"The Butler's Tale"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Crewman First Class Rett Charla; Operations Crewman

Location: USS Sulu, Lyrr's Quarters; Arboretum.
Stardate: 57908.26 00h05

***

"Good evening, Commander."

Lyrr Tayla smiled her usual inviting smile at Crewman Rett, the meek old man she'd taken a quick liking to. She stepped aside to give him passage into her quarters, and at the same time glanced back to ensure Ben was still studying in their bedroom. "Another replicator problem?" she asked the man, returning focus to him.

He caught her glance. "I'm sorry, sir. You're busy."

"No," she answered, still smiling. "I'm not. The doctor asked me to take it easy...so I am. I was just having some tea and looking into more of the party details." Ushering him into the room with a beckoning wave, she started for the replicator. "Have you been working closely with Farrell on it?"

"A bit," he smiled. "Call me the voice of reason."

Lyrr chuckled. "Aren't you always, Mr. Rett? Even with me?" She leaned against the wall, adjacent the replicator alcove and ordered a slice of tuvrian berry pie. "Mr. Rett?" she prompted.

"Just a glass of water, please."

"And a water, Computer," Lyrr finished, then awaited the arrival of their replicated fare. "So then, Mr. Rett," she sighed, making her way to the seating area, "what brings you by? Not that you need an excuse, of course."

"I had hoped," he began, then stopped, unsure of how exactly to proceed. "I--I wanted to talk to you, if I could, sir," he finished barely above a whisper, his tone one that indicated knowledge of a risk, as though he might be ready to say something potentially volatile.

Lyrr nodded to the man, concern replacing her previous good humour. "You can talk to me, Rett," she assured him. She noted his eyes straying towards the doors sealing T'kal inside their bedroom, and leaned in to whisper, "You wish to go somewhere private?"

"I don't want to impose, sir," Rett said. "But it might be best."

"Well...I've always trusted your judgement...." She sighed and set down her pie, watching it forlornly as she was forced to abandon the dessert. "The arboretum will likely be empty at this hour," she told Rett as they stepped out.

***

"I have a concern," Rett said, sitting across from Lyrr at one of the small café tables in the Arboretum.

Lyrr smiled knowingly. "I imagine you did."

"If you'll indulge me, I'd like to tell you a story," he answered.

She chuckled. "Should I get comfortable?"

He smiled, the first time in this encounter he hadn't given off waves of palpable nervousness. "If you like," he said, and began his tale.

"Once upon a time, there was a great kingdom. And the army of this kingdom was truly great, with a glorious history of victory after victory against great odds. Service in the army was considered one of the hallmarks of a great citizen, and all aspired to acceptance into those storied ranks."

Lyrr scratched at an eyebrow, curiously wondering at his choice of tales. Her reaction seemed to give Rett pause, but she quickly smiled and motioned for him to continue.

"The Prince of this nation was a great young man. Handsome. Intelligent. Quick witted. He was trained by the best generals, and all looked forward to the day when he would assume the leadership of the kingdom's army. His ascension to command was a holiday in the kingdom, and all were confident that their continued military success would be assured."

Lyrr's gaze drifted to the viewport into space - past the stars and curve of the planet nestled against the embrasure's rounded corner; her imagination carried her into the vivid world Rett created and she continued to listen raptly.

"Eventually, war came to the kingdom again, and the Prince rode out at the head of his army to meet the enemy. The panoply was majestic: two great armies arrayed for battle. Pennants streamed in the breeze. The sun glittered from armor and weapons. The heralds of the armies met in the center of the field, and agreed that battle would be joined today.

"At last, the time came to advance. The enemy army blew their horns and began to move across the field. All looked to their Prince for the order."

A smile tugged at Lyrr's lips as the story took on a familiar turn. Her sidelong glance was shrewd, but she allowed him to finish weaving his tale, only because she respected the man and his restrained cleverness.

"The order, however, did not come. Faced with a real enemy for the first time, the Prince turned his mount and fled the field, barely pausing to relinquish command to his under-generals. There was chaos. Unit commanders tried desperately to rally their men, the under-generals tried to marshal the army, but it was in vain. They were dealt a bitter defeat, and many members of the army fled the field rather than fight for an absent leader."

"I wonder who that could be," Lyrr murmured, apologized for the interruption, then again gave him the floor.

"The Prince was openly derided in the kingdom for several days after that. The army was a pit of roiling mutinous talk. The under-generals, concerned for the safety of themselves and the kingdom, began to consider strict disciplinary measures to maintain order in the ranks. The situation was dire, and observers said that the kingdom appeared to totter on the brink of total failure and destruction.

"Then something very interesting happened. The Prince ordered the gathering of his army, and personally addressed them. This was a dangerous choice, as the army was in a dark mood, and no one could predict their response."

Lyrr imagined Rett would be unable to predict her response to his carefully laid out charade, as well, but she said nothing, all good-humour vanishing, and regarded him fully. "Go on," she prompted coolly.

"The Prince stood before them, and did something no one expected. He apologized."

Lyrr's mouth twitched, but not with the hints of a smile; rather, something less than congenial. "Go on," she repeated, tightly now as if suppressing a burgeoning rage.

"Indeed. He stood before his troops, with tears in his eyes, and admitted his failings. He begged their forgiveness, and vowed that if they would but follow him again, he would never turn his back on another battle. He swore never to abandon them again."

Lyrr remained silent, but the simmering anger was evident in her hard stare.

"The army then did something amazing. They forgave him."

"Really?" Lyrr smiled tautly. "How gracious of them."

"Indeed. Moved by his honesty and his openness, the army embraced his leadership again, and swore their loyalty anew. And they never ran from another battle, and they never lost again."

There was silence, then, Lyrr nodding thoughtfully and her jaw clenching. Then, she chuckled, low in her throat and harshly. "Of all the people on board," she whispered with a rueful quality to her voice, "I would not have expected this from you, Rett. From Farrell? Yes. But you?" She shook her head solemnly, disillusionment setting in. She recalled quickly enough why it was so difficult to trust. Her chair grated as she pushed it back, and nearly toppled once she rose. She stared, down at Rett, at the man she had imagined any good father would aspire to be like, and sighed. "If you and your other colleagues in Ops wish to perpetrate a mutiny, I dare you to try."

He had hung his head when she started, but snapped it up at the accusation. "Sir!?" he said, aghast, his eyes huge. "Mutin--" He paused, searching for words. "Never, sir!"

"Maybe not you, Rett," she told him, "but Ensign Farrell... I wouldn't put it past him. And I also wouldn't be surprised if he sent you here, knowing you had the ear of the ship's executive officer, to plant that story and its veiled threats into my head."

"No one is even considering mutiny, sir," he said, quickly and with a hint of desperation in his voice, still trying to grasp the implication. "I beg you to believe me, sir. There is no mutiny. There is only fear. It is palpable. There is no mutiny. Not from me. Not from Farrell. Not from anyone. It's all just--" he hesitated. He was shaking with fear. "Fear." He hung his head, and slid from his stool. "I'm sorry, sir. I've spoken too freely. I'm sorry, sir."

Lyrr was given momentary pause in the face of his cowering, his shaken trembling. But she could not afford to weaken, not after the implications he delivered. "Crewman, you are a Starfleet officer," she told him sternly. "You do not fear, you do not spread tales of mutiny or loss of faith in a ship's command staff. Do you fear, Crewman Rett?" Her gaze refused to stray from his bald pate, considering his eyes were lowered to the ground submissively. She pained for him, then, but the truth of the matter was far more important than consoling Rett. "Do you hold no faith in me, in the captain?" At his near-whimpering, incomprehensible response, Lyrr smacked a hand flatly onto the table, the glass surface clattering. "Do you, Mr. Rett!"

"It is not my place to doubt you or the captain, sir," he said quickly.

"Answer the question asked, Mr. Rett!" she pressed. "I will not tolerate evasion."

"Sir," Rett said, finally starting to regain control of himself. "I do not personally doubt. You and the captain are you and the captain, and I support and follow you. But there are others who do doubt. They are not deserters. They are not mutineers. They are simply frightened. They are people who have something to lose, and fear losing it."

"Then instead of cowering in that fear," Lyrr said lowly, "and risking the lives of all those aboard, they should come forward. Do you not agree, Mr. Rett?"

"In theory, certainly," Rett nodded. He still hadn't looked up. "But how could they do such a thing?"

Lyrr sighed, momentarily quelled. "Do what, Mr. Rett?"

"How can anyone come forward in the current atmosphere?"

"And what atmosphere is that, Mr. Rett?" she asked with a heavy sigh. "Now is the perfect time, especially after a crisis."

"The perfect time to approach the command staff with the idea that some of the crew are frightened?"

Lyrr smiled flatly. "Isn't that exactly what you're doing now, Mr. Rett? If these individuals have no faith in the ability of their leaders to protect them, to command them, I would prefer they come to us, rather than look to Ensign Farrell for guidance. A man once led astray is hardly the perfect person to tend a flock, Mr. Rett. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Ensign Farrell is a difficult man to figure, sir," Rett said, then, in a rush: "But the perception is that he is all there is for the Operations department. That perception doesn't end with us, either. Science is in barely controlled chaos, the flight controllers barely know one another's names, and Security is so insular no one outside their department wants to associate with them. Worse, I am worried that you may have made yourself unapproachable through your association with Lieutenant Commander T'Kal. Who would brings such things as these to you, risking his attention?"

"And all these things," Lyrr pointed out, "are simply the perceptions of Farrell and his followers. I have never once been approached by an Operations officer, aside from Ensign Farrell, with any concerns regarding anything at all. Why is that? Because those officers are negligent. When has it ever been announced the captain and I refuse to be approached by those under our command? I have made it a point, Crewman, to welcome every officer aboard this vessel when they arrived. Was that not enough to assure them they might come to us with any concern at any time? And is it, Mr. Rett," she continued, stepping away from the table to draw nearer to him, "at all the captain's fault that the flight control officers have failed to exchange names? Is it our responsibility, too, to coach our officers on basic etiquette? And where, Mr. Rett, is this chaos in the science department you speak of? I don't seem to recall any catastrophes or mayhem reported. Or is this another illusion Mr. Farrell has convinced you all into believing?" She stopped a foot from the man, shaking her head imperceptibly. "The command staff cannot be held responsible for officers who become languished by fear, who allow that fear to grip them and do nothing to free themselves from it. Are they helpless children, Mr. Rett? Is that what we have here? Because if so, no amount of coddling on my part or the captain's will change that, and we'll be doomed never to return home."

Rett stood silently, his head down.

Lyrr rolled her eyes and sighed, wondering if his unresponsiveness was attributed to unwavering loyalty for Farrell, or a servile habit remaining from his past occupation. "Prophets, Rett," she groaned, "don't shut down on me. You speak of fear...of confusion... This is all abstract to me. I need facts, Rett, facts that I can act upon. Is there anything real and true that I can intervene upon and fix?"

"Would," he began, cocking his head to one side, as though a thought was occurring to him. "Would you be willing to sacrifice a touch more of your offtime, sir? To speak to a few other people? I can't guarantee that it will provide the facts you seek, but it may provide another perspective."

"Sacrifice?" Lyrr asked incredulously. "Who said my offtime was not open to the officers aboard this vessel? It's not as if I make myself deliberately unavailable, Crewman."

Rett thought on that for a moment, then raised his head at last. "Would the Commander then follow me, please?"

Skeptical and curious as she was, Lyrr decided to humour the man and directed him to lead the way.

---

"Huddle"
Crewman First Class Rett Charla; Operations Crewman
Crewman Second Class Harlan Thomas; Operations Crewman
Crewman Second Class N'kruma M'benge; Operations Crewman
Crewman Second Class Vietcheslav Jaspovich; Operations Crewman
Crewman Second Class Rhiannon Gregory; Operations Crewman

And
Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Arboretum; Enlisted Quarters 25A
Stardate: 57908.26 00h34

***

The trio sat morosely, the air in the room palpable with depression. Thomas held his head in his hands. Jaspovich laid on a bunk, staring unseeing at the ceiling. M'Benge was trying very hard to read, but hadn't pressed the scroll button on his padd for half an hour.

The door opened, and all three looked hopefully to it.

"Anything?" Crewman Gregory asked, nervous and hopeful.

"Nothing yet," Jaspovich replied, letting his head flop back onto the pillow.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Thomas said shakily. M'benge silently keyed on the recycler, abandoning all pretense of concentration and pushing his padd away.

"He's been gone a while," Gregory said. "I hope he didn't get in trouble."

"Why did we ask him to do this?" Jaspovich sighed, covering his face with both hands.

"It's okay, Slava," M'benge said, as calmly as he could manage. "Rett's tight with the XO, he'll pull it through."

"We had no right to ask," Gregory said, sitting on her bunk.

"We agreed to try," M'benge said. "We all agreed to go to Rett and try. Rett's connected. He knows Commander Lyrr. He knows Ensign Farrell."

"Oh, no," Jaspovich said. "What if he tells Farrell?"

Thomas paled further, and lunged for the recycler's intake, heaving uselessly, as he'd already thrown up repeatedly.

"Maybe Farrell can help, too," Gregory offered, not really believing it herself.

Jaspovich snorted derisively. "With Farrell on our side, we'll get thrown out an airlock. The whole staff hates him. Anything he says'll be dismissed before it's even considered."

"Well," Gregory thought aloud, "maybe he won't say anything."

"Farrell doesn't know when to shut the hell up," Jaspovich muttered. "If Rett tries to recruit him, we're sunk."

"We should have shut the hell up before we asked Rett to help," Thomas gasped, wiping his mouth.

"We should have shut the hell up and done our jobs when the alert was sounding," Gregory said sadly.

"You were the one who panicked, Rhiannon," Jaspovich accused.

"What?!" Gregory stood so she could see Jaspovich, who was on an upper bunk. "What do you mean I panicked?"

"You panicked," Jaspovich said. "Communications are out," he mocked. "The command can't come through! We've got to get out of here!"

"Communications were out! It was a sensible move," Gregory retorted. "It was those screaming asses from science who came spilling out of that lab that did it."

"It wasn't anyone's fault," M'benge said, standing himself, too short to be intimidating, but trying to exert his presence.

"It's everyone's word against everyone else's," Thomas said darkly.

"It all happened so fast," Gregory mumbled, sinking back onto her bed.

"It just happened," M'benge said. "It only took a spark. We were all on edge."

"We're going to get spaced," Thomas moaned. "My parents were so proud."

"What?" Gregory asked.

"My parents," Thomas said. "They wanted me to join Starfleet so bad." He shook his head, in his hands again. "They were prouder than I've ever seen them when I got out of 'A' school."

"Mine, too," M'benge murmured, sitting again. He chuckled ruefully. "My mother keeps writing that my father keeps bragging about me to all his friends." He mimicked a deeper voice, "My son is in Starfleet. He's making sure we're all safe. What are your sons doing?"

"Running like scared children," Jaspovich answered darkly. Thomas made a groaning noise from behind his hands. "What were we thinking?"

"We're going to get examples made of us," Gregory said fatalistically.

"There's still some hope," M'benge said, trying to be optimistic, and failing. "We're out in the Gamma Quadrant. They can't really dismiss us. Maybe we'll just be reprimanded."

"For desertion?" Jaspovich asked, incredulous. "They execute people for that."

"Not Starfleet," M'benge said.

"Okay, not Starfleet," Jaspovich said, and rolled over in his bunk to face the wall.

"We deserve it," Thomas said.

"Deserve what?" Gregory asked.

"Execution," Thomas said. "We may as well be dead. No one's going to trust us again. Ever."

"That's not true," M'benge shook his head. "We can work our way back."

"Aw, C'mon, Nik," Thomas said, "how do we work back from that?"

"Look at Farrell," Jaspovich said. "He got demoted eight years ago, and he's still not back from it."

"Well--" M'benge said. "Well, that's like you said. Farrell doesn't know when to shut up. If we just shut up and keep our heads down and do our work, maybe. . .we. . ."

When it became apparent that M'benge was done, Jaspovich finished the sentence with, "maybe we can overcome it? Who'd even notice? We're a transporter technician, a pair of stewards, and a data archive clerk," he said, pointing to Gregory, Thomas and M'benge, and himself as he listed the titles. "Who ever notices what we do? Even if we're top-notch, we don't get noticed."

"I once saw Pfeiffer manage an entire bar, and never have to ask a customer to remind her what they wanted," Thomas offered.

"And do you think anybody cares?" Jaspovich said. "Ensign Lektar probably doesn't even know I exist. Nobody ever even thinks to look for me unless they need something, and even then, so many of the functions are automated that I barely have a job. I could be the best clerk ever, and I still wouldn't ever get noticed. No one notices us."

"Until we screw up," Gregory said quietly.

Everyone went quiet, the depression in the room thickening.

"What if--" M'benge began, when the doorchime rang.

Gregory was out of her bunk in a flash and opening the door.

"Rett, are we glad to see you," she said, ushering him in.

"Did it go ok?" the others asked, more or less in unison.

Rett stood and looked at his co-workers and comrades. They were so young, and they were so frightened. The room was thick with nervous tension, only heightened by the acrid tang of vomit and sweat. It saddened him that they had come to this. Thomas and M'benge, whose parents were so proud of them. Jaspovich, an orphan, clinging to Starfleet as a way out of his dead-end life. Gregory, so melodic and light, who sang even waist deep in a transporter access hatch. Four promising young people who made a mistake. And a mistake for which they would likely pay for the rest of their lives. He had begun to feel a vaguely paternal affection for them, and it pained him a bit to inflict on them what he knew was coming.

"I'm sorry," he said, giving each of them a sad look. "It did not."

He was met with silence. Jaspovich buried his face in his pillow.

"I do, however, have another option to present to you," Rett said.

"What?" M'benge, always trusting of Rett, asked eagerly.

"Commander Lyrr herself is just outside the door. She is--"

"What?!" Gregory exclaimed.

"You brought her here?" Jaspovich said. "The woman eats deck plating! She'll kill us!"

Thomas blanched and lunged for the recycler again. M'benge snapped his fingers with realization.

"Wait a minute," he said. "This is our chance."

"Huh?" Jaspovich grunted.

"N'kruma is correct," Rett said. "She's agreed to actually speak with you. This is your opportunity to try and let her know what you're thinking and what actually happened."

Jaspovich blew out a puff of breath. "You could have warned us."

"This came up rather suddenly," Rett answered flatly.

"Well, uh, okay, then," Gregory fumbled. "We've got to talk to her, then."

All four crewmen, now primped and preened, and all traces of gastronomical distress gargled away, stood at attention in a single, staggered row. Lyrr Tayla tilted her head in greeting to the quartet once she was standing before them. Their anxiety was palpable in the musty air, and Lyrr swore she detected a familiar smell among the many odours mingling...but quickly she put all thought of it aside and regarded each of the crewmen in turn.

"I was summoned here at the request of your crewmate, Crewman Rett," she began. "He indicated you had some concerns you wished to express to me personally." Her eyebrow cocked sharply. "If you have something to say, feel free to say it now. I'm listening."

All four crewmen looked terrified, but were covering it dutifully with the 'attention' stare the Academy drilled into its recruits. Rett cleared his throat. "Crewman M'benge," he said, "perhaps you could begin?"

The chocolate-skinned M'benge took a single sharp step forward. "Sir," he said roughly, then cleared his own throat, "sir, we were all wondering what's going to happen to us, sir."

Rett looked down and scratched his eyebrow.

Lyrr nodded thoughtfully. She'd been considering the same and had yet to make a decision. The men and woman appeared unsteady, and Thomas seemed prepared to keel over. With a heavy sigh, she gestured for the lot of them to find seats. She, herself, pulled a chair away from one of the study tables and turned it to face the bunks they'd found seating upon. Once she'd claimed the chair, Lyrr studied the solemn faces of the four officers, and pitied them their situation. She would never have allowed herself to become caught up in the same.

"Crewman Rett," she began, "has expressed to me that...fear seems to be rampant aboard this ship and among some of its crew. Am I correct in that the four of you were gripped by that fear and allowed it to...drive you to the actions you took?"

"I--" M'benge began, then halted. He visibly shook off what he was going to say, then fell back on the traditional "yessir."

"Crewman," Lyrr chided, "if you have something to say, please say it. In such an instance, can you really afford to withhold information?"

M'benge considered that carefully. "It's not fear, I think." He looked at his comrades. "Okay, I guess it is. But it's not like we're afraid. Not like panicked or...that."

Lyrr's brow creased at M'benge's incoherence.

"What he's trying to say," Gregory, the woman, spoke up, "is that we were all just really," she took a breath. "Uncertain."

"About?" Lyrr prompted.

Gregory sighed. "About everything."

M'benge got his thoughts together at last, and chimed back in. "We didn't know what was going on. We didn't know what was being done. All we knew was that the self-destruct was running."

"At first, everything was fine," Thomas spoke up, but shakily. "Everyone assumed we'd be heading for the pods soon. But then we didn't."

"We all went to our stations like we'd drilled," Jaspovich said. "We were all ready for anything, we thought."

"But it was the waiting," Gregory came back in. "I mean, the standing station, being on edge like that, and then the timer kept going."

"And no command ever came," M'benge said.

"I mean, that's a situation. . ." Gregory looked down and shrugged.

"In the drills, the command to abandon always comes pretty much right after the autodestruct starts," Thomas said.

"And then the communications went down," Jaspovich said, with a glance at Gregory.

"And there we were," M'benge finished. All four went quiet, looking dejected and embarrassed.

Lyrr digested their explanation, portions of it supplied by each officer in turn as if they'd shared the same mind that day. Either that, or they'd coached one another beforehand to get their story straight. "So...when Lt. Gui attempted to restrict your passage to the pods," she asked slowly, "what were you thinking then?"

"Nobody was really thinking," Thomas said.

"Nobody was really talking," Jaspovich added.

"Somebody said command had already abandoned ship," M'benge said.

"And somebody kept pushing one of the guards," Gregory said.

"It just sparked out of control," M'benge offered.

"And what did you do to regain control?" Lyrr asked. "Did you truly believe the captain would jump ship before the rest of his crew was safely evacuated?"

"At that moment, I don't know what I believed," Jaspovich admitted quietly.

"I wish I could say I stood up, but it was such a surge," Thomas started, then went quiet.

"When the guard got hit, and hit back, things just erupted," Gregory said.

"And you jostled to find the nearest escape pod," Lyrr finished for them all. "Is that the sum of it?"

"Yeah," Thomas shrugged.

"Well," Jaspovich said. "Not exactly."

Gregory looked down. M'benge looked at Jaspovich.

Lyrr sighed. Although she was aware of their crazed mindset that day, she could hardly fathom it. "We have your sworn statements, and I've now heard your version of the events firsthand.... If you were in my place, what would your recommendations be? Rather," she added quickly, "what do you think you deserve?"

All four looked down, perhaps even more dejected than before.

Watching each of them, her agitation grew by the moment. Glancing aside at Rett and wondering again what he'd hoped to accomplish with this group of cravens, Lyrr rose. "Well...if you've no desire to defend yourselves, why should I?" she told them.

"It's not our fault," Jaspovich said. Thomas looked like he might actually faint. Gregory looked away. M'benge was watching Lyrr closely.

"Then whose is it, Mr. Jaspovich?" Lyrr asked with surprising gentleness.

"I don't think it's anybody's," Jaspovich said. "It was like has been said. It was a situation of uncertainty that got its own inertia. Everyone just got carried along with it before we could even stop and think."

"And you promise never to do it again?" Lyrr surmised caustically.

"Yes, sir," Jaspovich said. The others echoed his words, rallying to his confidence.

Lyrr nodded, expecting nothing less than a reply that would serve to placate her. "You do know that the final decision is up to Captain Salinger, and that I can only make recommendations - ones I have yet to decide upon." She paused, ignoring their nods of acknowledgement and solemn understanding. There was nothing more to be heard or said.

Lyrr rose, followed by the four officers who scrambled to their feet. She tipped her head at them and turned for the door, but a final question came to mind and gave her pause. "Crewmen," she called to them again, and faced forward. "Tell me this, all of you: Why did you join Starfleet?"

The four were taken aback by the question. They all thought on it. M'benge was the first to speak.

"To do something significant," he said simply.

"To make something of my life," Jaspovich added.

"To serve," Gregory said.

"Because it's important," Thomas nodded.

"All safe answers," Lyrr told them all forthrightly. "But in any case, I hope you're being honest with me, and with yourselves. If you do wish to remain in Starfleet and on this vessel, the truth just might be your salvation." Her eyes lingered on the four officers, seeking in them something that would inspire pity within her, and likely save their careers. Lyrr sighed, unable to find it within herself to empathize with their positions. Because Lyrr knew she would never have allowed herself to err as they had, Lyrr could hardly find the inspiration for leniency.

She exited their quarters without another word and glanced aside at Rett once they were alone. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked.

Rett thought a moment before speaking, as usual. When he spoke, it was in his usual quiet, open way. "These are good people, Commander. They are simply young. They all have potential, and can be good, useful members of the Fleet. It's in their eyes, and in the way they're already punishing themselves for their error. I have always been forthright with you, Commander. More forthright than I have ever been with a superior. Perhaps more forthright than has been safe. I beg you, sir. Do not destroy the careers of these crewmen for a single moment of madness."

"A single moment of madness, Mr. Rett," she said gently, "is all it takes, oftentimes, to jeopardize lives. I commend you on your loyalty to fellow crewmembers, but they must be punished. How severely?" Lyrr shrugged. "I guess that's something I'll have to think about. In the end...I hope you won't think too badly of me, Mr. Rett." She smiled weakly. "Thank you for the story. I always prefer yours best." Bowing her head, she bid Rett a good night and slipped away.

---

"What Are You Trying To Say?"
By: Chief Petty Officer Sorien Case - Weapons Specialist
and Ensign Mason Farrell - Operations Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Chief Petty Officer Case's Quarters
Stardate: 57908.26, 00h09

***

Case sat at the desk in his quarters, reviewing padds. Engineering had done an admirable job removing the room divider before the unpleasantness of the last mission and the junior officer's quarters had opened up to be rather spacious if only a little dim. The darkness was not Engineering's doing - the Chief himself had long programmed his lights to lower as it got later into evening hours during starship duty, finding the visual cue to be helpful to maintaining normal circadian rhythms. He was already well past his usual bedtime, stifling his fifth yawn and checking the chronometer for the third time. Fortunately, the door chime sounded before he could swear.

"Come," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Up late, Chief?" Farrell quipped, strolling in and giving the Chief a nod. "Very nice," he added, looking to the wall. A large display there showed hand and shoulder weapons from Starfleet's earliest days to the present. There was a phase pistol, rounded and sleek. It included a vast assortment of hand phasers and old phaser rifles, some bulky and inefficient, some smoother and more aggressive looking, all the way up to the current "Beam Banana" type II style, and the wicked looking state-of-the-art compression rifle.

"I love those old phase pistols," drawled Farrell, nodding appreciatively at the display. "I've always preferred a perpendicular grip. So to speak," he added, quirking a smile. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Funny you should ask, sir," Case said with a smile, pushing himself out of the chair. He walked over to his display and gingerly worked the Type-I phaser out of its socket. "This is the very one they issued to me when I finished 'A' school." He tossed the sleek little weapon to Farrell who caught it with a nonchalance born of practice even as Case sat down on the edge of his desk.

It was light, and Farrell quirked an eyebrow, unconsciously checking its power pack. "I've always been partial to the Type I, too. It's almost a tool more than a weapon. Reckon that's why we all get issued one," he grinned, and gestured from the tiny phaser to its wall socket and back, the question in his eyes.

Case gave a gesture meant to convey 'by-all-means' and Farrell moved to the wall display. "You are wrong about one thing, sir," Case said to Mason's back as the younger man pushed the phaser back into the appropriate socket.

"What's that?" Farrell patted the phaser back into place, casting a glance at the other firearms on the wall as he turned his back on it.

"We all got issued one," Case clarified, meeting Farrell's gaze. "The Academy hasn't done phaser issues for officers or enlisted for more than five years." Case rubbed his chin in mock-thoughtfulness. "That sure seems like something an Operations officer would know."

"I'm here this late to be reminded of that?" Farrell asked, the beginnings of a smile starting.

"I'm going to need your phaser, sir," Case said, cutting to the chase.

Farrell took a moment to soak that in. "Why?"

"There's going to be some new armory regulations aboard the Sulu," Case said. "Personal weaponry will no longer be allowed. If anyone in that mob you stunned had a phaser of their own, things could have gotten ugly."

"Had I not stunned that mob, things would have gotten ugly anyway," Farrell said flatly, clasping his hands behind his back. "There were a dozen people in that corridor."

"Ten," the Chief corrected. "It's not a request, sir and it's not just coming from me."

"Twelve. Two security officers were in the process of going down when I suppressed the mob. But it's not worth arguing; done is done. What is T'Kal's order, exactly?"

"That you surrender all weapons presently in your possession," Case said. "If they have some sentimental value, we can render them inert like my own collection here..." The Betazoid gestured to his wall display "...and return them to you. Ancient weapons like swords, knives, and slugthrowers will probably be returned unchanged. If you were determined to cause mischief with them, it wouldn't be hard to figure out the source."

"Mischief," Farrell echoed. "Mischief," he repeated, softer and sadly. "Mind if I sit?" he asked.

Case nodded at the chair.

Farrell sat thoughtfully. "Why now?" His tone was conversational; not light, but not over-serious. "I brought my own collection with me when I came aboard. Why neuter them now? If I hadn't acted when I did there would have been serious injuries done in that corridor. Is Salinger that afraid of his own crew?"

"Nearly two dozen people left their posts during a red alert, Ensign. I think Captain Salinger might have cause to worry." Case's good eye narrowed a little. "You don't mind if we keep it Captain Salinger, sir?" The question was polite though it indicated disapproval.

"Certainly," Farrell said, holding up a hand. "Sorry for the informality."

"Don't be sorry, sir," Case said. "When I'm with my fellow Chiefs, we regularly speak of officers by last name only. But you're not a Chief and I don't want to forget where the line is drawn."

Farrell considered that a moment, and simply nodded.

Sorien examined Farrell carefully. "It's your assertion that the two security officers were overwhelmed by the mob and if you hadn't acted, there would have been serious implications to the security of this ship and her personnel?"

"Depends on how you define 'serious' in this case, I reckon," Farrell mused. "Gui's a go-getter. She wouldn't have stopped trying to stop people. Put her alongside D'Naal, a Vulcan, with all the straightedged focus that entails, and you've got a pair of people who'd have never backed down. Mobs don't deal well with those who try and resist 'em. Would the ship have been endangered in some way?" Farrell chuckled. "The autodestruct was ticking down, an entire deck had decompressed, and we were twenty minutes from a core breach. It would have been tough to increase the danger to the ship. The danger was in Gui and D'Naal putting themselves in harm's way, with no way out and no consideration of it."

"With all due respect, sir," Case said. "You need to stop trying to parse it. Being put in harm's way happens to be their job. Could they have gotten control of the situation or not?"

"No," Farrell answered simply. "Too many."

Case nodded, reaching behind him and producing a PADD. "I'll need a statement to that effect, sir. Be concise and take care to document Lieutenant Gui and Crewman D'Naal's respective failure. It'll be important."

"Important in what?" Farrell asked, taking the proffered PADD. "They did all they could."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but that's only your opinion," Case stated flatly. "It is beyond me to say exactly what will be done but I would imagine a formal inquiry concerning their dereliction of duty as well as the shooting incident itself. Lieutenant Gui is newly promoted - they might reconsider it - as well as her transfer to security." Case looked at Farrell closely. "It would only be a minor setback for her...she's got a clean record. Personally, I'm more worried about you. Some of the crew you stunned were ordered to evacuate, it seems."

Farrell sat back in his chair and regarded Case, idly toying with the PADD, the pieces beginning to come together in his mind.

Case studied the younger man with a hint of a smile. "Permission to make an observation, sir?"

"Absolutely."

"You've been beat up by the system so much, you don't know if you've been bit, shot, stabbed, or dropped into a harem on Orion." Case spoke kindly to Farrell with the voice of experience. "You're being given a gift here, sir. Things may be as you say...maybe Lieutenant Gui and Crewman D'Naal needed your intervention...but I've sparred with Lieutenant Gui myself...she's a capable fighter. And Crewman D'Naal has the collective strength of about everyone in that corridor." He looked Farrell in the eye and made the meaning clear. "It's better that I'm pointing it out to you now when it's just you and me than when I get asked my professional opinion at a formal hearing. You jumped the gun, Ensign. That was a mistake. Losing your stash because of it...that's a gift."

"So I let this land on me, and it goes away for everybody else?" Farrell steepled his fingers against his lips.

"It's not even landing on you alone, sir," Case pointed out. "Everyone with a personal phaser will have them confiscated. This is ship-wide. There's already a system in place for getting weapons in the hands of personnel in the event of an alert. As an Operations duty officer, you'll certainly be authorized." Case smiled. "Just be careful who you shoot from here on out."

Farrell gave a slight nod of his head. "But everyone else gets clear? No markdowns on Gui or D'Naal? The mob?" There was no bitterness in his tone.

"They can't very well ignore deserters, sir," Case said. "And I can't even make any promises about what's going to happen to Lieutenant Gui or Crewman D'Naal. I can promise you that every personal phaser, disrupter, and focused energy weapon will be confiscated and either destroyed or rendered inert." Case studied him. "Are you asking me what I hope will happen?"

"Sure."

"I hope that the people in those mobs get something on their record that makes them sit up and notice. That behavior is completely unacceptable." Case exhaled low and long. "As Lieutenant Gui and Crewman D'Naal were stopped before they could do their duty, I hope that Commander T'Kal decides to give them a pass." Case looked at Farrell solemnly but wore a smile. "As for you, sir, I hope you realize that this is ultimately a small thing for you to avoid a blemish. And, speaking personally, I have no real concerns about you. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for a significant portion of this crew."

"Significant?" Farrell smiled back. "Has it gotten significant?"

"Twenty-three people out of a crew of one hundred and fifty leaving their stations during a red alert is significant, sir," Case said, exchanging the smile for a thoughtful frown. "I wouldn't want one of them backing me up." He jutted his chin at Farrell as an indicator. "What about you, sir? Quite a few of them were from your department."

"Ops and Science, from what I've heard, though there's rumors about every department." Farrell met Case's eyes at the last comment.

"Ten from Science, nine from Ops, four from engineering, and one from security," Case recited from memory. He knew every last name. "And that's not counting the folks ordered to the escape pods by Lieutenant Druschev."

"And what can you expect?" Farrell shrugged. "As Ops and Sciences go, Sam and Tagliesh may be dedicated and skilled, but neither is a leader. Thaine gets angrier every day over smaller and smaller things. Morale's been almost nil for weeks, and nobody's got any confidence in the staff. You know what stuck out for me in that mob-scene at the pods?"

"What's that?"

"Somebody said Command had already left the ship, and we were on our own. It's scary that that sort of thing would even occur to people."

"People improperly trained or otherwise ill-suited to be in Starfleet might say all manner of idiotic things in crisis," Case pointed out. "It doesn't excuse a meltdown." Case narrowed his eye at the officer. "Respectfully, sir, you do realize that you are part of that leadership structure? We're both a part of that staff in which you say nobody has confidence."

"Granted, some of us can keep pieces of the crew together," Farrell nodded. "I feel like the Ops staff around me pulled together very well, considering some of them were waitresses and bartenders. I've heard you were instrumental in dealing with the situation on deck 6, but without any sort of top-end leadership this is going to happen again."

"Waitress, bartender, or warp technician...all enlisted get the same basic training that I did." Case looked grave and felt a little wary. He was being put in the position of explaining things to someone who shouldn't need an explanation. "I don't admire people for doing what they are supposed to do, sir. That single security officer who deserted her post is as much my failure as it is Commander T'Kal's or Captain Salinger's...even though she's not in my immediate command or even on my shift. Capable leadership at the top is certainly important but frankly, we're the ones that matter to the crew. We're the ones they see every day. We're the ones giving them orders. If they stumble, we fall."

"I think we're arguing different pieces of the same thing, Chief," Farrell said. "Of course we're the ones people look to immediately. We've all got our own little piece that we're in charge of. But past that there's got to be someone that people believe has it all under control. Take Ops. Beta staffers look to me, but they've always got an eye past me, looking toward Sam. If Sam's not there, there's only so much I can do. And frankly, Sam's not there.

"And it's not limited to Ops," Farrell continued. "Science had a command change hours before the ship went red. Now, it can't be argued that Tagliesh has a reputation for being a powermongering hag, and her science staff just plain doesn't respect it. They obey out of fear, not training. Pulling her out of control of science would have been a smart move, were it not for the fact that the ship was in crisis. And that's what's going to be so errantly stupid about this rush for the pods."

"We're not going to be able work out what goes on at the top tier, sir." Case pushed himself off the desktop and paced back behind it. "You can bring your collection down to the armory any time during alpha...I'll give Petty Officer Mullens' clear instructions to take care with them. I appreciate the cooperation, sir."

"What--" Farrell looked away and thought, going so far as to close his eyes and put a finger to his lips. He rose from the chair with a heavy sigh and took the two steps that carried him to the door. It opened automatically, but he keyed it closed again, and stood facing it.

"So what can we do?" he asked, quietly, as though it cost him something to do it.

Case had his eye on his desktop, shuffling around a few PADD. "I can do my job to the best of my ability and where there is a void in leadership, I'll try to fill it." He looked up at Farrell and gone was the friendly smile that appeared as a wrinkle in the corner of his good eye. His black iris burned with a dark fire. "That's what I'm going to do, sir."

Farrell stood in front of the door, his back to Case, head down, thinking for a long few moments. "What is it you think I've been saying?" he asked at last, without accusation.

Case stared at the younger man's back. "Respectfully, you have a lot to say about causes but I'm not hearing much in the way of solutions. And frankly, it's not my place to ask for them. If there's something wrong in your department, you have a hand in it as well. And that's all I care to say. Sir."

Farrell nodded, pushed the doorkey, and left without another word.

---

"Late Night Thoughts"
By: Ensign Shirik Lektar, Operations

Location: Lektar's quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.26, 01h30

***

Shirik sat on the sofa, tapping on a PADD. On the low table before her were scattered several more, and on occasion she swapped the one in her hand with one from the table, tapping in figures, notes, calculations, or code.

When she returned to her quarters, she thought it best to keep her mind occupied, and focused on some task. So she devoted herself to reviewing the encryption algorithms and security protocols used on various systems on board the Sulu, as she had told the captain she would, to compile a report for Sam and T'Kal.

She had a half-finished mug of klaas on the table beside her, gone cold. She stared at the PADD in her hands, the code on the display getting fuzzy in her tired vision. She needed sleep, but was loath to try to get any, afraid of what she might dream next.

She set the PADD down and looked over at her bed, which seemed to be calling her. With a sigh, she got to her feet and shuffled over to it. "Computer, lights out," she ordered, shedding her clothes beside the bed as the lights winked out. She slipped beneath the covers and stared up at the ceiling. She was tired, but sleep wouldn't yet come. Instead, her mind worked. She closed her eyes with another sigh and let the thoughts work themselves out in her head.

Before she'd joined Starfleet, she'd never seen love firsthand. Her mother and father never loved each other, all the married couples she'd known didn't love each other, every marriage she'd seen had been pre-arranged. She never questioned it, never wondered why, until she'd left home and joined Starfleet. That's when she first discovered that sometimes married people did love one another. Granted, they were offworlders, and not Drokari, but she had begun to question the wisdom of arranged marriages, and whether Drokari could love one another, given the right circumstances.

Now she knew the answer, much to her dismay. Apparently it was possible for Drokari to love, and even to love an offworlder. But now she saw the ultimate wisdom of her people's arranged marriages, of their lack of love. Saavar was right, love was a worthless emotion, one that brought pain, emotional disruption, and wasn't worth the energy expended on it. He had an arranged marriage, too, one that brought no joy, perhaps, but brought no pain such as she was experiencing, either. Was the potential joy worth the pain? She had her doubts. Joy existed only in dreams, she decided.

Eleven years she'd been in Starfleet, studying, working, and in all that time she'd avoided love, avoided emotional attachments. She'd even avoided sex until recently. At first the mere thought of sex with an offworlder was repulsive to her. She could remember when she felt that way, all those years ago. Emotional attachment to a male had felt just as alien to her then. What had happened to her?

She frowned in the darkness. She'd been contaminated by Federation thinking, that's what. Even Ben saw that much, he said she'd been infected with freedom. More like infected with lunacy, she thought. Like an insidious virus, Federation beliefs and values had begun to creep into her, slowly making her forget her people's ways. That needed to end, she decided. She needed to remember who and what she was, and begin acting it again. She was a strong, proud daughter of Rennari royalty, who bowed to no male, no emotion, whom no pain could break. She nodded to herself. She didn't need anyone, and she didn't need the pain being attached to a male ultimately brought.

She let her thoughts wander to Ben. His face, his hair, his body, his light, gentle touch. It brought another stab of pain to her, and Lyrr's face unconsciously came into view. It only made sense, she thought. Lyrr was one of his own kind, she was a female in a position of power on this ship. It was only logical he choose her over a low-ranked alien female, he couldn't be faulted for that. Certainly Lyrr wasn't worthy of him, but that didn't matter. It made perfect sense, just like an arranged marriage to a Rennari nobleman would for her someday. Thinking about it that way, she could let go of the pain, and bury it away until it couldn't haunt her any more. Caly was right, Ben wasn't worthy of her love, either. She could do better. She would, when she returned to Drokar, because she decided now she would go back. To deny her birthright wasn't logical either.

She had a decision to make, but she had five months or so to make it. When they returned to the Alpha quadrant, she would do...something. She wasn't sure what, yet, but she knew she had to make some kind of change. She might transfer off the Sulu. Or she might resign her commission and return to Drokar. That rather rankled her, because she did want to command, and she certainly couldn't if she returned to Drokar, not a starship, anyway. She had time yet. Time to think on her choices.

Her mind now cleared of its earlier chaos, her pain buried safely away for the time being, sleep finally found her.

---

"Garden Of Truth"
By: Ensign Shirik Lektar, Operations
Crewman Sorg Jurell, Security

Location: Lektar's quarters; Arboretum, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.26, 07h00

***

Sorg Jurell stopped outside of Shirik's quarters and straightened his uniform before pressing the chime. It was 0700hrs and he was determined to take her to breakfast with the rest of the Alpha detail. He hadn't seen her in a few days; not since their dinner date and he'd been told by Ro Palil that she had seen Lyrr sporting a Betrothal Bracelet when they'd stood together in a turbo-lift. Ro had told him that she wore it openly and that it had to be T'Kal's. Apparently Lyrr had worn a Friendship Bracelet, but now it was the Bajoran Betrothal bracelet. Ro Palil was very sure about it, and being a Bajoran herself, she would know.

He pressed the chime a second time.

Shirik grumbled as she got out of bed. "Dammit, Saavar..." She was naked, but slipped on a robe before going to the door. When it opened, she just stood there blinking. It wasn't Saavar.

"Morning," Sorg grinned as his eyes drank in the slightly dishevelled Shirik Lektar. The short robe displayed plenty of long dark leg and he had to clear his throat as his eyes were drawn back to hers. "Breakfast?" he asked hopefully.

"Breakfast...?" She didn't look enthused. "I don't think I'm up to being around a lot of people just now. I'm not feeling well." Which wasn't a lie, technically.

"Well you look great," he smiled. "Come on, come out to breakfast. I can wait for you." He took a step through the door, smiling confidently at her.

She eyed him for a moment. Maybe he didn't know, she thought. Maybe she could pretend everything was normal. "Very well," she said. "You can wait over there." She waved at the living area, where there was a sofa and a low table scattered with PADDs. With that, she turned to disappear into the fresher.

He watched her go, and smiled at the imperious way she had waved him into the living area. He was back to being a lowly serf. He wandered over to where she had indicated and glanced at the padds on the table. Computing texts, engineering texts, a text in some language he couldn't determine, a few others....

The ones on top were security protocols and encryption algorithms, apparently her latest research project.

His eyes wandered around; it was plain that two women lived here. He sat on the sofa and crossed his legs, throwing his arms back over the rear as he relaxed. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds coming from the 'fresher, the imagined scenario of him walking in and seducing her. He could...if only he had the guts. But he didn't. He just stayed on the sofa as she'd ordered and tried to completely relax. The thought of T'Kal being out of the picture lent his handsome face a slight smile.

The sounds coming from the 'fresher were quiet, rustlings of robe and towel, padded feet on the floor. She wasted no energy on humming or singing as some did. When she came out she was clean and refreshed, her hair neatly brushed out and flowing long down her back. She didn't spare him a glance as she went to the replicator to get a clean sweater and pants both in dark blue, and dropped her robe to the floor to dress. She tied her hair up in a quick tail and slipped on her shoes, then picked up her fallen robe to toss it onto her bed before finally turning her gaze to Sorg once more. "All right, I'm ready."

He'd just watched her dress in front of him, as she'd given him as much care as a house servant. No chatter, no smiles, no do you mind if I get naked in front of you? His throat was dry. "You know, next time you do that...can you give me some warning?" he smiled at her. "I'm not that used to seeing you...so completely."

She quirked an eyebrow at him before turning to go to her nightstand. "Were you offended?" she asked as she reached into the drawer to remove the bracelet he'd given her. For a moment she turned it over in her hand, watching the play of light over the precious metals. Then finally she slipped it onto her wrist, and turned back to Sorg.

"Offended? Prophets no." He grinned. "A little warning would be nice though...just so I don't miss anything."

"Very well. In the future, keep in mind that my people are not offended or embarrassed by nudity, and have no taboos about it. Consider yourself warned." With that, she headed for the door. "Shall we...?"

Her reply and its tone was on the verge of being rude. He lost his smile and stared at her. "Yes, Princess," he replied straightfaced as he stood. His own tone was laced with sarcasm. It was almost as if she no longer considered him a friend - just another security officer to order around.

His tone pierced her, and her resolve wavered. But it had to be this way, she told herself, she had to be strong once more. She turned her back and left the room, heading for the turbolift.

She paused before the doors. Her last ride in a turbolift came back to her vividly, and for a moment she simply didn't want to go inside. She had to force herself to step in. She stood facing the door, and her eyes involuntarily wandered up to the ceiling as she swallowed, but this one wasn't melted.

Sorg stepped inside with her. His eyes were fixed upon the wall. If she was cold to him then that was the way it would be. It made it easier to bear that way. He was unconsciously standing at parade-rest, with hands clasped behind his back. "Mess Hall," he ordered the computer. As it started to move he remained impassive, seemingly uncaring. He too remembered the last ride he'd taken with her.

Her gaze went to him and she watched him uncomfortably. She was doing the right thing, she told herself. She had to believe it. She closed her eyes. The ride seemed incredibly long.

His blue eyes flicked to hers a moment before the lift came to a halt. His face didn't change, but the expression in his eyes did. She'd put on the bracelet he'd given her, and he couldn't be cold to her. It just wasn't in him. "Would you prefer to go somewhere and talk?" his voice was a soft lilt. He didn't know why she'd turned into The Princess again; he needed to know if things had changed. He gazed into her beautiful violet eyes, trying to determine what she was thinking behind them. The memory of her body resting against him while they danced was a ghost in his mind.

She opened her eyes at the change in tone of his voice, and her gaze came to rest on him once more. "I think I would prefer a breakfast without a lot of other people around," she admitted. The thought of having to face a table full of security officers at the moment wasn't appealing to her.

The admission made him smile and he nodded. "Computer, Deck 8 Arboretum." His voice was soft. "Walk with me in the garden, Taste the fruits of the Prophets Blessings, Watch the rising of the Dawn and be nourished." He grinned. "It sounds more beautiful in Bajoran, but it's an old poem." He couldn't remember the rest of it. Sorg had seen her on her death bed, expecting to die, and still the fire had been in her eyes. As he looked at her now he realized that was what was different about her. The fire was absent. He made the connection...she knew. Of course she knew. Sorg knew T'Kal enough to know that if he'd asked Lyrr to marry him, then he would certainly have told Shirik about it. That was it.

A small smile finally graced her lips, but it was almost sad. "It does sound beautiful," she said quietly. Her eyes were grateful for the change in destination. She liked the arboretum, it was quiet and peaceful there. "Do they serve breakfast there?"

"No," he smiled, "but this time of the day it will be empty, and the way it's been put together gives the illusion of a sky - I enjoy it. It looks like you need something other than four walls staring at you."

She nodded. "That would be nice.... But you have duty this morning, I wouldn't want you to miss out on getting breakfast..."

"Maybe you can sneak me something later." He laughed softly. The turbolift halted and the door slid aside. He waved her ahead of him and they walked the short distance to the Arboretum. The sun was up - barely over the low hills in the holographic distance. It was set to ship's time, so that the general time of the day could be determined as the sun rise and set. It also allowed the plants to get into a cycle of night/day. "Talk to me, Shirik." He turned to her as they entered a small glade with a bench. He sat and patted the stone seat. "Something's changed since the other night."

She would have to do just that, she thought, if he missed eating because of her.

She looked around in the low light levels of dawn, just right to her vision. It suddenly made her homesick. She moved to sit next to him and folded her hands in her lap. She didn't say anything for a moment, then her gaze fell to the bracelet on her wrist, and it reminded her of the one Lyrr now wore, bringing a feeling of sadness inside of her. She closed her eyes, took and released a deep breath, then said quietly, "The way rumors travel around here I'd have thought the whole ship knew by now."

"About T'Kal." He said it as a statement. He looked at her and reached for her hand. He took it and held it between both of his. "I know how you feel, Shirik. You could say, I'm intimately familiar with how you feel." His words were soft, almost a whisper.

She nodded and sighed. "I know you do. I'm so sorry, Jurell...if you feel this way because of me... I'd never want to inflict this pain on anyone." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze in hers.

He chuckled and shook his head. "We're a pair aren't we?" His blue eyes touched hers with a steady gaze. "He's in love with Lyrr Tayla, and I think he always was...it's not going to change. You know...sometimes friendship can change into something else."

She looked away. That was exactly what she'd hoped might happen with Ben. Now she knew the folly of thinking that way. Of hoping. She shook her head. "This won't change, Jurell," she said quietly. She knew it wouldn't. Even if it could, she wouldn't let it, not any more. "You should do what he did... find one of your own kind. One with status and power..."

"Is that what you think he did?" Sorg Jurell shook his head. "That kind of status or power has never been important to T'Kal. He has more influence on Bajor than you can imagine...he was almost a Vedek. He doesn't think that way...in the same way that I don't." He looked at Shirik. "I can't help how I feel about you, Shirik - just like T'Kal and Lyrr. Bajorans are ruled by their hearts. We're a spiritual people. I know that if we ever have anything, it would be short-lived. You would stay young and I would grow old. You'd leave me far before then. I couldn't hope to hold on to you. But Shirik, if I can spend just a little time with you...I gladly would."

"I don't know. I only know it makes sense that way...I have to believe there's some reason he prefers her over me, that's as good as any." She paused, looking at the grass. "My people don't love... they don't get emotionally attached to males, they arrange their marriages based on status. I used to wonder why... But I don't any more. Now I understand."

"You are lying to yourself, Shirik. Don't do it. It's not you. You know what love is. But the problem with love is that it's not controllable. He loves Lyrr, you love him, I love you.... The reason he prefers her over you is simply because he loves her and he doesn't love you. It's harsh reality, but you have to face it."

"Yes, I know what love is now. It's pain, frustration, and sorrow. It's worthless, like Saavar said." Her expression darkened, and her jaw tightened. "Exactly. Now you know why I'm acting as I am. It has to be this way."

He shook his head, "No it doesn't...it hurts when you fall for the wrong person, or when you love someone more than they love you, but that's the negative side to love. Love isn't pain and frustration. It's joy and comfort and warmth and desire and passion. It's holding someone who shares your dreams and failures. Don't shy away from it because the first time you experience it, it hurts you. That's a cowards way of dealing with a situation. Vulcans don't know what it is, they may have once experienced it, but not now. Saavar doesn't have the answers for you any more than I do. You have to find it yourself - and you can't find it by running away from it. I know...."

"I have my own way of dealing with things, I just need the time to recover, without being pushed by anyone." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Have you run away from it?"

"I did once," he admitted. "My fiancée decided to make love to someone else...."

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't know why!" he said bitterly. "She betrayed me. I could never forgive her for that."

She shrugged. To her it only made sense to have asked why. Surely there was some reason, if it had been her she'd have wanted to know what it was. "So you ran away so you wouldn't have to look at her any more, and be reminded of what happened. I can certainly understand that, and I don't see anything wrong in it."

"Only regret," he observed quietly. "Is that what you want to do? Run away?"

"We all have regrets," she muttered, thinking of her own. "I've been thinking about it.... Nowhere to run to out here in the Gamma quadrant, though. So for the time being, I'm stuck here."

"Yeah...me too," he whispered as he looked into her eyes. "I don't want any more regrets." He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek.

She closed her eyes as the pain swelled up in her again. Everything reminded her of Ben now, it seemed. "Neither do I," she whispered, but she knew it was already too late, she had regrets that would be with her always.

The sight of her sadness made him drop his hand. He nodded and looked away.

She opened up her eyes as he dropped his hand, her gaze haunted. "I'm sorry, Jurell," she said quietly. She wondered if they'd ever be able to be together as friends without making each other sad. It seemed doubtful.

He smiled. "Don't be." He shook her hand and added, "I'll get over it. Look - enough moping."

She just looked at him, her insides feeling like a raw open wound. "How can you even stand to be around me?" she asked quietly. "All I ever end up doing is hurting you..."

He drew her into his arms and hugged her. "Being around you is easy," he chuckled. "That's where I have to stand post...so...let's just be friends. Leave all the other stuff behind for now."

She smiled faintly, and returned his hug tightly, having sorely needed one. She nodded against his shoulder. "Ok...sounds good." Her smile grew slightly. "We should see about getting you something to eat before you have to go stand post on an empty stomach."

"I think I'll manage," he said as he held her. The feel of her hair was wonderfully soft, and he grinned. "When you have a friend, it always works out in the end... you'll see."

---

"The Hokey Pokey"
By: CPO Calyca Boothroyd, Engineering
Ensign Shirik Lektar, Operations

Location: USS Sulu, Shirik's quarters
Stardate: 57908.26, 16h15

***

Caly popped her gum as she made her way down the corridor towards Shirik's room. She was dressed in workout clothes, her ball cap firmly on her head, and the ever-present backpack that contained her engineering kit, along with a few other things slung over her shoulder. She steered clear of the chime and crouched at the door, pulling her pack around to open it. She hummed softly to herself, popped her gum again, pulled something out of the pack and set it in front of the door. With a mischievous grin, she re-shouldered her pack, pulled out her PADD, leaned back against the bulkhead next to the door, and crossed bare legs at the ankle as she activated the chime.

Shirik was seated on the sofa, tapping on various PADDs as she worked on her project. When the chime rang, she didn't even look up. "Come," she called.

When the door slid open Caly pressed a key on her PADD to execute the little robot's AI and the thing obligingly rolled nearly soundlessly into Shirik's quarters while the petite chief watched her screen. The miniature barrel-shaped robot stopped halfway between the door and Shirik and 'whirred' softly in her direction. Caly didn't dare send in one of her spiders, having learned quite a while ago Shirik's reaction to them.

Shirik looked up from her work at the sound, and quirked an eyebrow at the gadget, her gaze flicking to the door. "Caly?"

It moved with a dexterity that was surprising for as 'clunky' as it looked. A little door opened up in its stomach and it pulled out a miniature top hat as the strains for the "Hokey Pokey" started to emit from the thing. Which really clashed with the little grass skirt it was wearing and looked totally dorky when it started dancing to the music. Caly didn't answer Shirik's call and instead watched her reaction to the corny song and the dancing robot. Especially when it got to the "shake it all about", and the thing bent over and shook its butt at the Drokari Princess.

The other eyebrow went up. "Ok...." A hula dancing robot? She set her PADD down and folded her arms as she regarded it. "Some engineers just have way too much time on their hands," she remarked with a smirk.

Now Caly knew that it probably wouldn't make Shirik actually laugh, because she might not get the humor behind it, but she was pretty sure it would distract the Ops officer from any Dark Ben thoughts. At least for a short while. Two minutes and thirty-two seconds, to be exact, which was the duration of the song. Caly grinned at the smirk and words of her friend and let the song and dance play out to the end while the little robot wowed Shirik with his amazing rendition of the "Hokey Pokey" in a grass skirt and top hat. Complete with a raspberry at the end. Caly stuck her head in then and grinned at her friend.

"You loved it, I know you did. And if you insist, I'll let you keep Elmo for a while," she teased.

"No, thanks," she said. "I'd rather watch you shake your ass at me in a grass skirt, anyway," she teased back.

Caly snorted and laughed as she walked in and shook her butt before plopping down on the sofa. "Soooo.... I figure you've had enough time to wallow in misery," she grinned. "Let's do something."

"Indeed, and I see you're dressed for exercising, which is convenient. I was intending to restart my exercise regime today. Care to join me?"

"I'd be delighted," she grinned and stood up and offered Shirik a hand. "Get changed. What would you like to do? You know... I don't have the slightest idea what you do in your regime."

"Anything." She shrugged, moving to the replicator to get an outfit. She shrugged out of her clothing and slipped on a one-piece form-fitting bodysuit, dark blue with black stripes down each side. "I was thinking of starting out with a run today... Get my legs back into shape."

Caly grinned over at her friend, humming the "Hokey Pokey" as she slipped Elmo back into her pack. "That so? Sounds good to me. I got the holodeck reserved if you want to choose the program." Where Shirik went in for streamline efficiency, Caly went for cool with her exercise gear. Cool, temperature-wise rather than any kind of fashion statement. She wore a blue patterned sport tank with black running shorts under which she had a pair of purple, form hugging climbing shorts which almost clashed with her hair but were far enough away not to. And surprisingly enough, the petite red-head managed to make it look good and stylish despite her utter lack of regard in that area.

Shirik gave her friend an appreciative look. She'd forgotten how nice Caly looked when she wasn't wearing dirt-smudged work clothes. It got her mind to working, and a small mischievous smile found her lips as she headed for the door. "Good. I've got a running program to use."

"Good enough." Caly popped her gum and followed Shirik out. "My programs tend to all be exclusively rock climbing ones," she admitted. Caly did clean up rather nicely and could easily hold her own in very formal-type functions loaded with protocol. She was, however, totally unaware of that mischievous smile on her friend's lips or the evil workings of her mind.

"I remember," she said. "We'll need to get you some new ones, won't we?" They arrived at the holodeck, and Shirik punched up her running program from the old days and stepped inside.

"We do?" Caly grinned at Shirik, watching as she punched up her program. "But I like my rock climbing programs." She followed her friend inside and popped her gum as she looked around.

As the doors closed behind them, a grassy field formed in front of them, with a large oval running track. On either side were trees and flowers, with mountains in the distance. "How far shall we go?" she asked, moving into an easy jog and onto the track.

"Nice..." she nodded her approval as she fell into a nice jogging pace alongside Shirik. "How about we let your body decide that?"

She nodded, and turned her attention to the track ahead. It was quiet, a few chirping birds or buzzing insects the only sounds in the program, and it was peaceful. She was able to slip into a semi-meditative state as she jogged.

Meditate? Meditate? While jogging? Well, Caly was bored enough, which was probably why running wasn't in her usual exercising line-up. And she didn't meditate. Or meditate well. Her mind was just way too active for that. Like now. She popped her gum and ran through the robot's design and AI, looking for ways to improve it. "You going to the award thing tomorrow?" Maybe if she tweaked one of the subroutines..

"Not unless I'm required to," she said, glancing over at her friend. "I know you don't like running.... But I can't rock climb, either. Especially today."

Caly looked over at her and laughed softly. "It's okay, Shiri. It won't kill me to run. In fact, it's good for me to have a change every now and then," she smiled to show she understood. "My mother would say it's character building to do something you don't like. Besides, your company makes it worth it," she teased seriously. "I volunteered for duty, so I'll be working."

Shirik smiled to herself as an idea suddenly occurred to her. "Say, Caly... Why don't you have breakfast with me in the morning? I usually go down to the mess hall with Sorg and eat with the security guys. You could join us."

Caly quirked a brow over at Shirik and popped her gum. "Breakfast with the guys, huh?" she grinned and nodded. "Alright. I want to meet this Sorg of yours anyway. Is he the first guy who's ever actually been in love with a Drokari Princess? No matter what her number is?" she asked curiously.

"Probably," she grinned. "Oh... and please, leave the gum behind?"

"Oh? Don't want me to make a bad impression, mom?" she grinned and winked at Shirik. "Don't worry. I don't usually have gum when I'm eating."

"Indeed. It can be annoying at times," she grinned back.

Caly laughed and popped her gum in a clear attempt to tease Shirik. "It's part of my charm," she grinned. "My father absolutely hates it. So you're in good company."

Shirik retaliated by poking her friend in the side. "He's a smart man," she chuckled.

Caly squeaked at the poke and laughed. It was good to hear Shirik laughing. "Why yes, yes, he certainly is. I get my brains from him, you know."

"What do you get from your mother?" she asked.

"My size and good looks," she smiled, still teasing, but the look in her eyes quite serious. Shirik had seen pictures of Caly's mother and she was quite beautiful in an exotic way.

"I believe you," she said, and her tone wasn't teasing.

Caly glanced over at Shirik and gave her a lopsided smile. "But I pale in comparison to you, princess," she teased.

---

"The Lounge Act"
By: Ensign Amy Reese
Ensign Roades Mouazer

Location: Auditorium, USS Sulu
Stardate 57908.26, 17h30

***

With all the repairs and double-shifts, Amy was only slightly surprised that she was the only band member standing on the stage, instrument resting on her lap and ready to be thrummed. She sighed wistfully and watched her dangling legs swinging, kicking the face of the stage with her heels. The Suluists had offered to perform at the promotion ceremony, but with no time to practice, she feared they'd have to rescind on their promise. So many disappointed fans...

Kit was still shaken up over his near-death experience, and Kelli was with Tchi, helping her recover from her illness. Ensign Bennett was on duty, but Amy could hardly blame her for that - Commander T'Kal was a strict authoritarian and demanded that his department get back into peak form before they were underway again. That left her with no one, and no band. Sullenly, she propped her elbow on one thigh and leaned her chin into a fisted hand.

"Stupid duty," she muttered, but perked up briskly at the parting doors. Even though it was Ensign Mouazer and not a band member, she still grinned broadly. "Hi there!" Amy waved high above her head at him stridently.

"Hey there, Amesters!" Mouse shouted back as he trotted over to her. Since the shipwide crisis and between keeping busy with getting things back in order aboard the Sulu, Mouse had never found time to audition his way into the band. He figured now would be as good a time as any, though he had more than enough trouble just trying to seek out one of the members. Finally, however, he found Amy Reese. He smiled as he reached her and gave her a friendly hug hello. "Heya! Been looking all over for ya, was hoping I could audition, get officially adopted into your band," he remarked, letting go.

Amy frowned. "Well...judging from the great turn-out, I'm not so sure there still is a band." She sulked. "I've got no one to play with."

"Aww, now what makes you say that? You can always play with me, I can play the keyboard, piano and even a synthesizer!" he remarked, sitting on the stage next to her.

"Yeah...you said that...." Her smile returned, brightening marginally. "Well...wanna jam with me? This could be your sorta audition."

"Sure! I'd be happy to jam with you, just point me in the direction of the nearest instrument," he stated, smiling coyly.

Giggling, Amy slid her legs onto the stage and hopped upright. The guitar bounced and she embraced it to her chest as she scurried to the piano. "This is it!" she announced, still hopping boisterously. "Sit...and play!"

"I'm a playin', I'm a playin'!" Mouse replied, laughing as he ran after Amy to the piano. Cracking his knuckles, Mouse stretched his before letting his fingers rest on the keys. "Anything you want me to play or shall I just tickle the ivories for you?"

Amy grinned and gestured with a flourish at the instrument. "Tickle away." Then she raised her guitar at the ready, pick in hand. At her countdown to one, the two jumped into a lively beat in unison.

Mouse wasn't quite sure how long the two had been playing, but he was guessing it was for a good while, however a large part of himself didn't care, he was having a blast. He glanced up at Amy as he began playing a jazzy tune to follow up to her guitar's current mood.

"So, am I in or am I out?" he asked over his piano playing.

Amy laughed jovially and shouted, "You're in! Though, it's a damn shame we can't show you off tomorrow night at the party."

His fingers went to a halt and collapsed on the keys, resulting in a loud combination coming from the piano. "Why not? Oh right....the other band members." Dropping his head to the keys, electing yet another whining of the keys, he asked aloud, "If only the other band members could play together...I'm betting your vocalist is out of commission too, right?"

"Well...the lead vocalist, yeah," Amy answered. "I'm just a back-up singer."

Mouse's ears perked up. "This is going to sound strange and forthright but, Amy, I want you to sing for me."

"You do?" Amy smiled uncertainly. "Like...what?"

"Just sing! Something-- Wait, wait, wait! I'll tell you what, I'll play something on the piano and you sing along. Have you ever heard of the group Evanescence from the 20th Century?"

Amy appeared guilt-ridden as she shook her head. "Not a 20th century aficionado or anything.... But I know a lot of 24th century stuff. Like...like 'The Ballad of Twin Sunsets' by that composer...um...." Amy snapped her fingers as if magically she could summon the name to mind. "Oh! Eternal Legacy!"

"Fantastic! That song is one of their best. You know the words, just let them come to you." Letting his fingers fall to the ivories Mouse began to play the opening tracks of the song.

Amy smiled nervously as she drifted closer to the piano, strumming languidly the main chords of the melody. She always had trouble singing and playing simultaneously, but Kit had given her a tip: keep it simple, so she did. Closing her eyes, she let the resonant, plaintive notes draw her into the song and without thinking, only feeling the correct downbeat, she eased into the melody with a crisp, clear tone and a delicateness to her voice that belied her usual exuberance. Amy swayed gently to the music, keeping her eyes closed as she recited the lyrics with emotion and depth, through which her soul was exposed. The song's beauty was heart-rending.

He was right, which surprised Roades; Amy had a very lovely voice suited for singing. As she sang he found himself wondering why she only sang back up, she certainly possessed the necessary skills to sing well upfront. After the song drew to a close Mouse applauded before grabbing her by the hands. "See?! You sing like a harpy lulling me, the poor hopeless sailor, to your nest with your enchanting voice."

Amy chuckled bashfully, and in puzzlement. "What?"

"Wha? Oh! I mean I think you sing great!" Mouse remarked, blushing as he released Amy's hands. "What say you and me perform as a duet? I'm sure we'd be a hit, plus it'd be a chance to show your fans that Amy Polly Reese is more than just a backup singer and me...well that I'm more than just a nerd who knows about electronics," Roades finished poorly, but with a grin on his face.

"Really? You really think we could pull it off?" Amy pondered long, intensively, and with great anxiety. Being the center of attention instead of simply an accessory? Would she choke? No, she told herself proudly, I won't. And with a single, lively nod she agreed. "Let's do it! Oh we have so much work to do!" She moved around to the front of the piano and slid onto the bench next to Roades, bumping him aside. "We have songs to choose and rehearsal... Will we make it in time? The party's tomorrow!"

"Of course we can! You know what they say: two heads are better than one. I wonder if I should dye my hair for the occasion, haven't done that in a long while..." Mouse pondered to himself.

Amy, having suddenly found herself a kindred spirit, slung an arm across her friend's shoulders and declared, "Drop by my place tonight, and we'll dye our hair together." Giggling, she smacked a kiss to his cheek, then exclaimed, "Now, play!"

"I just got kissed by a pretty girl, can't I regain my senses first?" he asked, chuckling. Before Amy would retort at his remark Mouse began to play the piano again, partly wondering to himself if they could really pull this off...

---

"Heeding Advice"
By: Ensign Kit Markham
Counsellor Brennyn Scott
Ensign Amy Reese

Location: Scott's Office, USS Sulu
Stardate 57908.26, 19h25

***

"It'll be fine," Amy assured him, squeezing his hand for comfort. "It's just an evaluation - they expect people to see them after a crisis, so she'll think nothing of it."

"I'm feeling better though," Kit said, wondering if he could slip off into a side passage without her noticing. It was foolish since they were holding hands, and she was standing right next to him. Not to mention the sudden and abrupt end to their conversation. She'd notice, he was quite certain of it. "I guess if it's normal and expected, but...I still don't like doing it. They really like to pry, you know? And, they trick you into saying things you don't really want to."

"But things you sometimes need to say," she told him. "Don't worry...I'll be there with you. Okay?"

"Okay," Kit answered. "I guess...I'm...I'm afraid...afraid that she'll...find something wrong."

"But if there is," Amy said gently, "wouldn't you want her to, so she can make it better?"

"Well, yes, I...I would. It's just...I guess I'm afraid of what she'll find."

"Well, no matter what it is, I'm staying right here." She smiled warmly and kissed Kit's brow. It was a well-timed calming gesture, for they entered the counselling office in that moment. "Just keep breathing," she whispered as they approached Scott's door.

"Thanks," Kit whispered. "I know I couldn't do this without you."

"And I know I wouldn't let you," she replied, and rang the counsellor's door chime.

The doors swished open to reveal a smiling Scott who was just getting up from her desk. She'd known Kit and Amy were coming for couples counseling and so had the computer notify her when they were waiting outside. "Hello, Kit, Amy. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable."

"Sorry for the short notice," Amy began as she led Kit to the sofa. "Normally, we'd let you know a week in advance, but..." She shrugged, settling onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. "This was sort of important."

"It's no problem," replied Bree, casually watching Amy lead Kit to the sofa. "How are you doing, Kit?"

"I'm doing alright," Kit said. "It was rough for awhile, but I'm doing better now. It's...it's good to be alive." He gave Amy's hand a squeeze.

Bree smiled. "That's good to hear. We're certainly pleased to have you with us. Can I get either of you something from the replicator before we get started?"

Amy shook her head, strawberry blonde hair bouncing as she did. "Maybe some water later...but we're really eager to get started."

"Yeah," Kit said. "We're alright for now."

Bree looked to both and noted Kit looked anything but eager. She wondered whose idea it was to come here. "Kit, why don't you start by telling me why you're here today? What was it that made you decide to come to couples' counseling, and what is it that you'd like to accomplish?"

"I need...want, to feel secure in my relationship with Amy. After...after recent events, it's...I doubt a lot...and I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. I just want...I want to feel confident and comfortable in what we have."

Scott took all of that in and then replied gently, "Well, first things first, there'll be no apologizing for feelings here. That means it's ok to express a feeling, whether good or bad, without either partner judging the accuracy or the reasoning behind that feeling. Now, Kit, you said you're having doubts and you don't feel you should, what makes you say that?"

Kit looked at Amy, opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes were filled with deep sorrow. He turned away so he was just looking across the room. "Amy is...is very liberal with her affection and attention," he said. "And, not just to me."

"I've been doing better," Amy insisted. "Really, Counsellor."

"Give Amy specific behaviors, Kit, and tell her exactly how they make you feel. Amy, I just want you to listen to what Kit is saying with an open mind. Don't look at this as an accusation, simply try to put yourself in Kit's shoes."

"Amy is very flirtatious," Kit said. "It's part of who she is. But, there are times when it gets out of control, and...and things happen, or almost happen. But, things go farther than they should. I'm her boyfriend, her fiancé, and I should be the one... I...I feel like I get whatever's left over."

"That's not true," Amy protested. "Kitty, that's not how it is."

"Amy," Bree interrupted. "Remember what I said about listening without evaluating. Kit is telling you how he feels, how he perceives things from his perspective."

Bree turned to Kit. "Tell me about the most recent event which prompted you to come here, Kit. Tell me what happened from your perspective."

Kit explained his experience in the shuttlebay, and nearly dying had it not been for Hoff's quick thinking. "So, when Hoff came back from telling Amy what'd happened," he said, continuing the story, "he told me what he'd seen. Them in each other's arms, about to kiss."

"And why do you think you were so quick to believe Hoff's assessment? What was motivating your reaction?"

"I've walked in on Amy and Ensign Farrell," Kit said. "Amy told me about a close call she had with Corran Quezith, and another incident with Ensign Farrell. She slept with Dwayne Sanchez. She confided in Kelzira Rax about how Chief Case made her feel, and Kelzira relayed the information to me because she thought it important I knew before I ended up hurt because of it. And, I have no reason to suspect Hoff to make something like that up."

It was difficult for Amy to remain silent. She fidgeted restlessly and sucked in quick breaths at each offense Kit confessed, but still said nothing. She simply grumbled under her breath.

Bree nodded her thanks to Kit and turned to Amy. "Amy, can you put yourself in Kit's shoes and understand how he feels? How, even in those times where the situation was questionable, it could look to Kit?"

"Yes," she admitted sullenly, "but I swear, nothing happened! I didn't even know he almost died because no one told me! If...if I'd know I would've gone to him. Really!"

"Does that alleviate any of your doubt, Kit?" Bree expected it didn't. The point was not that Amy did not know Kit was alive, but that given the situation Amy was found in a perceived compromising situation with Case when she was supposed to be committed to Kit.

"It alleviates some, but not all," Kit said. "It's still not easy, and it hurts."

"Tell Amy about that. What doubts does that eliminate and why does it still hurt?" It may have seemed obvious to most, but Bree knew that it would help Amy to understand and ensure clearer communication.

"I know she loves me," Kit said. "I know...I know that she would have. But...but I still feel like I only get whatever's left over. She's always there for the others, or they're there for her. But...but I'm left out and alone. I feel like I'm important when it's convenient for me to be important. Otherwise, I'm just a burden better left forgotten."

"Forgotten?" Amy exclaimed incredulously. "Kitty, if you were nothing to me, we wouldn't be here right now!"

"I think what Kit might be trying to say, and correct me if I'm wrong," she added, looking in Markham's direction, "is that it's taken this long to get here, that this wasn't a one time deal, and the more this keeps happening, the less what you do to make up for it after the fact carries any value. You have to understand, Amy, you've hurt Kit deeply, and this isn't something that is easily fixed. Before we can move forward, I need to know something from each of you, and I need you to be as honest as you possibly can. Deal?"

Amy nodded in defeat.

She turned to Amy first. "Amy, do you believe, in your heart of hearts, that you're capable of remaining monogamous to Kit right now? I don't want the wishful answer, I want the reality."

Amy sighed, gazing down at the bracelet circling her wrist - the trinket Potts had gifted her as a reminder of where her heart belonged: with Kit. "I think I am," she whispered. "But my self-control doesn't let me sometimes...."

" 'Sometimes' is what you have now, Amy, and I think what Kit is saying is that 'sometimes' isn't enough for him. I'm asking you if you think you're capable of being completely monogamous to Kit all the time. Are you?"

"W-With help," Amy answered timorously.

Bree nodded. "I'm pleased you want to get help, Amy, and you will get it, but that isn't a guarantee you will remain faithful to Kit right now. What I'm hearing from you is that you're not sure you can do it on your own. Is that correct?"

Amy nodded vigourously, though there was a pitiably look of defeat in her eyes.

Kit stared at his hands for a moment, then sighed.

Scott turned to Kit, and her voice took on a decidedly more candid tone. "I need to know what you're prepared to handle, Kit. I'm not saying this is a lost cause, but as Amy and I work together, there is always the possibility that she will slip, whether it's flirting, kissing, touching, or intercourse. Do you think you're emotionally prepared for that possibility? I want you to really think about this, Kit, and I want you to answer honestly. The truth is, a healthy relationship is one that benefits both partners, and I have no desire, nor does Amy I presume, to subject you to more pain than you think you can take. I need to get a sense of where you are emotionally at this point, and I think Amy will benefit as well. You've been through a lot, and it's ok to consider your own needs."

"If...if it happens again, I don't thi-- I don't know..." He looked at Amy, tears brimming in his eyes. "I don't think I could...if it happened again. I just want my Amy, but...but I'm not enough..."

Inside Bree's heart was breaking for both. There were no easy answers, but as far as Bree was concerned the priority had to be giving them some time to heal. "Thank you both for your honesty." She considered her words carefully and then spoke from her heart and her own instinct.

Scott looked to Amy. "I can't expect you to give me or Kit a commitment for total monogamy if we're not sure what it is that's contributing to your behavior. And this is not about shaming you into a commitment. If that were effective, it would surely have helped by now. I don't know why it is you have trouble remaining faithful, but I do know it's something you've got to figure out whether you're in a relationship or not. I believe you care about Kit and I believe you want to do whatever it is you can to make him happy, but before you can do that, you have to want to do this to make yourself happy."

Bree then turned to Kit. "I know you love Amy, and I know you're hurting. You've been through a great deal personally and as a couple. I would like nothing more than to see you both in a happy, healthy relationship, but you've heard Amy say it's not something she can promise you right now, and my concern is what it will do to you if something else happens."

Brennyn faced both. "I don't know what's going to happen between the two of you, but I do know two people can't be in a healthy relationship together if they're both hurting inside. This isn't about placing the blame on any one person, it's about acknowledging the fact that you each have some things to deal with on your own before you can work on not hurting one another in a committed relationship. What I propose is this: I'd like each of you to come to me, or if you like, someone else, separately for counseling. I think under the circumstances the best thing for the two of you would be to separate for awhile, to give yourselves some time to work on some things individually so that you're both strong enough to come together as a couple again. This is not a permanent arrangement, nor should it be an excuse to do something self-destructive, whether it be getting drunk or becoming intimate with someone else. This would be merely an opportunity for you to gain some perspective without the pressure and stress you're currently under."

Amy was quiet and focused on her knees as she digested Scott's advice. For months, she'd known that was exactly what they needed: space; she'd been too afraid they would never reunite to do it, but all other avenues had been explored and exhausted. She glanced aside hesitantly at Kit. "I-Is that what we want?" she whispered.

"It's not what I want," Kit answered, a deep sadness in his voice. "But it is probably what we need. Even if...even if it becomes permanent. I'm sure Chief Case will help you through this though. I'll...I'll talk to Ops."

"What do you mean 'Case'!" Amy exclaimed. "You don't trust me, that's the problem!" She jerked her hand free from his. "It's always 'poor you,' Kit! Why are you always blaming me for everything!"

Kit's shoulders sank. "I want to trust you," he said. "I try to trust you. But then you end up in Farrell's arms. Or Case's. Or the others. I try to trust you, and then...then my trust is... I'm afraid of having my heart broken again, Amy. I'm afraid that if I give you my trust, it'll only end up being dashed if you end up in someone else's arms again. I want to be with you, Amy...but I'm afraid..."

"So...what?" she sobbed, scooting around to face him. "You...you want us to be apart for good? I-Is that what you're saying?"

"No," Kit whispered. "I want us to be together. For always. And our home on Alpha Centauri. But...but what if... What if when we're apart...if you can't resist... I'm scared, Amy. Because, we...we might not be together..."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" she asked dejectedly.

Kit turned his gaze to Bree.

Bree gave the universal sign for 'time out'. "Let's not cross that bridge until we get there, ok?" She folded her hands in her lap. "The point is for the two of you to sort out your feelings before you decide how you want to move on as a couple, to gain some skills that will help you think more clearly and deal with your feelings. All of these things are necessary whether or not you remain together. Don't look at this as the end of your relationship, think of it as an opportunity for self- improvement."

"I'm trying to self-improve," Amy insisted, "but it's hard.... I feel like...like...no matter what I do, he'll never trust me again."

"I try, Amy," Kit said. "I really do try. But...but it hurts. I trust you again, and get hurt again. With...with them. But you keep...keep getting into situations that tempt you...and you stay in them. It hurts."

"And it's ok to need some time to deal with that hurt, on both sides," Bree replied. "What I'm hearing from both of you is that this isn't working right now, that you'd be pretending right now if you were to stay focused on remaining a couple. All I'm asking is for the two of you to take some time to work on yourselves as individuals so that remaining a couple is even possible later on. I'd like to work with you separately for a bit."

Amy's body sagged onto the couch again as the weight of reality slammed into her. She and Kit had no other options left, for the alternative was a miserable marriage likely followed by a separation they would never recover from. Sobbing quietly, she turned her face into Kit's shoulder and clutched the sleeve of his jacket in trembling fingers.

"Oh, Amy," Kit whispered and slipped his arms around her, holding her to him. "We'll find a way..."

Bree looked to Kit and placed a hand on Amy's back. "You've both made a fresh start today. Let me help you through this. You don't have to do this alone."

Amy nodded sullenly, and found her voice to say, "I-I'll see about new quarters. Maybe Tchi and Kelli can help me pack...." She was sobbing again and burying her face into Kit's chest.

Kit held Amy close. "It'll be alright," he whispered. "You'll see. Everything will be alright. If you need me to, I can help too, Amy. I'm not going to just abandon you, and I won't stop being your friend. We'll get through this."

Bree hated to see the two so upset, but in the back of her mind, she knew this was what they needed in order to save their relationship. "Amy, can I count on you to come in tomorrow after your shift?"

She sniffled and nodded. "I-I'll be here," she whispered."

Bree nodded, then turned to Kit. "If it's alright with you, Kit, I'd like you to stay a moment so we can talk."

"Sure," Kit said. "I can stay."

Eyes fixed longingly to Kit, Amy trudged towards the door, only releasing his hand when it was no longer within reach. Tears blotted out her lover's face as she stepped through the door, and there was a sickening feeling that once she walked out, she would never see him again.

---

"Getting Over"
By: Captain Matthew T. Salinger
Ensign Carrie Crowe
and Lt. M'lira

Location: Lounge, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.26, 21h30

***

"Sir?"

Matt Salinger looked away from the viewport at the young woman standing behind him. She set a tray down on the table next to him, and smiled.

"Your order, sir."

Matt looked at the food and then chuckled. "Sorry about that, my mind was lightyears away."

"It's understandable, sir," she said. "It's all so new out here. I know it's been rough, but we still have much to look forward to. I'm excited, sir."

"It's refreshing to hear," he said. "It's Nurse Crowe, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "I'm just helping out in the lounge today while they get prepared for the party. It's fun to see this side of the ship, you know?"

She was young and enthusiastic. It was a good trait in an officer, a good trait in a person. There was too much cynicism after the war, too much doubt. Officers like Carrie Crowe were rare.

"I do know," Matt said with a laugh. "When people are on duty, you don't generally see them relax, but you do here."

She gave him a knowing nod. "Except for you, sir."

He laughed. "It's hard to relax when you're in charge of the ship and crew."

"But you have to," Carrie said. "You may be a starship captain, but you're also a person. There's a lot of weight on your shoulders, and if you don't give yourself a chance to ease that burden once in awhile... We're all here to make the ship run properly, Captain, and...and if you pause to relax for a little bit, we'll still be able to do our jobs."

"I'm sure you will," Matt said as he mulled over her words. "That's what every one of us was trained to do. But...some forgot about that."

"Some, but not all," Carrie said. "Some of the things we learned in the Academy stuck with some of us."

"I guess the entire ship isn't a lost cause," Matt said.

Carrie grinned. "Of course not, sir," she said. "We're Starfleet officers...this sort of stuff is what we do."

"I'm glad to hear that, Carrie," the captain said. "And, it's nice to be reminded of things every so often."

Her grin widened. "Well, I'd better get back to work before Mr. Nebbs starts reminding me what I'm doing here." With that, she was off.

Matt watched her go before taking his seat and beginning his meal. A moment later, a humanoid shape drifted into his field of vision and took a seat across from him. Matt Salinger smiled.

"M'lira," he said softly.

"Matthew," she said in response, a slight purr rolling through his name. "They tell me you spent some time sitting beside my bed when I was...in Sickbay."

Matt looked up. "I did," he answered. "I wish I'd been able to be there when you awoke."

"It is good to know that you were there though," she said. "And, it warms me to know that I finally have found a moment of semi-aloneness with you."

"If you discount the rest of those here in the lounge."

"Don't fear," she said, showing a hint of teeth in her smile, "I have no intention of pouncing on you here."

Matt chuckled around the forkful of food he'd just placed in his mouth. "But elsewhere."

"I would not wish to come between you and Xayella."

A sigh started deep within Matt before finally escaping. "Just as you didn't wish to come between me and Cammie."

"But, I did," she said.

"Once," Matt said softly, "but...but that wasn't...between."

M'lira reached out and covered his hand with hers. "Matthew, I have no intention of making trouble for yourself and Lieutenant Tagliesh. I care for you. Deeply. But, I know your love for her, and I could never hurt you in that way. I am content to remain your friend. As long as you're willing to see me at least once per month."

Matt chuckled, though there was little humour in it. "How about once a week," he said. "I miss having my old friends around."

"Watch who you're calling old, khi'taan," she said with a mirthful smile. "And, once a week."

"Now, go get yourself something to eat and we'll start now," Matt said. "I hate eating alone, and Xayella won't be getting here for another ten minutes."

"I'll be right back," M'lira said. She stood and stopped. "It's good to see you smiling again, Matthew. It's been too long since I've seen that. And, I imagine I'm not the only one who can say that."

"No, you're not," he said. "But, I hope that's going to change."

"Me too," she said as she turned to go get her food.

Matt grinned. "Me too."

---

"What's Going On?"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Petty Officer Third Class Luis Espinoza; Gamma Steward

Location: USS Sulu, Ops Office
Stardate: 57908.26 22h03

***

Mason sat at the desk, staring idly at the screen. Case's words had weighed on him all day. He hadn't been able to sleep. He'd only snacked, rather than eating a meal. Case had rattled him.

No Solutions.

An incoming message came through from damage control. He mechanically keyed it on. Reports on the completion of reconstruction of liftcar one. He acknowledged receipt and logged it for archiving without really looking at it.

No Solutions.

The door opened. "Boss?" came the voice from the doorway.

"Yeah?" Mason snapped out of his reverie, and mustered a smile. "Come in. Sit down."

Espinoza secured the door and did so.

"What's going on?" Mason asked suspiciously, with a glance at the locked door.

"That's what I need to ask you, boss." Espinoza looked bleak.

"What's the matter, Luis?" Mason was concerned now.

"I just got threatened by some security goons in a lift," Espinoza said softly. "They say you're planning a mutiny, and that anybody who associates with you is about to become a 'target of opportunity' or some crap like that."

"What?" Mason stuttered in disbelief.

"What's going on, boss? What are you saying to people?"

Mason worked his mouth a moment. Mutiny? "Nothing."

Espinoza looked saddened. "Hey, boss. It's me. I know you haven't had the best time with the staff."

"I am not planning a mutiny," Mason said, with finality. "Sure, I haven't much liked what's gone on at the top, but that doesn't mean I'm plotting." He watched Espinoza for a few moments. "You believe I'm plotting," he said slowly.

"I don't know what to believe," Espinoza said, looking stricken.

"Why the hell would I plot a mutiny?"

"I don't know."

"What good would it do?"

Espinoza looked even more uncomfortable. "Well, people know you've had your troubles. . ."

Mason rolled his eyes. "Come on, Luis. Think this through. Suppose for a minute I was planning to mutiny. I'd do it here? In the Gamma Quadrant? With a ship on shaky repair status? And lead the crew where? And how could I trust them, if I'd already been able to incite them against their old leaders? What possible good would it do anyone to forcibly remove the current command staff?"

"Okay, okay!" Espinoza said, holding up his hands. The two men sat staring at each other. Espinoza finally spoke. "Then where's this comin' from?"

Mason sighed and shook his head, sitting back and thinking. "I don't know. Have I said something somewhere? Something that could have been mistaken that badly? I don't know."

"Me neither, but it don't matter now," Espinoza looked down. "This is gonna get ugly. The goons in the lift made it clear that Ops was being watched. Everybody's cred's gone. Somebody decided you're trying to mutiny, and now nobody's trusting anyone. I did a little asking around before coming here. Anybody you've ever talked to is choosing up sides."

"Wait," Mason said, holding up a hand. "Sides of what?"

"You, boss," Espinoza said. "Everybody thinks you've got some loyal following, and everybody's getting on one side of it or the other."

"What loyal following?" Mason asked. "What am I supposed to be doing?"

"Nobody knows. They just know you shot people in a corridor. Now they all think you're a loose cannon who's got some kind of control fantasy or somethin'. And everyone knows you got reprimanded, and. . . " Mason said nothing, stunned, and Espinoza pressed his point. "Look, boss. You've got to do something, and fast. Or this'll turn ugly quick. Some of us can handle it. But a big chunk of the department's a wreck. Nine people, boss," Espinoza pleaded. "Nine people tried to take off! You've got to do somethin'."

"Do what?" Mason said, his mind whirling. "I can't make a shipwide announcement that I'm not planning to mutiny. If what you say is true, no one would believe it anyway. I can't start a counter-rumor. No one'll believe the Ops staff."

Espinoza nodded. "You can't fix this on the lower decks, boss."

Mason nodded and thought, a solution starting to form already. The solution. He took a deep breath. "You're right. For now, spread the word in the department. Everybody stays clear of me. People don't talk to me outside of duty for at least a week. Maybe two. Nobody's going to believe a simple denial. It's got to be backed with behavior. Let people come after me. You guys get clear."

"C'mon, boss," Espinoza argued. "Some of us are with you."

Mason shook his head. "With me on what?"

"Whatever," Espinoza shrugged. "Whatever you're planning. Ops takes care of its own, man."

"Luis," Mason repeated. "I'm not planning anything. I appreciate that y'all are circling the wagons, but there's no reason, and it'll only make things worse." Mason looked intently at Espinoza. "Don't try and fight back. Don't try and argue. Don't try and deny. Just stay away from me for a couple of weeks. People will notice, and it'll all die down for lack of fuel. But we can't give the impression that anything's carrying on. So stay clear, and don't try and defend me. As much as I know you don't have to hear it, I'm making it an order. Tell everybody to keep clear and go about their duty. Tell them it's an order from me."

Espinoza was clearly torn. He clearly wanted to say something, but he couldn't adequately argue an order. "Yes, sir," he said finally.

"Thank you," Mason said, adding "cabron," with a smile.

Espinoza slowly smiled back. "So what are you gonna do, boss?"

"Like you said," Mason said. "I can't fix this on the lower decks."

---

"The Last Line"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Lieutenant Commander Sam; Operations Manager

Location: USS Sulu, Operations Office
Stardate: 57908.26 22h45

***

The doors slid open, admitting Sam into the Operations office. He noticed that there was still a hesitation of point zero zero seven three seconds. That would need to be looked into. He noted Ensign Farrell seated in the office.

"Sir, thank you for coming up," Farrell said, rising and indicating the chair opposite his. He had moved two chairs into the middle of the room. As neutral and equal as he could make it. No-one got to hide behind a desk, and no one had to feel like he was being preached at. "We need to talk, sir."

One of Sam's eyebrows rose, but he moved to sit in the offered seat.

Farrell sat and regarded Sam for a moment, considering his wording. "Permission to speak freely, sir," was what he finally settled on. That was probably the best place to start.

"Go ahead, Ensign," Sam said.

"Sir, I haven't reported to you personally in a while, and I feel like that needs to change. I know you have no emotional response mechanisms, so I'm going to explain a number of things so you understand where I'm coming from."

"That will be acceptable," Sam said. "Please continue."

"Sir, I've been very angry at you, almost from the moment I came on board. I had hoped to be able to establish a working relationship with you at the very least, but you had the bad luck to get between Commander Lyrr and I, and so you got caught in my resentment.

"After the incident on Bajor, I had hoped to discover that you were capable of subtlety, and found instead that you weren't. And I despised you for that, too.

"That said, I've been doing some thinking." Farrell hesitated. "A lot of thinking. And I realized that the problems were really mine, and I was simply expecting too much. As odd as this is going to sound, I want to apologize to you for expecting more from you than you were capable of, not as an Officer, but as an Android."

"I accept your apology," Sam said, his expression denoting confusion. "However, I am confused as to the nature of your anger."

"When I sat back and looked at it objectively, I was confused, too," Farrell shrugged. "I think the crux of it is that you never appear to actually be in charge, which is different from being in control. You're a fine resource allocations officer, but you're very--" he considered his word "--single minded."

"In actuality," Sam stated, "I am capable of processing multiple paths of data at a single time. What would your expectations be of a person in charge, Ensign?"

"Okay. Step number one," Farrell said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. "When we're alone like this, actually talking, call me by a name. Farrell's fine, or even Mason, if you'd rather. For better or for worse, I'm your departmental second. When you're not around, I'm the one everybody looks to. If the two of us can't get past ranks and titles, nothing else is ever going to work."

"There are some humans who prefer the use of a more formal name," Sam said. "Those who are considered friends or who have been given permission to do so are allowed, without causing offense, to use their given name. For others to do so would be an impropriety. So as to not cause offense, I refrain from using given names unless those with whom I am interacting wish for me to do so. It was not an inability to get past ranks, Mason, I merely did not wish to offend."

"And it probably would be an impropriety for you to call me Mason on the bridge," Farrell agreed. "But when it's just the two of us, I don't mind at all."

"I understand," Sam said. "If you wish to refer to me as Sam during times such as this, that will be allowable."

"Thank you, sir." Farrell said, then amended, "Sam."

"You had mentioned there were two things, Mason," Sam said. "What was the second?"

Farrell nodded, taking a deep breath and sitting back in his chair. "The second is communication. There were some significant breakdowns in communication over the last week, and the Department paid for it."

"As I have observed," Sam said, "discipline on many levels failed during this past mission. Communication between departments was a primary failing, and is certain to be addressed in the future. Given the chaos, we had no system in place with which to effectively communicate during the crisis. Departmental meetings will be a more regular occurrence aboard the Sulu now. As will senior staff meetings to insure important information about ship and mission status makes itself available to those who need it."

"I already have feelers out to Engineering on the mechanical communication issue," Farrell nodded. "Once we get underway again, we'll get with Thaine's people on some kind of alternative communications system for emergencies. My concern was more toward interpersonal communication, and I think more regular department meetings will be a good first step toward addressing that."

"It is my assessment that you are correct, Mason," Sam said. "Information will need to be passed on to those that need it. However, how much reassurance do most Starfleet officers require?"

"More than they teach in the Academy," Farrell smiled ruefully. "This is probably the single biggest handicap you've got as an android. You lack all the cultural and emotional basics that the Academy assumes its cadets have. Let me try and explain what I mean."

"Go ahead, Mason."

Farrell scratched his forehead for a moment, thinking. "The Academy leaves a lot of things unsaid. The facts are all there, but there's a certain level of assumed understanding to the curriculum. Things like emotion aren't discussed. There are a couple of reasons for that, I reckon, but they're not important. What's important is what the curriculum can end up producing, namely, command track officers with no ability to actually relate to the people they command. Take Jean-Luc Picard. I assume you've read any one of his biographies. His memoirs?"

"That would be a correct assessment," Sam said.

Farrell nodded. "Eight years into his command of the Enterprise, after all that had happened in those eight years, he had his final encounter with the Q entity. And after saving the known universe and timeline again, what does he write as his first significant act?"

"He joined his senior staff in a game of poker."

"Exactly," Farrell pointed for emphasis. "It took Picard eight years to finally really establish personal relationships with his staff. And what did they tell him?"

"They informed him that he'd been welcome at their game the entire time."

"Yes," Farrell nodded. "And they rose at that point from the most competent crew in Starfleet to the most loyal. Look at where they went after that. The Borg. The Baku/Son'a situation. The Reman uprising. In any one of those situations, duty alone wouldn't have been enough. It was the crew's loyalty to Picard--their absolute, unwavering faith in the man instead of the ideal, that carried the Enterprise to success. All they needed was for Picard to reach out to them. To do more than just command."

"Their efforts were successful before Captain Picard sat down for a hand of poker with his crew, however," Sam stated. "There are numerous missions prior to that point that indicated their efficiency, as well as their loyalty to the captain. It is a difficult position in which to be. Too much familiarity will put a strain on the chain of command, as well as forcing even more difficult decisions upon the commander when the situation calls for it. Too little, and the commander is perceived as uncaring and unfeeling. The balance is difficult to achieve and still be viewed as a reliable commander, as well as a friend."

Farrell bobbed his head for a moment, absorbing that. "I'll agree. A balance is good. The case I'm making is this: the general perception among the crew is that the Command staff isn't even trying to be anyone's friend. Everyone was already skittish when we arrived at JJ324c, and it only got worse from there. Orbiting a deadworld was eerie. Then the malfunctions started, and got worse, and got worse, and people got nervous. Then people started to get sick, and people started to die, and people got scared. Scared people don't look to their commanders. They look to their leaders. And the word on the ship's gossip chain is that there weren't many leaders to be found. Now, that's not an accusation," he added, "and the facts aren't relevant. Facts are never relevant in situations like this. Perception is everything when fear becomes a factor."

"The situation may have required more communication from the Sulu's senior staff," Sam said. "However, I do not believe that playing poker with them would have assuaged their fears. And, in the example you gave with Captain Picard, I do not believe that particular situation holds relevance in the circumstances surrounding the Sulu. Captain Picard joined the game of poker with his senior staff, not the crew in general. However, I believe your point remains valid, and I do understand."

"Do you agree?" Farrell ventured.

"I believe your assessment is accurate," Sam said. "And, the senior staff is aware of that issue."

"What's the plan?"

"The senior staff will be more communicative in the future," Sam said. He leaned forward and lowered his voice into a staged, conspiratorial whisper. "Do not worry, Mason, the Operations department will take care of its own."

Farrell held very still for a moment, then tentatively said, "I'll pass that along. Thank you."

"It would be my preference that you do not," Sam said. "The attitude of the Operations department looking out for the Operations department is a divisive outlook. We are a single fleet, and all either members of the Federation or its allies. To single out those within our department for special, exclusive treatment injures crew morale just as much as the perception that the senior staff has abandoned the crew. We are the crew of the USS Sulu, and should all be treated equally."

Farrell thought for another moment. "What's your impression of the meaning of the phrase 'Ops takes care of its own'?"

"Those in Operations take care of those in Operations," Sam stated. "The implication is that those in Operations must take care of each other because none outside of Operations will do so. Additionally, based on what you have said, I would also suggest that you believe Operations must look out for its own because the senior staff is either unwilling or incapable of doing so. The crew of the USS Sulu is a family and team as they are a collection of colleagues gathered together on this vessel. Our efforts should be in working together to achieve the goal of our stated mission.

"You are a rebellious person by nature, Mason," Sam continued, "and your actions run contrary to the nature of what we are doing on this mission and in Starfleet. You have a reputation for being a dishonest, distrustful person, with a preference for following his own rules, or sneaking around the established rules when they obstruct you from achieving a goal. Your actions are seditious in nature, despite any honourable intentions you may possess.

"As your direct superior within this department and as someone whom you might consider a friend, I strongly recommend an assessment of the direction in which you would like to see the path of your life move. You are approaching a figurative crossroads, Mason. If you find yourself unable to work within Starfleet as a Starfleet officer, perhaps it is time you seek a new path. If you wish to remain within Starfleet as an officer aboard this starship, I would strongly recommend an alteration in your behavioral patterns and attitude. Again, I say this as a member of the Sulu's senior staff and as a possible friend."

Farrell had closed his eyes and steepled his fingers against his lips as Sam finished his dispassionate tirade. When Sam was finished, Farrell thought a moment, then said, very quietly, "No one likes you, Sam."

"That is unfortunate," Sam said as he processed the information. "I trust that you include yourself in that assessment."

"I'm trying not to, Sam. It's why I'm here." Farrell sat forward again, his voice earnest, with no malice. "I'm here to express that the idea of the Sulu-as-family is wishful thinking and empty platitude without action to cultivate it. I'm here to warn you that the department is in crisis, and has to take care of its own. I'm here to warn you that you are not currently trusted by anyone in the department, and are in fact one of the laughingstocks of the ship. I'm trying to sound a warning, here, Sam. The crew's faith in the staff is practically nil, and the department's faith in you is lower. No matter how much Command wants to pretend, the Sulu is not a family; if it is, two dozen of its members want a divorce. The Sulu is not a team; if it is, two dozen of its members don't trust the coaches. That's a deep problem, and one that will not be solved by appeals to duty alone. If duty alone was enough to cut it, people wouldn't have tried to desert. Operations takes care of its own, because everyone takes care of their own. It's how people are."

"You are one of those aboard the ship promoting dissent, Ensign Farrell," Sam said. "You are one of those aboard the ship who is standing at the heart of the problem, and rather than attempting to improve the situation, are making it worse. If some of the crew of this starship are unable to withstand the pressures of a crisis, perhaps they should not be serving on a starship that may end up in such a crisis. Do you wish to assist in promoting morale aboard this vessel, or is your intention to continue cultivating your image as a rebel and lead those who are unhappy into mutiny?"

Farrell sat back in his chair again, stunned that the accusations would go this high. "What possible foundation exists," he asked slowly and calmly, "to support the idea that I am leading people to mutiny?"

"At the current time," Sam said, "it is an unsubstantiated rumour. However, your displeasure with the way Captain Salinger and the senior staff are running this starship is not unknown."

"To what end?"

Sam cocked his head to the side and regarded Farrell. "End? At the current time, the staff knows of the displeasure of a small portion of the crew, and is uncertain what action that portion of the crew is going to take, other than voicing their displeasure."

"Small is relative, Sam," Farrell said, still intent, "but size aside, you're right. There is a portion of the crew that's having trouble. But they're not having trouble because they're displeased. They're having trouble because they're uninformed. Nobody's talking to each other, and it's polarizing the ship. What it looks like is that both sides are waiting for the other to flinch and do something. And that's not acceptable in any way, shape, or form. And if it carries on, things like people trying to flee the ship are going to happen again. That's not any kind of a threat, and it's not something I'm leading or controlling. It's a fact of human nature, is all, which apparently I can see and you can't, which is fine, since your own understanding of dynamics like this is limited, and it's my job to keep you informed. I'm bringing this to you to talk solutions, and offer my own suggestions in that regard."

"I am willing to listen to your suggestions," Sam stated.

"Good. Thank you," Farrell said, relieved. "Now, I've been tasked with planning an awards ceremony and reception for tomorrow. Apparently the Captain's got to say a few words to start it up. Those words are going to be absolutely critical. What he says and how he says it is going to go a long way toward either fixing the problem, or making it exponentially worse. Since crew morale is one of our priorities in Ops, I was thinking we need to give him some advice on how to handle this."

"You believe Captain Salinger is unfit to determine the words he will need to use to boost the morale of the crew of the Sulu without the assistance of yourself and the Operations department?"

"He's not any more fit or unfit than any other leader," Farrell shrugged. "Check your history, Sam. Leaders always get input on what to say when they're about to stand in front of a group. It's not about me, or you, or any other person, except for the fact that we're here, and in a position to help."

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard's words," Sam said, "were his own."

Farrell sat a moment. "It's me, isn't it?" he asked flatly.

"Captain Salinger has just brought this ship and crew through a crisis. As you have stated, morale aboard Sulu is low. I would not hesitate to suggest that perhaps even Captain Salinger's morale is lower than it should be. Perhaps our best course of action is to allow him to do this without trying to usurp the preparation of this speech from him."

"It is me," Farrell said, nodding.

"What is you, Mason?" Sam asked.

"It's because I'm the one saying it that none of it will be taken seriously."

"Mason, you have already stated that the crew of this ship is losing its trust in Captain Salinger. The captain is certainly intuitive enough to realize this is the situation. He has, in the past month, received a near-fatal wound on Risa, and came within seconds of having his starship destroyed. How do you suppose he will interpret the matter if we now approach him and write his speech for him. Before the captain can effectively lead this ship and crew, he requires the confidence in himself and his abilities. To remove this from him could do irreparable damage to the faith the captain must have in himself. It is not because of you, Mason. Part of being a Starfleet officer is knowing when to allow others to do the jobs they are here to do."

"Why didn't you just say that?" Farrell asked politely.

"I did, Mason," Sam said.

"It's all in the phrasing, Sam," Farrell said. "You seem to be quite prepared to interpret everything I say in the absolute worst possible light. Why is that? Who's telling you these things? You can't possibly be drawing these conclusions on your own. You're a thinking, logical being. Where does this come from?"

"Gossip aboard this starship is inescapable," Sam said. "Correlating that which has been said with what I have observed indicates that some of what has been said may have a kernel of truth in it. The members of the senior staff are distrustful of those who show little respect for the chain of command and orders that come down that chain. You have gained a reputation of seeking your own path to a solution, regardless of the path that will take you there. You are an extremely influential member of the junior officers aboard this ship, Mason. Given your reputation for rebellion, the senior staff is watching you closely, uncertain what you intend to do."

"And I intend to mutiny? Or usurp authority?"

"There is no evidence to support an intent to mutiny beyond your dissatisfaction with how the senior staff is operating this starship," Sam said. "However, you have become very influential within the department, to the point of usurping my authority here. When an officer here requires assistance, they go to you, rather than myself."

"Do you believe I intend to lead a mutiny?"

"I believe you are dissatisfied with the officers chosen by Starfleet to command this ship and its departments. The extent of your dissatisfaction, however, is the issue. Is the resentment and anger of Ensign Farrell enough to lead him into rebellion against Captain Salinger? I do not believe it has reached that point."

"What proof exists that I am filled with resentment and anger?"

Sam cocked his head to the side as if to say Do you really want an answer to that question. After a moment, he straightened. "Are you angry and resentful, Mason?"

"No," Mason said, simply and conversationally. "I was for a little while, sure. I got reprimanded. Nobody walks away from something like that happy," he smiled. "But I'm a big boy. I got over it."

"You have received multiple reprimands," Sam said. "And your reputation does not breed trust on this ship, at least not with those who hold positions of authority. In the past, you have shown little hesitation in lying to those in authority. It is my belief that the continued distrust rankles."

"Suppose that's true. What good does it do to rankle?"

"While I am incapable of feeling emotion," Sam said, "my research indicates that many humans and other emotional beings experience difficulty in disabling their emotions."

"Answer the question."

"As I am incapable of feeling such an emotion, I am unable to experience such a thing. However, since you are the one who appears to be rankled by a great many things, perhaps you should answer as to the merits of such emotion."

"Staying rankled is worthless," Farrell shrugged. "What have I done that gives the appearance I've been rankled?"

"Appearances are irrelevant, Mason," Sam said. "The truth of the matter lies within you. Therefore, you must ask yourself that question. Are you rankled? Have you become angry and embittered over circumstances? While most of this conversation indicates a lasting bitterness you carry, you are the only one who can truly determine if you are, in fact, feeling as such. Without trying to turn the situation around, turn it within and answer your own question."

"I just told you 'no', Sam." Farrell answered. "And I meant it. I'm not rankled. I'll admit I was, but I'm not now, and haven't been for a good while. Why do you keep asking?"

"Your words and actions belie what you say now," Sam stated. "The words you have spoken about the senior staff, both now and outside this office, indicate a bitterness. You are upset with how the operations of this ship are handled and bitter that you have neither the rank nor the position to enact the changes you wish to see. Perhaps, however, you only appear to be bitter and upset, while your emotions are otherwise."

Farrell shook his head slowly, with a wry smile. "Do you recall the conversation we had when I gave you that block of Malindra wood on Risa?"

"I do recall the conversation," Sam said. "Quite clearly."

"Then you recall that you said you had no gift for me, but welcomed me onboard?"

"Correct," Sam answered. "The discussion occurred before you had given me the gift. We met at my quarters four point seven three minutes later."

"And I gave you a block of wood. Untouched. Full of potential. Capable of becoming something valuable and excellent, without pretensions or history or background." Farrell paused a moment, considering. "Let's apply that principle on a larger scale."

"You wish for a second chance," Sam said.

"We both do."

"I understand," Sam said. "And, I agree, Mason. Perhaps working together, we can ease the reputations that have been developing over the last several weeks."

"For the sake of the ship, I hope so."

---

"Double Date Disaster"
By: Captain Matthew Salinger
Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lt. Commander Benedict T'Kal
Lt. Xayella Tagliesh

Location: Holodeck 2, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.26, 22h30

***

"So, is that what those things hanging on your wall are for?" Xayella adjusted the jersey, matching Matt's, still wondering what purpose such an oversized shirt could serve. She wrinkled her nose at him, asking, "What are they called again? Skates?"

"Yes," Matt said with a grin. "They're skates. They're a type of footwear worn in various sports while moving on ice. You'll see when the game starts; all the players will be wearing them. If you'd like, maybe during some free time, I can teach you. I have a few holoprograms that don't take place in a holodeck, but are still very nice for skating. All it takes is a little bit of balance, and knowing how to move yourself around."

"And don't I know how to move," she purred, then chuckled and linked arms with him. Approaching the holodeck doors, Xay asked, "So...are we going to be the only spectators?"

"We'll be the only live spectators," Matt said. "At least tonight. In the future, it might be nice to do something like this and include more of the crew. But, we can set a comfortable level of other spectators for the evening."

"An intimate level?" she offered, with an added kiss to his cheek.

"Not too intimate," Matt said with a chuckle. "First off, a hockey game isn't the most intimate setting, though... And, second, Commander Lyrr and Commander T'Kal will be there as well." He returned the kiss to her cheek. "It'll be a double date...though, perhaps after they leave..."

Xayella cocked a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Only 'perhaps'?" As Matt proceeded to enter the program code, Xayella slipped between him and the bulkhead, grinning lazily. "I think that's a definite, Captain," she drawled, walking her fingers down his chest towards his abdomen.

"Then a definite it is," Matt said as he caught her hand and raised it to his lips. "Hopefully the game won't run too late, but if it does...we'll just have to make do."

Xay pouted and poked at his abdomen accusingly. "If you hadn't invited T'Kal and his mistress, we wouldn't have to worry about that."

Matt laughed. "Well, maybe this will be a chance for us to get past some of the difficulties we've had recently, to get to know each other better, so we can trust and work with each other later."

Xayella said nothing, simply fixing him with a skeptical gaze. The doors to the holodeck parted, and with an airy sigh she turned towards it. "Always the optimist, Salinger," she called back to him. "It's one of my charms," Matt said, as he followed her inside. "It was that optimism that got you out of the brig, you know."

"I...seem to recall that," she allowed reluctantly. "And the same optimism that reinstated me as CSO?"

"The very same," Matt said with a smile. "Hope is very important; the hope that things will be good, better. I believe in the Federation, in people, and in what we're doing out here."

Standing before the ice rink, surrounding by stands of motionless spectators, Xayella sighed. "Things will be good," she assured him. "It's a big universe...but we'll make progress, Matt. I'm sure of that."

He turned and found her gaze. "So am I," he whispered.

As their faces drifted nearer, a clearing throat sounded behind them. Xay halted and glanced sidelong at Commander Lyrr, looking none too pleased, accompanied by Lt. Commander T'Kal. Xay grinned at Matt. "Well...our guests have arrived. Though it'd be tempting to just continue as if they weren't there."

"Of course, if we do, they might," he said with a grin.

She grimaced. "Good point." And pulled away, to smile brightly, but with false sentiment at the two. "Oh, it's so good you two could make it."

Lyrr smirked. "Yes...I'm sure it is."

Benedict just nodded at Xayella and kept a smile on his face, and squeezed Lyrr's hand as he said, "We wouldn't have missed it," to Salinger. He wore a Chicago Blackhawks' shirt, one of the teams that was going to be playing, although he had no idea who was better than who. He had seen a game recording on the computer and had enjoyed it. It had been a fast paced, aggressive sport with plenty of excitement. He was looking forward to seeing a holodeck match and getting into the crowd's perspective of the game. He wondered if he was going to regret talking Tayla into coming. He hoped that Tagliesh was in a more receptive mood; Tayla wouldn't take much to make him pay for it later.

"Good to hear," Matt said with a grin. "Our seats are right down this way if we want to sit. One of the vendors will be by in just a minute or so with the hot dogs." He gave Lyrr a grin. "I hope you're hungry." He turned to Xay. "You've never had a hot dog, have you? Oh, you're in for a treat tonight. I'm normally not a big fan of replicated food, but these are the best replicated hot dogs I've ever had. I'd even go so far as to say they're better than the real thing."

"And does one normally stuff their face with these things at sporting events?" Lyrr inquired, her tone teasing. "Commander T'Kal and I had a small meal before arriving...so I'm afraid we won't be up for another eating contest if that's a requirement."

"I had a hot dog once," Benedict nodded. "It was in a Vietnamese restaurant. I was told it was a local delicacy. It was okay!"

Matt laughed. "No, it's not a requirement," he said, pointing to Lyrr. And, then to T'Kal: "And, okay? After one of these, you may want to add hot dogs to your regular diet. They're that good. You have to at least have one."

"I'm game." Benedict grinned. "I hardly ever get to finish a meal these days." He flashed Lyrr a look that was filled with amusement. "Lead on, Captain." He gestured ahead of them at the holodeck scene that was at the moment a frozen tableau.

"Computer," Matt said as he started down toward their seats, "begin program." Immediately, the auditorium burst to life with vendors calling out and fans shouting. A trio on the ice drove a puck from one end of the rink to the other as a means to warm themselves up. Matt took in a deep breath and let it out with a grin. "I'd think now that we're away from the crisis that things would have relaxed enough for you to at least enjoy a meal."

"You'd think so," Benedict grinned. "Something always comes up." He breathed out a cloud of vapour as the temperature plummeted. The crowd noise was swelling as conversations buzzed around them. It was a festive atmosphere with people laughing and talking and waving brightly coloured pennants. "This looks like fun!"

"You think this is fun, you should see it down there on the ice, playing it. Some of my best times were had on the ice. I've been trying to get our dear commander out there, but she keeps refusing."

Benedict looked at Tayla with a surprised expression. "You skate? You never told me that! The way you play Springball though...you'd end up in the penalty box for sure!" His teasing grin and easy laugh followed and to Salinger he said, "She'd be sent off for unduly rough play. I'm sure she's only sparing you an injury. Prophets forbid that she treats you the way she does me! No quarter given!" He winked at Lyrr.

Lyrr flushed, either with anger or embarrassment, which amused Xayella wholly. "Well, boys, you can invite me anytime, and I promise to be gentle," Xayella volunteered, her naturally sultry smile in place. Lyrr rolled her eyes and Benedict chuckled.

"I'd be more than happy to," Matt said with a laugh. "And, I spent more than my share of time in the penalty box while I was playing. It's not really a hockey game until someone loses a tooth."

"It's getting to sound more like hand to hand combat." Benedict laughed as they took their seats. The players were skating in tight circles, weaving and spinning, forwards, backwards and across each other's path as multiple black discs were flicked between them. Benedict watched with growing fascination and a grin that followed suit. It was good to relax. He put his arm around Lyrr's shoulders.

Xay grinned smugly at the display, while Lyrr shifted uncomfortably in her seat and under Ben's hold. This broadened Xay's smile. "Cold, Commander?" she asked.

Lyrr only looked askance at Tagliesh and shook her head.

"It'll be just a little longer before things start up," Matt said. "They're getting the rink set for now, but then they'll start. Should only be a little bit. Did you want those hot dogs now? Or you want to wait until the action starts? Oh, and I should explain the game, since only Lyrr has seen it before. Neither of you have, right? Oh, you're definitely in for a treat."

As Matt explained the finer points of his favourite sport, Xayella kept her eyes fixed to Lyrr Tayla. It was amusing being in a position to unsettle the woman - she was out of her element, sitting next to T'Kal in his embrace. It was all Xay needed to dominate the normally aggressive commander. She scrutinized the woman, from her tightly crossed knees to her pursed lips, and her left arm elevated on the rest. With her sleeve pulled back slightly, Xayella was offered a glimpse of the ornate bracelet ringing Lyrr's wrist. It was unusual for someone like Lyrr Tayla to adorn herself with such finery, but upon closer inspection, it became all too clear why she chose to wear this particular piece of jewellery. Having focused her scientific studies on xenobiology, she was at least familiar with many of the customs practiced by those races inhabiting the Alpha Quadrant, and the Bajorans were one of them. The family name woven into the intricate pattern, the particular metals used, and the significance of wearing the bracelet on her left wrist.... While Matt continued speaking, Xayella snickered to herself.

Matt raised an eyebrow and glanced at Xay, at her cat-that-swallowed- a-canary grin, he shook his head and continued with his explanation of the game.

Benedict listened to Matt Salinger's explanation, nodding every so often. He'd watched a game, and now with Salinger's explanation of the finer points he understood what he had seen. He didn't look at Xayella, and simply enjoyed the beginning of the event, linking hands with Tayla as he was more accustomed to doing unconsciously. A vendor was stepping up the isle of seats with a box that said "Hot Dogs" and so he waved at the man. The aroma was very different from the dog he had eaten previously; it certainly wasn't the same, although the aroma made his mouth water. "Want one, Love?" he asked Lyrr.

"Sure thing," Xayella replied for her, shooting T'Kal a playful smile. Lyrr turned her head towards Ben's and declined in a whisper. "Sure?" he asked playfully. "It's not like you to refuse a second helping." He grabbed a handful of the paper wrapped delicacies and handed them along, taking an extra one for Lyrr but keeping it until she asked for it. It was a woman's prerogative to change her mind, and the aroma was quite appetizing. He gave her a grin as he bit into it and nodded at Salinger. "Good," he said. "Very good."

Matt only grinned and nodded. "Like I said."

As he turned his attention out to the rink, he noticed that things had changed. The teams were now in place and lining up on the ice. "Oh, we're about to start." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation as each team squared off against the other, tension building as they waited for the puck to drop. Time seemed almost to slow down as the small black disc flipped out of the referee's hand and down onto the ice. The game had started!

Ignoring Tagliesh's presence, Tayla allowed herself to relax into the game; she went so far as to lean into Ben, with her head resting against his shoulder. Xay watched, slightly envious, and did the same to Matt. Still, her gaze remained on Lyrr, and her smile still in place. The bracelet was still fully visible.

As he watched the game, Matt stole a glance to Xayella and smiled as he slipped his arm around her. As she glanced in his direction, he grinned and kissed the side of her head, murmuring an expression of love as he did.

Even Lyrr was now growing comfortable with their situation, especially with Tagliesh occupied. She even dared to dab at a glob of mustard residing in the corner of Ben's mouth, laughing softly as she did. "And you say I'm a disaster when I eat."

He chuckled. "Change your mind yet?" he asked softly, holding up the extra dog. He looked into her eyes and smiled tenderly - it was a look meant just for her. He held her hand and ignored the rousing shouts that were emanating from the crowd all around them.

Lyrr sighed wearily, as if she was making a large sacrifice in accepting. At Ben's glare, she chuckled and tore a large morsel from the end of his hot dog. Chewing the scalding bit quickly and fanning at her mouth to dissipate the heat, she nodded her approval of his condiment selection. From beside them, Xayella gushed and 'awwed'.

"That's sweet," she commented. Lyrr tried to ignore, but she persisted. "Really...I mean that."

Tagliesh fell silent again, and Lyrr was certain the taunts and unwanted attention were at an end. The roar of the crowd and blaring siren triggered by a goal raised Lyrr's hopes even further; Tagliesh would be easily distracted by the din. She was, until the crowd settled into the seats again and the ruckus began waning. It was then that she asked, "So, Commander" --her grin was unmistakably mischievous, and Lyrr feared what was coming-- "when's the wedding?"

She gaped.

Benedict choked on his hot dog.

And Xayella sat up straighter, her smile fully one of satisfaction.

When Matt turned to face Tayla and Benedict, his eyebrows had risen high upon his forehead. With wide eyes, he watched them for a moment, then laughed. "Congratulations? A...a drink, Commander?"

Benedict cleared his throat and turned red. He let Tayla answer that question, but looked at Salinger and nodded. "Yeah, I think I need one...."

Lyrr said nothing, still attempting to regain voluntary control of her mouth and snap it closed. Her face was awash in a deep red blush and her fingers dug into the plastic of the arm rest; it was all she could do to restrain herself from gouging at Tagliesh's eyes with her fingernails. The struggle was made worse by Xayella's smug grin.

"So...the wedding? When is it? Who's invited?" She had an innocently curious aspect to her expression, but the impetuous spirit was still there. By the narrow set of Lyrr's eyes, Xayella figured she wasn't on the guest list.

Benedict thought that he'd better step in before blood flowed. "We haven't set the date...at least not until we get back to the Alpha Quadrant...and we haven't talked about any of that. It's way too soon." He smiled at Xayella. "Of course whoever is with the captain at the time will be invited."

She thanked him with a nod, and an impish smile for Lyrr, whose nails were now leaving impressions in the armrest's plastic.

Matt patted Xay's hand. "That means you'll be invited, my dear," he said.

Benedict brushed a hand along Lyrr's neck and leaned in close so that only she could hear. "Relax, Love, she's probably going to give the captain a hard time. She's just jealous. She's going to be wondering why he hasn't asked her yet."

Lyrr tried to take comfort in that, but it was impossible. Slamming a hand down onto the chair's arm, Lyrr snapped, "No one's invited!" And up she leapt, her face deepening in shade and her scowl for Xay more fierce. "This entire thing isn't even official yet, and if the lieutenant could learn a little tact, perhaps this premature engagement announcement would not have been made."

Benedict's breath caught in his throat and he looked away. His face reddened with shame. The fact that she chose to wear the bracelet was a Bajoran announcement of intent. It required the traditional Prophets' blessing but that wouldn't happen until they returned to Bajor. Still her words cut through him as if she wielded a katana. She shamed him before his captain of all people, and instead of using his name, she had resorted to the inferior mode of his rank. Premature announcement.... Was she ashamed of it? His reaction was a deep sadness that swept through him and was replaced by a burning shame. He couldn't stay. Not now.

Xayella let out a low whistle and looked away. Judging from T'Kal's reaction, Lyrr was in deep trouble, she just didn't know it yet. It was moments later that Lyrr's emotions were reined in and placed under tight control. She sighed. "Forgive the outburst," she said, her voice taut. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I don't believe I'm in the mood for hockey this evening."

"I believe there's been some sort of misunderstanding," Matt said. "I don't think that...that any harm was intended by the comment. It was just...just a surprise."

Benedict was already walking out. He didn't even wait for Lyrr to realise that what she had said had hurt him more than anything else. Her words burned him. This entire thing, she had said...as if it was something to be looked down upon. Premature, as if her choice to wear his mother's bracelet didn't constitute a declaration! He couldn't look at Salinger or Tagliesh, especially Tagliesh as he was sure that she would be laughing at him. His anger steadily built as he asked for the arch and it materialised in front of him.

Xay leaned aside to glance past Lyrr. She sat upright again to announce, "Your husband's leaving."

Lyrr spun her head quickly, then back again. "Captain, I'm sorry, I-I have to go." Too anxious to await a reply, Lyrr sidled through the aisle and hastily gave Ben chase. Xayella saw them off with a wave.

When the doors closed behind the two, Xay sighed and sat back. "You know...I bet they'd be fun at parties."

"You might have pushed things with her a little too far," Matt said. "I don't think she's entirely comfortable with their relationship."

"Then she shouldn't be engaged," Xay stated plainly. "This would've happened sooner or later with or without my interference." She shrugged and snuggled against Matt. "Let them deal with it now."

"While that may be true," Matt said, "they'll both blame you for it, and resent you for inciting things. I just don't want to see you making enemies of everyone on the ship, including two fellow senior officers."

"I know, I know..." She sighed. "I'll...apologize to her - to both of them." Smiling up at him, she asked, "That work for you?"

"Yes," Matt said with a smile, "that'll work for me. But, please try to...to stick with that. I don't want to be the only one standing between you and he rest of the ship."

"You'd do that for me?" she asked, grinning fondly.

"I would try," Matt said. "As much as I could. But I imagine, before long, the complaints would reach Starfleet Command, and I'd be relieved of command of the Sulu."

Xayella's features sobered and she straightened abruptly. "No," she whispered. "Matt...not because of me. I--" She sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize... I promise, I won't let that happen. I just...I didn't know she'd react like that!"

"I understand," Matt said, then he kissed her forehead. "I have heard reports from some people that you are meanspirited and take delight in the suffering of others. Your reputation isn't the best, and there are a lot of people on the ship who don't like you very much. I don't want...I don't want people to hate you, Xay. I love you so very much, and...and it hurts to see you not liked."

"I don't mind," she assured him. "But...I know it doesn't reflect well on you. So, I'll try, Matt." Her smile was sincere. "I will, I promise you."

"Good," Matt said. "And, I don't want to ever see you get into a situation where you have to rely on people who don't like you and might not care if you lived or died."

"Why?" she asked warily. "You think they'd plot my death?" Chuckling, she lightly swatted his thigh. "I can take care of myself. But I will try to win favour with more people, okay?"

"Okay," Matt said with a smile. "And, I don't think they'd actively plot your death, but if you were in a perilous situation, they might not try as hard as they might otherwise. We're all on this ship together, and if the senior officers can't get along, the junior officers won't either. Morale is worse than I've ever seen it on a ship, and...and I wouldn't put thoughts of possible mutiny aside. People are upset, and many of them lack the discipline to get the job done anyway. I have my doubts that our mission will be much of a success, let alone that we'll get home in one piece."

"We will," she told him fervently. "Matt, things will be better. I'm going to snap at only those who deserve it, and I promise not to break up any more engagements. Okay?"

"Oh, I doubt they're broken up," Matt said. "I think Commander T'Kal's just a little bit too sensitive about some things."

Xay snickered. "He wouldn't be if they were having sex." At Matt's inquisitive look, she explained, "A man that tightly wound is not having sex." She patted his thigh. "Trust me."

One of Matt's eyebrows arched as he looked at her. "I think I'll have to," he said. "But I don't think I want to consider that subject too deeply; however, there is another couple whose sex life I am very interested in. You still want to watch this hockey match, my dear?"

Xayella grinned, lustily, and answered, "For once, my dear, I think I'd just like to sit here and watch...and know that we're far less dysfunctional than half the couples on this ship. Now, that's something."

"That is something," Matt said as he settled back into his chair with his arm around her. "Now, did you want another red hot, my love? Best there is."

Raising her arm to get the attention of the vendor, she winked at Matt and announced, "Another red-hot, coming up."

"Love those things," Matt said with a laugh. "So...are you? Jealous?"

Xayella chuckled quizzically. "Of?"

"That I haven't asked you yet," he said as he took first one and then the second hot dog from the vendor. "For marriage."

"Oh," she answered, cradling one of the two in her hand, "that." There was a long sigh, a pensive one, and a shake of her head. "No...not jealous. Why do we need marriage when we're perfectly happy like this?"

"Good," he said softly. "Because I have a suspicion that you and I will be married before the two of them." He kissed her, then handed her a drink. "And, besides, when we get married, I want my parents to be there, to meet you and love you as much as I do."

Xay chuckled. "Ah...wishful thinking." And grinning, she chomped down upon the tip of the hot dog.

"Hopeful thinking," Matt said with a laugh, then kissed her forehead. With that, he settled back into his chair again, facing out toward the ice. "Now, watch the game."

Nestling into the fold of his arm, and her head upon his shoulder, Xay obeyed with a "Yes, Captain", content with the knowledge that even though many disapproved of their relationship, it couldn't be denied that their love was true. It was more than many only dreamed of.

---

"New Traditions"
Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lt. Commander Benedict T'Kal

Location: Lyrr and Ben's Quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.26, 23h43

***

Having left the holodeck only moments after he had, Lyrr was astonished at how much distance Ben had gained. A look up and down the corridor had revealed nothing, and there was no sure bet regarding where he would go next. She dismissed their quarters as a likely location, or his own - she didn't know Ben well enough to guess where he would run to, so she had turned to the Computer for information. It was their quarters after all, and Lyrr was stopped cold. The only reason he would return there was if he planned on.... Swallowing hard, she took the nearest turbolift to Deck 3; the ride seemed to take an eternity, though she'd hoped it would. Even her strides, the ones carrying her closer to their quarters, were drawn out.

She was afraid to face what would be behind her door...and when it did open, her concerns were validated. The sounds of rummaging were loud and hurried. Lyrr didn't want to step into the room, but she did, only to stay near the doorway with her back to the wall for support. She hadn't even enough nerve to call out for him - she didn't have to, for moments later he stalked from the bedroom into the living area, hefting his chest full of weaponry and personal tokens. Lyrr trembled, especially when his ice cold gaze found hers. Under its intensity, she looked down.

As she looked away he continued to the wall. He hefted the Dai-Katana and the katana from their hooks. The cold anger burned so deeply he didn't dare speak. He was trembling with it. The shame she had caused him was almost too intense to endure and for a moment he held the blades tightly before dropping them into the container. It was the shorter blade of the Dai-Sho that he took down next, and he did hold it.

His heartbeat seemed to slow with the icy calm that emanated from the short razor honed weapon. This was the blade that generations of his Japanese ancestors had used to eradicate shame. To take away loss of face; that which was too much to bear. How could he look his captain in the face after her denial of him? How could he face Tagliesh when she would inevitably laugh at his stupidity. His anger burned brightly and he closed his eyes. The blades were a connection to his father, the bracelet with his mother. They were the only two things he held dear. His honour resided in the blades and his heart in the bracelet. He had only given the bracelet to Tebrianne, but she had died...now it was on Lyrr's wrist, and she had treated it with disrespect.

His focus on the weapon was acute enough that Lyrr's proximity hadn't registered. She'd drifted closer to him, cautiously, and now held her trembling hand to him. "I-- I couldn't get it off," she whispered, the bracelet still secured to her wrist. "I tried, and...and it wouldn't come. I just...I assumed you'd want it..." she trailed off.

His movement was like fluid lightning. Her hand was held upward, the bracelet exposed and the knife came free of the scabbard as he turned. The bracelet dropped free of her wrist; cut in half by the vibro-blade. He was looking into her dark eyes, the blade held between them. Now with the haft facing Lyrr. "You wish to be free of it so badly...." His voice was choked, his eyes held an almost infinite sadness. "Use this...it would hurt me far less." He held out the knife.

"What?" Lyrr's eyes beheld the weapon, and in that moment she felt more helpless and lost than she had ever been. She couldn't fathom how they had gotten to this point, a blade aimed towards Ben's stomach and the sign of their bond lying in two upon the ground; Lyrr sobbed and grasped the hilt with both hands. Although she thought that he might have expected her to plunge it into his gut, she instead tried to wrest it from his unyielding grip. "Stop this," she pleaded, the words thick and piteous. Her eyes held his now, but they were hard and unreadable to her. Lyrr redoubled her efforts, but feared one or both would be injured by the weapon. "Ben...tell me what's happening! I don't understand any of this!"

He shook his head. "You wanted to be rid of your promise." He choked out the words. "Very well...if that's what you want...you are free. No one will wear it if you won't. Am I so unworthy of you? You are ashamed of your promise.... I'd rather you used the knife than cut my heart out with your words."

Lyrr was breathless and rendered speechless. The struggle had ceased, but with a sudden spark of desperation and rage, she tugged sharply and pulled the weapon free of his grasp, the action punctuated with a frantic cry of, "No!" She'd stumbled backwards with the knife in hand, still stricken and staring at Ben - far too distressed to notice her hand had slipped and run across the blade's edge. Incarnadine, thick globules formed along the slit in her palm and converged to form a thin rivulet of blood that flowed down her wrist, encircling it as the bracelet once had. Still, she watched Ben through bleary eyes.

"No," she whispered. "I love you...I said that and I meant it. I know I'm unworthy of the pledge you gave me...I just thought you'd finally realized it."

He looked away, the anger still burned. "You shamed me. How can I face Salinger? You denied me, denied what we had...you also made that pledge. When you chose to wear that bracelet you chose to accept me. I love you. Is that so hard for you to accept? That I would love you?" He stepped toward her and grasped the hand that was bleeding. "Your words cut me deeper than this!" He held up the bleeding palm. "Make a choice, Tayla. You either accept me or it ends here and now! I don't want to hear your cries of unworthiness. I don't want your questions of my right to choose you! I have made my choice. Live with it! If you can't admit your choice then what does that say of me?" He let her hand go, and stared into her eyes. "What is it to be? Do I stay or leave?"

There was more depth to the question than Ben realized, more to the choice than he understood. Staying meant risking another such incident where her ignorance towards the intricacies of Ben's hybridized Klingon-Bajoran belief system would lead to conflict - he was so obsessed with honour and public opinion that her words would need to be carefully guarded; Lyrr couldn't even begin to comprehend such things, not when she'd lost all her honour during the Occupation. If she freed him from his vow, would he truly be happier? And would Ensign Lektar be the first woman he turned to?

The tears streaming from her wide, dazed eyes alluded to the choice she'd made, but the one she spoke was entirely different. All her life, she'd sacrificed for the best interests of others - she'd allowed the search for her parents to consume her, she'd compromised her pride and self-respect to secure the love of a Cardassian who only desired her as a plaything. Even now, she was willing to risk misery and let Ben go so he could find happiness. Through it all, she'd never considered what she wanted and what would bring her the most fulfillment. Not any longer.

The fire sparked in her dead eyes once more as the vibro-blade dropped from her hand, the hand that she raised to T'Kal's hair and with which she pulled the ribbon free. He attempted to grasp her wrist and impede the action, but Lyrr's bloodied hand came up and clutched his roughly. Her eyes dared him to attempt another intervention, while her fingers tangled in his hair inextricably and pulled his face closer. Flattening herself against him, she brought her lips to his ear, the lobe of which she nipped at indelicately. "I love you," she whispered. "I want you, Ben, and I'm keeping you. Don't you dare try and walk out that door, because I won't let you."

His resolve to leave shattered. He was holding her tightly without conscious volition and he kissed her. It wasn't soft, nor gentle or tender. It was a kiss of fierce desperation. He'd surrendered everything now. His duty, his honour and his life. The resolve in her voice and the fire in her eyes told him that what she had spoken was true. She wanted him. It was the only thing he wanted. It was the only thing he needed.

Her fingers untangled from his hair to free both hands, allowing them to smooth over his solid back, to knead the coursing muscles that flexed and unflexed as he crushed her to his torso. Breathing fast and hard through her nose, unable to tear her lips from his, her head grew heavy to match the weight of her flushed bosom now, and that of the aching knot centered between her thighs. She groaned and pushed her hips into his, while both hands frenziedly sought to remove his shirt. "It's time," she managed to tell him for the brief moment their mouths parted.

Did she mean it? Was it time? It hardly mattered. She was the one dragging his Ice Hockey jersey over his head with no care to whether it survived the effort. He was caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, hardly able to resist the sheer will of her determination. He had no real choice. There was no refusal left in him now. He simply surrendered to the inevitable and lifted her in his arms as his jersey hit the floor. Her arms went around his shoulders as he kissed her and carried her to the bedroom. She was fervent, arousing and like a caged tigress set free.

He dropped backward to the bed, his hands searching her back, as she sat astride him and he pulled her down to taste her lips again, his breathing ragged.

The cut in her palm left smears of blood on her own shirt as she peeled it off and tossed it aside; the same bright red marks were smudged onto the pale flesh of her back upon removal of her bra. Lyrr involuntarily bit down onto Ben's bottom lip when his hands slid upwards to cradle her free-hanging breasts, expecting him to treat them roughly as Oresh had, but relieved when they were gently massaged. With Oresh's markings removed, and Ben beneath her instead of the vicious Cardassian, his memory was slowly fading. No longer could she look upon herself and remember the history behind each scar, the brutality that led up to their infliction. No longer did she wish to. As indelible as his impact on her life had been once, the image of his leering smile faded increasingly with every caress from Ben.

"My betrothed..." she murmured in Bajoran, passing her lips over his chin and towards his throat. Her hand stole into his pants, and at the hardness within she chuckled, elated and relieved at once that she hadn't been foolish enough to let him walk away.

Words were beyond him. The press of her warmth and the heat of her lips drove him to desperation. He felt a rising surge of panic that she wouldn't stop and that she would regret this and that he would be blamed again...but she showed no hesitation this time. The look in her eyes was different. The dark eyes were alight with passion and he could do nothing but respond. Her hand closed about him and he groaned, the desire too much to bear and the thought of consequences shredded. The question was still in his eyes, the need to know that she wasn't fooling with him this time. She had called him her betrothed...and her lips inflamed him.

His pants were opened and removed as a shackle might be, liberating him entirely. Lyrr's kisses had made their way towards his naval, while she had dropped from the mattress onto her knees. Her face hovered over his groin, her eyes studying with wonder his organ. She'd only ever encountered Oresh's - its ashen hue and utter absence of appeal was so unlike Ben's. There was vibrancy, beauty there, just as with the rest of him. Her fingers traced its curves and ridges, absorbed its warmth, and all the while, she wondered what she had been so fearful of.

Lyrr's eyes raised to meet his from the across the length of his torso, chest rising and falling with every quick breath. Hands smoothing over his thighs, she leaned forward and kissed him there, at the very tip of that glorious bronzed extension of his body and his desire for her. Then with a smile she engulfed him fully.

The sensations caught the breath in his throat; the sheer bliss of it was more than he could handle and the thought that slashed into his mind was that she was only doing this to prevent him from leaving. That this was what she thought was required. With an effort of will that was almost beyond him he lifted her away. Pulling her to him he searched her eyes. "You don't have to do this. I don't need it to make me stay...."

Lyrr smiled, stroking his cheek affectionately. "I know," she whispered, and removing his hands from her arms to lay them by his sides, she slid down the length of his torso and resumed.

He couldn't last long. It was an agony of release that consumed him and he was breathless and shaking when she crawled up to him. Taking her in his arms he kissed her and with the love he felt for her, he went about pleasing her. He was still nervous, still almost timid in his caresses, but she needed him to show her how much he loved her, and so he worshipped at the altar of her body. Kissing her, caressing her, loving her.

It was the position they'd been in a number of instances, and during each one they'd halted before getting too far, shying away before she became victimized by the memories of a brutal past. Now as she stroked T'Kal's loose, damp hair and allowed him to bestow his full attention upon her, Lyrr Tayla felt herself no longer vulnerable to the emotional ravages of her violation. Never before had such sensations been evoked in her. She had mistaken pain and desperation for pleasure with Oresh, but now she truly knew what it was to experience love; passion. And Ben had introduced her to it.

When the rapture seized her wholly, and Lyrr was crushing the sheets in her fists to avoid doing so with Ben's hair, she knew Oresh to be banished, for the present, at least. How long he would remain gone she wasn't certain but in that moment, as Ben crawled up alongside her and folded her trembling body into his embrace, Lyrr was confident Oresh wouldn't dare make an appearance that night.

Still tingling and warm, and beyond exhausted, Lyrr nuzzled her lips to his glistening chest, murmuring, "The bracelet... Is it still mine?"

"No other could wear it Love..." he spoke in a soft whisper. The tears being shed were falling unbidden and unheeded as he held her, lifted her and enfolded her in his arms. This time he was gentle, tender and loving, knowing that he shared himself totally with the woman he loved and who finally knew that she wanted him. He looked into her eyes, still seeking her implicit permission, as he moved over her.

She smiled warmly, keeping their legs twined and bodies close, seeking to maintain the connection they'd established. A single kiss was placed on his lips, then another to his cheek, and finally to his brow before she returned her gaze fully to his. "I'm sorry I dishonoured you," she whispered.

"Forget that," he whispered as he kissed her lips, and stroked her hair. "You don't understand it, and perhaps it's time I learned to live another way." He kissed her cheek and then her throat. "I will take your name...so I should put such things aside." He looked back into her eyes, feeling her warmth and softness against him. "For you, I'll put everything aside."

"No," she told him firmly, "I don't want you to do that. I want to understand you, Ben, and everything about you and your beliefs." Her lips, hot and tingling from their feverish kisses, met his once more, though softly now. "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me so what happened today never happens again."

"Later." He kissed her throat. "Much later...." He kissed her breasts and he felt her responding again.

"Later," she murmured, and sighed as she let her head fall back onto the mattress in surrender to his affections. As experienced as she was forced to become with carnal acts, she was nowhere near as knowledgeable regarding making love; it was up to Ben to acquaint her. "I'm not afraid," she told him.

"You have no need to be," he whispered into her ear as they came together. "I love you." And she gasped as he held her and he loved her with a tenderness and affection that transported him beyond words.

There was pain, as if this was her deflowering revisited, but it was welcome; she could imagine herself a virgin once more, and Ben her first and only lover, thereby rendering Oresh's sins against her non-existent. She couldn't forget, and knew she shouldn't, but there was no longer room for him, not while in Ben's arms, finding exultant joy with him. The pain transformed to sheer pleasure soon enough.

It was an awakening for both of them. Benedict moved with her, strained and caressed, kissed and loved, and together they discovered a bond that was stronger than the metal of the Betrothal bracelet. For Benedict it was spiritual, a desire to fulfill her needs, more than his own. He took the pleasure she gave, he gave back more. Every sigh, every shuddering cry made him delirious with desire. He wanted to take her beyond the bounds of her experience, and show her true passion. To show her love.

She believed she'd found it what seemed an infinity later, when both were struggling to breathe and perspiration coated their flushed skin in a thin sheen. Her choked cry preceded her body's reaction - an abrupt arching of her back and fingers digging into Ben's shoulders, while the newly stimulated emotions spread through her in a rush. They reached every nerve and seemed to settle leadenly in her mind, the bliss she'd never encountered previously inciting delirium within it. Time suspended so that Lyrr's entire being was assailed with the all-consuming sensation for a heavenly eternity. It was only when it waned and the warmth finally dissipated that she sighed and relaxed onto the bed again. Her only thought in that moment was, So that's what it's supposed to feel like, while the rest of her remained sedate, immobile, save for her heaving chest seeking air and the slow progression of tears rolling down the sides of her face.

He moved beside her, holding her closely and feeling her heart beating against his chest as he enclosed her in his arms. Her head nestled under his chin as they both recovered. His hand stroked her back gently. He stared at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with his emotions and revelling in the sensations that she had caused. There were no barriers between them now. Benedict held her, not wanting to break the mood - he was sure that she was considering what they had just done, and he waited for her.

So serene, Lyrr closed her eyes and almost immediately succumbed to sleep's pull, but she resisted, not in any rush to bring the evening to an end, especially not following one of the most exhilarating moments of her dismal life. She rather preferred to study the definition of Ben's chest and abdomen with her fingertips, the strong curves of his shoulders and arms while wondering how they could provide such gentle comfort now. She'd never loved another so fully, and it inspired a broad, utterly ecstatic grin. Laughing with pure mirth, Lyrr buried her face into the crook of his neck. "Beloved," she whispered, her voice full of laughter.

Hearing the tone and her laugh he felt utter relief wash through him. He hadn't realized how much he feared her reaction until it came. He laughed too. Holding her tighter he hugged her to him. "Beloved," he replied, his voice brimming with the joy he felt. He rolled her to her back so that his raven hair fell over them and looked into her eyes. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

"You, too," she answered, smoothing her hands along his arms as they propped his upper body above hers. "Much more beautiful than when you're angry with me, that's for certain."

He chuckled. "I was, wasn't I? Ah...but making up..." He shook his head. "So...my love, I can assume that you and I are still to be married?" He gazed into her eyes with a joyful smile.

"Once you get the bracelet repaired," she replied. Chuckling, she gently nibbled on his curling bottom lip, then desisted to add, "Though, we are definitely not inviting Lieutenant Tagliesh."

"That wouldn't be prudent if she's still with Salinger when we get back to the Alpha Quadrant...but then I'd be most surprised if he hasn't seen through her before then. I'm sorry I did that." He referred to the bracelet. "When we get back...on Bajor...?"

She cradled his face in both hands, using even the wounded one bearing the slash that was now crusted over with dried blood. Lyrr sat up halfway to kiss each of his eyelids, then rested her forehead to his. "On Bajor," she agreed. "And if you like...we can start a new tradition, with a new bracelet. The Lyrr family bracelet."

He smiled. "I think a new tradition should be fitting...after all." He grinned. "Lyrr Benedict...it has a ring to it."

Lyrr couldn't help the laughter that escaped, though it wasn't meant to ridicule. "Mother Yalen is going to love you," she declared, confident the meddling woman would, though Lyrr imagined she'd love any man she brought home, especially if introduced as her 'betrothed.' Clearing her throat, Lyrr asked, "And...your foster parents? They'll...they'll be okay with me?"

"I'm not...close. Not like you and your family," he smiled. "You won't have to worry about in-laws. My parents were the only family I had, and my oldest friend already loves you." He looked at her with a touch of nervousness. "I wish I'd met your Mother Yalen. Do you really think it will be okay? You should give her some warning...maybe send her a sub-space transmission. She may not approve."

Lyrr grinned defiantly. "Who cares what Mother Yalen thinks?" Folding her arms around his neck and drawing him down towards her, she whispered against his ear, "Who cares what anyone thinks? It's just you and me in this, Ben. No Lieutenant Tagliesh" --she kissed his cheek-- "no Shirik Lektar" --her legs twined around his waist and her next kiss landed on his lips-- "and definitely, undeniably," she said fervently, holding his gaze, "no Oresh. Okay?" Her smile softened her features and lent her face a radiant glow.

"Okay," he said with a grin already beginning to respond to her body wrapped around his. He kissed her and surrendered to it, her soft warmth and strong limbs holding him against her.

There was nothing but the sound of their mingling breath and flesh smoothing against flesh, until Lyrr emitted a gasp. Pulling back and smiling crookedly at Ben with slight uncertainty, she asked in disbelief, "Again?"

"It's your fault." He grinned. "Unless you don't...."

Lyrr's eyes narrowed in challenge and her smile spoke mischief. Threading her fingers through his hair and lowering his face towards hers, she whispered, "Unless I do," and kissed him fully as again they joined. This time, she would set the pace.

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