don't lie. We don't find a need to lie."

He chuckled. "Now...we were discussing how you feel...?" He steepled his fingers in his lap and looked very comfortable. His lack of agitation at her aggression was unnerving. It was difficult to maintain hostility against an opponent who refused to act threatened.

Lyrr sighed, prepared to relent, when the thought struck her. Pushing onto her elbows, Lyrr scrutinized the young man and said, "Ben sent you, didn't he?" She chuckled and shook her head with displeasure. "He's been meaning to get me in to see you, and now that I'm stuck in this damn bed, he figured this was the perfect opportunity. Is that it?" Under her breath, she finished, "Bastard."

"Ben?" F'Zal's face was guileless. "You mean Commander T'Kal? No." He shook his head. "No he most definitely didn't send me. You say he wants you to see me? Why would that be, Commander?" F'Zal's eyes locked with hers as if he was a shark sensing blood in the water. "This is a perfect opportunity to talk."

"It would be," she countered, "if I had anything to divulge. You wanted to know how I feel?" She shrugged. "I'm agitated, bored, and eager to get back to work. To top off the list, I'm annoyed by the constant interference in my recuperation by your department. Are you satisfied, Counsellor?"

He grinned. "No." His simple negative hung in the air for a moment before he artistically added to it. "Should I ask Commander T'Kal why he wishes you to see me?"

"If you must," she answered tightly. "Though, it would do little to instill trust in me...if that is what you're seeking to achieve here today."

"By all means, Commander, let's explore that for a moment. Putting your permission to ask Commander T'Kal aside, would you like to develop some trust between us? What is it that agitates you so?"

"Your presence preventing me from resting," she retorted. Grunting laboriously, Lyrr sat up fully and swung her legs over the side of the bio bed. She pulled the gown over her knees as far as the hem would reach. "I'm going for a walk. If you believe I require a one-on-one counselling session, Ensign, then request one officially. If not, then I shall have Dr. Sefton haul you out of here herself for prolonging her patient's healing process." Lyrr hopped down from the bed, saying, "Is that--" but nearly fell to her knees and scrabbled at the biobed's sheets for support. She hadn't realized how weak or dizzy she was until her body had managed an upright position...but not for very long.

F'Zal was far quicker than she gave him credit for. He lifted her easily back into the bed. "I doubt that you will go for a walk," he said gently. "Besides, the backless gown isn't suited for roaming the decks." He tucked her in with efficiency and sat once again. "You were telling me why you were agitated - and it has nothing to do with resting. Why does the Sulu's Chief of Security believe that you need to speak to me, Commander?"

Lyrr had slung her arm across her eyes to stave off the vertigo, and found that the urge to fight was quickly fleeing. "Commander T'Kal is overprotective and irrational at times," Lyrr explained dully. "What he doesn't realize is that I'm perfectly fine seeking comfort within myself. He doesn't believe one person has the ability to heal on their own. It's simply that."

"Ahh," F'Zal's nod and smile summed up her explanation. "You are involved in a romantic relationship with him," he explained. "The man loves you. Men are often accused of irrational, over-protective impulses when it comes to the women they love. I find that is a natural state of mind that only shows a depth of emotional attachment which is quite endearing. It's normal, Commander. He obviously loves you." He sat back again with a fond smile on his face. "You feel threatened by his concern?"

She lifted her arm a crack to peek out at him from beneath it. "Who said anything about threatened?" she questioned. "And who said Commander T'Kal loves me? Are you prone to such uninformed conclusions because you're a counsellor, or because you're obviously convinced of your own infallibility, Ensign? Commander T'Kal believes he loves me, and I am certainly not threatened, not by anything or anyone."

"Ahhh...." F'Zal nodded, once again smiling. "So you don't think he does love you? It is common knowledge that you share quarters, that you have been seen to openly show affection for each other. Pardon me for my observations, but Commander T'Kal does not hide how he feels about you - certainly his mind shouts it when he looks upon you. I have seen it myself." F'Zal smiled. "I can quite definitely confirm that the Commander is in fact in love with you - if that confirmation sets your mind at rest. Betazoids know a great deal about love - we are a loving people. Even without my mental abilities, I would be able to see it in his face - in his eyes. It is refreshing to see such open devotion. Does that make you uncomfortable?"

"No," she answered briefly. "Should it?"

He just looked at her, gazing steadily into her eyes, his mind alert for her shifting emotions. "How does it make you feel?" he asked.

Lyrr chuckled wryly and waggled a finger at the man. "You're trying to weaken my defenses, Counsellor. Do you believe I'm that pliable?"

"Why do you feel you require defences?" he asked disarmingly.

"Doesn't everyone?" she countered. "No one let's the world see who they really are or what they really feel. No one is comfortable being that exposed."

"That's a generalism," he pointed out. "Most Betazoids are quite comfortable being open minded. Let's stop being diverted for a moment and get back to how you feel about Commander T'Kal's desire for you to see me. Why me in particular?"

"Because you're Betazoid," Lyrr answered. "He must assume that with your abilities, you'd be capable of detecting what I'm feeling or thinking even while I withhold information. Isn't that so?"

"So you would withhold information?" he asked.

Lyrr dropped her arm away from her eyes to watch the counsellor, while wearing an openly defiant smile. "I would," she answered forthrightly.

"Why would you do such a thing? If the purpose of talking to me is to help you heal, witholding information would be counter-productive. You wish to hide facts about yourself that you are either afraid of, or ashamed of. Neither of those reactions are necessary I can assure you. What ever you say to me would be treated with the utmost respect and confidentiality." He held

her eyes, still smiling, yet his manner was more concilliatory. There was an air about F'Zal that engendered trust and empathy.

"What if I don't wish to speak with you?" Lyrr cocked an eyebrow. "Hm? What if your mere presence is uncomfortable? Would you still remain here and continue this interrogation? Is that, alongside with irritating patients, in your Psychiatrist's Procedural Manual, Ensign?"

"Ahhh," he grinned. "Sensitive subjects seem to bring out the defensive reflexes. Fortunately for you it is in my hands to determine whether you will be fit for duty." He smiled. "Captain Salinger has transferred Executive Officer authority to Commander Sam, so we are in no hurry. The crisis is over. So we can get to the bottom of things in relative peace...so that I can approve your return to duty. This is one of those very rare occasions, Commander, where your rank means very little. I can either approve - or not. That of course will be up to you. Shall we schedule a session?"

Lyrr's eyes narrowed and again, though effortlessly this time, she sat up. "Get out," she whispered frigidly. "Don't you ever try and pull your foolery on me again, Ensign. I have little tolerance for games...and for you. Leave."

F'Zal smiled unconcerned. "You know the relevant Starfleet regulations as well as I, Commander. Only I am not as intimidated as others might be. I can assure you I am not playing games with you. Trauma incidents such as the one in which you were involved require mandatory clearance by a member of the Counseling staff prior to a return to duty. I can tell that your state of mind is not as it should be, and indeed if as you say, the Chief of Security has recommended to you that you seek counselling it is well within my purview to make sure you do. No games, Commander Lyrr. You are required to attend. Do I make myself clear?" His eyes never left hers, and if it was a battle of will she wanted, F'Zal was up to it; in spades. He smiled.

Lyrr's mouth twitched into a half-sneer, half-vicious grin. "Of course," she answered stiffly. "But I'd prefer if Counsellor Scott heads these sessions...for my own reasons."

F'Zal chuckled in amusement. "I'm afraid not," he said with finality. "Your own admission that you would seek to evade and withold information valuable to your own recovery denies you that. Of course if it makes you more comfortable, Counselor Scott may sit in attendance. I will confer with her. The choice I'm afraid is not up to you."

"Then we have nothing more to discuss here, now do we?" Lyrr challenged him with a smile and shifted her gaze pointedly to the door of sickbay. "Good day, Counsellor. I'll contact you when I'm feeling up to attending that session."

F'Zal once again grinned. "No, Commander - I will contact you when I feel that you will attend. I will not allow you the latitude to delay your own healing. I will see you again tomorrow. I will of course confer with Counselor Scott and as you have given me permission to broach this subject with Commander T'Kal, I will do so." He stood and straightened his uniform. "Thank you for your time, Commander. It has been most enlightening."

"And believe me, Ensign," she answered with obvious insincerity, "I can't wait until we meet again."

"Oh I share your sentiment, Commander, although I can say that mine is sincere. I am looking forward to our next encounter. Don't worry, we'll get you back to duty in no time at all." He gave her a last charming smile before ambling out of Sickbay.

Taking the chance that he was eavesdropping on her thoughts, Lyrr loudly exclaimed in her mind, Arrogant jerk! then petulantly reclined on her biobed again with arms folded over her chest. "Ben," she rasped, "you are going to pay for this." For his sake, Lyrr hoped he steered clear of sickbay, just until her fury quelled. She imagined a month or so would do.

---

"Morale Problems"
by Captain Matthew T. Salinger - Commanding Officer
Commander Lyrr Tayla - Executive Officer
and Doctor Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor

Location: USS Sulu, Captain's Ready Room
Stardate: 57908.21, 16h00

***

Doctor Potts walked into the Captain's Ready Room like he owned the place which was almost technically true as Starfleet was but an arm of the Federation and he was one of the many cells that made up the body. It could have been an intimidating prospect, meeting one's Captain for the first time, but Ilan had heard so many wonderful things about Captain Salinger that he was utterly thrilled at the opportunity...or he would have been thrilled, had not the reason for this meeting been so dire.

Captain Salinger was on his feet and seemed to be suppressing a small smile as the half-Deltan scuttled over to him. "Cap-tain Salinger," Potts gushed, taking the commanding officer's hand in his long-fingered own and pumping it heartily. "I am so pleased to finally meet you face-to-face, regardless of the circumstances."

"I can say the same, Dr. Potts," Matt said with a smile. "I wish I'd had a chance to meet with you earlier, but things have been very hectic since we received our orders to go through the wormhole. I just want to say that I really enjoyed Men Are from Mars, and picked up a copy of From Under the Desk as soon as it was available. You have some very fascinating insights."

"Thank you, Captain," Potts enthused, refusing to give up the man's hand. "Thank you very much! I wish I had known earlier you were a fan...oh, the conversations we have missed! Why, I'm positive many of your own insights and experiences would make a fine book of their own." He let go of the Captain's hand finally and shot a finger at the man. "No! A volume of books! We really must try to get together socially and discuss the possibility of --"

"Can you get that away from me?" a voice from Matt's desktop snapped. There was muffled conversation, then another outburst of, "Can't you see I'm in the middle of a conference? Sedate me after if you must, but go away!"

Potts stepped forward, his long fingers grasping the air like a man in a dark room or one struck blind. "Commander Lyrr?" he called out. "Commander Lyrr? Is that you?"

"Yes," Matt said with a smile. "It is Commander Lyrr. She's still in sickbay and unable to attend this meeting, so I secured a communications channel to her location."

"Unfortunately," she added with the faintest of grumbles, "not so secure with all these fastidious nurses hovering about."

"Go ahead and enable the privacy screen," Matt said. "If anyone continues to hover, send them to me."

There was a sigh. "Gladly." She commanded the computer to raise the field, during which there were shifting sounds as she adjusted herself in bed. "Okay," she announced. "I'm ready."

"Very good," Matt said, then turned back to Potts. "Doctor?"

Potts' frown very nearly became a pout. "Captain," he said, looking up at the taller man. "Is there any way we could arrange for Commander Lyrr to be on a viewscreen, at least? I find conferencing with a disembodied voice a little disconcerting."

"Oh, of course," Matt said, and swiveled the display with Lyrr's not-quite-shining face displayed on it. Actually, it was a fairly grumpy face, especially considering she was still confined to sickbay. "I hope that's better, Dr. Potts."

Potts clasped his hands together and moved close to the display. "It is like an angel has fallen down from heaven," he exclaimed, moving his nose mere inches away from the monitor. He looked back up at the Captain. "This is much better, sir," he noted before looking back to the screen and giving a little wave. "Hi, Commander!"

Lyrr smiled uncomfortably and inclined her head at the odd little man. "Hello, Doctor." Unconsciously, she leaned away from the screen the closer Potts peered. "Can we begin? I believe I require some rest."

"Ah, yes. Of course." Potts settled down into the chair across the desk from the Captain, taking a moment to get comfortable. "Well, as you both know, there were a disturbing number of crewmembers rushing for the escape pods during the destruct sequence. In all, there were twenty-three people who left their posts during the red alert before the evacuation order was given."

Matt nodded. "I see," he said. "What do you attribute the failing in discipline among the crew to be, Doctor?"

"It's unlikely to be a singular cause," Doctor Potts said, shrugging lightly. "The bulk of the personnel were from Operations and Science...only very few of the Engineers and just one from Security. They were all quite young and for almost all of them, the Sulu is their first assignment. If I had to place blame apart from these factors, I'd have to say inadequate training and..." Potts shifted uncomfortably. "...a failing in leadership."

"Ensign Farrell and Lieutenant Tagliesh," Lyrr finished with a concurring nod.

Potts looked at the viewscreen. "And beyond, Commander," he said. "Ensign Farrell is but a junior officer. In fact, he was responsible for stopping the largest throng from boarding the escape pods prematurely."

"But if he was partially to blame to begin with," she pointed out, "then that was just his way of fixing his own problem."

"Perhaps," Potts nodded. He looked at the Captain. "I'm only making the point that this does go beyond Mister Farrell."

"I understand," Matt said with a nod. "Do you have recommendations, Doctor?"

"Certainly mandatory counseling for the offenders," Potts offered. "As well as remedial training. Also, I had hopes that we might brainstorm a few morale boosters for the crew." He looked at the viewscreen. "With apologies to the Commander, this is an area where I think Ensign Farrell might be of exceptional service."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Really? Until Mr. Farrell's own discipline problems are under control, I'm not certain I'm behind the idea of him taking any part in boosting the morale of the crew."

"Why Farrell?" was Lyrr's question. "Is there no one else aboard this vessel qualified to 'spread cheer'?"

"Oh of course," Potts admitted. "I'm only suggesting that when Mister Farrell is not stunning crew in large numbers, he has traditionally expressed some interest in organizing activities for them. I thought devoting him to such endeavors might give young Mason a chance to cultivate this more productive aspect of his personality."

"He's productive enough," Lyrr muttered from her biobed.

"Well," Potts exhaled, wringing his own hands a little. "You both certainly know what's best. These are only suggestions, after all. Will it be more mandatory counseling for Mister Farrell then?"

"I'm not quite sure what can be done about Ensign Farrell," Salinger said. "There's a very fine line that one has to walk. He's a rebel with little to no respect for authority, and I'm at a loss for suggestions on how to deal with that. He's hell-bent on doing his own thing, damn the consequences...or the rest of us. Though, I'm certain you'll have no helpful suggestions on that front, so let's move on to more general suggestions for how to improve morale and discipline without ironing out the details of who will do what."

"Captain," Potts mock-scolded. "You wound sorely with your lack of faith in me. Might I at least have your permission to take Mister Farrell in hand at a later date? I've always enjoyed a challenge."

"Will you agree," Matt said, "that Ensign Farrell has a problem with discipline and following the established rules?" He leaned closer to the doctor. "What do you suggest we do to get him to realize there are one hundred forty-nine other, highly-skilled people on this ship, and he doesn't need to personally solve every single crisis by himself without consulting with anyone, most of all the senior staff of this vessel."

"It certainly seems to be the case," Potts agreed. "And I'm afraid I have no suggestions for helping Mister Farrell attain that epiphany at this moment but I am more than willing to devote significant time to developing a few for the future. My only issue has been that Mister Farrell does have his good points too and that side of him must be nursed and encouraged to grow for the good of the Sulu...and Mister Farrell himself."

"But we can't come off as condoning his illicit activities," Matt said. "I only hope he can turn himself around before we're forced to address him as Crewman Farrell."

"That would indeed be a pity," Potts nodded. "Perhaps some more generalized morale boosters for the crew might have a positive affect on even Mister Farrell."

"Another party?" Lyrr guessed.

"Par-ties, I should say," Potts smiled at the viewscreen. "Certainly we should have crew functions when we find ourselves in safe harbor. It shouldn't hurt any if both of you try to at least make courtesy appearances if duty allows."

"The last party was perfectly fine, as long as you didn't mind showing up to the party dressed as Marie Antoinette," Matt said. "I believe it would be better for all if the entrance requirements would allow the entire crew to attend if they wish, without having to endure embarrassment and potential ridicule for doing so."

"So we are having another party?" Lyrr guessed, sounding displeased.

"It sounds like Dr. Potts believes a few parties will keep our crew from deserting their posts and rioting in the corridors," Matt said.

"It's a good thing I'm still trapped in here," the commander muttered.

"That is a bit of an over-simplification, Captain," Potts pointed out. "I did recommend mandatory counseling and remedial training for the offenders as well." Potts leaned back in the chair and furrowed his brow. "Certainly, even I must admit that the 'Skirt Day' festivities were somewhat exclusionary. I had heard a few of the male senior staff were uncomfortable with the idea. And it probably wouldn't do to have the Captain of the ship attending such an event in a pink taffeta gown."

There was a quizzical murmur of "Pink taffeta?" from the screen, then a weary sigh.

"Don't worry, Commander," Matt said with a chuckle. "There won't be any taffeta of any colour. At least, not as a requirement."

Potts smiled at the Captain. "There are ways for Commander Lyrr and you to have some intercourse with the crew without deigning to show us a bit of thigh. Actual assemblies of personnel before a mission with some stirring words by one or the both of you might remind worrisome folk that the ship is in good hands. You also might consider extending the philosophy by giving promotions and awards in ceremony rather than in private. It couldn't hurt to say 'job well done' to a deserving crewmember in public."

"I won't argue with public recognition for jobs well done having a positive impact on the morale of the crew," Matt said. "Do you think it will have a negative effect on those who don't receive such recognition, though?"

"Maybe it'll give them something to aspire to," Lyrr remarked. "We're Starfleet officers. I think we can all handle our fellow officers being rewarded for performing their duties."

"I'm inclined to agree with the Commander," Potts said, nodding his head. "I think the positive benefits are sure to outweigh the negative."

"That's the answer I was hoping for," Matt said with a smile. "From now on, promotions will be publicly celebrated, as will all awards and merits be delivered. Hopefully that will help return confidence to the crew. If not...we'll have to have another one of these meetings."

Lyrr expressed her reluctance to do so with a grumble.

"Oh, let's not be so dour, Commander," Potts said, mistaking the grumble. "After all, it's only a matter of time before you are so honored at one of these functions. Captain Lyrr Tayla has too nice a ring to it to never be heard."

"And when that day comes, Counsellor," Lyrr replied in a sing-song, "you'll be the first invited to the ceremony."

"It's a date!" Potts said happily, flicking the mute on the communications just as a "Counsellor, I was just--" came from Commander Lyrr. Potts looked to the Captain as Lyrr gestured silently. "If I might take my leave, Captain? This meeting has given me a few thoughts and I should like to explore them."

Salinger raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "You do realize you just cut off Commander Lyrr, Doctor," he said. "I'd advise hiding someplace very dark and hard to reach for at least the next week, possibly two."

"Oh!" Potts exclaimed. "Well, we can't have that now can we?" Ilan unflicked the mute, revealing Lyrr amid rant.

"--and the minute I get out of this bed, I'll show you one of the many uses for a--" Lyrr halted mid-threat, noting that both Matt and Potts' attention was on her again. She cleared her throat and smoothed out the bedsheet covering her legs. "Meeting adjourned?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Yes," Matt said with a chuckle. "It's adjourned. Go ahead and get some rest, Lyrr. I'll get those reports to you later today."

"Thank you, sir. Lyrr out." With an almost discernable scowl for Potts, Lyrr closed the channel.

Matt laughed again. "It'll be interesting to see who breaks first," he said. "The medical staff who has to put up with Lyrr in Sickbay, or Lyrr having to put up with the medical staff fussing over her while she's trapped in Sickbay. Now, Doctor, if you come up with any other morale-boosting ideas, let us know. Until then, I'll talk to you later."

"Aye sir!" Potts said happily, already scurrying for the door.

Matt watched Potts leave, then reached beneath his desk and pulled out his copy of From Under the Desk and opened it. He pondered briefly whether to ask the doctor to sign it, but quickly put the thought aside as one of the passages caught his attention. Another time, he thought. Another time...

---

"Fallout"
By Lt. Cmdr. Benedict T'Kal
C1C Ken Smith
Ken's Roommate

Location: Ken Smith's Quarters; Lt. Cmdr. T'Kal's Office, Security Offices USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21 17h15

***

Ken stripped off his dirty SOB uniform and tossed it in his hamper. The past two days had been a blur to Ken, the 21st he had been assigned to assist Engineering with repairs. Moving replacement parts and equipment around so engineers could get the work done he had worn himself out by noon. After a quick lunch he reported in with security, hoping in part to have a message waiting from Cmdr. T'Kal, and been sent outside to replace escape pod seals and make sure they were secured for travel. Boring work but a relief to his aching muscles. The ship had been running on modified work schedules, which meant six hours for some four for most. He had been lucky so far and gotten 6. Then this morning he had been ordered to help clean up wrecked offices. He never knew how many plants this ship had, and how much soil each one had in its pot, until he was tasked with cleaning them up. Then Ensign Farrell came and dragged Ro and he back down to the bank vault.

What a great day this had turned out to be. See new places, meet interesting people, and then serve under them. Ken slumped against the wall of the sonic shower. What I wouldn't give for hot water washing over me instead of sonics. Sure I am supposedly cleaner this way, but nothing can beat hot water and steam raining down on you and filling your space.

Ken returned to reality when his roommate knocked on the bathroom door. "Hey, Ken, can I get a turn? I have four hours before I have to be back replacing panels."

"Yeah I am done," Ken said, stepping out of the sonic. "I was going to hit the sack myself after I checked my PADD." He changed places with his roommate and threw on his gold security robe that his father had bought him when he finished A school. It was modeled after an early Starfleet uniform, solid gold with an embroidered Starfleet command patch sewn on it. In all the hubbub surrounding his enlistment and graduation his father must have forgotten that Command and Engineering/Security/Ops had changed color schemes after they returned to using colors to define departments instead of turtle necks.

Ken set his feet on his desk and leaned back with his PADD. He checked his personal mail first and didn't find any messages waiting. He then accessed his professional mail.

Shit. Reading the screen Ken did a mental inventory of his clean uniforms.

[FOUO]
TO: Crewman First Class Ken Smith
FROM: LTCMDR Benedict T'Kal

Subject: Report to my office at 1800hrs sharp.

[END MESSAGE]

Shit, shit and more shit. Ken quickly opened his closet and found his last clean uniform top and pants. His inspection ready boots were in their plastic wrap and good to go. Before he dressed he checked his face; a slight stubble had grown on it which Ken took care of with his laser razor. Before leaving he checked his uniform one last time, everything was inspection ready. The corridors were awash with engineers, science, ops crewmen and their equipment drafted to assist in putting the ship back together. Ken checked his watch and saw that he had another 15 minutes to show up for his meeting.

He reached the security office with three minutes to spare. The wall clock which he had synchronized to his watch to read 1744 as he gave himself one last look over in a mirror that had been placed in the break room. He knocked once on the Commander's door. Ken was beyond nervousness; when he came aboard he had only met the assistant security chief before being sent to Gamma shift. He was supposedly going to be placed on beta shift but so far he had not heard word yet on when exactly that was going to be.

The door slid aside with Benedict's "Come.." and the Security Chief was sitting behind his desk when Ken Smith was waved in. T'Kal stood, his face a stern mask. He was in Class As and his eyes took in the state of Smith's uniform and came to rest on his face by the time the man stood before his desk.

"Crewman Smith." Benedict's voice was low, his violet eyes seemed to drill into Smith's as he stepped around his desk. "Take a good look at the pips on my collar, Mister Smith. Identify the rank for me." Benedict was standing to Smith's left so that he would have to turn his head to comply. Smith had stared straight ahead as Benedict stepped around the desk.

"Lt. Cmdr. Sir," Smith said, staring straight ahead. You may not know me by sight, but I know who is in my chain.

"Good." Benedict nodded. His voice was quiet as he continued. "I can only assume that the rank pips on Lieutenant Commander Sefton's uniform were absent during the Red Alert, otherwise you would have correctly identified them and followed her orders instead of drawing your weapon on the ship's senior Medical Officer who was in fact seeing to the welfare of sick and injured under her care."

"No, Sir, Dr. Sefton's rank pips were clearly visible."

"So...what in the name of The Prophets were you thinking? Drawing a phaser on a senior officer?" Benedict clasped his hands behind his back as he contemplated the crewman before him. "Explain your reasoning, Mister Smith."

"Sir, Captain Salinger is in command, at the time even with communications out I had not heard otherwise. No word had been passed to abandon ship, no messengers had arrived with word that loading of escape pods was to begin as per Starfleet protocol when ship's communications are down. I was on rover watch, I was walking past the Escape Pods when Dr. Sefton and the medical staff arrived with the wounded. She demanded to know why the pods were not open and ready for people to load. I told her no such order had been given, a messenger who I had met further up the corridor informed me that there were rioting crewmen who had left their posts and were attempting to board escape pods. He had said to be on the lookout for such behavior. I wanted to establish who was in charge in the situation and not have a repeat of the earlier incident. Dr. Sefton continued to yell at me, she told me to holster my phaser, step aside because I did not know if the captain was even still alive. Before this incident I made sure to check the Command Eligibility and Chain of Command files. Dr. Sefton has yet to take the Bridge officers exam, therefore even if the captain was incapacitated she WOULD NOT be in chain. Either way she wanted me to step aside so she could board the pods, I told her that she and the injured were welcome to wait outside the pods until the order was given. She then became enraged and relieved me of duty, which without another senior command officer was an illegal order. She requested Dr. Potts that I was behaving irrationally and that I should hand over my phaser. I refused but finally relented and stepped aside while she loaded the wounded. No sooner had we finished than two pods launched prematurely. I stand by my decision to draw my weapon in a time of crisis and would not change my actions, I was doing my job as I was trained to do, Sir."

Benedict had listened to his explanation with patient silence. A slight frown remained as he nodded at the conclusion of his verbal report. It sounded very much as he'd been rehearsing it since the incident. "Doctor Sefton was obviously leading a mob of rioters," he said grimly. "The fact that she has yet to take a Bridge exam has no bearing anywhere other than the Bridge Mister Smith and it certainly isn't the concern of a crewman First Class! Loading the injured aboard escape pods during a countdown for the ship's self destruct was a reasonable prerogative of the Senior Medical Officer - seeing as she just happens to be on the Sulu's Command Staff. I think you are under the false impression that anyone not wearing the gold of a security officer is incapable of giving you valid orders. Let me correct you, Mister Smith. A Command level officer is exactly that. I expect you to formally apologise to Doctor Sefton. The fact that you relented tells me that you aren't entirely unsalvageable. I expect my security officers not only to follow regulations, but to THINK!!" The last word was delivered with suitable emphasis. "Use your brain, Smith - when you see injured and sick being evacuated to escape pods you HELP them!! CLEAR??"

"Yes, Sir." Her having her Bridge Exam has bearing EVERYWHERE on the ship, it is her ability to lead, her ability to COMMAND. It represents her position in the chain of command and her ability to ASSUME command if the captain is incapacitated. Indigos run Starfleet and damn near cost us the war, if we had had more men like Leyton the Dominion would have been blocked off at the wormhole. I was doing my duty. I did think and did what I thought best under the regulations, my relenting had more to do with not wanting to put down a mad doctor than with the sick or wounded. Order and discipline in face of chaos was drummed into me from the first day instruction.

"You will report to Mandatory Counseling at the commencement of your duty shift tomorrow at 0900 hours and will be required to attend them as required by the Senior Counselor. You are now on Alpha shift until further notice. At the conclusion of your counseling you will report to Chief Case in the Armoury for any kind of duty he sees fit for you. If you aspire to further promotions, Mister Smith, look to Chief Case as an exemplary example of what I expect you to live up to." He stepped back behind his desk. "Dismissed," he said softly.

"Aye aye, Sir." Ken performed an about face and left the Commander's office. He headed to his quarters; once there he hung his uniform up and placed his boots back in their plastic container. He would polish them later. He was asleep with in minutes of laying down.

---

"Hero's Visit"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Ensign Tristan Finn
Nurse Carrie Crowe [NPC]

Location: Sickbay, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.21, 18h15

***

Tristan Percival Finn sauntered into Sickbay. He looked around and noted that there were fewer people here than the last time he'd been here. That was good. After the recent crisis, that people were healing and getting back to duty was good. He spotted a nurse and quickly caught her attention.

"Excuse me," he said, "where might I locate Commander Lyrr Tayla?"

The young woman looked up and smiled. "End of the hall," she said. "You can't miss her."

"Oh, I'm quite certain of that," he said. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Ensign..."

"Finn," he replied. "Ensign Tristan Percival Finn."

"Nice to meet you, Ensign Tristan Percival Finn," she said. "I'm Nurse Carrie Crowe."

"Charmed, Miss Crowe. You are an asset to your profession, and a most excellent direction-giver."

She laughed. "See you around--"

"Just Finn's fine," he said. "See you around--?"

"Carrie."

"See you around, Carrie." With that, he headed off in the direction of Lyrr's room.

As he strolled around the corner, he found Commander Lyrr Tayla in her bed with a big pile of padds surrounding her. He grinned and moved to sit on the chair beside her bed. "It's good to see you up and awake," he said. "You had me very worried for awhile, you know."

"Oh, no need," she told him dismissively. "This was just my way of getting a day off." Lyrr smiled awkwardly, none too pleased about receiving a visit from her former Davies crewmate. It was the situation and not the visitor himself - he'd seen her at her most vulnerable, and combined with their past friendship, it would only serve to bring them closer. Lyrr Tayla wasn't enthusiastic about that.

She set down her padd and tugged the tunic of her uniform jacket straight - she'd abandoned the standard gown entirely, and readily. "Finn...you probably saved my life." Her eyes met his but for a brief instant before she looked down. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Commander," he said. "I don't know many people on board, and...and you're still the closest I have to a friend. Though, I think Nurse Crowe-- Well, nevermind about that," he added with a grin. "I was afraid I wasn't going to make it in time. I'm glad I did. I tried to smuggle in something more decent to you while you were...but I'm glad you have something proper to wear. Those backless gowns--" he shuddered--"those are just wrong."

Lyrr allowed a short chuckle. "Those nurses are far more strict than I thought I could ever be. They very nearly tried to forcibly remove my uniform when they saw it."

"Well, I certainly hope dear Miss Crowe wasn't part of that endeavour," Finn said. "She seems so very nice and helpful...even though all she did was point me to your room. It's good to see you awake, and laughing. I would have smuggled something in here for you if I knew what you might want."

"A pass out of here," she quipped. "I want an opportunity to tour the ship and gauge the damage." Frowning, Lyrr asked, "Is it bad?"

"It's better," Finn said. "It was pretty bad for a bit, but I think we're getting things under control. All the pods are retrieved, all the damage that was done because of the computers is being put back together. Currently we're only down one turbolift car."

She sighed heavily. "Well...at least we're keeping you all busy. We never had this much adventure on the Davies."

"No, we didn't, did we? Though, there is something to be said for having too much fun." He grinned at her. "So, any word when they're going to let you out of here?"

"Ensign, you know probably more than I do about that," she answered. "Though, I suspect it will be sometime today...at least that's my hope."

"That's good to hear," Finn said with a grin. "I'll put in a good word for you and see what we can arrange with the medical staff."

Lyrr smiled. "If you succeed," she said, "I should make you my personal steward."

"Does that mean I have to carry around your coffee and make sure your uniforms are clean and pressed?"

Lyrr shrugged. "I don't drink coffee and my uniforms are always immaculate. All you have to do," she whispered, leaning forward to confide, "is carry my PADDs."

Finn's expression turned very thoughtful. "Oh," he said, dragging the sound out, then nodded. "Your padds. I see. Well, I'll see what I can arrange with the powers who hold dominion over this so-called Sickbay."

Lyrr waved a hand at him dismissively. "It's alright. I think, as Commander, I still have some pull around here. Just be sure to send the doctor my way if you see her. We need to have a small chat about my accommodations."

"Oh yes," Finn said with a knowing nod. "Accommodations. I'll send her your way if I see her. I thought I noticed her on my way in. Dark hair, glaring?" At Lyrr's nod, he smiled. "Yes, she was with a patient. I'll send her in."

She tipped her head at him. "I'm glad you dropped by, Ensign. And truly...thanks for the save. I guess it's a good thing we're still so used to looking out for one another."

Finn smiled at her. "I had to make sure you were doing alright," he said. "I know about these Sickbay types. They wouldn't take care of you. Me though, I'll always be watching your back. Those old habits do die hard. I had to save you; after the Davies, we're nearly friends."

Lyrr nodded, non-committally. "Again, thank you, Finn. I owe you."

"Don't mention it," he said. "I know you'd do the same for me. We should do some beverage other than coffee together when you're out of here."

"Sure," she answered with slight hesitation. "I think we can arrange that."

"Sounds like a good plan," Finn said. "I like that plan. We can go to the lounge, or hit a holodeck program. Maybe a holodeck program of the Davies' lounge."

"Nothing too strenuous, Ensign," Lyrr reminded him with a short laugh.

"Not at all," Finn said with a chuckle. "I have a feeling they're going to say you've got to stick with light duty for a bit."

"And I have a feeling," she replied, "that I won't be listening."

Finn laughed. "I'm certain she'll be very happy about that," he said. "Though, what good is rank without privileges? If you need anything at all, Commander, just let me know. Now, I should probably head out before they think I'm trying to spring you from this place."

"But...you are," she pointed out.

"But they don't need to know that," Finn said. "If I got one of those medical cart things, you could hide underneath it, and I could just wheel you out of here. Or we could try the unexpected, and just walk out. So many choices."

"Yes, but all unbefitting of an Executive Officer." She smiled. "See you later, Finn."

"I'll let them know you feel fine and want out of here," he said as he grinned at her. "It's good to see you smiling. I'll see you soon, Commander."

Lyrr chuckled and shooed him away. She detested long goodbyes, and Finn's always seemed to drag on and on...though she imagined it was his propensity for talk that was the true culprit. When he finally departed, Lyrr exhaled deeply and summoned the nearest nurse to her bed. It was Crowe and she was smiling. Lyrr frowned. "No more visitors, except for Commander T'Kal. That means no more damned counsellors, no more anyone. Is that understood?"

The nurse smiled acknowledgement then strolled away.

"Silence," Lyrr sighed. "Finally." And took up her padd once more to absorb herself in a much more interesting status report.

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