Leaving the orbital fortress, Lieutenant Rita Paris walked the umbilical that connected the USS Hera to the station at Deck 12. For her first foray aboard the station, she had chosen to seek out the piratical Baroness Von Alcott for fencing lessons, which had in turn led to a conversation that had left her maudlin and melancholy. Which had most certainly not been the point of the exercise, yet it had resulted in her wandering away depressed all the same.

Internally, she was conflicted. It seemed that she should just adapt to living in the future and start building a life for herself, maybe get drunk and get laid and just let go of her past life. While the Captain and Dedjoy were concocting a way to use the fortress’ power to ship her communicator home as one final report, it was highly unlikely that anyone, even Sonak, would be able to use it to traverse the time, space and dimensions that she herself had been catapulted in her latest freak transporter accident. After the first one, the transporter phobic seemed to attract transporter accidents. Sonak had always said that it likely had something to do with her unique quantum signature that interfered with the transporter’s beaming capabilities.

Which was small comfort to her here. She had gotten checked out by medical, but never heard any results. Which was usually the scientific version of a shrugging of the shoulders and an admission that they had no answers, in her experience. Funny thing, scientists and doctors generally didn’t like to admit when they couldn’t figure things out, and the penchant of the lost navigator to cause ionized transporters to perform not at all as designed was apparently still a mystery 127 years after her time. Let alone how she seemed to be able to remain a cohesive sentient energy field within a warp shell at times when said beaming went awry.

In truth, she was adapting to life in the futire. She could now fly anything with a nacelle, and she had adapted to the change in warp theory like a fish to water. Starships still got into unusual trouble, and the plucky explorer was still game to help work out the solutions by coordinating with the crew. The Captain seemed to understand her now, and recognized that Rita was a good officer and an asset to the starship. Hell, they were even on their way to becoming good friends. She was learning more every day about a future that was so different than the era she had left behind, yet had enough similarities for her to keep her sanity intact.

The Captain had proposed that she look up her ‘nephew’, but as she was no actual relation to the man, Rita felt uncomfortable doing so. After all, the name-dropping navigator was accustomed to having no family- she had often introduced herself early in her career as “Rita Paris- no relation”. Her father and brother didn’t particularly want her in their lives, since she refused to be a pawn of either of them. So a hundred and twenty seven years later, the withered branch of the Paris family tree found she didn’t miss them in the least. The concept of establishing family ties with extradimensional dopplegangers of their descendants didn’t exactly thrill her, either.

The Exeter she missed, that big, beautiful Constitution class starship that were no longer in service. Captain Stuart she missed. Sonak… Sonak she missed desperately.

It was as if a piece of her, a sizable chunk of her in fact, had been forcibly torn away from her. Now she was just…. Wounded. The career fleeter gal pressed on through her days, focusing on her job and reports and schedules and the myriad duties of a chief helmsman, now billeted as chief flight control officer. At night, she tried not to cry herself to sleep as in the silence the aching loneliness could not be ignored, and she clutched a body pillow tightly and cursed herself for her weakness. But she could not help it. Sonak had been the center of her universe- her partner, her lover and her t’hy’la. The only man she had ever loved, who had returned that love, despite his lack of emotion. He couldn’t feel love like she did, but he knew her mind, her thoughts and her emotions intimately, as she knew his. Sonak had always lamented that he could not return her affections- yet he did so for her in a thousand ways. In theory, without her, he would be fine. Logic would see him through, and would suffer no heartbreak.

In truth, she knew better, and he would forever feel her absence, as she felt his. While there was no logic to longing, she knew he would miss her for as long as he lived, just as she would miss him.

Common sense told her to let it go, to let that part of her soul scab and scar and become numb to the pain- but she couldn’t seem to let go of that last shred of hope. The man had never let her down, period. Even on their last adventure together-

And as soon as she thought those words, the tears tried to come, and the displaced damsel leaned against a bulkhead in the corridor as she struggled to stifle them. Walking the decks of a starship, even one mostly empty as everyone was on leave, was not the time nor place for a show of emotional weakness from a senior officer.

On their last mission together, he had hotwired a transporter panel to beam her out with a rare isotope sample during an ion storm under severe solar flares. A lesser man would have gotten her killed. Sonak had still managed to save her, even if she had ended up being reconstituted a hundred and twenty-seven years later in another dimension. The man had never let her down, ever. That’s why it was so hard for her to believe he wasn’t going to rescue her just one more time.

For weeks she had turned at men’s voices, at tones and pitches that sounded similar to his, or a turning on sighting a spot of that distinctive blue of his uniform that was no longer in vogue. She had yet to run into any Vulcan males on the Hera, for which she was grateful. It would likely result in an embarrassing display before she realized it was not her somber grey-eyed scientist. Which would be mortifying for her, and uncomfortable for the other party. She missed his presence, his calming effect on her, his touch, his counsel, his company. She missed him, all of him. When she couldn’t distract herself with work, Rita felt as though she was walking around dragging her heart behind her on the floor.

This couldn’t go on.

The experiment would be the turning point, she knew. If he and Stuart showed up, then she would say her goodbyes here and go home. Hell, after all this, maybe the starship siren might just leave Starfleet entirely and see if she couldn’t convince Sonak to take a teaching position at the Academy, and settle down with her. Put their spacefaring days behind them, and maybe even cook up a few pointy-eared blonde kids in the lab. But if no one came for her, then that would mean that in the potentially two hundred years of his life left to him, that science had never found a way, and that Sonak was not coming for her.

Just putting those words into her mind made her tear up, because her heart so desperately did not want to believe it. Despite all logic, she believed in the last kolinahr. He was her hero. He would always come for her, no matter what. Never had he made her that promise, but never had he failed her, ever. The local geniuses had found a way to give him a clue, and when he got it he would be able to change- no, he would correct her- alter and manipulate the laws of time and space, cheating them to rescue his One. He would.

But if he did not, the practical part of her recognized, she had to get on with her life- or she wasn’t going to make it. Mooning over a man who, in this universe, had died on a damnable transporter pad at Starfleet Command after being literally turned inside out was unhealthy, and she knew it. Mood swings in conversations when she tried to put him into past tense were no good for anyone involved. She had to do better. The long-lost lieutenant had to evolve, adapt and move on.

Yet that tiny voice in her heart refused to yield that last shred of hope. Because he had earned it, time and again. Her faith in him might have been unreasonable, but it was certainly not unwarranted. If it was possible, he would find a way. If it was impossible, he might just still find a way. He was the smartest, wisest and most capable man she had ever known, and try as she might, Rita Paris just couldn’t give up on the last kolinahr.

Perhaps it was because, decades in the past and dimensions away, Sonak of Vulcan refused to give up on Rita Paris.


Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcPq70Ryf08

The bluish "smoke" drifted upward from the handlebar-moustached human at the card table, as he drew in, then puffed out around his "cigar". The grin that split his face as he did so was accompanied by a distinct twinkle in his eye, as he raked the large pile of chips toward his playing area. "An' that, ladies an' gentlebein's, is why ya nevah, evah draw to an inside straight." He tipped his hat to the players leaving the table, as they wandered off to other forms of entertainment, and added, to himself, "...especially if ya can't do simple math in y'all's head."

Standing up, he flipped his hat over and raked the chips into it, even though they threatened to spill out onto the floor. He turned to the spotted catgirl who had been serving this table in the lavish private casino on the estates, and beckoned for her to hold out her tip purse. Her eyes widened as he skimmed all the chips that wouldn't fit into the bowl of his hat into the purse, with a wink, and then strolled over to the cashier window to convert the remainder into something more portable, before moving on to other forms of entertainment.

After having also tipped the cashier generously, he realized that he was feeling a bit peckish, and noticed it was nearly suppertime. He determined to head for his suite, and as he approached, he could clearly hear the bell-lady, whom he been generously tipping his entire stay on a daily basis, haranguing a member of the kitchen staff quite thoroughly, regarding the quality of the dinner he was attempting to deliver to the room.

"...you think that this tourist slop is something Mister Clemens would be interested in eating, you'd better go hide before I get back from showing this tray to the Head Steward! Where in the Tarkasian Pits did you get your training??"

It went on for some minutes, before Sam moved in to rescue the boy, who was actually cowering from the Tellarite tower of rage. "Whoa, whoa, now, Garvil! It's not all as bad as that! Ah like mah junk food, 'specially when ah'm gettin' back from th'casino." The looming storm in her fancy uniform settled, slightly, looking dubious. Clemens waved the boy off, and the teenager ran like he was targ-bait.

"I'll nibble on it while ah'm gettin' dressed fer Silver Screen Night- ah'm happy with th'snack." He paused, and gave her a look plus a twinkle.

"...say...what time are ya off-shift? I hate seein' a movie alone..."

Much later, as he slipped downstairs to grab a midnight-or-later snack, he spotted the kid he'd saved from the fury of Garvil (which turned out to be caused by simple frustration with her choice of activity partners- something easily-remedied), cleaning up the snack bar area. He ambled over to him, with a friendly smile and wave. The boy looked surprised, as most guests treated him as though he were completely invisible. "S-sir?"

"...ah've got sumthin' fer yah, son." Clemens fished into his pocket for one of the 500-credit chips he liked to keep on his person when in this sort of establishment, and tossed it to him. The teen caught it out of the air, quite deftly, the engineer noted.

His eyes looking like dinner plates, the boy (who Sam now knew was named Arno, from his nametag) seemed to fumble for what to say. "Now, now, Arno. Ah think you've more than earned that, considerin' th'beatin' ya took, just tryin' ta keep me fed tonight. Are ya due fer a break anytime soon?"

Arno looked around, realizing the place was practically-empty, and he'd nearly finished his work, and nodded. The engineer gestured for him to have a seat at the nearby table, where he parked himself, as well.

"How'd you end up workin' here?" the officer asked, doing the roll-the-coin-down-your-knuckles trick with one of his other chips, idly.

The young man brightened a bit. "Oh, my uncle Carl, he told me that I should do some honest work, learn how to do a trade, build up some savings, so I can get properly-schooled. My uncle, he never got to go to school much, on account of his family always movin' around. He said that for every credit I earned and didn't spend, he'd throw one of his own into savings for me, so's I can go away to the Federation and get into training for somethin' really cool, like bein' a pilot." He looked wistful. "Carl's always made sure I'm okay, since I lost Ma." The wistful turned into something worse, but came back out, quickly, as he continued, "Izzit true that you're part of Starfleet?"

The Lieutenant, who'd been smiling most of the conversation, cocked a big grin, and shot back, "Yeah! Ah fix ships, now! I've been a lotta places, all over, really, an' I think bein' an engineer is just 'bout the best thing ah ever decided ta do!" The look on Arno's face had changed from curiosity to absolute awe, and it stayed that way as Sam began to regale him with the various adventures he'd gone on as a teen, and then later, as a midshipman and Ensign, and onward through Lieutenant, Junior Grade.

"I'm here, now, to meet mah new ship, th'Hera," he drawled. Before he could continue, a beeping erupted from his wrist. He immediately reached into a pocket (he seemed to be all pockets- even in nightclothes) and pulled out a small device. He touched a control, and a wide blue beam fanned out, which he played over his hands, and then gestured to Arno to hold his own hands out. The boy complied, and Clemens swept them as he'd done his own. Arno pulled his hands back, and flexed them.

"Wow. They feel so...clean!" He looked them over, and sure enough, there wasn't a trace of the grime he'd built up while cleaning earlier. "What is that thing, Mister?"

Sam looked a bit sheepish. "Well, t'be honest, it's a portable sanitizer unit. It's a long story, but it amounts to a family tradition, started by my great-way-in-back grandpa. Seems he started havin' nightmares about an epidemic comin' and wipin' out thousands of people, and it scared him so bad that he started havin' his whole family work really hard at bein' extra clean. He had a baby on the way, see, an' he wasn't gonna take any chances, nosirree. Ever since, th'Clemens family has had kind of a bit of an obsession with killin' germs, especially since they all lived through some really, really bad times. It was 500 years ago, and barely anyone knew how sicknesses spread. But grandpa Samuel musta got tipped off, or sumpin'. He was a really smart man. Famous writer, actually."

Arno's eyebrows jumped, and he breathed, "Famous?" Sam nodded, and fished around in his nightshirt pockets, and pulled out a datachip, as he stood up. He handed it to Arno, and said, "Here's some of his stuff. Well, all of it, really. I keep a few of these on me most of th'time. Just in case I find someone who I think might like 'em. Here ya go."

As he also stood, and took the chip, labeled neatly, "The Stories of Mark Twain", Arno breathed, "NEAT...thank you, sir!"

Sam, patted him on the back, as he turned to head back toward his room, snack forgotten. "Yer uncle's right, son! You keep up th'hard work, and hit school like lightnin'!"

Arno carefully put the chip in his wallet, and went back to work, whistling.

Duty had been served and the disciplinary actions taken, as Lieutenant Rita Paris doled out the bridge and flight deck assignments based on performance evaluations. As she had been aboard a month now, Rita had taken the time to evaluate her personnel, and had assigned the duty rosters while on leave based on performance and discipline issues. Despite the fact that the boss was also spending a good chunk of her shore leave on board, the underperformers were finding their shore leaves curtailed somewhat, while the good and medium performers were spending the entirety of shore leave free from duty.

Which of course included her assistant chief, Ensign Mona Gonadie. The brightly plumed avain aviatrix had been relieved of all duty for the duration, and had been sent to enjoy herself with her chief’s blessing. She had been a godsend for Rita in adapting to both the position and the flight controls of the 24th century, and this was the first chance Rita had come across to show rather than tell her appreciation. The ensign had wisely chosen not to argue with her chief, and was somewhere out there relaxing and enjoying herself.

But Rita’s duties were discharged, and now it was time for some shore leave of her own. She had been monitoring the duty rosters in Main Engineering and it appeared her little blue bestie had been working longer shifts and putting in more hours, likely trying to repair the damage done by the dark matter ion storm they had barely escaped. Which made Rita smile- Thex was an overachiever like herself, and the time-tossed temptress knew that left to her own devices, Lieutenant Commander sh’Zouri would work through the entire shore leave without a break and consider it time well spent.

Which meant that it was Rita’s solemn duty to pry the Andorian away from her engines for at least 48 hours in the middle of the shore leave, and drag her out to go have some fun.

Exiting the turbolift on Deck 24, Lieutenant Paris strode through Main Engineering, waving at those who recognized her. The anachronistic uniform she wore guaranteed to catch the eye- a bright gold minidress amongst the black and grey sea of uniforms with a hint of gold down in Engineering. And after having been on board for over a month, the 2268 issue Starfleet officer was now well known and recognized, even outside her own department. Her friendship with the chief engineer was also well known, as was her penchant for jogging deck 12, the center of the saucer section.

Given her figure, it was joked by some that she should wear a warning hazard when jogging given the sight of her assets in motion tended to be a traffic hazard. But today she was on a mission, and somehow she knew she would find her quarry elbows deep in something that needed to be fixed or calibrated or adjusted or replaced.

As her friend had guessed, Thex was on her back trying to fix the pimary tachyon flux actuator. The familiar sound of her friend's high heeled booted footsteps caught the blue girl’s attention as she slid out of the Jefferies tube. " Hello Rita, how are you this fine day?" the andorian asked, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Nice outfit." She added upon seeing her friend’s usual anachronistic uniform.

“What, this old thing?” Paris joked, making a literal interpretation of her unconventional uniform. “Okay Thex. I know there are a million things to fix. And calibrate. And adjust and tweak and whatever else you grease monkey types do. But you promised me some shore leave, and I am taking you up on it. Seems there is a winter arcology out there, with a ski lodge and skiing and…” from behind her, Rita produced a square light blue box wrapped in dark blue ribbon. Holding it out at arm’s length, she presented it to the Andorian engineer.

"What is it?" Thex asked as she placed her tools down and took the box from her friend and started to undo the ribbon.

“It’s a present! Don’t they still do that in the future?” the Starfleet vintage officer asked as the eager and able hands opened the box to reveal a pair of white ice skates. “Again, I don’t know how they do it today and I don’t know if you did it differently on Andoria, but on Earth we skate on frozen lakes and ponds using shoes connected to metal blades the lets us glide across the ice. I figured you are so graceful when you dance, you should be an awesome ice skater… right?”

It was clear that Rita had not done her cultural nor historical research, but was instead introducing the blue-skinned antennaed alien to some of her culture instead.

Thex paused as she held the skates in her hands. She knew about skating it was very popular on Andor, as it helped to teach people how to move around the frozen oceans. It was a hobby she never had a chance to participate in, however. Her family considered it a distraction. Her hands gripped the skates tightly as she looked at her friend. "Thank you, Rita they are a very thoughtful gift."

“You’re welcome- after all you’ve done for me it’s the least I can do. Come on, pack up your summer clothes and let’s go hang out where the weather is your speed and we can take a little weekend off in a winter wonderland. We always go to my climate- let’s go hang out in yours this time, shall we?” The curvaceous cosmonaut’s grin was ear to ear as she motioned toward the turbolift.

Thex grinned as she picked up her tools and headed for the turbolift. "Lead on, my friend," she said as the two entered the lift.

“I got us reservations at the lodge, such as it is, and apparently there are catgirl maids who take care of everything. Since we are in the fortress instead of doing the local resorts, it’s all inclusive. So we can ski and skate and go sledding, build snowmen… ah, I am guessing you know more of what to do in and with snow than me. But we have a weekend and we’re going to go have fun!” It sounded a bit like Rita was trying to convince herself as much as Thex, but she was at least enthusiastic. As they emerged on Deck 8, the duo split, headed yto their individual quarters as Rita promised to meet the Andorian outside her quarters.

It wasn't long before Thex emerged from her quarters wearing some tight black trousers along with a dark blue shirt under a white jacket bearing the flag of andor upon the back. Her skates hung around her neck as she smiled at her friend who was waiting for her.

“Look at the workaholic all excited to be headed for the ice!” The taller human was decked out in a pink long-sleeved unitard, with a fluffy, furry pair of white boots and a short yet bulky powder blue parka jacket that would hide her figure but keep her warm. Pink gloves and a stocking cap with earmuffs rounded out her colorful outfit, which left her legs covered only by human flesh-colored tights. Somehow, even out of her high heeled duty boots, the human still dwarfed her petite compatriot.

Wrapping Thex in an invasion of personal space, Rita Paris cheered. “C’mon you! It’s time to go drink and skate and ski and eat food that’s bad for us and maybe chase some men and… shore leave!”

"Lead on, my friend." The andorian replied as they headed for the airlock, to cross the umbilical into the fortress. It wasn't long before they were on the station, and stepping through its locks they appeared to be avoiding the transporters, heading up to the ski lodge.

A smile spread over Thex's face as snowflakes fell upon her head and her face- it had been far to long since she'd felt snow.

Strapping on some snow shoes, Rita apparently planned to hike up to the lodge, when there was a perfectly good transporter they could take.

Thex didn't need any snowshoes, given her upbringing, so she patiently waited for the California surfer girl to get her snowshoes strapped on, then as she began trudging uphill the eager engineer followed behind her friend. "It's beautiful here isn't it?" She said, looking around the winter wonderland that comprised the exterior of the station.

“It is!” Rita agreed. “Aside from arctic survival training and the occasional ice planet, I’m not really much for cold weather. But the snow blanketing everything really is pretty, and the crisp air really does make you feel alive. Different than basking in the sun, but I didn’t want my best pal to melt into a puddle.” At that the buxom blonde shoulder bumped her companion with a grin, to indicate that she was teasing.

"Hey, I'm not that weak to the heat!" Thex jokily replied as she helped her friend through the snow. "How your species made it to their poles is beyond me," she chuckled as she helped Rita out of another patch of snow.

“Sheer stubbornness and the determination to see what’s out there. Same way we managed to get out into space and see the far corners of the galaxy- human stubbonness and determination,” Rita huffed as she plodded through the snow. The snow shoes were supposed to keep her on the surface, but the lost navigator wasn’t exactly light on her feet, nor was she experienced at trying to make snow shoes work properly. At least she hadn’t pitched face forward into the snow.

“So if you don’t melt, maybe our next vacation we can take on a nice tropical beach where I can wear a bikini?” Rita huffed as she struggled uphill in the snow.

"Sounds good," Thex replied as she helped Rita along again. Thankfully, the path evened out ahead, letting the human and the andorian walk up the gently rising path. It wasn't long before the frozen lake appeared before them. "Well, we made it Rita," She said, looking back at her friend.

“Ugh… I thought we were headed to the lodge first. But it’s all good,” Paris panted as she dropped her rounded rear onto a log to start unlacing the snowshoes. It was clear that exerting herself in the frozen wonderland was nowhere near as invigorating to the California girl as it was to the ice planet native. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath. You know how to lace up human-style ice skates?”

Thex nodded, as she was already removing her boots and doing up the laces on her skates. "I haven't done this since I was seven, so..." the Andorian said as she finished, then awkwardly moved over to the ice. Careful she stepped onto the ice, and with a forward motion pushed herself onto the ice. For a second she moved with all the grace of a dancer. Right before she fell right on her ass.

"You okay?" Rita called out from the relative safety of her log where she was clipping on the Andorian ice blades the replicator had produced for her. Instead of a tight boot with a blade, these were simply blades of dense ice that clipped onto the boot. She'd had the computer produce both, so she knew they fit together. The earthling was just trying to figure out how the Andorian traditional gear worked.

As she let out a burst of laughter, Thex slowly and carefully picked herself up off the slippery ice. " Yeah, I'm okay. You okay? You’re talking a while with those skates."

Snapping the first one in place, Rita let loose with a triumphant “Aha!” after which the skate immediately fell off her boot. “Okay, I continue to fail at cross-cultural experimentation. Think you might be able to show me how these darn things work?”

Gliding smoothly over to the edge of the frozen lake, Thex took a few awkward steps off the ice then bent down to help her friend. "Rather simple… you need to put them on like this," she said as she picked up one of the skates. Putting it on at an angle, she slowly moved it round until it had connected firmly to the boot.

Rolling her eyes, Rita groaned. “Aw, for the love of phloog!” Mimicking the action, she effortlessly applied the other Andorian skate to her boot. Standing smoothly, she tested out her weight on the snow before proceeding. “Well, okay then. Now… I don’t actually know how to skate, so you go do your thing and have fun. I’m going to be over here doing my Bambi impression. Don’t worry,” the buxom blonde held up a hand to silence any protest. “I am very well padded for falls, eh? With that Rita smacked her well-rounded rear for emphasis.

Thex grinned and gave a slight laugh as she made her own way back onto the ice. "It's been a long time since i was on the...." Thex began before having to suddenly steady herself from falling. I think it's coming back to me," she said, laughing slightly to herself.

As Rita watched for a few minutes, the Andorian ganed more and more confidence on the ice, and soon she was skaing across the surface with the same grace and balance she showed in her dancing, and Paris couldn’t help but smile. Modest and unassuming she might be, but her pal the engineer certainly had a gift of grace that the curvaceous cosmonaut certainly lacked. It was nice watching Thex, literally in her element, come alive and blossom.

As the afternoon wore on, there were spills, laughter, and two women skating alone on a frozen lake that was somehow warming to them both. It was clear that neither of them were going to be competing professionally any time ever, but they had fun and enjoyed themselves, and that was the point. By the end they were both tired, sore and one of them was a little cold. But they’d had fun, and that was the goal.

Gliding unsteadily to the edge of the lake again, Rita stumbled a few steps to fall on her knees in the snow before pulling herself up onto the log. Removing her skates, her breath making clouds of fog in the air, she grinned at the blue-skinned skating queen. “So… success?”

"I believe so," replied the very out of breath andorian replied, as she undid her skates before slipping on her boots. "The lodge is just up ahead if i remember the layout correctly." She said pointing at a path leading upwards.

Looking over at the lightly-clothed Andorian, the human woman smiled. "Thanks for this, Thex. I wanted to be able to get you out in your own element and just relax, and you didn't fight me a bit. You work hard, but you know when to stop. You don't mind trying new things, and you are a good friend to me. I genuinely appreciate you."

"You're a good friend to me as well, Rita. Thanks for this- I really needed it. Do you need a hand getting the skates off...?" Thex asked solicitously as the leggy blonde struggled to slide off the Andorian ice blades.

"Nah, I got it," Rita responded as one slid off her boot. "Tell you what- let's head got that lodge, get in a nap and a long bath, then we can meet for a late dinner and see what trouble we can get up to. Sound like a plan?"

" Sounds good. I could use some warm nachos and a nice alcoholic beverage. " replied the andorian girl as she offered her hand to help her human friend up.

“Can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” Rita replied as she took the offered hand up, and the pilot and the engineer headed for the lodge, to relax and enjoy their shore leave together.

After a long day of learning how to ice skate and falling on her well-padded ass a few too many time, Rita Paris had retired to the ski lodge, wishing it was a cabana on a beach. She was not in the least bit a fan of the cold- even with insulating layers and proper precautions, she was still chilled to the bone, and was debating whether to start drinking before finding a hot tub, or finding the hot tub then drinking. Since Thex had retired upstairs to change and unwind for a bit, she was on her own.

Before her first transporter accident, Rita had been an off-duty drinker, much like many fleeters of her day. She never drank on or before duty, but she was definitely known to put down her share of scotch after duty or in celebration. After all, you were a Starfleet officer, you drank scotch. Or Romulan Ale for special occasions.

After her transporter accident, 2 years at Starfleet psych had wrung her out, but upon her return to active duty, she had begun trying her hand at drinking wine. After all, it was a more feminine drink, she reasoned, and millions of basic bitches couldn’t be wrong.

One she had begun carrying on with Sonak, they bonded… quickly. Then suddenly what affected her, he would often feel, and she of he. Thus the self-destructive concept of poisoning oneself to harm one’s brain cells for pleasure made absolutely no sense to the last kolinahr. So she had given up drinking for him, just as she would give up being a carnivore. After all, she didn’t need intoxicants to fill the empty hours off duty, nor did she need them to sleep. Her Vulcan lover more than filled that void in her life, and brought her joy that made it easy to walk away from bad habits.

That was then. This was now…. 127 years later now. Sonak was a dimension and a dozen decades away, leaving a void in her life that she was trying to ignore, because she had no idea how to fill it. She’d started drinking again, because why not? Synthehol let you shake off the effects at will, and even if she was drinking real alcohol, what did it matter? She couldn’t hurt Sonak, and it wasn’t like she was exactly called upon mentally very often here, as the slow kid from the past who still asked at least a few times a day, “What’s that mean?” or “What is a…”

At present Rita was resolving to look things up later, but was often not getting around to it.

Thus it was no surprise that she settled for finding a seat at the bar in the wintry resort lodge that somehow managed to look European and alien at the same time. In her fluffy white boots, nude tights-covered legs and pink unitard, she shrugged out of the heavy down parka jacket she had been wearing, abandoning her gloves and earmuffs, but keeping the bright blue stocking cap on her head. Hanging up the coat and accoutrements on a coat rack, she moved in on the bar, rolling up the sleeves of her v-neck powder blue sweater and trying to decide what to order to warm her insides.

A funny thing about shore leaves in general- once a place sprang up to service fleets, a dozen more popped in, all nearby. Clemens had never been one to let an opportunity to sample something new slip by, so after he'd gotten enough rest (once Miss Garvil and her frustrations had been addressed), he determined that he would peruse the other options in the dome. Since he'd been born and raised in Earth's American Deep South, he reckoned some frozen frolicking might be interesting. Dressing warmly, but still with a nod to his roots, he took a tram over to the ski resort area, whereupon his eyes were greeted by a bevy of beautiful sights, most of them dressed as snugly as he was.

The snow caps were pristine and blinding, not unlike his gentleman's winter longcoat and waistcoat, as well as his heavy felt winter fedora, a short but wide scarf, and bowtie, all in the brightest of white, against the backdrop of his sky-blue dress shirt and trousers, as he exited the carriage in front of the resort lodge.

He went inside without hurrying, trying to take in the crisp air and sweet smell of the gigantic roaring fire, burning what was obviously some form of fruit tree wood as part of their fuel mixture. As he approached the dining area, he couldn't miss the stunning bronzed buxom beauty sitting at the bar, like some sort of fictional accounting of America's west coast come to life.

In the moment, he did indeed wish they all could be California girls.

Taking off his trim white gloves, he hung his coat on the rack at the end of the bar counter. Seeing no drink setting next to her, the mustachioed gentleman hopped nimbly onto the stool beside the lovely creature whose legs seemed to go on halfway to the galactic core. He motioned in the manner of a denizen of pubs and drinking establishments across the universe, signalling to the barkeep for service. As he landed, his right hand gripped the brim of his hat, and he tugged, nodded to the lady, flashing a smile as white as the hat.

"Ma'am," came the drawling greeting, as he glanced back at the 'tender to make certain he was incoming.

Turning her head to take it all in, the buxom bronzed bargal raised both eyebrows in the middle. She didn't reply, but she did gain a bemused expression as she too waited for the bartender. When he arrived, she leaned into the bar, arching her back lithely as she beamed a million-watt smile at the man, intercepting him before he made it to the white-clad character. "Irish cocoa. Double size- I've been freezing my ass off out there for hours."

As Clemens had observed on the way in, and now checked again to be certain, the posterior in question appeared to not only be there, but there in spades. Perhaps hearts might be the correct word, given the shape in question. With a wiggle of the eyebrows the dapper engineer quipped, "Mah goodness, Miss- it does appeah that you may just be in possession of a class G star, as yoah skin tone is perfection itself." He twinkled his eyes at her, just for the fun of it.

Stepping off the barstool the professional liar bowed to her, doffing his hat, then with ceremony holding it to his chest. "Lieutenant Samuel Clemens, most recently of Stahfleet, at yer service, madam."

Wait- he said I have a yellow dwarf? What the hell... Paris began to process, then watched the chivalrous display unfold. Her brain skipped a track or two at the accent and the name, but she'd had a long fun day- why the hell not. He was charming and he seemed to be Starfleet, although was that mustache regulation? Given the alien races in Starfleet these days the grooming standards must have to be written by race and gender and who knew what else. For all she knew he was a Walrusian.

Extending her hand in a demure manner taught to girls who got sent to charm school, the blue-eyed bombshell turned to stand, sliding gracefully into a pose reminiscent of a 1950's pinup model. One hand draped on her generous hip, her right hand extended, big baby blue eyes open and warm, with a million watt smile in place that could blind a man if he stared too long, Samuel suspected.

"Rita Paris- no relation. I think I might have read one of your books," she offered in a sultry prowling velvety fog of a voice. Again, charm school could work wonders for your rebellious teenaged daughter. Just ask Clifford Paris.

The handlebar-moustached lothario deftly flip-rolled his hat across the back of his hand and onto his bushy mane of auburn hair, as he bowed, pressing his lips to the back of her strong but supple perfectly-manicured hand, raising his other hand to grasp the palm.

"Oh, that'd be mah great-grand-times-tuwelve-fathuh, Miz Rheetuh," he added, as he gazed up at her through bushy brows with those phaser-blue eyes, again.

"Well Mr. Clemens, I daresay he'd have a thing or two to say about a gentleman wearing a hat indoors," She offered archly, then waved to the bar and grinned slyly. "C'mon Missouri, you can buy me a drink."

The Man With the Golden Tongue nodded accommodatingly as though to say, '...as you wish...' as he came 'round the luscious-lipped lass' delicious derrière to once again sit next to her. His first action was to remove his headgear and stow it safely away inside his coat, through some odd and rapid folding method that made it nearly flat without effort. "Ah, yer right- the Author would have swatted it right off mah head in a second,"

The next action was the ordering of more libation for the both of them. "'Keep! Bring yer best whiskey!"

"So how'd you end up in the Artan Family Orbital Fortress?" the leggy blonde asked, hands cupping the steaming mug gratefully.

With a deft motion, nimble fingers fished out a flask from the pocket of his vest, out of which he took a careful sip of his 300 year-old single malt Earth whiskey. The Fleeter leaned back a bit, and let the flavor bloom for a moment, his eyes closed. When he opened them again, the trademark twinkle was in full force. "Well, that's a Tall Tale and a half, mah mesmerizin' masterpiece. Most recently, ah've been assigned to thuh USS Hera, a fine ship of exploahration, out here in th'wilds of thuh universe. She's docked out there, and huh fine crew is on shore leave, here on this amazin' piece of engineerin'. And how did we all become so foahtunate as to be in proximity of yoahself, Miss Paris?" He leaned an elbow on the bar as he watched the Face of Beauty before him.

Briefly the time-tossed temptress considered stringing her new shipmate along, but that wouldn’t exactly be very nice of her. “Well, when the Hera pulled in to dock, I was the one piloting her,” the glamour gal admitted. “The Chief engineer’s upstairs taking a cold bath and a nap. I just took her ice skating... which is why I’m so chilled.”

"Mah goodness gracious A-live...you AH half-frozen, are'ent yuh?" the officer exclaimed, suddenly realizing the poor girl, despite the roaring fire and the alcohol, was like to have the death of cold of her. He immediately stood and brought over his longcoat and scarf, wrapping it coat over her shoulders, and offering her the scarf as well.

"Fah be it from me to ignoah a lady in distress, maduhm! Mah sincERE apologies fuh missin' th'clues which wuh right before muh verruh eyes!"

The laughter that bubbled up was merry and gay. “While your chivalry is appreciated, Mr. Clemens, I’m fine, really. Just some proper inner warming and I'll be right as Rigel. But it is very sweet of you to offer.” The tone held no condescension, nor did it lack sincerity as she shrugged out of the coat draped across her shoulders and returned it to the gentleman to whom it belonged. The scarf, however, she seemed less in a hurry to part with as she sipped from her steaming mug.

“So. I’m chief helms- ah, sorry, flight control officer of the Hera,” the buxom blonde bombshell corrected herself. “What’s your rating, Mr. Clemens?”

Clemens happily accepted the coat back, as the lady seemed content with the scarf, and did seem more warmed than a moment ago. He folded the coat on the bar, then returned to his seat, replying, "Ah passed mah mahks in th'Cademy, though ah reckon theah musta been others that left me in thuh dust, comparatively. Ah squeaked by with a few tricks an old freightuh cap'n once showed me, in case we were evah t'be in thuh position of needin' t'be elsewheah in a hurreh. While not strictleh in thuh 'Fleet manuals, they worked well enough in thuh simulatahs to get me t'a passin' grade." He started out a bit shyly, but as he went on, the grin spread across his face like maple syrup over a hot stack of flapjacks.

Finishing the long draught from the steaming mug in her hands, the blonde snow bunny cocked her head curiously, a small smile settled pleasantly onto her face. "I was 32nd in a class of two hundred and twelve cadets. And I worked really hard in the Academy. I wanted to be top in my class, but..." She shrugged as she blinked, bringing her whiskey cocoa back up to her full bronzed lips.

"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Clemens. Which is funny, because it was a very simple question." Paris took a sip of her cocoa, but he couldn't help but notice that one of her feet hooked itself around the barstool, even as her weight shifted ever so slightly even as she tried to look casual sipping her drink. One evaded question and the woman was bracing for a situation. Not overreacting, but being prepared, just at the hint of someone claiming to be Starfleet who might be something else entirely. Rita Paris was no amateur, even on shore leave.

Clemens' bushy brows drew down a bit at the realization that the girl in front of him had the notion that he wasn't what he claimed to be. It was chilling to think that someone her age must have been through something that could evoke that sort of reaction, from a mere prevarication. But here they were: her suspicious and potentially afraid of him, and him...well, he didn't exactly know how he felt about her.

No direction left to go but through, he supposed.

He sighed, and sat back, hands spread open to her. "Ah wasn't tryin' tah mislead ya. When ya said 'ratin', ah thought ya was talkin' 'bout pilotin', an that's somethin' ah've never had a claim t'fame with." He had the grace to look embarrassed. "Mah skillset lies mostly in tinkerin' with machinery. Engineerin's mah billet, not flyin'. Ah s'pose ya could say that ah'm a luvuh, not a fighta pilot."

Given the misunderstanding and the rambling explanation that got them there, she had little difficulty believing it of an engineer. Either they lacked social grace or they tended to be a bit- off. Thex being an exception to the rule- but then, she was an Andorian who enjoyed competitive Orion slave girl dancing, so that was a little odd. Relaxing her posture and taking another warming sip of her delicious cocktail, Paris smiled and took a shot with a literary reverence. "Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy?"

The Starfleet Intelligence operative gave a small bow to her uncannily-accurate quote, given his Historical Espionage class thesis topic. "A stitch in time, will moahst def'nitely save nine, Ravishin' Rita. Please- do feel free to call me Sam..."

That laugh of hers could lighten the mood of a funeral. "A stitch in time.... I think I may have an entire needlepoint, Sam. And you can call me Rita," she offered, although clearly he'd implied it from her introduction. "Want to guess how old I am?" she asked sweetly, beaming at him mischievously.

The man actually seemed to pale a bit at the suggestion. "Oh, mah loahd, no! Mah deah granny taught me that it is th' HEIGHT of folleh foah ennah man tah even imply that a woman is moah than twenty-fahv yeahs o'age, regardless of ennah indications to thuh contrary."

"Were ah foaced to estimate, perhaps at phasuhpoint, ah would posit that all ansuhs ah wrong, as goddesses do not age, bein' timeless constructs composed of purest beauty," he finished simply.

Taking another sip of her diminishing cup of cocoa, those baby blues blinked at him. "Well, I'm flattered by the goddess part, and I do seem to be pretty timeless," the starship siren sighed, the preened a bit on her barstool. "Not bad for a gal born in 2233 eh? Whatever that translates to in the stardate they use around here, which I still can't get the hang of calculating. I think it's metric, but it's a pain for we poor old humans who had a calendar already." Paris then finished off her drink, and set it on the bar.

The young man allowed some of the shock to register on his face. "My deah lady- you speak in impossibilities. I have good, strong eyes, and they tell me that you cannot be a day ovah one hundred and one." He seemed content to allow this overt falseness.

That bemused smile stayed in place as her eyes shifted to her empty drink sitting on the bar, then back to the snake oil salesman that Starfleet Intel had sent to the Hera, then back to that empty drink, then back to the auburn-haired fellow with a few fluttering of lashes thrown in for good measure. "You gonna make me pout too? Don't be chicken, Colonel Sanders- were you planning to buy me that drink?"

Without breaking eye contact, the Merlin of Misdirection held up one hand, and made the motion that had been universally-recognized for millennia to mean that a patron wished to order more booze.

He could feel the mixologist approach, and, again, without taking his gaze off the face that was currently launching his ship, called over his shoulder, "Soah'ree'ahn brandeh foah th'lady, if'n'y'please, good suh. Bring thuh bottle."

As the barkeep set and poured her snifter full, and left the bottle of two hundred-year-old brandy, the slightly-lopsided warm smile Sam gave her, along with the crinkling of his eyes as he nodded to her, raising his own well-nursed glass in salute, was one hundred percent genuine.

"To strange new wuhlds, nyew life, nyew civ'lizatshuns, to boldleh goin' wherevyh thuh roads take us. May they keep on rollin' interestin' places."

Picking up her snifter, the curvaceous cosmonaut raised it to meet his glass, bright eyes shining with promise. That smile could launch a thousand starships, and somehow he was struck by how the woman seemed so effortlessly sensual even when she wasn't trying. Clinking her glass against his, she offered, without a trace of irony, "To boldly go where no man has gone before, Sam. These are the voyages of the starship Hera."


Sometime later, the whiskey was exhausted, and the brandy was echoing in the empty bottle, some having been used for a N'Orleans Brandeh Sundae, which included such things as praline pea-khans, hawt fudge, French vanillah ice creahm, and sliced buhnanners, according to Sam, who recommended it highly to the sultry ship steer'er. Both parties were thoroughly-socially-lubricated, and Sam had stood, donned his coat, and offered his arm to his companion.

"Wheah to, Ma'am?"

“I… whoops!” Rita Paris stumbled slightly getting off her chair and ended up taking more than just an arm, nearly toppling both of them in the process. “I thought I was gonna have a bitty blue buddy join us but I think she laid down for a nap and discovered what happens to overachievers who lay down for quick naps.” Rita straightened herself up, wobbled slightly, giggled, then patted the espionage engineer on his broad chest.

“For me it’s off to bed, Mishter Clemensh. Clemens,” she corrected, then giggled again. “You have been delightful company, but I am drunk and I should retire before I do something regrettable, I think.”

Clemens moved quickly to support the tipsy top-heavy blonde. "If'n you don't mind, ma'am, ah b'lieve ah'm in need of a pilot t'get me to th'nearest transpoahtuh node, hyeah. Would you do me thuh hohnuh of gettin' me there from heah?" Sam, who wasn't nearly as wobbly as the Hellenic Helms'n, wanted to make certain she got back to the ship without further incident. His whisky having been a bit more smooth than her libations, his tolerance of such things had a bonus effect upon him. He carefully began navigating with her toward the establishment's exit, having already taken care of the barkeep for the most excellent service.

"We're gonna need a sled," the plowed pilot intoned seriously as she grabbed her parka jacket and slid it on with surprising ability. Plucking her earmuffs out of her pocket, she tugged down her stocking cap and settled the muffs in place. Pulling her gloves from the other pocket, she began slipping into them with a surprising degree of sobriety from a woman who was slurring her words moments ago. Once attired and uniformed against the cold, she nodded to her companion, then turned to walk into the wall.

While he was similarly-soused, Sam was wiry, and had fast reflexes, just fast enough to initiate an emergency course correction, using her shoulders as impromptu rudders to steer her gently but firmly toward the actual transporter node the lodge. "Ah do apologize, Miss Ritah- that, ah'm, exit's undah repaihs, at th'moment. Let's reroute ovah this'a'way, if yah dohn't mihnd."

As they made their way across the nearly-empty lodge, he was somewhat uncomfortably aware of the very warm presence of his charge. He shook his head to himself, wondering how he'd gone so wrong. Right up until they arrived at the transporter node, and she dug her heels in, backing that rather rounded rump directly into him as she literally began backpedaling away from the transporter.

"Well! Here's you, ah, your ride. I'm not, I'm staying here, I've got a room upstairs with a friend, my friend, my best friend, so, I..." The excited nervous ramble had come rolling out of the sauced spacegal like word vomit. But only a fool couldn't see that the seemingly unflappable Rita Paris was... afraid? Clearly not of Sam, given her proximity to him as she sought to get past him, apparently away from the transporter, of all things.

"Whoah, woah, Miss Ritah- ah'll git ya to any place ya want. Ah'm just tryin' ta getcha there safe an' sound. No need ta beam anywhere- we're all quiet an' peaceable, heah." Sam steered her away from the kiosk quickly, seeing just how rattled it made her.

There had been a long history of transporter fear since the introduction of the technology, back in the early 2100s, and quite a bit of it was legitimate. Being an engineer, Sam could count both hands full of incidents that he'd studied in the Academy, and at least one that he'd witnessed personally, though that one involved cargo, not living things. While there hadn't been a great deal in the current century, it was perfectly-reasonable, as far as he was concerned, to have some worries.

That was when he recalled one of those cases he had studied at the Academy, back on the original USS Constitution back in the 2260s. A lady helmsman had been disintegrated on the pad, no trace ever recovered. Which might not stand out in his mind so much, except that there was an image that accompanied the account, of a curvaceous young woman in one of those gold minidresses the ladies used to wear in those sexist times. She has a bright smile and short blonde hair that he'd have to compare when he got a moment.

Hadn’t she made a joke about how old she was earlier? Nahhhh, couldn’t be.

Whatever the cause, this seemed very, very personal, at least to his eyes. He had watched her casually cool confidence evaporate into bubbling fear at the mere sight of the transporter node. Seeing that, he resolved to make absolutely certain that this young lady got to her destination safely, and as quickly as possible.

The tinkering, tailoring, soldiering, engineering spy gently guided her over to the bank of lifts opposite the main entrance. "Ah'll get ya upstayahs right now. Which floah are we aimin' foah? An' who ah we goin' ta see?"

“Thu-third floor, room 312… it’s okay, I’m okay,” the young woman stammered, clearly trying to convince herself as much as him. As they waited for a lift, she worked on slowing her breathing, and offered him a weak smile. “Sorry, I’m… not so good with transporters.”

Her protector was about to reply, when the lift doors sprang open, revealing a vacant car. He immediately reached out and held the doors open for the shaken young woman who by all rights oughtn't to be here and now. "Aftuh you, madam," he invited, as he gestured to the perfectly-safe, ordinary high-speed turbolift.

“Thanks…” the snow bunny stepped into the lift, then turned to mop a surprising amount of perspiration from her forehead, and he couldn’t help but notice a tremor in her formerly steady hand as she did so. A frown of consternation settled on her face as she fought to get a grip on herself. “I’m sorry Sam, I didn’t mean to freak out on you there. I’ve really had a good time tonight, I just…”

Unbidden, that was when the waterworks started, as a few tears streamed down that pretty face.

"Oh, luv..." he quickly stepped on into the lift, pressed the HOLD control, and, while he was used to gals who came up to about his shoulder, he adjusted, and made sure she had a place to put her head, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Theah, theah. Ah reckon we've all had owah sheahs of trouble from 'Fleet life. Why, ah once had ta figger out th'controls of an en-dimensional modulatah array t'keep mah boss'es fav'rit set of coveralls from slippin' inta an interspatial rift, after ah spilled a drink on th'console." He patted her flaxen hair as he spoke, just talking in soothing tones, telling a tale. "Ah don't think he evah caught on to it, but sometimes he looks at me with those funneh eyes o'his, and mah haih stands straight up! An' lemme tella yah, that's a tall ohrduh!"

He paused, and just held her for a bit.

The distraught damsel clung to him for a moment before the storm subsided, as she began the sniffling and mopping that tended to follow, along with the self-recrimination. “I’m sorry Mr. Clemens, this isn’t who I am… it’s just that I’m drunk and it’s the first time I’ve faced a transporter since…”

It was clear to see that she was struggling to keep herself under control, and while it took considerable effort, she succeeded. “Ah. Sorry. This is the first time since my latest accident, and I’m clearly not dealing with it very well. I, uh, have a note on file from Starfleet Medical excusing me from transporting.” She offered a small half-smile. “So my crazy is pretty well-documented.” At that, she patted him on the chest. “Thanks for understanding.”

"Pshaw. If'n gettin' bounced outta yer own tahm didn't make yah nutty, yah had'ta've been nutty already. Ah reckon 'Fleet sez yuh cleahed, an' since it's no different from bein' skeered of ah rattluh aftuh you've been bitten, yer all right in mah book, mah beauteh." Seeing that she'd regained her composure, mostly, he hit the continue button on the lift, and their journey resumed.

The lift ride finished in silence, as did the walk down the hallway, save for a sniffle or two. When they reached the door marked 312, the statuesque siren turned to face the egregarious engineer.

“Tonight was actually kind of amazing, Sam. It’s been a long time since I was escorted by a gentleman, and..,” those baby blues shifted downward, then came back up to meet his eyes once more. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Clemens.” With that, the pinup pilot leaned in to kiss him on the chastely on the cheek, though her subtly intriguing scent lingered. Then she opened the door, stepping into her room. Turning, she leaned slightly against the door jam, the adrenaline having run it's course through the crying jag, and weariness settling in.

“You are a true gentleman and a good friend, and you'll be a fine shipmate I'll wager. Welcome to the Hera, unofficially," the weaponless weaponeer offered earnestly. Those big baby blues could clearly sell sincerity, because it was genuine. "Thank you for taking care of me. I've missed having someone do that for me. G'night, Sam,” she slid into the shadows with a smile as she closed the door.

The wiry-haired man smiled, as the door closed. With several days' worth of leave left, he decided to just grab a room for the night here, and have breakfast at the lodge, in the...well, THIS morning.

With that in mind, he had his luggage brought over from his casino room, and sent up to his new room, and retired for the evening, setting an alarm for a reasonable breakfast time, considering that Miss Rita was likely to sleep in.

Sam left a note for her with the concierge, inviting her and her roommate to a repast at a time of their choosing in the AM, and hit the hay.

Thex awakened from a deep sleep to find Rita's lanky leg over her own, and the buxom beauty's arm draped across her abdomen. The last thing she recalled doing was just... wanting to freshen up, maybe go back out after skating.

She'd sat down and... that was it, apparently. Last night's clothes were plastered all over her, since she'd apparently slept with a human blast furnace at point blank range behind her.

The azure engineer checked the chronometer on the nightstand, and was shocked to discover that some twelve hours or so had passed since she came in last night. It was now nearly 08:00 hours, local time, and she desperately needed to go shower and cool off.

Extracting herself from the bronze cage she was in wasn't an easy task. Every time she managed to move Rita's arm or leg far enough to escape, the golden blonde grunted, and rolled, and twisted in some bizzare Escheresque way and she was back on the ceiling, staring across the way to the floor below, figuratively.

She finally settled for arching her back and folding her limbs back until her dorsal profile was smaller than her bestie's arm would move, due to the pilot's significant assets capturing her own limb.

Thankful for her racial abilities, she literally rolled out of the small gap this provided, and reconstituted her normal posture outside the fleshy fence of her best friend's unconscious form. Sitting up, she noticed a message indicator on the chono, flashing with a somewhat urgent pattern.

Tapping the screen, she read the breakfast invitation from one Lieutenant Samuel Clemens, addressed to Rita and her 'lovely best friend, for this 'morning', at their convenience. As she noted the pool of drool under Rita's open mouth, which had begun making a sound similar to a phaser drill unit, she briefly considered waking her to get ready- but paused, realizing that Rita probably hadn't slept this well in, well, forever.

Pulling the sheet up over her dear friend, she proceeded to get herself ready to go see who this Clemens fellow was, exactly.

It didn't take the Andorian long to use the sonic shower and change into a pale blue t-shirt and light grey trousers. She checked on Rita to make sure the human was okay before quietly leaving the room, closing the door behind her. She walked through the halls of the lodge until she reached the dining area. Noting the human male with the flame-red hair, she walked over to the table he was sitting at. "Samuel Clemens?" she asked politely.

Sipping a brown liquid with ice cubes floating in it, with a slice of lemon split over the edge of a glass, the human in question immediately set the glass on the table, and stood up, stepping around the table to pull out a chair for the sapphire invitee. "At yah suhviss, madam." He looked around, briefly, adding, "...may ah assume that Miss Rita is still enjoyin' huh well-uhned rest after owah delightful evenin?"

"Yes, she's still asleep. She needs it, given what she's been through recently, so I left her to sleep. So you're the new Assistant Engineer I'll be working with?" the Andorian replied as she offered her hand.

Taking the diminutive indigo hand firmly, Clemens got right to business, as it were. "Sam Clemens, thuh fif'teenth, atchyer suhvice, Ma'am. Pleased tah be part of thuh crew, an' lookin' foahwuhd tah all thuh strangeness out this a'way." He returned to his side of the table, simultaneously making a hand motion to attract a server, so they could order some grub. He waited until she seated herself, before sitting, himself.

"Oh you'll see strange all right, especially on this ship." Thex replied with a warm grin, as she looked at the server. "Can I get a large plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, with an Andorian ale?" she asked politely, before looking at what her human companion would be ordering.

Clemens stretched, and yawned, as he looked over the menu. "Ah think ah'll have me ah big, fat omelette, swiss cheese, mushrooms, coahn'd beef hash, no unyuns, and smuthuh'd in holl'n'daze sawse. A tall stack'uh flapjacks, drippin' with buttuh an' boy'zen'berrah sawse, please."

The server seemed unfazed by the large order from the small man, nodded, and asked if there would be anything else.

Thex shook her head in a gesture which caused the server to dematerialise. "They're holograms," Thex said, as she noted the look of confusion on the man's face. "So why did you want to transfer to the Hera?" the Andorian asked politely.

"...not everaone workin' foah these places is glora-fried photons. Ah kin attest that they've got a local workfoahse, as well." replied the engineer cum infiltration specialist. He came back to the topic at hand.

"Ah reckon 'Fleet sent me way out heah to help out with th'backfillin' of Hera's crew. Ah had no idea that Miss Ritah's bestie was, in fact, mah new depahtment head, though. Ah'm verrah pleased tuh meetcha, Ma'am," the human hair factory finished.

"Please don't call me ma'am, just call me Thex. Being called ma'am makes me feel old." replied the Andorian as a server arrived with their food. The Andorian smiled, as the smell of bacon and eggs filled her nostrils.

The Jupiter II-size omelette landed in front of Sam, who wasted no time in smothering it with ketchup, and letting his flapjacks soak in all the butter and syrup, as he dug into the giant egg conflagration.

"Mmmmm, mmmmm, MMMMM, that's th'GOOD stuff! Ah am so verra glad that we live in th'Age of Enlightenment a'Technology. How 'bout yerself, boss? What got you 'board th'Hera?"

"I was looking for a Chief of Engineering posting, and the Hera was in need of one. Besides, I'd heard it was an exciting post, and I'm sure my experience with Intelligence helped land me the job. " Thex said, as she took a sip of the blue Andorian ale.

As Sam sipped his tall iced tea, he was careful not to let his face show any reaction to the mention of SFI by his new Chief. Instead, he grinned, and leaned in, just a bit.

"Ah've heard tell that th'Hera's had a whole mess uv crazy goin's-on, with spooks'n'muhnstahs, an' hollagraffick shee'nanigans, just fer stahtuhs. Why, mah greaht-aunt Whoopeh usetah tell us stoah'ries 'bout how some are'yahs of th'galaxy was haunted, n'such. You evah see ennah ghosties out heah, Cuh'man'duh?" he asked, emoting with his copious eyebrows.

"Well, I have encountered one ghost. She haunted the main engineering bay for a while until we realized she was no real ghost." The Andorian replied slyly.

"I was too a ghost. I dove into a panel because I thought you guys were Mirror Universe or a dark Starfleet- I was immaterial for crying out loud. At least this time around people could see me," Rita Paris muttered as she shuffled in, wearing her stretched out sweater from the night before. Apparently she had pullet it down sufficiently to make a somewhat scandalously short minidress out of it, though she was displaying some rather brobdingnagian cleavage in the process. Padding barefoot to a chair, she dropped herself unceremoniously into an unoccupied chair.

"I need coffee, water and bacon, in that order..." the leggy lieutenant muttered as she squinted around for a server, though none too quickly since she didn't want to aggravate the drum and fife core currently holding a concert in her cerebrum.

"You heard the lady." Thex said to the servers as her friend sat down next to her. "Hangover?" the petite engineer asked politely.

"I think I fell off the wagon last night, and apparently the wagon dragged me all the way through town," the buxom blonde muttered, covering her eyes with her arm as she awaited life-affirming fluids. "Sam, that is absolutely the last time I try to keep up with you in a bar..."

"Ah, Miss Ritah. Ah'm afraid mah g'netics got th'better of yuh. Th'Clemens clan has been drinkin' hahd fuh gen'rations, now," the mustachioed manipulator confessed, more sheepishly than expected, as he sat back down, having popped to his feet by sheer reflex from his raising.

"So...ya came in phased?"


"Yuuuuup. Got this thing with transporters," the waitress arrived with the water and the coffee, and Rita paused to drop the arm from her eyes and snatch up the coffee. Bringing it toward her core as her shoulders narrowed and she hunched toward the life-giving drink of her people. Closing her eyes, the displaced damsel inhaled deeply of the scent, then sipped it. Followed by a few gulps of the coffee, draining the cup. Grabbing the ice water smoothly the lovely lieutenant chugged it down in a number of long gulps, then set the water glass back down on the table with a musical clinking of the ice cubes. When she spoke, she sounded reasonably sober.

"Ionization causes transporters to behave in a number of ways that are not well understood. Apparently, according to some variance in my quantum field, I also interfere with that operation in that I can be rendered a transphasic entity. I spent 4 years, 7 months, two days as an immaterial ghost." Sam started to speak up to redirect the conversation, but Rita was still talking anyway.

"I haunted the Constitution for her five year mission. The mission I was supposed to go on, chief helmsman. It was gonna be the adventure of a lifetime, it was going to make my career, I'd finally get the chance to prove myself. But, ah, that wasn't how it went." Paris waved the empty coffee cup for a refil. "Dear old dad, had some jackass mercenary sabotage the transporter, 'just to scare me'. That's what he said at his court-martial, according to the record. And I spent almost the entire mission not being able to sleep, eat, touch anything or be touched. I was attached to the warp field, and sustained by it. Was kind of a living hell."

Looking around, Rita realized that diners at nearby tables were listening as well , so she bought the mood up a bit. "But they figured out how to put me back together back then, and they did it here in no time. Not even sure how long I was aboard. It's all kinda hazy when I'm beamed apart. No pain, on the bright side. I barely remember being in Engineering, I think that was the first time I had it together enough to read a panel. I had no idea where I was."

"Glad you asked, Sam?" Rita grinned at him, having gone from hungover to haunted to happy again in one monologue, even as her bacon arrived. "I'm not classified, just a chronodimensional footnote in history."

"You're not a 'footnote', Rita. You're a member of the family that is the starship Hera, and you're important to us," her Andorian friend replied between her mouthfuls of her food.

As he finished his breakfast and turned up the last of his apple juice, Sam pondered the rapidfire change in Rita's disposition, even as he replied, "Well, ah'm nevuh sorreh t'ask about a lady's well-bein', Miss Ritah. Ah reckon y'all got it figyuh'd out well-enough t'keep yuh heah, instead've floatin' 'round th'cosmos like some sorta cosmic Dutchman." He stood, and bowed slightly to both of his new crewmates.

"Ah'll take mah leave of y'all, if'n y'don't mind. Reckon ah've got a whole heap uh'stuff t'git in place, if'n ah'm gonna be ready fer mah first day." The dapper tinkering soldier-spy tipped his hat to them, and with a smile like a phaser bolt, he was off.

"He seems nice for a spy... but that mustache..." Paris chuckled after the Missourian had departed.

Thex smiled at her friend as she paused from her food. " He sure does doesn't he. He's going to be interesting to work with." She said before she changed the subjected to a joke to take her friend's mind of her glumness.

"So a human, an Andorian and a walrus walk into a bar..."

With the conclusion of shore leave rapidly approaching, Rita Paris figured it was time to check in with the resident out-of-the-box scientist who was working on sending her communicator home, to see how things were progressing. Tapping the comm badge on her left breast which reproduced the antique Starfleet command insignia that her uniform bore, it chirruped cheerfully.

“Computer, please locate Crewman Dedjoy for me?” she asked the computer politely, as the anachronistic astronaut always did. Given that the ship’s computer was far smarter than she was and controlled practically everything onboard the starship, Rita gave it the deference that she would give any crew member. It might seem odd to the locals, but to Rita the ship was just another member of the crew. One that could decide to open an airlock and vent you to space. So buttering it up a little certainly wouldn’t hurt.

"Crewman Dedjoy is currently in the quantum miniaturization lab on E deck," replied the computer. "She is currently in a secure facility and unable to receive outside communication. Would you like me to relay a message for you?"

“We have a quantum miniaturization lab in the pod? Will wonders never cease,” Paris muttered to herself. “Yes please, computer. Relay to her that Lieutenant Paris would like to speak to her when she comes to a juncture in her work where she can afford an interruption, thank you.” Years of dating a scientist had taught Rita that you didn’t interrupt miracle workers, or you got lousy miracles.

"Sending message now." The computer chirruped a few times and went silent after a brief pause, it relayed a message back. "Reply is as follows. She will be available in about ten minutes if you'd like to join her in the pod."

“Always a pleasure to work with professionals. Thank you, computer. Please identify Crewman Dedjoy’s most often ordered meal?” Rita asked as she headed for the aft turbolift that granted access to the intel pod where the majority of the mad science of the Hera seemed to take place.

With a pleasant chirrup the computer complied. "Terran feline supplement forty seven and a side of miso soup and vegetable crackers is the most often requested meal by Crewman Dedjoy from her quarters. While eating with others, she often orders a Bolian tuna pate and vegetable cracker meal with miso soup."

“Thank you computer- glad I asked. Please identify the nearest public replicator I can access on my way to the quantum miniaturization lab on deck E, and replicate the Bolian tuna pate meal in that location,” Paris asked the computer as she stepped out of the turbolift on Deck E, checking her PaDD for directions to the lab.

"You're welcome. The nearest replicator is in lounge E-1 just ahead and to your left. The meal will be ready upon your arrival. Would you like a vegetarian option prepared as well?" The computer was a bit more compliant than usual and almost seemed to have a hint more than the normal emotionless tones to her reply this time.

As the computer solicitously offered, Rita’s stomach growled in response. As a workaholic herself, she was also prone to skipping meals. And it would likely be awkward for Dedjoy to eat with her just watching, she realized. “Good idea, computer. Please add an Andorian southern glacier salad, but with raspberry pecan dressing and add garlic Parmesan croutons. Thank you!” The lost navigator added cheerfully as she followed the computer’s directions to the lounge.

"Any time, Lieutenant Commander Paris," replied the computer, letting slip something the Captain was currently working on which slipped right past Rita. After all, she was accustomed to being addressed by the rank she’d held for the past three years before the Hera. Seldom did she identify herself by rank on the Hera, instead introducing herself by name only.

The pod was definitely from a different ship, as the walls were detailed not in the beige and gold of the rest of the ship, nor in the creams of the newer parts, but in silver, metallic white, and Federation blue. If Rita had seen the rest of the ship as a grim version of her future, this was downright dystopian sterile in many ways. On the flip side, the lounge looked like it had been transplanted from an NX class, but with modern amenities like replicators and holographic displays that were currently set to display the forward view of the ship as seen from the pod sensor arrays on one side, and open space on the other. The top of the saucer and the fortress was being passively scanned and several readouts were showing on the displays.

The Constitution-class chrononaut paused to take in the rather spectacular vista, a unique perspective on a starship. While she had seen plenty of locales inside the starship, actually seeing a real-time view of the broad, wide saucer section from above stopped the sailor of the stars in her tracks. Stepping to the fore, she felt that odd connection she made with starships. Her entire life had been spent trying to get assigned to one, literally a part of them, or serving on them. As a pilot she felt a kinship, a bond with the vessels she flew to accomplish the impossible. As she stared out the holographic representation of a viewport, Rita Paris felt that familiar stirring in her heart.

While she was so very much bigger than the anachronistic astronaut was accustomed to, and configured so very differently, the Hera was a beautiful starship design. It was striking to her eye that the hull was so dark- a purple-green dark pearlescence, far from the duranium dove grey hulls of the starships of her era. To Rita's eye it looked like a negative image of the starships of her day- another score for the dark side, it seemed. Rita was sure the reason wasn't so the ship was practically impossible to spot, clearly it was because to full spectrum lighting it glowed like a choir of angels.

Beyond her coloration, she had bold, graceful lines, yet clearly the underlying engineering was sturdy, with so many lights and that groove running ... Is that a track all the way round the saucer for the phasers? There's probably another one underneath- that's brilliant! Rita had forced herself not to review the ship's armory since the flight control no longer manned the shields and ship's weaponry, and it would make her sad to know what she was missing out on. The letters stamped on the hull proudly declared her to the universe in the surprisingly narrow patch of triangular light on her hull that was apparently the only light on out there. Still, Rita reached one hand up to touch the transparent aluminum that wasn’t there, but the bulkhead served in its stead, the hologram serving the same purpose.

It hadn’t taken long, but Rita Paris had fallen in love again.

“Hello, big girl,” the pretty pilot muttered to herself. “Ain’t you just a black beauty?”

Ila had come in while Rita was entranced and stepped up next to her. "She really is, isn't she? I was going to go for a walk outside later, if you'd like to join me."

Paris jumped a bit at the unexpected sound of the voice of her shipmate, but recovered quickly. “That she is,” Rita said wistfully as she nodded. “And if you’re talking outer hull EVA, I would absolutely love to. There’s something about seeing her from the outside like that... because she’s like a city in space, it’s easy to forget that she’s a starship. But standing on the hull, you realize how tiny and vulnerable we really are, and how she protects us from the void.”

Turning with a rueful smile, the poetic pilot chuckled. “Sorry, I probably sound a little crazy, I know. I just... I love starships. Have for as long as I can remember. On the Constitution, I used to sit on the hull, forward of the bridge and just watch the stars slide by. It was the only good part of that assignment.”

Ila chuckled softly. "Ah, no, I know what you mean. I'm originally a geologist by trade - it's how I earned my name - but seeing a ship like this from the outside... There's just something about it. My last command, we had an android that would go outside without an EV suit now and then just to see it crystal clear without the helmet. I think it was sort of a religious experience for her."

“It really is,” the former ghost agreed, her mind wandering back to those memories.

Ila then turned towards the replicators, her large doll-like eyes dilating. "Is that tuna I smell?"

“Yes!” Rita snapped to, returning to the moment and why she had chased the science crewman down in the first place. “I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help you with the big experiment of sending my communicator back along my chronodimensional trajectory. And since I used to... date a scientist, I know you technical types tend to get caught up in your work and forget to eat. So, we multitask!” Rita gestured to one of the tables, and moved to retrieve the trays from the replicator, which were exactly what she’d ordered, of course.

"I knew I forgot something..." Ila replied as she took a seat, realizing that the meal was the one she normally ate in public. "Ah, the computer told you what I eat?" she asked, pausing with her large unblinking eyes fixed on Rita.

“Well, yeah... to be fair, I asked.” The statuesque spacegirl shrugged slightly as she set the trays on the table. “I don’t know you at all, and I didn’t want to interrupt you and nag you to eat, then bring you something you couldn’t eat. That would be doubly rude. I hope you don’t mind?” Paris asked as she sat down, smoothing her skirt beneath her as she did, an unconscious habit from a lifetime in skirts.

"Ah... Ok... Did it mention... No, nevermind. Thank you." Ila didn't want to know anyway. She just picked up her fork and started smearing the pate on one of the crackers. "Sorry, I'm normally a private person so I don't often dine with others. Would you rather engage in interpersonal conversation or discuss the trans-chrono-dimensional displacement of your communicator?"

“Oh! I apologize, I didn’t mean to be invasive or rude,” Paris backpedalled. “I could come back when you’re done. I don’t- I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about you or your race, and I meant no disrespect.”

"No, please, eat with me. I'm not Kreetassan - I'm not easily offended. In fact, I enjoy experiencing new things." Ila insisted Rita stay. "As for knowing me and my race, this is a good time to learn. I'd like to learn about you as well."

While she didn’t know what a Kreetassan was, Paris took Dedjoy at face value and stayed put, picking up her fork and poking at her salad. “Well, okay. I’m Rita Paris. You kind of reconstituted me when I got here- thank you very much for saving my life, by the way. So you know all about me and my time and transporter troubles. I’m a human- just the plain garden variety version, from Earth, the homeworld of my people. Home of Starfleet Command and Starfleet Academy? I grew up in San Francisco and I’m a legacy- there’s been a Paris in Starfleet since the beginning of Starfleet. So how about you?” Rita speared some salad and starts eating ship she listened. Does she never blink? the golden girl wondered.

The doll faced woman slowly blinked both sets of eyelids as she digested this information, chewing on one of her pate coated crackers. "I'm sorry, I've met very few humans, so I have little basis of comparison. As for me, my people live normal, often inherited lives. We have to do something out of the ordinary to earn a given name. I come from a long line of Dedjoy farmer's wives so I decided to break with tradition and join Starfleet as a geologist. I earned the name Ila during a geological survey when we discovered a new form of black crystal that's now being experimented with in data storage. I'm now being cross utilized as the Captain's personal researcher for everything in the pod, and I report to Science and Intel."

“That's impressive for a geologist,” Paris exclaimed. Stopping to consider, she honestly hadn’t realized how cosmopolitan the universe had become, where the human girl was an exotic unknown commodity on a Federation starship. She paused for a few, poking at her salad before laughing musically. “I just spent a moment trying to figure out how to describe humanity, but I found myself at a bit of a loss. No first contact missions for me until I figure out how to describe my species and culture beyond the mission of Starfleet and the UFP,” Rita admitted. “How about you, what planet are you from? What’s your race?”

"I'm Illaran." Ila stated simply as if it were a matter of course. "Ah... Umm... The planet is Ilara. I was named after it because my discovery is one that we hope brings more peace to the galaxy and as a generally pacifist people, it's a great honor." Giggling softly, Ila couldn't help but think about something else. "Though the last time I played music, I was accused of violently assaulting someone's senses."

“You are a musician? What do you play?” Rita inquired, stuffing another bite of salad into her mouth and crunching into a couple of croutons. Internally she resolved to at least look up Illarans after this.

"The mortepuss*," Ila replied, munching on another pate coated cracker. "It's..." She pulled a PaDD out of her pocket and tapped at it for a few moments to pull up a picture and a description that Rita could relate to. "I'm quite good at it."

Chewing slowly as she contemplated what that might sound like, Paris nodded. Swallowing, she changed course. “So about this transdimensional chronal displacement experiment of yours...?” she asked, hoping the humor would carry it.

"Yes..." Ila cleared her mouth with a sip of her soup. "The specialized transporter, in theory, could transport the entire ship to your time and dimension. However there are a few parts from the original system missing - we don't have the power matrix, the particle generator, or the protection system. As it stands, with the nav guide, I think I could send as much as half a person to your dimension safely. Three people anywhere in ours. If I tried sending the whole ship without the protection system, the whole crew would turn into inverted chunky salsa as we passed through the plane of the fifth dimension."

The horrified helmsman slowly stopped chewing as the geologist explained, remembering what had happened to the Sonak of this reality. Swallowing with effort, she slid her mostly uneaten salad to the side. “Okay, so check, we don’t want to use it on anything big. But good to know what it can do for future reference. Early on the captain mentioned something about a power requirement? We’ll be tapping the fortress’ power supply to augment the Hera’s?”

"Right. The power systems on the Hera aren't right for the particle generator we do have, so it takes ages to produce enough to transport three people a short distance. The systems on the fortress, however, are close enough to what we need, so I've adapted them. In the two weeks we're here, we'll have a full supply of particles, and we'll have no problem transporting your communicator from that angle. We'll also need to power the system for an extended amount of time, which is where the power requirement comes in. In universe without jumping time, the transport is instant. Crossing thresholds takes more time as we navigate further from our current chrono-dimensional position. It will take about thirteen times as much antimatter as we carry aboard the Hera and about seven minutes. That power requirement seems to be almost the same, whether we send a communicator or a shuttle though." Ila poked another pate cracker into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, not really realizing that she'd been expositing so much. She was lost in thought on the matter, running through the numbers once again in her head, her eyes almost glazed over in concentration as she slowly ate.

“Wait, if you could send a shuttle, then...” Paris spoke up enthusiastically, then she recalls the earlier point. “Oh, right. Safely send half a person. The rest would be... not safe. Right.” The extradimensional explorer folded her hands on the table before her and tried unsuccessfully to hide her disappointment, which just demonstrated how easy it was to get her hopes up. Instead, as per usual, she changed course. “So when do we make the attempt?”

"We'll have enough particles built up in another hour." Ila looked over at Rita again and smiled with her porcelain doll mouth. An act that she was obviously unskilled at but attempted for Rita's sake. "Don't worry, I'll be able to monitor the other end and make sure it all goes well. You have a message recorded already?"

“I... I don’t. I’ve been thinking of what to say. It’ll be... I mean, it is my final report to my old command, and it’s... I have to say goodbye to my captain and ask for a transfer, but I have to say goodbye to my One. We were... together, you know? I don't know what mating is like where you come from, but he was...” Paris struggled to contain her emotions and was determined not to cry. “He was kind of the center of my life. He was the one who beamed me out, and at least he’ll know that I’m not dead, that the transporter accident didn't kill me. And he’ll know where and when I am.”’ Paris looked up to the large-eyed alien woman, her own eyes pleading.

“We can give him accurate coordinates, right? I mean, if he knows where to find me, then... then there’s a chance, right?” There was a pleading note to the woman’s voice that sounded to Ila’s ear almost exactly the same as the night she had arrived, when she had asked if the experimental Section 31 transporter could send her home. It carried within it yearning, heartbreak and homesickness the likes of which was usually heard from a lost child, not a Starfleet officer.

Ila leaned back in her chair and slid the rest of her meal aside as well. She knew that look well from the mirror. Her eyes softened as she spoke. "You remind me of when I lost my twin sister. I was transferred to the ship she was assigned on, to try and help her earn her name. But during that transfer, she was killed during an away mission. Shortly after that, the one that led the away mission and I were transferred to the Hera. I don't know what you should tell them... But the things I wish I could tell my sister..." She stared down at the table for a few before looking back up at Rita. "I'll make sure our location is embedded, but it'll be up to them to make anything of it."

As usual, she didn’t know if she was violating a cultural taboo, but Rita reached a hand across the table to take Dedjoy’s pale hand in her own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry to hear about your sister. I can’t imagine what that was like for you.” Pausing to collect herself, the gold-clad cosmonaut of another age inhaled sharply. “I’ll make it a good message, I promise. You just give them the chronospatial coordinates. Sonak will come for me if he has even a clue of where I am, and that I’m alive. If it's possible...” Paris didn’t necessarily sound convinced so much as hopeful.

Ila squeezed back gingerly. It was a foreign but not unwelcome touch - one that she had not felt in a long time, and was similar to her sister's. "Thank you. I hope your Sonak does figure out where you are, for your sake.”

“Yeah,” Paris choked out, then her brows furrowed and her lips curled inward as she steeled herself. “Well. I should get to, ah, recording that message and find a tag for it, maybe engrave the back of it so they’ll take it seriously, or in case it lands a bit off target. Not questioning your skills,” the anachronistic astronaut added with a squeeze of Dedjoy’s hand before releasing it. “I just have an innate distrust of transporters. You understand.”

Dedjoy nodded. "I think after what you've been through, anyone would be. Good luck, Ma'am. If you need any help, I'll probably be somewhere on this deck for a few days."

"Oh... wait, I thought you said you would be ready in an hour, did I misunderstand?" Paris rolled her eyes and sighed, then hung her head.

"Oh no, I'll be ready. I just practically live up here now." The doll faced woman chuckled softly as she reached out and rubbed Rita's shoulder lightly.

"Then let's do this. I'll get my report recorded and the communicator prepped while you gather particles. Is this dangerous? Do we need authorization or supervision from a superior officer here for this? And do we have an LZ prepared if the Exeter sends a rescue party?" There was a plan, and there were steps that occurred to her to help make that plan happen. And in that moment Rita Paris came alive, and suddenly started sounding a whole lot more like a Starfleet officer.

Ila nodded, having planned for at least part of this. "I'll be monitoring their timestream for a while so I should know if there's a breach of the dimensional barrier. I've run everything I can think of and the system ran some things I didn't, so it should all be safe enough. As for an LZ, that's the chrono-dimensional coordinates in general. The specific point in space is a bit trickier and is up to them, though with any luck they'll be on the Hera at least."

"Navigational coordinates I can supply, that part's easy," Paris responded. "All right Ms. Dedjoy- let's make some science. Mess with the timeline, just not local history, but the history of a timeline created when it was interfered with from this reality- theoretically?" The blonde bombardier shook her head. "I don't know and we don't have to care. This is a joint Starfleet exercise, authorized communication between Starfleet vessels. Let's change history!"

"Actually, the incursion was from timeline gamma two nine alpha according to the system... We're gamma two nine theta. But yes, a lot of things went wrong with the timeline centered around the destruction of Hobus. That's when your subset of timelines and dimensions was created I think, which is how you ended up in our timeline rather than your own. Our timelines and universe subsets are intertwined." Standing, Dedjoy made a fist and shook it in the air. "And for science we're going to do some meizengatz and see what happens."

“Okay, now normally this is where I just shake my head and nod along because I’m lost,” Paris countered. "But in this case, the Hobus supernova theoretically happened in 2387- timelines diverging from there we would barely have encountered at this point in history. Spock, Nero and the Nerada traveled back to 2233 to encounter the Kelvin, and that seems to be where the split in the timelines which created alternate parallels… right?” She might never have taken a quantum temporal mechanics class, but Paris knew her own timeline’s history, and some of the classified details that she’d had time to compare to the timeline in which she currently dwelled.

Ila calmed back down and nodded. "The Hobus system did have issues and Ambassador Spock did go to prevent a supernova... The rest of what happened is very classified though. I suspect that ours is a modified version of the original timeline as Ambassador Spock, his ship, the Nerada, and their crew are all missing and the Hobus system is now off limits. Plus the nav system shows several temporal anomalies in that area and a couple others, including one some days ago around a small yellow star that I can't determine the purpose of."

"Mysteries of the multiverse, Miss Dedjoy. While I'd love to go home, I don't know if poking around the nexus point of a number of divergent realities is a good idea. See, I say that now, and six months from now look where I'm steering the ship, yay." Paris raised her hands and waved them in mock celebration. "All right Miss Dedjoy. I've enjoyed getting to know you. I've missed hanging out with scientists. I vastly appreciate the trick you are going to pull with spacetime, but I need a few moments alone to compose my thoughts and record my message, if you don't mind?"

"Indeed, I'll be in the labs if you need me. This break room should be empty all day if you want to use it. If you'll excuse me, ma'am." With a nod, Ila turned and took her tray back to the replicator before heading back out to continue working on whatever she was before.

----------

An hour later, the comm in the lab chirruped. "Incoming message from Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris. I am ready if you are."

"Ah, yes, I'm ready as well. Meet me at the S31 transporter. I'll be right there." Ila had just finished with her current round of samples so she locked up the lab systems and headed out as well.

As the extradimensional explorer approached the door of the experimental Section 31 transporter, she remembered the night a few months earlier. When the device behind it had reassembled her soon after her arrival on the USS Hera. The one with one shiny red button on the console. Rita's mouth was dry, her hands were clammy and sweaty as she clutched her old school communicator.

The neurotic navigator began to pace outside the door. Partially because she was walking away from it, then forcing herself to go back. The brassy blonde bombshell's heart was hammering in her chest- recording her message had gotten her all churned up inside, and she would swear she could feel the damned thing in there. Every time she got close to the door, the hairs on her arm began to rise, as if leaning toward the device.

"I hate transporters!" she hissed, trying to shake it off.

Ila just barely caught that as she rounded the corridor. "That's fine, because this is more of a translocation device using interspatial tubes between dimensions." Aligning herself with the door, she punched in the access code, unlocking it so it would open. She then motioned for Rita to enter. "And I promise you're not going to be translocated."

"Easy for you to say," Paris muttered. "Okay, so, I put a tag on it for external instructions and I pulled the main battery. The backup battery will hold the message and the coordinates for like a year, so that removed the bulk of the weight. I figured that would help?"

"Hmm... I'll have to run a few calculations again, but it might. I have the coordinates from the Captain as well. It'll only take a moment to tack them on." Since Rita wasn't making any motions to enter first, Ila decided to go inside the sterile white room first instead. She headed to the main console and popped open the set of tools, pulling out a data spanner and testing it with a click. "Computer, rerun simulation seventy nine beta three. Remove main battery from simulation."

A deep male British computer voice spoke, unlike the main computer's across the rest of the ship. "Running. Systems check nominal. Standby."

"Ooh! Is that the AI for this system?" Rita asked, poking slowly into the room, somewhat distracted by the computer voice, still clutching her communicator tightly.

"Yeah, the pod labs have their own separate computer systems. He's a bit much at times but..." Ila was interrupted by the report from the computer.

"Simulation complete. Probability of success is now ninety seven point three percent. Estimated time of translocation is six minutes forty seconds. Particle consumption differential marginal." It then paused for a moment. "I do my best to anticipate the needs of those in the labs I'm designed to oversee, just as I'm programmed. If you have issue with that, I suggest you reprogram me."

"Yeah... The main ship's computer is a VI... Virtual Intelligence. This one is an actual AI..." Ila added, her unblinking eyes fixed on Rita and her empty hand stretched out for the communicator. "Your comm unit please?"

The old black and gold clamshell communicator was a link to the time-tossed officer's past, one of the only things that had made it through with her. She hadn't fed it to the replicator like her uniform- this was the original, the one and only. And now she was going to try skipping it like a stone between time and dimensions to arrive where she was supposed to have landed, according to the information contained and interpreted from her beam.

"Report in for me one more time, okay?" Rita choked out as she kissed the communicator. Seeing Dejoy eyeing her, she shrugged as she handed it over. "For luck."

Ila reached into her pocket, pulled out a smooth stone, kissed it, and set it on the work surface. "For luck."

Then the computer chimed in again, unbidden. "I'm all the luck you need, ladies."

Ila rolled her eyes so hard, it looked like they were going to pop out of her head. She then set about installing the temporal and dimensional quantum coordinates just as Enalia had instructed her to. "And there. That should do it."

"What's your name, lucky fella?" Rita asked the ceiling.

"My designation is XJX-233A. May I ask what your name is?" the computer replied.

"Of course. I'm Lieutenant Rita Paris, the chief helmsman of the starship Hera," the polite pilot introduced herself. "I think I'm going to call you 'Lucky'- is that okay with you?"

"That designation is acceptable. Thank you, Rita Paris." The computer sounded almost suave as he was speaking now.

"Forever more... He'll be even more incorrigible now..." Ila set the communicator inside the transport booth and sealed it inside before heading back to the control systems. "Let's see if we can work some magic then. Computer, start the nav sequence."

The computer snapped back to systems mode instantly. "Running. Systems check nominal. Nav system connected. Fifth dimensional path encapsulated. Resolution at one hundred seventeen percent. Ready for injection."

Ila stepped back and motioned towards the big red button. "Would you care to do the honors, Ma'am?"

"C'mon, how about it, universe..." Rita Paris placed her hands over one another on the shiny red button, closing her eyes and gnawing at her lower lip. "How about you give me a break just once."

With that, Paris jammed the button down and cracked open an eye warily and nervously.

The chamber filled with particles and turned a shimmering, sparkling mess right before a flash of light and it was all gone. No particles and no communicator. The computer then reported. "Translocation transmission success. Please stand by for end result report in six minutes thirty seconds."

Ila was busy tapping up readouts on the monitors on the wall panels behind them. One already had hazy images of the transporter room of the Exeter and another had a sort of organic looking series of interspatial tubes with a bright point on one of them moving along it. That tube was also highlighted. "The first simulation was off by a few months, but the last few worked out to within a few minutes and a few inches above the transport platform. With any luck at all..."

The small communicator appeared on the transporter, and the image winked out. Paris looked up to make eye contact with Dedjoy, and she broke out in a ragged smile. "So, that was that. Now I see if anybody shows up."

"Translocation successful to within nine nine point nine nine seven percent tolerances. Particle supply depleted," the computer reported.

"If you want to stick around for a while, I'll need to write up a report for the Captain." Ila pulled a PaDD out of her pocket and held it up. "I'm sure she'll want to know that things went just how she expected them to."

"Yes... if you don't mind, I'd like to wait and.... y'know, see if anyone shows up." It sounded ridiculous to her even as she said it, but Rita couldn't help it. She just knew someone was going to show up. "Say, Crewman Dedjoy?"

"Yeah?" Ila responded, half-turning.

"Thank you. You saved my life, when you put me back together. This was probably just me sending my final report to my old command, but... it means at the very least that my guy will know he didn't kill me. If that's all it does, that would be a lot. And they might just surprise us and come after me... right?" There was a pleading note in that last statement that begged for the displaced damsel not to be contradicted.

"Ma'am, I..." Ila stared for what seemed a full minute, not sure what to say before looking down at her PaDD with a frown and a blink. "Times like this I almost wish I had stayed a rock farmer..." She then took a deep breath and moved in close to Rita, giving her an awkward hug. "Please accept this generic comforting in place of me not knowing what to say. There there. Everything will be okay."

“Thank you," Paris returned the hug with a few pats on the back, actually reassured by it before releasing Ila. "Please extend my thanks to the captain in your report, Crewman Dedjoy. You did some fine science here today, for science's sake." Rita somehow doubted her ancient native pop culture reference would score with the alien from another world and culture, but she resolved to have Dedjoy over for movie night to see Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. Then she resolved to start having a movie night and inviting people to see the classic tales of her world.

By the time she looked up, Crewman Dedjoy and her lucky rock, which had worked quite well, were gone. Rita began to pace as she waited.

Minutes became an hour. One hour became two. Hours slipped by as Paris waited, determined to be there when her rescue arrived, or a return message or... something. Something would happen.

At the twelve hour mark, the AI she had nicknamed 'Lucky' recommended that she return to quarters and get some food and rest, but she refused. Someone would come. Something would happen. They knew where she was now, so they could find her.

Sonak would come for her, she knew it. He wouldn't let her down- he never had. He would find a way and he would come and bring her home, although in those hours alone waiting, she had time to review her life aboard the Hera, and it wasn't bad at all, she had to admit. Save for one small detail.

Still she missed her Vulcan, her rock, the center of her universe.

Her t'hy'la. Her One.


He would come for her.


* * * * * *

During the sixteenth hour, after the AI had been forced to wake her for the third time, Lucky convinced her that he would contact her immediately the moment any sort of contact was made if she would just return to her quarters and get some sleep. Reluctantly she complied, but only after making the AI promise, and insuring that the artificial intelligence understood that a promise to a shipmate was an unbreakable compact.

While Lucky remained vigilant, no contact was ever reported.







*Mortepuss - the bellows of bagpipes, controls of an accordion, and electronics of a theremin in one horrific nightmare of an instrument that sounds vaguely reminiscent of the death howls of a demon cat.

The security team had gone down in the shuttlecraft 'Maryanne' and 'The Professor', and had dug Commander Sonak out of the fallen research compound. He had thrown himself under a support beam when it fell, so he survived the earthquakes long enough for the rescue party to dig him out with phasers, prybars and muscle. Barely conscious, he demanded a communicator, then called to be beamed back to the Exeter. Chief Fingerman complied, and once back aboard, the commander took over the transporter controls, feverishly seeking the lost signal of the second officer. The transporter chief stood back and let the scientist work, until the Captain arrived to clasp his Vulcan friend on the shoulder.

"There's something you need to hear, Sonak," Captain Michael Stuart explained, holding up a communicator.

When the Vulcan spoke, his tone was calm but there was an underlying urgency to be detected. "Captain, the more time that passes the more the odds of recovery dwindle. I must-"

"Mister Sonak!" the captain snapped, and Sonak stopped at the sharp conversational turn. "You're coming with me, now, to Paris' office. Move it, mister!" The captain turned on his heel and marched out of the transporter room, and an order was an order.

Sonak knew without a doubt that Rita Helena Paris was not aboard the USS Exeter, for they were t'hy'la. He could sense her thoughts the range of the starship that was their home, and when she was imperiled, he knew from as far away as orbit, 1000 kilometers above the planet. She had pursued him and they had committed- she was his One. But she was not here on the Exeter, nor had he felt her on the planet below. So the captain's choices were puzzling to him, but he suspected all would be revealed in the course of a linear existence.

They walked in silence, as was the turbolift ride. Stepping out onto deck 3, the captain made the fast turn to the conference room he had allowed to be used as the chief helmsman and navigator's office, given that the woman did both those jobs as well as Second Officer. The door whisked open efficiently, and the duo were greeted with the organized chaos of their hardworking junior executive's life. The conference table buried under flimsies and PaDDs and alien bric-a-brac, the walls adorned with images of starships modern and old, and of admirals and captains current and historic. It was clean, and in a perpetual state of a return to that state, but messy. It clearly demonstrated the favoritism that Stuart showed their leggy blonde sidekick, because nowhere else in the fleet could Rita Paris' office pass inspection.

Gesturing to one of the empty seats opposite the desk, Sonak sat down in one as Stuart sat in the other. The chair behind the desk was empty, which made Stuart choke up a bit at the symbolism. Handing the communicator to Sonak, he turned it over so the somber scientist could read the inscription on the back.

LTCDR Rita Paris
Year 2395
Prime 1 Universe

"Rita," the handsome captain began, then he faltered a bit, bringing his fist up to place his knuckle against his lip. "Rita didn't rematerialize, Sonak. But this showed up a few seconds later, on the transporter pad where she was supposed to be. Just this. It had a tag to play the message recorded on it. I've listened to part of it, but.... well, you'd probably better hear it for yourself."

The curiosity over the situation was palpable, but Sonak was calm. He was, after all, kolinahr- the last of his line. Adjusting the controls, he tuned the device, then placed it on an empty spot on the conference table that served as the second officer's desk. Tabbing the playback key, he cocked an ear to listen.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris, of the starship USS Exeter, NCC 1706. If you have somehow received this message and you are not aboard the starship Exeter, please turn this communicator with this message over to them via Starfleet Command.” There was a heartbeat pause, then, “Assuming this message arrived where and when it was supposed to, Lieutenant Commander Paris reporting, sirs."

It was her voice- Sonak's finely-tuned ears would know a variance, a subtlety lost in reproduction or manipulation. But this was his subordinate, who had not rematerialized from whence he beamed her. This was Rita Paris, who accepted all his limitations and alienness and freely shared with him her human passions without ever complaining over his own lack of them. Which was something he had never thought a human female could have accomplished- another lesson for him about the infinite diversity in infinite combinations his people were so proud of having as a philosophy.

"So apparently I hit the triple word score for transporter accidents, sirs. I'm alive, and living in the year 2395, in a universe like the one Nero came from, but apparently Romulus is intact here. They said they call theirs the Prime Universe, but that’s what the universe Nero was from was called. So as a variant I’m officially naming this dimension Prime 1 Universe. So there's that."

"There’s a lot that I can't tell you about the future. Not that it would matter if I did, because it isn't your future. Different dimension, different evolution of technological advancement according to need and ability. But future technologies and such... they were working on a communicator that looked and scanned like mine that would be two way, but I felt this was the right way to go. It would be great to be able to talk to home, it would, because I miss the ship and the bridge and you guys." Paris' voice wound up a bit there, and when she spoke next, there was more than a hint of a plaintive wail to her tone. "But I’m really marooned, sirs. So this is my message in a bottle... we're trying to send you my communicator, with my last report back to my c-command."

At this, there was a bit of a squeak, a choke and a sniffle. When the casual report continued, the young woman's voice was considerably less steady.

"I'm on a starship, a very customized Starfleet vessel of the period. The USS Hera. Captain Telvan and a few of the scientists onboard are the ones worked out how to send this to you. This communicator has the spatial, dimensional and chronal coordinates for where I am, today, right now- well, right after I finish recording this. If you can ever work out how to come get me, this is where I am. I gave you a chronospatial map with a tiny little blip of an X on it. I don't know how you can breach dimensions and control the outcome nor travel in time- well, actually I learned a little about BUT never mind, just..."

"Captain, Commander? If this works and you figure out how to find me, you'll be there right after we send you this communicator. Assuming you hit the timespace dimensional mark. But if you aren't there when I walk out of here, it's, y’know, okay. It's ruh-really okay. I know you did your best. Captain Stuart, I'm going to have to request a, uh, a transfer to the USS Hera, NCC-79010, sir.”

“Commander Sonak? You did everything you could to save me, I know you did. And you did save me- you beamed me across a dimension and into the future, but you saved me- I'm okay. I've made a few friends, and I have my job, and I'm still in Starfleet, so it's... okay."

There was a pause, then Paris' voice returned, squeaky and high.

"Captain, that's my report. With your indulgence, if you wouldn't mind, could I please have a word alone with the Commander? Call it a last- uh, call it a transfer request. Oh, and if I don't make it back, please take my autographed picture of Admiral Archer. I want you to have it, to remember those who went before. Thank you sir- it has buh-been an honor serving with you."

A long pause began then, and Michael Stuart found it difficult to see through the tears. But they'd get her back. Paris was a clever girl- she had figured out how to get them her coordinates, then he would by god get her back onboard, safe and sound. He made himself that promise in that moment, leaving her office that he would eventually order packed up and recycled.

The autographed portrait of one of the great founders of Starfleet, the last gift Michael Stuart would receive from a missing in action shipmate would hang in his ready room, then his admiral’s office, then his study in his retirement. In time he would pass it to his son, along with the story of little 8 year old Rita Paris boldly declaring to Admiral Archer himself that someday she was going to be a starship captain, too. Apparently the old man had laughed, then autographed his official Starfeet portrait 'To Captain Rita Paris”.

“Thank you sir- it has been an honor serving with you.”

They were the last words the Starfleet siren would ever say to him. Often in the future, the admiral would repeat the message, thinking of his lost navigator- his conscience, his pilot, his friend.





As Sonak waited patiently, the pause ended when the one way message asked, "Is he gone?"

Simulating the conversation, as it could possibly be their last, though nonsensical, he felt somehow appropriate. "The Captain is gone. You may proceed, Miss Paris."

There was a sharp intake of breath, then a heavy sigh. "I think I'm really stuck here, Sonak. They managed to put me back together and figured out my point of origin, but the power required to do something like ship me back is astronomical, even for these power systems. Just sending my communicator home will be a huge undertaking. I'd include the notes and schematics on how we'll do that, but apparently someday they come up with temporal accords that say we shouldn't pollute the timestream like that. So hooray, I have access to incredible technologies but I can’t tell you about them because we’d be polluting the timestream. I wish I could help more, but you have to work this out on your own."

“The polluting effect has already occured twice; with your disappearance from our timestream, and your appearance in this other timestream,” Sonak stated dryly out loud. “If such a temporal prime directive is to be followed, your absence here and your presence there are obviously both anomalies and correction is mandatory. There are two possibilities; either their reasoning is faulty… or there is an agenda at work here. In this latter option, it is an agenda I am not bound to follow.”

As the Vulcan first officer spoke, the recording said nothing, as if the appropriate response time was somehow intuited. When he was through, the recording of Rita spoke up again.

"Beyond all of that... I miss you, Sonak. I miss hearing you and feeling you and laughing with you, well not with but... I miss you." There was a pause there where he knew that statistically she was most likely making her 'too ugly crying to talk' face. "I'll miss you for the rest of my life, for however long I live. You are the perfect man for me, and I love you. Please, if you can't rescue me, it's all right. You are a great man of your people, and they need you. Stop chasing around the galaxy and go help your people, lead them to new philosophies, and help them embrace a new way of life amongst the stars."

"Uh, unless you CAN rescue me, then we're totally staying in Starfleet. Like, you know, keep at it as a hobby, just don't let it become your sole obsession." At that, Rita barked a laugh. "What might very well be my last message to you, and I can't even get that right.”

“There are always… possibilities,” he simply said, eyes afar.

Another pause, and when she spoke next, she had leaned in closer, as was evident by the slightly increased volume of her voice. Most likely the communicator was sitting on a desktop, and she had folded her hands to rest her chin upon them.

"I have always believed in you, Sonak of Vulcan, last of the kolinahr. I trust you- I always have. Those were the last words I ever spoke to you, and I still mean them. If it can be done with modern science, you will find a way, and I will see you again. It's been two months now, and it still hurts... it hurts a lot. But if you aren’t there when I walk out of here, then I will have to learn to live without you. I will, because I can’t spend the rest of my life hoping for rescue. I'll remember your lessons and how much you believed in me."

"I'll always carry that part of you within me, just as a part of me will always be with you. Your katra is strong, and I will remember you, always."

"Peace and long life Sonak, my love." Then there was a choked sob that followed that, then silence as the message ended.

Offering the traditional response to the Vulcan greeting as a greeting or parting was a social faux pas, one that had been a private joke between the two of them throughout their service together on the Exeter. Upon hearing it, he offered his usual response, "Live long and prosper, Rita Paris."

In each, the other had found someone unbelievably precious, and both counted themselves incredibly fortunate to have the other in their lives. He had grown accustomed now to the torrential flood of emotions that carried her thoughts to his own, like a tide bringing in crashing waves upon a reef. And just as a reef, he simply stood there and molded the flow over and around him just like the power of the tide molded him without ever dislodging him. In fact, he often conveyed this most alien image, as Vulcan had small and rather tame oceans compared to those of Earth, as a mind technique for her benefit.

Often people would draw strength from one another, and joined couples tended to support one another well. In their case it was rather a literal sharing, as he remembered Rita sharing her excitement of his promotion, soon to be taking command. Of her excitement over her own promotion, of how happy she was to be alone with him and free to express it. All of which filled him with vital, bracing exhilaration. Even as he shared his calm stoicism, logical perspective and the wisdom of ancient philosophies with her, calming her troubled mind. As they came together each was filled with optimism... the determination that life was an amazing and wonderful journey which together they shared.

The problems she had when she shared them with him were not gone, she was simply no longer anxious nor fixated upon them. The brutal tension that he carried almost unknowingly eased when he felt the touch of her mind and her body, as her fingers stroked his own in the ancient ritualistic fashion of his rare and scattered people. This was perhaps the greatest gift of their love for one another... the confidence that they could overcome any obstacles and circumstance together.

No longer together.

Less than an hour now she had been gone from his life, yet Rita Paris had already lived for two months in a distant future, in another dimension. Without him. Alone and afraid, wounded by his loss with no one to counsel her, he feared for her.

Without her, he realized the most important part of his life was gone.

In the same moment, he realized that he should do something about it.

Furthermore, he realized that he could do something about it.

In point of fact, he had a number of ideas about just how he would do something about it.

“Sir, confirming contact, nine hundred million kilometers bearing 313 mark 5.”

Admiral Stuart rushed from the turbolift door to his chair, eyes aimed at the screen as if he could already see beyond the whooshing star trails.

“Visual,” he barked without sitting down; “maximum magnification.”

The swirl of starlight shifted to the endtail of a most peculiar vessel. Teardrop shaped, it's trailing hull looked like tentacles revolving around its longitudinal axis as if this was some gigantic space jellyfish instead of a spacecraft. But the metallic reflective coating, the warp glow and the blinking nav lights plainly showed it's artificial nature despite it's organic design and it's unconventional motion.

“That's the stolen scoutship alright,” the helmsman grunted. “Would you look at that! Not another like it in the whole galaxy!”

“Not yet,” the woman at the science station answered cryptically.

Yet, everyone understood.

“Any answer to our hails?”

“None, Sir.” the communications officer sighed.

“But he heard us, whoever it is,” came a voice from tactical. “or at least he detected us on his tail. He's gone to warp 7.”

Stuart sat in his command chair and punched his armrest.

“Go to warp 8; overtake!”

Glances flew towards him but only the chief engineer voiced their concern.

“Sir... a sustained warp 8 will damage our engines; possibly beyond our capacity to repair.”

“Noted, engineer,” the commanding officer shot back curtly without even looking at his concerned face.

The helmsman didn't turn around but he too spoke with a tensing voice.

“Sir... this ship... it is beyond our current technology. She may be faster than we are.”

“She'll have to prove it.”

The hardness in Michael Stuart's voice was unmistakable. And to his crew, it was as clear as any lengthy explanation. The whine of the engines was almost painful to hear and a slight vibration reverberated under their feet, but he would not acknowledge any of it nor the anguished stares of his technical officers. He would not relent until the ship would.

Neither, it appeared, would their prey.

“Sir... the fugitive is now at warp 8.”

Michael refrained from barking at the tactical officer, and instead turned to the woman manning communications behind him.

“Ship to ship; I will speak directly to that maniac.”

She hesitated for a second then activated her console.

“Channel open, Sir.”

The admiral stared at the stern of the strange vessel as if he could lock eyes with whom he addressed in clipped, angry tones.

“This is the starship Exeter! You have illegitimately appropriated this scout vessel, violated all laws and orders of spaceflight and ignored all hails and warnings! By the authority of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, I order you to cut your engines off and stand down! You will comply in the next thirty seconds or we will open fire!”

He did not turn his head nor even blinked when he spoke next.

“Arm photon torpedoes!”

“Torpedoes armed, tubes one and two; target locked,” answered tactical grimly.

“Admiral; you are being personally hailed.”

Stuart looked straight at the comm station.

“Me?”

“Yes, Sir- by name.”

“On screen.”

On the image of the fleeing scout ship appeared the tridimensional representation of a stern pale face with long flowing dark hair, upswept eyebrows over steely grey eyes and an angular clean-shaven face as expressionless as a jade sculpture. The collar of a dark silky garment framed by strange silvery cursive symbols could be glimpsed below this severe countenance.

Everyone gasped, but only Michael found his voice.

“Captain Sonak!”

“Admiral Stuart,” acknowledged the Vulcan with a slight nod of his head. “You are well aware that I no longer hold that Starfleet rank. Even as we speak, you are sitting in what was once my chair.”

The deadpan reply cut off Stuart's breath for a good few seconds. Then he growled through clenched teeth, as if to refrain from bursting with swear words he knew in half a dozen alien languages.

“The Exeter was the only ship available that was fast enough and near enough to intercept that stolen vessel the moment it was reported. What's the meaning of this?”

“Admiral; please, cease and desist. My sensors indicate that your engines are overheating, and your hull is under excessive stress. This vessel I am piloting is capable of speeds well beyond warp 9. You will not be able to maintain pursuit. If you maintain this speed, you will needlessly risk your ship and crew.”

“Sonak! What in hell is going on? You stole that ship?”

“Incorrect, Admiral; this ship does not belong to anyone in this time and place. Therefore, I did not steal it.”

Now the expletives were heard before the admiral recovered his composure.

“Don't start your kolinahr logic master routine with me, Sonak! This ship was in the custody of Starfleet and belonged to Ambassador Spock!”

“Incorrect, Admiral; Ambassador Spock is the one who stole it.”

“Ambassador Spock is dead!” fumed Stuart, his face registering as much confusion now as anger. “This ship was keyed to his genetic code and no one since then was ever able to activate it.”

“Again, and quite obviously, this is incorrect, Admiral,” the Vulcan reiterated impassively.

Stuart blinked.

“Are you telling me Commander Spock is also involved in this?”

“Not directly nor willingly, Admiral. He is not aware that I obtained some of his genetic material on the Enterprise’s last visit to New Vulcan. Hot clay bowls of plomeek soup and cups of Vulcan tea collect sweat and skin samples crudely, but sufficiently well enough to be replicated... and utilized by someone with the proper scientific and technical expertise to fool genetic locks on controls.”

“And I suppose you mind-melded with him to learn how to operate this craft? I know for a fact that you alone among your people are able to do so without even touching someone.”

“Negative, Admiral; that would have aroused his suspicion, made him aware of my project and, as a Starfleet officer, it would have compelled him to oppose my plan. I could not involve him in this. But we did discuss many interesting theories and formulas about time and space and quantum physics. It gave me much to think about. And regardless, Commander Spock does not know more than the basic operations of this vessel. ”

“No one does,” flatly stated Stuart.

“Ambassador Spock did. As well as a great many other things.”

The commanding officer of the Exeter opened his mouth but not a sound was heard. He blinked then frowned.

“I know you are one of the most powerful psionicists of your people since the dawn of your race, but even you can't call back and speak with the dead, Sonak!”

“Unless this dead spirit has been properly preserved.”

Stuart blinked again.

“Ambassador Spock's... katra?”

“As the last kolinahr master, I was of course the one entrusted with it.”

The admiral rubbed his neck as if to chase off a budding headache.

“I’m not sure I ever bought all that Vulcan spiritual mumbo jumbo but… don't tell me he... or what's left of his... consciousness... his spirit... whatever... approves of what you intend to do?”

“Affirmative, Admiral; not all the reasons to be sure, but the need and the deed planned, yes.”

“And what are your intentions?”

At this moment, the tactical officer spoke with alarm in his voice.

“Sir! The Jellyfish's bearing brings it directly towards that star up ahead! It's already accelerating further under its gravitational pull!

“Sonak! Correct your heading! You are on a direct course with...”

“Negative Admiral,” interrupted Sonak; “Course plotted and laid in as planned. All calculations and computations have been considered, verified and validated. My journey leads me precisely to these coordinates... and this course of action. Please do not attempt to follow; even the Exeter, refitted with our current best technology as she is, will not be able to withstand the gravitational pull and direct contact with the radiation and energy output of a red supergiant.”

“He's right, Sir! exclaimed the chief engineer. “We already have microfractures all over the hull because of our sustained high warp! Our warp core is on the brink of a breach! And now even at this distance from this sun, we are registering increasing heat and radiation levels right through our shields!

“Sonak! Veer off! You’ll be killed!”

For the first time Stuart could recall, there was an expression on the jade mask of his former first officer's face. It was almost an expression of bittersweet resolution.

“There is nothing left to justify my existence in this time and space... a time and space that should never have been.”

The words stung Michael so hard he almost fell back in his chair.

“Sonak.... is this... is this because of her? Because of Rita?”

The last kolinahr master nodded imperceptibly. But Michael saw it plainly. Of all people, he knew.

“Sonak, Rita is gone; she's gone and you have to accept that! Gone! Not even in this dimension, man! This is no reason for you to end your life! Come on man, this is illogical!”

“I must agree Admiral; but if there is one thing that Rita Paris taught me, it is that there are things that transcend logic; life for one. And... love.”

“Admiral! His ship is about to enter the star's corona! At present speed if we don't veer off...”

Stuart cut off the helmsman with an impatient gesture. Already the translucent image of his friend was starting to fizzle and fade, the communication signal being affected by the mounting radiation around both ships.

“Sonak! I order you to come about! Now!”

“Negative, Admiral; I have no requirement to comply with your orders. I resigned my commission as a Starfleet officer months ago.”

“Because Starfleet would not allow you to use the Exeter to try and find a way to bring her back!” shouted the admiral, again jumping to his feet. “Or to hear out some of your outlandish schemes like using time travel to attempt to change what happened on that planet, when she was transported away from our reality! Come to your senses, man! You're about to plunge into a solar flare as powerful and erratic as that fatal ion storm back then!”

“That is a precisely proper estimate, Admiral.”

“Damn you, Sonak! Is this some Pon Farr crisis finally hitting you? I won't let you kill yourself out of love for a ghost!”

“No one ever dies, so long as we remember them. And there are always... possibilities. In this life... and beyond.”

The image was rapidly fading and the voice of Sonak became eerily echoed as his face dissipated.

“Live long and prosper, Michael.”

Stuart punched the helm console in front of him.

“Tactical! Fire those torpedoes at his engines. Lock on phasers! Disable that ship! “

“Sir, phasers are useless at warp! And all this growing radiation risk detonating our warheads prematurely. They are liable to either miss or obliterate it!”

“If we are not destroyed ourselves! Shields gone, hull buckling! Core is about to breach!”

Michael ignored his engineer and glared at the tactical officer.

“Destroy it if you have to but stop that ship! Bridge to transporter room; lock on the pilot of the vessel ahead and beam him out the moment his shields collapse!”

“Sir,” came back the reply, “there is another shielding signal surrounding the target; a pattern I have never seen before. We cannot lock at all through it, let alone...”

“Admiral! Thirty seconds before we start a core breach!”

“Eject the core! Keep our momentum to match his speed and ready tractor beam! With luck we might make a connection...”

But the helmsman sighed.

“Sir... he's gone to warp 9 and still accelerating. The gravitational pull of the red supergiant is amplifying his velocity beyond our instruments. We can never hope to match him.”

“Contact lost, Admiral,” reported the science officer. “He's entered the corona!”

“We'll be consumed like wax if we go in there...” commented the pilot, sweating as if he was already inside the blinding fire of the reddish star burning right before their eyes.

“We'll not be that lucky!” shouted the chief engineer. “Warp core breach in ten seconds! Nine! Eight...”

“Hard about! Drop us out of warp! Emergency impulse away from that star!”

The admiral's orders were followed but terse shouts from all the stations on the bridge.

“Emergency shutdown!”

“Going sublight!”

“Hard about bearing 73 mark 265!”

“Moving at zero point nine of C! Prepare for relativistic effects!”

The groan in Michael Stuart's voice was echoed by the entire hull of the Exeter as it went sublight, veered heads and tails and shook against the gravity of the gigantic star, still quite far away yet letting it's monstrous pull almost shear off the nacelles from the main hull of the Constitution class refit. Inertial dampeners almost failed for a split second so that everyone on board was thrown like rag dolls. As lights flickered, blinked off, then back on everywhere, the ominous chaos of shouts, groans and broken bones was heard from bow to stern as the great starship finally limped away from the red supergiant like a wounded beast.

It took a few minutes before anyone could gather back their wits. Stuart was the first to do so.

“Report!”

“Warp engines offline. Estimated time of reactivation thirty minutes... and in the shape the engines are, you will not get anything beyond warp 5, Admiral,” the sluggish voice of the chief engineer answered first. “Impulse steady, emergency power on standby. Inertial dampeners steady. Deflector field and shields coming back online. We're pretty banged up, Sir; let's hope we will not meet any Klingons or Romulans for a day or two.”

“I'm more worried about Vulcans at the moment... one in particular,” the admiral grumbled as he went limping to the science console. “Anything on sensors?”

“Nothing Sir.”

“Scan for residual warp trail... or... debris...”

“Already on it, Sir; but, Sir, there is no debris except some fragments from our own hull. There is another warp trail besides ours but... Sir, it ends abruptly, very very close around the orbit of that star. It's as if... as if... the scoutship... skimmed the surface, right through it's corona... and vanished.”

“That's what happens to ships going through an ion storm... or a solar flare,” grumbled the tactical officer, pointing at the massive fiery ejections that gave the star the look of an angry lion.

Admiral Michael Stuart, commander of the starship USS Exeter looked at the screen, his eyes burning like the fires of the red star where his former first officer and friend had disappeared, he suspected forever. His voice was barely audible, soft like a prayer.

“I wonder... I wonder...”

Admiral Michael Stuart would spend the rest of his lifetime wondering if Sonak died that day, throwing his life away in a mad pursuit of a woman long gone. Or if perhaps the last kolinahr’s mad scheme had succeeded, and somewhere out there in the multiverse, the star-crossed lovers had been reuinited. He would never know, but in his heart of hearts, he always held out hope for them.



* * *



“Status report.”

He had to repeat himself twice because of the hoarseness of his voice making his words unintelligible to the computer. But finally a soft female voice answered him.

“Minimal hull damage from gravitational, caloric and radiation stress. Warp core pre-heating from last shutdown as programmed, full power available in point four seven hours. Reserve power depleted, full recharge in fifty-three hours. Minimal shields available. Deflector field active, impulse power on standby. Inertial dampeners, gravitational field and life support nominal. Weapons systems offline but fully operational. Metaphasic shielding online and fully operational.”

Around him there was a swirling chaos of fire and light that had forced his inner eyelid to fall on his eyes to protect him from the glare.

“Travel status and present coordinates.”

“Parabolic chronal trajectory completed as per calculations. Quantum displacement completed at original starting frequency 001. Surrounding quantum signature a hundred percent match with recorded signal provided as template. Temporal displacement completed at pre-calculated stardate 70578.3. Spatial coordinates Alpha Quadrant, Gamma Crucis sector, within the corona of Gacrux, coordinates 12-31-9.9 by 57-6-48.”

“Confirm rounded-up distance at first decimal and and time of arrival at sector 001, Nevasa star system, T’Khasi planet’s orbit, maximum warp.”

“Distance to Omicron 2 Eridani triple star system, planet Vulcan’s orbit, is seventy-one point five light years. ETA at warp 9 is eighteen point eight standard solar days.”

Sonak nodded absently to the confirmation of his own mental calculations and sat more deeply in the adjustable chair to enter the Vulcan deep trance.

“Activate alarm and electric shock to this chair in case of sensor contact or communication signal.”

“Activated.”

“Engage as soon as warp engine are nominal to input coordinates.”

“Computed. Departure in zero point forty hours.”

Sonak closed his eyes and started reducing his metabolism to the barest minimum. A starship sensor would barely register his lifesigns once he entered the Vulcan trance that was their equivalent of a vacation. He would require no water or food and little air and heat while in this comatose state for most of the voyage to the Vulcan solar system. His own internal clock would awake him in time.

Sonak could not sense Rita's presence; well, not really, not definitively. He realized it could be as much the echo of his longing as a true distant mating contact. That slightly surprised him. But this was more than a simple time displacement; it was a different quantum universe, and here even his powerful psionics might have been altered, simply because of his quantum vibration differential. It was a fascinating problem to ponder. But that would be for later.

At least he had... more than a conviction; a feeling of her. That, he mused, would please her immensely to know that from her cold, unfeeling partner.

It might just be his imagination... but he didn't believe that was so. He was here... and she too was here, somewhere out there.

He would find her, all in due time.

What appeared on the central screen made a few arched eyebrows rise. It was teardrop shaped, it's trailing hull looked like tentacles revolving around its longitudinal axis as if this was some gigantic space jellyfish. But the metallic reflective coating, the warp glow and the blinking nav lights plainly showed it's artificial nature despite it's organic design and it's unconventional motion.

- “Confirmed, Commander; this is the experimental vessel stolen on stardate 65801.5 from the Vulcan Science Academy. It is within the star system, distance one point four-seven AU and approaching our orbital zone at one quarter impulse power, following outdated flight regulations.”

The officer seated at the monitoring station did not look up at the station commander standing right behind him, arms crossed behind her back. But he could sense that she shared his puzzlement as they both looked at the strangely configured spacecraft.

- “ Lieutenant Skell; explain why it was not detected long before that.” ordered the woman with a flat voice yet sounding rather stern despite the coldness of her attitude.

- “The vessel dropped out of warp directly in line with the sun, so close that it indicates that it flew right within it's corona. Until it moved far away enough from the star, radiation output from this direction blots completely any possibility of sensor signal, be they passive or active.”

- “This vessel is equipped with the latest metaphasic shield technology,” added another officer, this one near a computer terminal looking at rapidly scrolling data on his monitor. “Being within a star's corona even for extended periods of time represents no challenge with such technology.”

- “It also seems to indicate that whoever is aboard knew exactly where is the blind spot of our sensor grid at any given time as we orbit the sun,” said another, a woman busy at a tactical station.

The one at the science station pushed a few buttons and data scrolled superimposed over the image of the approaching ship on the main viewer. The woman in command nodded.

- “Full scan.”

It took but a few seconds before Lieutenant Skell answered.

- “Transponder signal confirms identification of the vessel. Shields and weapons are offline. Energy reserves are depleted at fifty-three percent. Hull stresses and debris along with this energy level indicates a continuous travel at high warp for close to ninety light years and for well over a solar month. One very faint life sign aboard; too faint to clearly identify at this distance. Possibilities range from some yet unidentified alien life form to dying occupant. ”

- “Order interceptor squadron 3 to close in with the intruder. Orders are to capture and board if there is no answer to hails. Ensign Siton, Scan for red matter.”

- “ Scans do not reveal the presence of red matter on board, Commander.”

Her eyebrow went up again. Her dark face even stretched imperceptibly.

- “According to this data, this vessel left Vulcan with virtually all the red matter known in our universe; enough to create a supergiant black hole like the one at the center of our galaxy. Since no such phenomenon was registered anywhere since the departure of this vessel, a vessel especially made for it's safe transport, it is logical to assume the material was safely disposed of at some unknown location.”

It was Siton's turn to raise an eyebrow.

- “Commander T'rynn; the only facility known as capable of handling and storing red matter besides this ship is here, on Vulcan.”

As they both pondered this, the scanning officer spoke again.

- “Commander, life signs are shooting up; we have positive identification; one occupant in the forward section; Vulcan.”

- “A healing trance?” suggested Siton. “That would explain the prior low life signs.”

- “Commander; the vessel is hailing us... but... Commander, the frequency used and the ID code given are at least a century old.”

There were a few seconds of silence and stillness; the only sign that the officers in the command center were surprised and left perplexed with the unfolding events.

- “On screen.”

On the image of the incoming scoutship appeared the tridimensional representation of a stern pale face with long flowing dark hair, upswept eyebrows over steely grey eyes and an angular clean-shaven face as expressionless as a jade sculpture. The collar of a dark silky garment framed by strange silvery cursive symbols could be glimpsed below this severe countenance.

- “Vulcan Central; requesting permission to approach and dock at main orbital station.”

- “This is Vulcan Central,” T'rynn answered while looking intently at the impassive countenance more than matching the sternness and blankness of her own. “Identify yourself, your point of origin and your purpose.”

- “ Purpose is the return of this vessel. Point of origin is 12-31-9.9 by 57-6-48, stardate 70578.3.”

- “These are the exact coordinates of the red supergiant trinary star system Gacrux, Gamma Crucis sector,” interjected Siton. “Stardate confirms forty-four point zero-six days of travel at warp 9 and consistent with sensor data on status and power readings of the ship.”

- Commander T'rynn... look at this.”

The woman at the security station indicated the monitor of her own station where a personal profile was being displayed. Both women exchanged a clearly puzzled look before T'rynn turned back to the holographic image of the intruder vessel's sole occupant.

- “ Identify yourself,” she repeated, more sternly yet not losing her puzzled expression.

- “I am Sonak, son of S'Kon, son of T'Prell, born in Shikar on stardate 1252.4.”

- “Our computer is confirming your identification; however, our data also indicates that Sonak, son of S'Kon, son of T'Prell, died of a transporter malfunction in Earth's orbit aboard the starship Enterprise, NCC 1701, on stardate 7412.1.”

- “I am prepared to cooperate with Vulcan authorities for a full debriefing,” answered the pilot of the ship. “What I have to reveal will require a full medical examination, including genetic screening and quantum signature scans, to corroborate any statement about my identity.”

It took a moment for all this to sink in. But Commander T'rynn reigned in her curiosity.

- “Pilot of the intruder vessel. Your scanners will now indicate that a squadron of our system's inner defense force is closing in on you. Power down your ship and standby to be taken in tow. You will be taken to an orbital security facility for preliminary debriefing. You will fully cooperate and bring no items with you. Your ship will be taken into custody, searched and scanned. You will submit to medical examination and security interrogation. We regret the severity of these proceedings, but the circumstances of your arrival are highly unusual.”

- “Understood, I will comply. Sonak out.”

The last image of the pilot showed him looking far away as if he was in a trance; a strange expression he wore the entire time they spoke. And as he found himself surrounded by small, sleek copper-colored vessels shooting blue rays at his powered down vessel, neither Sonak's expression nor eyes ever wavered.

He was looking straight ahead at a small, reddish orb right in front of his bubble-shaped cockpit. A few adjustments brought up the computer generated image from his sensors of a red planet crisscrossed by copper and tan colored streaks sharing a dual orbit with a moon-looking dark naked planet.

- “Computer; data on nearby star group.”

A soft female voice strikingly modulated in a typical human pattern, answered him.

- “Nevasa, Starfleet designation Star 40 Eridani A, also known as Omicron 2 Eridani, or Keid. Triple star system 16.5 light years from Sector 001, constellation Eridanus. Primary star, 40 Eridani A, is a main sequence dwarf of spectral type K1. 40 Eridani B is a 9th magnitude white dwarf of spectral type DA4. 40 Eridani C, is an 11th magnitude red dwarf flare star of spectral type M4.5e with variable star designation DY Eridani. B was originally a main sequence star, then the most massive member of the system. “

-“ Details on the system's current status.”

- “Billions of years ago, it ejected most of its mass before it became a white dwarf. B and C orbit each other 400 astronomical units (AU) from the primary star, A. Their orbit has a semimajor axis of 35 AU, which is also the approximate average distance between B and C and is rather elliptical with an eccentricity 0.410. Primary component of main star, 40 Eridani A, has a metallicity of 65% of the standard solar metallicity, thus providing a sufficient heavy element abundance for the formation of terrestrial planets. No habitable planets around the B star, having been destroyed by its evolution into a white dwarf, not even leaving an asteroid field of any magnitude. 40 Eridani C, is prone to flares, which cause large momentary increases in the emission of X-rays as well as visible light, lethal to any form of life even in its own habitable zone.”

Sonak was well familiar with the data. Yet he studied it attentively and listened with rapt attention to the computer voice. Science was about diminishing uncertainty; at the moment, he was all scientist.

- “Computer; data on planet bearing 000 mark 0. “

- “Native Name: T'Khasi or Ti-Valka'ain. Starfleet designation; Vulcan. Minshara-Class planet. In the habitable zone of 40 Eridani A at 0.63. Orbital revolution is 203 standard days. No natural satellite but shares an orbit around a common center of gravity with smaller planetoid designated as T'Khut, 149,895.3579 kilometers apart, tidally locked, causing numerous short but intense solar eclipses on the main planet. Revolution on planetary axis of main planet is 24 standard hours. Water to land ratio is 25-75. three primary continents called Na'nam, Han-shir and Xir'tan. Due to the strong tidal forces brought about by the planet's interaction with T'Khut, Vulcan is volcanically highly active.Sparse but active ecosystem. Gravity is 1.4 G. Atmosphere is composed of standard nitrogen-oxygen compounds with low levels or rare gases and carbon monoxide. Oxygen in its atmosphere originates essentially from phytoplankton in its oceans that make up 90% of all planetary oxygenation processes. Despite being a desert planet and not having a suitable source of oxygen in viable plant-life throughout most of their year, there is a sufficient amount of oxygenation occurring within the environment from the microbic water. Planet is inhabited by one sentient species implanted by panspermia tens of thousands of years ago called Vulcanians until stardate 1300.0 where it was officialized into Vulcans by the Federation Science Council.”

Sonak listened to each word without blinking even once at the sight of the planet growing larger and larger as the towing ships brought him closer. As a kolinahr master, he had long ago purged himself of all emotions. Yet, something was stirring in him at the sight of the planet he had accepted as gone forever... in another universe... another life.

He knew where that strange, alien feeling came from; it was not truly nostalgia, but it surely felt like it, as it was described by humans. For a fleeting moment, it was almost what they called... elation. And of this passing sensation stirring the mind up to the soul, there could be only one source within him.

Rita.

Somewhere out there... she was here... somewhere. And like his lost homeworld, she too, he would find.

Again, it was just a matter of... time.

In the overly spacious quarters on the overly spacious starship, in the grand and empty bed that she shared with no one, Rita Paris stirred.

Sitting up, she put her hands in her thick blonde tomboy-cut hair and scratched her head to stimulate her scalp, then pushed the hair out of her face. When she slept, it often pulled forward into something of a toucan’s beak of hair projecting over her face. Looking around the bedroom, then up through the wide viewports in the ceiling of the senior officer’s quarters, the ancient astronaut gazed at the stars. No streaks of smeared light, the light of distant stars twinkled in stationary positions at the moment in drydock, as the half-asleep human tried to recall what had awakened her.

Something had changed, something was not the same; but it was nothing she could define. Something familiar had nudged her to wakefulness, rather than jolting her awake from a dream reliving her past life, or waking from one of the nightmares she was beginning to experience with disturbing frequency. This was something oddly comforting, that she couldn’t quite place. But it was strong enough to rouse her from her exhausted slumber, to bring her to a mostly awakened state.

Rising, she padded to the bathroom. Once upon a time she had slept in the nude, but since becoming marooned alone in the future of another dimension entirely, the withered branch of the Paris family tree had taken to sleeping in oversized t-shirts. It made her feel less vulnerable, and as the Hera had a penchant for emergencies at all hours, she didn’t want to have to charge into action naked except for a phaser if she could help it. She’d been manufacturing different tops bearing jokes that only she would care about or get, quite intentionally. This evening it was a loose beige tank top with brown Vulcan lettering that read ‘Vulcan Science Academy dropout’. Gathering up the soft cotton material in her hands, she sat down and relieved herself.

A slightly full bladder wasn’t enough to wake her though, and it hadn’t felt like that. It was something else, tugging at her subconscious, at the very edges of her perception. Something important. Someone.

Briefly she considered that it could be Sonak, and her heart skipped a beat. But she knew that was delusion- the experiment had been today, and she had waited for hours to see if anyone would show up, and no one did.

If she was going to survive in this odd future in which she found herself, the hard-luck heroine had to accept that she was going to have to become self-reliant. There was no somber scientist nor dashing starship captain coming to rescue her. Well... Captain Telvan was, to be fair, pretty dashing for a lady. And Rita strongly suspected the piratical starship commander would come to her rescue if the lost navigator was in peril. But as for a way home, the antique Starfleet officer in near-mint condition was on her own, her past long gone and quite removed from her. The line from that song in Aida... the past is now another land, far beyond my reach.

The future is a barren world, from which I can't return...

But still… something. The instinct that had served her so long and so well insisted this was somehow significant.

Reaching out with her feelings, her fear and loneliness and love and need and longing, Rita Paris cried to the universe the name of the last kolinahr. Vainly she tried to perceive him, to touch his mind, to call to him as she had so often through pure human instinct. It was folly, she knew. It was just her mind rationalizing, trying to give herself hope. She had tried when she’d landed here, then when she had said her goodbye to him. Rita knew that to keep trying was to do nothing but invite heartache.

Accepting her fate and building a life here in the future was the sane option, instead of trying to dwell on her lost life and love. There was nothing to be accomplished by pining for him or for her life that was. If it had been possible, Sonak would have found a way. Since he had not arrived after the experiment had concluded, given the time/space coordinates she had sent to him, then she had to accept that he was unable to come for her.

With no rescue in sight, stranded by circumstance, she would have to adapt and commit to building a life here. Which really wasn’t an awful prospect. Starfleet still explored, starships still needed pilots and captains still needed able officers. She had made friends here, and she served a purpose on the unique starship which was now her home.

But yet.

There was a feeling, a sensation, like an echo of something familiar. There was nothing more than that- an inkling, a hunch, a notion that somehow… but she could feel nothing. Against all logic, her heart told her that he was out there somewhere, even though she could not sense him. Against all evidence, the idea persisted.

“You are far too old to play games like this, Rita. He’s not here, he’s not coming and you can’t sense him. You just want to, and that’s what you’re really feeling. Just wishful thinking while you’re sitting on the can in the middle of the night, that’s all.” Rita wiped herself, rising from the toilet which then flushed itself behind her. Washing her hands, Rita looked at herself in the mirror. She’d lost a lot of weight, which was starting to affect her strength and endurance. But she looked great, she mused. Daddy would be so proud. ‘Almost not fat’, he’d offer as a backhanded compliment - she could almost hear him now.

Padding back to her bed, the all-too-human woman stretched and yawned. It had been a long and exhausting day that had ended in crushing disappointment, despite her attempt to be stoic about it. When her communicator had vanished and nothing had replaced it, her heart had broken more than just a little. The displaced damsel had gotten her hopes up. But when no one had arrived, no transporter beam, no rescue party, no weird science, not even a return message, Rita Paris had felt abandoned.

Life went on. So must she.

As she lay back down in the bed that was far too large for her to sleep in alone, the long-lost lieutenant curled up around the body pillow she kept close. It was neither warm nor firm, nor was it a good substitute for the man she wished were here who would remind her that he was no man. Cursing herself for her weakness, a single long tear slid down her cheek, then another.

“He’s not coming, Rita. Let it go. Time to accept that, and get on with your life,” she chided herself miserably as she sniffled and tried to stifle the flow of tears. “Logic is irrefutable, but the desires of the heart know no reason,” the lovelorn lieutenant muttered. After another moment, her exhaustion won out over her grief and self-pity, and she began drifting back off to sleep.

Oh, Sonak… she sighed as she slid from the waking world, her consciousness drifting into sleep.

A sound from the voice she knew as well as her own replied with no words, supplied by the piece of his katra that dwelled in her subconscious mind, stirred to action by the pining in her heart. It did not wake her, and she would not recall it in the morning. Yet that last thought of his presence as she dozed off would bring her peace of mind, and the confidence to face the next day.

The entire space was dark, save for the dancing ghostly lights of the computer's holographic display, flashing three detailed projections of data and visuals almost simultaneously. It was so silent that the voice of the computer boomed, like that of some intangible goddess, passing judgment over the lone finger standing in the middle of the flashing transluscent computer images floating around him.

"Identify species," ordered the disembodied, cold female voice.

"Laboratory constructed and genetically enhanced Jem'Hadar soldier of the Gamma Quadrant Dominion," answered the lone figure in a dark robe lined with silvery cursive glyphs when the spectral grey-scaled figure appeared on his left.

"Correct," answered the computer. " Provide the Scott intermix formula for cold start of starship warp engine."

His fingers touched a terminal's keys in front of him and a long stream of letters and numbers flashed just above it.

"Correct. Identify first Starfleet vessel to explore and return from the Delta quadrant."

" USS Voyager, registry number NCC-74656, Captain Kathryn Janeway commanding."

"Correct. Identify Starfleet officer most responsible for the resolution of the first Federation-Klingon war from whose actions were established Starfleet's Rules of Engagements."

"Captain Garth of Izar."

"Correct. What is Surak's first axiom of logic?"

"Nothing can be and not be at the same time."

"Correct."

"Computer; terminate cognitive testing."

As the stern female voice spoke, it was obvious this one was not disembodied at all. Sharper light threw a rectangular beam across the dark room as the holographic displays vanished. An old, stern, willowy Vulcan woman with white hair and blue eyes stood in a doorway suddenly visible against the dark wall behind him. Her robes were like his except that they were white, with gold cursive ideograms on it's collar and a veil covered the top and back of her head.

"Sonak; come with me."

Without any further word, he followed her in a long corridor of reddish stone, so old that time itself had polished it's floor, it's walls and it's ceiling.Yet, it was dimly lit by a definitely modern glow seemingly emanating from the walls themselves. They walked until they reached a large antiquated door of wood, again so ancient it looked and felt like polished bronze. But it too showed modern influence as it slid open on it's own.

The circular chamber beyond was of shiny black stone veined with gold, a red stone-tiled floor and ancient clan banners flanking on each side a huge tapestry embroiled with the IDIC symbol. Before it stood a tall golden statue of a Vulcan holding an open scroll in one hand while raising the other in the celebrated Vulcan salute. Between the effigy of Surak and the entrance was a large crescent table of reddish metal, with a lozenge-shaped silvery gong on one end and a black brazier lit on the other. Two men sat on the other convex side of the table, as Sonak and the woman approached them to stand within it's concave side.

Standing between then and before him on his side of the table, she spoke with a solemn voice.

"Sonak; hear the words of the planetary council, Starfleet Intelligence and the Federation council. You have adequately answered all inquiries to everyone's satisfaction. You medical examination has declared you fit of mind and body and well adjusted to the quantum signature of our spatio-temporal reality. On behalf of them all, I welcome you."

He bowed his head slightly but then looked each one of them in the eye.

"I am gratified by this decision and honored by the confidence and support you, the masters of Gol, have placed in me. But I must state that the assessment of my fitness is somewhat inaccurate."

"Specify," ordered one of the men, the one with the bald head and emerald eyes.

"My psionic abilities have been... altered; which I would hypothesize to be the consequences of cerebral restructuring occurring during my transition between quantum realities and the simultaneous temporal displacement."

"We have tested your psionic capabilities," now stated the other male master, bearded with the same silvery color as his long hair framing his gaunt face and dark obsidian eyes. "They are quite whole and rather remarkable, at least comparable to any master to ever come to Gol, present company included."

Sonak shook his head slightly.

"In my universe, I was sent to the masters of Gol as soon as I was able to speak. It was imperative that I learned perfect control over my telepathic abilities which were already as powerful as those of a Betazoid; while my telekinetic abilities were comparable to those of some of our distant ancestors from before the Awakening."

Behind the female masters, the other two exchanged a glance. But it was she who spoke next.

"Pon Farr would have been a most dangerous time for you... and more so for everyone else."

This time Sonak nodded.

"Affirmative; hence why the purging of all emotions years before the onset of puberty was logically deemed imperative by my parents and the council, to which the masters agreed. Achieving Kolinahr at an early age not only cultivated the mastery of those powers, but more importantly nullified the need for me of emotional outburst of repressed emotions at the time of mating."

"So you do not experience Pon Farr. Yet, there is a stirring in you that is both physiological and... spiritual. Were you ever betrothed on your own Vulcan?" asked the woman.

There was a perceptible moment of silence before Sonak answered.

"Negative."

"And now you claim your abilities are altered," reminded the bald master.

"I can here and now, only mind meld in the established usual manner, and perform the mental projections in the conventional way. I have lost all telekinetic abilities. For all intent and purposes, I am now no more or less psionically endowed than any other Vulcan."

The woman looked intently at him.

"Yet, I sense... something."

"Something... different," agreed the bearded master.

"Something even beyond Kolinarh," added the third master. "Something we felt only once before; with Spock, son of Sarek, son of Amanda, during the time of the coming of the great artificial mind over a century ago."

The woman walked to Sonak, her hand inciting him to kneel before her.

"Your thoughts... give them to me."

Kneeling, Sonak bowed his blue-black long-haired head and closed his steely eyes. She lightly touched both sides of his skull and she too closed her eyes. her voice became soft, distant.

"My mind... to your mind..."

"My thoughts... to your thoughts," said Sonak in turn.

Their breathing became as one. And then they spoke together as if of one voice.

"You served in Starfleet..."

"... USS Intrepid... Starfleet Academy... USS Exeter... with Captain Michael Stuart... and..."

"Rita!"

Even far away on their seating stones, both masters behind the table felt it; something... something distant, different, a... connection, deep yet ephemeral, beyond the flesh, even beyond the mind. Their eyebrows shot up and they leaned forward as the voices of Sonak and the third master became whispers.

"... asked you... not to grieve..."

" The transporter... the storm... could not retrieve... could only... only sent her... away..."

" I will... remember you... always..."

"T'hy'la!"

The Master of Gol broke the contact, startled by the torrential flood of human emotions that came forth from the memory of Sonak; emotions not shared, yet shared, not felt, yet perceived and understood It stirred something so deep and primeval within the Vulcan mind as to disturb even a master of Gol.

Yet, completely and harmoniously impregnated into Sonak's katra.

There was a long moment of silence as the masters rebalanced their inner selves, after the brief outpouring of feelings they were so unaccustomed to encountering.

"This is... disturbing," the bald master confessed.

"Unexpected," said the bearded one.

"It is... fascinating," finished the woman.

Then she looked down sternly at the still kneeling Sonak.

"You have been... bethroted?"

"Not on Vulcan," reminded Sonak without any visible hint of what had transpired in his voice or in his eyes. "Less than a bethrotal... but more than one at the same time, because she is... so human."

His own inner mastery, however, had ostensibly impressed the three masters.

"You wish to return to Starfleet? To this... human female?"

"You read my mind."

Was there the slightest human sarcasm within his apparently stoic reply? Stating the obvious was not a normal Vulcan habit to be sure. But this particular kolinahr was anything but the average Vulcan; this incident alone was sufficient proof.

The woman's hand invited him to rise back to his feet.

"Your mastery of Kolinarh is without peer. You seem to have achieved a level beyond even our own understanding; something that until now could only be glimpsed through the katra of Surak himself... perhaps with Ambassador Spock, because of the unique manner which he lived, through his dual Vulcan-Human heritage. I suspect this... relationship you have with this human woman has much to do with it. Our people would greatly benefit from your wisdom."

"Masters of Gol; it would be the greatest honor to join you and bring any contribution, however small, to your guidance of our people. But whatever wisdom you graciously attribute me, is still in need of nurturing. My journey in life must continue, until I am truly ready to be worthy of the responsibility you now assume. As I have heard humans often say; the adventure is just beginning."

"We bow to your logic, Sonak, son of S'Kon, son of T'Prell. There are some answers that cannot be found here on Vulcan."

"With your leave, I will apply for reinstatement into Starfleet."

"Logic would dictate that they might not be eager to reinstate you, at least not immediately," warned the bald master. "Humans, among others, are notoriously wary when circumstances like those which brought you here are involved."

"Agreed, master; therefore I will proceed in the safest way for them to alleviate this... wariness. I will apply to Starfleet Academy."

Sonak raised his hand and extended his fingers in pairs.

"Peace and long life, masters of Gol."

The three masters returned his salute.

"Live long and prosper, Sonak of Vulcan."

They could not feel it, but those very words resonated deeply in to the mind of one who had thought he would never again walk on his homeworld, breathe it's dry, thin air and feel it's harsh, hot winds. It had been weeks now, and he had even visited the final resting place of his parents ... and of himself, of this reality. He had communed with their katras, providing them the satisfaction of knowing that a destiny left tragically unfulfilled, would now have a new opportunity to unfold.

This had been most gratifying. But as he left the temple's inner chamber, it paled with the other thought his mind now held.

One more step. One step closer... to her.

“Captain's log, stardate 72633.1. Starship Enterprise on training mission to Gamma Hydra sector 14; coordinates, 22 – 87 – 4. All systems report nominal.”

“Leaving section 14 for section 15,” reported the woman at the helm without turning to the lieutenant sitting in the command chair behind him. “Projecting parabolic course to avoid Neutral Zone.”

On the main viewer, a graphical display of the surrounding sector of space showed the graceful curve of a trajectory line around delineated borders from a graphic outline of a Sovereign class starship. Behind the helm, the Vulcan in the central seat kept his steely grey eyes glued to the data display in the upper right corner as he spoke with an even tone.

“Incorrect, Helm; there is no neutral zone between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. The Neutral Zone is between the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire, bearing 270 mark 5, forty light years from our current position. This is the Organian Peace Treaty Zone, negotiated under completely different terms.”

“Ah... aye Captain Sonak Sir, you are quite right,” mumbled the nonplussed pilot, checking again the data on her nav computer. “Yet, the computer insists that this is a... neutral zone.”

“The computer is obviously in error,” concluded Sonak impassively. “Computer; this is an A1 priority compulsive directive; proceed with a level 4 diagnostics and implement proper data regarding the Organian Peace Treaty relating to this sector of space and implement all corrections to the data banks.”

There was a long pause and even a brief flicker in all controls and instruments which made everyone blink on the bridge.

Everyone except Sonak.

Behind him, the pale, yellow-eyed officer standing hands behind his back blinked as well, looked around then furrowed his thin brow at him. Then his eyebrows shot up and he stared fixedly at the screen.

“This is... intriguing.”

Sonak did not turn towards him.

“You disapprove?”

“Your correction is indeed accurate as to actual facts. But in the present circumstances... nevermind; please continue on your assignment.”

As if on cue, the black-skinned man at the tactical station raised his voice.

“Sir, I'm getting a distress signal! Very faint; audio only.”

“On speakers.”

There was a hiss and a crack filling up the entire bridge before a distorted voice was heard. Despite the bad transmission, the earnest and fear in each inflection was clearly audible.

“To all vessels in... fzzz... this is... fzz... Federation transport... fzzzz... Kobayashi Maru, ninteen days out of Altair 6! We... fzzz... struck a gravitic mine! All power lost... fzzz... fzzz... fzzzzzzzz...”

Sonak made a gesture to the man to open a channel.

“Kobayashi Maru, this is the starship Enterprise. Your message is breaking up. Please try to boost emission, repeat and provide coordinates.”

Another succession of crackles and hisses preceeded the return of the barely audible voice.

“ Fzzz...erprise! We are adrift, no nav...fzzz... hull rupt... fzzz... life support failing!... fzzz... Position; Gam... fzzz... Hydra sector ...fzzz! Gamma Hy... fzzz... fzzz tor 10! Can you assist us Enterprise! Can you assist us! Fzzz... fzzzzzzzz...”

“We have a fix on their position, Sir!” declared the Bolian at the sensor console, his blue ridged bald head bobbing with worry. “Gamma Hydra sector 10 confirmed; right into the Neutral... sorry, the Treaty Zone, Sir.”

“Data on the Kobayashi Maru.”

On the main viewer appeared the schematics of a warp capable transport vessel and the sensor readout of the disable ship was superimposed on it to display the damage extent in real time. But what only mattered for the grey-eyed Vulcan was the complement manifest; a crew of eighty and eight hundred passengers.

Sonak frowned. He knew a Sovereign class like the Enterprise had six personnel transporters and six short range emergency transporters. Quickly calculating their capabilities, he estimated that using them all would require to be no farther than fifteen thousand kilometers from the disabled vessel and that it would take approximately twenty-nine point thirty-four minutes to complete the evacuation.

Even reconfiguring the four cargo transporter and risk beaming back living beings with them would only reduce evacuation time to twenty-four minutes exactly. Adding the two-man transporter of all the sixteen shuttles launched simultaneously, if at all possible, would but barely shave off twenty point sixty-four seconds to it all with each fly-by.

And time was of the essence; the progression of the damage data alone on the display was enough to convince him.

Sonak looked for a brief second to his right arm chair as if searching for some controls that were obviously not there, then tapped his commbadge.

“Attention all hands, this is the Captain. Yellow alert; prepare for a ship to ship rescue operation. All transporters and shuttlecrafts at readiness; prepare EVA suits on board for beam out. Sickbay, implement emergency protocols; cargo bay 2 is at your disposal to establish a camp hospital. All personnel cross-trained in medical, report to sickbay. Captain out.”

“Shields at full, defense field activated, phaser strips pre-heated, torpedo in tube number one; yellow alert status confirmed,” the man at tactical stated.

The yellow-eyed officer behind the command seat remained stoic and unmoving as the Vulcan next shifted his attention to his bridge crew.

“Helm, plot an intercept course and engage, best possible speed. Tactical; all sensors active and ready tractor beams.”

The woman at the helm turned around in her seat to face him.

“May I remind the captain that if we enter the zone...”

Sonak cut her off with a severe stare and yet his voice was utterly calm, soft even.

“Starfleet General Order 6; The request for emergency assistance from Federation citizenry or non-aligned persons demands unconditional priority from Starfleet personnel. Such personnel shall immediately respond to said request, postponing all other activities. This responsibility extends to current governments at odds, actively or passively, with the Federation. Even if this was the Romulan Neutral Zone, the treaty would allow entry for a rescue mission. We will assume our responsibilities, Ensign. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye, Captain,” the woman said with a nod before turning back to her console and complying with her orders.

Behind Sonak, the officer lowered his head to whisper to him.

“I believe the Ensign wanted to remind you that not everyone in space follows the rules of Starfleet. Especially in this region of space.”

“I'm counting on it.”

The curt retort from Sonak again made the yellow eyes blink. But he stood back once more and closed his half-open mouth, lost in his own thoughts.

“We are crossing the border,” announced the flight control officer. “ETA with Kobayashi Maru, one minute... mark.”

She was followed by a sudden shout from the tactical station.

“Three Klingon vessels decloaking aft, Vor'Cha class! Their weapons are armed and locked on us!”

“It's a trap!” shouted the alarmed Bolian.

“Stay with us in our universe, Mister Codwell,” admonished Sonak without looking at his fish-like countenance.

On the screen appeared the ominous vulture-like shape of three attack cruisers closing in in a triangular flight formation, each one as powerful as their own starship. The glow of their forward torpedo tube was growing like the opening mouths of Cerberus itself.

“Sir? Sir, we must go to red alert!”

“As you were, all of you,” ordered the Vulcan.

A moment later, the entire ship rocked with the impact of three quantum torpedoes. Lights flickered madly on all boards and everyone but Sonak gripped their console or their seat. The tactical officer looked up from his display with a barely controlled panicked expression.

“Shields at forty-seven percent! Another salvo like that and they will be gone! Sir, we must retaliate!”

“And get the Hell out of here!” added the helmswoman, pale but still composed as she let her trembling fingers fly over her panel. “Escape route plotted and laid in! Ready for emergency warp Sir!”

“But... but those civilians in the Kobayashi Maru!” exclaimed the Bolian at the sensor station.

Sonak rose from his seat, his eyes lifted as if to implore the heavens. His voice was as deadpan as his features on his angular face.

“Computer; this an A1 priority compulsory directive. Correlate current events with corrected data of this sector and implement proper resolution.”

The ship shook again from another volley, just all consoles flickered for a second, a crackle filled the speakers and the officer blinked again his yellow eyes. They all looked at Sonak as if he was mad; all except the pale, yellow-eyed officer who visibly startled then nodded in sudden understanding.

There was a curious moment of utter silence and stillness around them, as if their last second of life stretched out to infinity. Then there was another strange static burst from the speakers before the soft feminine voice of the computer was heard.

“Computed.“

And just as suddenly as it had begun, the attack stopped. Before everyone's astonished stares, the three Klingon warships stopped firing. Their nacelles flickered to darkness and almost all of their lights darkened as they started to drift.

“Sir?” stammered the man at tactical. “The Klingons... I can't explain it, Sir but... but their ships have lost all power... everything except batteries... barely enough for minimum impulse and life support. But how...”

They had not yet recovered from their surprise that a light shimmered between them and the screen. It was blinding at first but then quickly coalesced into the shape of an old grey-bearded man wearing what appeared to be a simple wool tunic. His eyes were sad even as he was smiling at them.

“I am Ayelborne. By the stipulations of the treaty signed in good faith on Organia by your people and the Klingon Empire on your spacetime measurement of stardate 3199.0, all hostilities are forbidden within seven hundred and fifty parsecs between both your territories. Neither party can deny peaceful access to this area and any act of violence will result in the immediate disabling of all instruments of violence.”

His soft gaze went straight to that of Sonak.

“You are to be commended for your show of restraint while engaged in a life-saving action. You may resume your intended course. Your aggressors will be rendered harmless, whoever and wherever they may be and allowed to return to their home unimpeded. It is our wish that one day...”

“Computer, end simulation.”

As soon as the yellow-eyed officer spoke, The Organian, the crew, the whole bridge, everything and everyone disappeared, leaving only a silvery grid all around him and the stoic Vulcan.

“Mister Sonak,” said the officer, “since the first success of legendary Captain James T. Kirk, those whom have ever managed to beat the no-win scenario do not fill all the fingers of one human hand. By using the computer itself as it ran the simulation to have it provide the solution, you have just joined that elite few. A commendation for original thinking will be added to your record... and another for helping refine the test. Rest assured that, after what you managed to do here, we will correct the simulation so that access to the computer will no longer be possible from inside the simulation itself.”

The Vulcan just blinked once before he spoke.

“Captain Data; may I speak candidly, Sir?”

Despite his own blank face, it really looked as if the yellow eyes reflected puzzlement, if not surprise.

“Proceed.”

“Sir, I do not think this was a fair test of my abilities.”

The puzzlement only spread to the features on the pale face.

“The Kobayashi Maru scenario has been successfully used as a test of character for Starfleet command officers since the mid twenty-third century. You might have found a previously unexpected flaw in the simulation but that does not invalidate the test.”

“But with all due respect, that's just it, Sir; the Kobayashi Maru scenario is just that; a simulation. Everyone knows it. In a simulation, once the candidate realizes all the odds are artificially stacked against him and that he faces no real risk, it is easy to act with courage, even bravado even up to suicidal heroism... because one knows this is a simulation.”

Sonak looked straight into Data's eyes.

“It is when you are truly out there, when you know that only a thin sheet of metal and plastic stands between you and the airless, lifeless coldness of space, when you know that lives including your own truly depends on each action you take or do not take; that is when your true character emerges. You know it at least as well as I do, Sir; you too have been out there.”

“What would you propose we do, Mister Sonak?”

“Apply this... no-win scenario the same way you do the so-called psycho-test; live, unannounced, tailored for each and every candidate, safety measures well thought-out but with the candidate unaware of them. Make it... feel real.”

Data thought for a moment and nodded. Then he looked quizzically at Sonak.

“An excellent suggestion, Mister Sonak. I shall certainly bring it up to the Commandant of Starfleet Academy at the first opportunity. That being said, I did not expect a being of logic as a Vulcan, a Kolinahr master no less, to promote feelings as a tool for proficiency and character assessment.”

“There is more to Kolinahr than logic; and more to life than Kolinahr,” answered Sonak cryptically.

Data again thought for a moment, then obviously put the thought aside for another time and invited the Vulcan out of the holographic room. As they walked through the well lit corridor beyond, they followed it's large transparencies showing all the beauty of San Francisco bay and it's historical well-restored and preserved Golden Gate Bridge. Across the sky could be glimpsed the occasional training shuttle darting like a silver star under the morning sun. Data took it all in for a brief moment before returning his attention to the Vulcan by his side.

“It has been a full year of study and training for you, Mister Sonak. Of course, you are aware that Starfleet Academy normally requires four years of such study and training. But in your case, since you were already perfectly cognizant with it's full curriculum, albeit somewhat oddly outdated, and able to complete most of the final tests with little preparation, a special dispensation has been authorized in your case. Your record will stipulate that you took a series of refresher courses before being returned to active duty.”

“I have indeed been through all of it before,” confided Sonak. “I even taught here for several years; correction, at a very... similar facility. I needed to be updated in many things; but other things, starship operations, rules of engagements, requirements of command, scientific principles... much has not basically changed for well over a century... here... or back there.”

“I would appreciate continuing our conversations about quantum universes and time travel, Mister Sonak,” Data said with a definite glint of interest in his yellow eyes. “Your practical knowledge and experiences on those subjects are truly... fascinating.”

“As would I, Captain. We may hopefully have an opportunity to resume our conversations and studies at a later time. But until such opportunity arises, I am resolute in returning to active duty.”

“Let us proceed then.”

The android guided him into a well-furnished office. Nodding to the man at the reception desk before entering the next room, Data invited Sonak to sit on one side of a translucent desk while he activated a terminal from the other side. His fingers flew so fast over it, his hand was but a blur.

“At your request, we will dispense you with participating in the graduation ceremony. Few Vulcans bother with it anyway. I have entered your final test results and compiled it with all the rest of your studies here. Congratulations, Mister Sonak; you have passed all requirements of Starfleet Academy and with High Honors. And Starfleet Intelligence has greenlit you. Henceforth you are promoted to the rank of Lieutenant, and authorized to enter active duty.”

Sonak simply nodded.

“I understand that, as a Vulcan, you have... no ego to bruise. Yet, your record state that you have been a starship captain before, with forty years of actual Starfleet service experience.”

“That was in another universe, Sir. Another time... another life.“

The steely-eyed Vulcan paused a moment, as if he was about to say something. Then he chose to speak factually instead.

“This past year was devoted to catching up with one hundred and twenty-eight years of progress and discovery. Not to mention a universe where it's history was at the same time similar, yet different than what I have known and experienced all my life. All the while Starfleet Intelligence had to monitor me carefully to assess if I represented any kind of risk. This assessment indubitably is still ongoing. Being a lieutenant again will give more time to bring everything and everyone, including myself, into clear and proper focus.”

“Logical,” admitted Data. “Yet, such experience and performance as yours should not be wasted.”

Sonak's eyes suddenly took on an intense light.

“In that case, Sir... if I may be so bold... may I take the liberty of requesting my first assignment?”

“As an Honor Graduate of Starfleet, it is traditionally your prerogative. I am sure you know this already.”

"I was counting on it, Sir.”

The cryptic remark made the android pause a moment. So he asked the question.

“Have you already made a choice as to the duty station where you wish to serve?”

“Affirmative, Sir; the USS Hera, refitted Nebula class, NCC-79010, Captain Enalia Telvan commanding.”

Data's left eyebrow rose in a very good approximation of the usual Vulcan mannerism.

“An... interesting choice, Lieutenant. The Hera being a vessel assigned by Starfleet to missions of scientific study and exploration, it would be an obvious choice for an accomplished science officer as yourself... if the Hera had not been a classified ship.”

The pale-skinned android paused again, watching vainly for any reaction on the feline face of the Vulcan.

“Only officers of captain rank and above are supposed to know this is the new designation of the USS Bonchune... and that she was recently refitted.”

“I was a captain once,” Sonak reminded him.

“But not anymore,” retorted data in turn.

“Computers are not always cognizant of such nuances.”

The other eyebrow of Data shot upward.

“Are you telling me, Lieutenant, that you managed to hack Starfleet's database?”

Again, there was a short moment of silence before Sonak spoke.

“I hold an A7 grade in computers, Sir. But there was little need to hack anything. When you know what to look for and how to correlate bits of data from different sources, shipments of parts and materials, shuffling of personnel, mission orders... it is sometimes possible to reconstruct an image that has been careful deconstructed and hid; like that of a specific starship.”

Data nodded.

“I remember doing such a procedure several times myself, most notably to uncover an alien infiltration within Starfleet. Remarkable. Well done Lieutenant... even if I will not congratulate you on this officially, you understand. But this alone should be a good incentive for Captain Telvan to consider your request to serve on her ship, once I answer her own surprise as to how you found her. I shall personally see that your request is brought to her attention... and give you her answer myself.”

“Thank you, Sir; most kind.”

Had he been human and emotional, Sonak would have sighed with relief. Although he had proceed as he had described, it had been much accelerated by the fact that thanks to an extradimensional distress call he knew exactly where to find one particular starship crewed by one particular Starfleet officer.

Lieutenant Rita Paris.

But his Academy tutor did not need to know that. And already, Data was dismissing him.

“Once again, congratulations on your early graduation and welcome to the service, Lieutenant Sonak."

The Vulcan rose.

“I come to serve.”

Data rose in turn and offered the Vulcan salute.

“Your service honors us.”

Sonak departed Data's office with his eyes set straight ahead.

This was the last step of his journey; or rather, the first step into his new life.

Moving forward into the future, yet back towards her.

A few crews of the Artan pirates had returned early and as the head of the family, it was Enalia's duty to party it up with them, Starfleet or no, while she was at home. Thus she was dressed to the nines in her official family garb and seated in what amounted to a throne at the head of a table in the middle of an almost Nordic looking feasthall while racacious pirates ate and drank noisily. She appeared to be enjoying herself, but she also looked to be maintaining an air of discipline that made even the roughest of them keep their distance. Even with the white and gold cloak and tabard hat, she drank from the goblet and ate the food with them more like royalty than a pirate - indeed she was a Queen in more than name alone.

Back on the Hera, the unconventionally uniformed retro throwback Starfleet officer tapped the comm key on the command chair. "Bridge to transporter room. Get a lock on Captain Telvan, please."

As she waited, Lieutenant Paris sent a few more reports and was tapping out an email when the transporter room spoke up. "Lock achieved, sir."

"Good work. Stand by," Paris ordered as she finished tapping out the email, then spellchecked it. Sending out even casual messages with typos made one look less professional and led to mistakes and inefficiencies. Which was counterproductive to her Get Things Done agenda. With Rita's luck this was the one time the captain didn't want to be bothered, but she had certainly hinted that this was all duty and very little enjoyment for her, so Rita was taking a gamble on her timing given that this was 12:30 hours. Signing off on two duty roster changes, the buxom blonde bombardier tapped her left breast, activating the pointy comm badge there.

"Paris to Captain Telvan. There's something on the bridge that I think you should see, ma'am."

Enalia could barely hear her comm over the sound of the party but as soon as she stood and motioned to the group, silence fell over the hall. She tapped her comm badge. "Telvan here. What is it?"

While the din of the party didn't come through, there was certainly a lot of background noise. When she spoke, Paris did so slowly and clearly. "We may have a bit of a crisis ma'am. We've got a transporter lock on you, may we transport you to the bridge?"

"If you think it best. Give me a moment to wrap things up here." Enalia raised her voice to address the hall. "Ladies and gentlebeings! You earned great wealth and honor today! Sadly, I must call it a night early. Please continue to eat, drink, and be merry without me though!" At her words there was a great cheer and when it calmed down, presumably as they drank to her toast, she continued. "Energize."

Tapping the appropriate key on the command chair, the transporter phobic's forehead beaded with sweat. "Transporter room, site to site transport the captain to the bridge. Energize."

Don't die don't die don't die Paris secretly muttered in her mind as she did whenever ordering a transport, as opposed to going on one herself as the bulge of blue white light shimmered and expanded, then four blobs of incandescent blue light radiated out from that central core of coalescing energy that resolved itself- a lot faster than it used to, Paris noted- into Captain Telvan, who was rather completely bedecked in her piratical gear, Rita assumed.

"Did I call at a bad time, ma'am?" the ancient astronaut asked solicitously with a small smile on her face.

Enalia just gave her a lopsided grin, threw wide the white and gold trimmed cloak, revealing more of the ornate white and gold uniform underneath as well as her phase pistols, and peered out from under her piratical hat. "Status report, Commander Paris. What is this crisis that befouls space?"

"I'm an interruption, ma'am. A random one. You have no schedule or agenda to follow while your are caught up in all of this, so I thought I would try interrupting you right after lunch." Giving the captain's getup a once over, then taking a few steps to orbit and take it all in, Paris frowned and nodded. "I have to admit, you pull it off, Captain. You actually look... dashing."

"If I interrupted something important or that you needed to be there for, I offer my sincerest apologies for my manufactured crisis and we can beam you right back." Paris stood up straight and alert, in case this was going to be one of those unlucky moments of hers. She'd been straightforward, and that seemed to be how the captain worked.

"No, that was actually perfect timing. As much as I love seeing them all again, I can't party like they can after a mission. Thank you for the excuse." Without a second thought, she whisked off her hat, bowed graciously, took Rita's hand and lightly touched her lips to the back of it. "Dashing woman of action... at your service... Would you like to see my... Sword?"

Delighted by the show of chivalry, Rita cheerfully went long with it and blushed despite herself. Then she raised an eyebrow and flashed a bit of those pearly whites. "Why captain, as inappropriate an innuendo as that might be, I suspect you've a yard of steel hidden in there somewhere. I would indeed like to see it, if you're offering."

Standing back up and stepping back, Enalia reached behind her and pulled from behind her a custom rapier straight from a space pirate holodrama complete with platinum filigree and ruby embellishments. With a flourish, she offered it to Rita. "My ceremonial blade. It's a duranium alloy laced with platinum and ruby. Don't pull the trigger - it can fire stun bolts from the tip."

Reaching out to gingerly take the weapon, Rita was surprised by how weightless it seemed to be, thanks to the excellent balance. Carefully taking hold of the hilt, making certain to avoid the trigger, Rita hefted the weapon, waving it around slightly. One fencing lesson from the Baroness did not a swordsman make, and the comely cosmonaut was very careful not to actually hit anything nor pretend a skill she did not possess.

“It’s beautiful, Captain. A sword befitting a Princesszen,” she offered, using one of the captain’s retainer’s more colorful nicknames for the starship captain who still held court over a space kingdom of privateers.laying the blade on her palm, she carefully offered the hilt back to her swashbuckling superior.

Taking the sword back, Enalia returned it to its scabbard. "By the way, you're more out of uniform than usual. You're wearing the wrong rank. Did I forget to tell you I promoted you?"

Face squirming back a bit, Paris snorted. The computer in the pod yesterday had called her Lieutenant Commander. When she'd set foot on the bridge the Captain had called her Commander. Be damned. Rita Paris had, apparently, earned her broken stripe back. Looking down, she'd been wearing it the entire time on her sleeve, which no one noticed or cared apparently, because they just read pips. Bringing her gaze back up to the captain, Rita Paris smirked.

"I earned it back, ma'am?"

"You did. I'm also counting your prior time as Lieutenant Commander towards time in grade, which, because of all the reassignments taking place, makes you my new Executive Officer, if you're sticking around." Straightening up and peering at Rita from under the brim of her hat, Enalia continued. "You are sticking around, right?"

Initially Rita sought to answer the question, but then the questions started occurring. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen the XO since before they docked. He hadn't been on the bridge when they'd brought her in. That was when she remembered the captain was waiting on an answer. It was a skeleton crew of mostly punishments and malcontents on duty, but the stations were manned. Draping one hand on her hip and sliding into a pinup pose, Rita Paris turned it on.

"Where, in all of Starfleet, am I going to find a captain who respects me enough to let me wear my old uniform?" Taking the first of a long, predatory stride, Rita rolled her hips as she moved. "On a mutant hybrid customized starship meant for espionage and exploration. Captained by Herself, the Prinzesszen Pirate who ran away to join Starfleet yet proves you can come home again. To a snowglobe in space." Coming up on the captain's port side, the buxom blonde bombshell cocked a pose and crossed her arms beneath her prodigious bosom, forming a rather odd gold shelf that managed to peek cleavage out of that off-center V neck of hers.

"All that and she offers me first officer to boot. Commander Xustos?"

"Reassigned," Enalia simply replied. "As well as Ops and Intel Chiefs and a third of the crew." Enalia could play the pose game as well. Tossing the right side of her cloak over her shoulder, she pretended not to notice that Rita was even strutting around her and strode up to the Captain's chair, placing her right hand on it and rounding behind it in a fanciful pose, her eyes looking towards the viewscreen. "I need someone I can trust and someone I know can get the job done. You've proven yourself several times already. You've even saved my life." She then turned meaningfully towards Rita and looked her straight in the eyes. The tension from the rest of the bridge crew could be cut with Enalia's sword. "I know you're the one for the job. You're the only one that can be my new XO."

"I'd be honored, Captain Telvan. I'll do the job until I get killed, or you find somebody better. If I get killed, give me a few. I might just find a way out of it. After all, I am one hell of a navigator." Taking a step toward the swashbuckling starship captain, the curvaceous commander drew herself up to attention and offered a salute.

"I know you hate it ma'am, but to some of us it means a lot," Paris pleaded, holding the salute as per military tradition.

Enalia came to attention, rendered her own salute in the modern era fashion, and held it a moment. "As Captain of the USS Hera, I accept it." With that, she dropped her salute.

The antique Starfleet officer in near-mint condition grinned ear to ear and made a squeaky sound that clearly indicated that she was restraining a much louder sound because she was on duty on the bridge. "I won't let you down, ma'am. This day couldn't possibly get any better!"

A slow grin crept across Enalia's face. "Computer, what time is it? When is the Starfleet shuttle arriving?"

"Twelve forty eight. The Shuttlecraft Friendship 7 will be arriving in twelve minutes." The computer's reply was as mysterious as Enalia's questions.

The Captain nodded, her smile now gone and her arms crossed under her bust. "Let's see if we can make it better. Your first act as XO is to greet our new Assistant Science Chief. He's a bit of a time traveler as well, so Starfleet and I agreed that your experiences would serve well in this matter. Please take care of him and show him to his quarters."

"An indulgence, ma'am?" the old-school officer asked, as she tended to do. When given a mile, leave it to Paris to find the extra inch she needed.

"Ah... We can call it that... This man is important to the ship and crew and I'd welcome him myself, but I'm not dressed for the occasion." Enalia gave another of her lopsided grins and held up an edge of her cape. "Besides, I'm sure you'll do a better job of it."

"Thank you, ma'am. So... back in Ye Olden Days, when you kept the ship running for the captain, you were the 'First Officer', ma'am. It's a bit more of a mouthful than two letters, I know. But with your permission, that's what I'll be for you." The incoming officer meet and greet was already filed, and she'd be there in ten minutes. Cap'n had ordered, that's what she'd get. But this was something to ask for up front, not a later course correction.

"The XO position has many names. Number one... First Officer... XO... There are some more colorful ones I won't mention. First Officer is a good one though. You have to be on the flight deck though." Gallantly, Enalia whooshed her cape and sat in the central chair. "And you can't be late."

"Ma'am, I cannot chide nor discipline others for lax behavior if I myself am late. So you may be assured, Rita Paris is never late. If I am, something's wrong, start looking for me. No, seriously," she reinforced. Then that pretty face almost shyly broke out into a happy smile.

"Thank you, Captain Telvan. Not everyone would have taken me in and given me a home, but you did. You will forever have my loyalty, Cap'n." With that, Paris offered her approximation of the captain's courtly bow.

"I consider it a part of destiny," Enalia replied with a wink.

"Nine minutes, ma'am. I won't be late and I'll be prepared," Paris assured her captain.

"Prepared... Highly doubt that..." the captain muttered under her breath, checking the recorders in the main shuttlebay to make sure they were set to send their holovid data straight to the secure computer so it wouldn't be wiped later. She couldn't wait to see Rita's face when that shuttle's door opened.

From the porthole of the sleek class 11 shuttlecraft Friendship 7, Sonak gave the dark hull of the USS Hera a good look over to as it flew around it to align with the landing area in the shuttlecraft bay, which looked much more like an actual hangar deck. He had studied the schematics of the Nebula class starship and all the visual recordings about it during his long travel through space. There had been nothing else to do, as the entire classified flight had been pre-automated to the current encrypted coordinates of his assigned ship.

Still, he was nevertheless impressed when he actually came into the presence of the real thing.

A Nebula class starship looked basically like nothing other than a saucer section with a triangular pod on top and the two sleek flattened nacelles directly affixed under it's stern. Then the engineering hull right under it's belly with no connecting neck structure left her compact, yet still elegant. Although it was far larger than even the majestic Constitution class capital ship of his former life; three million three hundred and nine thousand metric tons. Four hundred and forty-two point twenty-three meters in length, three-hundred and eighteen point eleven meters in width, thirty decks raising it to one hundred and thirty point forty-three meters in height. She carried a standard complement of seven hundred and fifty officers and crew members, almost twice as that of his old command, the USS Exeter.

The vessel's most remarkable feature was the interchangeable pod on top-aft of the ship, which could turn it with minimum work at a space facility into a warship, a research vessel, a science explorer, a colonial ship or even a space hospital- depending of the special package provided to it.

Specific data about the Hera had likewise been heavily encrypted, well beyond his capability to decipher. But Sonak knew enough from the general data to be sufficiently prepared to start his commission as assistant chief science officer right from the moment of his arrival.

As the shuttle arced the trajectory for its final approach, he admired the aesthetics of the starship's soft, curving lines, almost organic, practically... feminine. She was indeed a beauty, a goddess queen of the stars as her name suggested. It stirred within him a definite appreciation of being allowed to serve aboard her.

Something else was stirring within him as well. Because he knew the Hera was not the only lady with whom he would be joined.

At last he arrived at the dusk of his long journey; now came the dawn of a new voyage. But the light of his life would once again be there beside him to light the way.


With five minutes to spare, Rita Paris paced the flight control operations office overlooking the hangar deck with a PaDD in her hands, tapping away as she about-faced then continued slowly pacing as she worked. Currently she was prepping a tablet for the new onboarding assistant science chief. She'd tried to come up with the personnel record, but the transfer orders were sealed and she didn't have access. As the Hera was Starfleet Intel, that was likely going to happen from time to time, so she would just adapt to work around it.

The PaDD would be synced to the biosign eventually, but for now she set it to have limited access and some basics like a chain of command, a deck listing and schematic of the Hera, an overview of her mission and a request for Lieutenant Vaemyn to take a meeting with his new assistant added to both of their calendars. The efficient executive was in the process of scheduling a physical on the calendar when the shuttlecraft arrived. Folding the tablet to her bosom, the newly-minted first officer strode at a military pace out of her office and onto the flight deck, even as the shuttlecraft came to rest in a nice smooth landing for which she planned to compliment the pilot.

Chest out, chin up and looking every bit the 2257 recruitment poster model she had once been, in her anachronistic uniform of her bygone age, Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris stood ready to greet the new transfer.


When the soft thud and vibration of the shuttle's skids came, he was already standing, hands behind his back in front of the hatch at the stern of the small craft, his duffel bag at his feet. In his days, such a parsecs-long voyage would have been impossible aboard such a small craft. But this one had flown at warp 6 on the modern warp scale, faster than the top speed of the best ships of his time.

Already he had found much to be appreciated, living in this new universe. In this new era.

Now, finally, he had arrived. The entirety of his voyage had been much longer and much slower, but also more challenging than a simple transfer to a new commission.

The first step out of the shuttle would be his final step to return to her, wherein he would be reunited once more.

When the hatch finally hissed opened, without the haste he felt in his soul, he calmly took that final step... that first step.


Waiting on the flight deck as the hatch opened, the gold-clad commander stepped forward, that first step a confident stride that faltered when she took in the sight of the figure emerging from the shuttlecraft. A tall Vulcan with a lithe, athletic build stepped out, as tall as she in her chunky-heeled explorer's boots. A mop of black hair was cut in the traditional bowl style that she still disliked, yet it framed the steely-grey eyes that she knew better than her own. The supercentenarian space explorer stopped in her tracks because her mind was having difficulty processing what she was seeing.

It was Sonak... in a modern Starfleet uniform, with an Academy duffel over his back.

Sonak stopped at the regulatory one meter distance from the Lieutenant Commander that greeted him. He would have normally deemed it an honor to be personally greeted upon arrival by no less than the first officer of the starship, as he was now a mere lieutenant. But seeing the tall, curvaceous feminine body clad in the gold and black of a bygone era, of another universe enraptured him. The thick, sensuous brush of hair, those large luminous eyes in a face reminiscent of a Greek goddess. What he now felt was light years beyond meeting such an entity. It burst silently into his mind so powerfully, it would have blasted every mind on board had he been still the powerful telepath he had once been.

T'hy'la!

In truth, he should not have felt anything whatsoever. Emotions had been utterly and absolutely purged from his body and mind six decades prior. Yet, what had unerringly stirred in him, and had steered him to this moment in space and time, suddenly expanded within his katra like the Big Bang itself.

There was only one person, one being, one element of reality in all realities that could ever evoke such a feeling in him, most of all this particular feeling. Perfectly stoic, still and silent, his mind echoed her name.

Rita.

In his mind, her name and her presence flooded his consciousness, so much so that he could neither move nor speak, it seemed, for her presence consumed his senses.

At last, he had found her.


To Rita, there might have been some room for error- after all, Sonak might have had relatives on Vulcan who, in this day and age, had grown up to resemble him. This could be a perfect stranger to her, which was most likely the case. But while she possessed no psychic ability of her own, there was a bond between them- one forged of joy and peril, of tenderness and dedication to one another, that went far beyond words or vows. Despite all logic, she would know him anywhere- this close, she could almost feel him in her soul. As her bright blue eyes grew wide with realization, she hesitantly whispered his name, for fear that somehow she was wrong, and this was just this universe playing a particularly cruel trick on her.

"Sonak...?" she asked tremulously, her eyes filling with tears.

"Lieutenant Sonak, reporting for duty as assistant chief science officer. I come... to serve."

Other than this bland, regulation-dictated sentence, he found himself incapable of saying anything more. He found he could not speak, could not even summon the will to raise his hand in salute. He could only gaze at her... and... feel her.

Tears streamed from the eyes of the anachronistic astronaut as the PaDD clattered noisily to the deck, dropped by uncaring fingers. There could be no doubt- this was no illusion nor doppelganger, but the real Sonak- her Sonak. Her T’hy’la. Her beloved. Her One. This close to him, she could feel his presence, like a palpable physical sensation inside her heart, her mind, a chord struck deep within her very soul. While she could not hear his voice in her mind, still she could feel him calling to her all the same. Any doubts she might have had were washed away by the sound of his voice, a sound she had longed to hear so very much, for what had seemed like so very long.

In an instant, the career Starfleet officer abandoned all military decorum and simply hurled herself bodily at him, enveloping the lanky frame of the Vulcan scientist with abandon. Her arms wrapped about his shoulders even as her legs wound about his waist. She did not hesitate- she knew from experience he could bear her weight easily, and she desired nothing more than to feel him against her, to hold him close and reassure herself that this was no dream or hallucination.

He did not expect her move. Standing like a steel post would have resulted in more than bruises for her. But as soon as she made contact, fighting instincts honed by decades of Suus Manna and Pon Ifla training took over. Flowing with her momentum, he rolled back and covered her frame with his arms and hands to absorb the full force of her charge. The long-lost lieutenant shrieked slightly, partially from surprise and partially from joy as the nimble Vulcan dissipated their momentum on the floor, to ensure that she would be unhurt as he rolled them both back to his feet.

All the while, she clung to him like a drowning victim.

As tears streamed down her face, she whispered into his delicately tapered pointed ear. Four simple words which meant the entire universe to her, causing her heart to swell with joy, relief, and the fullness of a love she feared she had lost forever to an uncaring cosmos.

“You came for me.”

Sonak raised an eyebrow.

"It was the only logical thing left to do."



Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNZH-emehxA

Clinging to the athletic Vulcan she'd tackled on the flight deck, Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris was officially the happiest girl in space.

Running her fingers through his hair, then placing her palms alongside the face of her Vulcan lover, the long-lost lieutenant cupped Sonak's cheeks in her hands. There were so many things she wanted to say in that moment, but all of them jammed up at once in a spectacular cerebral pile-up in her brain.

Instead, ever a creature of instinct, Rita Paris leaned in and kissed her one true love right there on the flight deck.

With her body literally wrapped about his form like a great blonde serpent, that deep and passionate kiss went on for a good thirteen seconds, and the footage from various angles would make the rounds aboard the Hera. When she pulled away from him, those runner's thighs reluctantly released him, and the statuesque starship siren lowered her feet back onto the deck. Patting him on the chest, she looked around the flight deck at the personnel who had either volunteered to stay on duty or were being penalized during shore leave, all of whom were gawking.

"We're old shipmates," she explained loudly. There were a few chuckles at that as their cheerful chief turned back around, took a few steps then squatted smoothly to pick up the dropped PaDD. Rising back up just as quickly, she half-turned to regard the Hera's newest transfer.

"Shall we, Co- ah, Lieutenant Sonak?" Paris gestured to the hatch leading into the Hera with a smile that she simply could not stop.

Inclining his head, he let her take the lead and plot the course. After all, she was the senior officer now, in more ways than one. Although he had studied intensely and without pause for months since his arrival in this new universe, and his actual length of service in space far exceeded hers, he had had also a century of progress to catch up on, and the gold-clad commander had a good headstart on him on that front.

It was also a most effective way to fill his senses with her intoxicating presence.

Overall, he was quite gratified to realize that their deep connection had not been severed by the alterations of his psionic abilities. He could feel her, just as easily and as deeply as before. Apparently, the Vulcan spiritual connection was just as real here as it has been back where they came from.

Touching but not touched... apart and never parted... as went the old ritual.

It was... deeply satisfactory.

Realizing that Sonak was lagging behind, which meant that he was doing so intentionally, Rita changed course to circle around behind him and come up on his starboard side to keep pace with him. She didn't plan to talk over her shoulder while they walked, and Sonak had always preferred to let her chart their course, in so many ways. A thought struck her, and before she started an actual conversation, she acted upon it.

"Lieutenant, would you be so kind as to remove your jacket?"

He stopped, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Is there something wrong with my uniform, Lieutenant-Commander?"

"I am of that opinion, Lieutenant," the pretty pilot pivoted as he stopped. She had managed to bring her smile down to a more close-lipped affair, but the antique Starfleet officer in near mint condition was still quite clearly possessed of a delightfully cheerful mood. "Indulge me, if you will? Please?"

The lieutenant commander had addressed the lieutenant precisely as she would have had he been her superior. Of course, she afforded the same respect to everyone, even the ship's computer. Rita Paris had been raised to be polite, and in military service she had always found that bad manners were seldom rewarded. Besides, 'We come in peace' was easier to believe if you weren't a jackass. Beaming a wide-eyed smile at the kolinahr, now no longer the last, Rita nodded at his outerwear.

Without another word, Sonak removed his grey and black vest and folded it neatly on his duffel bag to stand at parade rest, arms behind his back. He was now showing the bright blue long sleeved shirt underneath which was fused to his tight black pants. It occurred to him that, thus attired, he looked much more like he was wearing his former century old science officer uniform; blue top, black pants with soft boots.





There was definitely a high probability, he calculated, that this was precisely what Rita Paris had planned when formulating her peculiar request. No empathic link was needed to conclude this; after all, he knew her preferences quite well.

Leaning down, the Vulcan scientist unclipped his commbadge, then affixed to it to magnetically adhere to the blue shirt.

Those bright blue eyes fairly gleamed as she snatched up his seabag and began to move down the corridor again, tossing it to him as she explained herself. "I don't know the precise regulation, but it's in the dress code. The jacket is optional. Your body temperature is higher than ours, and you aren't going to get cold on a starship. That's my logic and I'm sticking to it."

"These clothes are excellent insulators. And I for one prefer clothing to be as simple and practical as possible. I will follow your recommendation."

The satisfaction that fairly radiated off the first officer was practically palpable.

"You're here. I can't believe you're here. You hurled me across space and time and dimension, yet you found me. I thought I'd lost you forever," Rita whispered the last few words as they strode through the ship's corridors at a martial pace. Both were fast walkers by nature, and they fell back to old habits easily. His sharp ears could hear her easily enough, even if he had to speak aloud for her.

"There was a ninety-five point three percent probability of you being killed through signal deterioration because of the ion storm interference. Fortunately, I was aware of the quantum fluctuation caused by the crossing of ions and subatomic transporter particles. And I noticed your peculiar subatomic signature; the remnant trace of your former transporter accident. Since your death was a high probability, I estimated the only chance left to you was through quantum displacement. That is why I disconnected the Heisenberg compensator as I completed the beam out. There was a four point seven percent chance the uncertainty principle would materialize you somewhere within any number of quantum realities. It was definitely low, but anything was better than the alternative."

"Well, you pulled it off as usual, and you saved me. It was still luck that the Hera hit me, but you did the impossible, like you always do. Okay, I have to know, how? How are you here and commissioned? How- " The brows rose and the human woman did an impression of a goldfish for a second as she pointed at him. "You DID get it! My message in a bottle! It worked?!?"

"Obviously," he replied after a moment with an arched eyebrow and a blank expression. "Without it, I likely would never have discovered this reality's exact quantum signature and your spatiotemporal coordinates. Once your ingenious mayday reached me, I could then use them as a reference to implement my own transdimensional transference."

He touched the two pips on his collar.

"As for my commission; in order to find you, I required the resources of Starfleet; therefore, I needed to become a Starfleet officer here as well. I calculated my emergence in this reality one year and eleven months before your own arrival, in order to study and acclimate while qualifying for security clearances on Vulcan. Sufficiently acclimated and up to date with this universe, re-application to Starfleet Academy under Vulcan sponsorship enabled me to complete an accelerated course review. At least, sufficiently well enough to be assigned to a cadet cruise. As military organizations tend to be highly conservative, I estimated there would be little fundamental differences between our native era and this one." Arriving at the turbolift, he tabbed the button and continued.

"Thus I only needed technical and historical updates to succeed. My plan fulfilled my requirements far better than I had initially estimated, as there were more similarities between our universes than I had anticipated. I thought I would need further research to find a way to just contact you. But as I graduated with high honors, combined with my recognized and tested four decades of command experience, I was promoted to Lieutenant and allowed to choose my assignment. Then it was just a matter of your exact location... which you provided as navigational coordinates, along with the precise date."

The turbolift arrived, and once they'd stepped inside, the buxom blonde bombardier called out, "Deck 8." Tapping away at the PaDD in her hand, she sent a message and reorganized a duty roster. Then she created a room assignment, as Sonak took her elbow to lead the distracted damsel out of the lift. Looking up from her work, the lost navigator smiled at his consideration, then frowned slightly, the first time the smile had actually left her face.

"Two years?” she asked with a note of disbelief in her voice. “You arrived two years ago to make sure you got here and had time to come find me and you spent two years… alone? Wait, how long did it take you to figure out how to get here? For that matter, how DID you get here?"

"That was actually the most difficult portion of this endeavor," he admitted with a nod. "This ship is formally registered as a science vessel on special assignment; yet, details about her mission and location are remarkably... obscure, when not outright classified. Her engineering refit and report logs are not even accessible below the rank of Commodore, and only within Starfleet Intelligence. So I had to be... creative."

He knew without looking at her face that his explanation was just as obscure as he claimed of the Hera's data. Thus he strove to explain further.

"Basically, I used the same methodology and reasoning as those ancient astronomers who worked to find the first black hole, with primitive optical and radio-emitting instruments. How do you find a hole in space? You cannot observe it directly; ergo, what you can search for are effects of its presence on the surrounding visible universe. Anything that physically exists in reality will leave a physical imprint upon reality; by looking for those indirect clues and correlating them together, you can eventually find what you seek; even an invisible object in utter darkness, or a classified starship in covert operation... or a woman lost in space and time."

Of course, the answer made perfect sense to Rita as for how Sonak had found the Hera, and even how he had managed to secure assignment aboard her. Approaching it in a linear fashion as he had, in a calmly logical progression, even knowing her nav coordinates at a specific date in time would not have enabled him to find the classified Starfleet Intelligence starship. Thus, he had searched for what was not there. But that wasn't the answer to the question she had intended.

"I am, as always, suitably impressed," the hard-luck heroine beamed that cheerful smile in Sonak's direction as they made their way forward. "My question is to more to the physical transition. You physically traveled in time and dimension to get here, to leave our timeline for this one. I got here because a desperate genius tried to find a way to save me in a crisis, and a curious genius reassembled me here when I was the crisis. I was a warp ghost again briefly, but the warp fields here are, as you've noticed, considerably stronger than they were in my- our day, so they could see me this time. So they figured out I was here rather quickly and pulled me together. But you? How did you arrive in this reality?"

As she often did, Rita walked through Sonak's logic from the outside, piecing together with many words what he could encapsulate with only a few. But as she was still working at processing it all, she did so aloud, sharing her thoughts so that the Vulcan scientist would know her mind and grasp her understanding of the situation.

There was a brief pause before she added, "It's just you- no Michael or the Exeter, is there? We aren't going home, because you couldn't find a way to open a breach in time and space and dimension without destroying us. You just hurled yourself after me, because you... oh."

The leggy lieutenant slowed her martial pace, watching his seemingly impassive face as realization washed across her own. "Because I called you. I let you know where and when I was, and you... you had nothing left. No Vulcan, no people and with me gone.... oh.” The realization struck her, as his words made more sense to her now. “It was the only logical thing left to do."

Again, old habits and patterns returned easily, and were the neurotic navigator not already overjoyed by his presence, simply returning to familiar behaviors would have soothed her considerably.

"You have deduced the facts correctly. Michael is not here," answered the Vulcan. "I did consider using the Exeter to come here when I was still her commanding officer; but Starfleet wisely denied me the opportunity. Denying me to risk ship and crew in such a hazardous project as transdimensional time travel, and for the sole sake of but one human woman, was of course quite logical.”

“I therefore followed that same logic and resolved to do it on my own, without risking anyone else nor anyone else's property... or polluting further our already artificially-created reality... and this one. To this end, I estimated that the best course of action was to bring back the scoutship that had transported Ambassador Spock from this reality, using the quantum resonance hypothesis with what Spock's katra revealed to me as a ‘slingshot’ effect. I could thus attempt to begin the process of restoring that which he left altered... and to reach you."

He lifted his head and looked squarely at her.

"It is always fascinating to see your mind come to the correct conclusion, even without relying solely upon logic," he admitted with sincere humility. "You are a unique entity, Rita Paris. This endeavor was indubitably worthwhile... at least to me."

For her part, the unconventionally uniformed officer said nothing, as they arrived at the edge of the outer ring of Deck 8, and within a brief yet brisk walk, they approached quarters whose touchscreen backlit nameplate outside read LTCDR R. PARIS, CHIEF FLIGHT CONTROL. As the automatic doors slid open with her approach, Paris strode inside a few long paces then paused in what passed for her living room in the outrageously spacious quarters.

The effect of the change from the earthtones of the starship Hera’s Galaxy Class corridors was considerable. The walls inside her quarters were painted Duranium grey with a hint of blue, while the metal mesh movable room dividers were reminiscent of the room dividers from a Constitution class starship. In fact, her quarters, subdivided with a rather well-furnished kitchen, a dining area, a living room with comfortable furniture and a bedroom beyond, in furnishings and tone closely resembled a Starfleet VIP quarters from the 2260’s, save for the immense size, and the viewports built into the upper deck that showed the twinkling stars of space beyond them.

Wordlessly, he followed her as she expected. Once he was safely inside and the doors were closed she turned to him, bright blue eyes shining with pending tears. The curvaceous chrononaut stepped slowly and deliberately into the lean kolinahr’s personal space. Her gold-clad arms moved gently and deliberately, almost as if in a pattern of ritual, across the bright blue of his uniform.

Gingerly, carefully, the Vulcan’s human lover wrapped her arms around him, then pressed herself to his form. As she closed her eyes and clung to him, he felt weeks of tension physically and psychically shudder out of her. All of the pent-up frustration and longing, all of the insecurity, all of her fear that he had been lost to her forever she released, wrapped in his strong arms.

For a change, she spoke no words… instead, she simply needed to hold him and be held, to be reassured that he was here and that she was whole once more.

It might have been the years of separation, thought to be definitive; but for the first time in memory, a feeling stirred within Sonak. It was more, he knew, than just his katra resonating to her presence. Their relationship had made him cognizant of and at ease with the emotional and physical needs of this human woman. In their time together she had learned to express her emotions so clearly in so many ways to him, even if he did not feel any of it. But this time, it was different. There was something beyond the mere duty of reacting to her needs; it seemed responding to her needs was now becoming a need for him as well.

He enfolded her tall, sensuous body into his arms, and her physical contact alone vibrated beyond his mind and right into his very soul.

Simply put, she needed him; and he, in turn, needed her.

The two lovers stood together and held one another, in mutual silence which needed no words to fill it. It was a full moment before she spoke again.

“I tried to give up hope that you were coming, and just accept that and build a life for myself. But I couldn’t. Somehow, despite all logic, I knew you would come for me… and you did.” Pulling back slightly, her eyes sought out his, peering into them as if trying to memorize them once more as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Two years… I fell apart over two months without you, and you went two years without me. You must have been so lonely… I’m sorry, love.”

In her heart he could feel it- the wish that she could have been there for him, knowing how her heart had keened for him. Her immeasurable gratitude at his accomplishment of such a fantastic and improbable feat. Her pride in knowing that she’d helped. The joy that his presence and proximity inspired within her. And her love for him, which had grown that much stronger for the experience.

“You are so impossibly strong, Sonak of Vulcan. A hundred years, another dimension and a top-secret starship… yet here you are.”

"You give me too much credit," he protested softly. "To me, devoid of emotions, it was a work to accomplish, a goal to achieve; a most important one to be certain, but still one where my intellect could focus entirely, and support my expectations with growing probabilities recalculated at each step. You, on the other hand, had to deal with a flood of emotions and feelings that are not that easily processed. People have not lost their mind thinking too much; some do when they cannot deal with loss, grief or despair."

“I... I thought about giving up. I cried every night and I had nightmares. I was so scared all of the time, and it kept getting worse,” Rita rambled a bit, then traced a finger down his nose with a wistful little smile. “I even tried to figure out how to do a slingshot in a runabout, thinking if I was at least in the right era...”

His grey eyes plunged deeply into hers.

"Strength, courage and valor are not born out of ignorance. They are genuine only when you truly face yourself and your weaknesses- and prevail, as you did."

Reaching up, her hand caressed his cheek lovingly as tears ran down her face, flush with so many emotions at once. “You did all of that just for me. I don’t think I have ever heard of anyone going so far and through so much just for one human girl, Mister Sonak of Vulcan. My hero,” Paris said the words with no irony nor sarcasm- when she spoke, she always spoke from the heart.

Here, behind closed doors, she owed nothing to decorum or duty. Despite her display on the flight deck, they were both quite adept at remaining professional on duty. But here in private they could just be two star-crossed lovers, reunited after impossible circumstance had torn them apart. Here, she could cling to him like a shipwreck survivor in a storm, holding fast to her salvation.

"It is with great... satisfaction that I am with you again, Rita Paris."

“For as long as we have, I want to spend it with you,” the lost navigator said, repeating the words she knew he would remember, from their very first night spent together. Then, they had both been heading back to Earth for a Starfleet court-martial, to face charges for a crime that bore the death penalty. Years later and so very far from where they had started, the words were even more heartfelt today.

“I assigned you quarters on Deck 9, and you are welcome to use them as you see fit. But I want you to stay here, with me. In these enormous quarters that are so much more room than I will ever need. If anything, our time apart has proven to me just how much I need you, and just how close to me I like you. I want you now, and always, and you will always be in my heart.” Bright blue eyes flickering between his steel grey gaze, she laid bare her feelings, as she always did with him.

But then, he frowned.

"Will not the captain object to such... proximity between officers? You and I know that we can and will be most professional while pursuing this intimate relationship; Michael knew it as well. But Captain Telvan might not be so... tolerant. It is not an easy thing to manage for most, and could be conductive to some disruption in ship operations; for example, if others not permitted such a relationship look upon ours as favoritism."

That question brought forth a bashful smile and a giggle. "Captain Telvan is very much aware of you, and specifically who you are to me. After all, it's not like I have been at all shy about speaking of you." Rita paused to run her hand across his slender but firmly muscled chest.

"The Captain lives onboard with her wife- Starfleet has changed a little in that regard since our day, my love," the old-school officer replied. "So long as we comport ourselves professionally outside these quarters, I am very confident that the important thing to the captain will be that two of her officers are healthy, happy and productive. I suspect her hand in much of this- you never showed up in my searches for you when I came aboard, despite being at Starfleet Academy at the time. Plus she was rather insistent that I not be late to meet your shuttle. I'll have to review all of the facts, but I believe she knew you were coming, and has played her part in our reunion since the night I arrived in this reality. After all, she marked me as off-duty the moment you arrived on board. Our captain is rather a clever woman."

"So I have seen," he agreed. "Of course she was in the know; any transfer to a ship has to be approved by the captain. This ship most of all."

"Truth be told, if she objected and denied our relationship, I would resign my commission, because in this future it seems there are... options," those bright blue eyes fairly twinkled with mischief at that. "But in summary, no, Sonak. The captain will not object, nor will the crew will have anything to say. Because we are both excellent officers who will serve the Hera well- that is important to them. How we spend our time off duty, where and with whom is far less important."

He nodded.

"I fully appreciate to see that, in this universe, Starfleet personnel not only abide by the higher moral standards of the Federation we pledged to uphold, but that they have even reached such a high level of maturity. This is most... promising."

His eyes went to hers. His face was a blank jade mask and yet, to her it was as if he was smiling.

Gazing at him, without reaching down she expertly removed her explorer's boots so that she was no longer at eye level with him, but a bit shorter. Folding his fingers into the appropriate configuration, she placed her index and middle finger against his in the manner of his ancient people, no longer an endangered species in this place and time. “Promise me you will stay with me forever?”

It was a child’s request, one that an adult would realize was impractical and impossible to uphold. Logic dictated that he inform her of this fact, and explain and enlighten her as to a more appropriate version of the request to put forth, which he then might be able to reasonably assure her that he would strive to accomplish.

But he was a Vulcan; and Vulcans knew of things even beyond the material universe.

"So long as our Katra, our spirit endures, it will be so, Rita Paris. Apart from me and never parted, touched and not touched."

With a sigh, she folded herself against him, holding him to her tenderly as she rested her head on his shoulder. The stoic kolinahr always knew just what to say to melt her heart, although what she felt in his own heart did not feel emotionless to her. But she had long since moved past caring if she would 'damage' him with her feelings and emotions. Instead, she simply loved him and supported his personal journey, wherever that might take him. For she would be there beside him, always.

"Forever and always, Sonak of Vulcan," she promised in return. "You'll be in my heart."


Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=git6DCXSqjE

The duty roster had been cleared, and the first officer of the USS Hera was not scheduled to be anywhere until midshift, according to the report. While the great starship was still in drydock, most of the crew were still on shore leave. So there were very few duties that needed to be tended to, and it seemed that Captain Telvan had declared her hardworking executive officer to be banished from the bridge and self-appointed responsibility until at least the afternoon shift.

It brought a smile to her face as she cuddled her lover, returned to her through vastly improbable machinations. At one point she had been so terrified of the captain and her situation onboard the Hera that the time-tossed temptress had planned to steal a ship, to escape what she saw as genuine peril. Yet all along, the pirate princess turned Starfleet captain had been trying to hide the truth from her, so that events would unfold the way that they had to, in order to reunite her with the man who had crossed time, space and dimension to find her once more.

Now, lying in the bed that no longer seemed to be quite so oversized, in the luxuriant quarters that were no longer lonely, Rita Paris enjoyed one of her favorite positions. While she had spent hours last night revisiting a great number of her favorite positions, as the dawn sunlight streamed in through the viewports set into the ceiling, right now she relaxed in her personal favorite. Her shoulder was wedged into Sonak’s armpit, her head resting on his shoulder, as her arm draped across his somewhat furry chest, her leg wrapped around his lower body, ankle hooked possessively about his thighs.

The warm skin of the alien comforted her, acting as a balm for her soul as she curled up on him. She had often likened it to a lizard sunning itself on a hot rock, as she disliked the cold, and with his three beats per minute heartbeat, which slowed to two beats as hers sped up to approach it, considerable warmth was generated. Of course, it was not merely physical comfort she derived from his presence, but emotional fulfillment. Lost and adrift for weeks now, what she had craved more than anything else was the comfort that his presence provided for her… which was now here, in this place beyond her imagining, in a future she now faced with her old confidence.

Idly tracing a finger along his collarbone, she knew he was awake. The Vulcan master of logic required far less sleep than she, and he was keenly aware of her changes in mood, position and wakefulness throughout the night. After their exertions the night before, he had expected for her to sleep longer, thus he stoically remained on his back, arms about her as he offered the comfort and support that she craved from him. Which he, in turn, found fulfillment in providing.

Levering herself up onto her elbow, she placed her palms flat upon his chest so that she could support her chin as she looked at his noble and familiar face. Some would find his expression stern, while others might believe him to be expressionless, save for the occasional raised eyebrow or slight frown of consternation. But years of shared adventures and intimacy had granted her an understanding of the subtleties of his expressions, and what some might see as no change from his neutral expression, to her spoke volumes. Her upraised foot wagged behind her slightly, as she studied him with adoration in her eyes.

My perfect man, she mused as she studied him, contentment and joy still filling her heart.

He could not read her thoughts at a distance anymore; well, not as effortlessly as he had been able to all his life. Born the most powerful telepath on the planet, he would have gone insane without the harsh discipline of kolinahr to purge him of all emotions, to learn to control his power by shutting off his mind to others. Having mastered this for decades, it took him some time once in this new universe to realize that here, he was sharply reduced to the conventional touch telepathy of the typical Vulcan.

Now that he was so near his T'hy'la however, the change was almost painfully glaring to him. But he didn't mind. If anything, he was grateful for the change. Regarding everyone else, he could now relax with no risk of suddenly blasting thoughts to others. As for Rita, it was a novel wonderment to now have to truly watch her and listen to her, and feel her to merely even hearing what she was thinking and feeling. It required more concentration, more attention, more care than ever before. Of course, he could always establish a conventional mind meld to reinstate their former mental link; something they had done at one point during the course of their intimate exertions during the night. But he found it so much more challenging, and thus worthwhile and fulfilling, to learn to truly know and feel her- to discover what she wanted, what she liked, what she needed, what she wished for.

Even among his people, Sonak had never been in an intimate relationship. What he was living, thanks to Rita, was unique and precious; something only she could bring to this universe, through him. Through her, he understood that all living beings, all sentient beings, all humans, all women, were each one and unique and thus precious. There was only one Rita Paris; and she was her T’hy'la. A friend, a lover, a partner... all of this and much more.

He looked up at her lying on top of him and there was the tiniest glint in his eyes.

"I think I am in trouble."

There was the briefest flash through her mind that he might be needed on duty- but as he had not fully checked into the command as yet, he had no duty obligations to discharge. The Captain would wish to speak with him, of course, but given how much Rita had gone on and on about her Sonak, she suspected the captain would find it a relief to not hear her heartbroken helmsman go on and on about him any longer. Which meant that Sonak was making a joke, which brought a smile to her face, as it always did.

No longer could she feel him or hear him inside her head at a distance, as she once could. But as she herself was not psychic, it mattered much less to her. He was here, present, with her. She could feel him in her heart, and his presence filled her senses. His faint scent of sandalwood, the coarse hair of his chest against her firm breasts, those beautiful grey eyes that she loved to lose herself in. Smiling at him with contented bliss, she considered the appropriate reply.

“Think you can’t keep up anymore, spaceman?” she teased gently, her finger idly tracing circles on his chest as she lost herself in his eyes. “You sure did okay last night, particularly for a 193 year old man…”

He lifted an eyebrow and almost let out a sigh.

"It is always amazing to see how often and easily you Humans bring everything back to... biology. Even Andorians, whose entire society and psychology is based on their peculiar four gender paradigm at least ignore the subject for the first two decades of their lives... and even after that, bother with it for a mere five years before going sterile. But it's like you barely concede to tribbles."

He then looked at her, the strange glint back in his eye.

"I had to be careful; I was after all involved with a 162 year old human woman."

“What can I say? I’m a very old lady who really, really missed her old Vulcan,” Rita smiled, then moved to get close enough to kiss him tenderly, deeply and thoroughly. When she pulled away, the expression on her face was one of joy and tenderness, of vulnerability and longing. It seemed she was preparing to initiate mating with him once more, illustrating his point, when her stomach gurgled rather loudly.

It did not take a psychic link for him to see the battle waging behind her brows- food, or sex... food or sex.... As her stomach growled again, her body clearly cast its vote.

“Okay, tribble duty postponed for now. How about I make you some breakfast? It feels like I haven’t cooked for you in forever. And I have a kitchen now! A real kitchen!” It had always been a component of their relationship- emotional bonding through food sharing. Rita loved to cook for him and care for him, and she found it extremely emotionally fulfilling. It enabled her to share her culture with him, to expand his horizons even as it fed their biological needs.

"A logical choice. Intercourse does not help for sustenance, but sustenance does help for intercourse. While you give yourself the approvisioning assignment, I will work on damage control in these quarters."

He looked around as he spoke. Rita might have been human, but she was quite athletic for her species and rather vigorous and passionate. Such energy could affect space and matter quite significantly. He started with their clothing, sending it into the replicator to get new fresh ones specifically tailored for each of them. Then he would see to the surrounding area itself.

Watching him move, always so sure and deliberate, was something she had missed. His tall, lanky yet athletic build was not what she had previously been attracted to, yet she could not imagine him any other way. All she had to do was put forth an idea, and he promptly expanded on it as he formulated a plan, turning thought into action to do what needed to be done. Rolling off the bed, she bounced over to the one dresser drawer where she stored the sleep shirts she would need far less often now.

Grabbing a pair of pink satin bikini-cut panties, she stepped into them, then shimmied them up her long smooth tanned legs until she could wrest them over her generous rounded hips. Peeking over her shoulder, she checked to see if Sonak was watching. To tempt a Vulcan was an accomplishment, and it was one in which the hourglass heroine had considerable skill... and took great delight.

And yes, Sonak had noticed. As a human, her figure had an absolutely perfect symmetry and balance, despite being quite oversized in what defined the already definite sexual dimorphism in humans. It was as if she had been fabricated like a doll or an android. But if one entity in this universe, any universe, knew how alive and natural she was, it was Sonak. And Sonak was, like all Vulcans, a devoted aesthete.

Fishing through the drawer, she fetched out the loose-fitting oversized off-white t-shirt that bore the slogan, "Have your tribbles spayed and neutered". Holding it up so that he could read it, the buxom brassy blonde bombshell grinned, then rolled the garment up, held it over her head then dropped it to slide it over her form. The neck had been cut out of it, so it hung off one shoulder and at its longest was halfway to her knees. It was coverage with no support- simple modesty, plus protection from hot kitchen elements. Trotting out to the living room, she snatched up her boots from where she had pulled them off the night before to toss them at the bedroom.

He took a step, snatched them in mid-air and brought them along with the rest of their used clothes into the replicator to get fresh new ones. The whole motion had come almost unconsciously, born out of long time shared together that were now coming alive again between them once more. Anyone watching them now would had thought them an old couple; but anyone who would have watched them last night would have thought them first time lovers.

This was the only real magic the stoic, rational Vulcan had ever known.

Dancing into the kitchen, Rita grasped the edge of the island and used the leverage to propel herself to the pantry. Pulling up short, the happy homemaker helmsman opened the door and fetched the instant mix. "Computer? Hello. Would you warm up the medium burner to 170 degrees please, and replicate me one farm fresh egg and 500 milliliters of distilled water? Thank you."

The computer chirruped, then responded, "Complete. You're welcome."

"You are going to cook 'old fashioned' style again," remarked the Vulcan with an arched eyebrow. "I will remind you that I am not at all insistent on old traditions as many of my brethren are. And contrary to irrational human belief, there is virtually no difference even down to the subatomic level between hand made and replicator food."

"I enjoy the ritual, the act of creation," she reminded him. "The uncertainty of how it will turn out, the learning experience with each piece." Fetching a mixing bowl and a cup out of the cabinets that magnetically locked, she snapped her fingers. "Computer, could you trade out the first rack of burners for the griddle please?"

As the cold burners slid back, the flat surface rotated into place. "Computer, heat the griddle to 170 degrees please. Back medium burner to 190. Thank you." Pouring the measured flour mixture into the bowl with the water, she reached over to fetch the egg out of the replicator. Cracking it into the bowl, she began whisking the mixture.

"So I'm making pancakes, but the mixture is flexible, so I could make waffles instead? Or both, I have enough," she offered as she tucked the mixing bowl under one arm and worked it with the whisk in her hand. "Is that a sweat stain on the couch or just a body imprint?"

"Both," he answered from the keeness of his senses. "I know humans are fond of old furniture with a history... but the computer can transport it out for disassembling into basic matter and replicate a new one if you like."

"Make it so, please and thank you. Not the sort of sentiment we need to invest in," she voted. Setting the mixing bowl on the counter, she fetched the aerosol butter from the refrigerator. Spraying the griddle, she plopped a few spoonfuls of batter onto it. Grabbing the waffle iron out of another cabinet, she flipped it open, sprayed the interior, dropped a wad of batter into it, closed it and turned it on as she set it on the counter next to the stove. Looking around she debated making grits, which seemed an odd choice to go with pancakes.

"I should get Thex to run me some plumbing in here... she's the chief engineer, little Andorian gal. She's my best friend- she really helped me acclimate to the future and got me over being, well, alone." Rita snapped her fingers. "I forgot to put her in for the bronze star from when she saved my life. A very brave and selfless woman, and a heck of an engineer... quite the heroine, really. You'll like her."

"Interesting; Andorian females are usually taller than the males of the species, just as strong and much more aggressive. If this one is undersized, she must be exceptionally courageous and certainly intelligent to compensate. Andorians are also usually quite aloof with other species. But once you earn their friendship, they will indeed sacrifice themselves for you without hesitation. I read about the historical relationship between Captain Archer and Commander Shran; if she is your best friend, you must have impressed her as much as you did me... which, knowing you is not at all surprising."

He started to make the bed as he mused.

"Fortunately, the old feud between Vulcan and Andoria has been over for centuries now; I will certainly look forward to meeting her."

Flipping the flapjacks, Rita grabbed some colorful earthenware plates. "Thex is actually very sweet and kind-hearted, not aloof at all. I think maybe she doesn't really get how to talk to other people, though."

Cracking open the waffle iron just as it dinged, she disgorged the waffle onto a plate, folding the iron back onto the counter and setting the waffle plate on the island. Scooping up the flapjacks, she piled them up on the other plate, then turned the burners off. Grabbing up the waffle on the way by, she delivered both to the rectangular dining room table. Prancing back into the kitchen, she grabbed the spray butter and the syrup, as well as two forks and a cloth napkin. Running those to the table she then slipped back to the refrigerator, grabbing orange juice and a pair of glasses before she arrived back at the table, running her fingers through her thick shock of short hair.

"Okay, I give up. Computer, please make me a cup of coffee, sweet and black, 400 milliliter cup and an 800 milliliter tumbler of water," Rita folded to practicality in the end- while the ritual was fun, it was also a lot of work. Fetching the beverages from the replicator, Rita added, "Thank you."

Gesturing to the spread, she announced, "Breakfast is served, Mister Sonak. I present flapjacks and waffles, two vegetarian friendly carbohydrate delights of my homeworld."

As he sat down, Sonak noticed on the opposite wall that she a portrait of himself hug there, wearing a pastel powder blue uniform he had never worn, alongside a portrait of Michael Stuart in engineering red bearning a lieutenant stripe of almost a decade before that, with the engineering crest on his heart, and a shot of a refitted USS Exeter as well from 120 years before. The lines of the starship were more angular then the Exeter upon which they had served, but it was similar in configuration.

"This is the Lieutenant Sonak of this reality, who died in a transporter accident aboard the refitted USS Enterprise of Admiral James Kirk, more than a century ago," he recognized instantly as he served her half the waffle and few pancakes. "When I was on Vulcan, I met with the descendants of other members of his family. They accepted me into their family as one of their own."

Offering her some syrup, he looked a bit longer at the portrait of a younger and lower ranking Micheal Stuart than he remembered.

"I looked up Michael as well, when I was studying at Starfleet Academy. Records show he died with the entire crew of the USS Exeter of Captain Tracy from an alien infection; all but Tracy himself, who was arrested for murder, dereliction of duty and violation of the Prime Directive. It is a good thing that our Michael will never learn of this alternate destiny that could have been his."

As he sampled the native culinary efforts of the earth woman, he finally inspected the starship image between the two portraits.

"Indeed, much is similar and yet different between here and there; fortunately for the better... especially because you are here."

Blushing slightly, she nodded. "It was... I was so far from home, even the doppelgangers of this universe brought me some comfort, to see them there," Rita admitted. "I read what happened to both of them- that was how I realized I was in a different universe. Even if you were old, and had never known me here, I still would have sought him out. But... transporter accident. The multiverse and me and transporters,” the accidental adventuress muttered. “At least now I can recycle that awful Sonak portrait- it was the best image I could find of you, and I wanted it here to remind me... but you're here now, so that one is definitely going into the recycler."

On impulse, she trotted into the bedroom, then returned with a tricorder that looked very familiar in black and chrome, an anachronism not unlike herself. Flipping open the top screen, however, the internals were obviously modern. Turning on the visual scanner, she held it out at arm's length, elevated, as she sat down in his lap and looked up at the image scanner and smiled joyfully. For his part, he raised an eyebrow but followed her lead to look up, understanding her desire to capture the moment.

It was a candid image that she would in turn produce physically, frame and place on that wall to replace the image of the doomed Sonak native to this reality, one of many yet to come. But this one would always be special to her- him, shirtless while she was very far out of uniform sitting in one of the dining room chairs together. Yet it was a memento of their first morning reunited, and would always serve to remind her of the joy of this day in her heart.

As they moved together into the future, she would collect many such sentimental mementos, and they would grow to adorn the walls of their quarters, amongst images of other friends and crew who comprised happy memories of their lives. Within a few days, the image of their reunion on the flight deck would also go on the wall as well, as would an image she had yet to produce, of the two of them in uniform, standing side by side. Him in his bright blue and black, she in her gold and black, both appearing to be modern updates to their now ancient beginnings.

Sentimental to a fault and very tied to the physical existence, it was her way.

Setting the tricorder down on the table, she returned to breakfast with a happy smile. Even after all this time together, he did not always understand her motivations nor her actions. But he went along with them, because it made her happy, and because he trusted her. In both of these, she had always felt privileged- the Vulcan of perfect logic could trust the seemingly random and chaotically impulsive Human woman, without question or caution. Few in the universe could earn such trust nor maintain it, yet from him, she did, and it was the source of no small degree of pride within her.

There was something that still bothered her, though, and she reached her two fingers across the table to him, index and middle fingers extended in the traditional fashion. When he responded and place his fingers beside hers, she concentrated, then looked up at him with some consternation.

"You can't hear me anymore, can you? I mean, I know I can't hear you... on the Exeter, you could speak to me in my mind anywhere on the ship. But now... even touching, you can't hear me unless we use the mantra and do the ritual?" She had not wanted to comment too early, but had decided that over breakfast was the right time to discuss this fact of the changed aspect of their relationship.

"The mantra and the ritual are only for the benefit of the subject, when such subject is not Vulcan; I only need to touch you, or at least touch something you are touching or very near to, in order to touch your mind with mine. But you are correct; the different quantum resonance of this reality seems to have stunted my original capabilities. I have lost my telekinetic abilities as well."

There was not even a hint of regret in his voice or in his eyes. If anything, he seemed to be even more relaxed than she had ever seen him.

"Truth be told, I rather appreciate this. Now, there is a much reduced risk of my mental faculties inadvertently causing harm to anyone else, even if one day I fall victim to a mental disorder such as Bendi syndrome. I no longer have to guard myself anymore from the thoughts of others, unless there is physical contact. Most important of all, I now must work to understand you, just as you do with me. The challenge is most... fascinating, and success all the more satisfying. But we, you and I, did not lose much."

Suddenly she felt the inner embrace of his mind as their fingers touched, just as before. For a moment that was short and yet felt like forever, they shared their thoughts and feelings beyond the barrier of the flesh and of language. Then he broke physical contact. The mental link faded to something more akin to a feeling than a thought, but it did not end completely. It was different than before, but not in a bad way at all. Just... different.

"However, as my Thy'la, I can with you go beyond even the limits imposed by this reality. In time, it could even be possible for you yourself to initiate a mind meld, if only with me. I could teach you if you wish."

"I'd like that very much," she smiled, brushing her fingertips across his forearm. "It's a small price to pay to be together again, and now I understand just how hard you always worked to restrain yourself. So long as we still share, and you are not distressed by the change, then I am content." At that she giggled a bit. "I forgot how my vocabulary and phrasing shift after we share thoughts. You always make me so much smarter and well-spoken."

"Just as melding with you make me... feel, at least for a time. It is an... intriguing experience, one worth living through."

Reaching over, she took his still outstretched hand in her own, and closed her eyes to concentrate. I love you as you are, and I will support the choices you make. I will remain beside you as long as I am able, and I will fight to return to you with every fibre of my being. No matter how far you travel nor how long you may live, you will always have my heart within yours. Even after I have long since faded to only a memory.

My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts, my heart to your heart, my soul to your soul. Whatever fate holds in store for me, there will always be some of you within me. To guide me through troubled times, to insure I will never be alone. So within you I leave a bit of me, to soothe your soul and remind you to marvel at the wonders all around you.

This is what Thy'la means, he projected back.

"It seems the lesson has already been learned," he then said aloud, straightening himself in such a manner that anyone else observing might believe was because he was proud of her.

He might not know the emotion, but he certainly knew the fulfillment associated with it, and wanted her to be aware of it. Which she was, as she preened slightly, but not much. To her it was simply the result of having been with him for so many years now, and the fact that he was a patient and able teacher. Her deep, driving desire to communicate with him was of little consequence to her, yet it was precisely what enabled her to do so.

Opening her eyes once more, she smiled sweetly at him. In the past she had often considered her declarations of love to him to be extraneous and likely unnecessary. After all, he did read her mind, and he knew her thoughts and feelings as no one in the universe ever would. But their recent separation had reminded her that every day was precious, and that she would henceforth declare such things that much more openly and freely with him. Today might be all they would ever have, and she wanted him to heave heard such things from her, to remember her should he be forced to live without her.

"So we should probably talk about this assignment, because you've followed me into the unknown, and it is... different, to be certain," the extradimensional explorer explained as she speared a forkful of flapjacks. "Would you prefer I start with your section chief or at the captain and work my way down?"

"In this instance, logic would suggest to go from the top down," he proposed with his usual even tone.

The forkful of syrup-soaked flapjacks vanished into the mouth of the Vulcan kolinahr's cheerful lover, and she chewed briefly before swallowing. "So the captain," Rita waved her fork around with a flourish, then phrased her version of 'you're gonna love this' as something in his vernacular. "You're going to find this intriguing."

"Raised as a pirate queen. No kidding, all of the trappings of sixteenth to nineteenth century Earth sailors on the seas, adapted to starships. They prey on the Syndicate and unlawful pirates out there, and apparently they have an arrangement with Starfleet, who consider them privateers?"

"Indeed?" he said sampling the waffles she had made with obvious appreciation. "It is true, space has become at the same more vast in some ways with the range of the current ships, and quite small with their speed and the number of spacefaring cultures the Federation now interacts with. This is not unlike the great Age of Sail of your native Earth. Intriguing is the right word."

Rita nodded as she dug into the pancakes. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten, and she'd had an unhealthy relationship with food lately. Time to put down some carbs, she reasoned as she attacked the pancakes for another bite to get a mouthful. Holding up one finger as she covered her mouth, she hummed something unintelligible around the mouthful of food before swallowing a few times.

"As a kid she saved the Baroness Schwein von Alcott, a genetically augmented super soldier combat medic from a school for them run by I have no idea who. But the captain saved her and she's been loyal ever since. Medical tricorder under the patch. Very positive and outgoing woman. Boisterous, a bit shameless, and seemingly always glad for company. I'm taking sword fighting lessons from her. I'll have to introduce you."

"A combat medic," he mused. "Only Humans and perhaps Andorians and Klingons could make such a contradiction in terms a reality. This opens interesting lines of speculations about this ship's mission."

"That, we'll get to. Then there's the captain's wife. You're familiar with the holographics of this era, and this vessel has holographic emitters all over her. I tried using the EMH as a therapist. But I'm still going to work with him. He wants to see if he can compile into a person, I think he needs to be given that chance." Rita rambled a bit before refocusing on her already brnched explanation of the Captain. "So, Captain's wife. Holographic hive mind, a branch of a greater intelligence who is in a godlike fashion exploring reality through these at least 47 branches of herself." the name-dropping navigator explained. "Name's Maicaa 47. She's the ship's masseuse. Orion, built very much like me. Suspiciously so."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Captain Data is the only artificial sentient lifeform I have been introduced to so far. I heard of the Exocomps now aboard some ships and stations; and of the Doctor of the famous USS Voyager, but haven't had the opportunity to meet him, since he has resigned his commission to become a full time author. This universe and century is certainly replete with fascinating encounters; and to realize they are all possible aboard this one ship defies the odds. Having one with parameters also somewhat modeled on you does not worsen these odds that much significantly."

He said that with his usual deadpan manner. But the way he chewed his waffle hinted at something uncharacteristically quite less Vulcan.

Something of her from their recent mindmeld was still in him, obviously.

Wiggling her eyebrows and playing footsie under the table, Rita recounted some of her encounters. "There was a holographic ops chief with an android body that was somehow associated in origin with our universe? I never really quite understood the story, but she and her boyfriend were transferred off as soon as we docked. Unique this starship has aplenty, Co-" Rita caught herself, then shook her head. "I am going to keep trying to call you Commander and I very much cannot. Lieutenant. You have no pride to wound, no ego to bruise. Rank is relatively immaterial to you save the responsibilities which you bear, of which at this point you should have precious few, save figuring out mad science now and then."

"These are contradictions in terms," he flatly said before raising an eyebrow. "Ah, humor; I will have to get acquainted with the concept again."

"Point being, yes, lots of unique, and top secret transfers coming in that I can't get personnel files on... I couldn't bring yours up either when she sent me to meet you." Realization dawned, and Rita hopped up from her seat to go to the replicator. Fetching her coffee and his water, she served him then slid smoothly back into her chair. "That sneaky pirate... we are really going to have to have a conversation with her about all of this."

"You are the first officer; it is your duty," he reminded her, having been there for a number of years himself.

"As for who Captain Enalia Telvan is, she's a part of all those people around her, who are in turn a part of her, of her story. A pirate princess that ran away from being a pirate to join Starfleet, to do some good and see the mysteries of the universe instead of just blowing them up. Yet she's still the heir, and it all apparently belongs to her. So here we are, a Starfleet vessel, docked at the Artan Family Fortress, headquarters of what I assume is the Atlan family fleet. This Lost City of Argo snowglobe complete with a castle plus lodges and resort amenities staffed by, I kid you not, holographic catgirls." Rita paused in her description to make a cat-clawed pawing motion.

"She tries to ride the line, I think, to bend the rules to do what's right. She's cocky and a little smug, but she's brilliant and capable. Clever and compassionate, good sense of humor. Humility- owns when she's wrong. Like you, she's willing to listen to a good idea, reorient it and build on it.” Rita paused to take a good swig of her coffee, a warmed smile spreading from the caffeine and sugar. When she opened her eyes again, she cocked her head slightly and settled into a bemused expression. “Truth be told, she reminds me a lot of Jim Kirk."

"The one in this reality, I agree," he said after a sip of his water. "From where we came from, he was an immature failed third year cadet propelled to captaincy through sheer luck, favoritism and dire circumstances. It took years for him over there just to become merely competent and responsible."

"Right?" Rita laughed as she chased some syrup around her plate with some waffle. "From what I heard, Pike was practically drooling on Kirk. It was so obvious that Pike wanted to nail Kirk and the whole promotion excuse was supposed to win him over. That whole thing was so weird and repressed."

"The Captain Kirk of this reality was from the get go a studious, dedicated, principled and competent officer with a meteoric yet full illustrious career; instinctual almost to apparent impetuousness and not a by-the-book man by any means, but he did what was right the best way he could with courage and resolve. If Captain Telvan is but half of what he was, it is understandable such a delicate mission was put under her authority."

"That's my guy," she fairly beamed, happy that he had intuited which Kirk she meant. She'd read up on James Tiberious Kirk in this universe, and he was legendary, a standard for starship captains for all time. "Like I said, she's heard me going on and on and on about you, so I suspect you have an interesting conversation with her in your future. I like her, and I trust her. Not to disparage, but I daresay I trust her more than I did Stuart back in the day. I loved the man, but he could be infuriating." The former navigator and helmsman of the USS Exeter paused at that. "Somehow I knew he wouldn't come... Admiral Stuart was never the hero of his own saga. You were."

"To be fair, there was no way for him to come... and no reason to," Sonak stated soberly. "I could only manage it because I could get Commander Spock's DNA to activate the Jellyfish and meld with ambassador Spock's katra to learn how to slingshot in time with it. And if I attempted this journey, it is first and foremost because of you. Our Michael has no such incentive to leave his own time and universe where he is reknowned, respected and successful."

He looked into her eyes.

"There is also the fact that our universe as we knew it was the result of an accident and the lack of responsibility of the one who caused this accident. So there was added incentives for me to come here and join you instead of trying to get you back; redeem Spock's memory... and stop living a lie."

"Because Spock dragged the Nerada back and changed history, creating the 'Kelvin' timeline because that was the first alteration to the timeline, because this IS the Prime Universe, despite the fact that Romulus lives." As usual, he started her brain up and she faithfully spat out an often unexpected answer, which he did seem to appreciate. "Redeeming Spock's memory I understand... wait, did you bring his katra home to Vulcan?"

"He now rests alongside Surak, in the temple of Mount Seleya."

There was a moment of silence then, as if to honor the memory of the celebrated hero of a whole century or to express relief and satisfaction. Then Rita broke the silence, because she still had a question.

"Lie... you don't lie, although you have a number of workarounds in logic like exaggeration that basically enable it. What lie are you living, Sonak?

"Was; the universe we came from has been irremediably altered; it is not what it should have ever been. It is therefore a lie. Living in it is thus living a lie. That is why I have no regret in parting from it."

He paused before looking at the portraits on the wall, especially at the refitted Exeter.

"I advised the Federation Science Council here to consider correcting this most blatant and severe violation of the Prime Directive. I gave them all the relevant details I could. The course of action which they choose to pursue is up to them now. As for me, a new life is starting... here in this so-called prime universe... but most of all with you."

"I stopped counting the days because there was no solution in sight, no way for me to plot a course home. The only plan that had any chance of success was if I could get you my spatial, temporal and dimensional coordinates. Once they offered me that chance, I took it. Breaching the dimensions invited disaster, but I hoped that if you had somewhere to shoot for, you'd figure it out. And here you are... you found me. You unbelievable man." Rita Paris leaned her elbows on the table and placed her chin in her palms, settling into place to gaze at him.

"There always are possibilities," he simply answered. "And nothing would have been possible if you had not managed to send that... message in a bottle. You are the one that made it possible. You acted as an exemplary Starfleet officer... and as an exemplary person."

"When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being in Starfleet and having adventures and going out to space, to see what was out there. When I was a girl, it was Daddy that I dreamed of going to space with, because he was The Commander. What I didn't dream of was a man from another world, this amazing, unique man. A good man who is brilliant yet with a kind and generous heart who seeks harmony while exploring the mysteries of the universe. Who would literally move the heavens just for plain old Rita Paris."

The starship siren sighed, then her lower lip quivered.

"I really thought I had lost you for good and it made me realize how big a hole it made in me," Rita whined out as she rose to walk around the table. Settling in his lap once more, she clung to him as tears streamed down her face. "I'm sorry. I know you're here and it's okay and I am frankly a little embarrassed at this display myself but... sometimes I still have to get it out. I might have one or two of these yet. It's kind of the way this works." Curled up against him as she was, her tears rolled down her chin and onto his cheeks, granting him the unique sensation of tears rolling down his face, though they were not his own.

The Vulcan scientist did not move, as his deep voice softly whispered in her ear.

"We can only live according to our gifts, to our nature. Do not excuse yourself for being Human; like me, be glad for it and celebrate it."

It took her a moment to becalm herself, but she drew considerable strength from his presence, his proximity and his touch. Stroking his hair, the long-lost lieutenant, now found, pressed her forehead to his with a cheery grin.

A sonic shower together. Then afterward we can clean up and get uniformed... what do you say we get to work, Lieutenant Sonak?

Affirmative, Lieutenant Commander Paris.

McBain was a couple days out from DS-9 just cruising at warp-4. He was currently reading up on the Hera the ship he was being transferred to. He had been sent to DS-9 after graduation from the Academy and upon arriving given orders to take a replacement Orion out to the Hera. He was to join the crew there on arrival. He had been delighted as it was a long solo flight. Something he enjoyed was being alone in the black like this. He had his sensors all set to a loud setting so he did not have to watch them real closely. It was sort of a risk not paying close attention but it was going to be several days to the Hera. He could not stay awake that long, so he had no real choice.

He had learned long ago to let the things beyond your control just be. You just had to react a bit quicker in those circumstances. This Orion shuttle was a new boat and he was enjoying the ride thus far. It was about that time so he checked his nave's before taking a nap. He had woke and changed uniforms, he had decided on wearing a flight suit for the duration just to be ready is anything went wrong.

He was watching the brilliant lights of the Plexion nebula far in the distance when the warning klaxon rang out. It made him jump but he went with the motion to get properly into the pilot's seat and buckle up. He checked the warning signal even as he turned off the nerve wracking noise. A Hideki was closing in on him rapidly. It would force him from warp within twenty minutes if nothing changed. He back-scanned the sensor feeds and saw the Hideki was indeed stalking him. It was now making a play.

=^=Unidentified Hidkei class, you are on an intercept course with my Orion class. Please change course, or I will be forced to consider you a hostile craft.=^= McBain knew that was not the standard warning, but they were out here in the middle of no-where.

The minutes dragged on and no reply was sent. McBain had made slight adjustments to his own course, just enough to avoid the intercept. The Hideki had altered course each time to remain on the attack. McBain knew he was outgunned but he also knew the Orion was more nimble. It also had quite enough firepower to deal with the Hideki, if he survived long enough. The intercept was only minutes away now. McBain could have turned about and run. He just was not that type of person though. In fact the idea of turning away had not even truly been considered. In fact he was getting excited about the thought of an engagement. He put on the flight helmet and sealed it to the suit. He had a feral grin as he sent a last warning.

=^=Unidentified Hidkei, I have tried to avoid this encounter, but you have adjusted each time to intercept me. I am warning you now, I consider you a hostile craft and will not hesitate to defend my craft from you. Be warned, I have no hostile intentions toward you, but I am able and will defend myself.=^=

The time arrived and he had the warning that he would very soon be dropping from warp to avoid a collision. He dropped out of warp, as did the Hideki. They were just out of weapons range of each other due to some maneuvering by McBain. He had dropped from warp rather than be forced down, so he was slightly farther away than the Hideki crew expected. They closed in on impulse power. Shields already up, weapons activated, they closed the distance in silence. McBain had his shields up but only activated weapons after verifying the other boat had their's armed. The Hideki was closing almost head to head, being slightly higher than McBain's Orion. McBain was glad he was alone because the maneuvers he had in mind would have been hard on any crew or passengers. He was a small boat type and not many big boat people enjoyed the hard maneuvering of a small boat.

The Hideki fired the pair of heavy disruptor canons as soon as they were in range. McBain saw the power surge as they discharged and barrel rolled high to port. The blasts tore through the space he had just vacated. The Hideki turned as well, letting loose two photon torpedoes, before banking low and away to hook back around. The torpedoes were meant to keep their prey occupied, even if they did not destroy it. McBain fired a micro-torpedo toward the heavier ordinance, set on proximity. He turned low and tried to sneak in behind the Hideki. His micro torpedo exploded causing both of the Hideki's torpedoes to explode in the blast. McBain felt the shock wave behind him and had to compensate. He missed his chance to get in behind the Hideki in doing so.

The Hidkei was coming around and they were going to be head-to-head again if McBain did nothing. He did do something, he accelerated and got the angle before the Hideki could bring their big guns to bear. The Hideki's lighter weapons were mostly out of range as McBain fired short rapid bursts into the front starboard corner of the Hideki. McBain was an excellent gunner and he seldom missed, he was not missing this time either. The Hideki's shields flared and the hull sparkled as armor was cut into. The Hideki turned away firing their secondary weapons. McBain felt the impacts on his shields as he fired his micro torpedoes as rapidly as they could cycle through the launcher. He continued racking the hull with his phaser canons as well. The Hideki destroyed the first couple micro torpedoes but the third struck the hull. The next two followed it in and the Hideki was all but disabled.

McBain elevatored up above the Hideki so he did not overshoot. Keeping his nose on target with a 'Cobra' style fighter maneuver he sent several phaser canon shots directly into the bridge. He could see fire racing through the hull from the portholes in the Hideki hull. He lifted his nose to pull away, in an attempt to avoid the coming explosion.

The Hideki though was not dead yet and a pair of photon torpedoes were released from the rear launcher. McBain barely saw them before the sensors blanked with the Hideki's explosion. McBain broke to the starboard quickly and accelerated loosing a micro torpedo from his rear launcher set to proximity. This time however it did not work and the photons were still racing toward him.

McBain could not outrun the torpedoes but he could out fly them. He banked sharply to port and elevatored low causing both torpedoes to race past, over him. He had managed to be far enough away that they had not exploded. He fired two of his own micro-photons on proximity before turning to Starboard and climbing away. The bigger torpedoes were turning to reacquire when they were destroyed by McBain's micro-torpedoes. The Orion was not quite far enough away to escape unscathed, as it was rocked hard. It was as if hit by a rogue wave on the ocean. McBain had warning lights on several systems as he fought to keep control of his boat.

He retained control with no small effort before he began activating resets and moving to back-up systems as needed. The hull was intact and his engines showed no visible or electronically detectable damage, so he felt relieved. He was several days away from his destination though and this was no longer going to be a simple walk in the park. For over an hour he fought with the warning lights in an attempt to keep all systems up and working properly. He moved back on course at impulse power before he began running diagnostics on his warp drive. He did not want to return to warp before he was sure the equipment he was using could handle that.

After a two hour diagnostic, he was satisfied the warp drive was indeed capable. He checked his navigation, after verifying he was back on course he took the Orion back to warp-2. He worked on a damaged comm board for a half hour before jumping it to warp-4. He ran a diagnostic on his shields and weapon systems before jumping it to warp-6 to make up lost time. The Orion was flying well and he felt no warning vibrations in the engines, so he removed the flight helmet at last. He still had no idea who had attacked him? He checked his comms and they appeared to be working so he reviewed the gun cameras and sensor reads from the skirmish.

It was a few hours later, he had dropped back to warp-4 as he reviewed the feeds. He recognized the markings on the hull, it was a Pirate outfit operating inside Tzenkethi space. They would slip out if the protection of the Tzenkethi, hit a target, and run back where the Federation would need to start a war to get to them. Satisfied McBain reset the alarms to loud before he took a short nap. He was awakened by an alarm, air quality was becoming dangerously thin. McBain read the problem as he turned off the alarm. He put on an air mask just in case the air quality continued to diminish.

In his search to find the problem, he found a board in life support that had been damaged. The problem was it had melted the connector links so it was pretty much now welded into the system. Seeing the difficulty, he switched to back up life support before he called up the repair manual on the boat's computer. He read the section he needed and began working with his multitool, removing the board and the ruined connectors.

A few hours later he replaced the connectors, checking each connection with his PADD. It was several hours later he replaced the board and switched back to the main life support system. Greatly relieved he checked his navigation settings and course one last time before changing uniforms and taking a nap. This time he was not interrupted but he felt tired just the same. He was nearing the base and the Hera now. He wanted to be at his best to make a good impression. He checked his controls and ran a quick diagnostic on his alarm systems. It appeared everything was working as it should. It was a few hours before he had to check in so he relaxed back into the pilot's seat and napped once more.

He woke a few minutes before the alarm, he had set, went off and he checked his controls. He was much closer now and he sent out a hail to announce his approach. =^=This is Ensign McBain piloting the Orion class *ShadowHawk*. Be advised, I expect to arrive within the next two hours.=^=

While she wasn't exactly walking on sunshine, the Starfleet career gal was fairly bouncing along today with a considerable spring in her step. Life was good. Life was better than good, it was amazing. The universe had proven itself to be not unkind, and her lover had been returned to her through deliberate and methodical improbable machinations of time and space. While she had been working to build a life in the future and dimension into which she had found herself thrust, the addition of one grey-eyed stoic Vulcan science adventurer officially made Rita Paris' life complete.

While she wouldn't mention it, no longer being demoted helped too. Rita took considerable pride in her rank, hard earned over the years, and having the captain return it to her had done wonders for her ego. Now she knew without a doubt that the captain recognized her efforts and her worth, and her dedication to the woman and the job were both quite firm in the mind of the lost navigator.

Today, she had exited her quarters just ahead of the handsome blue-clad scientist, who had strode in step with her to the turbolift, where he had gotten off on Deck 6 to speak with the Chief Science Officer. As for the fulsome first officer, she had business on the bridge, with the personage currently holding the duty shift for her.

Arriving on the blue and grey bridge, Paris smiled as she took it in. This was where she worked, this marvel of isolinear and holographic technology that mastered a mighty starship undreamt of in her day. And there, sitting in the center seat, looking like the cat that ate the canary, was one leopard-spotted Trill woman with captain's pips on her collar. Approaching the chair, Rita tried to play it straight, but the grin that blossomed would not be denied, and she looked giddy as a schoolgirl by the time she stood before her commander.

"Well ain't you the sneaky pirate," she whispered, low enough that the rest of the bridge crew, still on skeleton staff while at dock on shore leave that was wrapping up, but still loud enough for the captain to hear.

Enalia was looking over a PaDD when Rita came onto the bridge, and when she called her a sneaky pirate, the buxom captain looked up, curiosity showing clearly on her face. "Correct on both counts. Did you enjoy playing your role in that little interdimensional predestination paradox?"

"Depends on when you asked me. You knew... did you know the entire time I've been aboard?" Again, Rita spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. Being familiar with the captain was fine in private, but on the bridge a sense of decorum should be maintained, and she wasn't about to encourage the ensign sitting at Ops to start calling the captain names. "I assume you knew even before I arrived, given that you had my search results blocked by the next morning."

There was no malice nor accusation in the voice of the comely commander- if anything she admired the deft handiwork of manipulation to which she had been subjected her entire service aboard the Hera.

Enalia leaned in, whispering herself. "No harm in revealing a few details, I suppose... When we returned from a mission to the four years war era in this timeline, we used an unconventional method to return to our time but we missed the mark by four years. We also got a report of an interdimensional time traveler that was looking for not only my ship, but knew the location of my family's fortress for some reason. Intel Command and I couldn't quite piece it together, but we suspect that Temporal Investigations was hard at work already. The sneaky bastards were deep in our chili. After we found you, things were piecing together and within the hour I had confirmed that you had the same quantum resonance. After that, it was a simple matter of getting you to fulfill your role in his history there, so he could fulfill his role in yours, here."

"So this whole time that I've been freaking out and panicking and moping, you had to keep mum because otherwise it was likely to break the chain of events," Paris nodded, working it out. "That's... impressive, Captain. Just when I think I'm making some headway with you, turns out I am just a little more in your debt." Again, she spoke with no rancor nor grudgery. If anything, her respect for the captain had risen another notch.

"It's all part of the Temporal Prime Directive. We have to maintain the timeline. I mean... Timelines..." Enalia gave the busty blonde navigator a meaningful look. "And this isn't the only one we're currently involved with, either. Thankfully we've ended our involvement with most of them that I know of, but I'm pretty sure we still have one more to deal with. If I go missing, there's a set of coordinates in my quarters desk..."

The crewman at ops interrupted at that inopportune moment. "Captain, incoming call from Intel Command. It's Admiral Faringway."

"Ah yes, onscreen, if you please." Enalia replied.

The viewscreen lit up with the image of a female Saurian wearing a dress uniform with three admiral's pips. "Captain! It's good to see you alive and well! I assume our little issue has been resolved?"

"Admiral, it's a delight to see you hale and hearty as well. My first officer was just reporting successful completion of that issue, right now." Turning to Rita, Enalia smiled brightly. "Would you care to brief both of us on how your reunion with interdimensional time traveler sierra one twelve went?" Leaning in a bit closer, she whispered, "That's Sonak's intel code."

Stepping forward, the gold-clad commander slid into a parade rest stance, to square off and deliver her report. There was no hesitation nor anxiety evident- Paris looked just as confident as if she were addressing a midshipman rather than a full sitting admiral of Starfleet. After all, she had grown up around officers, including admirals, all her life. Respect the rank, then learn if the man beneath it is worth a damn her father used to say. Although taking a page from his book, she did open with a nod of deference.

"Admiral Faringway? Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris reporting." It may have seemed redundant, but this was an impromptu report to an admiral and procedure was called for her to at least identify herself for the record.

"ITT Siera 112 has been added smoothly to the current timeline. I have worked extensively with him for the past thirteen hours, and I can quite firmly state that he has been quite thoroughly acclimated to the era, the situation and the command." There Paris half-turned to also face the captain, who had asked for the briefing, and offered a rather unsubtle smirk and a bit of a blush. Turning back to the Saurian admiral, Paris continued.

"Assuming yours was a hand in this as well, I extend both our gratitude for your efforts. The coordination of all involved in this endeavor all seem to have played their parts perfectly- an outstanding Starfleet joint exercise, Admiral." The first officer glanced back to her captain for another nod, this not of deference, but of thanks.

Meanwhile, Rita was avoiding using gender identifications because she didn't know if the Saurian admiral was male, female or other and wasn't about to make a undiplomatic move now. So she smiled a close-mouthed smile- to many races baring your shiny teeth was not considered a show of friendship- and faced the reptilian admiral on the big screen expectantly.

"Quite excellent to hear, Lieutenant Commander. I look forward to not having either timelines unraveling any time soon. Thank you for your outstanding service during this incident. Captain, the next time you return to command, please try to have a bottle of your finest Rasmanarian brandy with you. I've obtained a case of something you may be interested in trading for it."

Enalia grinned knowingly. "I'll have it with me until then, Admiral."

"Excellent. Until then, Admiral Faringway out." With that last, the transmission was cut and the viewscreen returned to the view of the Artan family orbital fortress.

"I think that went well," Enalia said, leaning back in her chair and stretching a bit. "Did you have any other questions?"

"I think they might be inappropriate for the rest of the bridge crew- actually, that's a good question right there, ma'am," Paris cocked a hip, draped a hand on it and raised a finger as if requesting permission to ask a question. "How transparent do you prefer your command? A lot of captains plot in their ready rooms because the ship is grappling with Matters Beyond Mortal Ken and such. Some commanders do everything in there and seldom appear on the bridge at all. Some do it all on the bridge. What's your preference, Captain?"

Bold and direct she was and bold and direct she asked, clearing the air.

"I'm normally in my ready room or quarters. This is an intel vessel so most of what we do is classified." Enalia replied simply as she picked up her PaDD and clicked it back on. "However, I like teasing people in public. It makes life more interesting. Do you have a question we should adjourn to my ready room for?" Clicking the PaDD back off, she tucked it away. "I have a lot of transfer orders to take care of anyway so I should probably be in there working on them."

"Aye ma'am. At your pleasure, I've a few questions whose answers may be classified in nature." Paris stood, slightly out of the way on the right side of the chair, and gestured to the Captain's ready room. As the captain stepped off, Paris fell in step, a half pace behind.

Enalia entered her ready room and took the few steps to her desk. For being the Captain's office, this was by far the smallest office on the ship. It was a standard Galaxy class ready room, but in the same colors as the bridge. The fish tank was nice and the lighting was somewhat subdued, but it was definitely cramped compared to the rest of the ship.

Flopping into her plush velvet chair, Enalia leaned back and clicked on the desk's holographic display, making it ready to pull up whatever information she might need to pull up. "Have a seat and ask away."

"If you don't mind, I like to pace ma'am?" Paris asked, and at the indulgent nod, she began to slowly pace back and forth. "So how did you learn about me and him four years from now- you met me, or him, or both of us, and we may yet have to fulfill those roles to make all of this work?" Paris paused to entreat the captain. "How'm I doing, Cap'n?"

"Uh... no," Enalia shook her head. She'd have to take it from the top. "In 2388 we were sucked into a temporal rift and got to witness the Battle of Axanaar. We then had to save them from temporal hopping aliens that eat people. We used their tech to get home but missed the mark and landed in 2392. Shortly after that, in 2393, we learned of the return of the Jellyfish and the arrival of Sonak. What we couldn't figure out was his connection to my family. Intel likes to snoop, so they knew a lot more than we let on. As the Hera officially doesn't exist in most records, we left it that way. When we rescued you, things lined up and we slipped him the last bit of info he needed to put in a transfer request for the Hera. The USS Pastak from the 29th century only had to issue us one warning as well, so I count that as a win."

"So you knew to block my searches, so I wouldn't discover the one at Starfleet Academy, just the one native to this reality. Otherwise I would have bolted to Earth and never sent him the message in a bottle, which was necessary to bring this whole affair to come to pass, which I could only do with the intel pod and Dedjoy aboard the Hera. Plus," Paris had resumed pacing, now wagging her finger as she spoke. "I asked Stuart for a transfer and gave the Hera's call numbers, which meant that Sonak knew what he was looking for when he got here, so that it all ties in together."

At that, Rita flopped onto the small couch against the wall. "Time travel is exhausting. I'd really like to not do anymore if we can help it, ma'am. Just the reports alone are a nightmare. Which reminds me, I still have to write all of this up. It might all end up classified beyond my pay grade, but it still has to be reported."

Shaking her head, Paris sighed. "You knew the entire time and you couldn't say a word. All that time whining and moping about my boyfriend and all you could do was just wait it out. With all we've been through, the whole time you know he was coming, and you just had to keep me in one piece until then. That's..." Paris choked up a bit. "That was... very impressive, Captain. I think you've saved me in every way that someone can be saved... apparently it's a habit of yours, I hear."

Leaning forward on her desk, Enalia pointed at Rita meaningfully. "Not to mention I poured my heart out to you to get you to stay while you were plotting to jump ship with a runabout. That's what the Pastak warned me about. You tearing a hole in the fabric of space-time with a slingshot. They didn't mention the details of your plan, just that I had to stop you before shore leave. My wife gave me the idea of how."

For a few seconds, Paris blinked rapidly as she processed all of that. There was an unusual, at least in the presence of Rita Paris, moment of silence. Shaking her head, the all-too-human woman donned a wry smirk. "So not only was I going to fail spectacularly, but I was going to rip open a breach in spactime doing so. Because Rita Paris."

"Yesterday I found out the man I love spent two years of his life making his way to me at a point he knew I'd be because I told him where to find me. That... is very impressive. What you've dealt with to keep me in one piece..." Rita Paris hung her head a bit. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought I was making the right choices, and I just didn't know you. Pretty sure I do now, for what it's worth."

"After that talk, you may know my heart better than my mother and my wife..." the busty captain replied, unsure whether that was a good thing or not.

"No ma'am. I just know the name of one of the wounds on it, that's all." the blue-eyed bombshell offered. "Should you ever need to talk, about anything... I owe you, Captain. I welcome any chance to repay you for what you've done for me. Listening and giving you a chance to just be... mortal? I can manage that, and never think any lesser of you."

"Fair enough." The spotted woman leaned back in her chair and popped her uniform jacket open, revealing the bright red undershirt. "I might take you up on that later, then."

The gold-clad first officer cracked a smile at that. "I'm all ears whenever you want me, ma'am. Oh, I found a compromise for Sonak's uniform that I can live with, and we're the blue and the gold once again. You look good in red, Captain. You could always try out the top without the jacket, combo it with the skirt? You do have the legs for it, ma'am."

"It's an acceptable variation outside of formation and main shift bridge duty. Trill body temperature is a lot lower than humans or Vulcan though so I couldn't do it. You didn't notice I'm colder than you when you saved me from the tribbles or when we had that heart to heart?" Enalia quirked an eyebrow and a corner of her mouth.

"Well, to be fair, with the tribbles I was mostly focused on keeping us on top of them and trying to not be mortified by the whole naked thing. And when we talked, I was more worried about you than your body temperature, ma'am. That was when I learned to trust you, and you to trust me, I think."

"Fair point," Enalia replied, shrugging it off.

"Everyone always feels cold to me but Sonak anyway," the forthright first officer offered. "I'm still working to catch up on most of the races that are in the Federation, as I'm not a very good xenobiologist, Captain. But one did just come aboard with whom I have a working relationship. Oh, which reminds me," Rita leaned in a bit closer, focusing on the moment.

"I can move him in with me, and we are allowed to carry on a relationship so long as it does not interfere with our professional relationship, correct?" Rita asked it as a question, not an assault. "Our little reunion kiss aside, we keep it professional on the job, I promise you ma'am."

"I'm fine with that. You're not his direct supervisor, so yeah, no problem." Enalia grinned slowly. "You can even have kids if you want."

"Apparently not," Rita deflated that one with a shrug. "According to him, it would require extensive engineering with the whole copper based versus iron based blood lifeforms trying to reproduce. I think he told me I had better odds of reproducing with a rose, as I share more DNA with it. That's fine though, I don't want kids any time soon. We're young, in our prime, on a great assignment. I'm decades away from settling down and fostering a little pack of blonde-haired pointy-eared munchkins while he teaches at the Academy. We just got here, and we've got work to do."

At that, Rita cocked her head slightly, and asked in a bit gentler tone. "How about you, Captain? I assume the family expects heirs so the line doesn't die with you. How does that work if you and Maica want to have kids?" For the life of her Paris had no idea if she was about to learn an impracticality of biological and technological species intermingling, or if she was just setting the captain up for disappointment. Or a laugh, but she suspected not.

"Ambassador Spock was half human and half Vulcan... Many more have since joined Starfleet. Our Security Chief was as well. These days it's a simple procedure if you two want to have a kid." Enalia took a deep breath. "As for Maica and I... we're working on that. It might come down to just naming an heir."

Although she was definitely filing that 'Vulcan/human hybrid children are a simple procedure'? Good to know...the curiosity won out over decorum, since it was just the two of them. "No offense and very much none of my business but, how does that work with you being flesh and blood matter and she is kind of... not? Plus there's no seed in there from either of you?" Paris knew she wasn't on very thick ice here, but if she was going to understand the future she'd have to ask questions. And she cared, because she realized this was likely something important to the captain's mind as well.

"Maica Prime is trying to come up with a way to create a fertilization zygote using modified DNA from the Orion she was modeled after to match my wife's uniqueness. It's tricky and experimental science at best, but if it pays off..." Enalia averted her eyes as if she wasn't entirely comfortable discussing it. "It's also borderline illegal in the Federation... Eugenics laws being what they are..."

There were rules and laws, and they were often in place for very good reasons. But these were changing times, and the rules and laws, Paris decided in that moment, needed to adapt to them. Besides, given how she and her brother had turned out, Rita had often suspected that her father had tried tampering with his unborn children, and the complications from those procedures were what had actually killed her mother. She had no proof, only suspicions. But girls built like her didn't seem to just 'happen'.

"Well, if you decide to pursue it, let me know what I can do to help, Captain Telvan. I suspect the Artan family line is pretty demanding about such things, and I suspect Maica likely has pretty strong opinions about it, too. As for me, I support your choices, ma'am. We're on the cusp of the 25th century, and the laws must change with the times to accommodate new life, and new civilizations. No one wants you raising another Khan Noonian Singh, but the Baroness doesn't seem to be carving out an empire of conquest, now does she?" Rita brought up the genetically engineered super-soldier because clearly the captain knew about her and Rita also knew, and it was obvious she hadn't filed any reports with Starfleet over the easygoing pirate's enhanced status.

Many things might have changed in the dozen decades Rita Paris had missed, but loyalty was one that hadn't changed at all. A lost navigator she might be, but her moral compass pointed unerringly in the direction of her heart, and Paris always knew whose side she was on in an argument. The pirate princess turned Starfleet captain had saved her life too many times in too many ways, and if the captain chose a course counter to Starfleet Command, well, sometimes starship captains did such things. It fell to their crew to choose whom to support in such moments, and Paris had long ago learned a great truth of the universe.

Sometimes you had to do a bad thing to do the right thing. Loyalty was your given word, and if your word wasn't worth anything, then neither were you. Offering one of those earnest smiles to the starship captain, Rita resisted the urge to offer her a hug.

Enalia sighed again and pulled up a holographic rendering of several strands of RNA that in no way lined up. "The Baroness aside... Modifying the Orion's genetic code to match that of a hologram's and then impregnating me with it is a bit riskier than you might think. For one, we have to stay within humanoid norms of intelligence for her side of the DNA rather than just implanting straight up subroutine copies. Second off, though Trills have shown a knack for being able to mate with most species, Orions tend to pose a difficulty because of the pheromone differences. Normally, a lesbian relationship like ours with a real Orion and a Trill would be impossible - we'd literally kill each other after a week - either through passion or from the migraines. The donor DNA would have to be completely rewritten to line up with mine because of that alone. Maica Prime thinks she has a few solutions and is running simulations now, but I'm not too hopeful. In the end, it might be easiest if I just found a compatible woman that looks like her, talk them into a bone marrow sample, and use that."

While Rita was certainly built like the rather spectacular Orion hologram, she was definitely not green, which she assumed would be a deal breaker. “Well, if it’ll help, I’d offer, but I’m rather the wrong shade of emerald, and who knows what mess you might get from the withered branch of the Paris family tree,” she joked.

"Actually, you'd be perfect, green or pink. Trill and Human biology is close enough to need very little help and might need only minor tweaking to get Maica's uniqueness into your DNA..." Enalia was thoughtful for a moment. "But that's completely up to you. If you want, I could have her run a few simulations. I'd have to be retired before anything could happen, either way."

“Just a bone marrow donation?” Paris briefly considered- it would be one thing if they were asking her to carry their children. But the holographic entity definitely created issues in reproduction, and Rita certainly understood family pressure to produce heirs. She did owe the captain quite a bit, as she had pointed out moments ago in this very conversation, so...

“However I can help, Captain, I’d be happy to do so,” Paris volunteered. "Just warning you, if I had something to do with it they might be a little headstrong and not terribly fond of transporters,” she offered to lighten the mood a bit.

“May as well get some use out of the fact that your wife looks an awful lot like an emerald-skinned version of a sister I never had…” Rita muttered.

"Say, about those straight up subroutines. You can't put them in your child... what about your little kangaroo you've got in your pouch?" Hopefully this wasn't going to be one of those moments where Rita made fun of something taboo in asking about the captain's symbiont.

"Ah, that's a separate matter altogether... Telvan will go on to another host and do probably crazier things." Enalia couldn't help but grin thinking about all the trouble she'd get into in the future as other people. "This host will live on in her progeny and this symbiont will live on in other hosts. That's the way Trill live. We're one and the same yet two distinct life forms."

"Why not keep Telvan in the family and pass them down to your descendants?" Rita asked plainly. It seemed like simple logic to her.

"That's for the Symbiosis Commission to decide." Enalia nodded. "They're the ones that decide if a host is compatible or worthy. A bad match can kill both the host and symbiont."

"Just seems like keeping it in the family would make sense. But hey, Earth girls don't come equipped with pouches for sidekicks, so you are most definitely the expert, captain." Shifting in her seat, Rita laid her back on the half-couch and hung her legs from the knees down over the side. "It's a lot to take in, the future. The universe has grown so large, and science has come so far. And all of the alien cultures and all the diversity they bring and we all mix and mingle in a social experiment of existence and exploration, looking for who else is out there looking for us."

"At least the mission is still the same. We're still Starfleet. We're still explorers," Rita added with a sigh. "And Sonak is here with me, which makes it kinda perfect for me. Him too. Two years..."

"Over sixteen hundred member worlds in the Federation now," Enalia commented idly. "Sometimes I'm amazed so many of us are so similar. Most have ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, one mouth, two ears, hair, two or three sexes, warm blooded... Like ninety percent fit that description."

"Hasn't someone come up with a theory about that, like we were all seeded worlds or something?" the ancient astronaut asked. "I'm not even looking for humans anymore. I have an advantage in that at least the officers went to Starfleet Academy, so they've been to my world. But I'm an alien representing my culture out here, just like the rest of us. It's a lot more fun that a ship full of mostly human men, I can tell you that."

"Yes, actually. An ancient race called the Preservers did it. They evolved into the general form first, then seeded the galaxy and waited millenia in stasis for us to evolve to the point we could be on equal footing with them. We're still not there, but we at least know they exist." Enalia chuckled softly at the idea. "Except for the Iconians and a handful of other races. There are always exceptions."

"See?" Rita waved her hand idly in the air over her head. "I think that was a nutty theory a scientist or two had that nobody really took seriously back in my day. Yet science fiction gradually becomes reality, because at least in part we dream what we will achieve. I think that was Aasimov, but it might have been Heinlein. There was a course on it, back at the Academy, an elective. But the crux of the course was that we conceive of it as we try to puzzle out the laws of the universe and we apply them to create the future we envision."

"For us it was Gerion. Then Picard's Enterprise found a Preserver archive and proved it right before pirates destroyed the planet surface. A few years ago, another Preserver archive was found in Defera space. That was almost wiped out in the Temporal Cold War." Enalia rubbed her face with her hands and groaned softly. "So many discoveries out there getting recognition and here we are saving literal reality without so much as a nod..."

"Aw, it's not about the credit, ma'am," Rita sat up, leaned forward and offered a smile that made her look like a simpleton farmer's daughter. "It's nice, just like the medals and the commendations and all that. But the real reward is that we've seen things people who spend their entire lives on one planet will never see, and we will know wonders they will never know. We're explorers in every sense of the word, and the generations beyond us will compound our knowledge, and a hundred years from now, we won't even recognize the state of the galaxy."

"But there will still be starships, and they will still be Starfleet. They'll be there if there's trouble, they'll be there to lend a hand. They'll be on the frontier, wherever that is, discovering and exploring and seeing just how far we can go and still come back home to tell about it." Idealistic to a fault, Rita Paris genuinely believed every word she'd said, and believed it because she had seen it already. Four generations later, this Federation was far greater than the one she had known, and the future was only brighter.

Enalia grinned widely. "The next time we get a call from the twenty-ninth or thirty-first centuries, I'm volunteering you again, just like I did a few minutes ago."

That made the color drain out of the comely cosmonauts's face, and it was evident she was less than enthusiastic about time travel. "Volunteered... ma'am...?"

Enalia grinned mischievously. "You just spoke with the comm officer of the USS Wells from the twenty-ninth century."

“The full sitting admiral there? Wow… well, no worries there. Ma’am. I thought you were volunteering me for time travel, and I really could live a long and happy life just moving into the future in a linear progression rather than mucking about in time. Bragging about my age has limited appeal to me,” the bombshell blonde giggled. “I’m also not really keen on dimensional assignments either… Mirror Universe Rita is kind of a bitch, although hopefully I’ve outlived her now.”

"I have a feeling our mirror universe is a different pairing to yours, but with any luck, we can avoid that." Just then another notification popped up on Enalia's desk terminal and she groaned in dismay as she leaned her head back. "Goooo awayyyyyyy.... More transfer orders... Command is swapping out almost a full third of my crew..."

“Have no fear ma’am, you have a first officer on the job! I’ll pull welcome wagon duty for the officers, then send them to speak to The Captain and make their onboardings smooth. How I was greeted always made a big impression on me about the command, and I want the new crew to feel welcome, like I did.” Rita offered the captain a solicitous smile. “Maybe they are gearing us up for mission-specific specialists and such? If the transferred a third of the crew off, perhaps that is a reflection on you, that personnel under you are highly sought after in the fleet.” It was reaching, but damned if Paris wasn’t going to look on the optimistic possibilities. Particularly when the captain was groaning.

Clicking the notifications up, Enalia started looking through the new transfers list. "About half of the transfers off are PTSD related. The other half are something to do with not wanting to die. The incoming crew, a fair number are specialists in theology and mythology at least. I'm pretty sure that will come in handy. On the down side, almost the entire security department is being swapped out. Do you have any idea how hard that is on an intel ship?"

“We’ll run phaser and self-defense drills to get the crew better ready to defend themselves, captain. A shortage of Security personnel might make us a bit more cautious. And considering we’re very likely to be going where angels fear to tread, that might not be the worst thing?” Still Rita was aiming for the bright side. “Hey, I’m the PTSD queen and I’m still here…”

"I had an XO named Angel. She was pretty fearless when she came aboard." Enalia mused over that turn of phrase and reminisced a bit before clicking her desk terminal back off. "Anyway, she's retired and married to a Vulcan and I think she has a couple kids now. I should look her and Sinek up and see how they're doing."

“You should. And I'm not particularly fearless ma’am,” Paris offered with a shrug. ”Frankly, Sonak has said on more than one occasion that my fear was what kept us alive on missions. And like I said, I’m not about to go run off and start a brood anytime soon. Afraid you’re stuck with me, ma’am. We’ve got places to go and wonders to behold.”

There was a pause, then Paris rose from her seat, sliding into a pinup pose as she so often did when not thinking about it. “Again… thank you for everything. You may not want to hear it all the time, and I’ll drop it after today. But I owe you my life, in quite a few ways, ma’am. Remember that when you consider your course and you wonder how your idealistic first officer might react. Because I trust you- you’ve earned it tenfold. And while I know you won’t always tell me everything, I’ll expect that.”

“After all, you are a bit of a sneaky pirate…”

Ensign McBain had landed without incident and handed over the flight record to an unsmiling Petty Officer. From the outside the Orion did appear to have been in a war! McBain was a bit surprised himself to see how much the hull had been pock-marked. he was about to explain or at least apologize to the person who would have to make the repairs when he felt someone approaching. The combination of the aura he felt and the Petty Officer's reaction made him turn around. He saw a Lt Commander he recognized as the XO from the information in his transfer orders. He responded, his own reaction due to having just left the Academy recently. He stood to attention "Ensign McBain requesting permission to come aboard, Ma'am."

It would, in truth, be hard not to recognize the woman. Tall, leggy and almost comically curvaceous, she looked like a pinup model from the days of Kirk's 5-year mission- literally. The uniform was most definitely not the black and grey of the modern uniform of the day.

Instead she was clad in a long-sleeved gold minidress that he didn't remember the history books claiming rode quite that high on the female officers. The old-school emblem on her chest appeared to have am upraised comm badge attached to it, while on the low black border of the V neck she wore three and a half pips, identifying her rank in the modern day in case anyone could not decipher the wavy gold braid accompanied by a broken one on her sleeve. Those black knee boots with the chunky high heel fairly rang out on the flight deck as she strode toward him, emerging from the flight control office.

"Permission granted, Mister McBain. I'm Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris, good to have you aboard," the cheerful commander extended her hand for a handshake. "Looks like you weren't exactly flying the friendly skies out there?"

McBain was appreciating the uniform as she spoke. He was discreetly beginning to recognize the various details of the out of date items as she reached for his hand. He accepted her hand firmly but politely. "Thank you Commander, I am very glad to be aboard." His smile was slightly meeker as he nodded.

"I'm afraid I got your new shuttle banged up a bit." His demeanor sharpened though as he realized he had relaxed slightly as he shook her hand. He made eye contact. "It will of course all be in my report, Commander. I tangled with a Pirate Hideki near DeepSpace-9." His confident smile, almost cocky recovered. "I can assure you, they did not regret their decision for very long."

His hand back at his side, he maintained eye contact asking. "Any instructions for me Commander? I am eager to get started in my new duties here." He glanced at the somewhat battered Orion shuttle, pointed to it. "Even if it is to help repair your new shuttle!"

That comment earned him a rueful chuckle. "No, I suspect that despite the complaints, the boys here on the flight deck will be happy for the practice," the commander offered as she circles the small starship, fingers tracing burn trails and microimpacts with an expert eye. "Quite the skirmish I see... glad you made it here in one piece, Mister McBain."

Straightening, the commander parked the PaDD in her hands on her hip at a sort of 'port arms' position for yeoman, then gestured broadly through the pressure hatch leading into the starship. "What do you say we get your onboarding started by getting you to your quarters for a shower, a hot meal and a little rest before you start your command checkin, eh?"

McBain nodded "Sounds great Commander. Although I can shower quick and skip the meal, if it is not too late to begin the check in process. I seldom put things off if it is not necessary to do so." He moved through the hatch as he spoke. He stood on the other side waiting for her, so as to walk beside her. "I am honestly not very tired Commander ,and I missed many a meal as a MACO. I really am good to go," He assured her earnestly. He was anxious to see everything, he wanted to get into the job. He had been in school a long time and he felt like he had just been set free. He was ready to accomplish again. He wanted to make a difference. The flight had been a catalyst to awaken his spirit of adventure.

That got him a musical laugh as the anachronistic astronaut fell in step with him as they strode along. "As you like, Ensign. No one will force you, and in your own time." Without further ado, the friendly first officer flipped the PaDD over to him. "Here's your welcome aboard package, including your quarters assignment, maps of the Hera, limited computer access and some appointments to keep. You need to check into the command in order to have full access, so that means a meeting with the first officer, a meeting with the captain, a physical and a session with the ship's counselor. Once everyone signs off, you'll be checked into the command, and be granted full access for active duty."

"Then we'll talk," the easygoing executive expressed. "It looks like we have a mission upcoming that should be rather perfect for your skillset, as I understand it."

McBain politely accepted the PaDD and showed he could read while he kept in step with her. He nodded when she spoke of a mission, "So since I am here with you? I mean to say, since you are on the top of my list, do I talk to you first?" An impish grin crossed his face, "If you have the time I could meet with you, like now?" McBain had always felt officers had a sort of a looser protocol than the enlisted, so he was testing the waters as much as he was looking for a check on his list.

"That, Mister McBain," the gold-clad commander grinned, "is absolutely one of my little tests." Sighing and shaking her head, the leggy lieutenant raised her hands up, palms skyward as she spoke. "Apparently requesting permission to come aboard isn't very well covered at the Academy any more, as the new grads don't seem to know how. But leave it to a maverick to know precisely what to do, and how to do it. Complete with an apology and offer to fix the damage on the scrape he got into on the way here. Recognizing the fact that you are actually having that first meeting is the next little test. More than one I've sent off to the captain, then they've come back to me even though I already checked them off."

Though she looked like bomber nose art in motion and spoke in a cheery soprano, the old school officer spoke like an 'old salt' of Starfleet, who had been around forever and seen it all. Which was rather odd given hear appearance and demeanor. But it appeared she chose not only to commiserate her perspective with him as one who might understand, but a sense of humor was practically guaranteed. As they arrived at the turbolift, she tabbed the button then slid her hands behind her back to cock her head slightly to the side to look up at the broad-shouldered brick.

"Any questions I can answer before you've passed your security checkin, Mr. McBain?"

McBain squared up as an instinctive response to her. His Academy instructors had berated his MACO trained deference to officers, assuring him it would be his death in the field. His first thoughts were to deny any questions were to be asked but he had a second thought as he watched her. He tilted his head, "I have no questions Ma'am. Unless you think I should have some? I would appreciate any help you might be willing to offer in this regard."

As the turbolift arrived, the first officer preceded him in, then turned to insure he had followed before calling out "Deck two please. No, McBain, relax. Not a pop quiz, I'm just feeling out who we're bringing aboard so I can explain offer my observations to Captain Telvan." As the arrived on Deck 2, she stepped off, and once she had insured he was behind her, continued speaking, at a lower tone of voice.

"You're a professional, you've got a sense of duty and determination aplenty. You've got a sense of humor and you appear to be pretty well glued together. We've all got tragedy in our past, but like any professional, you're dealing with it. How'm I doing so far?" The pace as she walked now was a languorous one, as Deck 2 wasn't all that big in truth, and she wasn't in a hurry.

"That is about right on Commander, I agree everyone has a story. All lives have their share of issues. I like to think I have a sense of humor, although I am first to admit it is a bit off the norm. I expect you already read my file so you know the sort of missions I completed as a MACO. I like to think I behave in a professional manner. I will admit I have a strong feeling about leaving anyone behind. It just is not done in the life I lived before the Academy. Other than that I think I am as, or more reliable than anyone else you might get aboard in this position." McBain spoke with a serious expression, after all he knew when to joke and when not to. He did like to think he was a professional. In fact he took great pride in the fact he was just that.

"I'm also a firm believer in no one being left behind, Mr. McBain. We're very likely to have our lives and the lives of our shipmates in our hands, and I think we understand one another in that regard." Pausing by the door beside which the LED console registered the name ENS McBAIN, R, the suddenly serious first officer turned to face the former MACO.

"Talented amateurs and professionals can get along if they know when one is the expert, and the other is not. In the field, Mr. McBain, I will likely rely heavily upon your expertise. Pride, ego and insecurity have no place out there. That means knowing when to lead and when to listen... and I hope you'll find that I know the difference." With that, the first officer offered her hand once more, an earnest expression on her face.

He shook her hand once more with the same polite firmness. "I am not an amateur in the field, Commander, and I really don't see you as an amateur. So one professional to another, I think we will do just fine." He had never had a big ego which was not to say he did not have pride. He was very proud of his skills as a sniper, as a pilot, in many other combat skills in general. As to taking orders and listening he had never considered himself an expert. He always listened and if outranked he had followed orders. He did like working alone or in small teams though.

"Excellent. Thank you Ensign," Paris smiled, a genuine smile, then wagged a finger as she recalled a point or two. "I've assigned you quarters here for two reasons. The bridge is the next deck up- if there's trouble on the bridge and I can manage it, you may rest assured the emergency hatch between the decks will not be locked, because you'll need access. In the quarters port to yours is Asa Dael, who is very likely going to be the medic on those away missions, and they are an amateur in the field. Perhaps you two could get to know one another and you can prepare Myx Dael for what's likely to come."

He was pleased that he would be on the bridge in times of trouble. It just seemed important to be in the thick of life here. Than she had mentioned helping the medic prepare, this Asa Dael was not mission ready apparently. There was something not quite right though. McBain had a confused expression and he tilted his head slightly. "Excuse me, Commander? You spoke of an Asa and Myx Dael, to help them prepare for missions in the field. But than you said we two? Is there something I am missing here?"

"Myx is the honorific of their people, like Mister or Miss in our cases. They're agendered, so their pronouns are them and their, and thus, Myx Dael. It's kinda catchy, and as you may have noticed, rather than refer by rank, I tend to be a bit old-school and refer to people by their names, Mr. McBain." The easygoing executive shrugged. "At any rate, at least give a knock and see if you two can find some common ground. Perhaps you both might learn a thing or two in the process. Shipmates, right?" The curvaceous commander offered a wide smile as she put her hands on her hips, and damned if she didn't look like some vintage Starfleet recruitment poster.

McBain felt rather stupid but he understood his mistake well enough. "I will check with Myx Dael as soon as I finish checking in. I can not promise I am all that cultured in honorifics so I hope 'they'? Are open minded about unintended mistakes." He shrugged "maybe I can get away with just calling them Asa?" He realized he had been thinking out loud and his eyes revealed his unease at the slip up. "Rest assured Commander I will make every attempt at decorum and I will do everything I can to make sure Asa Dael is mission ready."

"That's the part that matters most to me, Mr. McBain. The rest I'm sure you will work out- Dael's apparently quite the wonder, so high hopes all around. "So, unless you have any questions, the Captain's likely a deck above in her ready room cursing at the reports she's having to deal with as I greet our onboarding officers. No appointment necessary, just tab the chime and have a word is how she operates. Skeleton crew while on shoreleave in drydock, but we launch in 72 hours. Ready to boldly go, Mr. McBain?"

"The only way to travel, Commander." McBain smiled as he responded. "By your leave Commander, I will check out my quarters and move my gear in. I will wait till morning to see the Captain. Somehow meeting her under the conditions you just described does not sound like such a good idea." McBain was thinking boldly does not mean suicidal after all!

That got a good-hearted laugh out of the first officer. "One moment is as good as the other, Ensign. But in your own time, by all means." With that, the minidress-clad antique nodded then stepped off, likely to keep another appointment greeting another onboarding officer. Watching her depart, the swiveling motion of those hips hadn't been quite as evident when they'd been walking together in step.

McBain was glad for his hard-trained discipline, because the urge to whistle at those hips was not an easy fight to win. He refrained, but it took all his will power. That and the memory of a Corporal he had known who had lost that same fight. He had regretted that miscue for the entire tour on the *Horus*. McBain wisely went to his quarters in silence to check on his room. He would need an anti-grav sled to bring his kit from the Orion, so after a quick look about he returned to the flight deck.

In the morning, he would go see the Captain. His reserve of energy was waning, now that the adrenalin rush was diminishing, and a shower would probably be just right before a little time in the rack. He could finish his command checkin tomorrow- for tonight, just a little quality peace and quiet for a change.

There were few parts of a starship that the transporter-phobic first officer tried to avoid, but here she was, waiting on the arrival of one of the onboarding senior staff. So far she had been here for three minutes and watched three people beam out and one beam in, and in her head she was working very hard not to look up and watch every time. And failing, watching people get turned into light and working very, very hard to keep herself rooted to the spot instead of locomoting at a nice military pace that wouldn't look like she was running away from the transporter room as fast as her legs could carry her.

The hairs on her arm rose, then she heard the twang of an incoming transport. Beads of sweat formed on the anachronistically uniformed officer's forehead as the light assembled energy back into matter to form the new ship's counselor.

Avender Jurok waited until the world once more came into focus, then stepped from the transporter pad. She saw the transporter technician and a woman dressed… in an old Starfleet uniform? Was there a costume party she was unaware of? And why was the woman so tense? I could read her tension even if I were asleep, she thought.

Avender hoped her own tension was masked. Despite winning the Starfleet Decoration for Gallantry on her last ship, she was still an Ensign. She accepted the rank as the consequence of her… previous breakdown… but that was two assignments ago. She’d hoped by now that she’d proved her worth. After all, she had her pride, and taking orders from people half her age who were fresh from the academy bothered her more than she would admit. Still, Avender thought, this was a new assignment. Anything could happen.

She stopped and stood at attention. Best to get off on the right foot, she thought. "Counselor Avender Jurok reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard?”

Snapping to attention, the anachronistically-uniformed officer returned the salute, snapping up a crisp military recognition before releasing it. Once the military formalities had been tended to, the buxom blonde offered a smile and a handshake. "Permission granted. Welcome aboard, Counselor. I'm Rita Paris, the first officer of the Hera. Let's take a walk and get you settled in, shall we?" Even as she spoke the statuesque young woman, maybe half Avender's age, had already moved toward the door. Her desire to get away from the transporter room was readily evident, even as she still had that handshake offered.

Avender took the offered hand, shook it and released it quickly. Partially because she was sensing the First Officer's tension, and partially because the offered hand was a bit clammy. Is it something I said? she thought? No, it's something deeper. Perhaps this room?

The two women left the transporter room, and Avender immediately felt Rita Paris relax. She filed away the observation for later.

"Thank you for coming to meet me. I didn't expect such a high ranking reception," Avender said, matching Rita's pace.

The minidress wearing executive laughed musically at that. "Lieutenant commander, not that high ranking, Counselor. The captain asked that as we have some senior staff onboarding today, I make sure you are all welcomed aboard and seen to quarters. This," As they had walked along, the first officer seemed to be increasing the pace up to a martial march, as she handed over a PaDD. "Has your welcome aboard package, including your quarters assignment, maps of the Hera, limited computer access and some appointments to keep. You need to check into the command in order to have full access, so that means a meeting with the first officer, a meeting with the captain, a meeting with your department head and a physical. Once everyone signs off for you, you're set and you'll have full access and be checked into the command, active duty."

Arriving at the turbolift, the cheerful commander pressed the down button then beamed a smile as she asked, "Any questions so far, Miss Jurot?"

"I'm a counselor. Please call me Avender."

That got her a half smile as the turbolift arrived and the short-haired buxom blonde stepped in, waiting for the Counselor to step in before calling their destination. "As you like. So, any questions so far, Avender?" the first officer redirected with the course correction. "Deck 8, please, computer."

Avender contemplated the officer with her. Lt. Commander Paris' anxiety level dropped significantly after leaving the transporter room- indeed she seemed calmer the further away she moved. She was tall for a human female, and the heeled boots she wore accentuated that trait. I wonder if she has encountered any prejudice due to her height and appearance?

"Commander, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask this. I felt your deep anxiety when I beamed aboard. I've also noticed that your anxiety level has dropped considerably since leaving the transporter room. If there is anything you wish to talk about, I'm always available."

That got her a chuckle as the turbolift arrived at deck 8, and the old school uniformed officer stepped out into the corridor. “Good call, Counselor. Transporters and I don’t get along at all… I seem to disrupt their flawless functioning, and I’m rather paranoid of them. I spent five years as a warp ghost at one point after a transporter accident, and my last transporter accident shunted me a dimension over and 127 years into the future.” The casual way she expressed the traumas of her life indicated a certain resignation to the facts. “So yes, transporters give me considerable anxiety. And I’d be happy to discuss it- at least in my case it is less a phobia and more PTSD. But one I have lived with since 2260, so I’ve had lots of time to talk about it.”

The cheerful commander flashed a smile to break up the mood. “How about you? Looking forward to seeing what’s out there now that you are on an intel science vessel? Into the black, as they say?”

The counselor returned the smile, sweeping her long hair to the side of her neck as she did so. "That's why we're all here! I chose fleet duty instead of station duty. There I worked with the Department of Temporal Investigations, so I've seen more than my share of people out of time, dimension hopping and timeline shifts." She laughed a bit to herself. "Perhaps that's why I was re-assigned here- because of that experience. After all, how many other ships in the fleet have a woman out of her time AND dimension?" She smiled more broadly.

"I'm very much looking forward to this assignment."

“Good to hear!” the comely commander responded brightly. It was the first question the woman had actually answered, which Paris took to be a heartening sign. While on Deck 6 the anachronistic astronaut had marched along at a martial pace; now as they made their way forward, the pace was more of a casual stroll. While the corridors of the starship were sparsely populated with most of the crew on shore leave, as they moved forward they passed fewer and fewer enlisted crewmen.

“As for why you were assigned here… we’re in a stressful business. A surprising number of our requested transfers cited PTSD as the reason. I’ve been aboard for two months, and in that time we’ve faced possessed crew members and the shipwide holographics going crazy and birthing some rather hazardous circumstances. The future, as I’ve observed, can be nerve-wracking."

Avender thought for a moment, then answered "I can't say I've experienced anything like what you describe, but I've seen my share of weirdness and... loss."

“So I've read, you have my sympathies,” the first officer offered- apparently she had read the counselor’s service jacket and done a touch of homework.

The counselor looked at the PaDD. "I haven't accessed this yet. May I ask where we are going?"

“Of course, you can ask me anything. We’re currently on Deck 8, moving forward to the bow, which is colloquially referred to as Officer Country. The senior staff quarters are in these forward compartments, and as the ship’s counselor, you are considered senior staff. So I thought you might enjoy some spacious quarters with a view.” The minidress uniformed executive was still all smiles, though this one seemed to be more bemused than anything else.

"A view?" Avender said. "That would be a pleasant change! On my last assignment I stayed with the crew in a dorm. At least I had a bottom bunk!"

That brought forth musical laughter. "Ooof, I remember stacked racks! These quarters, I kid you not, are the size of a stadium. The furnishings are a bit generic, but very comfortable, and you can recycle them and request whatever you matter allotment is, which is surprisingly generous. And there are viewports in the ceilings. I kind of turned mine into an apartment with dividers and such." The friendly first officer chattered on, her enthusiasm clear as she was obviously impressed with the quarters herself.

Avender looked at the PaDD for a moment, then back at her guide. They were approximately the same height and of similar stature. Yet this human was so young! I'll never get used to the short human life span, she thought. And yet, she was born over a century before me! I'm sure she is utterly fascinating to speak with socially.

"I just had a thought- I haven't eaten since yesterday. Is there a ship's lounge aboard? I'd like to watch the crew interact- and if you'd care to join me?"

Stopping in her tracks, the gold-clad glamour gal pivoted to grin a bit at the counselor. "Absolutely! I have a little time, I think. We have options- if you'd like to see the crew be nervous around me in the enlisted mess, that's on Deck 9. If you would prefer to see the officers be nervous around me, we can hit the officer's mess, also on Deck 9. Or we have a 10-Forward, on Deck 10, of course. What strikes your fancy, counselor?" As she spoke, Paris had stepped over to one of the public access replicators in the corridor and produced herself a PaDD.

"As fascinating as watching the crew react to you would be," Avender said, "I think 10-Forward would be a better choice. I'd like to observe the crew relaxing. Besides, no one can really... interact in the mess. At least not on my last ship."

"They are a bit more spacious on the Hera, I'd wager," Paris expressed, then tapped at the PaDD as she began navigating them back to the nearest turbolift. "Relaxing it is, Ten-Forward ahoy. So your last assignment was a hospital ship, was it not? The USS Nobel was the transfer order, right?" As she walked the first officer appeared to be working on a spreadsheet of some sort, which was likely her schedule as she moved blocks of time around.

"Yes, she was Olympic class," Avender replied. "All the space was given over to hospital wards and operating theaters. There was deck for psychiatric care, and councilor's barracks were on the same deck as the wards. It was a way to save space."

Avender took a few steps before adding "Perhaps, if they are not on duty, you could contact the Captain, first officer, or chief medical officer to join us. I think it would be wonderful to meet them all in a relaxed setting, and it would be an efficient use of time."

That got a curious smile out of the first officer. Hand her a map and she asks where we're going. Introduce yourself as first officer and she asks when she can meet them. Ah, the 24th century. Tapping her comm badge, Paris' gaze rose to the ceiling. "Computer, please patch me through to Captain Telvan."

After a chirrup from the computer and a brief pause, Enalia came across the comm line. "Captain Telvan here."

"Thank you, computer. Captain, this is Lieutenant Commander Paris. The new ship's counselor is onboarding and she's requested to meet with the captain and first officer at Ten Forward. Are they currently available?" Paris asked with a wry humor.

"Ahhh... I'm not sure about the first officer. She might be showing the new ship's counselor around right now so you'll have to ask her yourself. The captain is in Ten Forward finishing up a box lunch her wife made for her at a table by the window so she's free." Enalia definitely knew how to play along.

"Delightful. We'll see you there. Paris out," the leggy lieutenant commander gestured down the corridor with an accommodating smile. "Looks like we're in luck, Counselor? Shall we?"

Avender smiled in spite of herself, and walked with the superior officer. Such informality! Is this because we are in dry dock? Is there a dynamic at work here to which I'm unfamiliar? She remembered the rigidness of the command structure aboard the Nobel, and the suffocating strictness at Temporal Investigations at Starbase 410. Could they really be this lax here? Perhaps this is some sort of test? Well, better safe than sorry.

"Commander, what can you tell me about the Captain? I heard that she actually defeated the Kobyashi Maru?"

"Did she? I hadn't heard that," the cheerful commander commented as they approached the turbolift. "The captain is a complex woman with a very colorful past, who is very passionate about what she does out here. She's honest, forthright," Paris paused to press the down button on the turbolift. "Direct for the most part, sometimes a bit blunt. But she's got a good heart, and a very good head on her shoulders."

As the turbolift arrived, Paris gestured for the counselor to precede her. "Does that tell you more about her or me, Counselor?" the buxom blonde asked with a slight smile.

Avender returned the smile. "Both, actually. I guess I'll learn more when I meet her. If I may say, Commander, you're not the first person I've met from your era, but I'm guessing you stood apart from your peers then as well as now."

I wonder if she was cleared for duty by Temporal Investigations? They MUST be aware of her by now. the counselor thought. She filed that thought away for the moment. There was so much she wanted to know about Lt. Commander Paris and the "senior staff." I could easily find out with a quick telepathic search, but I don't want to invade her mind without permission. Besides, I don't want wish to open my mind to... Avender shuddered involuntarily, then quickly recovered her smile.

The turbolift doors opened, and she stepped out, as two crew members who were waiting for the lift made way.

"Thank you," Paris offered with a nod and a close-lipped smile to the crew who'd made way, then she double-timed it a few steps to catch up to the counselor. "I suppose. I've always been a hard worker, I'm a bit taller than the crowd and I'm neither subtle nor easy to miss. And I've been told I make an impression," what started as a grin spread to become a full smile, which seemed to be the woman's default nature. Which certainly lent credence to her being perhaps a bit unforgettable. "As it turns out, my era was a little different than the local timeline, according to all reports. But it's always possible you might have met someone from my timeline and era. If not, you'll meet another soon enough."

As they'd strode along chatting, they arrived the 10-Forward, now a standard on many Starfleet starships. The lounge where everybody knew your name. The doors slid open at their approach, greeting them with the familiar comforting sight and soft music.

As they entered, Enalia spotted them right away and waved to them. Ten Forward was fairly empty since they were on shore leave, save for those on break from skeleton crew duties and the lounge staff. Still, seeing her fortress just from the outside, was an interesting change as she finished up her lunch. Maica had packed her up a nice variety of sandwiches and a couple small containers of various sides to go with them. On top of that, the thermos of tea was divine today as well. She couldn't quite place it, but it tasted like a Bolian blend.

But now she had guests so the remaining food would have to wait a bit. Setting the lid back on top of her lunch, she stood to greet Rita and the new counselor. "Rita, glad you could make it. Ensign Jurot, I presume? It's a pleasure to meet you. We have some counseling staff aboard, but no one near your caliber of expertise." Enalia offered a handshake and a smile, her mind its normal secretive self. She'd been through training at Intel command to encrypt her thoughts and it was second nature now. Her emotions on the other hand, were generally pretty open and honest most of the time these days.

Avender was slightly taken aback by the informality. She expected to stand at attention, report for duty, and formal introductions. She smiled and accepted the Captain's hand.

"Thank you, Captain. That's very kind of you to say. As I am a counselor, please call me Avender. Unless that's against your protocol?"

The Betazoid kept her smile and looked directly into her new Captain's eyes.

"Avendar it is then. Please, have a seat." Enalia motioned to the other seats at the smallish table before returning to her own chair as one of the local wait staff came up with a menu to take the newcomer's orders. "While we're docked with the Fortress, the kitchen staff have some extra resources at hand so if you'd like something made with real food now's the time for it. It takes a little longer, but I think it tastes so much better."

"People complain about the replicated food, but I can't tell the difference. Still tastes like Starfleet chow to me. Hasn't changed that much since the fifties," the first officer commented as she sat down, smoothly sliding her hands over her skirt as she did so. It was a clearly practiced maneuver of which she was barely conscious, even as she scissored her long legs to cross them. Sitting back, she offered an indulgent smile. "Well, here we are. Counselor, Captain, Captain, Counselor. It's your meeting, I'm just the sidecar here."

The counselor smiled. "I somehow doubt that you're ever 'just a sidecar,' Commander." She then turned to the Captain.

"Captain, thank you for accepting my assignment to the Hera. I'm delighted to be here." She then turned to the wait staff. "Do you have Oscoid?"

The waiter checked his list of resources for a moment before nodding and smiling. "We do have some. How would you like them prepared?"

Avender smiled brightly. "Lightly broiled with Terran lemon, please."

"That's not an often requested dish. Rita, anything for you?" Prompted Enalia, her lopsided grin creeping onto her face.

“Spring medley stir-fry, hold the tofu, extra edamame peas, slice of New York cheesecake with strawberry drizzle, 30 ounces of water and a cup of black coffee,” the first officer ordered without hesitation. Noting the curious looks it got her, the anachronistic officer shrugged slightly. “What? I need to regain a few pounds…”

"Lt. Commander Paris told me about some of the crew's recent...adventures, Captain. I hope my assignment here will help with helping the crew through trying missions."

Enalia grinned a bit at the mention of the Hera's past missions, knowing exactly what would have been mentioned, though not really how. "Yeah, we've faced quite a few dangerous missions. As you've worked closely with Temporal Investigations and Intel before, I assume you've come across your fair share of terrifying scenarios. I guarantee that compared to them, we have them all beat. Either way, you came highly recommended in your line of work, so that's why you're here now with us. We've sent too many people to the SS Sanity's End and we need you."

"Yes, I've seen my share of unusual things, some that even threatened our reality as we know it. Obviously, I can't say more than that. I saw that you actually defeated the Kobayashi Maru scenario! That is an impressive feat! Your file also says you're a level six pilot. You must be very proud."

Avender smiled broadly. She's hiding deep sadness behind that smile.

"I did, actually. I don't believe in 'no-win scenarios' and I refuse to give up so on my third try I called in some help from my family and linked the sim's sensors to my family's fleet's." The captain's grin widened a bit, though it remained the same emotionally. "Six waves of Klingon battle cruisers and one super dreadnaught later, the crew of the Kobayashi Maru was rescued and the mission was clear. The Academy didn't like it but Intel Command took a liking to me and brushed it under the rug." The spotted woman shrugged a bit. "A sizable donation from my family might have helped as well. We're responsible for the running platform around the top of the academy. And the McDawlson Pool House. And the diving training lab in the bay. And the tea ceremony club's equipment. And the park bench dedicated to Markl Sprgenmeijer, may he rest in peace."

The captain was looking off towards the window now, somewhat lost in memories of simpler and easier times before she turned back towards the counselor as the wait staff returned with their orders. "But enough about me. What about you? You seem to be looking forward to dealing with the literal nightmares and demons that plague this ship."

"Everyone has nightmares, Captain. And most of them live with those nightmares every day. These nightmares may dwarf the ones that the ship has encountered, as they build through time in their minds. I have experience with nightmares... and demons." Avender paused for a moment- a distant look in her eyes, then refocused. Her voice sounded determined, even icy. "I joined Starfleet to help others, and to make the universe a better place, in my own small way. I think that perhaps my being here was meant to be. Perhaps this is my destiny. Who knows?"

The counselor stifled a morbid giggle. "Besides, it can't be any harder than a Plasma Flu outbreak among the telepathic settlers on Azyek VI!" She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

"I understand that I need to be briefed by the chief medical officer, Dr. Lysander. Is he aboard?"

"I haven't seen him for a while, truth be told," Paris observed from behind her hand through a mouthful of stir fry. "I think he might be on shore leave. At least get Dr. Dael to give you an onboard physical and you'll be basically checked into the command. Did you know that the reason Starfleet demands a physical before being certified access to the command is in part to weed out shapeshifters?" The time-tossed trouble magnet shook her head. "The 24th century is amazing."

"Ah, yeah I think I saw him in the fortress the other day enjoying shore leave. I'm sure you'll meet him soon enough." The talk of destiny was a bit off putting to Enalia so since the other two had food now, she popped her box lunch back open and nibbled on a cucumber and egg sandwich with horseradish. "Hopefully Intel sends us on a few less dangerous missions for a while. We could use a break."

"In my experience that seems unlikely, Captain," Paris opined. "We just had a break, remember? So Counselor, I'm curious," Paris turned to regard the new ship's counselor. "What's your particular style of dealing with the crew and our problems? Do you draw us out to get us to talk, do you predetermine what's wrong- you're a telepath and an empath as well, right?"

At the mention of her skills, the counselor's smile remained fixed, but her eyes became a little colder.

The Captain and Lt. Commander heard Avender Jurot's voice in their heads, as if she were speaking, but her mouth didn't move. The tone was lighter than her voice, soothing, almost sing-song.

Yes, Commander, even among Betazoids, I am considered a formidable telepath. I can read your thoughts, communicate with my mind, and, thanks to my training, implant thoughts, change emotions, and even erase memories. I can slip into and out of an untrained mind undetected.
And, as the Captain has this in my file, I will say that is why I was assigned to Temporal Investigations. The admiral in charge specifically wanted an asset who could break through mental deceptions to uncover truths. Others in Starfleet wanted me to create sleeper agents, or erase the memories of time travelers.

For a time, I followed the lawful orders given to me by Temporal Investigations. After a personal tragedy, I started to refuse orders I found unethical. And I always refused to manipulate beings against their will into sleeper agents, or to implant false memories in prisoners. That is one of the reasons I was demoted, and the main reason I requested starship duty away from Temporal investigations.

I know the purpose of this ship. And, Captain, I will follow all lawful orders. However, I will NOT manipulate people against their will, unless it is a 'life or death' situation. I would rather be sent to a Penal Colony.

Avender smiled more broadly and her eyes became warm again, looking at the gold clad woman. "I let the crew member tell me their problems. It is almost always therapeutic to have the patient explain their issues with their own words, and as doing so is the start of their road to the problem's solution. If they are having problems articulating, I will ask them questions hoping to open the locked doors to their emotions. Emotions are really the key, especially for Vulcans, even though they deny it."

She turned to the Captain. "On my last ship, the Captain requested that I passively scan the crew's emotional well being while I am on duty. I can do that here as well, if you wish, or not."

Eyes wide in amazement, Paris fairly boggled. "That... was INCREDIBLE."

Enalia's mood had darkened considerably. The last time she had had someone else's thoughts in her head, they were her demonic doppelganger's and they were not pleasant. Setting aside the sandwich she had been eating, she found she no longer had an appetite. "Please refrain from that sort of thing with me. In fact, I prefer you not use any of your more advanced skills unless it's absolutely necessary."

"As for passively scanning the crew, please feel free to do so. You'll also likely be called in on future interrogations if we do any of them, so please be prepared for that. Don't worry, we follow the book to the letter. I haven't spaced anyone, but as a pirate queen heiress I have an image to uphold so I occasionally make threats." Enalia rubbed her forehead a bit, trying to clear her mind again. She just wanted to forget about everything that had happened. "And I agree that talking is a lot more effective than digging through someone's mind. You can't get the conscious mind to grow if you just waltz through pulling strings."

"Absolutely Captain. I prefer not to use those 'skills' at all if I don't have to do so. I sense I've upset you. I'm sorry, that was not my intention."

"It's not your fault," Enalia replied. "It just reminded me of something I've been trying very hard to work through and get past. It seems I still have a long way to go."

Standing and collecting her lunch box and thermos, the spotted woman smiled at the other two women, still looking rather grim and shaken. "If you'll excuse me, I should get back to work. Please enjoy your meals. Once we leave the fortress most of our food will be replicated again. Counselor, I look forward to working with you."

Taking a chance, Paris reached out a hand to touch the back of the hand of the Counselor. Don't... let her go, she tried to impress upon the empathic telepath. Though she had no psychic ability of her own, Rita Paris was no stranger to telepathy, or the moods of Captain Telvan.

As the captain departed, her first officer spoke in hushed tones. "Dunno what it was, but it sure looked like you hit a sore spot, Counselor. Give her a little time to process it and she'll come round to talk to you about it. She's accountable that way." Standing up, tugging the hem of her skirt down in a practiced motion as she did so, Paris sought the eyes of the Betazoid beauty.

"Would you like me to show you to those quarters, or would you just like to people watch for a while, Counselor?" Paris produced her PaDD and tapped it to life. "I have other onboardings to meet, but I can see you home if you wish."

The Betazoid looked toward the door through which the Captain had exited.

"I know exactly what I triggered," she said quietly. She paused for a heartbeat with a concerned look on her face, quietly sighed, then smiled at the Commander.

"Yes, Commander, I'd like that." Avender stood, and the two beautiful women left the lounge.

It seemed that the captain had appointed the new first officer as the welcome wagon for incoming officers- senior, junior or otherwise, because this was the eighth or ninth time Chief Fingerman had seen Lieutenant Commander Paris in Transporter Room 2 today. Eyeing her, he set the presets, and she didn't react. Engaging the buffer scrubbers, and she tapped away at that PaDD she always seemed to have in her hands. He received a beam in request, and he sent the clearance code. Her gaze flickered over to the transporter pad instead of her tablet, then she flinched as the beam-in started materializing.

Damndest thing. It was like she was transporter psychic. He'd report it eventually, but at the moment he was still correlating data since she kept coming down here.

This time around it was the assistant CMO checking into the command. Rita had been giving the welcome aboard speech all day, and she was a bit run down by this point. But, on duty, first impressions of the command and all that. Standing up straight and tall, settling the tablet on her left hip, she squinted at the transporter effect as she tried to blunt herself to seeing the effect at least. Without much luck so far.

The beam coalesced into a nervous looking humanoid. They wore a uniform so crisp it was obviously on an inaugural outing and carried a lone Starfleet issue duffel bag in their left hand. The Lieutenant JG was fiddling with a medical tricorder in what appeared to be a nervous habit and made eye contact with Lieutenant Commander Paris with a start.

“Lieutenant JG Asa Dael reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard?” the slim figure asked in a reedy voice.

No salute, but at least they knew to request permission to come aboard. "Permission granted, Lieutenant. I'm Rita Paris, the first officer of the Hera." Taking a step toward the door, she offered a warm smile and held out a handshake the physician would be forced to come to the door to accept. "Let's get you settled in, shall we... Doctor?"

Asa felt a grin a kilometer wide spread on their face at being called Doctor. They rushed over to the unorthodoxly uniformed first officer as quickly as their gawkish manner would allow. In a rush to extend their right hand, they forgot it was still holding onto the newly issued medical tricorder and promptly dropped the tool on the ground.

Blushing red enough to be mistaken for any number of fruits, Asa bent down to pick up the tricorder and stood up so quickly their head was a bit fuzzy from the abrupt change in blood flow.

"Sorry. I mean, thank you. I mean, yes. Yes that sounds good." Asa was mortified at the childish manner they were behaving and mentally chided themself for behaving like a back-water buffoon, and deliberately proffered their right hand for a second time, accepting the Lieutenant Commander's hand.

"It's really something being out of the Academy and actually in the fleet, isn't it? Everything is new and exciting and mildly terrifying," the easygoing executive chatted. While she'd seemed a bit... nervous? Intense? in the transporter room, in the corridor beyond, she was breezy and casual. "At least, that's how it was for me. You ready for your short briefing there, mist- miz- mmmm, ah, Doctor?"

"Asa, please. And if you ever need an honorific, please, use Myx. It's traditional among the non-gendered of my people, and I'm quite fond of it myself." The lieutenant was clearly on steadier conversational ground here, and responded with the ease of someone used to having this conversation with new acquaintances. They offered a smile to make it clear the correction was in kindness, long used to helping others understand this particular quirk of their identity.

"As you like, Asa. On duty I'll likely refer to you as Doctor or Doctor Dael, but Myx is new on me- thanks for steering me right." The smile the minidress-clad high femme offered was genuine, and she seemed as though she appreciated the correction as she brought them along at a reasonably brisk pace. It was like she were trying to build up to a march.

Asa's eyes were everywhere as they walked through the ship's corridors. The Hera was a beautiful ship, and the care she had received made it clear her crew loved her. Asa was encouraged by this, and knew that the condition of the ship was often a reflection on the happiness of the crew. They vowed to themself in that moment to make sure and show the same care themselves for not just the ship, but the crew itself.

"It is quite thrilling being in the fleet. I was excited to hear I was selected for a position on the Hera. I understand we are likely to meet new species at some point, and learning about new life forms is a particular passion of mine," Asa conversed. They found themself feeling quite at ease around the blonde woman, and hoped the rest of the crew was as congenial.

"I've no idea, truth be told. Apparently we're in a conflict of some sort with a variety of ancient beings who traveled the cosmos purporting to be the gods of mythology. But, Starfleet will give us orders, the Captain will brief the senior staff, we'll brief the rest of the crew and we'll find out what strange new world we'll be headed off to, discovering new civilizations. Boldly going, as they say," The winsome woman winked at them.

"But I do have it on good authority that the Hera is most definitely not a dull ship, Lieutenant Junior Grade Dael," Paris pulled out the full formal rank intentionally- it was never a bad idea to remind the officers that they were still, despite their mission of peace, military in rank structure.

"I look forward to learning whatever command feels is relevant for me. Perhaps I should brush up on my mythology?"

Lieutenant JG Dael felt the pace quicken and realized Lieutenant Commander Paris likely had seven other places to be and doggedly locked step. They could only hope to not become so lost later as to need computer guidance.

"That is actually an excellent idea, Myx Dael," the retro throwback officer opined. "It might just come in very handy." Stopping at the turbolift, the curvaceous commander pressed the 'up' button for the lift. Flipping around that PaDD she'd had perched on her hip, she held it out to them.

"This is your welcome aboard package, including your quarters assignment, maps of the Hera, limited computer access and some appointments to keep. You need to check into the command in order to have full access, so that means a meeting with the first officer, a meeting with the captain, a meeting with your department head and a physical. Once everyone signs off for you, you're set and you'll have full access and be checked into the command, active duty."

The turbolift arrived and the old-school officer stepped aboard, assuming they were behind her. Spinning around in an about-face, the lovely lieutenant commander leaned down a bit to their level. Then she fixed Asa with those big baby blues, to insure she had their attention. Cocking her head slightly to the side, she offered a prim schoolmarm's smile. "Any questions so far?"

Rita Paris, Asa thought to themself, was obviously not a woman to be trifled with. They long ago learned when someone asked “any questions,” what they really meant was “Are you paying attention?”

“Map, quarters, appointments, and physical. Yes sir. I will check the itinerary to ensure I do not miss anything. Is there anything you would have me do in the interim, Lieutenant Commander?” Asa asked as the turbolift doors closed. The lift hummed as it reached the stop on Deck Two, and with a gentle whoosh opened to allow the duo to exit.

Asa allowed the confident beauty to lead while shouldering their duffel around to the other arm. They wondered to themself how anyone could feel so confident in such a short skirt, and with a pang of jealousy glanced at their own ever-scrawny frame. Even after all these years eating well with access to medicine, they still felt like the bony little kid growing up in a refugee colony on Bajor. With a suppressed sigh, Asa affected their best impersonation of “confidence” and kept step with the senior officer.

“Yes, Myx Dael. First, while Starfleet allows for both, in the modern day I do prefer to be addressed as ‘ma’am’, if it’s all the same. You’re not wrong,” The commander was strolling along at a casual pace, and appeared to be deliberately takin her time. “So don’t apologize- this is just me stating my preference moving forward. I’m guessing this isn’t an unfamiliar conversation for you.”

The leggy blonde offered a smile that was practically maternal as she continued. “As for anything else? Relax, Doctor. If you misstep I will very gently inform you and set you on the right course. That’s part of my job, and what I’m here to do- help you get your sea legs as a junior officer as we teach you how to be a senior officer. What I would like for you to do is unpack, personalize your quarters a bit, and relax. It has been a long journey to get here, but you’re home now. Ensconced in a mighty starship that will be your duty and your home, alongside a crew who will be your shipmates and friends. I’d like for you to learn to be comfortable with that. Which I will help as I can, and I want you to know my door is always open. It’s on the flight deck down on Deck 4.”

“Meanwhile, there are junior officer’s quarters here on deck 2, so I thought you might enjoy a room with a bit of a view.” As she said the words, the door she approached slid open, revealing much larger quarters than they had been accustomed to throughout the Academy, which were apparently theirs alone. And at the far wall was a viewport- it was only perhaps half a meter square, but it faced forward to the stars.

“Additionally, it might be handy in a crisis having a doctor quartered directly beneath the bridge,” the cheerful commander observed.

Asa entered their quarters with a grin, and placed the duffel on a nearby chair, thankful to no longer carry its weight. "Yes ma'am, I think I can do that," they said with an impish grin.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Welcome to the Hera, Doctor Dael," The curvaceous commander nodded, then pivoted and strode off, the door closing leaving Asa in privacy.

As soon as they were alone, Lieutenant Dael proceeded to unpack, hanging uniforms and a few civilian clothes, filing everything else in a nearby dresser, and carefully placing photos on the small desk. Asa ran their fingers wistfully over the images of a smiling woman, visibly pregnant, and a young boy in bed reading.

"Mom, Brennan....I made it. I promise, I'll make you proud," they whispered to the images, wiping away a single tear. They sat back on the bed, and allowed themself to drift off while staring at the stars.

McBain had risen early, worked out before running the decks. Once he had his run in he had checked his kit and made sure his equipment, weapons, and tech gear was all ready for use. He cleaned up, dressed for the days work and went to the messhall for breakfast. After eating he went to the Captains office to report in. The Captain was the second person on his to see list. He arrived and straighten his uniform as he approached her door. He knocked and waited. He was more nervous than he expected. After all he had never spent much time in the presence of officers, let alone ship Captains.

Someone was knocking on her ready room door? Was the door chime broken? Probably someone that preferred the old fashioned way rather than the door chime, but it was still odd. "Come in!" Enalia called, clicking off her desk terminal and eyeing her again empty tea cup.

Her visitor didn't look like someone that would enjoy a good cup of tea though. "Ensign McBain, right? Our new infiltration specialist? Welcome aboard. Can I offer you something to drink?"

McBain had opened the door and approached the desk a bit stiffly and come to attention as she spoke. He was determined to make a proper first impression and barely noticed her question. Meeting a ship's Captain was still pretty new territory for him. He shifted to a parade rest stance "Yes Ma'am I am assigned as a infiltration specialist, thank you for the welcome and I would assure you I am delighted to be here as well." His stiffness failed slightly though as he made eye contact "Nothing for me Captain, I just had breakfast but thank you for the offer." He smiled just than as he loosened up a bit "I met the XO last night coming aboard, and I have moved into my quarters. I am working on appointments for my medical baselines? Is there anything else you need me to do at this time. Captain?"

Enalia stared at him for a moment before replying. "Yeah, relax a bit. This is an Intel ship, not a military cruiser. Have a seat and tell me something not in your file. What are your goals while aboard? Do you have any hobbies or interests? Are you allergic to any pets?"

McBain sat down as ordered and took a deep breath. "Not in my file? To be honest there is not much about me that is likely to not be in my file? I like to run daily. I like to read classics, and I paint portraits from memory." He smiled "I guess those are my hobbies and interested as well though. No allergies and I do like most furry or winged creatures. I am not allergic to any I know of but I never felt any warmth for reptiles or snakes." McBain had smiled throughout his reply but the smile faded. "I am not sure it is in my file, the story was very convoluted and much was speculation anyway. I was called up on charges for an incident on Darisa. I bombed a city and a lot of civilians were killed. I did it and never claimed otherwise."

McBain made eye contact, his expression serious but his eyes tormented. "It was a command center and was believed it would end the rebellion if destroyed. I was told one bomb dropped precisely would be enough. If successful civilian losses in the area would be minimal. The alternative was a three day artillery barrage followed by an assault by a full battalion. Civilian casualties were projected at over a hundred times worse. I was brought in as the best pilot available, the most likely to succeed. The Captain of the Dallas offered to fly the mission, he was a pilot as well. The thing is he was a big ship pilot who flew shuttles time to time. You see, just to keep his qualifications current. He was the type to succeed but he would likely have died doing so."

McBain sighed, "I am good at skilled things. I flew the mission to save lives even knowing many would be slain in the process. I can live with what I did. I however am still bitter that command turned on me and brought me up on charges. It was a political move and even being cleared it stained my honor. "The Captain of the Dallas stuck up for me and I will always respect that. I guess I am saying Captain I will do whatever it takes to get the job done. I am not a butcher though. I took thirty-six civilian lives in that bomb. I had to fight my way in against the defenses. I dropped the ordinance precisely and it took out the command center, over sixty of the Rebels and their allies were found in the crater. It was projected over a hundred civilians would be slain though. I was lucky there were so many fewer. The conflict did indeed end within days."

McBain took a second deep breath before making eye contact. "You can always depend on me to do what needs done Captain. Still saving lives, is what I like to think, is what I am doing."

Enalia had leaned forward on her desk as she listened to the story. It was about as she had heard. "You're right, it's not in your file. I've heard another side of it though. Because of it is why you're here, actually. I need someone that can get missions like that done, whether they have the tools or not. Someone that can step over their fallen comrades to save the galaxy, if need be. I think I found that someone."

McBain wondered what exactly she might have heard but he was not so curious as to ask. "I will be ready to help you save the Galaxy as soon as I get my baseline exams Captain." McBain smiled "I do hope we will not need that Orion shuttle I flew here for a few days though. It is still being worked on last time I looked in on it."

The captain couldn't help but grin. "The Orion series runabouts had some pretty serious design flaws in them. I'm surprised you have one, to be honest. Your predecessor had one as a personal ship but it was so heavily modified hardly anyone else could repair or fly it. If you want, we can apply some of the things she did to get around the issues it has."

McBain shrugged "I am not a big tech type. I admit the Orion is a bit clunky in an atmosphere but I like the class. If you want to have it modified I will learn how to use whatever is done." McBain knew every class had supporters and detractors but the few Orions' he had flown had all performed well. This one he had brought here had did all he asked of it, that was for sure.

Enalia decided to at least explain it a bit. "Most of them were decommissioned because of issues with the power systems leading to the forward micro-torpedo launcher igniting the payload magazine and destroying the ship when the reactor overloaded. Some commanders decided redesigning and rebuilding the system was worth it... Most did not. Nexi replaced hers with a smaller, better shielded conduit and swapped it all out for a pair of full sized torpedoes that were manually launched."

"I have never run into that particular problem but I will check the Orion's log and see if the problem was dealt with. I do not see where the weapon switch would be a viable improvement myself. I would rather have the micro launcher if it was not going to blow me up." McBain tilted his head "So this Nexi she took her ride with her when she transferred to her next assignment?" That was a cool idea, having your own shuttle.

"Yeah she wasn't Starfleet prior to joining us and she owned it so when it was time for her to move on, it had to go with her." Enalia still missed Nexi and Aewia, her sister. She only hoped they were doing well and getting the help they needed after all they had gone through. "Anyway, we have a fair bit of custom tactical gear you'll need to be fitted for. I'm sure you're familiar with the standard issue MACO armor but the techs at Intel Command have taken it a step further with our version. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. You'll also be expected to carry the new TR-116C ballistics rifle as well as a phaser rifle. In the past, phasers have done little to nothing against things that have eaten our people. Any questions so far?"

"I have many of my own weapons and gear. I will of course be happy to check out what you have." McBain tilted his head, the mild expression of confusion on his face. "Excuse me Captain but what sort of things are we talking about? The ones immune to phasers and are eating your crew?" Somehow McBain did not think this Captain was one to waste words or mince them. He was taking her literally because he had the impression that was how she meant what she was saying.

"Yeah, Borg experimentations and mutants among others. As you're aware, phasers do little against them." Enalia clarified. "We've run into things like that that instead of assimilating our people, ate them instead." It was a simple statement, but held a lot of meaning. If phasers didn't work but bullets and explosives did, her people needed the right tools to defend themselves.

~Rogue Borg that ate people?~ McBain did not much like the image in his mind. Just the same he smiled "well I will be ready when called on Captain. I never faced the Borg before so this will be an interesting change of pace." He made eye contact and shrugged "anything else you want to ask me Captain?"

"Not that I can think of. Do you have anything for me?" The spotted captain smiled politely, wondering what the man could possibly ask after a conversation like that. Most people didn't have the courage to even grin after she told them that she had had people eaten, but here he was, somehow smiling.

McBain started to stand but stopped "how long before you are going to brief me for my mission? I was told the team medic needs some field training? I would like to meet the team and find out their strengths and weaknesses before we begin preparing to go out." Actually he was secretly sort of a seeker of danger. He had felt most alive when his life was in the most danger. Facing a man-eating Borg thing seemed the sort of enemy you could destroy and need feel no guilt about doing so. He had a feeling this was going to be an interesting assignment.

"We're still filling out the new team but as it stands now, my personal family retainer might be part of it. Baroness Schwein von Alcott is a combat medic and heaven help you if you need her services. The first officer may accompany you on some missions as well as a few of the better trained security personnel. The Assistant Med Chief may go on trips that need a more refined doctor's touch. As for team lead on each mission, that's between you and the Intel Chief." Enalia clicked on her desk terminal and pulled up a holographic representation of a woman.

"This is Hera. Intel Command is still working out the details, but I'm pretty sure our next assignment is going to be to figure out why she's so pissed off and either calm her down or put her down. If you ever wanted to kill a deity, this would be your first chance." Enalia clicked her terminal back off. "For reference, look to Kirk's encounter with the god Apollo. In a few days, we should have an actual mission briefing for the crew. For now though, try not to spread too many rumors."

"Those beings had rather extreme abilities as I remember? I will do as you suggest of course and research the subject. I will say nothing to anyone. Those Borg things you spoke of. Are they minions of these 'God's'. Do you have more information on them that I can check out?" McBain asked in a deep quiet voice as he was thinking as he spoke and was in on-duty mode. he was thinking research was not fully active, he was sure he would have his sign protocols completed by the time of the briefing.

"The rogue Borg were warped by demons and hopefully we won't be fighting any more of them for a while. They were insanely hard to kill. All the information on them is in the Intel computer core." Enalia clicked her desk terminal back off and leaned back in her chair. "Any other questions?"

"No, Captain as I imagine I will get mission specifics in briefings. I think I have enough to work with." He stood "I have taken much of your time and I thank you for your patience. If you have nothing else?" He smiled as he straightened. "Permission to carry on Captain."

Enalia smiled politely. "Indeed. Welcome aboard. Dismissed."

_______________________________________

"An operations officer..."

David Dauntless' raspy voice reverberated across the vastness of his executive office, and echoed up into its two story-high vaulted ceiling. His tone remained neutral. The expression upon his wizened umber features betrayed nothing. His ice-blue stare was as cold and calculating as always.

Lieutenant Delilah Dauntless resisted the urge to stiffen, to try and sit up even straighter, at her grandfather's observation. The newly-commissioned Starfleet officer had presented herself for the appraisal (though never the approval) of her family's patriarch. Immaculate in her white dress uniform, she slightly lifted her delicate features to proudly meet the old man's eyes with her own glacial gaze.

"Chief Operations Officer," Delilah challenged in her child-like voice, "with the rank of Lieutenant. It's an impressive achievement, actually... Practically unheard of-"

"What is practically unheard of," interrupted the 90 year-old mogul, his tone accusatory, impatient, "is a young woman of your breeding and brilliance settling for-"

"It is not settling," countered the 20 year-old officer, her voice chilly with contempt, "it is strategy-"

"Strategy?" her grandfather sneered with contempt. "To squander your genius?"

Delilah's elfin features darkened for only a fraction of a second, before she steeled her gaze in response to his goading. Her voice never wavered, her expression betrayed nothing. Her poise and posture remained confident, controlled.

"To apply my genius," Delilah corrected. "After one year's time, I will have fulfilled the requirements necessary for acceptance to the ShiKahr Academy's exclusive Interdisciplinary Doctorate Program-"

"...THIS again," David grumbled, his graveled voice groaning from fatigue.

"-A full four years ahead of schedule," Delilah continued, her icy stare flashing in defiance. "And once I complete THAT program, Grandfather... it will make me the single highest qualified candidate for Chief Technical Officer that Dauntless Dynamics' Board of Directors has ever seen." Something feral threatened to snarl the corner of her scapel-thin smile as she added, "Including you."

A strained silence fell over the CEO's office as its massive stone double-doors slid laboriously open, to admit the slender and statuesque figure of the old man's robotic executive assistant. The gynoid's stiletto-heeled footsteps clicked a steady rhythm across the polished Izarian marble floor, as she approached the expansive kybernite desk that separated the grandfather and granddaughter.

The two, brown-skinned Humans sat in silence as the fembot placed crystalware consisting of tall glasses, ice-cube trays and decanters filled with transparent liquids of various colors. Delilah locked eyes with her grandfather, refusing even to blink as the slim gynoid served each person their evening libations. The 20 year-old woman remained prim and proper, her posture impeccable, determined not to flinch or falter in the slightest. The sounds of pouring liquid & clinking crystal briefly filled the office's immense interior, until at last, the robot's service was completed. The rhythmic clicking of the fembot's footsteps announced her departure from the Dauntless' taciturn staring contest. As the sepulchral stone doors slid finally closed, the 90 year-old man broke their silent war of wills by being the first to partake of the refreshments laid before him.

"There is something to be said for the direct approach," David Dauntless said at last, after a sip of his crisp clear drink. "At your age, I had already made my first billion ingots. I didn't achieve that by taking the long way around. I didn't build all of this," the 90 year-old Mercari taikun waived at the towering city skyline that glittered outside the office's lofty floor-to-ceiling windows, "by waiting to prove to some board, that I had what it took to succeed." The elderly magnate managed to turn up his nose as he picked up one of the decanters, and poured its contents into his half-full glass. Clear fluid mixed with clear fluid, only suddenly turn a citrus, chartreuse color.

Delilah narrowed her ice-blue eyes as she slowly, deliberately, stood up out of her seat. "What you call 'the long way around'," countered the 20 year-old in her cool, childish voice, "I call determination and diligence. You think I'm waiting?" Delilah slowly shook her head. "No, Grandfather. I am coming,

"I am coming, to take what is mine... by right , and by resolve. I will not falter. I will not fail. My success... my succession... as the future head of this family and its corporation, is inevitable."

David steeled his gaze in response as the young woman in the dress-white uniform turned her back to the elderly entrepreneur, and marched away through the office's ponderous stone doors.



* * * * *

kybernite = kyberna (steer, pilot, govern) + ite (a mineral)
aithrite = aithrios (clear, cloudless, fair) + ite (a mineral)
leptanium = leptos (thin, frail, skinny) + anium (an elemental metal)