The promenade of the space station, Deep Space 9 was particularly busy this evening. Both crewmembers of the U.S.S. Hera, as well as the offboarding evacuees of Starbase 336, were making their way through the station and the station was near capacity.

The evacuees consisted of refugees and staff from the clandestine starbase, saved from destruction at the hands of the god, Odin, by the crew of the Hera, and they were all eager to return to their own homes. This group consisted of a significant portion of Romulan personnel, and on some level that might have influenced Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox to disembark from the Hera for a drink that evening.

The young Starfleet pilot was, among other things, Romulan herself. But one far removed from the Star Empire or their culture. But she was also curious enough to push back against her own social anxiety enough to at least leave the ship for a drink to at least observe her own people in the proverbial wild. As such, she found herself with a work PaDD, pretending to read while people watching at a far table of the bar on the Promenade of DS9, nursing her fourth glass of Kali-Fal.

She was curious, but still too anxious to actually engage in open conversation, so she sat quietly, watching people come and go, so far disappointed by the lack of any of the Romulan personnel. She had been there for a little over an hour while watching half of the galaxy pass by but was beginning to get bored. And considering that she now had someone to go home too that was likely waiting, she prepared to finish her drink and return to the Hera.

Which was when a pair of Romulan officers entered the bar together, a male and a female. Approaching the bar, they took in the sights around them with quick cursory scans. The male raised an eyebrow at the redheaded ‘vulcan’ expressionlessly observing the press of people parading through who looked as though they were enjoying a kali-fal, but which surely was just some sythehol or another boring Vulcan drink.

Stepping to the bar, the female asked the Ferengi bartender if they carried a decent vintage of Romulan Ale, and if he had some that was not watered down past the point of being flavorless.

“I can see you are a woman of taste with a discriminating palette,” the sharp-eyed bartender observed before pulling out from beneath the bar a dusty bottle with elegant filigree. “I believe this might be up to your standards… IF you have the latinum for it.”

The female officer, who Dox recognized the rank on her collar as a subcommander, tossed a bar of latinum on the bar, which made the bartender’s eyes light up. “I’ll let you know when your credit runs out,” he offered with what was supposed to be an ingratiating smile, as he filled two tumblers with two finger’s worth of the pale blue liquid- the proper pour for such a drink.

As the duo took their glasses, they raised them to one another, then sipped cautiously, savoring the flavor.

From across the bar, Dox smiled ever so slightly. As a former smuggler who traded regularly in what the rest of the galaxy called Romulan Ale, she knew that the bar's supply was middling at best. But she watched for their reaction, and was not disappointed when they both made a face at the quality and quaffed the entirety of the glass. After all, if you were looking for the kali-fal kick, you would need to drink this a bit faster. And given the refugee status of the Romulan officers from Starbase 336, it was clear these two were looking to unwind.

For her part, Dox had already downed enough glasses of the blue alcohol to have a little more influence over the anxiety that lived in the pit of her stomach, and she decided to push herself out of her comfort zone. She looked up taking another sip and commented to the pair in Rihan with a nervous grin, "It's not top shelf, but it gets the job done."

While initially, the duo of Rihannsu had overlooked the redheaded Romulan, assuming from the Starfleet uniform and the lack of outward expression that she was just an odd Vulcan. Being spoken to in their native tongue by someone with a grin on their face was thoroughly unexpected, as witnessed by the exchange of surprised expressions they shared. Collecting their refills, the two approached dox’s table, the male lagging behind and watching the environs as the female spoke in fluent Romulan with a touch of a northern accent.

“Who are you, to be so free with critiques of our cultural drink, Starfleet?” the Romulan subcommander asked archly. Bluff and haughtiness was usually the first fallback of Romulans with strangers, as they were accustomed to being confronted in mixed space.

When she was still a smuggler, Dox had encountered many a haughty Romulan, but it had been over 15 years now. Nevertheless, the mannerisms were exceedingly familiar to the young pilot as she replied. "One of our cultural drinks. Lehe'jhme wine is stronger, but they're out of stock."

Taking another sip, she put her PaDD on the table and introduced herself. "Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox, U.S.S. Hera."

That got her a cocked eyebrow, a slight head tilt, and a small smile. “Ah. The Federation latecomers to the battle, who handed the entire station over to unaffiliated parties, causing a year of research to be completely wasted. Of course. Subcommander Miral T‘henie’sahe, formerly an attache to Starbase 336.”

Leaning in, the taller male introduced himself as well. “Centurion Augustus Rikal. Given that I was nearly cut in half by the invading warrior women, I’m going to add a ‘thank you’ to that, as otherwise we both likely would have ended up in bloody chunks on the deck.” His grin was casual and easygoing, which usually meant they were now engaging in the traditional ‘good Romulan, bad Romulan’ act that was encouraged when working in pairs. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

Skipping over the subcommander's mild consternation, Dox instead replied to the latter statements first. "You're quite welcome. We come when called and do what we can." It was a thinly veiled comment at the expenses of the fact that the station itself never called for aid and, in fact, tried to reject it mid-battle to protect its secrets.

“I can’t quite place your accent. From what province do you hail? The Centurion asked, pressing the conversation while the Subcommander hung back and observed the subtleties of the interaction, watching Dox’ body language, hands, eyes and the nonverbal cues that taught so much of one knew to watch for it… which most Romulans were trained in from birth, while learning to conceal or mislead with their own reactions.

It was a question Dox had answered most of her life with the trained lie her mother drilled into her for years. "The Nequencia colony, actually." It was a trade port on the edge of the Klingon border that was a cultural melting pot for Rhinassu people where the muddy accent of a space brat would go unnoticed.

At that, the centurion brightened up. “Wow, small universe! Were you from upper ward or lower ward?” he asked, which was a trap- there were no upper and lower wards, instead, the compass directions were the quadrants of the colony. Despite the Centurion’s cheer, he was interrogating her while the superior officer observed. There was no openness, no trust whatsoever- just suspicion and subtle lies designed to coerce information. Next would come some seemingly innocent questions about the great black-hulled starship docked at the station.

Without missing a beat, Dox replied. "Southwest Provence. New Bator district." She and her mother had spent enough time in the colony doing business that Dox could probably still remember some of the alleys she'd played in. "You?"

In spite of herself, she was actually enjoying the whole process. And if anything, it was good to flex the old muscles again. Her mother would be proud.

“Just south of Northport, one of the big dwelling centers where the sounds from the big landing field would vibrate our windows all the time,” the centurion joked. That his lie had been countered did not even faze him as he pressed on with the conversation. After all, in the Tal Shiar dominated Romulan society, one was practically expected to lie.

“So why Starfleet?” the subcommander asked, changing the topic to keep Dox on the defensive so that her partner’s less invasive and innocuous question might slip through.

Deciding that she had no need to bother with subterfuge, Dox took a drink and answered plainly with a light smile. "Because I believe in it.”

The Subcommander ‘s eyes flickered slightly, a sure sign that she immediately dismissed the answer as a deflection, while the Centurion pressed on. “So what about the Federation holds so much appeal? And clearly you must be doing well to be assigned to a Starfleet intel ship?”

Ignoring the obvious statement to learn more about the Hera, Dox instead answered the first question in greater detail.."The Federation elevates. Explores. Learns. Teaches. In Starfleet, you can be more because Starfleet is more." There was an unspoken implication in her words that lingered as she gestured with her empty glass to the bartender.

"What of the glory of the Star Empire? The drive for conquest? All you do is go make friends in the Federation. You are no military wing of the Al'thindor... you are talkers. Talk, talk, talk," the subcommander offered dismissively.

"I've seen more done with that talk than I've ever seen accomplished with weapons, Subcommander. Yes, we make friends. And those friends make more friends. And all of those friends, we lift each other up together. We become a part of something bigger than any Empire could ever be." Dox replied as a young Ferengi brought a fresh drink over.

Taking a sip, Dox continued. "Conquerors tell you what can't be done. Friends... They help you do anything."

The Centurion was listening intently, and Mnhei'sahe saw the light go on behind his eyes as he did his best to penetrate the lie she was telling, only to realize she was telling the truth. That the Federation really was that promise of a hand up to all that it proclaimed, and that the life of backstabbing and Machiavellian scheming that life in the glorious Star Empire had been reduced to was far, far less appealing then what the little lieutenant had so succinctly described.

Which was made that much more evident when the Subcommander kicked the Centurion under the table to prompt him. "Ah, yes, that does certainly sound appealing. It really does," he repeated, realizing that he was being a bit too honest, and Centurion Augustus Rikal forcibly put his head back in the game again. "So where are you bound from here?"

A smile creaked across Dox's face as she took another drink, reading the Centurion's expression. "Wherever we're needed next, I suppose. That's how the trade works. That's what Starfleet is for. And you?"

"Ugh. Debriefing for however-" the centurion began, but the subcommander interrupted him.

"WE will go where we can best serve the advancement of the Star Empire next," Subcommander Miral T‘henie’sahe interjected, obviously irritated with her subordinate.

Raising her glass up to the two Romulan officers, Dox smiled. "Then here's to hoping that that advancement... advances in a direction that allows more conversations like this. To making friends."

The red-headed Romulan Starfleet pilot took a drink as she realized that her toast would likely irritate the Subcommander, but maybe inspire the Centurion. Stranger things have happened, but said a lot about just what talking could accomplish.

While Mona had been looking forward to this a while now and planning it out to excruciating detail, she was nervous. The USS Hera was full of refugees still, even though they were at DS9. Offloading them all and getting everyone sorted would take considerable time yet, apparently. Either way, that didn't stop her from trying to plan the next date with her Minay.

She had planned out a meal based on the computer's recommendation. Hopefully, she hadn't screwed that up, though it was a bit unsavory to her... She wanted her love to be happy though, above all else. Hence how she was now preparing a meal with beef stew and boneless Asian hot wings for Dox and a ham and egg souffle for herself. For the drink, she had swiped a bottle of plum wine from the Captain's stash.

As for the location, she chose a nice secluded observation lounge that was actually built into where the port nacelle meets the pylon. Though calling it a lounge was a bit of a stretch... It was little more than a table, six chairs, and a replicator. The retracting wall that opened into space had a perfect view of the wormhole though, as long as it opened. And with a forcefield rather than transparent aluminum between them and space, their view of it would be completely unhindered in any way.

With the food in place on the white cloth covered table and a few electronic candles in place, Mona nodded and sat down to wait, tucking the green and white short-hemmed dress under her as she did so.

The wait wasn't long, as Mnhei'sahe Dox had stepped, somewhat nervously, from the turbolift to the corridor to the observation lounge. Managing the offloading of refugees was taking not only.the.transporters, bit coordination with the Hera's Runabouts as well and Dox had been running a bit behind taking care of the scheduling. But she had made the extra time to stop in her quarters and change for her evening.

She had been looking forward to it all day and couldn't wait for her shift to finally end. As she stepped into the lounge, she caught the aroma of the meal first and her stomach rumbled. She was wearing a mid-length, low cut rich purple dress with a black shawl over her shoulders. As she caught sight of Mona, time seemed to stand still. Framed against the view of space, Dox swallowed nervously as her anxiety began to kick in at how beautiful Mona was.

"Hi." She awkwardly whispered as she stepped in with a broad grin.

"Hey," Mona replied, a yellow flush spreading across her finer feathers as she stood to greet her love and give her a quick kiss. "I asked the computer what you liked and made something for you. I hope you like it. I um... I'll be eating something different though..."

Looking at the table, Dox noticed the meat heavy dishes that, while she admittedly loved, she felt.extremely self-conscious about since she started seeing Mona romantically. "It smells wonderful... uh."

Hemming slightly as she talked, she walked over with Mona to the table, holding her hand as she did. "But... are you okay with this? I mean, I know it's all replicated, but... I've been cutting this all out since we... started being serious."

The nervousness was palpable as Mnhei'sahe got to the table. "I don't want to upset you and there's plenty of other stuff to eat."

"Actually, while I replicated the ingredients, I cooked them all myself. And I just want you to be happy. If.. uh... If it's not that good, let me know. It's my first time." Mona helped Dox into her chair, then slipped into her own chair.

With her nerves starting to settle, Dox smiled. "If it's anywhere near as good as the dinner you made for... ya'know... the party, I'm sure I'm going to love it." Dox referred to the 'coming out' party Mona had thrown a couple of months ago now. It was a party Mona planned FOR Dox, but Dox tended to be slightly self-conscious about that fact. It was the first time that the young Romulan woman began to realize that she had developed feelings for her Miradonian officemate.

"I borrowed a few spices and the wine from the Captain's stores. She's let me do it before so... I really hope it turned out ok. I'm not used to cooking ch... Chicken... Or beef..." Mona looked a bit sheepish as she fidgeted. "They cook a lot differently than porcine..."

Noticing Mona's own anxiety, Dox pushed back in her chair, stood up and carried it around to her side of the table where she sat back down next to her. "Mona, your cooking is fantastic. I love it. But... I love you more. I don't want.you to feel bad at all, but I hope you understand when I say that I can't eat the wings."

Gesturing lightly to the chicken. "Replicated meat or not, I've stopped eating chicken for a few weeks now. I just can't. I'm so sorry that this made you uncomfortable especially with all the work you put into it. And the stew smells delicious."

Leaning her head over against Mona's, Dox continued. "I know we're both flying in... uncharted space here. But we can do this. I know we can."

the brightly plumed Miradonian leaned into Dox and took a deep, calming breath, letting it out slowly. "I'm not made of chicken. I supposedly taste like it... Kind of look like an Earth parrot... I was teased about it in the Academy... During cultural sensitivity training, I was a target for the Professor's attentions since my people are technically considered an early warp culture and new to the Federation... But seriously, after everything I'd been through to get there, I wasn't the one that needed the lessons..."

She then nuzzled tenderly on Dox. "And you need to know that you don't need to cut anything out of your diet because of any associations you may have between me and a creature that I have a passing resemblance to on a world half a quadrant away from mine. Now... You've tasted me... Do I taste like chicken?"

"Cultural sensitivity training was anything but, wasn't it? That's where I got outed as a Romulan which turned my first year at the academy into... well... what it became." Mnhei'sahe put her hand on Mona's knee. "I know what you are. You're not a parrot. You're not a chicken. You're Al'thindor, the Great Phoenix."

Tilting her head to look into Mona's eyes. "Before the Rihannsu worshiped power, we worshiped the elements. And before we worshiped the elements, we worshiped Al'thindor." She smiled over at Mona. "That makes so much sense to my now. As for my diet, I don't need chicken when I can taste eternity."

And almost as if Dox had planned it, behind them in space, the wormhole burst open like a great flower exploding in color in the vastness of space.

While Mona was caught a bit off guard by the sudden swirls of colors, what she was more interested in was the colors splashing across Dox's face. "Oh Minay, you always know just how to get to me." Without any further hesitation, she pulled Dox in for a passionate kiss under the light of the Temple of the Prophets.

Thex had been busy over the last few days putting the ship back together from both the Norse weapons and the damage done by the Valkyries. She'd been up for most of those days, but now with the Hera safely docked in DS9 the blue engineer had time to put her feet up and get some rest. Right now she was having a very large lunch on the promenade with a table overlooking the busy Bajoran wormhole.

She smiled as the USS Shanghai passed overhead heading away from the station before it could power up its warp engines and begin it's next journey. Despite all the battles with gods and monsters everything seemed to be going well.

Her blue eyes noted a familiar face in the crowd passing by. " Hello, Rita." She said politely to her human friend from another time.

Striding across the promenade, Rita Paris turned heads. Partially it was her outdated antique uniform, which made her look like she was in costume for a play or holo. Partially it was her form and figure- Rita was built like a schoolboy’s fantasy come to life, and she had a dazzling smile that could light up a room. Partially it was the confidence with which she carried herself- tall and regal, she moved as if she were the reason the universe was here and she knew that it revolved around her.

The woman was neither that vain nor egotistical, but she carried herself that way, and people tended to react to it.

Striding over to the table where Thex was seated, Paris paused to watch the Bajoran wormhole open like some great cosmic flower and blossom forth with celestial light. “That is just absolutely breathtaking… I don’t think I will ever get used to the sight,” Rita purred, enchanted by the cosmic phenomenon.

“So what can I do you for, Chief Engineer?" Refocusing on the Andorian engineer, the grinning human girl raised an eyebrow slightly and cocked her head in curiosity.

"How about get yourself something to eat. It's been a while since we sat down and took a meal together." The andorian said as she gave her friend a smile. "I take it to you like DS9? Certainly no place like it in the galaxy."

“It’s very interesting,” Rita admitted as she took a seat opposite Thex. “The wormhole is remarkably beautiful, one of the most breathtaking things I’ve ever seen. And the station itself is so different than what I’m used to in Starfleet engineering. Of course, it’s no Starbase Yorktown, but what is?”

"Well, DS9's hull was originally Cardassian in origin, though she's been upgraded so many times, her interior is mostly Federation. She was the Federation's rock in the Dominion War and the gateway to a whole new quadrant." Thex said looking at the wormhole as it contracted.

"Wow... oh, so the Dominion invaded from the gamma quadrant, okay, I get it. Quite the crossroads in history, and Bajor at the center of it. They have a religion, right? They worship beings who live in the wormhole, celestial prophets or something?" Rita Paris' grip of history was tenuous at best for anything resembling current events, so clearly she'd read a Fedepedia entry at some point as she had a very vague idea of the local history.

"So I've heard from the reports of the DS9 station staff and a few Bajorans I've met. From the Federation report, the prophets are non-corporeal extra-dimensional entities." Thex responded as the wormhole opened again in the background.

"Mmmm. Well, they have a temple up here, so if I am that interested I can go ask more, I suppose," Rita observed, watching the scintillating colors of the wormhole. "So you have any business to tend to while we're here?"

A grin spread over the andorians face at that question. "Oh yes i have several crates of andorian ale to collect along with some outfits for a particular event. " The andorian replied with a wink to her human friend.

"Well, that sounds exciting! Have you set a date yet?" Rita grinned, cheered by seeing her bashful blue buddy be so smitten.

" The Anear holy day of shining light. It's still a while from now, so we have time to plan everything." Thex explained the grin still on her face.

"Awww, that's a great idea! It sounds like a lovely day for a... bonding," Rita had of course begun to say wedding, but remembered not every culture called the pairing of individuals together as a 'wedding'.

" It sure does. We've have everything prepared already including the dresses. Just need to wait for the day in question. " The andorian replied the happiness evident in her voice.

“That’s great, I am so happy for you, Thex. So when is that day, anyway? And is it customary to give gifts to the betrothed couple?” Rita, ignorant of Andorian bonding rituals, hoped she wasn’t being rude in asking.

" Five days from now and gifts are only given at the full quad ceremony. " the andorian explained before she continued. " Thank you for agreeing to be my witness Rita. It means a lot to me and Tathaa. "

Five days? Glad I asked, Rita thought to herself. “It’s the very least that I can do, Thex. You were there for me and Sonak, so the least I can do is stand witness for you and your gal. Soooo is there a dress code or anything I ought to know? Remember, the Earth girl is well traveled but not good at alien customs. I don’t want to accidentally create a scene or an incident here.”

" For the partners and their witnesses yes. Don't worry we've picked out some nice simple dresses so you don't have to worry about putting on some alien monstrosity that needs a holovid video to explain." the andorian said with a chuckle. " Everyone else it's formal wear though blue and white is considered lucky to wear."

“Well, that’s a relief. Sonak looks good in blue and I can wear white, that’s easy enough,” Rita chuckled. “So no gifts, white and blue dress code, just stand and witness. Easy peasy.”

" Well you as my witness will have to state the love I hold for Tathaa is true and hand me the locket called a Shapla. Then you'll need to cut a lock of my hair and hand it to me. I know my people have a very off bonding ceremony." Thex said laughing to herself slightly.

“Eh, my people exchange vows and rings and have all sorts of superstitions. Nothing weird about rituals- they lend us structure, connect us to the past and bring those traditions with us into the future. I’m a fan of traditions,” Rita explained. After all, she was a very old-fashioned girl.

"Indeed you do, Rita. It what makes you a unique and charming friend. Are the old phaser and communicator still working?" the andorian asked politely.

“Flatterer,” Rita grinned. “The phaser works great, and converting the handle to be more battery power has come in handy on more than one occasion, as I’ve replaced the battery in the field once already after some wide beam stuns. As for the communicator, I have been through a few now, but they work great. And I appreciate they look like my old command delta, as well as my phaser being the old type 2 model. Turns out my Security gals seem to favor them as well. They claim they are easier to hold and aim, which was my perspective as well. I at least know where the basic functions are on a dustbuster, but I definitely prefer my old phaser pistol to be certain.”

The andorian grinned at her friend. " Glad it's working out for you. The engineer who designed them contacted m with a new blueprint for a replicator built into the old style food unit. Would you like me to install one in your quarters?"

That earned her a musical laugh. "I may be old-fashioned, but I'm not THAT old-fashioned. If I still carried a tricorder on away missions I might ask for a classic update of one of those. But these days either someone better qualified is doing the scanning or I have it all on a heads-up display, so no real need. But I'll keep the modern replicator, thanks. It's surprisingly handy the be able to make darn near anything you want out of the ship's matter stores, rather than everything just being replicated into somewhat bland food."

Thex laughed along with her friend who's laugh was contagious. "I'll see what I can do about the tricorder. Was the food really as bland as they say in the records?"

"UGH. Fleet food was the WORST," Rita laughed, recounting her service over a century earlier. "There were so many dietary restrictions built into the darn things that everything was bland, low sodium, gluten-free, fat free and mostly flavor free. Even Sonak seasoned his food from time to time, and if you've ever had Plomeek soup you know what Vulcan tastebuds consider a delicacy..."

"I ate a bowl of that for a dare once. I thought it was someone dishwater at first." Thex said remember her time at the academy. "I'm glad the replicator had came into being before I came into the universe. Means I can get all my food just how i like it."

"It is pretty bland..." Rita trailed off as the wormhole closed again, winking out of sight as if it had never existed. "That is just a glorious sight. I can see why the Bajorans worship it and the beings who live inside it. How could you not? I heard there was a Starfleet officer who was chosen as their ambassador to it a few decades back?"

"Yeah, Captain Sisko," Thex said as she ate another dish of her plate. "He vanished around the end of the dominion war, and the files are classified beyond my level to access. Pity... I'd have like to have met him. We'd probably not be here if not for him."

"Guess I'll read up on him then," Rita sighed, a bit disappointed she couldn't get more of the history lesson in person, but as with everything else for the officer 130 years out of step, she could always read about it on Fedepedia. "Well, I should probably get back. Got a few duties to tend to today. Have you decided where you are going to be holding your ceremony?

"The Hera's shuttle bay. Big enough for all the crew if they want to be there, we can have the stars and the wormhole as a backdrop, it has the holo records and projectors for recording everything and it's part of home," the andorian explained.

"Then you really should go speak to Maica. I robbed her of throwing an epic bash when Sonak and I got married, so this would mean a lot to her if you two would let her do your event planning. Because she is DYING to do a big shuttle bay wedding," Rita advised.

"I'll have a word. I'm sure she can throw something together," the andorian replied with a grin on her face.

If there could ever be said that there is a universal constant, a fixed point in space that could always be counted on to be there, it was Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox's anxiety.

By all accounts, the young Romulan pilot should have precious little to be anxious about aside from the rigors of her job as Flight Control Chief of the U.S.S. Hera. Her career was advancing well as she was taking on more command responsibilities. Her piloting skills and dedication earned her a promotion to full Lieutenant status within months of joining the crew. She had made friendships stronger than any familial relationships she had ever had. She had been named a Baroness of the Artan Pirate family by her Captain, Enalia Telvan. She had become friends with Death herself, the woman once known as Masato Rei.

And she had inexplicably found love.

So, of course, as she wandered around her largely empty quarters after the end of her shift, she was doubting everything in her life. Ensign Mona Gonadie was putting in a little overtime in her workshop that evening and the anxious aviatrix was feeling particularly lonely, and that was fueling her self-doubt.

On their second date, Mona told Mnhei'sahe that her species, the avian Miradonians, mated for life. And Mona told her that she was fairly certain that she had already bonded herself to Dox. It was more than a little intimidating, but even still Dox was questioning herself. After all, how long could anyone put up with her anxiety, nervousness and low self-esteem? If there was anyone in the galaxy that could make a species that mates for life regret that decision, Dox felt that it must be her.

She was a mess and she knew it. And eventually, everyone around her was going to understand just how impossible Dox's issues would be to live with. As she flumped on her couch, avoiding her bedroom, she sighed. She felt like it was only a matter of time before Mona, Rita, Enalia, Asa and the rest of the crew saw her for the fraud she really was. A poor chief who didn't know how to lead others. An adequate pilot that could be replaced by any officers under her aegis. A broken lover that would do more harm than good to someone as wonderful as Mona. She knew she didn't deserve that love.

So instead, she turned around on the couch and looked out the long windows into space. That endless void was the only thing that ever felt like home to her and at least in space, her insignificance was just another speck to be ignored, as it should be.

She felt herself begin to cry for no particular reason. Just a wave of depression and anxiety that spiraled out of nowhere to overtake her. She was alone with her own thoughts and that was often the most dangerous place in the universe for Mnhei'sahe Dox. As she sat there, wiping an errant tear from her eye, she turned to the bedroom of her quarters. The room she had been avoiding.

A few days ago, Mona had been in there on her free time, redecorating. She had replaced the standard issue Starfleet bedding with a luxurious, soft set of sheets and comforters. Each a rainbow of color reflecting the colors in Mona's own dazzling plumage. There were now rich green and yellow curtains up over the windows and a framed picture of the two on the nightstand next to the holo-parrot that the Miradonian pilot had gifted Dox.

It was clear that given enough time, Mona would end up completely redecorating Dox's otherwise barren quarters. She had been dropping hints of wanting the two to move in and as a senior officer, Dox had the larger quarters by far. But Dox had tried avoiding the topic. She was concerned that if Mona got too close, she would see too much of her scars and issues and pain and Mona would run. And in spite of her anxiety screaming at her to end it before it got too serious, she didn't want to. She didn't even know she was capable of it, but she was in love. It scared her just how much she thought about Mona. Worried about Mona. Needed Mona.

Standing up, Dox went over to the corner cabinet where a kitchenette would go if Dox had one and pulled out a bottle of Kali-Fal that the Baroness Schwein von Alcott had given her as a gift, welcoming her to the Artan family. Known as Romulan Ale in the rest of the galaxy, Dox looked at the bottle and pulled the stopper out. She stood there, staring at it for a moment, wanting to drown her anxiety. Bury it with alcohol and stop hurting inside for at least a little while.

When she drank, she drank because it was the only time she didn't feel guilty for her feelings. When she didn't feel ashamed to want to push everyone away. When she drank, she welcomed her self-pity like an old friend. When she drank, it was okay to be broken.

After what felt like an eternity staring at the bottle, she replaced the cork and put it back in the cabinet. She didn't want to wash her pain away that night. That night, she wanted to feel it. She wanted to feel it, let it in and kill it. She didn't want to feel that way anymore.

Stepping across the room, Dox stepped into her bedroom. The little corner of Mona Gonadie on the U.S.S. Hera. She sat on the bed and ran her hands over the soft, colorful bedding and thought of Mona's arms around her. She thought of how she felt when Mona was around. She thought of not feeling alone anymore and she liked it. And greedily, she wanted to feel that way all the time.

Mona hadn't run away. She had already seen so much of Dox's pain and issues and pulled her closer. Asa and Rita had literally picked Dox up from her worst breakdowns and helped her find her footing again. Rei literally kept her alive when she would have otherwise died. Enalia was actively trying to help Dox reconcile with her broken family. These people weren't going to abandon her. She knew it, and maybe that's what really scared her.

Not that she was going to be abandoned again, but that she wasn't. They weren't going to give up on Mnhei'sahe Dox. And they weren't going to let her give up on herself, and that was the most intimidating undiscovered country of them all to the perpetually anxious young Romulan. She had become comfortable being alone. Being defeated. But on the Hera, she wasn't alone. She was encouraged and fostered. Her skills were appreciated and her wounds were tended to, both physically and mentally.

She wasn't alone. And she realized that she finally didn't want to be, anymore.

Thex had hoped the feeling in her stomach would have left her by now as the doors opened up onto the bridge. Sadly it hadn't and she had no idea why. The captain was her friend and she wasn't going to say no.

Just get on with Thex. Get it done and you soon feel better. She thought to herself as she made the short trip across the bridge and she was outside of the captain's ready room. There was a second before the indicator went off and she spoke. " Hello, captain it's Thex I was wondering if I could have a word." The engineer said politely.

"Yeah, come in," Enalia replied, triggering the door to open and looking up from her desk terminal. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

" Thank you, captain. It's a rather simple question, but I hope you'd be willing to accept. " The andorian said as she walked over to the chair opposite the desk. " It's about my upcoming bonding ceremony captain. I'm hoping you will do us the honor and be willing to conduct the ceremony." the anodrian asked timidly.

"Of course. It would be an honor and a privilege. Congratulations." Enalia stood and offered a congratulatory handshake. "Do you have a planner? When do you want to do the ceremony? I'll need to study up on the ceremony."

" We've already planned it ourselves captain as is andorian tradition. We're going to hold it on the anear holy day which is five days from now. I can send you the data on what you'll need to do and say. " The andorian said taking her captains hand and giving it a good shake.

"I would appreciate it. I've never conducted or even seen an Andorian Bonding ceremony before so I'm not even sure what I'm in for." Enalia returned to her seat and motioned for Thex to be seated as well. "While I have you here, there's something I was hoping to ask you as well."

" Hey I'm your friend Enalia and you've just agreed to marry me and my partner. You're more than welcome to ask me anything." The andorian who was very happy inside.

Enalia nodded. This still wasn't something easy to ask, however. "Then please know that you have full right to refuse as this is a personal matter and not in any way an order. I'm sure you've heard about the upcoming tribunal I'm involved in with my family. Rumors travel at warp speed, after all. It's looking more and more like it's going to end in a space duel between starships and I need an engineer that knows the Miranda class and... Certain flavors of Andorian and Telerite modifications to it. I would ask my old family engineer, but they've been killed in a raid against a Syndicate slave ring. Will you be my Chief Engineer aboard the Manticore?"

"Of course I'd be willing to help Enalia. I'll need to take a look at the Miranda's blueprints beforehand, but i won't let you down. " the Andorian replied confidently. " Though if you don't mind me asking what is actually going on. As you said there are rumors floating around, but half of them contradict each other."

Enalia picked up a PaDD and started transferring the current status reports and 'blueprints' with all the modifications into it of her old pirate ship. "The Manticore is a refit Miranda class at its core with an Andorian warp reactor, Tellarite injection systems and relays, and the weapons... Pulse phasers... From four different races. And then there's the Vulcan transporters..."

Handing off the PaDD, Enalia then addressed the rumors. "It started with her insistence with me providing an heir to the family so she can raise her. Basically, I choose a suitable suitor, provide a genetic sample, and she grow my daughter... With genetic manipulation... In a maturation chamber. Then I'm relieved of my responsibilities of the family in fifteen years when her bloodthirsty augment takes over. Not only would this break bodily autonomy laws, but eugenics laws as well. Hence why I started a tribunal within the family which... Basically states that she's trying to tear the family apart through this action. Eventually it would have."

"Unfortunately, I don't have the favor of at least nine of the fourteen Baronesses to win it in the trial stage, so at the six month mark, we'll be dueling to determine the outcome." Enalia sighed heavily. "And she's a fecking bloody cunny in space combat..."

The andorians eye were fixed on the blueprints she was looking at. The Manticore was an impressive ship and the work needed to get half of these systems to work together was a work of a talented engineer. She blinked before listening to the captain's story. She could feel the captains problem with this whole mess. Her own family had been controlling freaks who wanted to choose who she married.

" I see and don't worry you have my full support in this Enalia. My own family was a bunch of control freak's and I'm not going to stay at the side and let someone else deal with the same problem. "

"Thank you, Thex. You don't know how much I appreciate that." For a moment, the weight of this whole affair showed on Enalia as she smiled weakly. It had obviously been wearing on her. But she brushed it of just as quickly as it showed. "So how's the Hera doing? Repairs and resupply going well, I hope?"

"Going very well. My Team's very experienced at this. Though the damage the Valkyries did to the engine room is taking a while to fix, but with the DS9 staff, we'll have it fixed in a day or two." The andorian replied with a proud smile.

"Thank goodness. The last thing we need is mixing refugees and repairs longer than necessary," Enalia replied.

" Don't need to tell me that. Here's hoping Intel isn't going to send us another mess like that again in a hurry." Said the andorian engineer.

"I think they might already have." Enalia pulled up a mission request to return the changeling they had in stasis to the Dominion. "I Think we can get away with it being just an away mission though. Just a quick trip through the wormhole to deliver a changeling to a Dominion ship. We've held onto them long enough and Intel is getting nervous."

" Knowing the universe she's already got a surprise lined up for us." Thex responded as she looked at the mission brief.

"Yeah, these missions are never as easy as they look." Enalia clicked it off and leaned back in her chair. "At least on the books it's a simple diplomatic mission, but knowing our luck some wormhole shenaniganry will happen or an alien fleet will appear... The station will be attacked by Borg... We should shut up now before I jinx it..."

" Indeed. " Thex said as she waited for the universe to throw something at them. Thankfully it seemed to be giving them a breather this time. " Well as it looks like they've given us a breather i'll get back to the repairs. Unless you need me for anything else?" Thex asked

"I can't think of anything. Thank you again." With a smile, Enalia nodded and motioned that her Andorian friend and Chief Engineer could leave at her leisure.

Thex had a smile on her face as she walked down the corridors of the ship. With the last of the repairs finished she was feeling very happy with herself. Now all what she needed to focus on was getting her bonding ceremony done. She had all the plans for it in the padd in her hand and after her talk with Rita she had thought of letting the ships know organizer of parties take a look to see if she could think of anything to add.

Arriving outside of the Orions massage parlor the andorian step up to the alert the door she was there. She'd checked the orion had no appointments before coming down here so she hoped everything would be fine for them to have a sit-down and have a nice chat.

The door swooshed open immediately and the scent of incense wafted out. Inside had been recently redecorated in gold and red velvets, tapestries and drapes covering the walls and windows and the furniture having been replaced with low sitting chairs in the same style velvets. The service bar was the same with earthenware teacups and three different tea dispensers at the ready. Behind the service bar was the usual partition but it too had been replaced with a red and gold velvet tapestry. The sound dampener had also been tweaked again to enhance the filtration of the shipboard sounds so that even an Andorian or a Vulcan couldn't detect that they were anywhere near a starship.

Maica was sitting in one of the guest chairs flipping through an old style color fashion magazine, passing time when Thex arrived but quickly set it aside and stood to greet her regular customer and friend with an extra special smile. "Hello and welcome! This is a rare time for you to visit, but it's always wonderful to see you. Would you like your usual today? Maybe a little extra?"

" Not today Maica. I've come to ask you for a little advice if that okay with you." the andorian said as she stepped into the room. Her antenna acted a little confused at the sudden change in sound or more correctly the lack of sound. " As you know me and Tathaa are having are bonding ceremony soon. We've come up with the basic ceremony, but as the ships resident party organizer I was wondering if you'd be willing to take a look at it and see if you can offer tips to improve it." The andorian explained.

"Of course," Maica motioned for Thex to have a seat so they could chat. "Tell me what you've got and I'll do what I can."

" Thanks. " The andorian said as she sat down. " Well, we're going to hold it in the main shuttle bay. Plenty of space for everyone and we can have the backdrop of the stars and the wormhole. " Thex said as she extended the blueprints she had drawn up.

The altar with the blue flame at the head with two rows of seats for the guest looked simple enough.

Sitting close to Thex, Maica looked everything over. "This all looks simple enough. What about food though? Have you arranged catering with the kitchens?"

" Yup we're going to have an andorian style buffet along with our other favorite foods. We've also gotten in some real andorian ale for drinks." The andorian said as she scrolled down to the food section.

"Excellent. And I see you've requested the holographics add the traditional banners to the walls to hide the maintenance bays. Good thinking." Maica hummed as she looked over the plans a bit more. "What about adding a few sculpted ice walls behind Enalia to frame the ceremony in? I think it would give it a really nice at home feel - a little taste of the Andorian ice fields, as it were."

" Yeah, that would be a nice touch. One of the Hera's patch, one of Starfleet and a few of both Andorian and anear cultures. " The andorian said already thinking of a few to put in.

The Orion modeled hologram made a few notes on the PaDD as they went along, trying to think of anything else they might need. "No presents since it's not the full four person bonding... What about party favors for the guests? Like a little rolled paper program or blessing tied in ribbon?"

" Hum that would be nice. That's a human custom isn't it? Not much paper on andor. " Thex asked as she jotted it down on the pad.

"Indeed. It's kind of like a thank you or a memento of the occasion." Maica studied the plans a bit more. "What about contrasting colors? I know the tradition has blue and white, but what do you think about some Command Red or Engineering Gold carpets down the center and along the sides of the guest areas as well as under the ceremony itself?"

" Yeah, that would be a nice touch. Shows that starfleet is a part of us. " The chief engineer added.

Adding in the last couple notes, Maca hummed for a few, looking over the whole document. "Other than that, I think it looks good. What do you think?"

" No that sounds great. " Replied the chief engineer as she saved the padd. " Thanks for the help Maica. I just hope it's going to be as fantastic as it looks in my head as it will in real life."

Walking around one of the Scorpion-class fighters they had liberated from Starbase 336 before it's destruction by Odin, Commander Rita Paris did what she always did when she didn't understand something in the modern day- she looked it up.

"The Scorpion-class is a type of small attack fighter introduced in 2375 by the Romulan Star Empire for use for their Reman troops. They are still in current use as attack fighters, utilizing disruptor turrets and standard photon torpedoes, as well as shields and cloaking devices. This thing packs a cloak?!?" the fetching first officer of the USS Hera exclaimed as she paced around the small craft.

"The cockpit of a Scorpion-class fighter is small, with the copilot, who serves as the tactical operator, is seated behind the pilot. The disruptor mount is located on the dorsal stern area. Well, you're getting replaced by a phaser, buddy. Mrs. Paris' little girl prefers her non-lethal options, thank you. Let's see here, capable of both carrier-based and independent operation, capable of atmospheric flight. The current model is warp-capable and possesses a cloaking device."

Quickly, Rita flipped to an entry on the Federation's stance on cloaking devices. "Let's see here... Treaty of Algeron, year 2311, reinforced and redefined the Romulan Neutral Zone, made clear any violations considered an act of war, no surprise there. Treaty expressly prohibited the development or use of cloaking device technology by the Federation. A secret amendment was made to the treaty in 2371 which allowed limited use of cloaking devices by the Federation as long as it was supervised by a Romulan military officer. Well hello!" Rita read aloud as she paced about the shiny little fighter craft.

"This allowed the USS Defiant to be loaned a cloaking device for its operations against the Dominion. However, the amendment stated that only a single Defiant-class vessel was allowed the use of the cloaking device and only in the Gamma Quadrant. Hwomp hwommmmp. So much for that. Guess we gotta yank your cloak, little buddy. Hmm, what kinda power source do you have, anyway?" Turning her back to the sleek black craft, Rita parked her butt on the canopy and continued reading.

"The Scorpion attack fighter is powered by a matter-antimatter reactor instead of the usual Romulan power source, a confined quantum singularity. Well, that's a relief. I guess. Riding this close to a black hole is somehow scarier than a reactor. So what have we got for... you kidding me? Utilizes disruptor turrets and standard photon torpedoes, as well as shields and cloaking devices. You've got shields too, little buddy? I think I'm gonna like you a lot." The anachronistic astronaut patted the canopy affectionately as she studied the technical specifications of the versatile little craft.

By the time Lieutenant Dox arrived, the Commander was on a hoverboard underneath the little fighter craft, apparently inspecting the torpedo bays.

Walking in at a brisk pace that she hadn't realized she had picked up from keeping pace with Paris, Mnhei'sahe Dox had her face buried in her PaDD as usual. As a general rule, the Flight Control Department was one of the less hectic one's on a Starship, but Dox didn't care for that rule and kept the department very busy as it's Chief.

For the red-headed Romulan pilot, downtime meant time for everyone to be better. Any pilot that wasn't occupied in the efforts to ferry refugees about on the Runabouts was updating their combat flight Simulation times. There was also a considerable amount of cargo in the ships flight decks that needed to be re-cataloged and moved. There were shuttle maintenance drills and flight system checks that could be done. Dox kept her department on its toes at all times, and today was no different. As she walked, she couldn't help but notice that her crews seemed to be working as far from the Scorpion as possible. It was a strange bubble that lower ranked crewmembers seemed to keep regarding the ships First Officer as if somehow Rita Paris was unapproachable. An idea Dox found irritating.

As she approached the Scorpion and Commander Paris, she was on her Comm badge talking. "No, Miss MacNielle. Mr. Hovind is moving that cargo from Bay two. Mr. Paulson is scheduled to run a systems check on the new Class 15's we picked up from Earth. Ensign Gonadie is currently in the Runabout Selune running refugees to Bajor, so you have the office until further notice. Keep the schedule running, thank you."

As she arrived at the upper deck, Dox put her PaDD in her back pocket, folded her arms behind her back and leaned over to look under the Scorpion's hull. "Well, Commander. What do you think of our new toys?"

"Did you know these things pack a cloaking device and are warp capable? I mean, warp 5, but still, that's reasonably incredible!" came the excited if somewhat muffled voice from underneath the small fighter craft. "And they can carry two photon torpedoes! In my day we had to roll down a window if we wanted the shuttlecraft to have phasers! We'll have to scuttle the cloak and replace the disruptor with a phaser, but it looks pretty doable. I think these things came preloaded with plasma torpedoes, too..."

While for the most part, Rita Paris tended to maintain a certain gravitas on duty, it was clear that the compact and sophisticated little fighter craft excited her, and that enthusiasm was certainly something new to hear from her. This was, she realized, the first time she'd encountered the technology, so while she had missed Rita's first encounters with much of the technology of the late 24th century, Lieutenant Dox was witnessing this first encounter firsthand.

It was extremely pleasing to see her excitement and the anxious aviatrix smiled as she listened. "She is quite a beauty. I have Ensign Gonadie scheduled to remove the cloaking system completely first thing at the beginning of her shift tomorrow. Hardware and software will be removed while the Romulan authorities are still available should the Captain decide to hand it over. Nevertheless, Ensign Gonadie is extremely excited by what she will be able to do with the available hardware space, computing power and power allotment. After all, cloaks are still massive power eaters and removing it will free up an additional 68% power for additional systems."

Dox pulled her PaDD back out to reference it as she spoke. "Lieutenant Commander sh'Zoarhi will be replacing the entire hard drive and operating system as it will be much easier to maintain and even easier than trying to teach a Rihanssu flight computer Terran common." Then the rotund Romulan pulled a stack of yellow papers out of her back pocket and held them down for Paris to see. "That said, 20th Century Earth provided a wonderful workaround in the meantime to make flight tests easier: Post-it notes with proper translations on them."

"Hah! Brilliant. Well, it sounds like you have the assimilation process underway," Rita Paris slid out from under the small craft, a grin on her face and her skirt tucked in between her thighs to maintain her theoretical modesty. The old-fashioned officer still wore her archaic uniform at the Captain's indulgence, as it made her more comfortable and suited her better. The appearance that it lent her was one of a literal piece of the days of the 5-year missions in the golden age of exploration, which was quite accurate in her case. Her idealism, her attitudes and her determination to do the right thing had not changed upon her arrival in the modern day, and on the Hera they were not only appreciated but celebrated.

Besides, as a Starfleet Intelligence vessel, the USS Hera existed solely on a highly classified level. Her crew tended to fall under the same umbrella, and Rita Paris herself, to the average security clearance within Starfleet, simply did not exist. Which would certainly be a factor in the days to come.

In the here and now, she planted her feet and easily levered herself back upright. Those strong runner's legs made such feats easy for her, as the woman tended to cover a 5K every day at minimum. If troubled, she'd been known to run a marathon to sort out her thoughts or feelings.

"Personally I was thinking of painting them the trio of colors- powder blue, metallic mustard and crimson- after all, we could then equip them accordingly for departments. Pack the science model with sensors and analytic equipment, make the gold model exploratory with various useful implements since she'll likely be getting me out of trouble, and the crimson we arm for war. Thoughts, Chief?" This was Mnhei'sahe Dox' project, she had secured the fighter craft and she was the chief flight control officer. While Paris outranked her and could just issue orders, she also respected departmental authority, and in this case it was just plain polite to defer to the chief helmsman in matters regarding flyers.

Though in this case, Dox's eyes lit up at the suggestions. "That all sounds... kind of amazing. Far beyond any ideas I had. That's kind of brilliant, really."

Dox looked over at the currently shiny black hull and pondered. "Though I do think a metallic deep teal would look nicer for science. But it's not a sword I need to fall on," the reply was said with a smile and a playful tone.

"Thought about taking her out for a run? Aside from the controls all still being in Rihan, which I am prepared for..." Dox waved the yellow post-it notes playfully. "...she is deceptively intuitive to fly. I think you'll love it."

"Tempting as that might be, I'd rather go over some of the possible ideas we came up with previously. Sans cloak we should be able to get those tractor beam arrays installed, because I still think those will come in handy, and who would expect a little fighter like this to have a touch tractor beam?" Paris ran her fingers over the canopy as she spoke, slowly walking alongside the craft as she did so. "It looks like we should be able to accommodate EVA armor in the cockpit, although we might want to use inflatable flight couches to make them able to accommodate larger or smaller forms. Mona still set to install a stick and throttle for the interface?"

"The current interface is manual, but it's more of a directional pad currently. I have Mona working up a complete cockpit revision proposal." Dox pressed a control on her PaDD and the cockpit opened up.

"We squeezed in moderately well in the EVA suits during our evac, but it was a tight squeeze and none to comfortable. Plus, my rear assets need to be accounted for." Dox replied with a self-effacing chuckle at the expense of her notoriously prodigious posterior. "So adaptive materials are certainly an option. I've found a few that are interesting."

"That disruptor canon needs to go," Dox added. "I have some ideas for a modular array that can be swapped out based on mission needs with something akin to what our EVA weapons are capable of concerning the armament cycling."

"Oooh, I like that idea. But maybe have a base mission loadout, then the modular option is definitely one that I like. She'll need a smart little computer with an autopilot and remoter piloting capability, since we're yanking the original and installing, may as well ensure we get what we need into her. Definitely an advanced navigational computer for warp microhops." Tapping on the cockpit, Rita frowned slightly. "I still like the idea of this converting to a one-man flight suit. I guess I watched too many holovids growing up, but somehow I can just see this little ship folding in half, turning into additional armor plating. But that's probably pretty structurally impractical, I would guess, since in all these years no one has ever done it."

"Commander, achieving impractical tasks is practically our mission statement. I think that idea will be a custom design and build. Something Mona can reverse engineer from studying these. But it's part of my written proposals. If it can be done, we'll do it." Dox smiled a sly half grin. "Besides, I want to fly something like that in the worst way."

"RIGHT?" Now THAT will be a way to carom down ship corridors. Heavy armor, shields, heavy weapons with torpedoes mounted on your back yet stealth plating and interchangeable mission capability packages? If Ensign Gonadie's going to design it I might just ask for some maneuvering foils that can spin and work as traction as well for a cycle option." Rita paused and grinned, looking like a teenager considering stealing her daddy's hot rod. "One of the best parts of living in the future, is that all of my stupid and childish ideas are no longer impractical."

Turning towards Rita with a slightly quizzical expression, Dox scrunched her face a little as she replied. "Commander... with all due respect, your ideas are neither stupid nor childish. I understand the need to knock yourself down... it's clearly something I'm an expert in... but it's unnecessary. Your ideas and input on this project have been invaluable, don't discount them or yourself. Please."

Chin snapping upward, Rita considered the commentary, processed it, then nodded. "All right, Lieutenant. I suppose what was dismissable as fancy in my day is much more possible now, in this age of technological wonders. The science fiction of my day is science fact in so many ways, and the imagination of an antique might hold the science facts of the future yet to come." The buxom blonde nodded, testing one of the maneuvering fins to see if it could hold her weight before settling her rounded rear onto it.

"You're right, and Sonak has been telling me the same thing for years. Seems it's just a bit of a hard lesson for me to grasp. Which I'm sure you can't even conceive of how that feels," Paris rolled her eyes and tossed her hands up.

Chuckling slightly at the exaggerated gesture, Dox replied. "Well, it's generally easier to see in those we care about what we don't want to admit about to ourselves. I know I'm guilty of it in excess. But that Sonak sounds pretty smart, you should listen to him."

The Romulan red-head leaned over, looking into the cockpit. "Well, whenever you are feeling like taking her for a spin, let me know. It is a lot of fun."

"You're just dying to go out, huh? All right... Computer?" Rita asked in the specific tone that she knew the computer would respond to hearing as a lone statement.

=^= Yes, Commander Paris? =^= the computer solicitously replied.

"Would you be so kind as to beam in one of the other Scorpion craft to this location to the starboard of this one. Please paint this one to match my armor, with black accents- I leave the design specifics up to you, but express yourself, please. Then duplicate that painting scheme in Command Uniform Crimson on the incoming model. Begin." It was an order, and one with considerable leeway. But Rita Paris had a habit of treating the ship's computer as if she were speaking to the ship itself, and she tended to treat it as another crew member.

In a few seconds, one of the other Scorpions appeared in a dazzling sparkle of blue lights to the side of where the two officers were standing. As soon as it did, the computer went to work on both craft. A Holographic grid pattern was projected over both ships as they were scanned. Dox looked at Rita with a light smile as the projected patterns drew lines across the hulls of each ship planning out the patterns. After a moment in which the computer legitimately seemed to be mulling over its options, it responded with a chirp.

=^=Design chosen. Rendering.=^=

A similar transporter effect began to shimmer over the top of both hulls and the colors were replicated directly into the surface. After a few seconds, the shimmering lights and holographic lines vanished leaving two Scorpions now decked out in metallic mustard Gold and deep Crimson. The original black color of the scorpion was still visible as the trim of the wing flaps and edges were still dark, almost reflecting the black v-neck collar of Rita's uniform.

=^=Renders complete. Do they meet your requirements, Commander Paris?=^=

"Spectacular work, Computer. Stylish and functional, very well done. Now, would you emblazon the gold model with my era's command starburst delta on both rear wings in place of the current emblem, and the modern Starfleet dual column delta on the crimson model please?"

The holographic overlay came up with the appropriate emblems, and Paris spoke up. "A bit bigger please, just recenter them... bit more... yes, that should do. Perfect, thank you Computer." As she gave the order, the computer followed suit, emblazoning the small vessels with the requested insignia.

"I dub thee Getaway Driver. What do you plan to call yours, Miss Dox?" Although in Starfleet they could not claim any ownership of such craft, possessiveness amongst pilots was a very real thing, and these were special purpose craft.

"I honestly hadn't given it any thought, really." Dox walked over and ran a hand over the glittering crimson surface. "I'm sure she'll tell me who she is, though."

Stepping back to the freshly dubbed 'Getaway Driver', Dox reopened the shield and began fixing in the post it notes to translate Rihan instructions to Terran standard. "The controls are extremely simple and the structure is fairly standard so you probably won't even need these, really."

"What do you say we go find out, Miss Dox?" Paris waggled her eyebrows. "I don't think we've ever both had the chance to both fly at the same time before. What do you say you take your little speed racer here and give Getaway Driver a run for her money?"

"We have not, Commander." Dox pulled out her PaDD And waved it. "And it's already on the schedule. I think that sounds like an excellent idea."

"Let's see what the new girls can do..."

After a few minutes of Pre-Flight checks and some additional Romulan to English translation where needed, the two newly colorful ships were spaceborne. The two born pilots put each ship through its paces performing daring maneuvers at breakneck speeds and clearly enjoying every moment of being able to just fly without the stresses of a mission on their respective shoulders.

After a time, the conversation of their modifications resumed from their respective cockpits and actually flying the small, golden ship had clealry inspired Rita Paris.

"Telling you, the rear fins come down and lock with the forward fins to shunt down and form the legs, then the main bulk of the engine back there converts into the arms. Why the landing gear on this isn't the same modular blaster I don't know, but we're gonna fix that with another underslung phaser, then when in mecha mode there'll be a phaser on either forearm. Or you could choose to have them both on the shoulders like turrets- since they're modular, put them on belt tracks so they can be relocated according to mission requirements." Taking a spinning flip five times without changing forward momentum or direction, Paris rolled the small craft to align her cockpit with that of the crimson craft piloted by Mnhei'sahe Dox.

"Now it may look like I am designing a great war machine, and I am well aware of that, Miss Dox. But I am actually building the ultimate explorer craft. An EVA that is strong, fast, versatile, comes with shields and large phaser emitters, a few torpedoes and everything you could possibly need to explore that musty old tomb on Karamongo 17," Paris explained. "I mean, not that it won't likely end up in fights, but that's just an unavoidable aspect of our lives. Not everyone listens to reason."

"Unfortunate, but true. Though our missions do seem to lean that way, and it's best to have the equipment even if we don't use it in a conflict scenario." Dox replied. "Do you think if we try and work a mech conversion in, we would still be able to accommodate both seats or would that space be better served for the added equipment this would likely require?"

"If we're planning to beam it into trouble spots, I think we could sacrifice the copilot seat. Or we could make it a half conversion... sort of a vehicle with arms and legs to preserve both seats, but the more I am thinking of it, converting these to single pilot craft seems quite logical. What are you thinking?" Experimentally, Rita tried interacting with the inertial dampeners to cut a tight corner, but as the instructions were still in Rihan, she got a bit lost on the menu and accidentally deactivated the artificial gravity in the cockpit, and struggled with the interface to restore it.

"Well, the Scorpions computers were... rudimentary compared to what Commander sh'Zoarhi could upgrade us to in half the space required. As such, the operations a second pilot was required to manage will be much easier for a Starfleet operating system to handle." Then Dox thought about it a bit more. "Of course, the modular seating could mean a best of both worlds so we can HAVE a second seat for passenger EVAC, but one that can be folded away for conversion when there's only one occupant."

Looking over at Rita's cockpit, Dox caught the blonde bombshell's hair looking significantly more buoyant than normal without gravity and sussed out the problem. "Third row of switches from the bottom, on port. Fourth yellow button with the symbol that looks like a thick upsidedown 'A'."

"Ah, thank you..." Rita replied, her embarrassment evident in her voice, despite the fact that there was practically no way for her to have known how to get out of her predicament without help, as the interface was written in a language literally alien to her and unknown to the Federation in her day. "I very much like the 'stow and go' seating option for the copilot seat. This was a brilliant idea on your part Miss Dox! Using these as the base craft for the conversions is a great start, and rather than designing from the ground up, modifying an existing good idea and making it better very much appeals to me. Hell, the TR116C2 would easily fit as an underslung rifle in vehicular mode that would then be available in mecha mode. Or it could be a pop-up option for one of the rear fins, assuming there is a lot of wasted space in there..."

"There will be plenty of space once we pull the Cloak from the back for sure." Dox replied, putting her Crimson ship into a tight barrel roll as she spoke. "And swapping out the panels will be the first alteration made. Manual controls and LCARS interfaces. And thank you, Commander. I think these are going to be exceptional once we work out how to implement these ideas."

"This means a lot to me, Mnhei'sahe... thank you," Rita explained from her cockpit, enjoying the feel but mildly frustrated by her inability to try anything interesting with the alien control interface. "From the conception of a way to get me out of places without beaming, to securing them, to encouraging my dumb ideas... this whole project has been your plan from start to finish, and I appreciate it more than you might realize. I'm still trying to get used to the fact that what were silly ideas in my day are engineering innovations in the modern day. But... it makes me happy working on this, and feeling maybe not so dumb after all. I... don't know if that makes a lot of sense, but... it means a lot to me."

"They weren't silly ideas then anymore then they are now, Rita." Dox let protocol drop as Rita had used the first name that the young Romulan knew was a tongue twister to her. "But in that environment, which I only had to spend a few hours in on the holodeck, nobody was going to listen to ideas that were neither 'silly' nor 'dumb' from a woman. those ideas... they were simply one hundred and thirty plus years ahead of their time."

"And yes, it makes perfect sense, and you are very welcome." Dox followed up sincerely.

"I think we have a pile of those Amazon bracers from Meroset, that her Amazon guards used," Rita mused as she preprogrammed a rollercoaster ride into the nave computer to make a looping course that would bring them back to where they started. Unsure of how to program it in, she sent it via PaDD to Dox with the message 'tandem flight or follow the leader?'. "Incorporated into the transformed flight suit, it would either project on the mech arm or over the user, which would be center mass for the mech. We'll have to see if the technology can be incorporated, see if Dedjoy's in an adaptive mood or has an alternative. For a deliberate point-heavy shield. Those things were phaser-proof, after all."

"I hadn't even considered that Amazon equipment. This idea keeps getting more and more interesting." As Dox spoke, she reviewed the files that Rita had send her.

Smiling, Dox entered Rita's course into the Scorpion's nav computer and forwarded the same flight plan back to Rita's golden flyer. "Let's try tandem, Commander. The course is uploaded to 'the Getaway Driver's' nav. To implement, your heads up will have a blinking orange triangle in the lower right quad. Press that and the program will go live."

"Synchronize in 3...2...1...contact!" Rita called, then the twin flyers took off in a curling, winding flight path that read like a piloting course through a dogfight. While she was not the greatest of pilots, she was in fact quite the navigator, plotting courses that worked surprisingly effectively. "I can't wait to get a proper nav computer in this thing so we can practice warp hops to determine precisely what they can accomplish. These are going to be some very impressive little starcraft, Miss Dox. Once we bring in Miss Gonadie, we might just make aerospace history..."

"Well, we're Intel, so we may only ever know ourselves. But it will be worth it if we can pull off half of your ideas." Dox replied, wildly enjoying Rita's course.

"There are a lot of implications for this. We're basically designing a warp capable flightsuit here, Miss Dox. This is a bit revolutionary- imagine doing planetary exploration in one of these that converts to a large scale multipurpose EVA suit? Sitting in orbit and watching the sensors is great, but you don't experience the beauty of a world that way. This could bring mankind into the 25th century in a big way, Lieutenant. Imagine the possibilities!"

It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the emotional executive. After all, she did raise a good point- what she was proposing could be quite revolutionary, and could set the tone for individual explorers of the galaxy, swarming over planets and moons and celestial phenomenon, studying them up close in a way that they did not know... yet clearly they could.

"It could very well be the closest we can get to just flying free in space." Dox replied as she pondered it. "Which is preferable to just getting beamed out there. How is she handling for you?"

"Like a dream of the future, Miss Dox..."

It had been a hectic week on board the U.S.S. Hera but most of the refugees that had been on board have been successfully moved along or were now on the station the ship was still docked at. The crew had been keeping busy with either duty or much-needed downtime.

Lieutenant Commander Thex had a wedding to plan and Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox and Commander Rita Paris had been enjoying working on retrofitting a trip of recovered Romulan Scorpion fighters for their uses. It was work, but also a lot of fun.

Returning to her quarters late after an extended day as Chief of the Flight Control Department, Mnhei'sahe Dox was looking forward to getting out of her uniform and seeing Ensign Mona Gonadie.

The two had begun a relationship that had quickly become quite serious. Its intensity was fueling Dox's natural tendencies towards anxiety and self-destructive thinking. But she was working hard to push past that to be the woman Mona needed her to be. As such, she was very much looking forward to seeing her new love.

While the two still had separate quarters, they were spending more and more time together off hours and Mnhei'sahe knew that Mona had gotten off work earlier this evening and would be waiting.

As she approached her crew quarters on deck 8, the door slid open with a woosh as she pulled her uniform tunic open. The lights were on so Dox assumed Mona was waiting. "Hey, are you here?"

The brightly plumed Miradonian was at the main table looking over a series of PaDDs. "I am. There are a few things I wanted to talk with you about. Ila gave me some plans for a transformable power armor that Intel was working on but didn't have a way to stabilize for warp flight or even combat so it was scrapped. I think I might be able to adapt the principals with those of the Scorpions to make a new... Something..."

As Mnhei'sahe stepped over, she sat down next to Mona, leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the cheek with a smile. "That's fantastic. I was talking with Rita about some of her ideas and I know that with a little brainstorming, you can make these work. What are you thinking?"

Mona cooed softly at the kiss before bringing up a joint schematic. "They tried using interlocking joints and hull plates, but at anything more than warp 1.2 or with anything considered medium speed maneuvers, they just broke apart no matter how much they reinforced them with SIF fields and rigidity lock plates. The stresses just shook everything apart. However..."

She then pulled up the scale sealant on the cockpit dome of the Scorpion. "This obviously doesn't even budge. I think I can use the same tech keeping the cockpit and turret from shearing off to build a semi-transformable... Exo-suit?"

"That's the idea. Rita calls it a 'mecha' based on some holo-program she used to watch. Maybe that weird 'Wizard of Oz' thing, I don't know. But the ideas are very interesting. If you could pull this off, I would kill to fly it." Mnhei'sahe smiled, leaning over the table on her elbows as she spoke.

"With the variable configurations it'll be capable of, I think most pilots would love to," Mona replied, leaning in and giving Mona a quick kiss on her cheek. "Oh Minay, I can't wait to start putting these ideas floating through my head to the simulations."

Then Mona turned a bit more serious. "I had a couple other things I wanted to talk to you about though. About me... and you... and how serious our relationship has gotten in such a short time."

At the shift in tone, Mnhei'sahe's stomach tightened up just a little. She was immediately concerned as she quickly began to fear the worst. She put her hands on the table in front of Mona as she responded. "W... What's wrong?"

Mona took a deep breath, not even believing she was going to really be saying these things. Then she turned off all the PaDDs around her and placed her hands on Dox's. "Minay... I'm going to start my mating season soon. I don't know how many I'll have left and... I want to have your chicks." The last words came out in a rush as Mona scrunched her eyes shut.

Across the table, Dox's eyes went wide with shock at the words. For a moment before Mona spoke, she half expected this to be a 'break up' talk, when the reality was quite the reverse. "You... my... I don't understand. Mona, we... we just started this."

"I... I love you. As scary as it is for me to believe, I do." Dox was terrified by the idea but held tight to Mona's hands over her own. "I... Mona... I barely know who I am, really. I couldn't... I'd... I'd ruin..." She trailed off as she spoke.

"And I'm here to here to help you figure out who you are and Minay? I've figured out that you would be a wonderful mother. But if you don't want to, that's fine. I'm sure there's plenty of time to make that decision later." Mona smiled that special smile of hers that she reserved only for her Minay. "Can I at least move in though?"

"You've never met my Mother. I... don't come from a background of wonderful Mothers, Mona. I'm... I'm a mess. You've only seen a little bit. I'm..." Dox hung her head as she spoke. "I'm... broken... Mona. And I'm scared that those broken edges are going to hurt you the longer you're with me."

Dox gestured to the empty corner of the room. "I used to have a practice dummy there. I got rid of it after the Section 31 base fiasco... I lost it. I... I shattered my hands on it. Split my skin open and broke six bones. Asa... Asa heard and rushed in and helped me. They've helped me when I've hurt myself a few too many times. I'm... trying to be better. I'm trying to not be her anymore. I'm scared of that woman. And I never, never want to be that woman again. Especially for you."

Mona lifted Dox's hands and started kissing the knuckles tenderly. "Minay... I noticed you hurt your hands. Not on the mission, but after at work. I worry about you and what you may see as flaws, I see as cracks that I can pour my love into. If you'll let me. I'm not perfect either, but together I think we make a pretty great couple. Don't you?"

Shaking her head slightly, Dox allowed a slight smile to crack her cheeks. "I do. And I do want you to stay. I hate it when you're not here. I hate waking up alone. I hate coming back to no one. I... I miss you whenever I'm not with you."

Mona kissed Dox's hands a few more times. "Then it's settled - I'll move in tomorrow. How do you want to do the furniture? Keep your bed? Use my nest? I'll need my cookware, wardrobe, and modeling holographics at the least."

With a laugh, Dox's emotional tension cracked a bit. "My bed is barely big enough for me by myself. There's... There's not much to this room. But it's bigger than your quarters. Way bigger than I ever needed." She looked up with a smile, using the Rihan term for 'Angel Bird'. "If it's ours now, make it what you want it to be, Jhu Dhael."

Then, a quirky smile went across her face as she spoke with a chuckle. "So, was this all about asking for children so I'd give in on moving in finally?

Mona shook her head as she nuzzled on her 'Nightfeathers' hands. "No Minay... My mating drive will be pretty high for a few months and I do want children, but I want that to be a decision between us. Not a hormone driven one."

"Well... no matter what we decided... It's not like we could just rush into something like that in the heat of the moment, Anyway." Dox replied, as she turned her hands around to cup Mona's cheeks. "I mean, unless you've got some miraculous biological secrets to reveal, I don't even know how that's going to be possible. I mean, us both being women is it's own hurdle on top of my copper-based blood and being two different species."

In spite of her misgivings, Dox was now thinking about the mechanics with a bit of concern. "To say nothing of the regulations against having children on the ship."

"My species can mate with either gender. As for crossing the species barrier, I have faith in Doctor Dael." It seemed Mona wasn't to be dissuaded. "And with the rise in pregnancies... The Captain has to be rethinking the policy on children, especially since the last XO is gone."

Rolling her head back, Dox sighed in an exaggerated, comical manner. "We are officially terrible at taking things slow." She laughed nervously. "I've never once thought seriously about having a child. I mean... up until Asa fixed the genetic damage, I didn't even think it was a possibility. Doctors thought that because they believed I was mixed, I was sterile. I... I never had a period until... well... you noticed when I did."

Laughing awkwardly, Dox looked at Mona with a slightly uncomfortable expression. "And now... now I have you and I can't even imagine not having you. And I'm learning what I am... who I am. I just... how can I be what I would need to be to a child when I'm terrified that I'm just going to fail you?"

"Then let's not worry about that for now and worry about you being the best you that you can be. Together." Without another word, Mona stood and pulled Dox into her arms, cooing softly as she did so.

Holding Mona tight, Dox tried to relax, but her mind was still racing with both the enormity of everything and her own anxiety. "But Mona, you... you said you didn't know how long you would be even able to... "

Stopping herself, Dox sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm overthinking everything."

Mona ran one hand over the back of Dox's head softly. "It's ok. This won't be my last mating season. I just don't know how many more I'll have is all. I know you'll live a lot longer than me and probably outlive our children if we have any... But I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about the here and now. I want you... Us... To be happy. That's what matters most to me because it's better to have love in your heart than not. And Minay? My heart is full of love for you. I want to spend the rest of my life in your arms."

Clutching Mona tighter, Dox was well aware of their significantly different potential life spans and the idea that she could lose Mona at what would essentially be the middle of her own was heartbreaking to think about. But she was thinking about it as a tear ran down her face. "The... the here and now, then. And in the here and now, this is our quarters now."

Calming herself down a bit, Dox wiped her cheek as she stepped back slightly to look at the two small shelves with her few personal items and pictures. "It's... It's pretty sad in here now. And I don't have much that needs to be worked around. But I'm looking forward to seeing you all over the place in here."

"Then I'll let the Quartermaster know and have my things transported in. I'll replace your bed with my nest and keep your bedding I had made. My wardrobe should fit easily enough in the space next to yours. I assume most of the stock furniture is ok to go but we should keep the table and chairs." Mona turned her head to look over at the small office space. "I'll have to bring in my holographic workspace by hand and adapt it to the desk here. As for my roost... I think that might be a bit weird for you... So I'll just have that recycled..."

"I am not worried about 'weird', Mona. If it's yours, bring it to our room. If we're doing this, then we both need to be able to be ourselves, right? You're going to... you're going to see plenty of my weird." Dox walked up behind Mona and put her arms around the Miradonian's waist as she spoke.

"And I'm looking forward to our nest being here."

The brightly plumed Miradonian rested against her Minay and thrummed softly as she considered those thoughts happily. "I can't wait until we can ravish each other in our nest in our quarters, then. And the ah... Bean bag chairs?" Mona had to recall the name most people called them since to her they were just chairs. "You probably saw that I had several in my quarters during the party. Miradonians sit in them differently than most races. Just warning you now. I've had to get used to sitting in these weird four-legged chairs since joining Starfleet and... Well, that's why I don't spend much time at my desk at work and why I lean forward so far when piloting."

"Jhu Dhael, I am intimately familiar with the details of your wonderful posterior and it's adornments... so you sit however you like." Dox lightly kissed the side of Mona's neck as the spoke. "If we're doing this, we do it right. No... no airs. No facades. I will be myself. I'll always try and be by best self, but I will always be my real self for you. And you can always be your real self with me."

"That sounds perfect to me. Now how about we explore our real selves together a bit more, Minay?" Mona fluffed her tail feathers against Dox and rubbed against her enticingly.

"Halt and identify yourself!"

"Ramp it down, Jablonski," the officer in the distinctive uniform of the golden age of Starfleet shot back as she approached. "I'm unarmed and openly approaching. You only need to challenge if I refuse to identify myself in order to gain access. Follow your protocols, don't overreach. Computer, unseal hatch VIP Quarters 8, on my order. Paris, R, LTCDR, 867-5309."

=^= What was your mother's maiden name?" =^= the computer asked, in recognition of the clearance protocols she herself had put into place.

"Vostok," Rita Paris replied, and the hatch unsealed. Instead of entering immediately, Commander Rita Paris took a moment to appraise the two security personnel guarding the door. "Kruge, have you been hitting the weights?"

"Aye commander. Benching 140 kilos," the Nausicaan officer replied proudly.

"Good work. Jablonski, have you actually gotten a little taller since I last saw you?" Paris asked the other security officer.

"I don't think so, ma'am. Just been bulking up a bit lately- high protein and carb loading," the beefy Amazon replied.

"All right, well, keep up with your stretches so you don't lose flexibility," Paris replied, making a mental note to check with Dr. Dael to see if her security force was getting bigger or if she was getting smaller. Stepping into the VIP guest quarter, she looked around for their unlikely resident. The namesake of the starship herself, the goddess Hera dwelled here, occupying her days engrossed in books and apparently cooking projects.

"Rita! I've made something wonderfully delicious that you absolutely must try!" Hera called from the small kitchenette the quarters came with. There was a bit of a mess around her, but she had successfully created about two dozen heart-shaped, muffin sized cheesecake looking cherry tortes and they were arranged elegantly on a serving tray. "I've been exploring the culinary delights that are cookbooks and I've stumbled across so many recipes that I had to try to make something myself and with a little coaxing from that replication device, I was able to get some ingredients and figure out these cooking implements. And look! I can still cook! I've created something called a..."

Consulting a paperback open to a recipe of deserts, Hera read off the name. "A cherry brie torte! I think it's the best thing I've eaten since I left Mount Olympus! And this book has thousands of other things I can make as well! isn't that amazing! This Mar..." Again, she had to consult the cookbook, but this time the cover. "Martha Stewart? This person is a genius."

Seeing the former heartless tyrant of Meroset 347 excitedly bustling about the kitchenette rediscovering domestic skills brought a smile to Rita's face. The goddess of family, of home and hearth, she had hoped that this might mean the goddess might embrace some of the more traditional skills to keep herself occupied. Inwardly she wondered how much of what she thought of such things may have influenced the celestial being she had fought so hard to bring along with them on the starship that bore her name, and decided they would talk about that today. But for now, there was a cherry brie torte to try.

Briefly the consideration of protocol arose in her mind, and she realized that a being as old as Hera could easily replicate innocuous ingredients that might still be combined for alchemical purposes to create a sedative or a poison, that the computer would not recognize without an analysis, and she could likely drug the first officer, as part of a daring escape plan while docked at DS9, which could then enable her to escape to the Gamma Quadrant.

However, if Hera had such a plan, it seemed unlikely. The goddess seemed genuinely pleased at her conversion to Rita's way of thinking- she had weaned herself from worship through fear and awe, and learned that good deeds were literally their own reward for her now. When Baroness von Alcott and Death had become too closely bonded and it had turned both to the darkness, as the Baroness fought to remember herself and Death had attacked, Hera had shielded them. Physically interposing herself at great risk to her own life, she had fled her escort and appeared where she was needed, and held out against the onslaught of Death itself.

As redemptions went, it was a pretty significant step. Every challenge Rita Paris had set forth, Hera had risen to with aplomb. Every request she had made, however simple or complex, Hera had fulfilled to the best of her ability. Even the Aesir had been impressed, and granted the USS Hera custody of the fallen goddess, who was slowly but surely climbing back toward the light. It warmed Rita's heart to see, and it brought her joy to see the woman bustling about the kitchen.

It had yet to dawn on the ancient astronaut that she was slowly crafting a space in her life for a maternal figure. After all, her own mother had died when she was very young, and the young Rita Paris had done her best to seek attention and approval from her father, which she never achieved. But deep down she had always missed having a positive maternal figure in her life, which the patron goddess of women, marriage, family, and childbirth certainly seemed to be working to fulfill in the modern day.

In the here and now, she delicately accepted the offer, picked up one of the heart-shaped pastries and took a bite, savoring the flavor as she rolled it around in her mouth. A smile spread across her face as the flavor suffused her senses. "Oh... oh, that's very good..." she murmured. "I think I'll have to try making these myself, that's absolutely delicious, Hera!"

"Oh, thank goodness you like them. And just in time for the holidays, too." Hera busied herself with trying to clean up the mess, putting the dirty cooking implements in the sink and humming as she did so. "You just had a birthday, right? With yours and then mine coming up in a couple weeks... I just... I guess I miss the feasts, you know?"

"I don't," Rita admitted, swallowing the mouthful of torte. "Feasts? And your birthday? Pretend I am from not long enough ago to know what you are talking about, and that I am a poor student of history and fill me in, please?"

"Ah, yes... The Feast of All Heras is on March seventh. That comes up soon on the calendar if my mind isn't playing tricks on me." Hera finished loading up the sink with the dishes and wiped her hands off, smiling happily at Rita. "I know it's not much, but I was hoping we could at least have dinner together since I consider it my birthday. My children normally celebrated with me and since..."

The expression on Rita's face betrayed her attempt at protocol and stoicism, instead showing clearly just how touched she was by the request. "I would be honored. Maybe I can whip up something nice... I don't know anything about the feasts or birthday traditions of your day, but we have some simple ones involving feasts followed by gifts, cake and ice cream?"

"The feast itself is the gift to me, then my children would get offerings of arts, incense, precious items, and oils. Also, I would start the evening by washing their feet in scented waters." Hera had a bit of a tear forming in one eye as she spoke. "Ah, but there is time to plan, yet. Shall we proceed with our usual walk?"

There was a long moment where Rita considered what had been said. The washing of the feet was a humbling act, one that the old Hera it seemed would never consider, yet it was a part of her ancient culture, and tradition. Being married to a Vulcan, to whom tradition was practically second nature, lent her some grasp of the importance of such things. A smile spread across her face, and she nodded. "A little feast is good every once in a while. We were so busy we didn't even celebrate... Saturnalia for you I guess?"

"Oh, Saturnalia... The week-long feasts and celebrations were legendary..." Hera reminisced for a moment before snapping back to the present. "I suppose a week-long feast would be hard for you though."

"I doubt we could stay out of trouble for that long on this ship, honestly. At any rate, today we're going to do something a little different. With an honor guard of four... which, I might note, out of all of the applicants that I tried to get onto this ship I have 7 male security force. The other 68 are all women. You mentioned something about attracting them..." Rita paused to take another bite of that torte, savoring the combination of flavors. "At least they're well-disciplined and dedicated officers."

"Point being, four of them will be accompanying us, because there's a space station with which we are docked, designed by the Cardassians but tended to by the Federation despite the fact that it is considered the planet Bajor's jurisdiction. The thing that makes it so special is that there is a stable wormhole that apparently upon on approach, which goes to the other side of the galaxy, the Gamma Quadrant. I could show you a map if you like, for scale. The Bajoran people consider it their holiest of holies, their Celestial Temple in which their god, the Prophets, dwell." It might have sounded like a ridiculous conversation to Rita Paris six months ago. But in there here and now and the world in which she now lived, it was just an explanation for the facts.

"Apparently Starfleet views the Prophets as life forms of considerable power and influence who live inside the wormhole itself, through which travel is not instantaneous, and people and ships have gone lost within her- not the least of which was the commander of the station throughout the most recent war, the Dominion War, fought with an empire on the other side of the wormhole. Reassuring, eh?" Rita grinned at her own deflection, then pressed on.

"Point being, I want you to have the opportunity to see it, and something other than the Hera for a few minutes. They have a promenade and shops and restaurants and different people. And the sight of the wormhole genuinely is a breathtaking thing of beauty. So, we're bringing security so no one can object to the dangerous personage at large, and the Hera will maintain a transporter lock on you at all times. But how about a stroll through the promenade, to go see one of the universe's most beautiful and spectacular phenomenon today?" Rita popped the rest of the torte into her mouth with a small bit of smug satisfaction at having come up with a nice surprise for the USS Hera's resident goddess.

The matronly goddess clasped her hands together at the side of her face. "That sounds absolutely divine. Thank you. Please... I um... Is there anything I should do to prepare? The Prophets... Bajor, you say? Well, lead on. I have no idea what to expect, but it sounds positively exciting." Nicking one of the tortes, Hera nibbled on it as she waited for Rita to unseal the quarters so she could leave.

"We'll be picking up Miss Dox at the airlock, so that you are being accompanied by two senior officers as well as the security detail. Thus we are working very hard to avoid a diplomatic incident with the Bajorans, because we are being hyper-cautious. If you have any... ahhh, there's a word for money in this period..." Rita picked up her PaDD from where she'd set it and tapped away at it. "Latinum, that's it. Gold-pressed latinum is the currency of the day. There's some sort of monetary exchange for modern Federation moneyless society members... I don't know, but if they gave me back pay we're rich."

"So wear some comfortable shoes, put on whatever you'd like to be seen in and let's go for a trip to a space mall with an amazing view." Rita offered. "Computer, unseal the hatch of VIP quarters #8. Authorization Paris, R, LTCDR 867-5309."

=^= What is your favorite color? =^= the computer asked solicitously.

"Science blue," Rita responded, and the door opened. Striding into the corridor, Commander Paris paused between the two security officers stationed outside the door.

"Kruge, Jablonski, you're with me. Hera's on a walkabout on DS9. We'll be picking up Lu and V'nus with Lieutenant Dox at the airlock on Deck 10. Fall in." At that, Rita stepped forward, with Hera beside her and the two Amazonian security officers fell in two paces behind them, both matching the Commander's military pace, falling in step as military personnel tended to do, particularly those fresh out of training.

As Hera had little time to change, she just grabbed a shawl from her fainting couch and slipped into her nicest Roman sandals before heading out the door. "The lovely lady with the red curls, right? It'll be nice to see her again. She reminds me of someone I knew once. Then again, as old as I am, doesn't everyone?"

"Huh," Rita replied, looking thoughtful as she marched along. "Just as old as I am I see how no one gets my jokes, my references fall flat and it's a different world... it has to have gotten so old for you. And with all of the people you've known, we must have long since broken down into archetypes centuries ago. You meet us once, you'll have met us a dozen times."

"That is an astute observation... However, even now, I find myself surprised and meeting amazing and unexpected people." Hera tossed a wink at Rita as they entered the turbolift in the usual manner. "I can't remember meeting anyone like you, after all."

Allowing the two security officers to step in, noting that they immediately set facing forward, Rita was pleased with how Security was running these days. "Deck 10, port airlock, please. Ah, there have to have been plenty like me. Well-behaved women rarely make history or attract the attention of the gods."

"Well behaved..." The comment elicited a snorting giggle from the antique goddess. "Perhaps you remind me of my younger self then. Before I was married."

As the doors opened the security officers stepped out in advance, ensuring all was clear before stepping to either side to allow the passage of the chatty duo. Proceeding on, they could see Lieutenant Dox awaiting at the airlock with a very petite humanoid and a rather thick and burly Klingon, both clad in security gold.

Seeing the assemblage coming towards them, Dox stood at attention with her hands behind her back. She nodded slightly to Lu and V'nus before stepping out slightly forward to greet them. "Commander Paris, Lady Hera. Good evening."

Hera smiled brightly, waving to the red-haired Romulan. "The brave and determined Lieutenant Dox. It pleases me to see you hale and hearty on this fine day. And to our escorts as well. I feel extra special with so many gathered around, but I hope that it's not necessary."

"Thank you. Our hope is that there's no need, but prefer to be as prepared as possible. I hope all is well with you as well." Dox replied, maintaining a professional but warm demeanor due to the security presence. She was, of course, a pilot, but had also assisted in the training of the ships newest security officers and felt as if presenting as an officer first and foremost was called for.

Dox's first meeting with the goddess Hera was under somewhat extreme circumstances and the perpetually anxious young Romulan wasn't quite sure how the cosmic deity felt about her up until this more pleasant meeting.

"I'm doing wonderfully, thank you. I see that your aura is cleaner, if a bit troubled." Hera placed her hands gingerly on Dox's shoulders and framed her up with a once over. "If you want to stop by and talk about something sometime, I do have literal aeons of wisdom. I might be able to offer some advice? Oooh and I made these delicious cherry brie tortes today. You'll have to try one."

Somewhat sheepishly, as is normal for her, Dox smiled. "Thank you, it... I'd love to. Yes." Then she looked down at herself, allowing a slight chuckle "It's probably always like this, honestly. I'm sure Commander Paris can confirmed that 'a bit troubled' is my default state."

"No more than anyone else, Miss Dox. All right ladies- diplomatic envoy protocol. Remember, we have authorization to be here but no authority save over our own officers. So let us comport ourselves as guests," Rita explained, as Lu and V'nus took the forward guard, while Jablonski and Kruge took up positions in the rear, each 3 meters from their charge.

With that, the entourage stepped out of the airlock and onto the famed space station known as Deep Space 9.

It may have been the first time for some of the crew of the Hera, but for the goddess herself, she had never been on such a unique station. Depressing Cardassian construction, cheery Federation reconstruction and stylings, and earthy Bajoran decorations... It was far and away a very unique place in the galaxy, bustling with life and excitement. The look of awe and wonder on Hera's face was that of someone that had seen a puppy for the first time and wanted nothing more than to play with it. Her restraint was barely contained though, as she gently bounced on her heels, looking this way and that as the group got their bearings.

Looking over, Dox's attempt at a professional demeanor melted at the sight of the Greek Goddess' unbridled excitement. Hera's joy was contagious, possibly literally based on her nature. But Dox smiled regardless as she spoke. "In many respects, this place represents an ideal of the Federation. Multiple cultures that were once at war living and working together, blending and influencing each other. In doing so, we all become more then what we were before."

Moving along the station until they encountered them on the inner habitat ring, the vistas out the viewports were stunning, and the parade of so many alien races reminded Rita Paris of walking the streets of her old home town, San Francisco, when the USS Hera had recently visited Earth. It was a great melting pot of cultures and rac4es that had come together to form a community unlike any other, the dream of the Federation in her day. As was Hera beside her, the ancient astronaut was enchanted by the sights and sounds, the imagery and the otherworldly appeal of it all.

"So, what would you like to do first? We can take in a lap first to see the sights- which is, I might add, a bit of a walk at this point. Or we could take in a meal, or do some shopping... what appeals to you today, ma'am?" Just in case, Rita was specifically avoiding calling Hera by name just in case anyone might recognize her. After all, there were lots of Starfleet personnel who had gone to Meroset 347 to work on repairing the damage her rule had caused, and not all of them were going to be up on the 'new and improved no longer a despot' model Hera.

"Oh my... There's so much to do and so much to see... Is that a tailor's? And are they selling candy on a stick?" While Hera was ogling everything in fascination, something else caught her eye. "They have a temple. I assume it's to the local deities? The Prophets in the Celestial Temple, right? I feel it's only right to stop in to pay our respects at the very least, don't you?"

"Ehhhh..." Rita replied, not really certain how interactions between local deities and not-so-local ones would go. "Maybe we should stay a bit incognito? Goddess traveling in disguise as your people were wont to do back in the old days? Not that we are hiding or that you need to be hidden, but I don't know enough about the local gods to know if they would welcome that sort of thing or see it as an encroachment on their territory. Or if the local worshipers might see that as an affront? I'm, ah, not very well-versed in how different religions interact, I'm afraid."

Her posture returned to a more professional one as Dox interjected. "In my experience, generally not well, Commander."

Hera chuckled nervously. "Ah... With beings in the same class, that's true... If these Prophets are who I think they are though, it might go completely unnoticed or be preferable since I'm as linear as everyone else here. But as is often the case, better to beg forgiveness than ask penance. How about we visit that interesting restaurant over there then? The one with the live food and the... Is that... They're eating it live too? Fascinating. We have got to try some." Hera was back to an almost giddy excitement, motioning towards the Klingon restaurant.

"How do you even pronounce that... oh, worms in sauce? Well, that's interesting cuisine..." Rita was willing, V'nus looked excited, Dox seemed bizarrely comfortable and Lu was apparently interested. Jablonski and Kruge abstained and remained on duty. Petty Officer V'nus politely informed the Commander that the two who abstained should pay to stay, because that was tradition, so as to not dishonor the house of the restaurant. An easy concession, it was settled, and good-naturedly their boisterous Klingon host barked a laugh.

"Fleeters, come to sample the sauce of the Empire? Our birthing vats are in the back, all up to restaurant code, I assure you- we are an honorable establishment. But for Gagh? There is no finer than house pyr'VaH," their host proclaimed. "We have Bithool Gagh, which have feet, Filden Gagh, which squirms, Meshta Gagh, which jumps, Torgud Gagh, which wiggle, Wistan Gagh, which is packed in Targ blood. What's your pleasure to experience today? After all, everyone knows the actual taste of Gagh is revolting, even to we Klingons! It is eaten solely for the unique sensation of experiencing their death-throe spasms within one's mouth and stomach."

Pale as a sheet and wide-eyed, Paris backed out. "I'll... ah, no, thank you. Maybe starving to death on some alien world sure, but not when there's an IDIC pizza over there. But enjoy the cultural experience, I guess?"

"Filden Gagh for me." Dox gestured to the restaurateur, then commented to Rita with a smile, "You grow up on a smuggling ship that spends a lot of time trading with Klingons, you get used to the food. And our guest seems to be excited for the experience."

"Torgud Gagh, and get me two Wistan Gagh to go," V'nus barked at the restaurateur, who got to work producing her order with kegs of slime and crawling serpents.

Hera was absolutely enthralled with the various types, a wide, child-like grin on her face. "I'll go with the wiggly ones and the squirmy ones. Those sound the most fun. You eat them with your bare hands, right?"

"You could use a weapon, but where's the fun in that?" the restaurateur roared with laughter, as did nearly everyone in the restaurant.

The spirited Goddess laughed with them, preferring to eat everything with her hands anyway. "Excellent! I would eat even soup with my hands, if there was a way!" This elicited more laughter from the chef and everyone nearby.

"You can, but you have to root like a Targ for it!" another patron bellowed, and the laughs raced all around- a large part of the Klingon dining experience. Rooting in one of the barrels with some tongs, the restaurateur grabbed up some of one, then more out of another barrel. Setting the bowl before the visiting goddess, the proprietor declared, "Torgun and Filden Gagh for the lady. Sriracha?" the Klingon host offered. "It's non-traditional, but it has caught on, as it helps a lot with the flavor, and it really excites the little bastards."

"If you recommend it, I'll give it a try," Hera declared, willing to go out of her way to give anything a try at this point. Collecting the sauce and her gagh, she joined the others and headed for an open table as the others handled the bill. She then sprinkled some of the Sriracha on the live worms before grabbing a bunch of them and stuffing them into her mouth. "Mmmm... Oh yeah..." It took her a few moments to get them down, but she somehow looked pleased. "Yeah, this reminds me of Powers Camp on Q'onos when I was really young. We ate worms and bugs and those mean Klingon gods almost pulled all my hair out..." Brushing off that last memory, Hera continued eating on her Gagh.

Dox put some of the Siracha sauce on her own Gagh and ate a handful. While it was something she was familiar with, it was, in fact, horrible. But it was worth it to enjoy Hera's childlike excitement.

For her part, it finally got to Rita. "Uh, facilities?" she asked, and seeing the look on her face one of the busboys pointed to a bucket on the floor. "Puke bucket's there if you need to..."

In fact, she did, and the extradimensional explorer hurled up her toenails at the sight of eating Gagh. For as well-traveled as she was, in some things Rita Paris was still a provincial Earthling.

Hera reached out and pat Rita on the shoulder with her free hand, still munching down on her Gagh.

Wiping her hand off, Dox got up and walked quickly to the bar to get a Ginger Ale to bring back to Rita. After a moment, she returned with the drink and a damp towel for the queasy Commander. "Here... this should help settle you. Sorry, Commander."

"No, no, you enjoy, I'll just... I'll be outside,"Rita waved off the offered escort, ensuring that the security detail stayed with the one they were securing as she stepped out onto the promenade for some fresh air. While she prided herself on her open mind and acceptance of other cultures, somehow enjoying feeling things die in her stomach was a cultural difference that she wasn't quite willing to embrace.

Stepping back to the table with an anxious expression, Dox turned to Hera as she took another handful of her meal. "Maybe we should have just had the Pizza. You seem to be enjoying it quite a bit, though."

Hera nodded as she finished her Gagh then wiped her hands and mouth on one of the table napkins. "I found it thoroughly enjoyable. I do have to worry about Rita, though. I will offer her my powers to cure her ailments when we meet back up. And then we can eat pizza together."

Looking towards the direction Rita left in, Dox replied to the Goddess. "She should be okay before too long, I imagine." Then she turned back with a slightly confused expression. "I was under the impression your powers were somewhat taxed. Can you do that without causing yourself harm?"

The matronly goddess thought about it a moment before replying, also looking in the direction Rita had gone. "Interestingly enough, using energy to heal people can restore more energy than it uses, depending on the sacrifice to me. Though with the rate I'm going, it'll take me at least a few years to do something like turning water into wine. As for this Gagh... I have a feeling it's going to come out still alive because of that..."

"That's good, at least. I know Commander Paris wouldn't want you causing yourself any harm." Then Dox considered Hera's last statement and her own stomach churned a bit more as she thought of it. "And to think, we could be eating Cherry Tortes."

Finishing up, V'nus praised the restaurateur and heaped honor upon his house, and made arrangements to pick up her to go order later, as she and her sister would be returning to honor the restaurant often while the Hera was docked here. Wiping off her face, she insured her uniform was clean, then Hera pointed to a bit of Gagh still crawling across her face. Lu had tried it and was for the most part still trying to figure out how she felt about the whole experience.

As for the curvaceous commander herself, Rita was watching the promenade, when she noticed a brown uniform watching her. She offered a nod, and he returned one. Station security, she wagered, likely curious why they had such a retinue for one civilian. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, Hera had mentioned earlier about the Prophets and their followers. It applied in this case as well- Rita hadn't coordinated with the local law enforcement, just brought out a posse and started sightseeing. So far they were just keeping an eye on the landing party, so as long as nothing went wrong, they'd be fine.

That was when a crowd started gathering around someone dressed in red Bajoran priest robes that was waving about a book and preaching publicly about the prophets in front of the temple. He was speaking praises upon them as he usually did, but the crowd was a bit bigger than usual and a drunk stumbled out of Quark's into them and bounced off of them into a display in the middle of the walkway that advertised the shops and showed a map of the promenade and was sliced like a guillotine when it shattered.

Without a second thought, Hera was moving and as the crowd turned to look and a Doctor arrived to declare the drunkard dead, Hera was there, touching him with glowing hands.

As soon as Hera had moved, Dox gestured to S'Rina and Lu, who quickly followed.

She poured all the energy she could into the man to heal him as the crowd looked on and even the Doctor was stunned at what his tricorder was saying.

Mere moments after the man had been fatally gored to death by the broken sign, he took in a deep breath, alive once more and completely sober.

Hera, having spent much of her energy, yet having regained much from the sacrifice, collapsed from the shock of the deed.

The priest was the first to speak. "We have witnessed a miracle, but this woman is not of the Prophets! It is as I have said! The false gods have come to displace them!" Instantly, the worshiping crowd turned into an angry mob.

Standing close behind Hera, Dox called over to Paris. "Commander, we have a situation..."

Having had time to assess the situation, Paris had circled, observing the event and keeping at a distance so that she would have a firm grip on the situation while she informed her people to intervene only if absolutely necessary. Station security had jurisdiction, here so it was a tricky situation. Watching Hera struggle to restore life to the man, she let it be- it was Hera’s energy to spend as she saw fit, and Rita wasn’t about to counsel her to not help someone in need. It was a public display, which was exactly what she’d hoped wasn’t going to happen. Which of course meant that was exactly what happened.

“Hold IT!” the voice of Rita Paris rang out in a sharp tone of command that sounded not unlike a parent making a child stop engaging in an activity they knew they were not supposed to be doing.
“First, she is helping this man. Second, who among you can say that it was not by the prophet’s will that she was here today to help this man? And NO ONE has come to replace nor argue with the Prophets, so you can all take a deep breath and CALM DOWN.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Paris could see the security personnel ringing the crowd, prepared to move on a signal, which Rita gave by holding her hands out to calm the mob- which told her people to continue to hold.

It wasn't that easy though, as the priest redoubled his efforts. "Begone, foul temptress of evil! We see you for what you are! Heathens come to displace our faith in that of some pagan sex cult! We will not be tempted by your wicked ways! Come, my followers! Turn your back on those that seek to tempt us!" With that, he turned away from Rita and Hera like some crazy old coot, which kind of confused the crowd. About half followed suit after a few moments, but the rest started dispersing. With his eyes closed though, the old priest paid no mind to those that left.

Gathering Hera up in her arms, Rita signaled for the significantly stronger V’nus to lend a hand, who simply swept Hera up in her arms as if the goddess weighed nothing at all. “We have two choices here, Hera. We make for the ship and lay low, or you are strong enough to keep walking, and we continue our little excursion on the Promenade. I am thinking the former might be the smarter choice, as I see station security is certainly hoping that we will. But we brought you out for a day out, and damned if I’ll run just because someone decided I am a wicked pagan sex cultist…”

Leaning close to Paris, Dox whispered. "Commander, I have an evac lock on our V.I.P. I tap my badge three times and she's home." She received a nod in return, silently affirming that the first officer had heard and understood.

The matronly goddess was slowly recovering and coming around. "Yes... I should be ok in a moment... I'd like to spend a bit more time here if possible. After all, I barely got to spend any quality time with you."

“All right, then. Let’s leave the nice religious people so our sight will not offend, and move down the promenade here, people.” Signaling to the other security officers, they took up positions and began to move as Paris stepped out, V’nus still carrying the weakened goddess in her arms without complaint.

Leaning towards Paris, Dox commented. "Considering the nature of the protestors, perhaps one of the bars or taverns might be ideal as establishments that sell alcohol are generally not frequented by the religious. The mezzanine level would remove us from the majority of the actual bar patrons and afford us a little privacy to recover? There's also a sit-down restaurant, Chez Zimmerman's, at the far end that's higher end and internal, so less foot traffic or prying eyes from the Promenade."

“Brilliant. Lead the way, Miss Dox,” Paris replied with a smile, then she motioned to the entourage to follow Dox’s lead as she maneuvered the landing party to remove themselves from the potential danger of religious zealotry.

As they walked, Dox pulled out her PaDD and messaged Chez Zimmerman's to ensure that there would be seating available in the rear of the establishment as soon as they arrived. The red-headed Romulan walked at Rita's familiar military pace and kept the group to the outside of the walkway and away from as many prying eyes as possible until they reached their destination.

At the vestibule, Dox walked in first to confirm their reservations and handed the host her personal credit account card to ensure their privacy and walked back first to ensure the safety of the location before calling the rest back. "All clear, Commander. Just other diners, a mild crowd. Nothing out of the ordinary. We should be good."

“Set her down, Miss V’nus. I believe our local miracle worker should be all right to walk now, and lets off her some dignity, shall we?” As the Klingon security officer set Hera down on her feet, Rita was there with a steadying arm. “I believe we have your table reserved, madame. We can rest up here for a bit until you are recovered sufficiently to continue the expedition, all right?”

"Thank you, my dear. I... Don't suppose an excuse or apology would be enough to make up for the disturbance I caused, would it?" Hera smiled meekly, a far cry from the strong woman she had seemed mere minutes before. "Either way, this does look like a nice place where we could enjoy a nice tasty dessert or something, don't you think?"

“You saved a man’s life, Hera. I don’t think apologies are particularly appropriate after that,” Rita pointed out, with a degree of practicality. “How the locals chose to interpret or react to it isn’t our concern, so I wouldn’t worry overmuch about it. I’m sure we can find you a nice exotic confectionary here, something that’ll recharge your batteries, as it were.” Looking about, Rita spotted a security officer who was giving her the ‘I’d really appreciate it if you would take the subtle hint and come over for a conversation’ look, so Rita patted the matron goddess on the shoulder.

“You stay here and get yourself something tasty. I need to go have a conversation… Miss Dox, if you wouldn’t mind playing hostess?” While on the surface the words were innocuous enough, it was clear that Paris was handing over the reins of command to the little lieutenant while she had to deal with the station authorities.

"Aye, Commander." Dox replied, noticing the security officer herself as she forced her attention back to the drained Goddess and flagged a waiter for menus. "Is there anything we can get you to help? Anything we can do?"

"Fruit juice and chocolate, I think?" Hera politely requested, taking a seat at her table. "I'll let you pick something out, but please make it something that Rita can enjoy as well."

With that, Dox placed several orders with the somewhat irritated-looking waiter. This was considered the fine dining establishment of the Promenade, but the rotund Romulan had simply ordered Hera a fruit juice and a slice of Chocolate cake, a plain bagel and ginger ale for Rita as the Commander's stomach might still need settling and the same for herself as her own stomach absolutely needed something settling. She gestured for security to place their own orders as she side glanced over to watch Rita and do her best to let her keen ears pick up what it could that might be important.

"You're causing a scene," the gravelly-voiced constable complained as Rita got close.

"Yeah... sorry about that. I'm Ri-" the gold-clad commander began, but he cut her off.

"I know who you are, and the starship you rode in on. I have a pretty good idea I know who THAT is, too. Are you trying to start a jihad on the Promenade?!?" the brown-uniform clad operative asked bluntly.

"Look, she doesn't get to go out much, and I just wanted to give her a chance to stretch her legs. We've got her transporter locked, and she honestly is benevolent- I know, I know. I just wanted to get her out to see some life for a little while." Rita was being earnest, but she also knew she didn't really have a leg to stand on here. The security officer peered over her shoulder at the blasphemous cause of trouble clapping her hands together happily over a rather large slice of chocolate cake, and sighed.

Fixing Rita with a glare, he pointed his finger in her face for emphasis. "She's YOUR responsibility. Anything else goes wrong, any damages occur, I'm holding YOU responsible, not her. Got it?"

"Thank you," Rita replied gently, eyes filled with gratitude. "Completely fair, and appreciated. We won't be out too long."

"I don't care how long you linger, so long as you don't cause any trouble or make more headaches for me," the security officer grumbled, then crossing his arms, watching Rita rejoin the landing party.

"Well, that went splendidly. We're not in hot water and we may continue on our merry way so long as we don't cause any... trouble. So let's... what is that?" Rita pointed to where Jablonski was sitting with a knife and fork in her hand and a steaming steak on a plate in front of her.

"Lieutenant said to order, ma'am. Not to dishonor the restaurant," Jablonski nodded to the Klingon security officer, who nodded back sagely. "Lu's on duty too..."

That was when Crewman Kruge came back from the matter reclamator, pulling an abrupt about-face as she decided clearly her hands needed more washing.

"I figured that the best way to make the establishment happy enough to not give us a hard time about being here was to order enough to justify the table space, Commander," Dox commented.

There was a moment where no one was really certain how this was going to go. Then Commander Paris, shrugged. "Two of you on duty, two of you eating, so you're following protocol. The two on duty are actually paying attention to the operation, not to the rest of you. Thinking ahead to keep the proprietors happy as we are seeking sanctuary within their establishment... well done, one and all. If in the absence of leadership the unit continues to operate efficiently, that is the mark of a well-trained crew. You make your old commander proud," Paris ended by stepping over to the booth and sitting down opposite Hera. "Is that cake...?"

"It is, and it is divine. You must try a bite." Without any hesitation, Hera forked up a bite of the chocolate cake she had been eating on and offered it to Rita, who accepted it and rolled it around in her mouth, enjoying the decadently rich chocolatey goodness.

"It's probably better than the bagel I ordered for you, Commander. Though the bagels aren't bad at all." Dox replied, while her eyes were cast slightly down as she listened intently. "If there are still problems out there, I'm not hearing anything. Hopefully, they've moved on, but I'd recommend taking the long way around the Promenade just to put additional distance between us and them."

"They are locals whipped up by a religious figure, Miss Dox. We'll not skulk and hide, we will go on to live our lives. They are free to do the same. If they are somehow out there in the shadows plotting sinister deeds to our personages, then station security is very capable. Plus we have our retinue of- Miss Jablonski, have you already finished that steak?"

The large humanoid pushed the rest of the baked potato, skin and all, into her mouth with her thumb then nodded silently.

"Get her another one, please. And a bagel you say, Miss Dox? If I could get cream cheese and coffee I'd be having a good afternoon," the buxom blonde scanned the area for a waiter, signaling for coffee and a spread. Sitting down, she eyed the goddess across from her, then took a self-indulgent moment.

"It's always going to be like this for me, isn't it? Just one surprising situation after the next. Like a regular life, just more exotic and intense and often dangerous. Then one day I'll look back and miss how that used to happen, then I'll think about going on some archaeological dig that 'is probably going to be pretty dry', but then..." Rita cocked her head at the goddess across the table over the chocolate cake. "That's how this life of mine works, isn't it?"

"It seems that way," Hera replied, offering Rita another bite of her chocolate cake with a motherly grin.

“That’s it? No sage wisdom, no expansive perspective having seen the length and breadth of the universe, just let me answer my own question, eh?” Rita still took the bite of cake, as it was rather exceptional, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had cake.

Stifling a smile, Dox couldn't help but appreciate Hera's technique there. Letting someone figure out the answer to their own question was, after all, straight out of the 'Rita Paris' playbook.

"Sometimes the best wisdom is to let others figure out their own lives. After all..." The matronly goddess poked a bite of cake into her own mouth. "Sometimes your children need to learn how to fly on their own and answer their own questions for when the parents aren't there. Right?"

“Hmph. That’s been my entire life,” Paris muttered under her breath, then let it go. It was the second thing she had ever asked the goddess, and she’d honestly hoped for a straight answer or some insight, as she'd opened up and asked an honest vulnerable question in front of others to seek some wisdom. But if Hera wasn’t in the mood to play sage, it was her choice. She was under no obligation to actually impart wisdom when asked for it, and Rita understood that. It was something she might have asked her own mother if she'd had one, but as Rita had not for most of her life, she was used to such evasive answers. Changing the subject would change the conversation, so she cast about for a topic.

“So there is a lot of shopping on the promenade here, is there anything you are looking for in particular?” the lost navigator asked, changing course as she was wont to do.

Hera set her fork down, her mood growing a bit sad. She could read the situation easily enough, but she just didn't have what it took sometimes. Reaching out, she placed one hand on Rita's. "I'm sorry. I let you down. You expected some age old pearls of wisdom and I let you down. Sometimes there are no pearls of wisdom to life. Sometimes, life is just life. It's either exciting or it isn't. Not even the Gods can tell you why. But personally, I'd rather have a life full of surprises and seeing the excitement around every corner, myself. It's one of the spices that makes living worthwhile."

“It’s fine,” Rita lied. “As my father used to say, there are no guarantees in life. It was a stupid question anyway. So, where would you like to go next?” As quickly as she opened that particular part of herself, Rita doubled down on it, sealed it up and shut it away again back where it belonged in her psyche.

Listening, Dox frowned feeling Rita's emotional shift. She knew her friend well enough to know when she was hurting, and as hard as she was trying to hide it, Dox knew Rita was hurting. She needed something more from Hera and Hera didn't react how Rita needed her too. After all, at one point in most everyone's lives, you're disappointed by a parent. And when Rita mentioned her Father, Dox began to understand the relationship between Rita and Hera more. Rita wasn't expecting 'age old pearls of wisdom'... she was seeking a mothers comfort.

But Dox kept these thoughts to herself as it wasn't the place for her to interject, in front of Rita's security team. Rank and responsibility came first, after all. So she tried to smile as she continued to listen.

"Wherever we go, as long as it's with you, I'll be happy," Hera replied with a hint of her previously excited smile. "After all, I enjoy my time best if it's with you."

“Awww, shucks,” Rita expressed as she leaned out to check on the sturdy security officer who was polishing off a second steak. “Jablonski, are you ready to go? Ladies are we in the clear? Is the expedition ready to sally forth once more?”

Nodding, Jablonski mopped her face with a napkin and stood, smoothing out her uniform top as she did so. While the majority of the security officers were female, none of them had followed the example of their miniskirted chief and opted for the ‘dress’ option available to Starfleet officers. Stepping into formation, the security personnel formed up the phalanx, prepared to boldly go once more.

“Miss Dox, can you handle the bill please? Put it on my tab… I think I might or might not have what passes for back pay which is somehow still a part of our moneyless society that enables us to interact with the rest of the galaxy?” It sounded like nonsense, but that was Rita's vague understanding of how commerce in the greater galaxy at large.

Dox smiled as she replied. "No worries, Commander. I put this on my personal account when we got here. There's nothing quite like an account linked to Latinum to ensure good service and privacy." The rotund Romulan stood up and straightened her uniform top as she walked over to the waiter to cash out, leaving a generous gratuity before returning to the party.

Latinum was apparently currency to the rest of the universe, to whom a moneyless society held less appeal. Rita wasn't sure- hell, she wasn't sure what it actually was, forget about how it figured as currency. But the complexities of Federation credits to the rest of the universe was equally mystifying to her, so one way or another it seemed the bill was getting paid. Which brought up to Rita just how Dox had money. But between her smuggling days and getting pulled into the piratical world it wasn't that surprising, and really none of her business. Turning about to insure everyone was where they were supposed to be, Paris made a proclamation to set them all in motion.

"Tally ho, crew... let's go see if I have back pay to spend, shall we?"

On pad 12 of the main flight deck of the U.S.S. Hera, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox was busy at work preparing the Mustang-Class Runabout, Bast, for flight. She would be piloting a mission into the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant and was running a complete systems diagnostic and pre-flight check before Commander Rita Paris arrived. As always, as soon as Dox was informed of a mission she preferred to make 100% certain that the ship was both in perfect shape, but that the Flight Control Department was under control.

Today that meant assigning Ensign Mona Gonadie to take care of things while she was gone. The Bast was a standard Mustang-Class Runabout without any of the specialized technology or equipment of the Hera's main Runabouts which meant a standard LcARS control panel and standard armament. It was the Runabout chosen when the Hera didn't want to draw any extra attention to itself or incite any possible hostility. As they were scheduled to rendezvous on the other side of the wormhole in the Gamma Quadrant with a Dominion ship, they wanted to be as unassuming as possible.

"Lieutenant Dox to Dock Master. Bast systems are green for launch, awaiting flight crew. Please confirm departure status when ready, thank you." Dox spoke to the computer as she waited for the rest of the crew for this mission. The First Officer, Commander Rita Paris would be leading the sojourn along with Dox, Yeoman Ila Dedjoy, a security officer and the Hera's guest: A Changeling in a stasis pod, to be returned to their people.

"...because we must be diplomats as well as security officers, Miss S'rina. If you save the ambassador from the sniper but he breaks off relations with the Federation because you sat on him and said, 'Stay down, you fool!' then you didn't succeed in your mission. As Security we must be diplomatic, firm, but friendly and seemingly accommodating up to a point." As they crossed the flight deck, Rita Paris was lecturing the dark-skinned Klingon security officer. Both were clad in gold uniforms, Paris' of another age and S'rina's modern. But whereas Paris was a collection of exaggerated curves, the Klingon woman's physique was thick and powerful, yet still quite feminine with a mass of unruly curls cascading behind her back, restrained in a traditional Klingon weave wrap.

"Being direct saves time and energy," the Klingon woman countered, but Paris cut her off.

"Following orders and not arguing with your superiors will get you further. I hear you, and you aren't wrong, Miss S'rina. But diplomacy and a phaser will get you a lot further than a phaser and barked commands more often than not. Good day Miss Dox- finished with the preflight checklist?"

When she had been the chief helmsman, and later chief flight control officer, Rita had been obsessive about being the first one on the scene and insuring that everything was checked off and ship shape for the mission. These days she was first officer, and head of Security, so she had other worries on her mind. Now she could show up at 21:52 for the mission launch at 22:00 hours, and she took advantage of it.

Turning slightly, Dox replied as she flipped switches at the helm. "Aye Commander. All systems are green and ready for take off awaiting final crew and cargo."

"Then where is our delightful Miss Dedjoy, with our lost soul who doesn't even realize they're going home today?" Paris asked good-naturedly. After all, they were in no rush, and the changeling was in stasis in what amounted to a thermos. "I suppose it might be rude to hand them over in that manner, but considering it beats the hell out of a Starfleet prison sentence for kidnapping and impersonating Starfleet personnel, better they awaken again in the bosom of family as it were."

"More of that diplomacy of which you speak, Commander?" Oetty Officer S'Rina asked pointedly.

"Precisely, Miss S'rina. Safety of our crew is first and foremost on this mission, and the diplomacy on the other end can be what they choose," Paris patiently explained. "But we are not being hostile nor mistreating the prisoner, nor are we taking on the role of re-adapting them to the current situation. We're on a mission of mercy- they have been trying to make their way back to the Gamma Quadrant, and we are literally delivering them there. So hopefully all will go smoothly. If not, guess why you're here?"

"Mayhem?" the Klingon expressed, planting her fist into her palm hopeful of precisely that.

"Precise mayhem applied at the precise moment for effect- which can sometimes just be a bluff. On your way, Petty Officer, that's the way," the buxom blonde bombardier shooed the larger woman up the steps into the runabout. "We are prepared, now we will adapt to the situation as it unfolds. Miss Dox, the stick is yours on this one- I would prefer to be a copiloting sightseer for my first trip through a stable wormhole."

"Aye, Commander. Looking forward to it myself." Dox replied.

As if summoned, Yeoman Ila Dedjoy appeared from a side entrance near the runabout, a small stasis chamber clutched tightly in her hands rather than her usual PaDD. On either side of her were security guards that escorted her all the way to the Bast and as soon as she was secured inside, they nodded and dismissed themselves. Now sitting at the science and operations station, she tried to relax with a deep breath, but failed.

"Commander..." Dedjoy started off, still clutching the stasis container with the changeling inside. Normally she wouldn't think twice about speaking up, especially having the Captain's ear like she did, but with so many around she thought better of it and decided to stick to protocol. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Yeoman?" Paris turned to regard the young woman, noting her discomfort, and the protocol was unusual. "Excuse us for a moment- we won't be long," Paris explained, sending the pilot and the security officer out of the runabout, then when they were alone, turning to regard the scientist. "Permission granted, Yeoman Dedjoy. What's on your mind?"

Ila swallowed hard, clearly nervous. "Another away mission. This time through a wormhole to the other side of the galaxy and without body armor to meet with one of the Federation's greatest enemies. To top it all off, I was chosen to carry a changeling, one of the most dangerous creatures in the known galaxy along the way. Can you promise me I'm not going to end up dead?"

Searching the large dark doll-like eyes of the haunted scientist, Paris remembered that the adventures upon which she engaged tended to terrify normal people, and as she herself was not so far removed from being the terrified young woman on such missions herself, she understood. When she spoke, she spoke softly and cautiously, making solid eye contact as she did so.

"I'm afraid I can't make you that promise, Miss Dedjoy. I would be a liar if I said I could guarantee that you weren't going to die on this away mission, or in your shower in your quarters tomorrow morning, or eating breakfast tomorrow. I'm not the one in charge of that cosmic scale, so I don't get to make that determination," Paris explained, dropping down to one knee to bring her to eye level with the seated scientist. "So I can't promise you that."

"What I can promise you is that I'd give my life to make sure the rest of you make it home alive and safe. And so would Petty Officer S'Rina. As would, I suspect, Lieutenant Dox. This is Starfleet- we don't make promises we can't keep. But I can promise you we'll do everything in our power to keep you safe and bring you home again." Paris placed her hand over that of the frightened young woman.

"With that said, you don't have to go. Your company and your insights are always welcome, as are your skills. But if you want to sit this one out... if you don't want to see the inside of the wormhole, have a face to face with an alien race and take a trip to the far side of the galaxy for a mission of mercy, to return a lost traveler to their people- I understand. Not everyone is cut out for this sort of thing, and there's no harm in being afraid." Her words were not harsh nor were they judgmental as she offered the young woman an out.

"But a very wise man once told me that bravery is knowing that a thing is dangerous, understanding that there is risk, seeing that it needs to be done- and choosing to face that fear. Knowing the odds and doing it anyway because it is the right thing to do- that's courage, Miss Dedjoy." Patting Dedjoy's hand, the courageous commander rose, offering the young scientist a smile. "And I think you have more courage than you give yourself credit."

"Sorry, ma'am. I knew it was a stupid question. It's just... I process the reports and... I don't want to end up like..." She left the rest of that thought unsaid and had to blink a few tears out of her large doll-like eyes, which for her, blinking at all was somewhat rare as it was, let alone crying or showing this much emotion.

"You won't. Not on my watch," Paris assured the geologist by trade.

With a nod and a few dabs at her eyes with a sleeve, she did her best to compose herself. "Thank you. I'll... The mission comes first. I'll make it, Commander. Thank you."

"For what it's worth, Miss Dedjoy, it wasn't so long ago I was the one trying not to run the other way when I was chosen to come on missions like this, and I spent far too much of it wondering what might go wrong. So I do understand... I honestly do. I promise you we will do everything in our power to keep you safe, just like you'd do everything you could to get us out of a jam. We support one another, Ila. That's Starfleet," Paris ended with a reassuring smile, clasping the young woman's shoulder and giving her a bit more time to compose herself before recalling the rest of the crew.

There was the assumption that the sharp-eared Romulan had most likely heard, but would stoically pretend to know nothing. If S'Rina heard, hopefully she had the good grace to keep it to herself, as Rita had no idea how sharp Klingon hearing was compared to other races of the galaxy.

"Thank you, Commander. That's very true. Starfleet doesn't leave people behind." Nodding, Ila did her best to recompose herself, gripping the stasis container in her lap a little less stressfully.

And while Dox's keen Romulan ears did indeed pick up the exchange, she waited outside with S'Rina quietly until Commander Paris recalled them so as to not let in that she had heard. Once recalled, the away team was quickly underway as the portly pilot deftly directed the Bast out of the Hera's main shuttle Bay and into the void towards the celestial majesty of the Bajoran wormhole.

In the Runabout, they had arrived in mere moments to the assigned coordinates as, with an overwhelming burst of light and color, space itself bloomed and opened before them.

"That really is lie looking into the eye of a god. That's a thermodynamic miracle of the universe right there," Paris muttered as the moved into the wormhole, glancing at the sensors as they entered. After all, the Bajoran wormhole had been explored many times by many sentients, but this was Rita's first time. Thus she insured the sensor logs would be recording. Because while all of this wormhole's capabilities and readings had been recorded aplenty, it was the extradimensional explorer's first time, and this was the stuff she lived for.

As the tunnel of light consumed them and the runabout Bast hurtled through a stable subspace corridor, Rita Paris watched the readings, then looked out the viewport in amazement. "To boldly go..."



Leaving the wormhole, they were greeted by the sight of a purple and grey arrowhead shaped cruiser and were immediately hailed, a female Vorta coming in on the call. "This is Vorta Verana of the Dominion hailing the Federation Starship Bast. We were told to expect your arrival and that you have a lost founder that has caused some trouble for you? We're here on diplomatic orders."

Bringing the Bast to a stop before the Dominion starship in a diplomatic posture, Dox turned to Paris. "Full stop, Commander. Comms at your discretion."

"Miss Dedjoy, we have confirmation of ID here? We didn't bring this poor soul all this way to hand them over to the wrong folks," Paris asked. After all, she might not know the players involved but Starfleet did, and she was determined not to create an incident by handing their lost lamb over to the wrong parties, whomever they might be.

Ila checked the comm codes with the ones she had been given by the Captain and committed to memory. "Confirmed, Commander. Dominion command cruiser 42971. Vorta Verana as expected."

Tabbing the key, Paris spoke clearly. "This is Commander Rita Paris of the Federation starship Bast. We do indeed have one of your wayward travelers that will be very pleased to have reunited with their people. How would you like to handle this?"

Vorta Verana smiled haughtily as they were known for and replied arrogantly. "My dear Commander Paris, I propose that I beam to your vessel... Alone of course... Confirm the safety of the Almighty Founder, and together, we beam back to the safety of my ship. Is that satisfactory to you?"

"This sounds most acceptable. Please stand by for our signal," Paris replied, then cut the channel. "All right, I haven't followed a lot of this whole culture, but as I understand it the Vorta revere the Changelings... they call them the Founders, and they literally created the races that serve them, correct? So handing over one of their gods in a coffee can probably isn't going to go over so well. Miss Dedjoy, please release our guest from stasis. Miss S'Rina, be on standby alert. Miss Dox, keep an eye on local space- I am not in the mood for surprises today."

Turning to the tactical sensors, Dox replied. "Aye, Commander. Currently, Cruiser 42871 and ourselves are the only things in sensor range. Monitor alarms are set to silent, but are in continuous scan."

"Ok... Now for the fun part..." Ila stepped out to the middle of the runabout and deactivated the stasis field and opened the canister, setting it on the floor. She then stepped back in an attempt to not be the first to be killed if things went wrong.

It took a few moments for the changeling to wake up and come oozing out of the stasis container, but before long they had coalesced into a form that was decidedly alien looking even to all of those assembled.

"You have awakened me from stasis? Where are we? Are you taking me to some laboratory to be studied or dissectred? Or is this to be my execution?" the lifeform asked. Their features were androgynous, and somewhat humanoid, more like an attempt was made to appear humanoid, yet falling short of achieving it. As if it were a mannequin brought to life.

"None of the above," Paris replied. "We've arrived at the Gamma Quadrant, and as we promised, we are delivering you to your people. You've made it home."

Taking in the view of the Dominion Command cruiser out the forward viewports, the eyes of the changeling grew wide as Dedjoy's, then they glanced about suspiciously before hissing, "Is this some sort of trick?"

"No trick- we kept our word, just as you kept yours to us." Tabbing the comm controls, Paris spoke to the Vorta on the command carrier channel. "Vorta Verana, the Founder is now prepared to receive their escort home. Please beam in at your convenience."

Only a moment later a female Vorta dressed in what would normally be considered a fancy bathrobe by most cultures beamed over using a Dominion transport beam. Ignoring the Starfleet personnel, she prostrated herself before the Founder in the manner of her people. "Founder. I am humbled by your presence. I have come to return you to your home, if you are ready."

The eyes of the changeling lit up with rapturous joy. After all the trials and misadventures and struggles, they had finally returned to the Gamma Quadrant, and soon they would rejoin with the Great Link once more. Turning to face the human who had penetrated their disguise and captured them, the changeling considered her.

"You captured me and reduced me to your mercy, yet offered me compassion, and made good your word to me. We will not forget this, Commander Rita Paris." they expressed to the anachronistic astronaut.

"Starfleet keeps their promises... I understand it some of you have names, some don't and... it's complicated. I guess I won't know you if we meet again?" Paris asked frankly. After all, it was a longshot that they would ever meet again. But life was long and the universe was often a smaller place than you'd think, in her experience.

"Should we meet again you will not know me, nor would a nomenclature or some identifier aid you in that, solid. The manner in which I am identified as an individual within the Great Link is nothing you could comprehend." The speech could have been condescending and haughty, but it was simply matter-of-fact, with a hint of bemusement. Not unlike Vaenym, she realized.

"But I will know you, for you surprise me, and that has happened very seldom with the solids. If we meet again, rest assured- I will know you." In this case, it could well have been spoken as a threat. But the oddly-shaped humanoid's tone was one of friendship, bordering on gratitude.

"Oh! One favor, maybe? Rita perked up, with a winning smile. "If you see our Lieutenant Vaemyn, please let him know that we still miss him back on the Hera, and that if you ever decide to send him back to our side of the galaxy, he's always welcome. If it's not too much to ask." Rita nodded to the changeling as the Vorta grew impatient and a bit flustered that the Starfleet thug spoke so intimately with a Founder.

"Founder. If I may..." The Vorta insisted a bit, indicating that they should be on their way soon.

Turning, the changeling nodded, then drew themselves up. "Take me from this place so that I may return home."

As the transporter took hold, the two faded from sight, and Rita smiled a funny little smile. "All's well that ends well. Let's get out of here before anything goes wrong, Miss Dox. Not so fast it looks like we're running away, but making a discrete exit, if you please."

With the sensors still clear of any other ships, Dox turned back to the helm as she replied. "Aye, Commander." Entering the coordinates, Dox turned the Runabout around casually but with intention as they began their return to the Wormhole.

As Ila sat back down, the stress visibly sloughed off of her as she relaxed. "That... Went a lot better than I expected. Now we just need to get home safe and sound."

As the runabout entered the wormhole, everything seemed to be going just fine. In fact, for three quarters of the crew it did. However, for Rita Paris, the nearly instantaneous trip through the wormhole was nothing of the sort. Instead she suddenly found herself in a somewhat dreamy version of the bridge of the USS Exeter. Around her were Kodria, Enalia, Dox, and the Captain of the Exeter, Michael Stuart.

Each one was blank faced and spoke something odd.

"You are linear like the Sisco."

"But you are not of this universe."

"You are like the Refugee."

"We have awaited you."

Eyes wide with wonder, Rita Paris turned about slowly, the lens flare so familiar to her from the USS Exeter bridge, yet different, with that intangible difference only evident in dreams that you cannot identify in the moment. "Galloping galaxies, you're them... the Prophets, the wormhole aliens.. Hello! I'm Rita Paris... I'm an explorer. Wait, the Refugee?"

Suddenly they were on the bridge of the USS Hera and the four were closer and in different, mirror universe style uniforms.

"The Lost Navigator is needed."

"She must guide the Refugee."

"We found the Refugee in her universe."

"That universe is no more."

"The lost navigator... Captain Stuart used to call me that," Rita marveled. "If your refugee needs a guide, I'll help... are they here, i can lead them back to my... uh, the reality where I exist when I am not here? This is so incredibly cool by the way, and I am really honored..." Rita muttered, as she so often did. In this case, the experience was singular, and it filled her with the wonder she felt whenever she witnessed the amazing and unique phenomenon of the universe.

The scene shifted again to that of an unfamiliar Miranda class bridge that had been modified with Andorian, Vulcan, Tellarite, and other various technologies. All four were now wearing Kelvin-verse uniforms and had one hand on Rita's shoulders as they spoke.

"We will send the Refugee with the Lost Navigator."

"The Refugee will not be alone."

"You are not alone."

"This is your home now."

With another soft flash, Rita was back in the runabout's chair as if no time at all had passed.

Yeoman Dedjoy perked up as something on her console caught her eye. "Commander, I'm picking up some sort of neutrino surge..."

That's when the Vulcan woman that had been placed inside the runabout with them collapsed from shock, hitting the deck with a thud. Her beehive hair and red, simple, antique, Klingon armor dated her as being from around Rita's time, but aside from that, her only identifying marks was three solid rank pips on the armor's shoulder pad.

Turning with a start, Dox exclaimed at the surprise visitor with a Rihan curse. "Hnave! There's no other ships in transporter range. What just happened?"

Up in a flash, Petty Officer S'Rina had her phaser out and covering the prone figure on the floor, looking to Paris for orders... orders which were not immediately forthcoming.

"The Prophets... they needed a lost navigator to guide a refugee home for them," Rita Paris declared in a somewhat distracted voice. "They said they had been waiting for me, and that they found the refugee in my universe that isn't there anymore..."

Snapping out of it, Paris held out a restraining hand to the security officer. "At ease, Miss S'Rina. She's a lost traveler, and she's likely going to be rather disoriented if she just got here from what looked like it might have been my era, but not my universe. What we have is questions, and a mystery... but until they prove themselves hostile, let's not make assumptions. On the other hand, if they leap to violence, you know what to do."

"Cripple them to insure they remember the fear of that encounter so they know to never raise a hand against us in the future?" S'Rina asked hopefully, saddened to see Paris' head shaking sadly. Sighing and rolling her eyes, the security officer restated. "Restrain without permanent injury and assess the motivation for the violent behavior and address it if possible, restrain until it can be successfully analyzed."

"Very good, Miss S'Rina. There may be hope for you yet," Paris smiled, moving down to kneel on the deck to check on their charge. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

"I can..." The Vulcan woman blinked a few times to try to clear her head. "You wear a Starfleet uniform... That means I'm in the mirror of my universe." Sitting up with a creak of her armor and a groan, she leaned against one of the bulkheads. "I am Az'Prel. Freedom fighter. I... I was trying to escape the destruction. A man named Nero destroyed most of the worlds of the Terran Empire as well as the Resistance worlds. Not long after that, everything started collapsing. Logic was denied... It was as if reality was being unmade. Eventually, I came upon a hole in space and I thought I had found a refuge. Now I am here. I know none of that makes any sense. Even to my ears, there is no logic to my words."

Nodding sagely, the first officer of a forgotten era raised her hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. "I'm Rita Paris, Starfleet. Welcome to the prime universe, Az'Prel... we come to serve."

Returning the Vulcan salute, Az'Prel almost cracked a smile of relief. "I am at your mercy, Rita Paris. All I ask is for refuge."

"We are currently en route to the USS Hera, a safe haven for lost travelers. Welcome to a new time, a new universe and safe harbor at last," Rita Paris offered in all sincerity. It seemed the Hera had attracted another wayward traveler, and it warmed the heart of the lost navigator.

The gold-clad commander knew she spoke out of turn, for the decision was Captain Telvan's, not hers. But the Captain was a collector of those who wandered, a rescuer of those in need. On the USS Hera, it was a proud tradition of which Rita was proud to be a part- after all, not so long ago, it had been her who was lost, yet found by the starship that attracted them all somehow. "Refuge granted, and more."

After all her travels in space and time, Rita Paris was filled with the surety that she had finally found her place in the universe. Right where she needed to be... on the starship Hera.

As did so many things in the life of Captain Enalia Telven, it began with a comm call. Once again it was her first officer, using that phrase that she tended to use to encompass the numerous situations in which the starship Hera seemed to so regularly encounter.

"Paris to Captain Telven- I think we have a bit of a situation..."

Having reassured their refugee delivered to them by the Prophets of the Bajoran wormhole, as the runabout Bast set course for the Hera, Paris opened a channel and called ahead. Rather than exercise discretion, she opted for transparency, and called her commanding officer in earshot of the somewhat startled and disoriented Vulcan refugee of a universe that no longer existed, apparently, due to recent actions taken by the executive officers of the USS Hera.

In crafting a paradox to end the reality known as the Kelvin timeline, it seemed the mirror universe of that particular timeline had also collapsed into paradox, thus leaving one sole survivor, whom had apparently been rescued, either by accident or design by the prophets of Bajor… whom apparently existed in non-linear time. So the Prophets had held the Vulcan freedom fighter within the ‘celestial temple’ until they had identified another Kelvin timeline refugee passing through. Which was, in this case, one Rita Paris, known to them as the ‘Lost Navigator’. Recognizing the intertwining of their destinies and knowing Rita’s responsibility for the plight of their wayward refugee, the Prophets had indicated that there was a need, and a lost traveler.

Which of course meant that Rita offered to help, because being a finder of lost children and a light in the darkness to guide others home was an integral component of her being. Which meant that now she had to have a discussion with her captain, because while she had departed to return one lost traveler home, she had promptly picked up another.

Not that she expected her captain to object, for she too was a finder of the lost and a rescuer of those adrift. It was, in fact, the pirate princess turned Starfleet captain's purpose in the universe, although she often doubted it. But Enalia Telven cared more than she wished to admit, and deep down she felt that perhaps by saving others, she could redeem her own soul in the bargain.

Enalia had been in her ready room for the past several hours so when the call came in, so it was almost a relief to be called away from the paperwork and documentation. "Commander. Did the mission not go well? Are we going to have a Dominion fleet on us in a few minutes?"

Musical laughter was the initial reply, as the curvaceous and cheerful commander appreciated the concept. “No ma’am… while I likely did not do wonders for the Federation’s relations with the Dominion, we did return one of their own and kept our word, so hopefully no harm was done diplomatically to our neighbors on the other side of the wormhole in the Gamma Quadrant.”

“However, on the way back, the prophets wanted a word with me, and I may have volunteered to take in a refugee. Likely a discussion to have once we’re back aboard, as I understand the locals aren’t that keen on Starfleet personnel having chit-chats with their Prophets in the Celestial Temple. Particularly when they sent me back with a refugee.” Rita left it at that- anyone monitoring their communications would have some idea of the truth, but no specifics had been discussed.

It was more than enough for DS9 to get upset with them, but that was the point of transparency- they could not accuse Starfleet of keeping secrets if they weren’t doing so, and this spelled it all out, save for the critical details of just whom she had brought home from the wormhole, and from whence and when they had arrived.

Enalia visibly relaxed and chuckled softly. It wasn't the first time for this sort of thing, and likely wasn't the last, after all. "From the way you put it, it sounds like you're supposed to be this refugee's guide. Very well, once you're back we'll see what kind of lost lamb the universe has dropped in your lap this time."

“Aye, Captain," the first officer replied with a chuckle. "Paris out,” the anachronistic astronaut finished, then turned back to Az’Prel. "So… what year is it as you recall, Miss Az’Prel?"

The displaced Vulcan had recovered enough to make it into one of the seats of the runabout and was nursing a cup of Vulcan tea that Ila had offered her from the replicator. "By the Terran calendar, I believe it is 2269. By your tone, am I to assume that is not the current year?"

“Your logic is admirable, and quite correct. You have traveled in both space and time. This is not the universe with which you are familiar, and this is not the same year from which you escaped. There’s… a lot to unpack here, Miss Az’Prel, and I suspect I was chosen to be your guide because I possess a somewhat keen understanding of your plight. Would you perhaps like to sightsee as we approach, and then when we get you settled, we can discuss the particulars?” With that, Paris gestured out the viewport to the sprawling and alien majesty that was DS9, with relatively small starships flitting about her.

Az'Prel's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the station. She'd never even imagined anything like it, and the implications of it threw her logic into another tizzy. She'd experienced enough stress like that lately that she was able to quickly recompose herself and hide her reaction behind her teacup. "I am unfamiliar with that starbase or any design elements of which it is comprised. I also do not recognize any of the ships nearby. Thus it is logical to trust in your words."

“For a very emotional woman, you’ll find that I make a surprising amount of sense, Miss Az’prel. Miss Dox, please get us skids on the deck as soon as possible, and I’d like for you to accompany me. Miss S’Rina, stand down- I realize her arrival was unorthodox, but I am quite certain that our guest means no one harm.” Rita watched as Dox picked up a bit of speed, to get them docked in the massive hangar that occupied the majority of Deck 4.

"Aye, Commander." Dox replied as she pressed the comm switch. "U.S.S. Bast to Hera Dockmaster. This is Lieutenant Dox, Requesting clearance to land, main shuttlebay."

After a few seconds, the computer chirped as a reply came through. "Dockmaster to Bast. Permission granted, pad 6." As she began pressing buttons quickly for the landing procedures, Dox replied. "Thank you Dockmaster."

After a few brief moments, the Runabout had come to a smooth landing in the Hera's main shuttlebay as Dox began the power down sequence. "Clear to disembark, Commander."

Turning to face their resident refugee, the spirit of the 23rd century spoke softly, in reassuring tones, but stuck to logic. “Today will be difficult for you, with a considerable amount of data to process, facts to grasp and concepts with which to wrestle, Miss Az’Prel. But while it may very much feel as though you are a stranger in a strange land, you are not alone. I will be here, as will others, and we will see you through this. All I ask is that you maintain an open mind, and consider that as strange as it may seem we speak the truth, and we have your best interests at heart.”

Ordinarily Rita would follow up such a statement with a reassuring pat or a clasp of the hand, but that would not put the Vulcan at ease- usually it had the opposite effect. Instead, she maintained eye contact and did her best to express sincerity.

"I have seen my world destroyed, my suppressors routed, my universe collapsed... I have lost everything, yet I feel I may have gained a measure of freedom and a future. I will... Persevere." The displaced Vulcan woman struggled with the last word, but found one that she seemed to find fit well enough for the situation.

"Unseal the hatch, Miss S'rina," Paris ordered, then she turned to regard Ila Dedjoy. "Never a dull moment, Miss Dedjoy. I don't imagine this made you any more fond of away missions?"

"No, Commander... It did not. But, I am thankful that this one was relatively uneventful and safe. Thank you for your consideration earlier." Ila was back to her old self now that the runabout was back aboard the Hera.

“Anytime. I’ll try to keep you out of harm’s way, Miss Dedjoy, as much as I can- that's a promise,” Paris vowed as she let Ila precede her out of the runabout, then she stepped out onto the flight deck herself. Gesturing for the Vulcan woman to follow, Rita swept her arm in a broad sweeping indication about the flight deck. “There are a number of surprises in store for you, Miss Az’Prel. In truth, I think you’ll find most of them to be pleasant. But for now, there’s no gentle way to say this, so I’m just going to welcome you to the final days of the 24th century. Welcome to the year 2396, daughter of Vulcan.”

The busy flight deck was a mass of activity, with shuttles and runabouts taking off and landing, while crewmen bustled about. No one particularly noticed the oddly-armored Vulcan woman standing next to the old-fashioned officer in her museum relic uniform. It was clear that advanced technologies were at play here, and Rita took a moment to let the newcomer gape, and for the extradimensional explorer to take it all in and process what was going on around her.

As requested, Dox stepped up behind Rita Paris and Az'Prel and waited at attention. She wasn't initally sure why Commander Paris wanted her to accompany her and Az'Prel, but that was her assignment and she would carry it out.

Az'Prel slowly looked over the docking bay, hands clasped behind her. While outwardly she was seemingly emotionless, inwardly she was struggling to hold herself together. "This is a very large ship. And the hull was a rather odd shade, rather than the normal pale colors of duranium alloys. Some sort of new plating, I assume." She then turned to Rita with weary eyes. "You are my guide. What is our next step?"

"An astute deduction, and correct. Honestly I don't know what it's plated with either, but I can look it up," Rita explained. "I know this is a lot to take in, believe me, I do. And I know that I am glossing over a lot details right now, but I assure you we will get to all of your questions in time." Stepping away, as Dox moved with her, Paris began leading the extradimensional escapee off the flight deck and into the Hera. As she got the idea, Rita slowly increased the pace, talking over her shoulder. "For now, we start with an interview with the Captain, as one might expect. I'm the first officer, so I'll be your facilitator. Miss Dox here is the chief flight officer. Speaking of which, I need to get you a PaDD and the onboarding protocols. Maps of the ships, chain of command, historical overview to get you a basic up to date."

"We'll get you a physical to insure that you are none the worse for wear, then I should probably introduce you to Sonak. What's your profession beyond resistance fighter, Miss Az'Prel?" Rita chattered as they arrived at the turbolift and she summoned it with the button.

As they neared the turbolift, an audible emanation emitted from Az'Prel's midsection and she covered it with one hand. "I believe your physician may find malnourishment to be one of my ailments. As for my profession..." The displaced Vulcan woman squared her shoulders as she considered the question. "I am an able tactician, skilled in many martial arts and weapons systems, familiar with many stealth practices both on the ground and shipboard, and quite capable with most repairs." Glancing around at the modern starship, she decided to amend her statement. "Though my knowledge of maintenance practices may be considered obsolete."

As the turbolift doors opened, Paris stepped in, the others in tow as she called out, "Deck 9, please. My apologies... that's interesting. I guess the Prophets basically held you in stasis until I came along. So you're still just as hungry as when you went in. Funny old universe," she chuckled as they emerged on Deck 9, and a few brisk turns brought them to the officer's mess.

"Can't face a day like today on an empty stomach. Please, have at- the cooks have dishes prepared or can make something for you, and the replicators here are preprogrammed with millions of recipes, all for the asking. Please- have a decent meal. The Captain will understand and would insist." Paris gestured to the serving line and handed the Vulcan woman a tray.

"Thank you, Commander." Accepting the tray, the displaced Vulcan patiently joined the line and requested whatever was easiest to prepare, which caused a small debate with the cooking staff over the ease at which anything could be made on the USS Hera, she just pointed to some random pre-made dishes in the warming trays and asked for them, which seemed to settle the matter, though it did garner some odd looks.

Now armed with a tray of hot food, Az'Prel looked for a place to sit and enjoy her newfound spoils of mixed veggies, egg fried rice, chicken lo-mein, and beef with broccoli and quickly found one which Commander Paris and Lieutenant Dox were already seated. She thus joined the two women, noticing that her uniform design was decidedly different from that of every other crewmember. She filed that away to ask about later.

For her part, Dox continued to observe and wait. This was essentially an onboarding procedure being played by ear and the portly pilot had deduced her presence there was largely to observe and learn. After all, Rita Paris had made no secret of the idea that she was taking it upon herself to groom Dox for eventual command. It was an idea that Dox might not have understood, but one she was committed to succeeding at, if only to validate Paris' faith in her.

"Thank you, Commander. I appreciate this." The displaced Vulcan then speared one of the pieces of beef and broccoli and ate it as if it had been a month since she had eaten.

"Least we can do. I didn't realize... well." Not a vegetarian- interesting, Rita thought to herself as she watched the woman tuck in. "We'll get a proper meal in you, then we'll get to that conversation with the captain. How about while we work toward that, if I open the floor to any questions you have for us? You're basically coming in with a clean slate with a few observations at this point, and I haven't given you much information. I don't mind, talk with your mouth full, but feel free, ask away."

Listening, Dox noted Paris' words. While the golden-clad First Officer had spoken a good degree, she had actually said presious little and instead was running Az'Prel through scenarios to gauge the Vulcan's reactions. This was an onboarding, and Rita was getting a feel for just who this newcomer really was.

As the displaced Vulcan ate, moisture began to form in her eyes. "Please... Pardon me... This may be the best food I've eaten in decades. It's cooked properly and isn't even starting to rot." Pausing to wipe her mouth, she nodded. "I recognize your uniform style from reports that had been passed around of a Captain Kirk from your... This universe. But everyone else wears what I assume is the current uniform. You are allowed to retain your period's uniform then?"

"I am," Rita admitted. "It marks me as an anachronism, which sets expectations and advertises the truth without a word spoken. Besides that, it's more comfortable to me, honestly. For a formal occasion, I would certainly don the dress uniform of this era, and I have worn the crimson of this day and age's command uniforms. But I prefer my old uniform. Rita Paris, formerly of the USS Exeter, in the year 2268. I've been here not quite six months now, adapting to the future in another universe." Rita realized she was rambling and got back on topic. "Yes... the Captain indulges me in this preference of mine, because it makes me more comfortable. Some would prefer to blend in, I prefer to stand out as a piece of history."

While Dox had been listening with a fairly neutral expression, Rita's last few statements elicited a broad, warm smile from the red-headed Romulan. But at the same time, took note of the fact that for a Vulcan, Az'Prel was downright emotional. Maybe someone that didn't grow up trained in Vulcan culture who interacted with the people more than a little might not notice, but to Dox it was as clear as day.

Something caught Az'Prel's ear in that little speech, her fork pausing in mid-air and her brow furrowing. "This is not your universe either? If this is not the mirror of mine, then which is this?" If she was truly lost and this was not the rumored Starfleet she had heard about, was it at least close to the one in the stories?

"Welllll, that's a bit of a long story as well. Y'see, our boy Nero- you remember him, I'm sure. Ambassador Spock, the elder version from a few years ago in this universe, inadvertently created a splinter timeline when he accidentally created a singularity which sucked him and the Narada in. It deposited them in that splinter timeline- a pocket dimension with a finite amount of time that might have been expanded with the infusion of more prime reality. Apparently, when that splinter timeline was created, as the universe seeks balance, it created a mirror of that universe as well, thus your reality."

"But when Ambassador Spock died and Nero and the Narada were gone, they were apparently anchors that held that splinter universe together. I escaped by accident, and as I had translated to this universe, my old universe tried to suck me back in, because I could lend it some small degree of stability. Eventually, it was going to collapse on itself, potentially taking me with it and everything within a lightyear or two of me." It was at this point that Rita Paris realized she had an audience, and while she considered stopping, she didn't have any objection to the other officers on hand knowing the story. How many of them had always wondered themselves, and never asked?

"So in order to prevent that from happening, a plan was hatched and a paradox was put into play. We convinced Ambassador Spock not to go to the encounter that would thrust him back in time and across dimensions, thus preventing the timeline from ever coming to pass. Now, for what it's worth? I know just how unbelievable that sounds. Except to you, I imagine, at least to some degree. Ah, and you can tell that I'm not lying, which certainly helps." Pausing, Paris regarded the refugee, possibly the sole survivor of her reality, and sighed. "I apologize... I always thought I would be much better at cushioning the words and easing the other person into the truth, and that I'd at least show some empathy. You've lost everything, and I'm babbling about chronodimensional physics that I can barely grasp as concepts."

If anyone in the officer's mess had ever wanted to see a Vulcan in shock, AzPrel now had her mouth slightly open and eyes slightly glassed over from trying to understand the story she'd just heard. Closing her mouth and looking down at her tray, she tried to make sense of it all. This was the universe that was spawned the universe of which hers was a mirror? She would need to work through the logic slowly at a later time, it would seem. For now, her food was getting cold and for her, hot food that wasn't moving was rare in her life.

"Thank you for the explanation, Commander. I shall contemplate it." Still staring at her food in deep thought, she returned to eating. "Perhaps you can answer another question for me, then. Is this the same Starfleet that was rumored? The Starfleet of equality and peaceful coexistence? I notice that you are the only human in this room, this is the future, and this is apparently a different dimension, so from your perspective, from a member of the mirror of my universe..."

"Oh- right, the whole human xenophobia thing, right. Ah, no- here, my people took to the stars with a message of peace and cooperation, the antithesis of the Terran Empire. This is the United Federation of Planets, worlds beyond worlds that have all come together in peaceful unity to support one another, to grow, to explore and find other worlds, other histories, other races and cultures, and share with them for the mutual enrichment of all the peoples of the galaxy."

"We are Starfleet- defenders, explorers and students of the universe. We are the relief arm in disasters, supplies to distant colonies, and we bear diplomacy, with the message of the Federation. Our mission is to seek out new life, and new civilizations. New to us, at least. To boldly go where no one has gone before!" Paris paused in her pontificating to peer at the pointy-eared guerilla fighter. "Not exactly what you're used to from us, I'm guessing?"

It was at this moment Dox decided to add her own thoughts. "Starfleet... the Federation. It's a hand up to anyone, not a fist down. Here, I come from a race that's been trying to wage war with the Federation for over two hundred years now. But I'm here today on this ship as an officer, because the Federation never stops trying. Striving to be better. Reaching out to make friends."

"Coming from a Human and a Romulan, both known to me for lies and deception, yet here you are surrounded by the very definition of infinite diversity in infinite combinations..." The displaced Vulcan freedom fighter looked up at the pair. "I detect truth in your words and this causes... Emotions... Within me. I will need to meditate upon this. Thank you." She then resumed eating, contemplating the words she had heard as well as the sights she had seen so far. This was definitely not a trap, at the very least, and she surmised that these people honestly and sincerely meant to help her. Still, her logic was being overloaded once again with the circumstances in which she found herself.

“Take your time,” the old-school officer offered. “You are safe, no one is pursuing you and I understand this is a LOT to process. That’s all right… enjoy your food, take in the sights and ask any questions you wish. We’ve the luxury of time to let you adapt to the new reality in which you find yourself- literally.” At that, Rita got up to get a few cups of coffee- one black with sugar, one straight black for Dox.

Az'Prel perked back up at the smell of coffee. "You have fresh coffee. I... acquired... a taste for It before our settlement on Cetlas III was destroyed."

“Well, it's replicated, but good enough for Starfleet work,” Rita chuckled, then realized she was being insensitive. "Sorry to hear about your settlement. But coffee? That I can do. Black, sugar, cream… how do you prefer your coffee, or would you like to try all the basic varieties?”

"Plain black, please," Az'Prel replied with a slight head tilt. Indeed, the following days would be difficult. She knew that the Vulcans of this universe would likely consider her strange because of her tastes and experiences. However, she was who she was because of them. She could be no one else. Her logic had failed her so often, she had had to rely on something other than logic - something akin to intuition on several occasions. Something told her that she could trust these people, and logic told her that this was one of these times.

As Paris rose to go fetch another cup of coffee, she left the shell-shocked freedom fighter to eye Mnhei'sahe Dox. As she did, the Romulan pilot awkwardly took a sip of her black coffee and offered a slightly uncomfortable smile, as was her standard operating procedure when she had no idea how to interact with someone socially.

Az'Prel was also not good at social interactions, but she felt a need to try to explore her surroundings. "I must admit concern for my future, as my skills as a freedom fighter are likely no longer needed in this universe."

At that statement Dox relaxed slightly and smiled, feeling as if she actually could contribute. "Commander Paris comes from the same era as you, and she's the First Officer of this ship. I was raised as a smuggler. You might be surprised at how far your skills and experience can take you with a little help and a push in the right direction."

Returning with the coffee, Paris gave the Vulcan woman a few moments to enjoy it, tapping away at a PaDD she borrowed from a passing ensign. Eyeing the newcomer, Paris rose from her chair. “Ms. Az’Prel, it looks as though you at least have one good meal in you, and some coffee. What do you say we go see the captain now, hm?”

The displaced freedom fighter finished her coffee and stood up. "Yes, I believe we have delayed long enough. I look forward to meeting your Captain."

"Indeed," Paris replied, standing and pivoting to make her way out of the officer's mess. Pausing at the doorway, she gave time for Az'Prel and Lieutenant Dox to catch up, then she was off again at that military marching pace. "Captain Telvan is a complex woman, Miss Az'Prel. Multifaceted, one might say. If you're aiming to stay on her good side, don't call her sir, she prefers ma'am. You'll have to sit through a retelling of the incident, but I need to brief her on both the situation and how we arrived at it, so bear with me. In all, though, I think you will be surprised by how unfazed by all of this she's likely to be. The Captain is also... well-traveled."

Coming to a halt at the turbolift as it arrived, Paris stepped inside, let the others follow, then called out, "Deck 1, please."

Arriving on the bridge, the displaced Vulcan took in the sight of the futuristic bridge with dispassionate eyes. With all the customized interfaces and clean lines, this was definitely a future and universe she was not familiar with. Rather than paying too much attention to the details of the bridge itself, she studied the people. They seemed soft and adjusted to peace. Even the security personnel did not seem used to having to watch their backs and were at ease. The trust that everyone displayed in their surroundings and their fellow crew was something that Az'Prel had noticed when coming aboard, but it hadn't really hit her until now. They even greeted her presence on the bridge not with distrust in their eyes but with openness and curiosity. These were truly peaceful beings.

Giving the woman time to take it in, as she knew how it felt, Paris waited until the Vulcan refugee was oriented, then she gestured to the Captain’s ready room. The door slid open at their approach, as the captain was expecting them, and if Rita knew her captain, had been watching security feeds and listening in on pieces of the conversation so as not to be blindsided by the situation. Gesturing for the woman to precede her and allowing for Lieutenant Dox, who stepped to the side out of the way to accompany, Paris spoke up.

“Captain Telvan, commander of the United Federation starship USS Hera, may I present Ms. Az’Prel. She apparently hails from the mirror universe of the universe of my origin. I will let you tell her your tale, so as not to overlook details, then I’ll explain how she ended up in our care.” A thorough briefing could be important, but so too was giving the captain the opportunity to judge the other woman, her veracity and draw her own conclusions. After all, the Captain was a shrewd judge of character.

The spotted Captain stood and motioned towards the seats across her desk. "It's a pleasure making your acquaintance. Please, have a seat and tell me what you can. I'll answer any questions you may have."

The displaced Vulcan nodded respectfully before slipping into the offered seat. This woman was different from all the rest she had met so far - it seemed she knew what it was like to have to watch her back, yet she did her best to try not to show it. Something else to consider for later.

With her hands clasped in her lap, Az'Prel began to relate her story. "I believe it may have all began when a Romulan named Nero attacked and destroyed my home planet, Vulcan. He then set about destroying the Terran seat, Earth, as well as most other Terran Empire planets. Eventually, he grew tired of that and destroyed Qo'nos, Trill, Regula, Andoria... He single-handedly wiped out most of the populated planets in both the Empire and the Resistance. Not long after that, parts of our universe began to collapse, dragging large swathes of space into a surreal void."

"Those caught in it were just... gone."

"We few survivors tried to band together for a while, but eventually we were broken apart and over the course of about six years, the universe collapsed in on itself. Eventually, I found what appeared to be a hole in space... Perhaps a wormhole of some sort. It seemed to be my only refuge, so against all logic I flew what was left of my ship into it. I then woke up here and was told that it was no longer 2269 but 2396 and a different universe. Captain, I am likely the only survivor of my universe."

"I have fought the Terran Empire my entire life," Az'Prel ended simply.

Enalia listened intently as she spoke, nodding along the way. It was certainly an incredible tale, but she'd heard more fantastic things in her career. Heck, there was one standing next to her in the woman she's met when she hit her with a starship at warp speed, a ghost named Rita Paris. "Well, I can't guarantee you won't have more fighting to do. We've got our share of enemies to fight in this universe. However, from what I've heard, they're not that bad compared to the Terrans. Commander, do you have anything to add?"

"The way we came upon Miss Az'Prel is that I met with the Prophets in the Celestial Temple. It was... surreal, and awesome and humbling. Just... amazing. They had been waiting for me to come along, the 'lost navigator', and said they had a refugee. So I offered to show her the way home, and... here she is. I know that may sound mental, but I mean, here she is!" Paris pointed to the Vulcan survivor.

"Sooooo, here's the thing, Miss Az'Prel. The existence of the mirror universe is classified. The existence of the splinter universe from which the ship's chief science officer and I hail is also classified on a similar level. The recently discovered former existence of a mirror universe of that splinter universe is classified. In short, your entire existence is all so very, very classified. This starship is also classified, even though we are parked at one of the most visible crossroads in the known galaxy." Paris raised her palms upward.

"You are clearly a remarkable woman to have survived all of what you have faced. The Prophets literally delivered you into my care, and they did so intentionally. Where you are now, I too have been- having lost everything and been thrust into a technologically advanced future that you can barely comprehend yet, wondering if you can trust the people around you. Az'Prel, I know this is hard." Rita Paris offered the woman an earnest close-lipped smile.

"But I'm here for you. There is an entire crew of remarkable individuals on this classified and sinister looking starship, and I think they will surprise you with their courage, determination, empathy, and their capacity to do good in the universe. If the Captain is willing, we'll help you adapt to the future." Rita paused at that, to let the Captain weigh in. "Uh, ma'am? I brought home a stray from another dimension who was entrusted to me by aliens who apparently do not lead linear existences. Mind if we get her back on her feet at least? She's a refugee of a universe that doesn't exist."

Enalia held up her hands in mock defeat. "Who am I to stand in the way of the Prophets? Most deity level entities I'll fight tooth and nail, but them? I know where to draw the line. Welcome aboard. Let's get you some quarters and get you settled in so you can start figuring out what you want to do with your life now that you have plenty of future ahead of you. Maybe some new clothes, unless you'd prefer to wear your armor around?"

"No, Captain. Your crew are not the battle-hardened peoples that I come from, so keeping it would be illogical. Simpler clothing would be preferred," Az'Prel replied simply. What she left out was that simpler clothing would be easier to move in, should the need arise.

"Excellent then. Commander, if you would be so kind? Quarters, a medical workup, and anything else you think might help?" Enalia smiled at Rita, expecting them to take over from here. "I'll have to put together a report for command and let them know the Prophets have granted us another trans-dimensional refugee. The Commodore is going to be thrilled, especially after the fiasco on Earth."

"Let me go on record pointing out that really was not my fault. And if it was going to happen at least it happened on Earth where they had facilities-" Rita stopped herself, turned and smiled. "Not the point. Come along, Miss Az'Prel. Let's get you down to sickbay, we'll get you a shower and have the good doctor to look you over and Mister Sonak to take some readings, then we'll get you some quarters and some basic computer access so you can read through the libraries and catch up a bit." Striding to the door of the ready room, the door opened as Rita Paris offered the captain a respectful nod.

Following closely behind, Dox continued to do her best to simply observe the situation as it unfolded.

"Thank you again, Captain. I shall endeavor to be useful to you, to repay your kindness." Az'Prel stood and gave the Vulcan salute before she followed Rita out of the ready room.

Stepping into the turbolift, Paris called out, "Deck 12, please," before turning to Dox.

"So, Lieutenant, that was not the most conventional of onboardings, but I felt it might be an excellent learning opportunity for you. So... did you learn anything?" the friendly first officer smiled.

Standing at casual attention, with her hands folded behind her back, Dox paused for a moment before replying. "This wasn't exactly a by-the-numbers onboarding, but it served many of the same purposes and then some. This was an evaluation. You lead us on a very broad path to the Captain, not a direct one. It not only served to fulfill Az'Prel's needs of both getting something to eat but also gave her time to decide if she could trust us by showing legitimate compassion and understanding. It showed her the ship and crew without actually going into secure areas and allowed you to observe her reactions over time under different circumstances."

"Prophets aren't exactly sources of clear information and you needed to get a feel for who she is and extending the observation time was not only an act of compassion and a trust exercise but an opportunity to give yourself more time to decide on her. Only then would we have actually gone to see the Captain." Dox continued, hoping her evaluation was at least close to the mark.

"After all, this mission began with us returning a Founder that you had identified as a potential thread during an onboarding interview. The safety of the ship and crew are always priority one, and this allowed you to satisfy those concerns to a degree. At least enough to determine that it was safe to move to the next step. This was her walk in circles." Her last line, a comment on how Paris had walked Dox in circles during her own onboarding to feel her out.

As the Hera's resident ace pilot spoke, relaying her observations and summations, the smile that spread across the face of the first officer grew wider and wider, until it was clear she was beaming with pride. Clasping the little lieutenant on the shoulder, Paris patted it affectionately. "You have come a very long way since then, Miss Dox, and your assessment of the situation makes that quite evident. Correct on all counts, although we're not quite finished yet."

"Doctor Dael and Mr. Sonak will finish the confirmation process, and Ms. Az'Prel has her own choices to make, of course. At this point, we have shown compassion, but her trust must be earned, just as hers must be earned with us. But she came to us from a universe where trust is a most precious commodity, particularly when it comes to those of us from Earth. So we make allowance for it, understanding the motivating factors, and we give her time, a bit of space, and we make good on our promises." The turbolift arrived and Paris stepped out, still talking as she assumed the other two women would keep up.

"Well done, Miss Dox. The lesson to be learned has not been lost on you, and you continue to rise to the challenge. I'm proud of you," Paris explained honestly, because she understood the value of praise, and in this, her protege had clearly demonstrated that she understood the situation, and had learned through observation. Someday when it was her turn to be the same figure on a starship, she would be ready. Which meant Rita had succeeded in her duty.

"Come along, ladies. Let's go meet some more of the senior staff, shall we?"

"Aye, Commander." Dox replied with cheeks blushing green, barely containing her own pride in the moment. But she did her level best to maintain her professional composure... as she'd learned from the anachronistic astronaut herself.

The newcomer to the USS Hera had arrived in an unconventional manner. But then, on the USS Hera, unconventional seemed to be the order of the day.

The Vulcan freedom fighter from a universe gone mad that no longer existed had been delivered to the Hera, and her presence aboard had been approved by the captain. Now came the true tests- medical and science. After all, while she was willing to extend a hand to a lost traveler, and embrace them, Rita Paris was also the suspicious sort, and she maintained healthy skepticism. Until there were facts to verify the mysterious traveler’s claims, she would take them with a grain of salt. Trust had to be extended, yes, but gullibility was undesirable in the First Officer of a starship. Thus even in moments such as these, she maintained a touch of skepticism, although she did not allow it to override her compassion.

Moving into Sickbay, which occupied the entirety of Deck 12 in one form or another, Paris strode along at her brisk military pace seeking the ship’s chief medical officer with Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox close behind. Tapping the commbadge on her chest, a three-dimensional reproduction of the embroidered antiquated Starfleet delta of command from her own era, Rita spoke clearly.

“Lieutenant Sonak, please report to the chief medical officer at your earliest convenience,” she ordered professionally as she navigated her way to that locale, guiding the potential new recruit where they needed to be next.

The familiar soft deep voice answered promptly.

''Acknowledged; Commander, please allow me five point three minutes to secure the ongoing experiment.''

And at the exact designated time, the doors wooshed open to admit the blue clad chief science officer of the USS Hera. He went straight to Rita and stood at attention, hands at his back.

''Lieutenant Sonak reporting as ordered, Commander.''

“Outstanding- thank you, Mister Sonak. May I introduce Az'Prel… the last known survivor of the 'mirror universe' of our former universe. That’s a mouthful to say,” Rita chuckled, then stepped aside to reveal the slender Vulcan woman in dated Klingon armor. “Miss Az’Prel, this is Sonak of Vulcan, a fellow survivor of the splinter timeline from whence we originated, the mirror of your universe.”

The Vulcan's left eyebrow rose.

''Indeed? Fascinating. I have read the reports of the legendary first journey of the USS Enterprise command crew into this parallel universe, and later of some officers of Deep Space 9, but I was not aware such a journey had also been made in our original parallel universe. It should prove most enlightening to compare the differences between all those realities regarding our kind and our culture. I look forward to enlightening discussions with you.''

He lifted his hand in the well known parted-fingered salute of his planet.

''Peace and Long Life, Az'Prel of Vulcan.''

Az'Prel lifted her hand in similar greeting. In her own universe, using the salute was a sentence for instant death in sight of a Terran, but here it seemed it was not so. Thus she felt it behooved her to return the trust her fellow Vulcan had placed in her. "Live Long and Prosper, Sonak of Vulcan."

While Sonak and Az'Prel were exchanging greetings, Asa walked into the reception area of Sick Bay.

Huh. No blood, no fire. This is the type of visit Asa liked.

“Greetings, Commander, Lieutenant, and you would be...?” Asa said, offering their hand to shake to the newcomer.

The displaced Vulcan stiffened slightly, expecting the out-thrust hand to be some sort of attack, but none was forthcoming. Instead it seemed to be some sort of greeting. Rather than replying with an out-thrust hand though, she kept hers at her sides where they could be seen at all times. "I am Az'Prel, freedom fighter. I am the sole survivor of the collapse of my universe, of which I'm told Commander Paris and Lieutenant Sonak are the sole survivors of the mirror version."

''An accurate assessment,'' Sonak confirmed in his customary even tone of voice. ''Yours is the confirmation of the threat to the multiverse this aberration of our own artificial parallel tangent was estimated to be. Had it gone by unchecked, the presence of our pseudo-reality would have spread like a cancer among all the other parallel universes, like yours, corrupting and ultimately destroying all reality with it... all because of mistakes in this universe. Realizing the situation, it was our duty to correct it.''

A look of concern crossed Asa’s face. One did not have to be a telepath to see this person was hurting.

Moving their hand to the side to indicate an available biobed Asa said, “I see. From what I have heard, that is not an easy place to originate. I’m sorry for whatever heartaches you have known. Would you please allow me the honor of checking you over? I’d hate for you to survive a universe collapsing just to perish of something treatable…”

Their tone was soft, as was their face. Asa stood still, waiting on Az-Prel to move of their own accord. To a veteran of combat, it may have seemed threatening to do otherwise, Asa remembered, thinking back to their courses on dealing with POW’s at the Academy. Was it possible to be a prisoner of a universe? Well, if it was, anyone from a mirror universe was likely to feel that way… anyone worth knowing at least.

Standing a bit further back, Dox was still in observation mode, but was picking up on Az'Prel's rising anxiety. The chronal refugee might have been Vulcan, but it was clear to Dox that this Vulcan had a slightly looser grip on their emotions, which was more than understandable. She was glad Sonak was present for Az'Prel to call upon for help.

"You are the attending physician then?" Az'Prel was now deeply suspicious of this person. Attempted physical contact, no introductions, looks human... She almost expected to see a pain booth when she turned around, and for a moment she was starting to feel cornered with all these uniformed officers around her. Slowly, she took a deep, meditative breath to recenter herself, her hands tensing for a moment. She then turned to look in the direction the person had indicated to see some sort of unfamiliar bed-like structure that looked soft and almost comfortable.

The displaced Vulcan then nodded slowly and moved over to the biobed, unfamiliar with the workings of it to the point where she just stood next to it. "I believe I am suffering from malnutrition. Also, I have not kept to the normal Vulcan diet for many years due to necessity so my digestive tract has not been... Compliant."

Sonak nodded.

''I have programmed the full culinary data of our homeworld into our replicator system. And you will find that my wife added a substantial number of Human dishes, adapted to our cuisine and palate. The pot pie in particular I would recommend. And if you are in the habit of consuming animal flesh, this dish can easily accommodate it. This should help you get back progressively to full Vulcan diet of this universe, if you choose to do so.'''

“Yes, those are certainly things that we can help with,” Asa replied, oblivious to the faux pas they had created.

“Won’t you have a seat please? The bed you are leaning against probably wasn’t all that common where you are from, huh? It’s a diagnostic tool that will help me monitor your vitals and other functions. I would also like to use a handheld device called a medical tricorder to get some more in-depth readings. Would you like to see the device before I use it?”

Then, calling over their shoulder, Asa said, “Nurse Vimes, can you please bring us some Pot Pie a la Rita and Ginger tea for our new friend?”

“Of course, Doctor Dael,” the matronly woman cooed in response before going to the replicator to procure the food requested.

“Ah, we just came from the galley, Doctor Dael. I think perhaps belay the pot pie,” Rita intervened, hoping to ease some of the tension she was sensing. “Az’Prel, this is our ship’s physician. I know what that might mean where you come from, but I assure you, they are dedicated to healing, not harming, and they genuinely have your best interests at heart.”

The displaced Vulcan took a moment to nimbly hop up onto the biobed, laying on it in the manner she assumed was correct before nodding to the physician. "As I have not seen anything that would cause me to distrust any of you, I will choose to trust you for now, but you will have to forgive my concerns. I have not known human physicians to be kind."

Asa’s head popped up, surprised that the idea a doctor would make a career of anything other than healing. Ears blushing at the embarrassment of all the signals they had clearly read wrong, Asa continued.

“Please, forgive me Az-Prel. I know little about where you are from, and I meant no harm. I know it might be hard to believe me, but I do want to help, truly. If it helps, I’m not human, but El-Aurian. I don’t know if my people were in your universe or not, or what they were like if they were. Here, we are few in numbers, refugees from our planets destruction by the Borg. Until you reach a higher comfort level with humans, I will be happy to restrict the personnel treating you to myself and other non-humans, barring medical emergency.”

Holding up the medical tricorder, Asa continued, “I’m going to conduct a scan of you with this now. Would you like to inspect the device before I use it?””

"That would appear to be some form of two part medical scanner. Beyond that, logically, as your technology is far more advanced than I am familiar with, I would likely fail to make any further determinations as to its purpose." Pausing a moment, Az'Prel nodded. "Please proceed."

Flashing a warm smile, Asa proceeded to set about fully scanning the young Vulcan woman. The whirring ceased as the device clicked off, and Asa pulled up a seat to speak to Az'Prel at eye level.

Speaking softly, Asa gestured to the Dox, Paris, and Sonak, "Az'Prel, would you prefer to speak just the two of us, or are you okay discussing your health in front of our friends here? It is entirely your decision."

"As they will likely need to be briefed on the situation anyway, I see it as only logical that they be present," the displaced Vulcan replied. She had not been fully examined by a proper physician in over a decade, however, she was fairly certain there were no major issues to be concerned about.

Taking a deep breath, Asa continued in a calm, steady tone.

"You are correct, you are severely malnourished. The long term vitamin deprivation and atypical diet for a Vulcan has stripped your intestines of their typical layers of celestin insulation, causing ongoing intestinal distress. You have a backup of sodium chloride in your liver, and scarring from a poorly healed laceration there as well. The scars I have no doubt are visible along your back, along with decreased bone density along poorly healed fractures which tell me you have been through much. The tears to your ligaments from holding stress positions are going to cause a decrease in mobility over time, your bones are going to become more brittle, and the flood of stress hormones for an extended period of time is causing adrenal fatigue. The doctor that performed the surgery to close the tear in your heart from a stab wound, I'm guessing, did an admirable job, but the third ventral artery is beginning to fatigue. I honestly can't fathom how much pain you are in, but if you will let me, I can help all this get better."

Az'Prel listened and nodded, taking it all in. "I have been through much and it seems the several years I spent in the agony booths were unkind to me. Do you require the removal of my armor to proceed with treatment?"

At the mention of the agony booth, Rita shuddered slightly at the memory of her own relatively brief time spent in one.

Keeping their smile reassuring, Asa nodded softly. "Yes, we will need you in a surgical gown, ideally freshly bathed. I will need time to prep my surgical team, around 2 hours, but there is no rush. If you would prefer to sleep first, we can do this first thing tomorrow. If you would like this done today, I will introduce you to the rest of the team and we can proceed. This is your body, and I want you to know you are the final authority about what happens to it and when, okay?"

The displaced Vulcan averted her eyes, instead focusing on the ceiling above them as they thought about what might possibly be coming up. These people have shown nothing but compassion and given of themselves. They have carefully extended trust as if I were a wounded animal, which on certain levels, one might suppose I am. They are offering me help and refuge, without expecting anything in return. Everything in her told her this was a trap, and yet the body language of everyone here said that this was how they had been raised- with openness and kindness. Even their hands were soft and had no true callouses. The closest thing that resembled her world was the captain of this ship, whose stance clearly expressed that she had grown up in an environment where she had needed to watch her back, but not to the level of those in her own universe.

Her logic spinning in circles now, she decided to trust in something beyond logic, that she had come to rely on in those later days. "I will trust you and accept your help, but I will require... Assistance... in disrobing. I have not taken this armor off in many years."

"This sounds like some privacy is called for," Paris opined. "Doctor, Mr. Sonak, I know Command will want some quantum scans to verify Ms. Az'Prel's origins. Please insure that we have those, and as her transcription from one universe to the next was facilitated by the Prophets, she may not suffer the usual chronodimensional issues. But please keep an eye toward mending those as well, so that everything doesn't taste like tinfoil to her for the next few months, if you please. With that said, we'll be in the waiting area, unless you require our assistance, Doctor?"

"Aye, Commander," Asa replied softly, keeping their eyes firmly on their charge, sensing the turmoil hidden behind those eyes that never quite reached their own.

''Agreed, Commander,'' Sonak replied. ''Scans have already been taken, and are currently under computer analysis and record. I will send you the full report tomorrow morning nine hundred hours.''

"Az'Prel, I would be honored to help you if you allow, or would prefer Mr. Sonak?," then turning to the ever present Nurse Vimes standing by, "Will you please bring us some undergarments and scrub style pants and wrap front shirt? Nonabrasive material level eight, Vulcan fiber plese?"

"There may be medical complications," Az'Prel stated simply as she began unwrapping the armor around her forearms and removing it, to reveal not only fine scar lines all over her skin, but the imprints of manacles in her wrists. She then stood to remove her chestplate, the majority of which came off easily, but the underpart looked like it had sealed to her. Carefully and with assistance, she peeled the thick garment off to reveal a heavily and deeply scarred body. She was voluptuous, but it was obvious she had been repeatedly beaten with some form of energy whip on a regular basis. The removal of her boots and pants revealed more of the same - long term signs of damage that clung to her clothing like they were still healing.

Seeing the damage, Asa noticed a spike in vitals on the biobed. Reaching out for their PaDD, Asa adjusted the temperature for this area to be the average temperature of Vulcan on a spring day- warmer than Starfleet standard but not unbearably so.

"Nurse Vimes, please also bring us some sterile wipes, warmed to 39 C if you would," Asa said softly before continuing, "The damage to your dermis has been exacerbated by the armor removal. We need to stabilize your wounds and perform the first of three procedures immediately to avoid sepsis. I am going to need to touch you in several places, as well as my colleagues. One of them is holographic, so you may not perceive his thoughts as you can mine. My primary surgical nurse in human, but I give my word she is a kind person. Is this acceptable?"

Previously Asa had forgotten about the touch telepathic nature of Vulcans, accustomed to working with Sonak and others with mental barriers in place. The criss cross of scars on Az'Prel's body showed she likely did not have the same defenses in place.

And she did not. She had no such training, nor was she familiar with them. Any mental defenses she had had long ago been beaten down and now she felt weak and defenseless, protected only by that of the teal surgical gown she was now being covered in. Shaking slightly from the exposure as well as her own defenselessness and weakness, she nodded and leaned back on the biobed, her eyes now closing with moistness. "I am at your mercy, Doctor..." Her voice was thin and reedy as she spoke, as if she had little left to give.

"Thank you, Az'Prel, all will be well, I promise. You may lose consciousness, but don't fear, Nurse Grimes and I will be here when you wake."

Turning to look over their shoulder, Asa motioned towards the EMH. "Doctor, your assistance please? If you could please focus on the repair to the patients heart ventricle, I will work on skin graft incorporation and tissue regeneration. Gloves on please, maintain sterilization surgical field but minimize skin to patient contact whenever possible. Nurse Vimes, please start an IV with intestinal repair and full Vulcan vitamin and mineral restorative, series seven delta, 27mcc per hour mixed with pain receptor numbing agents, maximum dosage per weight."

"Yes Doctor, " Nurse Vimes intoned softly, moving quickly and efficiently to carry out orders.

"How we looking?," Dael inquired of the EMH, hands busy with extracting micro debris from Az'Prel's soles.

The English modeled EMH had several tools and scanners in hand as he worked, gloves on as he spoke. "Crude but effective work. Whomever did this surgery was very skilled and saved your life. I can't imagine it was pleasant though. It looks like you were stabbed with a Terran officer's dagger, if my database matches the dimensions correctly. Any deeper and it would have severed your vagus nerve so you're lucky to be alive."

"Your assessment is correct," Az'Prel replied quietly, the memory of her near death and escape coming back to her. She had lost much that day, yet gained a measure of freedom.

Working from the soles up, Asa was now at Az'Prel's thighs, removing debris, extricating pieces of armor that had fused, healing scars, sterilizing, injecting copper and calcium at strategic points to prepare for future surgeries, and scanning for full cellular anomalies or markers indicative of the mirror universe. They saw Nurse Vimes had hung the IV and was now standing nearby, nervously wringing her hands as she felt for the patient.

"Nurse Vimes, can you please prepare recover suite 3 for Az'Prel? She needs a surgical sterile room for the next 24 hours for her skin to heal."

Vimes left, grateful for the opportunity to move and be useful.

Now working on their patient's thighs and lower abdomen, Asa said to the EMH, "We should do her back swiftly, working together, and do it last. How long do you need?"

The EMH replied immediately. "Three minutes. I just need to finish repairing some tissue damage in the left aortic chambers and I'll be done."

"Take your time, pacing to match," Asa replied.

Then, Asa caught Az'Prel's eyes, " How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Pain levels?"

"I am accustomed to pain," was the only reply Az'Prel gave, her eyes still closed.

"Ready when you are, Doctor," Asa said to the EMH. As a pair they helped Az'Prel turn to her side, the industriously set about healing as much of her skin as possible, Asa once again starting at her feet, leaving the EMH to begin at the patient's neck. They worked together on much of her back before Asa stopped, stepping back to help Az'Prel sit up.

"Can you please gather us a full set of vaccinations, Doctor? I think we have done what we can today, she is stable and able to disrobe if needed. Her heart is healing and in 3 days we can complete the next stage of healing, unless you see something else?"

"I'd like to do a gene panel to check for any abnormal markers for the sake of thoroughness," the EMH replied as he started in on scanning for the needed vaccines and gathering... Apparently every single vaccine in the Federation database... "According to your antibodies, you've never had a single modern vaccine in your life... I suppose that makes sense. We can give you the initial ones now and then the rest in three days. That shouldn't make you too tired."



Meanwhile, in the waiting room, Rita Paris paced as she spoke. "Here I thought I had it bad coming from the past and another dimension. At least in ours the only real danger was implausible villains, gigantic starships and the occasional plot to destroy the Federation. Or just, know, getting blinded by lens flare. But the Mirror Universe... Sonak, do the scans verify her quantum signature- well, I guess we have nothing to compare it to, do we?"

The chief science officer of the Hera shook his head.

''In point of fact, we do. I have the specific signature from our former false universe, and that of the original Mirror universe taken on DS9 during several interactions with people coming and going to this universe. A preliminary comparative study with that of this Az'Prel shows the same quantum aberration in her quantum signature, relative to her prime universe, that we both had here when we appeared in this one. I am currently having the science department confirming my findings, but at first estimate, her story appears genuine.''

"That's actually a huge relief. Given the nature of her arrival and everything I've observed, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but we'll need some hard data to provide to the brass to verify it. Your scans along with the eyewitness accounts should do the trick, since I am not sure if 'the Prophets of Bajor decided that we should take her home with us, no I don't know how they found her, go ask them yourselves' was going to fly as an official report." Dropping down into a seat next to where Sonak was seated, stiffly erect, she leaned in toward him a bit as she spoke.

Sonak raised an eyebrow.

''I was not aware that the Federation or Starfleet needed the Bajoran wormhole aliens their... imprimatur, before making and implementing a decision. Whatever we decide should be in the best interest of the individual and the community, not to... please, let alone obey the will and dictates of certain entities, however powerful they may be. Would it be so, the whole Federation, it's history, it's nature, structure and very reason to be, would fall apart as a mere illusion, and a miserable one at that.''

"It looks like she's been through hell and back. Do you think she's going to be able to accept this reality? Do you think she'll be able to mix with the crew?" Rita paused, holding up a hand to forestall what she suspected would be the immediate response from the somber and stoic scientist. "I know, each according to their gifts, but observation and reccomendation- should we send her to Starfleet Psych for a few years for therapy, or should we keep her close so she can get a microcosm of modern Starfleet on the Hera? She was kind of entrusted to my care, and I feel responsible for her. Plus we might have hastened the demise of her universe..."

Still listening, Dox's face had a look of contemplative concern. "Pardon me, Commander. But... Considering everything she's been saying... my initial thought is that sending her off to a large, faceless complex might do more harm than good. It might undermine whatever good has already been done here. Plus... maybe it's my own personal bias... but I've had my own share of therapists. A few from Starfleet Psych when I was in the academy. And I'd put Doctor Dael up against any three of them."

Feeling like she might be being a bit too emotional, Dox didn't pull back but instead doubled down. "She needs to see compassion. Between yourself and Doctor Dael and this crew, I don't know of a better place in this fleet for that."

Aforementioned Doctor then popped their head in around this time. "The Doctor is wrapping up with Az’Prel, but I wanted to come have a word. She has been through hell and back, multiple times. In the course of removing her armor for treatment, we found large sections of severely scarred and wounded skin, pieces of her clothing had fused to her, and she has been harshly mistreated on more than one occasion. Wounds are consistent with 20tht Century Earth Prisoners of War, except with energy weapon damage in addition to the stress position torture signs. Her psyche is likely not in very good condition, and she has severe malnutrition complications."

"Combined with a lack of immune system to almost anything she will encounter in this time… well, let’s just say we have a long road ahead of us. In another day, I will need to conduct a second surgery to encourage bone and tissue regrowth while repairing previous damage. Then, in about 2 weeks we will need to set and re-heal a few skeletal points and focus on softer internal organs. She needs rest, food, and safety. All scans are consistent with the story of her origin that has been given, which is all the more reason to assume she has severe psychological damage."

"Lieutenant Sonak, are you available to help her rebuild her psychic defenses? Those seem perilously low as well. I honestly think if she hadn’t been brought here, and if her own universe was still around, she would have been dead within a year.” Doctor Dael was rubbing the back of their neck with one hand, pinching the bridge of their nose with another, and then pulled up a seat to speak with Rita, Sonak, and Mnhei'sahe.

Leaning forward to rest elbows on knees, Asa looked up with a pained expression and said, "Truly, if her body is any indication, she has led one of the hardest lives a person can imagine. I cannot authorize her to leave Sick Bay until after the next surgery- at the earliest- and I want medical staff in attendance for any interrogation. I cannot predict what triggers she may have, but if she enters a state of distress, the damage could be catastrophic."

Between being chided over being misunderstood by her own husband in a question, then having the answer derailed by Dox, now with Dael talking interrogation, Rita Paris had officially reached a stage of irritation. But, calm and cool would see her further than giving vent to her frustrations. “I’ll try to keep the deep interrogations down to a minimum, Doctor. We tend to call them debriefings when last I checked, but absolutely, you can have whatever medical staff you wish present. Would you prefer her to be isolated so that we cannot potentially cause more damage?”

So much for keeping your irritation out of it, Rita Paris chided herself internally. Given the circumstances she felt she’d been doing rather well winning over a shell-shocked survivor of a hellish reality that was a warped and twisted reflection of their own. But then, what did she know of trauma and shock, given what an easy and simple life she’d led. Apparently everyone else had stronger opinions that were more relevant here, and all of them were greater experts on the subject.

Picking up on Rita Paris' irritation, Dox shrunk ever so slightly, realizing that she should not have spoken out of turn about what she didn't know enough about. She was there to observe, and silently chastised herself to remember her place and not allow herself to get too comfortable.

Sonak then straightened himself to attention, hands at his back.

''There might be an option to both bring her up to speed with this reality, and ease the mental baggage she carries over from her reality. Simultaneously we could accomplish this with a subject-willing, foolproof interrogation to get the knowledge and assurances we need; a mind meld.''

Unaware of the unintentional hurt they had caused, Asa nodded, “Isolation isn’t needed, in fact it will do her good to see some recurring friendly faces, I’m sure, and I would posit that the two of you would know best some of what she is going through. Her quarters in the recovery suite here in Sickbay will help keep her from harm while her skin heals. She isn’t ready to be out and about the ship quite yet, not with so many grafts and abrasions just being healed."

"As for a mind meld…I have to trust your judgement there, Lieutenant Sonak. All I can do is tell you this is a fragile survivor, with very little energy reserves left. Getting her to eat regularly and get sleep over the next few days is honestly going to be as much as part of her healing as anything I can do. Out of curiosity, does the Vulcan Science Academy have anything on the mirror universe that would help us here, in terms of dealing with wounded Vulcan survivors of the Terran Regime?”

Sonak frowned a moment.

''Not much since the initial contact made by the crew of captain Kirk in the 23rd century. From what has been gathered from their brief encounter with the Commander Spock of the Mirror universe of this one, It is not the Vulcans who embraced the teachings of Surak. It was those who would flee the homeworld and establish their opposite version of the Romulan Star Empire. Back on Vulcan, in the same peculiar reversal of this parallel reality, those still on the planet would continue the emotional savagery of our ancestors, including invasive mind probes and the consumption of animal flesh.''

He looked at the chief medical officer of the Hera with a frank stare.

''If we are to offer the mind meld to help our refugee transdimensional friend, it would be wise to first explain clearly to her that here it is not a means to torture and subjugate individuals through the use of our race's psionics, as I would hypothesize was possibly the case in her home dimension.''

Nodding thoughtfully, Asa replied, “I would suggest then that you explain how you will conduct a mindmeld to her, and I can explain that having received one myself that it was neither traumatic nor intrusive, as could any others that are willing.”

''Whenever you find it convenient, Doctor,'' the Vulcan said with a nod.

Taking in the emotional tone of the room, Asa continued, “Everyone seems a little bit frayed. It’s been a hard day, and I know everyone is concerned about our newest passenger. It is possible clearer heads might have better ideas after some rest. Az’Prel will likely sleep for the next 10-12 hours with the drugs that were delivered in surgery. How would everyone feel about re-convening in 6 hours or so? Maybe a bit of a rest will help us all.”

“Done,” Paris rose, trying to search for her good humor and instead all that came out was command. “Call me when she wakes and is prepared for visitors please, Doctor. I’ll be sure to bring my least intrusive tools for the ongoing interrogation.” With that sarcasm in her wake, Commander Paris strode out of Sickbay.

“Aye, Commander,” Asa said softly, feeling the wrath of the Valkyrie storming from Sick Bay.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Dox and the rest of the assemblage left one at a time leaving only Asa.

They checked on Az’Prel, peeking in to her room in Sickbay to find the woman already fast asleep. Asa wrote a quick note and left if displayed on the monitor in the room simply reading, “Rest well, if you need anything, I am in just in the room next door –Doctor Dael”

Then, deciding to just call the day a loss and off duty long ago, Asa went to the adjoining room and lay down on the bed, sleeping fitfully for the rest of the night.

"You had one damn job." Mnhei'sahe Dox thought as she walked through the seemingly empty corridors of the U.S.S. Hera after a long and eventful day was finally over. It was late and the young Lieutenant had just been dismissed from sickbay after being asked to accompany Commander Rita Paris during the onboarding of a refugee from another universe was left in Rita's care while in the wormhole.

the Vulcan Az'Prel had encountered impossible horrors and Dox's one job was simply to observe and learn while following Rita Paris through the lengthy process of getting Az'Prel acclimated to the ship and this reality. It was a long day that ended in sickbay with frayed emotions and a rising tension that Dox simply had to add to by doing the one thing she didn't have to do.

Open her mouth.

In the middle of a discussion, the anxious young Romulan pilot forgot her place AS a pilot and interjected her unwanted opinion into a discussion between Commander Paris, Doctor Dael and Lieutenant Sonak. For some reason, the fly on the wall decided to pipe up and promptly put her foot in her mouth, angered Commander Paris and brought the entire discussion to a halt.

So Dox walked through the corridors, filled with too much nervous energy and anger at herself to go to her quarters when Mona Gonadie waited with warm arms and soft words to assure her that everything would be okay. But Dox didn't want assurances. She wanted to punish herself for forgetting her place.

She was a pilot on a Starship that could easily fly itself. She was the single most replaceable member of the Hera's senior staff and she wanted to feel like less than at that particular moment. She paused in front of the door to Ten-Forward, not even knowing how she got to that deck as she thought about going in for a drink to calm her nerves. Just one drink to take that edge off and make it easier to not care about how useless she felt. How meaningless. How stupid.

Just one would do. Ten-Forward had more than enough of the real stuff, she thought. Except she would be seen. Crew members would watch a so-called senior staff officer trying to get drunk and word would spread to Rita and the Captain. Word would spread to Mona. And the problems she was dwelling on would just be compounded.

So the increasingly frustrated your Romulan woman walked away. It had been weeks since she had gotten rid of the practice dummy she used to beat on when she felt like this after breaking her hand on it and attracting the attention of Doctor Asa Dael. Behavior like that, if continued, was a surefire way to be busted back down to nothing and sent packing. So she walked.

As she walked, she got angrier. She had given up all of the things she could do to make herself feel better when she was angry. All the stupid, self-destructive things she used to rely on to punish herself with when she wanted to wallow in self-pity had been put away. And now she felt impossibly alone.

Walking was all she had left in that moment to try and bleed off what she was feeling. The self-doubt and shame and anger at herself just kept spiraling as she walked. She walked until she was simply too tired to hate herself for her stupid little mistake anymore. She was too tired to do anything. She was too tired to fight herself anymore.

After what felt like hours since she left sickbay was, in fact, less than one, she found herself outside the door to her quarters. Knowing Mona was waiting inside, she rested her head against the bulkhead of the corridor outside. Why was she so hesitant to go inside? Why was she avoiding going home?

As she stood there, she accepted the reality. She knew Mona would say the right words. She knew Mona would do the right things. She knew Mona would make her feel better. And on some level that she hated to admit was there, Mnhei'sahe Dox didn't want to feel better. Misery and self-loathing had become her most regular companions in her often bleak life up until joining the Hera and she didn't like letting them go. Being depressed was comfortable. It was stable and steady and there for her when nothing else was.

Except now Mona was there, waiting for her. With warm arms and a gentle voice to remind her that there was something in this universe that loved her no matter what. But still, she was afraid. Afraid to let go of old fears. Afraid to try and be better so she couldn't fail again.

If she walked in that room Mona would assure her that it was just a misunderstanding. Mona would calm her fears that she had made some massive mistake and remind her that everyone's nerves were frayed. Mona would understand. Mona always understood.

And so, Dox stood outside the door to her quarters for what felt like all of time, until the dark little voices in her mind ran out of petty reasons to turn around and drown her self-pity in Kali-Fal.

Then she went home.

It had been an exciting and eventful day, even for the life of Rita Paris.

At the end of a long and eventful day, she preferred to come home to her logical spouse, enjoy a meal together and share the events of their day. This morning she had started slow cooking a 15 bean soup, and arriving home to the quarters they shared, she had started baking a dinner roll each to fill the quarters with the heady scent of baking bread. It made the atmosphere more welcoming, more like... home. Looking about their quarters, decorated in the nostalgic style of their native era with sentimental mementos already beginning to add up, it felt like home. So big and empty they had been when she was alone, but with Sonak, it felt as though their quarters together were just right.

Sending him a message would of course, alert him to her intentions, as their schedule had been written to be flexible today. After all, she didn't know if she was going to end up kidnapped in the Gamma Quadrant, or starting an interstellar war or rescuing a kitten from a tree. Thus this was one of those days where the schedule was open for the evening. But she had stories to tell, and experiences to share. The emotional executive was excited to explain and explore the events of the day with her logical spouse with the insatiable curiosity and an unquenchable thirst for understanding of the universe.

{ I have had a very exciting day. Can you break away for dinner and some deep meditation together? }

Oh, Rita, you wild wanton woman, she chuckled to herself, reading the dry message she had typed. Deleting it, she tried again.

{ I have had a singularly unique day that I would like to share with you. Dinner and some time together? }

Still not romantic, but at least it wasn't academic. That was the worst way to ask for a little date night action...

True to form, the reply came in the same fashion it was received.

{ Acknowledged; it will be something appreciable to share with you, as always, my wife. }

It was, however, far less dry than his usual speech pattern; something he reserved exclusively for his mate.

He was Vulcan. He was Kolinarh. He was emotionless. But he was always learning.

Bustling about their shared quarters, Rita insured that the soup was ready, adding a few more seasonings to insure it would not be overpowering, yet not dull- a delicate balance. The Vulcan metabolism was meant for a bland diet, but as Sonak was hardy and sturdy he compromised for her more flavorful dishes. However, in that same spirit of compromise, she tried to insure that she would not overdo it and cause him later intestinal distress.

At the moment Rita had yet to change out of her distinctive of-center V-neck uniform of ages gone by, which she was allowed to wear as an indulgence by her Captain. The full-figured first officer had tried wearing the uniform of the day, and while she wore it well, these were her colors, and this was her era. In a literal sense the anachronistic astronaut wore the past upon her, to remind her and everyone else from where she had come, and what she represented. The cheerful commander suspected that the Captain allowed it, partially because it served as a reminder even to her that Rita came from a simpler time of exploration and a kinder, gentler approach. Before the Borg and Dominion had scarred Starfleet.

In the modern day, those wars were in their past. As Starfleet moved into the 25th century, they were returning to the principles of her era- exploration, first contacts, the open hand of diplomacy. It often made her wonder if her arrival in this place and time had been accidental, or part of some cosmic design that she lacked the capacity to perceive. Sonak had theories, of course, and they discussed them from time to time. After all, as much as she took comfort with him physically, with his lean athletic build, it was his mind and personality which made him extraordinary to her, and she literally loved him for his mind.

The body was a secondary- not that she didn't enjoy his superhuman strength, speed, endurance and bodily control. But throughout their relationship, it was who he was on the inside that left her no choice but to love and adore him.

Pulling out bowls, she set them and utensils aside, as she suspected he would be home soon. They would take water with their meals, as per their dinnertime traditions of proper hydration. For dessert she had ordered a lime sherbert, whose tartness she believed he would enjoy, as well as the smooth and creamy texture of the frozen confectionery. The timer sounded and she moved to remove the bread from the oven, moving in a surprising display clockwork efficiency about the kitchen. After all, life with a Vulcan did tend to teach one organizational skills, whether consciously or subconsciously.

As he entered their shared quarters, Sonak was not at all surprised to see everything in neat order. Before he went to change out of his uniform, he walked to his wife and offered two fingers in the customary manner of intimacy of his people.

''Greetings, my wife. It is agreeable to see you again in such a peaceful and relaxed state. It is conductive to my own, as always.''

Offering two fingers of her own, she connected them with his outstretched digits, and was flooded with sensation. Of the passionate reception that she received from him, the seemingly simple action far more intimate than outsiders would likely imagine. A kaleidoscope of images, calculations, interactions and more flooded into her mind, no faster than she could process them, but still a torrent of information from her logical spouse.

In turn, she shared with him what she had experienced- escorting Hera to the promenade of DS9, the performance of her Security team, the encounter with zealots after Hera performed a miracle, saving a man's life. Then came the journey through the wormhole, meeting the Dominion to return their Founder, which had gone exceptionally well. Then the return trip, and her meeting with the Prophets from her own perspective. The exchange that led to Az'Prel being sent home with them.

All of this and more they exchanged, even as she stroked her fingers against his own.

"Greetings, my husband. I've missed you, and I have had a very adventurous day. Shall we sit, take a meal together and discuss our individual days?" she smiled sweetly at him- the honest expression she tended to wear when she shared with him like this, just happy to be with him once more. Both tended to different duties during the day, but when they came together once more, it was always a joyous moment for her.

Sonak nodded.

''You shall do most of the conversation then, because my day was standard routine in the science department. Supervising experiments, recording measurements and filling up reports is not much to discuss about unless you have more than a passing interest for astrophysics, exobiology or quantum mechanics.''

"I hope not," Rita explained, breaking contact with him to step over to the stove to ladle out the soup into bowls. "I was there, sure, but I could really use some help analyzing and processing it all. Which, by the way, I sent you the scans from both trips through the wormhole, and Dedjoy got some internal scans of the neutrino surge when Az'Prel appeared. Did you get a look at them yet?"

Carrying the steaming bowls of a mushy blend of bean soup to the table, filling the air with the aromas of a hearty vegetarian feast, she went back to fetch the rolls. "Beyond that, I mean, what are these wormhole aliens slash prophets supposed to be? Have you read up on them at all? Oh, and can you get the water, please?"

He got the Altair water pitcher from the replicator then came back to answer her as he poured her a glass.

''According to the data I have briefly acquainted myself with, it is estimated with a reasonable degree of accuracy that they are transdimensional non corporeal entities of unknown origin; that have transcended material existence; and that they have achieved voluntary instant transmutation of matter and energy. They would be akin to the Naguile life form encountered by the USS Enterprise D a few decades ago; powerful cosmic sentient entities nevertheless bound to a certain continuum and mostly limiting their influence to a local area of our universe. It is most common that such entities are confused with spiritual entities by the imagination and ignorance of primitive people much less powerful than they are."

"Known motivations in this particular case?" Rita pressed, asking the relevant questions to seek clarification as she set the rolls on small plates next to the bowls of soup. As she passed him, her fingertips traced across his broad shoulders. As they were off duty and in their quarters alone, she could be more intimate with him, and as always, she craved contact with him, reassurance to her subconscious mind that he was there, and that she still existed.

''Estimating motivations is much more complex than mere physical parameters,'' the Vulcan retorted matter-of-factly; ''especially with sentient species of which we barely grasp this mere physical reality. What seems to be the case is that they are content to live within their own reality unless outer reality threatens them; isolationists in the broadest sense of the word. They seem to get some kind of yet undefined sustenance, possibly psionic in nature, from the nearby Bajoran people, therefore showing concern with their existence, sometimes even to the point of direct intervention. Beyond those two priorities, they seem unconcerned with whatever happens, even within their wormhole.''

He paused a moment to reflect before finishing his typically long-winded answer.

''As for this particular case; I would hypothesize that they are either concerned or at least aware of cosmic balance and thus, had come to the same conclusion as we did not so long ago; the existence of our own false universe was a threat to all of reality, therefore to themselves. And thus, they acted to correct the imbalance created here by Ambassador Spock and Nero. It could be that they are not totally unrelated to your own quantum transitory situation as they seem to be clearly involved in that of our newest arrival, the Az' Prel of Vulcan.''

“Wait, are you saying that they might be the reason I ended up in this reality? That’s… curious. How do you draw the connection, I’m curious?” When in doubt, ask the question. This was, after all, why she had asked for some time to process the experience with him. Sonak had a far greater understanding of such beings and forces, and thus asking him the questions had a much greater chance of producing answers than just pondering them on her own. Aside from the fact that she always enjoyed watching him work out a puzzle.

''I am not drawing such a conclusion; you are,'' he corrected. ''The only thing we can assess at this point, based on the data we have about these beings, is that they might have been aware and monitoring the situation. Anything beyond that is pure speculation. Vulcans do not speculate.''

The answer left her cold, and after the day she’d had, being chided for asking questions and being accused of drawing conclusions when seeking clarification was frankly not something she was in the mood to deal with. She had thought her close encounter with beings far removed from the experience of most might have ignited his scientific curiosity, and brought about an informative and lively discussion. Instead she was being made to feel stupid for asking, and she resented it. More and more lately it seemed their conversations were becoming laborious. He no longer seemed interested in what she had to say or what she brought to the table for discussions, and in fact often seemed dismissive. Which in turn distressed her further, and she ate her soup in silence, uncertain of what to say in response to that, or further, how to address how she was feeling.

It did not escape Sonak.

''You seem... disturbed, my wife.''

Taking her time to collect her thoughts and order them, Rita was silent for a long pause. After all, things had to be presented a certain way in order to effectively communicate with a master of logic. When she felt she had her response properly framed, she replied.

“Recently it has been my impression that my queries are less than welcome, and my company is no longer pleasing to you. I have attempted to engage you multiple times and felt as though my efforts are easily dismissed, which has resulted in me being less interested in reaching out more often. It has been my experience that you will respond to direct questions, but elaboration or exploration of topics is of little interest to you. In conversation, I have often drawn the conclusion that my intellectual inferiority has left me nothing to contribute to conversations with you. It has been a developing pattern for some time, and it is causing me emotional distress, as it is a new pattern to which I am unaccustomed. I find it disagreeable.”

It was the most logical way she could find to frame how she was feeling, and she hoped that it would be received as intended. She felt stupid talking to him lately, she felt as though he didn’t want to speak with her or spend time with her, and she felt as though she was not important to him- certainly not as much as she was in the past. Once he had celebrated her emotional vibrancy and curiosity, and now she found herself avoiding bringing up topics with him because the results depressed her. She’d experienced a wonder of the universe and was excited to share it with him, and the conversation in which she hoped to share and explore it with him had essentially reached its conclusion with her regretting having brought it up. Instead she felt stupid for bringing it up.

He stopped everything he was doing and looked at her straight on with his grey luminous eyes.

''Rita, I am sorry. Being a Vulcan does not make it easy for you to cope with my constant self control. That is no fault of yours. And being Kolinarh and thus devoid of emotion, it makes me insensitive to your own feelings. Alas, I can not be anything else than what I am and I am conscious of my limitations. This is not an excuse... and I am incapable of regret; but it is factual, nevertheless that I may not be up to your expectations.''

He paused but his gaze never faltered from her own.

''But despite this, I am always genuinely concerned with your well being, even your emotional well being, regardless of the fact that I am not really able to understand it. And that being said, never think for a moment that I do not greatly appreciate your presence in my life, your keen intelligence or your instinctive understanding, which is way beyond my logic. If my answers seem curt and dismissive, it is never of you but of me. I cannot speculate, even if you ask it. It is a limitation of mine I am forced to impose upon you... because of who and what I am.''

He stopped, not really able to formulate anything better than this bland admission of his limitation in interpersonal relationship. Before he knew her, his whole life has been spent either in solitary contemplation or with colleagues. This life experience he was sharing with her was so different, so unique, he wondered if he had the tools to just flow with it, let alone succeed in it.

But he truly wanted to try, if only for her sake. She was his Thy'la.

Watching his face as he spoke, her face contorted into a sort of frown and her eyes lowered to her plate. When she spoke, her voice was soft and unsteady. "I thought... I thought you did understand it," Rita replied, unable to meet his gaze. "After all these years, after all this time sharing minds, I thought... you did understand, you just didn't feel them yourself. But now you d-don't. Okay. Okay."

Hands gripping the chair, she shook slightly as she attempted to change course and move on. "I had... I had a really interesting day today..." she tried, but couldn't finish before she began to cry.

For a moment, he said nor did nothing, visibly taken aback by her reaction. Then his voice became softer thant she had ever heard it before.

''Understanding is not the same thing as feeling.''

And so saying, he extended his two fingers to her.

It took her a moment to notice the gesture, and even then, she was hesitant. They had been together for many years now, but the day and events had brought one of her old fears to the surface. In this case, that somehow she would damage him with her emotions, that she would somehow ‘break’ the master of logic by sharing her tsunami of emotions with him.

But tonight she felt alone after a long and trying day, and the truth of the matter was that she needed him. His words and actions may have exacerbated her emotional state, but this was him making an offering- literally reaching out to her. What she wanted was to be held, to be reassured. But those were human needs, and his method was far more direct. But touching, they re-established their bond and their thoughts and emotions would be shared freely.

Prying her hand loose from its deathgrip on the chair, a habit she had never broken when she was stressed or insecure, she mopped at her eyes and sniffled, then reached out with trembling fingers to touch her fingers to his.

Apart and never parted; always; touched and touched.

As the tought flowed to her, he started gently and slowly rubbing his fingers to hers. To a Human, it was not much. But to Vulcan, it was the nearest intimacy to sex; less than intercourse but more than a kiss, as their minds and souls touched with this delicate body contact. he could not feel her sadness or her anguish; but at least he could acknowledge it, respect it, possibly alleviate it a little bit.

It might have not been much; but to him, it was all that he could give... because through it he offered all of him and expressed how much he longed for all of her. It was not emotional longing; but somehow, it went even deeper than that. It was spiritual, integral, of both life and mind.

And she was the only one he ever felt in such a way; or ever will.

First her fingers wrapped around his, gripping them like a lifeline. Then her hand gripped his, then slowly she wrapped her other hand over it, and held his hand in both her own, leaning across the table to bring them to her forehead. She wanted to be held, to feel arms wrapped protectively about her, to be reassured. But that compromise was not offered, and while she felt his yearning for her, how it was expressed was just as important to her.

While he was and always would be Vulcan and he had limitations, she accepted them.

But she too had needs, and in the past he had understood that clearer and worked to accommodate her as well. She needed to hear the words of reassurance, needed to be communicated with not only on his level, but on her won. The blending of their species and culture that had made their relationship possible.

And so, understanding beyond even their bond, he stood up and went to her, to wrap his arms delicately around her.

He could not feel; but he could understand. And he could give; perhaps not the affection she deserved, but at least the presence she needed. More than anyone in any universe, he understood this. He understood her.

Sonak didn't move but applied enough pressure so that she would feel his solidness, his controlled strength and his higher body heat. The closeness would allow her to even smell his body odor and hear his beating heart against her lower ribs. He understood that this would provide her emotional comfort and a feeling of emotional significance, even if he didn't really felt any himself. But it would hopefully convey his deep appreciation of her presence in his life, her unique significance as aliving being to him among all that could exist in this or all reality. But most of all, it would reassure her taht she was alive, physical as much as spiritual. After what she had been through, she needed this feeling and, through their bonding and melds, he understood it almost as if he had felt it himself.

That understanding, he transmitted with his telepathic ability through their body contact, along with all that she meant to him.

He hoped that it would be enough for his alien, emotional, sensitive wife. Because she needed it.

And he needed her.

The faint scent of sandalwood that always seemed to accompany him was subtle, but like the man himself, significant to her. She felt his hands move cross her form, applying pressure, stroking and holding her gently despite his great strength. It moved her and comforted her- not only because it reinforced that she existed, but that he was here, with her. In a lifetime of traumas, being torn from him had left its mark on her, and she craved that reassurance.

Because she needed him.

Particularly now- their positions reversed in this reality, she was now the First Officer, and the stress and pressure of the position sometimes weighed on her. On deck, she had to appear decisive, controlled, yet accessible and professional. Only here, with him, could she let down those barriers, to let her anxieties be known, to relax and not be the icon of Starfleet service that was required of her beyond the door of their quarters.

Reassured, her tension slowly began to ebb. Reaffirmed, she clung to him, like a shipwreck survivor to driftwood. Emboldened, she shared her experience with him, from her own perspective- that of encountering the non-linear aliens who inhabited the wormhole, who had entrusted her with a survivor of a reality that was no more. For her it had been a remarkable experience in a lifetime of such, and she wanted nothing more to share it with him, to see if through his eyes. To hear his thoughts on it, even as she tried not to think about the fact that such aliens could just as easily have abducted her.

Emboldened by his arms about her, she calmed. She still worried of distance between them, and of growing apart. She worried that he grew weary of her and would find reasons to avoid her. She worried that her needs were too great for him to bear. She worried that he no longer found her interesting, but dull and commonplace. All of this passed through her mind, and in return, he held her, soothed her and listened; not to what she said, but to her needs, her fears, her anxieties and insecurities. The parts of her that she could share with no one else but him, because Rita Paris had to be so many things to so many people. But vulnerable and fragile was something she could always be with him, if no one else.

In the privacy of their quarters, alone, encircled in the arms of the last kolinahr, she could be… only human.

It had not been six hours as yet, and according to Doctor dael, Az'Prel would sleep for the next 10-12 hours. But the night had been a sleepless one after a bad day for Rita Paris, and when she came to sickbay, she encountered resistance. The Doctor's orders were that no one see the patient, and that was that.

Which prompted Rita Paris to explain the facts of rank and life in the military to the young corpsman on duty, demonstrating the relative positions in the hierarchy of orders between a Commander and a Petty Officer Third Class. There was some discussion of control over assigned duties, transfer orders that could be conjured with a few taps of a finger... the list went on.

"Mister Squ'zuod, I would very much not like to be the type of first officer who has to bully the enlisted into obeying my orders," Paris said calmly, drawing herself up to her full height. "I understand the room needs to be sterile- fine, decontaminate me, slap a forcefield belt on me, put me in a hazmat suit if you need to in order to obey the chief medical officer's orders. But make no mistake, I am going in that room, and I will come out when I am good and ready. Now, do we understand one another, corpsman?"

A moment later, having been sterilized, Rita Paris entered the hospital room of the refugee of another universe.

"Az'Prel? It's me, Commander Paris? Computer, lights, dim," the curious commander called out, waving from the doorway so as not to startle the veteran.

Az'Prel was slightly startled, but not so much that she left the biobed that she was laying in. She had decided to trust Commander Paris and that meant fighting back her fight or flight instinct. However, she was now wide awake. "Commander Paris. It is amenable to see you again. You have questions?"

"Sure, I have a few. Let's start with the basic one- how do you feel?" It was a Vulcan joke as far as she knew, but it worked for humans pretty well as an inquiry into one's well-being.

The displaced Vulcan looked up and stared at Rita for a few moments, weighing the question carefully before answering. It may have been a joke, but in her case she felt it deserved a serious answer. "I feel... Good... For the first time in my memory, I feel good."

That brought a simple smile to the human woman's face, and she nodded. "Doc Dael is very dedicated, very thorough and very compassionate." Rita pulled up a chair and settled down into it, the fatigue of the day clear in her body language. "Their holographic fellow practitioner is the sum total of a lot of accumulated medical knowledge. A remarkable individual made of photons and forcefields, a very complex program with a delightful accent and can appear anywhere on the ship."

"Welcome to the future," Rita chuckled. "So a bunch of those aches and pains you've been pushing past are gone. Just the burns alone... I read the medical report. You are a singularly determined survivalist, Miss Az'Prel."

Az'Prel rested her head back on the pillow and did her best to relax. "As a logician, you face many extra foes in your life starting at a very young age. I've been imprisoned, tortured, and left in an agony booth for several years of my life for following a different way. I cannot remember a time when I was not hungry, hurting, or wanting for security, and yet I now have those needs met. I must admit that there is a part of me that believes this to be a trap of some sort, but nothing about this universe says that it is."

"I suspect there will always be a part of you on the lookout for a trap, and that might save your life. But the Prophets apparently decided that you were the redeeming quality of your universe. Food for thought, that," Rita leaned forward, clasping her hands together. "Of course, you may not be the only survivor- you're the one we know of, in the modern day. Traveling dimensionally and not chronally, any escapees of the Mirror Universe into this reality would have been at most maybe a hundred and ten years in the past. So, I guess take comfort in the fact that... well, kind of grim, but all of your tormentors are likely dead if they made it here, and definitely deleted by paradox if you left them behind. So you are free, from anyone in your life who ever hurt you."

"That is indeed a calming thought," replied the refugee Vulcan. "Even though I am one of the few that follow the teachings of logic and abandon emotion, I have to admit a certain level of satisfaction in that my enemies and torturers are now either dead and gone or now never existed."

Az'Prel then turned her head to look Rita in the eyes solemnly. "I feel a need to repay these kindnesses I have been shown in whatever way I am able. What is there that you desire of me and my body?"

At that Rita’s eyes grew wide, and she held out her hands, palms first. “Whoah whoah whoah whoah whoahhhhh, hold on there, Miss Az’Prel. We’re not that sort of Starfleet,” Rita chuckled. “You owe us nothing for our help- we’re Starfleet, this is what we do. Elevate, repair, fix, heal, restore, and move forward together into the future. If anything, I’d like that for you.”

“According to procedure, we should send you back to Earth, to work with the psychiatrists and therapists at Starfleet Psych. They are pretty amazing at what they do, and they can help you deal with living in a universe that is far more at peace and calmer than the one you have known your entire life. But that would be sending you to what was in your reality the heart of the Terran Empire amongst strangers. Well, not that you aren’t already amongst strangers,” the curvaceous commander admitted.

“However, I don’t feel that going to the heart of the United federation of Planets and home base of Starfleet’s necessarily what’s best for you. I will admit- I’ll never know the horrors that you endured in getting here. If you would like to talk about them, I’ll listen, of course. I think discussing them with Dr. Dael will most likely help you, as will connecting with Sonak,” the fulsome First Officer smiled a bit as she said his name, a wry sort of smile. “Here, Vulcans embraced logic millennia ago, and they have mastered their emotions, some even purging themselves completely, as he did years ago. I think you will find your logician mindset is much more the norm than emotional Vulcans.”

“Point being, I think you should stay here, on the Hera, with us. We’ll find a way for you to contribute, to find purpose and direction amongst the crew here. If nothing else, the Prophets entrusted you to me, so I feel responsible for you. I’ve been the stranger in a strange land, and I know it is terrifying and lonely and you spend so much time worrying about pressing the wrong button or saying the wrong thing…” Paris trailed off, then sighed.

“I’m sorry, Miss Az’Prel. I always swore I would be better at this than I am, and I am afraid I am not doing a very good job reassuring you.” The buxom bombardier shook her head ruefully, then her bright blue eyes met those of the Vulcan refugee from a universe of horrors. “You are free to go where you will and do as you wish. If you would like to return to your homeworld, here, it is intact and filled with like-minded individuals. If you wish to travel the galaxy and see the sights, you are free to do so. We have helped you because you were in need, and that’s what we stand for. But you owe us nothing for it. We would, however, like to at least help you acclimate, and if I let you out of Sickbay before Doctor Dael is through tending to your injuries I’d likely never hear the end of it.”

The displaced Vulcan thought on it for a moment, a small chuckle building within her that she could barely contain and eventually lost the battle against, revealing that her emotional barriers had worn down just that far. With that slight chuckle, a slight grin, and a tear in her eye, she spoke from her heart. "Thank you, Commander. I have never known such freedom before. I must think on what to do with my life. But for now; it may be a leap of logic, but I believe I may be meant to be here. To aid you and your crew in some way."

"Oh, I don't doubt it for a moment, Miss Az'Prel. It may be presumptuous, but for now at least..." Rita Paris stood up, and offered one of those winning smiles, genuinely glad for the turn of events. Spreading her arms wide, Rita made a presentation of it. "Welcome to the USS Hera, Starfleet Intelligence vessel NCC-79010, Prime Universe. The year is 2396, the closing days of the 24th century, and Starfleet has once again undertaken their mission to explore strange new worlds. To seek out new life, and new civilizations. To boldly go where no human has gone before."

"We, ah, actually don't do a lot of that, to be honest. Starfleet is, though, and that's good." Rita looked a bit sheepish and that wide-armed showmanship turned to hands held behind her back bashfully. "The crew of the Hera are more... troubleshooters. We follow around an adventurous admiral who finds trouble, figures out the situation then calls us in as the cavalry. So the crack freedom fighter who could use a hot meal will actually be welcome. And I assure you, we are on the side of the angels. We always try diplomacy, good manners, and sometimes cowboy diplomacy. We'll kill if we have to, but we do our best not to meet force with greater force."

Az'Prel thought on this for a moment, trying to view things from the eyes of this universe rather than her own. It wasn't easy to filter out the hatred, but she did her best. "But where it is necessary, you are prepared to make the choices that the rest of Starfleet is unprepared for and ensure the well being of all parties because they focus on science, and diplomacy and as an Intel vessel geared for combat you are better equipped for the unexpected. Is this assumption correct?"

"We're troubleshooters, as I like to put it. But yes, your assumption is correct, Miss Az'Preal." Paris grinned then, a mischievous affair that made her look rakish as she paced slowly around the bedside of the freedom fighter who was finally free. "We are the explorers who find the abandoned base that's been infested by the undead, only to rescue a stranded time traveler inside. We're the the errand runners who get caught when they run into a dark matter ion storm that plays hob with the holographics to run the crew through mazes. We're the planetary liberation team brought in to make contact with the resistance, and lead a rebellion to overthrow an alien tyrant. We've been to worlds that weren't really there, and seen thought manifested as reality. We keep company with beggars and gods. We, Miss Az'Prel, are the USS Hera."

With that, Paris fished a piece of jewelry out of her bra. Access into her top, as the only real pockets in her uniform, was a very big reason she'd asked for her old uniform back. Working with that collar had been killing her. Producing a shiny gold and silver delta, she held it up for the Vulcan woman to see.

"The delta... that comes from my day," Rita pointed to her classic Command delta, the Starfleet emblem of her era. "The twin towers behind them are supposed to be for inclusiveness? I don't really know, honestly."

"At any rate, this is your comm badge. It enables the ship to keep track of you at all times, which sounds a lot more sinister than it is. That means the computer is listening, and if you tap it, you activate it. You then speak, because someone is listening, and they will process the request. If you want to talk to the computer, it will answer. It has some rather remarkable control over the ship, so I would advise- be polite to her. You'll have limited access until you're cleared for duty, but you have all the libraries of the ship to draw upon, which you will find are remarkably comprehensive."

"You have an entire history to learn, Miss Az'Prel. I suspect you will be a better student than I."

"Material goods are produced by replicators, which are conveniently located in a surprising number of spaces, are open for most requests for any sort of matter- food, clothing, tools. You get a remarkably large matter ration to pull things out of the replicator to your heart's content. Kind of changed society and they'll kind of change your life. But to finally get to the point of this very long-winded introductions..."

Rita Paris offered the comm badge to the hard luck heroine, lone survivor of a grim and doomed reality who had been delivered to a paradise by the Prophets of Bajor.

"Welcome aboard the Hera, Az'Prel of Vulcan."

“Children?” Mnhei'sahe Dox said, looking in the mirror of the bathroom of her quarters. The quarters that no longer felt like a barren wasteland of nothingness since Mona Gonadie moved in.

The entire room was in the process of being redecorated by the colorful Miradonian pilot and Dox couldn't be happier about that fact. Everywhere she looked, she could see Mona's touch in their now shared quarters and it was an amazing comfort to the red-headed Romulan woman.

But that wasn't what was weighing on Dox's mind. Instead she was focused on what Mona had told her just before the new couple had decided to move to the next step by moving in together. Mona wanted children. She wanted Dox's children. And that idea had Mnhei'sahe Dox in a cold sweat.

While she was thirty-one, she still felt like a child herself. She was only just beginning to feel like she might actually have a future for the first time and had no idea if she was prepared to be a parent. To say nothing of her horrible relationship with her own mother. Children were never a consideration in the young Romulan's mind.

Then again the short, routund pilot never even considered the possibility of finding love of any kind, and yet here she was. Of course, there were other factors to consider. While Romulans, even those with altered DNA, could live until the age of two hundred and sixty, Miradonian's tended to live until around the age of eighty. And Mona was thirty-three already.

She had told Dox that she wasn't sure how many fertility cycles she had left and now Dox was worried that her indecisive nature would rob Mona of her happiness. But she worried about that on a general level as it was. But their different life spans was already a cause of pain for Dox. Miradonian's mate for life and Mona was bonded to Dox. But as much as Dox loved her, she knew she was fated to lose her when she was still proportionately young.

Any children they had would like have extended lifespans, but it was entirely possible that Dox could outlive them as well. The idea was terrifying to her and it was that fear that was driving her mind as it raced.

Mona would still be on duty for another half hour, but Dox had collapsed in the large round nest that was their shared bed. It was incredibly soft. Almost as soft as Mona's arms. Almost as soft as the trilling hum she made when they held each other. Dox felt that absence every moment they were apart to a bizarre degree, so why did the idea of becoming a family terrify her so much?

Maybe 'family’ was the operative word. Her own family was an epic disaster. A Mother that was a party to genetically and surgically having her own daughter altered for reasons Dox didn't know. A father that it turns out was nothing more that the source of human DNA that was used to hide her some something. A real father she had but a single memory of.

The only positive family memories she had were Shawn and Juliet Dox. The parents of the man she thought was her father. The elderly human couple that took an angry young Romulan girl into their home just on the belief that they were family. Only recently did Dox learn that they were in no way related. But they offered their home and their love to a stranger. But Dox was too angry to accept it and she ruined that as well.

So to her, family has become a dirty word. And the idea of being to someone else what her mother was to her was terrifying. But she wasn't her mother and she was committed to never never becoming her. But wasn't that what every daughter said? She knew she had so much of her mother in her. When she reprimanded an officer under her command, she heard her mother's voice. When she gave an order, it was spoken with the same tone she cringed from so often as a child.

Rolling face down, Dox burried her head in the pillow wrapped in bedding that mirrored the beautiful blues and yellows of Mona's plumage and let out an exaggerated scream of frustration, properly muffled.

Miradonian's had multiple children at a time. Between two and four, Mona said. So Dox would have the opportunity to screw up with up to four lives at a time. On a Starship where a space god could wipe them all out at a moment's notice. There were a thousand reasons to not even consider it.

But here she was, thinking about it anyway. Thinking about the longing look in Mona's deep, Amber gold eyes when she told Dox she wanted her chicks. Which was in one hand impossibly romantic and in the other, another problem. They were literally from different worlds.

Romulans, like all Vulcanoid races, had green, copper based blood. It made having children with other races an act that required considerable scientific intervention to achieve. And while Mona had complete faith in Doctor Asa Dael's ability to solve the dilemma, Dox wasn't so confident.

What if she could succeed, but the children were born sick? What if something went wrong? These were questions that every potential parent in history had stressed over, but they still dug in tight in Dox's mind.

She had never wanted children. She had never wanted to be a mother. She had never thought anyone would love her. But here she was, waiting for the woman that was bonded to her for life to walk through the door and wrap her soft arms around her.

And suddenly everything she thought she knew was different.

“It’s ok, Yeoman Ogg, vomit happens,” Doctor Asa Dael said gently, entrusting their patient to the capable hands of Ensigns Carrott and Vimes as they went to replicate a new uniform shirt.

The Yeoman in question was a lovely young human officer, recently married to a civilian stationed aboard the Hera. A shotgun wedding as it turned out.

The outbreak of pregnancy aboard the Hera caused by her namesake goddess residing in the VIP Quarters had largely come to a close, but a few stragglers here and there kept popping up, usually a little further along than the usual person seeking confirmation of pregnancy, leaving Dael to conclude that Hera’s influence had indeed ebbed, but it was just taking time to filter through all those influenced. In the meantime though, well, vomit happens.

Freshly changed, Asa sat at their desk typing a report to the captain and first officers, noting that replacements would need to be found for both personnel and recommending their immediate transfer to a less danger prone vessel. The Hera was not cleared for children for a reason, and considering the horrors often inflicted on the vessel, Asa deemed it prudent to complete transfers quickly whenever possible.

Report filed, the doctor set about putting the finishing touches on the days’ work. It had been a long 12 hour shift, but crew physicals always seemed to come due at the same time, and there were a thousand little things needing tending to when the ship was not in crisis mode. Right as they went to stand and leave Ensign Carrott popped his shocking red head into the office.

“Subspace communication for you on channel five, Doctor.”

“Thank you Ensign. Oh, how is the wife? Married life going well?” Asa inquired. Carrott was recently wed himself, and Asa had some suspicions that the newlyweds wouldn’t be long for the Hera either. Carrott was a good man with moon eyes for his new bride, and every pregnancy they treated together he took on a wistful expression that all but screamed “Someday.”

“It will be if I’m not late for dinner,” he replied with a smile.

“Better get to it then, dismissed Ensign. Have a good night.”

After Carrott had made his exit, Doctor Dael pressed the button to answer the subspace communication at a terminal on their desk. Likely a doctor based on DS9 needing a consult, after all the Hera was due at the station in two days and doctors frequently asked for a second set of eyes on difficult cases. Without fully looking up from the report they were finishing they said, “Chief Medical Officer Dael here, how can I help?”

A gravelly voice answered, stopping Asa cold. “Asa, it’s Daddy. We need to talk.”

“Why?” Asa snarled, taking in their fathers drawn face, sunken eyes, and pale skin.

Keres had always been a vital man, well over 6 foot tall, with a stocky build that seemed to have now withered away. He had the same pointing in every direction brown hair as Asa, and near identical gray blue eyes. There was still no mistaking the two for father and child, but Keres seemed to have aged well beyond his 1700 years in the decade since Asa left.

To anyone else in the galaxy, Asa welcomed them with a smile and open hand. Better to presume the good in someone and have it confirmed than seek the bad and confirm that instead they thought. Of course not everyone could live up to those standards, and Asa was already experienced at hiding their disappointment in the selfishness of others, but there was one life form that was beyond any redemption to the Doctor’s mind- their father.

After exiting the Nexus almost 100 years ago, Asa’s parents had sought refuge on Bajor to live in peace and raise a family. The Bajorans welcomed them and allowed the small El-Aurian community to keep to itself, governing and raising their families as they saw fit. Then as religious fervor overtook much of Bajor, the El-Aurian refugee’s had adopted some extreme beliefs of their own, leading to a rejection of medicine, science, and most of all, common sense. Growing up Asa had come to the conclusion this was folly and had begged their father and mother to reject these unsound notions. Although their mother Kendra had been willing, Keres was not, and he ruled with an iron fist. When Asa’s Kendra gave birth to their baby brother, Brennan, she had died as a result of birthing complications and infection. A young Asa had raged at the injustice, but sought to find ways to care for Brennan by circumventing Father’s prohibition on medications. Being a child, Asa was caught and forbidden to provide any other medicines to the ever-sickly boy. Then, one horrible day, Asa’s world ended when Brennan lost the fight to his undiagnosed illnesses, passing away at the age of 14. Soon after the soon-to-be Doctor ran off to join Starfleet, leading them to their current assignment as Chief Medical Officer on the USS Hera.

The Hera was an intel vessel, and Her crew saw a great many dangers and injuries. Asa found the work exhilarating, and had come to view the crew as an adopted family. They were young for the position, but Asa was young for just about everything. Most El-Aurians did not leave home until they were at least 80 or 90 years of age. At only 27, Asa was considered the equivalent of a 12-year old running away to join the circus to most El-Aurians.

“Because I said so, and I’m your father young man,” Keres replied, voice full of self-importance and indignation.

“Young person, Keres,” Asa growled, “Remember? The one thing you would let me see a doctor about growing up? Hardly my fault I was born in a gendered body I never asked for. Or did you think the gender nullification was just a phase? I assure you, it wasn’t. If you wish to speak to me ever again beyond this sentence, you will get that right.”

“Fine, Asa, fine,” Keres said in a conciliatory tone. “I only thought that you would change your mind to carry on the family name since your brother was so cruelly taken from us.”

The simmering rage in Asa’s head exploded.

“Computer, privacy lock, filter, and sound proofing please. Authorization Dael, LJG, 314159”

The office windows went opaque, and a slight click spoke of a locked door and soundproofing field coming to life.

“He was rather cruelly taken from us, wasn’t he?” they said at long last. There was no warmth in their voice, no curiosity, no sadness- just rage. Pure, white hot rage. Without raising their voice, Asa continued, “But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you? Seeing as you were the one that took him. If you wanted a son to carry on the family name, maybe you shouldn’t have killed the one you had, you utter bastard.”

Hands shaking from the adrenalin spike, Asa concluded, “It’s they, Keres. Not he. Child, not son. Actually, scratch that, Doctor, not child. If you need an honorific, may I suggest you try Myx? I’ve only been suggesting it for the last 17 years. Now what do you want. I’m busy.”

Keres face was a mask of anger until Asa named themself Doctor. At that, the man wilted.

“Oh, Asa. A doctor? I pray the prophets will bless the path that brings you to repentance. But it will help you to understand what I’m about to tell you. I was diagnosed with Gamma Variant Vahar’ai. I would like to see you again, before the end. Surely you would grant your father such a request?”

Vahar’ai.

The word dropped like a ten pound stone on Asa’s chest.

The Kelpians, from whom the disease originated, were still pre-warp and largely unknown among the stars. However when Saru left the Kelpian homeworld the century prior, he had brought with him a dormant version of Vahar’ai. It took 25 years before Starfleet medical concluded that a new disease causing increased heartrate and death precognition was a mutated version of Vahar’ai. Over the next 113 years the disease had continued to mutate as it spread among different species. While it was not curable, Starfleet Medicial had devised several treatment options that would all but stop the diseases progression. It did not have to be a fatal diagnosis, but Asa knew immediately that their medically averse father would not chose treatment, instead choosing to believe the disease a sign from the Gods that it was his time to die.

“I am on my way. Expect my arrival within the week,” was all the doctor said.

“Thank you, little one. I will see you soon. Bajor Quarantine Station Zed out,” Keres signed off.

Leaning back in their seat, Asa pinched the bridge of their nose and took a deep breath.

=^=Doctor Dael to Captain Telvan and Commander Paris. Can you please come to my office? There is something I need to discuss with you =^=.

Perhaps discussing time off the Hera to tend to a family matter could have waited until the next day, but Asa needed to take charge of this now. They needed to feel like they had some part of it, any part of it, under control. A million different contingencies ran through Asa’s mind for how to convince Keres to seek treatment, but none of it could be done over subspace. Honestly Asa wasn’t entirely sure how Keres knew where to contact them, and that had the potential for a security leak that needed to be addressed. On top of that sh*t sundae there was the revelation that they were born male and had chosen to become agendered. It had never seemed important before today, but knowing how Keres was, he would find a way to make sure everyone knew of what he perceived to be Asa’s failings, and the doctor would rather people find out from them instead of him.

And to think, Asa thought the worst thing that would happen today was being vomited on.

Enalia was already on her way to sickbay when she got the call with business of her own, but the tone of Asa's voice said that the business she had would have to wait. Instead, she tugged down on her uniform top and quickened her pace for the last leg of her journey to sickbay.

When she got to sickbay, night operations were in full swing so she just headed straight to Asa's office and tapped on the door frame. "Knock knock. Is it bad news? Is there a plague lose on the ship?"

Standing to greet the Captain, Asa appeared to shake themself from reverie before saying" Plague? No ma'am, please have a seat, can I offer you something to drink?"

The headache forming in the back of Asa's eyes led to them looking haggard. They had not eaten in seven hours and should have been resting at home when the message from Bajor had arrived. To top it off unwanted tears were trying to escape, a reaction Asa sometimes had to emotional shock and anger, but not one they wanted to have in front of the Captain. In a time practiced manner, Asa pinched their nose and swallowed, thinking as they always did about teaching that little trick to Brennan to ward off tears

For once the gesture failed and a single tear began to fall that Asa wiped away surreptitiously.

"I think you're the one that needs a drink, from the looks of it. Maybe a cup of camomile with honey?" The spotted woman spoke softly as she entered the office and sat across from Asa. She hadn't missed the tear or the moistness in her Doctor's eyes. "You have bad news?"

"Aye Captain," Asa said, slumping back down to their seat, head resting in their hands. After a few deep breaths Asa looked up, "It's my father, he's...he's dying. He doesn't have to be...the fool could live for centuries yet....but he is choosing to die."

A thumping began in the distance that slowed down as it approached the chief medical officer's office, getting quieter until the hum of the transporter took hold, then Rita Paris rapped on the door and peeked inside cautiously. "I take it this is not the sort of danger one needs EVA armor to face?"

Asa stood to greet Commander Paris, motioning for her to sit. "I wish it was, ma'am. I was just telling the Captain...my father called me from Bajor. He's....he's dying ma'am. He has Vahar'ai."

At this point Asa could not stop a few more rebel tears from leaking out. "I would like to request time to visit him on Bajor when we are at DS9. And...well, I would be foolish to ignore the possibility he may have made arrangements to have me... detained... to complete an El Aurian funereal ritual... they often start years before the death of an elder and last for a decade or two after. We... we don’t die often, and our leaders often hold their positions for a millennia or two... and well, Keres has led our colony since they left the Nexus. And there are expectations for him to be mourned that he will insist on. And want them led by... his son."

The androgynous person lifted their head to better make eye contact with the Captain and First Officer. Better to spill all the proverbial beans now.

"Because when I was born, that's what I was considered. His eldest son. But... but I'm not that, not really, I never was, I had my gendered aspects removed as soon as my physiology allowed... but I... I didn't want you to be surprised if Keres or other members of the community refer to me as his son. Some of them were less than accepting of my transition, which considering what religious nut-bars they are, well, I doubt you are surprised to hear they were less than kind.”

A slightly hysterical note resounded as Dael concluded, "Gods I hate him....I have no idea how he even knew how to reach me. I never wanted to see him again or have any part of his little cult of personality...and now he gets sick, and I have to go don't I? I'm a bloody doctor, I am honor-bound to try to convince him to seek treatment, but he won’t. And I will be stuck there for decades, losing everything I worked for. Gods, he always wins in the end..."

As if realizing they were babbling, Asa turned beet red and placed their head back in their hands, running fingers through close cropped hair.

"Please, forgive me," was all they could say to finish.

"Hey, hey hey hey... all right, let's unpack this a bit," Rita volunteered, knowing this wasn't the captain's arena. "First, that was a painful confession, and we appreciate you sharing it with us so we would hear it from you first. Because if someone starts misgendering our chief medical officer, now we'll know why. Next... I think I can speak for the command when I say that we respect all creeds and faiths."

"But you are not his son, the USS Hera cannot stick around for a decade or two, we will not accept your resignation and we're afraid that you know too much classified information to be reassigned to a shore billet on Bajor to oversee a funeral. So while we can bring you in for a visit, it's pretty darn clear that our ship's surgeon is needed here. Your manipulative old man, on the other hand, can make his own choices." A manipulative and disapproving father figure was something Rita Paris understood all too well, and just because the familial leash had been yanked, she wasn't about to let Asa Dael throw away their career away over it.

"I have to agree. I also have to insist that you not go alone and that you wear an emergency transport tag on you at all times." The concept of refusing medical treatment to Enalia was about as far removed from reality as you could get so this whole thing smelled of a trap to her. As for manipulative parentage, This was exactly the sort of thing she would expect of her mother to try to expose her so she wasn't about to let Asa walk into a similar trap. On the flip side, if Asa's father really was dying... Of a curable disease... She knew that she couldn't stop her Chief Medical Officer from at least going to see if they could change the old fool's mind. Besides, this was still their father, after all.

A bit of the tension seemed to go out of Asa’s shoulders hearing their responses. The doctor had expected no less from their friends, but after a childhood spent being told they were wrong about who they knew themself to be it was always reassuring to have others easy acceptance of their identity. The fierce protectiveness that Asa knew the Captain and First Officer had towards the crew also reassured them that they were cared for because of whothey are, not any genetic or outward variables beyond the doctors control.

“Thank you, both of you, truly,” Asa replied, “I…I would greatly appreciate someone with me. While El Aurians aren’t as nefarious like the Collector and his ilk, well, we are just an old species. You know how for most people their grandmother is a little behind the times? She means well, but she just hasn’t kept up with the latest technology or cultural norms, so she’s always just a little bit wrong? That’s all of El Aurian culture- except they aren’t a mere 100 years behind, more like 1000 at times. Some of my friends growing up had parents that still viewed Vulcans as a newly warp capable society and felt the Federation was just another passing fancy that will fall away in a century or two, so no need to get involved now. I joke a lot about the old codgers….but there really is an otherness in a society that lives dramatically longer than most sentient life in the galaxy...And trust me, I have no desire to spend the next 20 years reading the colonies histories and reflecting on the ‘wisdom of one who has entered eternity’”,” Asa held the first two fingers of each hand aloft for the last sentence, scrunching them down twice in succession to indicate they were quoting from an outside source.

"But even knowing it's going to be horrible...I still have to go. I may hate him, but it doesn't change the fact he's my father. I wish it did," Asa concluded in a small voice.

“I know a little bit about old-fashioned fathers,” Rita spoke up, making eye contact with the Captain for approval before proceeding. “I’ve never been to Bajor, and I would be happy to go with you, Asa, to watch your back and insure no one runs roughshod over you. I can do it officially as a Starfleet officer, or as a private citizen of the Federation, whichever would serve the mission better. You’re Starfleet, so you are never alone, and you certainly don’t have to face this alone.”

“But I’m afraid that your old dad can’t just whistle and have you back under his thumb for another couple of decades. You have a commitment to Starfleet, and you swore an oath. That oath precludes parental manipulative guilt- a fact I had to rather forcibly remind my own father of over the years,” Rita snickered.

At the unexpected humor, Asa barked a brief laugh, “I may need one of those speeches of yours, ma’am. Heaven knows for a race of listener, Keres, my father that is, can talk to beat the band. But considering the source, maybe I do have a few things in common with him after all...”

“Should I be concerned how he was able to reach me, Captain? I had requested my subspace frequency not be given out by Starfleet Command to anyone I had not preauthorized, even before being assigned to this ship. I…I always knew he would pull something like this, and I tried to stop if before it happened. Truth be told, I’m not even sure how he knew for sure I was in Starfleet. When last we spoke I believe my parting words were “Screw you old man, I’m going to the Gamma Quadrant.”

"That was likely my fault, " replied Enalia. "I had to send DS9 preregistration for the refugees we picked up at Starbase 336 and you're the registered attending physician."

“Oh, of course Captain. Naturally I still want to aid in the treatment of the refugee’s, I’m sure Keres can wait a day or two for that to be taken care of. Well, word travels quickly I guess. I imagine Keres had ears open for my name since I left. El-Aurians are patient above all else after all….Wonder how many people he paid off…..”

Slumping slightly to consider the mystery, Asa shook their head to dispel irrelevant thoughts. The how of the call had been less important than the why, and Asa knew they were only forestalling dealing with the emotional blowback that was surely on its way.

“Insofar as I can guess anything ahead of time, I am going to need to go to Bajoran Quarantine outpost Zed to visit Keres. We may need approval from the Bajoran government ahead of time, I will need to look into that. I was immunized against the gamma variant he is carrying, naturally, as per regulation, but Bajor is so deeply religious they don’t require vaccinations from anyone with religious objection, so they keep quite a few outposts around to isolate disease carriers. I’ll probably need to stop there first, but I imagine I will need to go to our Colony also to wrap up whatever business Keres left undone before his seclusion. Beyond that… it’s hard to say. I would like to visit Brennan’s grave if possible. I- I never really got to say goodbye before. I was too busy leaving…”

Tears began to threaten to fall again, so Asa once more pinched their nose and swallowed before continuing, “I think just one or two other people with me would be plenty, though. No need to tie up the rest of the crew dealing with El-Aurian family drama. There may be a bit of a social disturbance, but nothing requiring the new security team to flex their muscles, just yelling and guilt trips. Well, and the elders trying to ground me for the next 20 years.. Of course, I would certainly welcome Commander Paris presence. She…I mean, well….it would be nice to have a friend guarding my back,” Asa concluded in a small voice.

“Unless the Captain wants to do it, I’ll accompany you,” Rita volunteered, speaking gently but with steel in her voice. All of this brought her defensive nature to bear, and when it came to the frail physician, Rita was perhaps more defensive than most. “Hell, I’ll bring a security team if you like, or show up armed and armored. You’ve followed me into war zones more than once- the least I can do is be your bodyguard here. I guess we should make sure my immunizations are up to date, since I haven’t had one in a century or so. As for detaining you, ‘While the United Federation of Planets respects the religious practices of all of its members, those strictures do not apply to Starfleet officers in regard to the performance of their duties should said customs come at cross-purpose with the fulfilment of said duties’. In other words, service first, religion second.”

“Rightly so,” Asa said, reflexively nodding.

“I don’t think we need full armor for this, though I admit the idea of storming the colony fully kitted out is mentally pleasing if for no other reason than the elders chagrined faces, but a phaser or two is probably not a bad idea. Keres might need the Commander Pierce treatment if he gets too lippy,” the doctor said in an attempt at humor. Commander Pierce was the now deposed human leader of a research base that earned himself a stun shot from Rita when he lacked the good sense to shut up and go peacefully into custody.

“ The only possible resistance we would meet in the traditional sense would come from the El-Aurian Civil Defense League. It’s really just a trumped up name for a group of about 10-12 veterans from various conflicts that ‘keep the peace’ by patrolling the streets. In truth, all they really do is make sure Elder Harmon doesn’t break his neck staggering home from a bar. Only two or three of them even own phasers, and I would be surprised if the power cells in them were charged.”

Shrugging, Paris acknowledged. “Okay, if it’s not that dangerous, I'll skip the full security team. We’ll give you a transport implant tag so it won’t be noticed and can’t be easily removed, and we’ll maintain a transporter lock on you at all times. And given what you are telling me, I will in fact be armored, as I’ll be in no mood to put up with any lip.” Given the amount of caution that the doctor was displaying, Paris had no qualms whatsoever about using far more force than was necessary to insure their safety. If one errant adventurer was insufficient to keep them safe, Paris would treat the situation as an incursion into hostile territory and come bearing advanced armor and weaponry.

The smile that Asa flashed did not fully touch their eyes, but the gratitude was heartfelt and obvious as they said, “If nothing else, it will make it clear that bad behavior won’t be tolerated. Thank you, ma’am. I’m sure there are other places you would rather be. This won’t cause any issues with the Bajoran government will it?”

Asa was unclear on all the political ramifications possible in having armed personnel from Starfleet on the planet, but they knew they couldn’t live with themself if their family drama caused an incident to command.

“They are members of the Federation, are they not?” Rita asked, then with a nod from the Captain proceeded. “Thus Starfleet personnel on Starfleet business will create no diplomatic incident, so long as I insure everyone lives. You may have noticed I prefer non-lethal solutions, so it won’t be a problem. Captain, anything you’d care to weigh in on here?”

"They may be Federation members, but they don't like a lot of interference because of the wormhole and the whole religious thing so I'd prefer if you left the armor at home. That being said, since I'll be here coordinating repairs and refugee relief efforts and worrying about Tribunal meetings..." Enalia furrowed her brow in consternation. "I would feel better if you took not only the Thor as your main ride, but invited Death along. As I understand it, only a few people are able to even see this being and frankly, I wouldn't even sure we're guarding anything or anyone if I hadn't been able to confirm there was something causing a disturbance in those quarters with the holoprojection scanners."

"As for your original gender..." Enalia folded her hands in front of her thoughtfully. "It's probably my own upbringing showing through, but I had a bit of a time converting your pronouns from female to gender neutral, which, let's face it, symbionts are asexual so it wasn't that hard once I figured it in that context. Ahem... That's not something I should have admitted to, is it..." Enalia looked down sheepishly for a moment before recovering her confidence. "Either way, you know who you are and you're Myx Asa Dael, Chief Medical Officer of the USS Hera. On top of that, your family here is not about to let you go."

"It's a poorly held secret that symbionts are asexual, ma'am. At least among medical corps. I...am relieved to have a true family now, Captain. I welcome Cara Anam's company, although if her existence is to remain a secret, I would be remiss to not point out anyone close to their appointed time would likely see her, and although rare, deaths do occur in a quarantine station, " Asa replied.

"And it may be that El Aurians can see her as well since you can still see her after she bonded with Schwein..." The spotted Captain mused on this point for a moment before finalizing the call. "Either way, she may need to go there for her job, right? Then I see no harm in asking her."

"Oh sure, leave the power armor at home because it might be too aggressive. But here, bring the incarnation of Death, because that's a friendly handshake," Rita muttered, rolling her eyes.

Enalia stared blankly at her first officer "As Death is a natural part of life... Yes. Power armor is not and thus far less diplomatic in regards to anything religious. Especially if we remind them of the Cardassian Occupation. Basic weapons only, double the medkits, don't inflame the religious zealots, constant transporter locks."

"Aye Captain, as you say. Not arguing, just eyerolling. I promise to be polite and not unduly frighten the locals in the leper colony who want their wayward lamb to come home," Rita held up one hand and placed the other over her heart. "Phaser and a miniskirt, commbadge and my wits is what I'm used to anyway."

"On top of that..." Enalia knew this probably wasn't the best time, but it couldn't hurt so she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black box that she knew everyone aboard was likely familiar with by now. She slid it across the desk to Asa and nodded. "How about you go down there as a full Lieutenant? It might help."

The smile that graced Asa’s face this time reached their eyes. “I…I don’t know what to say, ma’am, but thank you. I am honored for the trust you place in me, and I will endeavor to continue to be worthy of it. And hey, losing the Junior Grade just takes some ammo out of their you-are-just-a-child argument, so win win?” The doctor sat up straight while speaking, unconsciously brushing a hand along their collar as they spoke.

"You say that and I'm tempted to send someone that would consider them a child..." Enalia muttered, looking between Asa and Rita. "I'm sure everything will turn out well enough in the end. I mean... It'll definitely be emotionally stressful... But we'll be here for you and remember, we're you're family too and we love you."

“Thank you, Captain, I love each of you fiercely also. Now let’s go show the old man what family really means, aye?”

"Oh, aye," Paris replied with a grin. "I always was the black sheep of the family..."

You can never go home again. That’s what the old saying was. Lieutenant Asa Dael had always hoped that would be more of a promise than a warning, but here they were, getting ready to shuttle back to Bajor, back to the El-Aurian colony they grew up in….back to their father.

Carrying a small backpack with a few changes of clothes and some essentials, Asa also had their med bag in tow. The bag, usually reserved for away missions, was stuffed to the gills with vaccines, preventatives, pre-natal supplements, prophylactics, and medications for the most common El-Aurian illnesses. Asa knew the likelihood of anyone in the religious colony they grew up in accepting medicine was small, but they were determined to help whomever they could. Also packed safely away were hypos filled with the vaccine and treatment for Vahar’ai.

Vahar’ai was a nasty disease that had proceeded to mutate into several different variants since it was originally introduced to the galaxy about 100 years ago, and Asa’s father, Keres Dael, had acquired the gamma variant. Since he refused treatment, over the course of the next year Keres could look forward to heart palpitations, increased heart rate, increasing pain levels, difficulty breathing, increasing weakness and growing precognitions of his own death.

Being a religious old fool, the diagnosis meant he felt it was his chosen time to die, and he had called Asa to inform them. The doctor had dutifully made arrangements to go see him, not out of love for their father, but out of obligation to their duty as a doctor to try to save whomever they could- even if they really preferred not to.

Exiting the turbolift on deck 4, Asa began to walk to pad 12 towards the Thor. The Thor was Asa’s personal favorite runabout, having seen them to and from battlefields in one piece. As they approached, the doctor saw Commander Rita Paris standing nearby, early as usual, and took a moment to be glad of their friends company on this journey.

Raising a hand in greeting, Asa said, “Morning, Commander. How are you today? Ready to do a little bit of flying?”

“Just dandy,” the curvaceous commander replied in her usual cheerful style as she leaned against the armored hull of the combat runabout. “Ready to go to the colony of sick people who are determined to be that way, to listen to a hard-headed old man try to manipulate his offspring into doing his bidding, and be on standby and stay out of it unless you indicate that you’d like for me to intervene. How’m I doing so far?”

With a hearty laugh, Asa replied, “That sums it up quite nicely, Commander. Although to be fair, if you feel the need to verbally eviscerate Keres, my father that is, at any point, please don’t hold back on account of me. That fool needs all the talking to he can get, and if ever anyone could talk sense into someone, it would be you ma’am.”

Taking their place inside the Thor, Asa looked around. Cara Anam, the named Asa had given to Death, was not on board. There were however two very imposing looking Klingon women and one rather large humanoid female security officer. When Rita Paris assembled a security detail, she did not mess about. Asa would be hard pressed to think of a single Amazon on Meroset they had fought that looked a hair more fearsome, and couldn’t recall one.

Looking towards Paris, Asa inquired, “I would ask where Cara is, but I’m guessing I’m the only one who can see her. And you must be S’rina, V’nus, and Jablonski? Honored to make your acquaintance. Our EMH let me know your onboarding exam went well, and he was quite impressed at the level of fitness you all maintain. I trust you are well?”

“Yes… Lieutenant,” Jablonski answered as the Klingon women exchanged glances but said nothing. It was clear that the neckless human officer from Wisconsin had been fishing for the correct honorific, and settled on rank when the answer did not readily present itself. After all, one could not misstep with rank as a form of address.

While waiting for a response, Dael pulled up a PaDD and double checked, yes, all three were already vaccinated against Vahar’ai. Commander Paris had been vaccinated as soon as the mission was cleared, allowing the requisite 24 hour period for the vaccine to be fully active in her system. Asa knew Rita would have thought of that when choosing personnel, but with the potential for going into a disease hotspot, they would be negligent in their duty if they didn’t double check.

“So, Doctor, are we all here and ready to go?” Paris asked as she boarded the sturdy little warship, patting the bulkhead affectionately as she did so. Rita had a habit of treating starships and aircraft as if they were crew members, and she had flown the Thor into more than one terrible situation now. But what she was aiming for this time was inquiring whether the invisible and intangible presence of Death was among them, as she herself was unable to perceive of the incarnation of immortality, and relied on others to keep her informed.

It most definitely did not bother Rita Paris that she could not see Death. After a lifetime racing to stay ahead of her, having the entity as a travel companion was unwelcome enough. She didn’t need to start having conversations with it.

“Just as soon as Cara is here, yes ma’am. I’m sending her a message now to see if she is joining us here or if she made….other….arrangements,” Dael replied. To the best of the Doctor’s knowledge, the three security personnel were not in the loop regarding Cara’s true identity as Death- a multidimensional deity level being only pretending to be imprisoned as ‘guest’ of the Hera. After all, anyone that thought Death could be contained was clearly not paying attention. Asa, on the other hand, had seen the Pale Horse that Death rode, and immediately wanted to go for a ride. Showing wisdom, Cara had carefully redirected that particular request.

"I'm ready when you are," came the familiar voice of Death as she strode in almost casually from the back of the runabout. "Since you're the only one that can see me, Asa?"

Smiling broadly at their friend, Asa simply said to the ship, "Oh, looks like all arrangements have been made. Ready when you are, Commander."

As Death took her seat, Asa winked at Paris to let her know their other passenger was in tow, not wanting to announce to ever-vigilant security personnel that a being they could not see had just boarded.

The wink Rita found a bit unnerving, because that meant that death moved amongst them.

“Is Miss Dox coming along for this ride?” the gold-clad commander asked. The two were inseparable as friends, Doc and Dox, as Rita often referred to them. As junior officers both on their first real assignment, the two had become fast friends. While Rita was a figure of authority that would be a welcome one to stand up to their bully of a father, there were likely also going to be moments where crying on Rita’s shoulder would not be the same as having Dox there, and Rita understood that implicitly. Her role was to support and guide the junior officers- but she was by no means a one-woman show. It took a village, so they said, and she encouraged the bonds the young officers were forging. Uncommon bravery and wellsprings of courage were often found when such bonds existed, and Rita wanted both young officers to achieve their full potential someday.

Asa’s grin broadened, “Well, I wasn’t sure if that would be permissible or not, so she may be waiting in her office, bag packed, for me to give her the all clear. Silly me, I should have just asked. I’m sorry, Commander, an argument can be made I’m not at my most logical right now. Lieutenant Sonak would be aghast.”

"Given the circumstances, I'm sure he'd understand," Rita offered with a small smile. "Go on, wave the semaphore flags and call her aboard."

Tapping their commbadge, Asa said, “Lieutenant Dox, Commander Paris is amenable to your presence. If you are still available… well, I’d really like you to be there.”

"Then consider me there." Dox said with a side grin as she simply walked up the ramp behind Asa, having clearly been waiting just outside for the call she considered a given. "Emergency bags are packed and already stowed."

Then Dox nodded as she addressed the rest of the assemblage. "Commander, Ladies. Dock control has given us the all clear and the pre-flight checks have been performed."

Walking over to where Death was standing, Dox flashed her friend a smile, but also didn't directly address her as well for the benefit of the security team. "So, rock/paper/scissors, Commander?" Referencing the game that had played occasionally to decide who would fly on missions where the parameters allowed.

"You pre-empted my flight check on the assumption that you were coming on the away mission and denied me the first chance I've had in months to do it myself?" Paris stiffened and bristled as she spoke, then mugged cartoonishly. "I'll take him down and you can drive us home, copilot. Let's button up and fly, folks, sunny Bajor awaits!"

Even as the two pilots settled into their seats and the hatch closed behind them, Paris lit up the nav system and brought up power to the impulse engines. "Hera traffic control, this is Away Team 7 in the mighty Thor, seeking clearance to depart on the flight path to Bajor, over."

"Mighty Thor, you have clearance on flight path 3, have a safe flight, Commander Paris," came the reply, and Rita wrinkled her nose.

"Protosk is such a suck-up..."

The trip was not long, but it was quiet, each of the passengers lost in retrospection as the tension grew thick.

Once landed outside Quarantine Station Zed, Paris ordered the Security trio to stand guard on the runabout, and to be prepared to man the weapons should the curvaceous commander call for an artillery strike. While the trio of security officers exchanged questioning glances, they all agreed to be ready to follow such orders were they given.
Once the hatch was unsealed, Asa walked to the entrance in a ground-eating stride. The look of determination on their face was clear, and their manner was all business.

“Doctor Asa Dael requesting admission, I believe my request was approved two days ago?” they inquired of the bored looking receptionist inside the entry.

“And these people are…..”the receptionist inquired, gesturing to Rita and Mnhei’sahe.

“Commander Rita Paris and Lieutenant Mnhei’sahe Dox of Starfleet. They were also included in the clearance authorization from Starfleet Command, if you would please just check your records?”

The receptionist simply gave the trio a level stare before beginning to slowly type the information provided into a PaDD. Asa tried to remain calm, but was pacing the waiting area, frustration evident on their face.

The quarantine station had a smell to it unique to residential medical facilities. There was something antiseptic to the smell, something like institutional cleanliness that was never quite “right” to the senses. The floors and walls were all stark white, and the gleaming chairs all a polished silver color. The overall appearance was sterile- devoid of disease, but also devoid of caring or hominess.

After about a five minute delay, Asa marched up to the receptionist, war on their face, and asked, “I’m sorry, but can you please clear us for entry? I have a patient to see.”

Pointing towards the seats, the receptionist simply said blandly, “Have a seat. I will call you when I have verified your credentials.”

Glancing first at Rita and then at Asa before staring back at the prickly receptionist moving at a snail's pace, Dox was going to follow her friend's lead here. And if Asa was going to push back, then Dox would stand right next to them while they did. Meanwhile, Rita placed a hand on Dox' leg- silently indicating to let the frail physician work. They had a lot of anxiety and fear and frustration tied up in this confrontation, so Rita suspected it might be good to let them vent on this slow gatekeeper first.

“No,” Asa said coldly, white hot fury sparking off their eyes. “I am a medical professional seeking to provide care to a patient by the name of Keres Dael. This has been pre-approved by your superior, a Doctor Lovar Skaw. My colleagues here have also been pre-approved by both the Bajoran local governments, Starfleet Command, Starfleet Medical, the Quarantine protocol board, and the Joint Alliance of Virology. I know for a fact that all this information is literally at your finger-tips. I also know that your delay in simply doing your job and confirming this data is putting a patients well being at risk. So, no, I will not sit down and wait. You will pick up that device and Do. Your. Job.”

Through the course of their speech, Asa had firmly planted both hands on the reception desk and was leaning over more and more with each word, concluding their speech almost nose to nose with the recalcitrant Bajoran working the desk.

With a sigh, the receptionist, with a name tag reading “Vortan” Asa noticed, picked up the nearby device and scrolled through the list of expected guests. Upon seeing “Lieutenants Dael and Dox, Commander Paris, Starfleet, USS {REDACTED}, AUTHORIZATION- FACILITY WIDE. ALL ACCOMODATIONS TO BE MADE. VIP ACCESS” signed by Doctor Skaw, Vortan’s face drained of all color before they weakly said, “Right inside the doors to the left please, the duty nurse can show you to Keres’ room.”

“Thank you, Vortan. I will make sure your head of medicine is aware of your…efforts….here today” Asa sneered before marching through the now open doors.

The double doors to the ward closing behind Asa, they began to realize where they were standing. In a hospital. Where their father was dying. About to see him again.

It was in that moment the panic began to set in. Before reaching the smiling duty nurse waiting at his station, Asa turned to look at Mnhei’sahe, Rita, and Cara.

“I…I can do this, right? Someone please tell me I can do this. That I’m not going to actually implode, even though it feels like I am?” The words were said softly, but the doctor had a wild look in their eyes, and their hands alternated between twisting together and standing by Asa’s side trembling.

Rising smoothly from the chair, Paris crossed the distance in two strides, and stood beside be delicate doctor. “You can do this. Because we’re right here, and we’ll even come in with you if you wish. You are Starfleet- you are never alone, Doc. All the times you have followed me into hell, I’m as close as you need me. Dox?”

At Rita's cue, Dox took hold of Asa's hand and gripped it tight as she leaned in close, looking the frightened doctor in the eyes as she spoke softly. "Asa, look at me. You can do this. I know it feels like you're going to collapse, but you are one of the strongest people I've ever met. You've found ways to smile after going through things that would have broken anyone. And then you help those broken people regardless of your own pain, because that's who Asa Dael is. You are here, we're here for you and you will get through this."

Then Dox gestured with her head to where Death stood with a warm smile as she took Asa's hand, and the pilot grinned slightly as she joked. "Besides, Rei would totally let us know if you were going to implode."

Asa squeezed Mnhei’sahe’s hands and barked out a quick laugh. “Well, there is that, thank you Min.”

Releasing their grip on their friend, Asa did a quick nose pinch and swallow before stepping towards the compassionate face of the duty nurse.

“Doctor Dael and associates here to see Keres Dael, can you please direct me to the room?” Asa asked in a voice sounding much more confident than they felt.
The duty nurse smiled briefly, and picked up a PaDD containing Keres’s chart before handing it over to Asa. While walking with them through the well-lit corridors, he said, “Family of yours? I only ask because of the same last names and the fact we don’t see too many El-Aurian’s here. Any way about it, not an easy thing to do. You just ring the bell in the room if you need anything at any time, and one of us will come running. This is it, Room 792B, Keres Dael. Best of luck Doctor, and remember, just ring the bell.”

With that said, the chatty man was heading back to his duty station.

Nothing else for it,Asa thought, Time to go in.

The room was like a million other hospital rooms in a million other hospitals. The single, multi-position biobed occupied the center of the room, while a viewscreen hung from the wall, and monitors over the patients head displayed all his current vitals. A medium sized recliner was next to the bed for visitors who would spend the night, and a small table with a few uncomfortable looking silver chairs occupied the other corner of the room. The cabinets in the room would hold perhaps a change of clothing or two for Keres, but were likely to be left untouched as he would not be permitted outside his medical gown for very long. In a concession to the quarantine protocols, an emergency wash station was nearby, medical-grade disposal facilities were built into the wall, and emergency containment force field generators were built into the ceiling around the bed. A small station with a PaDD and a glass of water sat next to Keres bed, and a tiny wilting flower sat in a transparent glass of water. The signs on the wall also reminded the visitor that “Quarantine Protocol In Effect For This Ward, Please See the Duty Nurse Before Leaving on Penalty of Law”

Unconsciously taking in all those small details, Asa was transfixed by the figure in the bed. Keres had always been such a vital man. At just a shade under 2 meters tall, he had walked through life looming large to all who knew him. His booming voice and charming smile had helped ingratiate him to the El-Aurian refugees, securing him as both their spiritual and political leader on Bajor.

Now, wearing a pitiful white and blue medical gown, wrapped nearly to the shoulders in four blankets, and weakly sipping a glass of water with his eyes closed, he looked so small. The veiny spots that spoke to advancing Vahar’ai were slowly taking over Keres skin, and his overall skin tone no longer had a sun-kissued hue, but was waxy and pale. His eyes were sunken, and he had lost about 20 KG to Asa’s eyes since they had last seen him.

If not for the fury Keres inspired in Asa, they might have keeled over from the shock. Instead, the anger at knowing the man was choosing to do this to himself spurred Asa onwards into the room, reviewing his chart as they walked.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Asa looked up from the PaDD to make eye contact with Keres before glancing at his vitals on display.

“Well, Keres. You got me to come home. I trust that is what you wanted?”

At the sound of Asa’s voice, Keres snapped open his eyes, taking in the sight of his progeny in Starfleet uniform. The disapproval was clear on his face as he continued on to look at the other occupants of the room. He did not stare any longer at where Cara Anam, the literal embodiment of Death, was standing nearby, but it was clear from the once over he gave her that he did see her.

“No, Asa, what I wanted was for you to know your place and never leave. But I am glad you are here…even if you did bring along some….interesting….companions,” Keres finally replied. His voice held a thrum of winter chill, a judgement against anyone who would second guess his divine inspiration, and a contempt for any who would defy his will.

“I know my place, father. I’m in it. Looks like you may have finally found yours,” Asa snarled, taking the nearby recliner and reaching into their medical bag to withdraw a tricorder.

After conducting a brief scan, Asa nodded to themself once, and looked up and said flatly, “Congratulations. You are dying. And you don’t have to be. Now will you let me treat you already so you can go home?”

With a sneer, Keres turned to the other occupants of the room. Flashing his most charming smile he did his best to project what he hoped was an appeal to common sense, “Ladies, ladies, forgive me, please. My disagreements with my son, forgive me, my child here, as they just insist I call them, can you imagine? Have made me a rude host. Keres Dael, leader of the El-Aurian Colony on Bajor, and Spiritual Advisor to all, at your service. Please won’t you be seated? I can always call the staff here to bring something for you. Why they don’t just put replicators in every room is beyond me…..”

The fury burning in Asa’s eyes flared to a new level at being called “son” when they had covered this already with their father. Prepared to act on that promise to leave and never look back, Asa started to put their medical accoutrements away before pausing, as if struck by sudden inspiration, and they wordlessly stalked from the room towards the nurse’s station, leaving Paris, Dox, and Death alone with Keres.

With her face turning green, Dox felt a flash of heat in her face as her anger for what her had just said to Asa. As soon as her keen Romulan ears felt.that Asa was out of earshot, the fuming young Red-head spoke. "That is your child. Not.your 'son'. That FACT has been throughly explained to you, Mr. Dael. And since you are well aware of that, I can only presume your intention is to hurt Asa with the only weapon you have left in your dwindling arsenal."

Her hands were folded behind her back as she spoke, but they were balled tightly in fists. "And make no mistake, DOCTOR Asa Dael is here to help you. Beyond that, they will be returning to where they belong when they have said their piece. And it's something I highly suggest you listen to unless you're intention is to lose your child forever. They deserve so much better than you, but you have an opportunity to at least pretend to be better. But do NOT say the word 'son' or any variations of it again. Asa will not have it. Nor will I, my Commander or my 'Spiritual Advisor'. Am I understood?"

Letting out a resigned sigh, Keres simply held up his hands in a placating manner, “So, little Asa has convinced all of you they belong among the stars, have they? Do you even know how old they are? 26? No, 27 now. Asa is a child. Children cannot make such decisions for themself. Whatever training h-they- received, emotionally and physically, Asa is not yet mature. H-They will make rash decisions, unable to understand the import their actions can carry, and they will form bonds with other life forms, such as yourself, who- and I mean no offense here- are going to be but mayflies in the end. What do you think the heartache of this realization will do to Asa? When they finally realize, once and for all, that friendship among the short spanned life in the Universe will only bring pain to them, when they realize that, how will you help? No, no, they need to be here. Only we can truly give Asa what h-they-need. Can you understand that?”

The bluster was absent from Keres voice now. He sounded concerned for the welfare of his child, but clearly was not willing to back down about knowing best where Asa belonged- even more so than the doctor themself. The false start to each pronoun followed by the correction to "they" that was proper spoke of someone paying lip service to using the right word, but the lack of experience in doing so also spoke of years of ignoring the request.

As for Commander Rita Paris, for a change, she hung back. This was a game she knew how to play better than anyone in the room, and she’d have her turn. But for now, she would let this play out as it was destined to unfold until her moment arrived.

“Wisdom from children- I wish I could say it is surprising, but the folly of youth never changes,” the old man in the bed explained, dropping part of the ‘nice old man’ act and giving a hint of the hissing derisive beast who lived beneath that veneer of civility. “I am a old man near death, Romulan. You cannot threaten me. It speaks volumes that my so- 'offspring' needed this many reinforcements just to come have a conversation with me as I lay dying. It tells me more that you sputter and make impotent threats on his behalf. Perhaps when you have lived as long as I, and gained the perspective of a life well lived in service, you might see things differently. For now, your words, as are your threats, are hollow and empty- a waste of time for the speaker as well as the audience.”

With a measured tone, Dox replied flatly. "You misunderstand. I'm not threatening you. You're threatening yourself. You're threatening whatever chance of a relationship you might have with Asa. That's entirely up to you, though you seem determined to destroy that all on your own."

"As for us, we will be there for them for as long as we can, and we will leave them with those memories of friendship and family to carry into eternity. That's not a curse, it's a gift. A gift they give us and we give them." Then the angry Romulan's tone went very dark as she turned slightly to the entity known as death.

"Of course, how long he has to live with his choices today are entirely up to you, aren't they?"

The living embodiment of Death pulled out an ornate golden pocketwatch from inside her coat and glanced at it. "Right now you're scheduled to pass on in about three months, local." She then slipped the watch back where it came from, followed by a dirty look. She was not fond of this man - his heart was none to bright and she was not inclined to weigh it against a feather. "Scheduled..."

After Death spoke, Dox's tone shifted to one of compassion. "What my friend is saying... Is you have as long as you choose... to do the right thing. To be a father worthy of Asa. To let them help you. And to help yourself in the process. Don't waste it."

Before he could reply, Asa came back into the room. They were carrying medical restraints for hands and feet, a chest strap, and leg strap. All were cushioned against any damage to the patient, but would hold all but the strongest of persons securely to the bed. Asa immediately activated the privacy filters on the room, ensuring that the glass was obscure and sound proofing was active. There was no way to secure the door, but Asa felt confident that push come to shove, Rita and Mnhei’sahe would step into the role of bouncer if needed.

Taking in the atmosphere in the room, Asa saw Keres glaring down Mnhei’sahe, Mnhei’sahe returning the glare with interest, Rita silently fuming, and Death glancing at a watch with a wicked grin on her face.

Of course in less than two minutes he has managed to piss off everyone in the room. Asa thought.

“I’m not sure what is going on here, but you do realize you are in a staring match with Death, right? I’m not being metaphorical here, Keres, you are literally staring down the Reaper. And I gotta say, it looks like she looking for an excuse to move your appointment up,” Asa said.

“Restraints? So your plan is to forcibly restrain me and force your medical treatment upon me, regardless of my wishes, so that you can enforce your will upon me. I see that you learned nothing from your time with me, and your friends are even more ill-informed. My beliefs don’t matter to you, my feelings don’t matter to you, just making yourself feel better, like the spoiled child you’ve always been.” Shaking his head sadly, Keres looked to Death. “If my choice is being removed from me, rather than let this ignorant whelp selfishly force his will upon me, take me now, and let’s be done with it. I go secure in my beliefs and my choices.”

With each new spiteful misgendering, Dox's anger grew. In the back of her mind, she wanted to do Deaths job for her and give him the pathetic martyrdom he wanted. But instead, she continued to twist her hands behind her back, her knuckles white.

Instead, she spoke with a voice that was a low whisper. "Your beliefs. You're really so sure you're right? She didn't come here to take you. She came here to support her friend. That concept doesn't crack into your head at all? Do you know that they've worked together? Saved lives together? Death is best friends with a doctor. But sure, you're right. You're great wisdom is unassailable."

Sitting down hard on the nearby recliner, Asa dropped their head into their hands, letting a few shuddering breaths wrack their form before responding.

Holding a forestalling hand towards Mnhei'sahe, Asa said softly, “The restraints are to show you what your future holds. Vahar’ai is not a kind disease, Father. It is going to eat you from the inside. You are already further along than most cases ever advance to be…most people let us treat this disease before now. The marks on your skin show that you are entering the terminal stage. In case your doctors haven’t already explained this to you- the terminal stage is marked by a dramatic increase in your pain levels, with many patients reporting their pain at a constant 8-9 out of 10, flaring up to and staying at a 10 towards the end. Your heart rate is going to become completely erratic. Sometimes you will feel like your heart is beating out of your chest. Other times you are going to feel like you can’t get it to beat. You will run a constant fever. You will be unable t get warm. Your body will start to go into convulsions, necessitating use of these restraints. I wanted you to look at them, to feel them. To know- this is the only future your current path has you on. You will end up tied to a bed, alone, in pain, dying. And because of the death precognition variant of the disease, you are going to know it. You are going to know with each horrible, pained breath how many more you have left. And it’s going to feel eternal. It’s going to be one of the worst ways an El-Aurian can go. And it’s completely avoidable. Do you really think I flew across the galaxy to come sit by your bedside just to take away your choices? To make myself feel better? Father, none of this makes me feel good. It hurts me to my very core to watch you suffer. Of the two of us, one of the Dael’s honors others choices and bodies…and father, we both know that isn’t you. I have built my career based on compassion. I don’t always like the people I treat, but Father, I always treat them. Please, please, let me help you. It-it doesn’t have to be this way. Please.”

Asa spoke gently, their voice full of sadness and heartache. None of this was going how they had hoped, but it was going about how they expected. Keres could make Asa so angry they could barely see straight, but Asa refused to be defined by that. Their choice to try and save this man would not be taken away by his own ignorance and contrary nature. Asa would not let him goad them into leaving him to his fate- not without a fight anyway.

With each new spiteful misgendering, Dox's anger grew. In the back of her mind, she wanted to do Deaths job for her and give him the pathetic martyrdom he wanted. But instead, she continued to twist her hands behind her back, her knuckles white.

Instead, she spoke with a voice that was a low whisper. "Your beliefs. You're really so sure you're right? She didn't come here to take you. She came here to support her friend. That concept doesn't crack into your head at all? Do you know that they've worked together? Saved lives together? Death is best friends with a doctor. But sure, you're right. You're great wisdom is unassailable."

“Your lack of experience and wisdom are evident in every word that you speak, as you can barely restrain your anger, Romulan,” when the old man said the word, he fairly spat it. Scorn was evident in his voice as he addressed the angry officer. “You are a slave to your emotions, lack control and meddle in affairs that are not your concern. But by all means, do continue to judge me. Your blink of an eye lifespan has surely imparted far more wisdom than my centuries of life.”

Sitting down hard on the nearby recliner, Asa dropped their head into their hands, letting a few shuddering breaths wrack their form before responding.

Holding a forestalling hand towards Mnhei'sahe, Asa said softly, “The restraints are to show you what your future holds. Vahar’ai is not a kind disease, Father. It is going to eat you from the inside. You are already further along than most cases ever advance to be…most people let us treat this disease before now. The marks on your skin show that you are entering the terminal stage. In case your doctors haven’t already explained this to you- the terminal stage is marked by a dramatic increase in your pain levels, with many patients reporting their pain at a constant 8-9 out of 10, flaring up to and staying at a 10 towards the end. Your heart rate is going to become completely erratic. Sometimes you will feel like your heart is beating out of your chest. Other times you are going to feel like you can’t get it to beat. You will run a constant fever. You will be unable to get warm. Your body will start to go into convulsions, necessitating use of these restraints.”

“I wanted you to look at them, to feel them. To know- this is the only future your current path has you on. You will end up tied to a bed, alone, in pain, dying. And because of the death precognition variant of the disease, you are going to know it. You are going to know with each horrible, pained breath how many more you have left. And it’s going to feel eternal. It’s going to be one of the worst ways an El-Aurian can die. And it’s completely avoidable. Do you really think I flew across the galaxy to come sit by your bedside just to take away your choices? To make myself feel better? Father, none of this makes me feel good. It hurts me to my very core to watch you suffer. Of the two of us, one of the Dael’s honors others choices and bodies…and father, we both know that isn’t you. I have built my career based on compassion. I don’t always like the people I treat, but Father, I always treat them. Please, please, let me help you. It-it doesn’t have to be this way. Please.”


Asa spoke gently, their voice full of sadness and heartache. None of this was going how they had hoped, but it was going about how they expected. Keres could make Asa so angry they could barely see straight, but Asa refused to be defined by that. Their choice to try and save this man would not be taken away by his own ignorance and contrary nature. Asa would not let him goad them into leaving him to his fate- not without a fight anyway.

There was a long pause while the old man considered the words of his youthful offspring, and the vast generation gap that separated them. When he spoke, the dying man’s voice was reedy and thin, almost pleading as he began.

“This isn’t what we wanted for you, Asa. You were born so late in life, and when your mother and your brother passed, we were all that was left of the family. But you hated me, you hated this world, and you were just so angry and headstrong, and you refused to listen to anyone but yourself- convinced that the wisdom of the elders was insignificant beside your own feelings. Your own view of the cosmos, formed by your scant few years of life, which you believed over anyone else’s.” Shaking his head, the old man chuckled. “So now I ask you, implore you, beg you to come back and spend a little time with me, to spend a little time with the colony, to devote yourself to tradition for a tiny bit of time.”

“What do I get? Scorn. Contempt. Disrespect,” He looked pointedly at Dox. “You don’t even have the courage to come alone- instead, here you are with your entourage to fight your battles for you, because you are still so damned afraid of me. Because you don’t respect my ways, my beliefs, my life. That’s too much for you, so instead you come to make demands. Demand that I adhere to your idiotic notions of gender. Demand that I put up with the disrespectful hooligans you bring with you. When that doesn’t work, you try to frighten me into giving you what you want- because it has always been about you, what you wanted and what you felt and thought. You are far and away the most ungrateful and selfish child I have ever had the misfortune to encounter, and I will be glad to see the last of you.”

“I’ll not risk my immortal soul so that you with your twenty-seven years of ‘wisdom’ can doom it with your medicine,” the old man fairly snarled. “You refuse to listen to any voice but your own, but hear me now- I know what is best for me. You think I have not already had a premonition of my death? Do you somehow imagine that I have lived all these centuries that I am unaware of how I will die screaming in agony? Your arrogance is nearly matched by that of your friends, Asa. But I will grant you one favor, as you would see it as such. I absolve you, I release you, I turn from you. You are no Dael of mine… you are without a clan, without a home, without family. You are a stranger to me… and as such, I would thank you to leave.”

“No,” Asa said, openly weeping, “No, I’m not. I have a family, one that loves me, with my fellow hooligans. I have a home, a place I lay my head each night and know the comfort is nearby, companionship is constant, and hope that each day I can help improve their lives as they improve mine. I’m sorry life is this way for you, Father. I’m truly sorry that in all your centuries you somehow came to the conclusion that the rest of the Galaxy is wrong and only you are correct. I can only imagine how lonely you must be, and I wish it was different for you. I was furious with you when Brennan and Mom died, I don’t deny that. I’m sure I was an unbearable child at times….that’s what children do. They act out when they are sad and need comfort. I wish things could have been different here, I truly do. I did hate you. I don’t deny that either. Your actions caused the death of my mother and brother. I used to think I could never forgive you for that, but I’ve met such amazing people since I left home, father. People who have taught me the power of forgiving others, the way a little bit of hope can change the universe, and how our heritage can shape the future that is to come. I do forgive you now, Father. I won’t have the hate of you in my heart any longer, I just won’t. Call that selfish if you will, but your actions no longer have any sway over my future. You also won’t rob me of my people. There are still people in our colony that have love for me, and I will see them before I depart. I can’t help but notice you are here alone, and I would encourage you to reflect on what that may be. I hope you find peace, Keres Dael. You won’t believe it, but I do love you. I hate you for it a bit still, but I do. Die well.”

That said, Asa stopped to wipe a tear from their eyes and began to gather their things back into their med-bag. They read Kere's file one more time, then placed it on the table near to his bed.
The minutiae of leave-taking done, Asa sat there numbly for a moment. They knew when they walked out this door it would be the last time they would see their father again. They knew how he would die, and they knew that somehow, they would be saddened by it, in spite of everything. Asa had come to Bajor to try and save this man, and they keenly felt the failure at their inability to do so.

Standing next to them, Dox put Asa's hand in hers, offering whatever comfort she could. She glanced at Death and Rita with her lips pursed tight, wishing there was more they could do to help.

Wrapping her arm about the slight frame of the frail physician, who in this moment looked more like a wounded child than ever, Rita Paris bent down to bring herself eye level with Asa Dael. When she spoke, it was in soft reassuring tones, that of a parent to a wounded child. “Are we done here, Doc? Ready to go?”

Leaning into the embrace, Asa nodded yes, then took a tentative step towards Keres, considering attempting a final hug from their father. 

“Please, Keres, Daddy… there was love between us once. Can we honor the family we were and at least say goodbye properly?” the doctor asked, open want on their face.

His stubborn silence spoke volumes.

Death had finally had enough and was outright pissed at this point. Rising up over his bed, she drew all the light out of the room as she seemed to grow larger and more menacing, a long bony finger stretching out to point at the man. "I've heard just about enough out of you. Do you want to know what will happen to your cold black soul when I finally decide to take it? Every last ounce of pain and anguish that you've ever dealt to any living being will be dealt to you over and over constantly in an endless cycle of torment until your so called immortal soul is returned back into the cosmos at the end of time, never to bother anything else again."

"THAT is the hell that awaits you, you miserable excuse of a child. That is the torment that I and my kind have been sending your ilk to since the dawn of time itself. And since I don't think you've lived quite long enough to earn a bad enough hell, I'm not going to come for your soul in three months. No, I'm going to let you lay here until I collect Asa's soul, and let you build up another nineteen thousand years of torment both in this life and in the next. Meanwhile they will reclaim the true heritage of your people that you have thrown aside, and help heal this universe."

"THAT is your punishment from Death."

The pale woman then slowly shrank back to her former size and floated out of the room, small trails of mist streaming off of her.

As Death spoke, Dox held Asa's hand tighter. After a moment, the lights returned to their former levels. But while she felt terrible for Asa, she couldn't help but feel a measure of satisfaction with Death's words.

Reeling from the shock and implications of what Death had just said, Asa continued to lean on Rita and hold Mnhei’sahe’s hand as the trio awkwardly made their way to the door.

"Goodbye, Keres," Asa pronounced. "We... we won't meet again,"

“We can’t leave yet,” Asa said to Mnhei’sahe Dox, Rita Paris, and Death as the small group exited the treatment room for Asa’s father, Keres Dael. Keres had refused all medical treatment of an advancing disease, and had been placed in a quarantine hospital to stop the spread of the illness to vulnerable individuals. When Asa had gone to try and convince him to seek treatment, Keres had been belligerent and disowned Asa for going again the family religion.

Now, standing in front of the door to his room, Asa started to come back to their senses. Seeing the questioning looks on their friend’s faces, Asa said simply, “We have to go through the decontamination field. Let’s go see the duty nurse, he can take us to the nearest room.”

The decontamination room was simple, a few chairs, tables to place belongings on, and a series molecule scrubbers hanging on the ceiling that, when activated, would perform the same function as a transporter in terms of removing any foreign bio signatures from each person, but without the need to actually transport. It was a simple, clean, effective tool designed by the Bajorans in the decade prior to enable places like the Quarantine Station Zed to operate efficiently, allowing for easier egress for visiting patients and doctors than previous methods involving a complete decontamination shower.

The group sat silently for the three minutes required by the bio scrubbers, with Asa keeping an eye on Commander Paris’ vitals the entire time. The commander had been “cured” of their transporter allergy, but Asa was overly cautious to ensure nothing would harm their friend. Once the decon was complete, the group made their way back to the Thor runabout waiting nearby.

Turning to look at their friends, Asa gathered their will to speak and said softly, “I would like to visit Brennan’s-my brother’s that is- grave, if there are no objections? I..I never really got to say goodbye before. There’s also one or two people I need to inform about Keres diagnosis and indefinite confinement. Will you go with me?”

“Of course, Doctor. It’s why we’re here,” Paris reminded the delicate doctor with a shoulder squeezing hug. “You know we will support you throughout this visit. Graveside visit is only natural, and informing the rest of the settlement is the responsible thing to do. You tell us where you want to go, we’re right behind you.”

Smiling, Dox nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. Whatever you need, we're all here for you."

The pale woman nodded as well, not wanting to draw undue attention, just in case.

“Thank you,” Asa replied in a reedy voice. After pulling up the coordinates to the El-Aurian settlement, Asa advised the runabout land a good 10 minute walk from the community, stating “Some of them are survivors of the Borg attacks….they get a little jumpy about new ships landing.”

Once the runabout was on the ground, Asa exited with a tiny wisp of a smile on their face.

Home.

The Universe is a wondrous place, but there is no place like home. A river could be heard gurgling nearby as the group walked through the lush vegetation of the forest on this part of Bajor. A few mountains loomed in the distance, but for the most part, the landscape was flat here. A Bajoran town was a few kilometers in the other direction- close enough for security, but far enough away to honor each other’s privacy. Mainly it was the smell of the place- a blend of food cooking, the local vegetation, the moisture in the air, it all combined to smell like home.

At the heart of the valley was a community holding around 500 El-Aurian refugees. The houses were in neat rows with a patch of land behind each, most of which had some kind of vegetable garden. A coop for domesticated birds was at the end of each row of houses, and a few people could be seen coming and going to grab a few eggs from the coops. A few goats and sheep were grazing lazily in a paddock nearby, and a few small children could be seen chasing both each other and a small dog-like creature through the streets, screaming and laughing in the way common to children the universe over. It was a pastoral scene, one that would not be out of place on most any world at almost any point in time.

Taking a deep breath to fill their nostrils with the familiar scents, Asa began to walk towards the far right of the settlement. A small path could be seen leading down further into a grass covered area with a few headstones peaking above the grass. Once Asa was in the graveyard, it was a simple thing to find the most recent grave with a tombstone simply engraved, “Brennan Dael, Beloved Son of Keres Dael.”

“He couldn’t even include Mom’s name on there….” Asa grumbled, angry at the way Brennan’s death was honored.

Then, as if realizing where they were, Asa stopped for a moment, realized they were using anger to disassociate from the painful emotions of the moment, and then using every scrap of their wisdom from therapy, focused on being in the moment and allowing feelings to come as they would.

Unaware of their companions, Asa dropped to sit cross legged on the ground, staring at Brennan’s headstone as they began to speak.

“Hey Bren….It’s me, your Asa-icle. I…I wish you were here to tell me my feet are too cold and push me off from freezing you out. God, Bren…why did you have to go? Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you. I get so mad at you sometimes…you weren’t supposed to leave me here! God, Bren! It was so bad for so long…I..I didn’t see a purpose to being here after you left. Everywhere I looked, I saw you. You were waiting in our house, wanting me to read you the next chapter from our book. Or you were splashing in the river, back from when you still felt up to it, remember? You always got so much water up your nose that you complained food tasted bad for days after. And…Keres….he just kept moralizing about how your sacrifice showed us the value of a life lived honoring the Gods, how they would reward us with a cessation of suffering. He used your death to support his stupid beliefs… and he hardly seemed to even care that he lost his son. Sure, he mourned in public, but at home? All he cared about was that we gave off the right image of a pious, mourning El-Aurian family.”

The rage in Asa’s voice at this point wiped away the few tears that had begun to fall, but then realizing who they were speaking about, the gravity of the day hit Asa again. Sagging visibly, they continued.

“But now he’s dying too. He won’t accept treatment for a disease that could easily be all but cured, and it’s going to cost him his life. My friend Cara, you met her at the end I think, stopped his ability to actually die, but he’s going to be stuck in a bed, hurting, for 19,000 years. Which is apparently how long I’m going to live. I…I can’t even begin to process that, Bren. I figured a good 4000-5000 year run, like most of the elders. Enough time to do some good in the universe and enjoy retirement putzing around like Nanny Yi’hawn. I guess I should go see her before I leave…at least that should be good. But 19,000 years? How in the seven hells am I supposed to stay sane that long? I will be a walking relic by the time I die….a thing people wonder over, living archaeology, unless I find a way to not become the galaxy’s biggest bore. At least I have plenty of time to workshop that particular problem….

It’s just…nothing is like I thought it would be. I made some really great friends though, Bren. Some of them are here with me, that’s Mnhei’sahe,” Asa said, pointing towards the red-haired Romulan standing nearby, “You would like her. She always has hot chocolate for me, and she lets me glomp onto her and cuddle, and she’s kind and brave. She’s hard on herself, but really, Bren, she’s one of the bravest people I know.”

Turning to Rita, Asa continued, “That’s Rita. She’s technically my boss. Ok, not technically, she is my superior officer, but she’s a really good friend too. She was the first person who saw any potential in me really, and she’s so encouraging. The universe, universes really for her, have put her through so much, but she cares so strongly. She’s a warrior for peace, and an undying advocate for curiosity. She…she holds me together, Bren. When I think I’m going to scream from how much it hurts having lost you, lost Mom, and…other….things, Rita is always there. I don’t even know if she knows she’s doing it half the time, but she pours so much of herself into all of us that I can only hope we pour enough love back into her.”

Then, looking over their shoulder at Death, Asa said softly, “And…well, I guess you met Cara Anam. That’s what I call her anyway, because she’s a friend too. You…you were in so much pain at the end, Bren. I couldn’t get you comfortable, no matter what I tried. You were always too hot, or too cold, or the pain was too much. I…I still don’t even know for sure what you had, but god Bren, it was bad. A part of me was relieved when Cara took you. Can you forgive me for that? I didn’t want you to go, but I couldn’t bear to watch you hurt either. I…I think you would forgive me. Anyway, Cara is funny and kind, with an innate sense of justice and desire to help others. She has helped me saved lives funnily enough. Oh yeah, I’m a doctor, guess I should have mentioned that. Seven years of training and I’m a doctor, as if seven short years could teach a person everything they need to know to preserve life…I hope I live up to that title. I couldn’t save you…mom….dad…..but maybe I can help save some other people. I don’t know…all I can do is keep trying.”

Head in their hands now, Asa sat cross legged looking at the gravestone with tears running freely. The doctor withdrew a small photo from a hidden pocket in their jacket. It showed a very young Asa Dael playing with a 3 year old Brennan, both of them smiling hugely and covered in dirt and grime. They stroked the image of Brennan’s face gently for a moment, looking wistfully into the distance.

Their voice cracked a bit as they concluded, “I promise you I will do my best to live for both of us. When I see new things, or meet new life, or manage to make the universe a little better….that’s for you, ok, Bren? I’ll try to live a life that honors who we always wanted to be together. All those places we wanted to see, all those things we wanted to learn. The universe is a strange place, Bren. In ways I never would have believed before, and I wish you were here to share it with. But you aren’t….and that, well that just sucks.”

After a long moment, Asa stood and turned to their friends. Making eye contact with Death, Asa said softly, “I don’t know if you can tell me this or not, and I hope you know I don’t blame you for any of it….you didn’t cause his death, Keres did by denying us medical treatment….but….can you tell me….did he know I was there at the end? Did he hurt too much?”

The pale woman rested a hand on Asa's shoulder as she smiled. She wasn't looking at Asa though, but at seemingly someone invisible standing nearby. "You know the rules. You know I..." It seemed she was listening for a moment, then sighed. "Ok, three minutes, but don't make me regret this."

Death lifted her free hand and a pale light flowed out of it, swirling as the breeze picked up, a few field flowers joining it to illuminate a small boy standing in front of Asa. "Ok, tell them."

With a wide smile, the young boy stepped slightly forward, looking at Asa lovingly. "Hi, Asa-icle." He said, his voice left a slight echo like wind chimes in a summer breeze.

“Bren….BRENNAN!!!!” Asa yelled in delight, standing up impossibly quickly and running up to the figure of Brennan. They were about to reach out and pick him up, but an invisible wall stopped Asa, sending their skin tingling.

Well, that does make sense, other side of the veil and all, Asa chided themself.

“Gods, Bren, I’ve missed you so much. Are you ok? Is Mom there? Hux the wonderpup?” Asa asked, words and tears flowing freely. They rested their hands against the invisible wall, reaching out in every way possible, overjoyed at the sight of their baby brother, now returned to health in his second life.

Tears ran down Dox's eyes as she realized what was occurring. She couldn't see Brennan any more than Rita could see Death, but she clutched for Rita's hand and tried to compose herself in the moment she knew was happening.

Tilting his head, Brennan chuckled broadly with happiness. "Yeah. We're all here. And..." His face turned slightly melancholy as he spoke. "And we miss you, too. But Mom is soooo proud of you. Of everything you've done. Of everything you're going to do."

“Isn’t she great?” Asa said, acutely aware Brennan did not get to know Kendra Dael until his passing. “I…I’m glad you two finally get to know each other. And you look so much better, Bren. Just…be happy for me ok? It’s all I ever wanted for you…and I tried so hard, Bren. So, so hard to make you better, and I just couldn’t. It’s not fair I get to live forever and you hardly go to at all….but I’m going to make you proud, I promise. Are… are you ok? Promise me you are...I’m your big sib, it’s my job to make you ok, and I’m so, so, sorry I failed. God I’ve missed your stupid face, Bren. Every time I get distracted reading something I expect to look up and see you sitting there sticking your tongue out at me. And now I’m talking too much. Like always. Bren, I just love you so much. More than anything else in the Universe, now and forever, you know that right?”

The words rushed out of Asa's mouth lightning quick, the joy on their face easy for all to see, but with a slight undercurrent of sadness, knowing this moment couldn't last, but determined to make the most of it.

The young boy looked up at their sibling as the smile returned. "Duh, of course I know that. We feel it every day no matter where you are." He stuck his tounge out playfully.

Then he put his own hand up against the invisible Veil as he spoke. "I... I gotta go. But... I love you too. We all do. And we're glad you're happy. And Mom said to say she liked your friends, too. But you asked Cara something before, and no. I couldn't feel anything at the end."

Then he scrunched his face a little. "Except for one thing." He tapped his hand against the veil. "I felt your hand the whole time. I still do."

With that, Brennan began to fade from Asa’s sight. Asa felt the veil disappear, back into the aether from which it had come. Once Brennan had completely faded, Asa turned to look at Cara Anam, to look at Death, the provider of the greatest miracle Asa ever hoped to experience.

Without reservation, Asa ran to Cara, tackling her into a fierce hug and burying their head in her chest to avoid any accidental skin on skin contact.

“Thank you, Cara. Thank you so much, words cannot express how much that meant to me. You have healed me today,” they whispered for her hearing alone.

Then, turning to look at Mnhei’sahe and Rita, Asa said through their tears, “Well, why aren’t you hugging me too? Get over here!”

Watching the one-sided conversation followed by Asa hugging air, Rita Paris shrugged. The universe was a wild and diverse place, and she most certainly did not have most of the answers. But she knew when she was needed, and she know what to do in times like this. Stepping over with Dox to the slender surgeon, the fulsome first officer as the pair wrapped the El-Aurian in a hug. They were tactile, and this the human navigator understood all too well.

“We gotcha, Doc… we gotcha,” Paris crooned gently.

Alongside Rita, Dox was too choked up to say anything in the moment until she noticed Rita wrapped around the figure in the middle she couldn't see. With a slight sniffle, Dox chuckled a bit as she spoke. "Rita, you're squishing Death."

“I’m told it’s a hell of a way to go,” Rita quipped, hoping she could help Dox add a bit of levity to the moment while Asa Dael clung to the trio.

It was around this time that the figure of the oldest woman that anyone in the group had ever seen came tottering down the pathway to the graveyard. She was 1.7 meters tall, dark skinned, long gray hair in braids, and carrying a well-worn walking stick. From her gait, it was doubtful the stick was actually needed, but she did stop at tap it on the ground every now and again to scare off whatever creature was trying to get too close.

The woman wore a simple gray woolen skirt and white blouse with a deep green shawl, and had an open bag slung over her shoulders with a collection of wildflowers packed to over flowing. She worked her way through the graves, placing some wildflowers on each grave, before she stopped short, as if not realizing until she was only a few meters away that anyone else was in the small cemetery.

Through squinted eyes, she took in the assembled parties before clapping her hands together loudly.

“Asa! Is that you, child? Well come on over and give me a proper hello,” the woman called in a friendly tone.

Peering out from around the embrace they were loath to leave, Asa’s face lit up.

“Nanna Yi’hawn! I was hoping to see you!” With that, Asa extricated themself and raced over to the woman, stopping to kiss each hand in greeting before enveloping her in a huge bear hug.

“Well of course it’s me, child. Who else would be carrying my bag? No one better be! I’ve got all my secrets in this bag,” Nanna Yi’hawn said with a wink. It was widely known among the El-Aurian children that Nanna Yi’hawn had a significant sweet tooth and hid all her best candy at the bottom of her bag.

“Now, let me look at you…Starfleet, eh? And a….lieutenant if memory serves? Yes? Asa, that’s fantastic, and so soon too! It’s only been what, ten years? Twenty? It all runs together at my age…Now, who are your friends?” The elder clasped each of Asa’s hands in her own and directed them how to move to best take in whatever aspect of Asa’s personage that Nanna Yi’hawn deemed worthy of closer inspection.

Keeping one hand clasped in Nanna Yi’hawn’s, Asa turned to motion over Dox, Paris, and Death. In an excited voice, they said, “Nanna, this is Commander Rita Paris and Lieutenant Mnhe’sahe Dox. They are my shipmates and friends, and they came to help me deal with Keres….”

The joy that had been so abundant a moment ago faded slightly as Asa recalled the encounter with Keres. It had been a day of emotional upset, and the good doctor was getting a bit of whiplash from it.

“And the third? That young lady is by no means Starfleet….not unless Starfleet has started allowing deities in miniskirts to clean the deck,” Yi’hawn inquired.

And does your Romulan friend know that her mind is a beacon to that entity? Or any other that happens to be passing by? Nanny Yi'hawn thought to herself. Although the irregularity was glaring, the old woman had learned long ago to take in the lay of the land before speaking about sensitive matters, and a persons brain was as sensitive as a matter could be.

“Um, you can see her?” Asa asked, a bit afraid of the reason why. Nanna Yi’hawn was over 5000 years old, and the oldest El-Aurian that Asa had ever met. Nanny Yi’hawn was the El-Aurian people to many of them, having so long been in residence among them she served as a simple force of nature. While Asa knew that one day the strong willed woman would pass away, it always seemed impossible that Death would ever claim her after passing her over so many times in her adventurous youth spent fighting the Borg, settling other worlds, and other tales the woman flatly refused to tell the ‘youngsters’ under 200.

“Well of course I can, Asa, I’m not blind. Honestly, a little deity class cloaking and you think I can’t get past that? Why, that’s barely even testing my second sight, is it, little one? So then, young lady,” Nanna Yi’hawn said, looking Death in the eyes, “Which one are you? I think I still owe three gold pieces to Lakshnmi, you here to collect?”

Death couldn't help but giggle like a young girl as she greeted the old woman. "It's good to see you again, Nanna. I'm just here to support a friend today, though I wouldn't turn down one of your sweets."

“Death wears a miniskirt? Huh. Least she has good fashion sense,” Rita muttered, looming behind Dox, letting the familial situation to play out. She had known she was here primarily as moral support, and had insured that she didn’t run roughshod over anything, instead just being there for emotional support for the young person’s homecoming.

With a theatrical gasp, Nanna responded, “My sweets! However did you know!” Reaching into the bag, she withdrew four wrapped chocolates, each in the shape of a bell and wrapped in silver.

Death gladly accepted the sweets, tucking them away for later.

“Come on then, the lot of you, it’s almost dinner time and Asa never did eat enough proper food. I won’t take no for an answer. Little Sponge, save an old woman the steps will you? Run ahead and pick the vegetables for Sklynar Stew from the garden. Don’t act like you forgot the recipe, I know better than that… off with you now!” Nanna said, patting Asa lightly on the back, “Don’t worry, I can get your friends back to my house.”

“And talk to them without me present too, eh?” Asa said, grinning back at the old woman. “You know I’m going to need the story of why you can see Death and why you owe Lakshmi gold, right? Don’t think I’m forgetting that…”

“Of course you aren’t, little sponge, you will soak up that story like you soak up sugar and laughter and knowledge and everything else. Go, child, go. I just want a chance to get to know your friends a bit, we will all talk over dinner, I promise.”

“Yes, Nanna,” Asa said in mock admonishment, then winking at the entire assemblage and went haring off to procure the vegetables requested, lest they incur the wrath of Nanna Yi’hawn.

“Well then, now let’s get to chat a bit, shall we? I assume Asa is here because of Keres foolishness, yes?” Nanna asked, looking each person dead in the eye. Her manner was kindly, but there was a protective energy about her when she spoke about Asa, and a wisdom that her long years had lent her, giving her an ability to see to the core of things quickly.

"Aye ma'am," Rita spoke up. "Asa wanted to at least take the chance to talk him into accepting treatment for his curable ailment, but he'd have none of it. So since we were here Myx Dael wanted to visit their brother's gravesite and come to visit you. Aaaand we're here to insure that no one attempts to restrain our ship's chief medical officer from returning to their duties, if I'm to be perfectly honest."

“Good for you,” Nanna harrumphed in agreement. “That man was born a fool and it only got worse as he got older. He never did deserve my little sponge. I’m surprised they came back for Keres, but I suppose I shouldn’t be. Asa was always bringing home wounded animals, trying to fix broken wings. Even that mutt of theirs, Aw Shucks Hux- I think was the name, was a feral dog that got hurt. Asa brought that mutt home and loved it fiercely until the damn thing dropped dead a few years later. Little Sponge always has more heart that planning. Once they set their mind to something though, neither heaven nor hell will stand in their way. I’m glad to hear they have friends to support their decisions, I was worried with the way they ran off…Now, can someone explain to me why Little Sponge has been awakened? I can sense the cosmic energy positively thrumming in that skull of theirs- and that only happens in a certain number of ways….”

Nanna’s affable voice got grim at the end, thinking back to her own brush with death that awakened her abilities, all those thousands of years ago. While Nanna was glad Asa would get to experience the Universe more fully, her heart broke a bit at the thought her little sponge had already come so close to dying.

“Ah, that would be my fault, ma’am. I’m afraid I got them involved with Hera, a deity who helped them see the universe a bit clearer, if that’s what you mean. She made it right, but she did mention that Asa might never be the same, and… well, I’m the one to blame there, ma’am.” If there was one thing Rita Paris could be counted upon it was taking her share of blame, and the interaction between Hera and Dael was one that she was in command of the situation and had not prevented it from coming to pass. Thus the guilt and responsibility was hers to shoulder.

“Hera? Been ages since I thought about that old bitty. She still got her panties in a wad? I swear, it’s like she’s the only person who ever had a wandering husband….” Nanna grumped, then turning to face Rita, she clasped her hand gently, “Not your fault, dear. There is no way you could have known what would happen…I fear we have been too stand-offish these last few centuries, and the Universe is passing us by. Thank you for trying to keep my little sponge safe, I know you did your best. And Hera is right…Asa will see the Universe quite a bit clearer now, just perhaps not how they expect to…Here we are!” Yi’hawn chirped cheerfully upon reaching a house with a bright red painted door.

Opening the door the house, she went inside, tossing her bag on a nearby hook and taking out the leftover wildflowers to put in ready vase of water. There was a delightful smell of bread in the oven infusing the small house, and a slight hint of lemon in the air emanating from well-scrubbed floors and counters.

“Now, if I know one thing dears, it’s that dealing with unhappy news is hungry work, and it sounds like all of you have had a hungry kind of day. Let me see what I can do to make the day a small bit better,” Nanna Yi’hawn said as she slowly worked her way around the kitchen, gathering fruit and cheese from the fridge and placing it on a plate on a nearby wooden table.

“Won’t you join me for a snack? Water ok?, if not, I can brew some tea, let me know how old Nanna can help,” she said, motioning everyone over.

Asa came in from the back yard at this point, covered in dirt, and carrying an overflowing basket of assorted vegetables. Seeing the spread, Asa’s eyes lit up and they began to walk over to the table.

“Asa!” Nanna interrupted in mock indignation, “Dirt on my floor? No, no myx. You go wash that off right now! Your spare clothes are where you left them.”

“Yes Nanna,” Asa said dutifully, padding off to change clothing. As the doctor walked by the ancient woman, she swatted Asa lightly on the rear in a playful manner, then swooped in to give Asa a kiss on their forehead before proclaiming “Off with you” once more.

“I swear, that child is allergic to staying clean,”Yi’hawn muttered to herself. “Tea?” she inquired once again to the rest of the room’s occupants.

“Tea would be fine, ma’am, please and thank you,” Rita replied. Respect for her elders had been drilled into her at an early age, and Rita was generally diplomatic whenever possible. Hell, she was polite to the ship’s computer. “We don’t want to impose, but it would be rude to refuse hospitality.”

“Hard to impose on an invitation, young lady,” Yi’hawn replied with a wink and a grin. It was obvious to see where Asa’s sense of humor had come from as the implacable adopted matriarch bustled about humming to herself making tea.


While she had been largely silent, letting Rita answer questions she was more qualified to answer, a wry smile stretched across the red-headed Romulan's face as she looked at Nanny Yi’hawn. "Pardon me for saying, Ma'am, but now I understand. When we met Keres... I couldn't imagine how someone like Asa could have come from that. But meeting you, Asa makes significantly more sense now."

Looking in the direction Asa had left in to wash up, Dox kept smiling. "They are quite simply the single most... good... person I've ever met. On every level. Now I see where some of that comes from and I'm grateful they've had you in their life. Thank you."

Nanna Yi’hawn blushed profusely and Mnhei’sahe’s words, tottering over to her slowly, and planting a grandmotherly kiss on her forehead.

“That, you lovely little red head, is one of the kindest things anyone has said to me in over 5000 years of life. Don’t ask me how much over, I lost track. Asa and Brennan were the sweetest little ones I’ve seen in many years. El-Aurians are born craving physical comfort and contact. Keres, the utter twat, never felt the need to give that to his children, and with their poor mother’s death, well, those two largely just had one another. Now what kind of person would I be if I left two little innocents to suffer? They were an easy pair to love, even if Asa was always up to some mischief. It hurt my heart more than I have words for when Brennan passed to eternity, but it destroyed Asa. I knew I had lost them too that nigh. I watched the bleakness enter their eyes, and I could tell, they had to get away from here to be whole again. Even if it was an ….unconventional…..move at that age….and I thank each of you for helping my little sponge find a way back to happiness. The light is back in their eyes, and I see they are comfortable seeking that physical comfort our kind so desperately needs with you. If I could ask one favor? Don’t let them withdraw. Asa will try to be strong and independent and hold it all together on their own. Don’t let them. Hug them, tell them when they are being a fool, and they will be at times, and find some way to be silly together. If you can do that for an old woman, I can die well in what, 5 years? 10? No, don’t look at me that way Reaper, I don’t want you to actually tell me, I’m just guessing by the ache in my bones.”

Stifling a chuckle, Dox smiled. She knew first hand how freely Death let people know how long they had left. Instead, she nodded as she replied. "Asa will get all the hugs and silliness we can give them, Ma'am. You have my word."

Asa came out an adjoining room wearing a now-brushed-clean uniform and with freshly washed hands and feet. Nanna placed the tea tray next to the fruit and cheese on the table, and took a bench seat at the table, allowing the three women the chance to have an independent seat if they desired.

Asa plopped down next to Nanna, resting their head on her shoulder and wrapping one arm around her waist.

“Thank you for tea, Nanna,” Asa said dutifully.

“I even got the big cup out for you, little sponge,” Nanna replied, placing a large mug in front of Asa before wiping an errant strand of hair of their forehead and planting a kiss.

“Little sponge, your friends told me how Hera gifted you with the Awakening. I should have told you about that long before you left home, but I always thought there was more time, and I didn’t want to burden you. Forgive me?”

Nestling in closer, Asa sighed before responding, “Of course, Nanna. It would have been good to know what to expect, but I survived. And I’ve already been able to use it to help my friend Samuel find his way back from the aether, so it all works out in the end.”

Nanna turned Asa’s face up towards hers and said gently, “Little sponge, you need to be careful. If you give too much of yourself away, there won’t be enough left here, and you will be gone. You have to fill up your energy bucket with light before you have any to give away….so whatever light and life gives you joy, gives you satisfaction, brings you peace….keep that bucket full, sponge. Soak it all in, as deeply as you can, before you share too much with others, you understand?”

Asa nodded in agreement, then confessed, “I…I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing with it all, to be honest. But Cara is letting me read a book about our ancestry and what we used to be able to do. It’s a huge book, and it’s going to take me forever to make any sense of it, but I promise, I’ll be careful.”

Looking at Death, Nanna raised one eyebrow and said, “The Leabhar Eolas? You found it?”

"Yeah... It was my predecessor's and got lost in the saddlebags... It felt right to give it to Asa, especially considering how long they're scheduled to live and the energy and time felt right." Death was acting a bit sheepish now, rubbing her hands together nervously. "I should have mentioned that I found it after my last visit... Sorry Nanna, I've only been at this for about sixteen hundred years now. Please forgive me?"

The grandmother of all grandmothers asked her shocked question, then no one answered and there was... silence. As she would have asked in a staff meeting, on the alien world, in the colony of practical immortals, Rita Paris raised her hand as if she were in school. "For the newcomer, what's the Leahar Eolas?

"Oh, goodness, lass, you dont see the Reaper, do you? Odd that, the traces of her passing are all over you. Wait. Not this one. ..." Nanna squinted, looking closely at something just off Rita's left shoulder, "Her...twin? From an alternate reality perhaps? I beg your pardon, the Leahar Eolas is The Book of Knowledge. The wisdom of our ancient ancestors, it is said to contain the key to mastery of the foundations of the Universe, giving its scholars the ability to manipulate and alter reality in order to keep the Gods in line. Oh Reaper child, I am not angry with you, I find it hilarious you gave the keys to communing with Gods to an athiest. "

Then as if to suit her words, Nanna fell into a moment of giggles.

"Look just because they exist doesn't mean we have to Believe in them," Asa grumbled. The protest set Nanna off laughing a second time.

"It's been my experience that believing in them... believing in their better natures, at least... has made them better. I don't know that belief in kind, beneficent gods is a bad thing, when it seems to make them kind and beneficent," Rita offered simply. After all, it had certainly been her experience with the gods, and sometimes the simplest wisdom was the greatest.

Smiling over at Death, Dox followed up Rita's words with a few of her own. "I've certainly met a couple worth fighting for. I can believe in that."

"Well, I'm more a universal force than... I mean..." The palest woman to ever exist somehow blushed.

Chuckling slightly, Dox looked over at the embarrassed universal force with a smile. "However you're classified, you're my friend, Rei. And I believe in my friends."

“See, little one?” Nanna chided Asa, “The act of belief won’t make you like your father, child. Choose where to put your faith- put it in your friends here, put it in the Gods that deserve it. And if they don’t deserve your faith, bend fate and all the laws of the Universe to help them see that they should. That used to be our way, you know. We didn’t blindly believe in beings lounging about in some wormhole. We found those higher life forms that exhibited the good in life and worked with them to stop those that didn’t. The Q would have run hog wild over this sector for centuries if we hadn’t. You’ve met that lot, yes? Insufferable, arrogant, know-it-all’s. Although they aren’t all bad….” Nanna trailed off, a wistful look on her face, followed by a telling blush around the ears.

“Well, that was millennia ago, I doubt she remembers me. Still….those manifestation powers did come in handy….”

“Nanna!” Asa cried in shock, causing the old woman to lean against Asa in a fit of laughter.

“What, child? I wasn’t born old. I’ve had 39 children you know….and none of them were immaculate conceptions. Why, there was this one man, had the strongest shoulders I’ve ever seen….”

“NANNA!” Asa was floundering now, desperately trying to not find out about men with strong shoulders from their adoptive grandmothers, but knowing if they said much else it would only tease her into continuing.

In a placating manner, Nanna reached over to smooth Asa’s hair again, planting a kiss atop the crown of their head before standing to procure the vegetables Asa had picked. While she washed each one thoroughly, she said softly, “Sponge, did Keres formally abdicate his position?”

Face turning momentarily hard, Asa replied, “No ma’am. He won’t willingly do that, and now….well, the council is going to have to remove leadership from him. He won’t be dying and he won’t be in a position to lead. As his supervising physician, I can file the report with the Bajoran consulate and the colony elders. Or I can ask the doctor at Quarantine Zone Zed to do so, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Bringing the freshly washed vegetables over to the table along with a three vegetable peelers, two knives and two cutting boards, Nanna sat back down before replying.

“I can take care of that, little one, you have enough to deal with. As the eldest elder, I have sway now that Keres is out of the way. How he weaseled his way to the top I still don’t understand,” then turning to look at the group, Yi’hawn passed out the cooking prep tools, “Everyone helps, everyone eats. Peel something or chop something if you please, I’ll let you fine folks work out who does what.”

Asa reached out to pick up a peeler and began working on what appeared to be a collosal carrot, leaving the potatoes out of reach. Asa hated peeling potatoes with a passion. They never got peeled quite right, always leaving an exposed eye or bumpy spot that tickled the irritation place in the back of Asa’s brain. The tomatoes wouldn’t need peeling of course, just a quick, rough chop, and the mushrooms were the same. The klin’dhar, a potato sized root vegetable that looked similar to a skinned celery stalk, also lay in the bowl to be prepared.

Awkwardly, Dox grabbed a potato and a peeler and muttered, "This is going to end in blood." half joking about her abysmal cooking skills.

After quickly chopping an onion, Nanna was back up and over at the stove, lightly heating the garlic and onion in butter, releasing a delicious scent throughout the house. Once that was started, she reached in and withdrew a huge loaf of bread from the oven.

As she continued to slowly stir the garlic and onion, Nanna looked over her shoulder, “You know you started a bit of a rebellion here, Asa. After you left, seven other younglings became so infuriated at their lack of vaccination and basic medical care that they stormed the regional health office and demanded treatment. From what I hear, the doctor there was more than a little surprised, but was happy to help. Five of them started attending Bajoran schools, too. Said something about wanting to get outside opinions. Once Keres was diagnosed with Vahar’ai, 37 of the adults even went to get the vaccine. Some are still being fools of course, but they will see, in time. Everyone remembers how horrible it was to lose Kendra, then Brennan, then you, sponge. You may not have died, but having one of our own leave the nest so soon, and in such spectacular fashion, I might add, spurred on a bit of change around here.”

"Good," Dox replied, peeling slowly to protect her fingertips. "I'm glad Asa has had a positive impact here."

“Good thoughts, good words, good deeds,” Paris opined from potato peeling duty, which she handled rather deftly. The act of composing a communal meal was one that she enjoyed, and she was quite happy to help. She'd wanted to offer, but many old cooks tended to be a bit territorial in the kitchen and she didn't want to intrude. Being invited to do so, however, made her happy. While her own cooking skills tended to be comprised of following a recipe, manually cooking for Sonak and the occasional dinner guests had prepared her for moments such as this, and it brought a warm feeling to her heart. “We seldom realize the impact we are making, but a life well led by example can have quite a profound effect on others. What we do in life echoes an eternity, as the wise man said.”

“Just so, lass,” Nanna said, “Just so. And may I add, my Asa could learn a thing or two from you. They have always been useless in the kitchen.”

Bringing the chopped veggies over to Nanna, Asa said reluctantly, “I’m…I’m glad things are changing, it was past time. But you should know…Keres stripped me of being a part of Clan Dael. I cannot speak to the council, I no longer have a place in the community. I’m…I’m not even sure I will be welcome if I return.”

Nanna narrowed her eyes for a moment, considering her next words.

“Did you know your Great-great-great Aunt Lydia was my 14th daughter? She married into the Dael clan long before Keres was even thought of. So, that makes me a senior Dael by proxy, and I’m telling you that you are not stripped of anything. And if the council wants to fight me on it, they will look like they are bullying an old woman. They won’t do that….the optics would be horrible, especially right now. So never fear, if you want to be a Dael, you are. If you aren’t, then I hereby welcome you into the Yi’hawn clan. No one runs off my little sponge.”

Wrapping their arms around Nanna’s waist from behind as the old woman stirred her pot, Asa said quietly, “Thank you, Nanna. Maybe I’ll take on a hyphenated last name.”

Tapping Asa gently on the forehead with a wooden spoon, Nanna said softly, “No rush to decide. You’ve had a hard enough day. Now let’s get dinner on the table, shall we? Off with you, I can’t cook with a sponge wrapped around me like a squid.”

After placing the vegetables in to cook, Nanna turned and faced the group at the table.

“Rita, Mnhei’sahe, Reaper….our time together grows to a close after this meal. It has warmed my heart to meet my Asa’s friends, and to see you again, Reaper. You are doing such a good job, lass. Keep that compassion and you will do well. What other gift can an old lady give any of you? My wisdom is my own, and may be folly to you. My home remains open to you whenever you may return, and my heart remains with you as my Asa travels with you. I cannot do much, not anymore, getting old is exhausting, you know? But I can do this…..”

With that, Asa could see a momentary aura of brilliant blue surround Nanna, rushing out to go between each of the friends at the table, tying itself to each member, then joining in the center, tying in a huge knot before disappearing.

“What…was that?” Asa said, rushing over to help Nanna take a seat.

“I give you the gift of understanding…a small piece of each of you is in the other now. A small piece of each of your hearts, your minds, the tiniest speck of who you are- all tied together in a group. You were on your way to creating these bonds, mind. The love you all share for one another was already forming energies, reaching out and entwining. It would have solidified in another 3 or 4 years, I just helped that along. You will now be able to understand the others point of view a tiny bit more, you will be a tiny bit more empathetic towards each other, even when you are tired and hurting and don’t feel like it. You will be able to tell more easily when something is wrong with each other, you will have a tiny inkling when the other is in danger. Of course, any of you can break these ties at any time. Love can always be broken or rejected, or just allowed to wither if it is not fostered. But I don’t think that will happen….all I have done is confirm what was already there, the ties that bind all families together, no matter how they form.” Nanna looked pleased with herself and her efforts, but remained slumping in the seat resting.

Not quite understanding what had happened and being oblivious to what Asa had seen, she nonetheless felt something she otherwise couldn't explain. She smiled as she looked at Asa's nanna. "Ma'am, thank you. But the only thing breaking my bond with Asa is when Death decides I'm done. And maybe not even then, I don't know how that works either." Dox gestured to Death with a smile.

Getting up and walking over to Mnhei’sahe, Nanna tousled the as much of Dox’s hair as she could get her hands in. It was a familiar gesture, and a playful one.

“Sweet little lady, you saw what happened in the graveyard, as did I, albeit from afar. Did that look like something as paltry as death could tear apart the love people have for one another? Even when we can’t speak to those that go before, they stay with us. You feel them with you, if you try hard enough. Fear not, Mnhei’sahe Dox, truefriend of the newly formed Dael-Yi’hawn clan, emissary to refugees, and protector of the good gods. Death cares not to loose the bonds of friendship, nor is she cruel in the delivery of her duties. I think you will lead a good life, little one, I think all of you will.” Nanna pronounced the titles upon Dox as if they were time-honored offices, with all the gravity of prophecy and all the promise of hope, but once complete, reached down and kissed Dox on each cheek, intoning sofly, “May peace and hope find you, all your days,” before moving to Rita and performing the same ritual.

When reaching Death, Nanna kissed her gloved hands instead, and said, “May the affection of those you choose, encourage you against the nature of your task, and may your nature be a reflection of who you are, until the task is done.”

Then moving back to the stove to stir the soup, Nanna said brightly, “Now then, who’s hungry?”

It wasn't every day that Enalia made it out to the flight deck of the USS Hera. It was even rarer for her to welcome aboard someone arriving in a privately registered craft. However, the passengers aboard the PSV Tanvus included one Baroness Sarika third class of the Artan Family Pirates so it was customary for the head of the family to greet one of the leading members of the family.

As the somewhat larger craft settled on the deck gently, cradled by the tractor beams, Enalia and four security officers, along with Baroness Schwein von Alcott stood at the ready. Slowly, the boarding ramp lowered to reveal the short, militarily dressed woman. It was clear that her arms from the elbows down had been replaced with dark metal prosthesis that did nothing to try to blend in and her uniform rested on the locking collars that joined them to her flesh. Her high collar and large cabdriver-style cap did little to hide her red cybernetic eyes or her long silver hair.

As she stepped down from inside her ship, Enalia stepped forward to meet her. "You'll have to surrender any weapons of course. Starfleet protocol." If security were nervous, they didn't show it.

"Protocol, of course." The silver-haired woman reached for the sword at her back and unclipped it, handing it off to one of the security officers. "Princess... As I live and breathe..."

That's when the spotted woman finally broke her cool and grinned like a little girl, pulling the cybernetic woman in for a hug. "It's so good to see you again Sarika. How long's it been? Three years? Four?"

"Eight you silly spotted turnip. Remember how you vanished for four bloomin' years on us? I still can't believe you're back." Sarika held on to that hug for dear life, barely believing she was finally seeing her princess at long last in the flesh. "You ever up and vanish like that on us again..."

Schwein motioned to the security that everything was going to be ok. This was a joyous reunion, after all. "Prinzessin, may I recommend we make our way to ze conference room and summon Lieutenant Dox?"

"Ah, yes. You need to meet our newest Baroness. We'll be using the flight deck conference room since it's nearby." Enalia finally parted from Sarika and motioned towards a nearby exit. "If you'll follow me."

With two of the security officers escorting them and two remaining with the PSV Tanvus, it didn't take long for them to get to the conference room. Once they arrived, Enalia motioned to the minibar that had already been set up. "Please help yourself. Computer, please inform Lieutenant Dox that her presence is needed in the flight deck conference room."

Sarika wiggled her cybernetic fingers at the small array of alcohols and glasses, trying to decide on which one she'd try first. She then picked a pale red bottle and poured a two finger glass, adding a napkin buffer between her fingers and the glass itself to prevent annoying clinking sounds. "I have to admit, this is quite the amazing ship you have. I had heard Starfleet gave you a Nebula-class, which... I wouldn't consider worthy of our Princess... But this... Whatever this ship is... Sarika likes..."

After a brief moment, Mnhei'sahe Dox entered the room. As the Chief Flight Control officer of the Hera, her own office was quite close and she had been, of course, well aware of the coming and going off any craft onto the flight decks of the ship. As such, she had at least some idea of who had arrived.

Regardless, however, her nearly perpetual anxiety was still hard at work tying her stomach in a tight figurative knot as she stepped in, her hands behind her back. "Lieutenant Dox, reporting as ordered, Captain."

Enalia began to introduce Sarika but was interrupted by the silver-haired woman literally glomping the Romulan Lieutenant. "Hi! I'm Baroness Sarika! You're the new girl, right? I've heard a lot about you from Magnus. I know we're going to be great friends!"

Somewhat surprised, Dox was half expecting another super soldier and flinched slightly in anticipation. But instead, it was a simple hug from the only woman on the ship slightly shorter than she was. Dox glanced slightly confused over to the captain before looking back and replied. "Uh... Hello. Um... Yeah, yes. I'm lieutenant... Dox."

The red-headed Romulan pilot corrected herself slightly for the context of this meeting. "And... Baroness 5th class Mnhei'sahe Dox. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Schwein and Enalia both chuckled softly at the interaction between the two. Especially when one of Sarika's hands broke open into a scanning array. "Oooh... You're an interesting one, too... You've had some tampering done with your DNA, haven't you? And your thyroid isn't regressed as much as it should be for having human DNA in you... Fascinating..." She then realized she should be shaking hands rather than waving her hand at people. "Ah, sorry, I get carried away. I'm here to brief you on the tribunal and all that." Closing up her hand, she went and picked her glass back up and downed the liquid inside of it.

"That would be appreciated, yes." Enalia slipped into the chair at the head of the conference table while Schwein chose a seemingly random chair along one side. Dox, a few seats down. Sarika, on the other hand, sat on the table itself.

"It's not going well at all," Sarika declared, staring into her glass.

As Sarika spoke, Dox's expression shifted to address the tone. "What does that mean? And what can we do about it?"

"Well, that Romulan bitch is probably going to side with the queen for sure after the Dre'lax mining fiasco. She lost a ship and crew there to the Syndicate and the Queen went in and got revenge for her." Sarika waved one hand in the air. "Then both of the first class bitches are abstaining just to see who comes out on top."

"Those bitches..." Schwein muttered in sympathy.

"And then you have Flora. No one knows which way that bitch will go." The red-eyed woman stared into her glass for a moment before continuing. "Then there's that bitch Garan. She's so far up the Queen's nethers there's no way to dislodge her. The same with Terethis. The rest of the bitches are yours though, Princess. We have eight out of eleven of the fourteen we need on your side."

Enalia leaned back in her chair and thought it over a moment. That was bad news indeed.

Looking over towards the Captain, Dox's hands were crossed in from of her. "The Romulan. That's Baroness Sienae Nei'rrh? That's the one my Mother and I transported out of Romulus? Her and much of her crew, right?"

The young officer's eyes went narrow as she thought. "What happened? What's the Dre'lax mining fiasco?"

Enalia raised a hand to silence the others so she could answer the question herself. "The Dre'lax mining fiasco... Involved several of our mining colony assets and the Orion Syndicate. They attacked several of our competitor's facilities and our ships moved to defend when asked, which did not go well when the defense platforms turned on everyone. The syndicate routed the installations and made off with almost thirty thousand tons of ore, destroying half a dozen ships in the process. We suspect that my mother sold them the access codes to those defense platforms but without proof..."

Sarika jumped in, adding her flair to the explanation. "Of course she did... We just haven't found the proof yet. We just need a better sneaky sneak or something. A real professional at that sort of thing to show everyone that she did dealings with the Syndicate so we can sway not only the Romulan bitch back to our side, but the other wishy-washy bitches too."

"And then my mother showed up right after they left and knew precisely where part of the Syndicate fleet that hit us happened to be. Hence where the rumor came from." Enalia steepled her fingers in front of herself thoughtfully.

"Convenient timing," Dox commented as she was deep in thought. "She needed the Romulans to side with her, and as soon as you have a possible way to convince them to side with you... as soon as you officially recruited Jaeih Dox's daughter, a scenario falls perfectly in place to make them indebted to your Mother."

Looking back up to the group, Dox continued. "What kind of proof would mean anything? It sounds like most of the Baronesses aren't exactly suffering from any delusions about what kind of a woman she is."

Schwein stepped up to answer that one. "Proof that ze Queen is working with ze Syndicate would be enough. Zat is ze one unbreakable rule. Zat will break our contracts with ze Federation."

Enalia pointed a finger at Schwein to punctuate her point. "And that's how we operate as privateers and get away with preying on other pirates like we do."

"Even though we're pirates at heart, which those bitches have forgotten, siding with the Queen and the Syndicate," Sarika added.

"Pirates at heart..." Dox repeated Sarika's words quietly as she thought. "If she's breaking the one, unbreakable rule, she can't be doing it alone. There have to be other Baronesses that view the contracts with the Federation as a bad thing. Who wants the family to cross that line from Privateers to Pirates. It stands to reason that she might be feeding information to the syndicate through one of those Baronesses so she can claim plausible deniability if proof IS found. Might be a good idea to start looking for syndicate links with the Baronesses that are backing her, rather than her directly. If someone knows something, that someone would potentially be a weaker link that could be leveraged."

"And for that, we would need to be very sneaky, and an outsider." Sarika waved a finger in the air. "Someone that could fold themselves into the suspected bitch's ranks and hack her files. Or someone that was skilled enough to do it remotely. Neither of which we have."

Her face scrunching into a frown, Dox sighed. "My mother. She was sneaky enough to fake her death from the Tal Shiar, and they have a history. She worked with your Mother. True, everything indicates that your Mother knows you want to try and leverage that relationship... my relationship with her to try and sway the Romulan Baroness..."

Dox arched her head back, not believing what she was about to suggest. "But if we can convince her, and Intel command, to make it look like she escaped. Make it look like her and I are at odds... which currently we kind of are... that might be too enticing to pass up. If the Queen thinks she can use my Mother against US, it might be a foot in the door."

Enalia nodded for a moment before replying. "She'll need a ship with a cloak..."

Schwein added to it. "And one zat can not be traced back to us..."

Sarika finished off the thought. "I know a guy..."

The spotted woman grinned at Dox. "Mnhei'sahe, if you'll convince your mother, I'll talk Command into it. The stability of my family is pretty important to them, after all. Especially with our connections and the peacekeeping we do in the underworld."

Looking back at her Captain and friend, Dox's face was straight and stern. "I'll do what I have to, Captain. But we have to be 100 percent clear with Starfleet. Rita's right... we can't compromise with that responsibility or we've already lost. And that's a very slippery slope for both of us. I'll watch your back if you watch mine."

"I'll talk to her. I'll get her to do it. I have something she wants." Dox's face went cold as she thought if her mother. But she would go there for Enalia just as she knew Enalia would do the same for her.

"Thank you. Let's make sure we do this the Starfleet way, as well. If possible. If not... Then we'll have to find another way." Enalia hoped they hadn't crossed a line already. She'd back Dox up in whatever way she needed though. "Is there anything else? Any other bad news? Any good news?"

Sarika shrugged. "No, that's about it. Magnus's daughter is betrothed to someone we like so that's good news, but not too pressing. Mining stocks are up on magnesite, dilithium, and duranium. Selenium and most rare ores are down though. It's just that time of the season."

But as Sarika talked, Dox was lost in thought, pondering just what she'd have to do to convince her mother to help them. And she tried to figure out a way to do that without betraying her oath to Starfleet. But that would be a different talk with the Captain for another time. Instead, she forced herself to sit back up and be there in the moment.

"So, if there's nothing else, I should get going. The crew I brought are excited to see the station and I told them we could take a few laps before we head back to the rest. Apparently, there's some vendor that sells wormhole trinkets one of them wants."

Enalia was lost in thought as well as Sarika got up and headed towards the door, stopping long enough to give Enalia a hug on the way. "Don't be a stranger, Princess. And no more vanishing acts, ok?"

Enalia nodded and smiled, easily agreeing to that concession. "I'll do my best. Lieutenant, do you mind escorting Sarika back to her ship and make sure she gets her sword back ok? I'm going to draft up our plans and start working them from my end. Including running them by Rita."

"Aye, Captain." Dox rose and straightened her uniform top and gestured towards the door back to the flight deck. "If you'll follow me, we will collect your sword first, Baroness."

The silver-haired woman bounced over to Dox and latched onto her arm like a girl on her boyfriend's arm. "Ready when you are!"

As the two stepped back to the fight deck towards the security sub-station to collect Sarika's sword, Dox was awkwardly quiet for a moment, regardless of the energetic Baroness. "Baroness... I need to talk to you for a moment. It's about the Captain."

"She seems different... Is that it?" Sarika asked quietly, having expected something like this.

Pausing for a moment, Dox thought about it and continued. "There's details I can't go into, and I can't explain why. And I know we just met, but I have to ask that you trust why I can't..." Dox wanted to be sure she didn't betray any information that would threaten the future or Enalia's future Grandchild, Kodria, but instead spoke in broad strokes.

Sarika just shrugged it off. "This is an Intel ship. I'm sure there are a lot of things you can't go into."

"This tribunal. It's a crossroad for Enalia. The both of us... Not too long ago we were... Effected by a force that brought out or more base desires. And with just a little bit of psychic influence, we both crossed lines. Enalia can't cross that line again. If she does, we stand to risk losing her in a way far worse then if she was simply killed."

Dox looked seriously at the silver-haired woman. "I'll do what I have to do. I'm not worried about me. But her... and what's to come... We have to keep her on this side of the line, no matter what. We can't lose her and I'll need all the help I can get to make sure she doesn't do something she won't be able to take back "

The short cybernetic Baroness pulled Dox aside for a moment to talk more seriously than she'd spoken her entire time aboard the Hera so far. "Hey. You and the Princess stay on that side of the line. That's where you walk. Myself and a few others... Let us handle the messy stuff, ok? You need anything that might not be 'fleet approved you let me know. We will handle it. If you need us to keep an eye on your mother... We can do that too. Trust me when I say that losing the Princess in any way is not an acceptable outcome and if you have any hint that there's a chance of that happening, as a fellow Baroness, I trust you completely to help guide us down the right path. I know the rest of the Baronesses behind the Princess feel the same way. Okay?"

Smiling again slightly, Dox nodded. "Thank you, Baroness. I appreciate it. I believe we can do this and I'm glad the Captain has friends in all of this."

"Anytime. As soon as you two come up with a plan, let me know and my guy will move in and snatch your mother up like a gull after your fries." Sarika was back to her usual cheerful self now and heading back towards where she could get her sword. "Now where's my blade?"

Taking the cue, Dox walked briskly to the security station and addressed the officer on duty. "The Baroness will be departing shortly. If you would, please, she will be needing her effects. Thank you."

After a moment, the imposing security officer returned from the back with the Baronesses' sword to hand to Dox and the two walked over to her ship. "I wish I didn't have to meet everyone under these circumstances, but it's been a pleasure regardless. Thank you."

Handing the sword back to its owner, Dox smiled.

Sarika clipped her sword onto her back and smiled happily. "It's been a pleasure meeting you as well. I hope to see you again soon." Without another word, the cybernetically enhanced woman turned and entered her ship, the boarding ramp closing up behind her.

Stepping clear, Dox called over to the station to the side of the hangar. "Dock master, ensure our guest a smooth egress, thank you."

As the craft lifted off to depart, Dox stood silently watching it. She thought on what was said and what it would mean for her. She no longer had the luxury of time. She would have to talk to her mother again and she wasn't looking forward to what she would have to say or do to convince the elder Romulan to help.

But she knew that she would do whatever it took. Saving Enalia Telvan from herself was the young officers priority and her own concerns would be secondary until this was over. Regardless of what it might cost her.

As Starbase 336 shuddered under the assault of the creatures that called themselves Gods, Centurion S'harien tr'Merek of the Romulan Tal Shiar, honor guard to station Commander, Riov Dalia Rendal, had a job to do.

The uneasy collaboration between the Romulan Star Empire and the Federation on Starbase 336 had begun to bear fruits before attracting the ire of the gods and inciting a conflict that had drawn the attention of Starfleet and the obsidian hulled Intelligence Vessel, the U.S.S. Hera. In short order, the arrival of the Hera had changed the dynamic of the situation and the station's crew was in a mad dash to escape with as much of the research as possible before becoming discovered. But Rendal had a different task for Centurion tr'Merek.

A member of the landing party from the Hera had caught the Commander's attention. A stout Lieutenant that had been facing off with the Valkyries invading the station that had been wounded, and bled green. This Lieutenant was called "Dox" by the human Commander, Paris and was later identified as Rihannsu by several Centurions in the hangar bay when she appeared, issuing orders in perfect Rihan to them.

There were, in fact, precious few Rihannsu in Starfleet, and of the ones the Empire was aware of, none matched the name or physical description of this young woman. Short and rotund, with fiery red hair, she was an enigma. And Rendal did not like enigmas. So as the station was being evacuated, she had tasked Centurion tr'Merek to begin an investigation.

As the Starfleeters were scurrying back and forth, arguing with the station Commanders and the beings that fancied themselves Gods, tr'Merek began his work. He collected a sample of the woman Dox's blood, left on the deck plates where she had been injured.

After the station had been evacuated, tr'Merek was one of the few personnel to be taken away NOT by the Hera, but by one of the two heavily damaged Romulan Warbirds working on the evacuation. It enabled him to carry out his orders and continue his assignment.

Now, after several days, he had his report in hand to deliver in person to Sub Commander T'suil in her suite on the Human-run space station, Deep Space 9, where she was overseeing the relocation of the station evacuees. Commander Rendal was still in custody on the U.S.S. Photon pending Starfleet completing an inspection, but T'suil was Rendal's right-hand woman and bore her Riov's instructions

At the entrance of her quarters, tr'Merek spoke. "Sub Commander T'suil I have the information you ordered me to collect for you. I am prepared to make a full report on the Starfleet officer now identified as Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox."

Sub Commander T'suil stood and accepted the report, activating a signal jamming device she kept in her boot to prevent monitoring. "Excellent. Tell me who she is." Ready with an encrypted PaDD, she listened intently.

Standing at attention, tr'Merek recited the information back to the Sub Commander. "She appears to have no official Starfleet records we could access, further indicating an assignment with Starfleet intelligence. However, genetic scans we were able to complete from the collected blood sample, she is the daughter of two former Tal Shiar agents. The fugitive, Investigator Dralath tr'Rul and apparently former Sub Commander Jaieh t'Aan. But there are details that do not come together satisfactorily."

The rigid Centurion continued. "Genetic scans detected an overlay of Human DNA. There are code markers that indicate this would have been performed at the Daire'eri Docgae'elh research station. Additionally, her age was determined to be between 31 and 32 years. However, Sub Commander t'Aan was recorded as killed on the penal research outpost 97. That was 35 years ago."

"Then that means she's still alive. I wonder where she's been hiding all this time..." T'suil would have to ponder this... Then do some hacking into the USS Hera's databanks, if she could, to find out. "Thank you. Do you have anything else to report?"

"No, Sub Commander. The specifics of the genetic report are in my written report for your review. Will you require anything further at this time?"

"Let's see if we can track down Investigator Dralath tr'Rul and bring him in for... Questioning... Being refugees may be to our advantage for a while..." A sinister smile spread across T'suil's face as plans started rolling together.

"By your command." The Centurion saluted as he made his exit to execute his orders, leaving t'Suil to ponder her discoveries.

As a runner by both hobby and survival on a great many of her adventures, Rita Paris loved to get a different view from time to time when she ran. Sometimes it was deck 8, sometimes it was Deck 12, and as of today, she had officially been chastised for attempting to run the docking ring of DS9, as apparently, she represented a safety hazard running through the wide and spacious corridors of the enormous Cardassian-designed space station. Which made little sense to her, as the first beings she encountered were the security personnel sent to apprehend her after she’s already run 12 kilometers.

Making her way back to the starship feeling mildly rejected, Rita realized that she still wanted to run. It cleared her mind, gave her time to think things over and read between the lines, and her proficiency as a runner had saved her life more times than Sonak, and that was saying a lot. While her usual tracks were, of course, available to her, she realized that she didn’t want to just run the decks. Her outing had awakened a desire for something different, so she considered her options.

There was always the holodeck, of course.

While she often brought up the nature trail at Starfleet Academy to run, as it was a small piece of her past that was mostly unchanged since her own attendance in the 2250’s, she often found it to be lonely to run it alone. Having the computer simulate cadets running alongside her helped, but it was not the same. There was the possibility of just about anywhere, but as the universe she had come from was different than the one she now inhabited, calling up old locales tended to just make her wistful and sad rather than relaxed and calmed. Besides, who really needed to run the G’loff Glacier in southwestern Dronk on Andoria?

There was one note of variety that had been quite keen to her, though, and that was Mnhei’sahe Dox’ outer hull programs, whereupon one could run in the hull as if the starship were in atmosphere. It always reminded her of the time she’d done it on Lexington Station, on the hull of the USS Exeter as she was docked there in quarantine and Rita was frustrated by her inability to actually do her job. Years later and another dimension over, she still enjoyed the sensation. After all, even as accustomed as she had become to the EVA armor of the modern day, there was nothing like just running free, yet doing so in the void of space to her mind.

Tapping the antique Starfleet delta that served as her comm badge, Rita spoke aloud. “Commander Paris to Lieutenant Dox. I’m looking to go for a run on the hull- think you might have time to join me on the duranium hull of an antique?” she asked playfully.

Meanwhile, in the flight control department, it's Chief was putting in a little over time as was usual for the red-headed Romulan pilot when her comm badge chirped with the call from the Hera's gregarious First Officer.

"Uh... Yeah, sure. I could use a break, actually. I can be there in ten minutes. I just need to save some files I'm working on and change." Dox replied, tapping her badge as she spoke. "Be right there, Commander."

“If it’s a bad time you don’t have to, Dox,” Paris countered as the lack of enthusiasm was noted. “Just a request, not an order.” After having been thrown off a space station twice in the past week, Paris was a bit thinner-skinned than normal. “I can go it alone, no worries.”

"Huh? No... Please, I'd like to. I need to peel away from the desk and a run sounds great. Promise. Be right there." Less distracted, Dox's tone was much lighter this time.

“All right. Holodeck 2, I’ll be warming up,” Paris responded stepping inside and considering just how she would kill the time.

After the allotted time had elapsed, the doors wooshed open as Mnhei'sahe Dox came in with a smile, dressed in black leggings, red running shoes and a command crimson tank top with the Starfleet delta printed in the center. In the center of the room was a long table with a small net in the middle and Rita Paris, clad in some mid-calf length running shorts and a hot pink tank top emblazoned the the legend 'Just Do It' was playing ping pong with a lanky human with a tightly cropped haircut that seemed exceptionally good at the game.

There was a table in the academy common room so Dox wasn't unfamiliar with the game, but it was still an unexpected sight as she tilted her head quizzically with a grin. "Hello, Commander."

"Hi!" Paris didn't look up as she continued battling her opponent with the hand-sized paddle and the 4 CM white ball which knocked against the table with a distinctive clicking sound. For nearly eight seconds she managed to volley her opponent, but then she leaned too far and he skillfully shot wide, and he took the point. Offering her hand, the polite pilot shook her holographic opponent's hand. "I cede the match. You played very well."

"Thank you, you too," he replied in an awkward hurried speech.

Turning to regard her chubby chum, the curvaceous commander offered a smile. "Let's see how much the computer likes me. Computer?" Rita called out to the overhead. "What's the name of the captain's Miranda class pirate vessel, Computer?"

There was a pause, then came the answer.

=^= The Captain's private vessel is the Manticore =^=

"No USS, which makes sense," Rita observed. "Computer, can you holographically reproduce the Manticore? We'd like to do some running on the hull, to get a feel for her." Turning to regard the ship's pilot, Rita Paris shrugged broadly, palms up.

=^= Affirmative =^= the computer responded.

"It's what I do. I gotta get a feel for her on the outside too, y'know? You and I are both going to be in this battle with her mother, so let's kill two birds with one stone, get a jog and get a feel for what we'll be doing it with. You in?" This wasn't a command duty nor a teaching exercise. In this, they were both equals, both with a stake in it, and neither had an advantage. This would be a challenge that they would face together. So instead of ordering, the lost pilot asked the Romulan privateer to indulge her in preparation for a trial by fire they'd soon face.

"I've prepped a bridge sim. It's ready to go. I've studied the available specs, but I haven't sat in her yet." Dox nodded slightly as she leaned forward, stretching out her calves in preparation for the run. "No time like the present to get started. Familiar ourselves with her."

Turning her neck to the side, there was mild but audible pop from Dox's neck. "One of the reasons I build exterior sims and walk them is to be able to visualize the exterior dimensions properly. The numbers are fine, but for me I like to feel how big a ship is. How much room I'll really have when maneuvering. From what I've heard about the Captain's mother, we'll need every advantage we can get."

"One thing at a time, then... let's take a jog, Miss Dox," Rita smiled, that million-watt smile that she only pulled out when she was genuinely happy. "You really do get it, Mnhei'sahe. I'm glad we're in this together."

"Computer, please place us on the dorsal saucer section of the Manticore, on the prow, if you please," Rita asked of the ship's computer, which obliged her by presenting the saucer section of the Miranda class vessel, placing both of them on the lip at the most forward point, with a great view.

Which was painted a shade of pink remarkably close to Rita's obnoxious t-shirt.

Looking down at the expanse of pink hull, Dox's eyes went wide as a smile crept across her face. "Wow. That... Is a LOT of Pink. Didn't read this in the technical specs."

"Unexpected, for sure. Wow. Looks like a Pepto Bismol tablet," Rita offered, referring to an ancient stomach remedy that still survived to the modern day. "Okay, so... impressions. Rollbar, which gives us additional torpedo launchers, fore and aft I'd wager, given her captain. I've always loved these... that whole 'sled' designs always looked a lot more efficient to my eye. Don't get me wrong, I'll always love the old Constitution Class, but the Miranda was a brilliant, compact redesign. Those built up rows of decks on the saucer to accommodate Engineering? That's just good redesign, engineered from what they learned from the Constitution."

Looking the ship over, Dox could only see what was visible from their vantage point on the top of the saucer, but she was familiar with the basics of design of the classic Miranda class. "It's much more compact. A much tighter design for increased maneuverability. In a lot of ways, the precursor to our own Nebula Class lady. That roll bar and torpedo bay is where our Pod is. The Nacelles are tucked tighter under the saucer. The power demands of the Nebula required a separate engineering section, but in many respects, the Manticore should move like a scaled-down version of the Hera."

Leaning slightly over the edge of the.saucer to try and get a glimpse of the Nacelles, Dox continued. "There's a visual elegance to the Constitutions, the Galaxy, the Ambassador, and the Sovereign. Those long, swept lines are beautiful. But this design is tight. It will serve us well to have a smaller profile in a conflict."

"Agreed. She's maneuverable and compact. Cap'n told me her mother is fond of ramming and boarding... if we can lure her in and keep her from connecting, I can carve her up like a turkey in a hurry if you can get me inside her shields," Rita offered. "I'm glad we're talking about this now. We make a good team, you and I, but advance planning will pay off because he mother will know Enalia's moves- but not ours. We're the x-factor- she doesn't know about your piloting skill, nor my familiarity of the capabilities of these beauties in ship to ship combat."

"Agreed. The Captain... in flight combat... she doesn't give me coordinates or tell me what maneuvers to perform. Nothing out of the playbook. She just tells me what she needs done and leaves the 'how' to me." Dox looked at Rita with a slight smile. "And the tactical station here, it should be like going home for you. If we start out with some Starfleet textbook moves, let her think she's got the advantage, we can have the element of surprise."

"Let's take a look below decks, shall we? Computer, as per Lieutenant Dox's other programs, keep the gravity plane with us as we move." With that said, Rita Paris stepped over the lip of the saucer to begin walking over Deck 5 on the way to Deck 6 with Dox close behind. "She ought to have phaser emitters and torpedoes below- thinking exposing out bellies might be an unexpected move getting that close, as that roll bar is a bit of a hindrance maneuvering in collision alert conditions- thoughts?"

"It's unexpected. We let her get in close and make it look like a panic evasion to avoid being rammed and we can do just what you need. Get inside her shields and have a full spread ready to rake her dorsal side." Dox crossed to the ventral side of the saucer to see the massive Warp Nacelles. "That's the primary problem with exposing our belly. It exposes out Nacelles to both impact and weapons fire. The roll bar is a potential hindrance, but one that won't cripple us if it's rammed or disabled."

Trailing off as she thought, Dox snapped around to Rita as she thought. "The Roll Bar. Yeah, it's our primary Photon torpedo launcher... but in an emergency... we can use it as a hook if necessary. It would be crazy and dangerous... but if she likes ramming, letting her tag the rollbar, we could hook the bow of her own ship. A controlled thrust at the right moment and we could flip the nose of her ship upside down." Then Dox thought about it.

"No, that's... that would leave us just as vulnerable. Hnave." She cursed in Rihan as she thought out loud. "What's wrong with her that she's so desperate for power that she would put her own daughter through this?"

“Your own mother is not that dissimilar, Miss Dox,” Rita observed as she casually strode across Decks 6 and 7. “It’s about control. They believe in something- a cause, a legacy, a birthright. That gives them the rationale that whatever they do is righteous and excusable. I suspect we’ll find out through the course of this what a disappointment Enalia is to her mother, how if only she had been obedient and done as she was told all would be well now”

“Same as Asa’s father, same as mine, likely the same as yours," Rita stepped over to begin walking across the ventral hull of the Manticore. “It all boils down to control, because they feel they know best and their children for whom they did all this are just ingrates. Really, it’s about achieving immortality, for their lives and deeds to live on beyond them- their grasp at immortality is desiring a clone of them to continue. When that doesn’t pan out, they lose it and blame their willful children. Because how dare you want your own life- clearly mine as your parent is far too important. It is just short-sighted selfishness in the end, that costs them the very thing they seek.”

"Yeah... I know it but I still ask why, which is stupid. It just... It's just so frustrating to see this repeat over and over again no matter what we do. Sorry, Commander. Just having a moment." Dox took a breath to compose herself.

"Hmm... 'the very thing they seek'. She wants the Captain to replace her properly or get out of the way by giving her an heir. Is there a way we can use what she wants to get her off balance. Bring the fight under our terms?"

"That will be during the Tribunal. So long as she has some genetic material to work with the cap'n's mother will likely be fine with eliminating Enalia- as you said- as an obstacle to her plans. How to work that I do not know. But we'll bear it in mind. As for the repeating pattern," the time-tosses tactician spread her hands, palms up. “Patterns of abuse. I promise to watch for you doing it to your kids. Because damned if I will treat mine like my father did.”

"Not planning on any of those anytime soon." Dox chuckled awkwardly, knowing that Mona Gonadie was absolutely thinking about kids, but that was getting off topic so Dox came back to the subject at hand.

"As far as the tribunal, the Captain believes my Mother might be a factor. One of the Baronesses is a Romulan woman. Sienae Nei'rrh of the Romulan Refugee Corps. Her and most of her crew owe their freedom to the Forager. Apparently. they were among the many refugees we smuggled off of Romulus."

Looking out into the simulated void as she talked, Dox continued. "Apparently, the Artan Family was a fairly regular client. The Captain's Mother and mine have a history. One we might be able to exploit, pending that I can figure out how to at least pretend to make nice with her."

Pausing, Paris eyed her friend with a dubious expression. "It's all an exchange for them- I will do this for you, if you do that for me. You don't have to play nice with your mother. You just have to motivate her, and that's a very simple matter of tugging on her all-consuming self-interest." Looking up, the first officer's expression quirked. "I guess that is a LOT easier to see from an emotionally removed perspective... once again, Sonak was right."

"He usually is, isn't he?" Dox replied. "She wants two things. Her freedom and me out of Starfleet and back with her. The Captain is going to talk with Intel command about being able to use her for the tribunal. And as long as it's above the board and officially sanctioned, I'll do what I can to convince her to help."

"Would she settle for her freedom and a better relationship with you?" Rita asked earnestly as they walked, moving past the sensor pod, just above which was fire control for the underside of the saucer section.

"I hope so. I have no idea, really. But we need her. When Baroness Sarika was here to update the Captain on the status of the Tribunal, she provided information that indicated the possibility that the Captain's Mother is feeding information to the Orion Syndicate. If we had any proof it could effectively end the Tribunal in the Captain's favor." Dox continued.

"We need someone with the ability to infiltrate the Queen's ranks. Someone she once trusted. But I'm officially listed as a Baroness for the tribunal. I'm afraid my Mother will be useless... unless the Captain's Mother has reason to believe my Mother and I are in opposition."

"So you're aiming for a team-up double-cross? That's tough to pull off with someone you trust, forget about someone who's recently proven to you that you can't trust them," Rita observed as she strolled around the Deck 10 sensor pod, eyeing the three phaser turret emplacements. "We could take a closer look, but I don't recognize those phaser emitters, do you?"

With a slight chuckle, Dox replied. "Yeah... I still have no idea how I'm going to pull any of that off. I'm... Stressing out a little about it." But then she focused on Rita's other question, stepping up to the phaser turret. "Hmm... I would have to double-check the specs... but I read them over earlier and I think they replaced the phaser turrets with Andorian tech. She's got a lot of modern modifications to the weapons and warp drive."

"Pretty sure from the power output specs I read that she's got a dual-core in here, one for ship's power and one devoted to weapons and shields. She's very determined to wreak the maximum amount of havoc as efficiently as possible," Rita observed strolling over to the ball turrets where the barrels that stuck out of them were definitely not Starfleet phasers, whatever they were. "I'll have to familiarize myself with the Andorian blasters- don't know why they are here, but I don't want to miscalculate between crippling and deadly force in the middle of a firefight. Looks like the standard three dual emitter banks down here. So if we roll over to expose the underbelly it's a less armed facing, which will be unexpected."

"Let's go look topside," Rita remarked, stepping off in that direction. "I want to verify the rear emitters, and check on that roll bar- I think you've given me an idea there."

Sailing slightly, Dox followed. Rita Paris having an idea gave the young Romulan officer comfort. She knew that Rita was going to be the key factor in them both winning this upcoming encounter and doing so without sacrificing either the Captain's conscience... or her own. "What are you thinking?"

"I am thinking that maybe, just maybe, that roll bar could be used as a trap. Apparently, Mommy Dearest's starship literally has ramming spikes, she is so fond of that tactic which, frankly, I can see as a very valid shock and awe tactic. So why don't we pre-rig the roll bar to make a tempting target? It is another pair of fore and aft phasers... or whatever these are. It is also the fore and aft torpedo launchers."

"So were we to seem to attempt to duck under that ramming attack, and were it to impact the roll bar instead, if we plan in advance for it, we can rig it with explosive bolts. That way it can tear free without causing genuine structural damage to the Manticore. Then the pirate queen suddenly has attached her starship to it, which she'd view as an inconvenience at best. However, it would be inside her shields and in direct contact with her hull," Rita hypothesized, making up the plan as she went along. "Were that roll bar to be set instead for instead of torpedo delivery, but a massive contact ionization charge that could essentially fry the systems it is in contact with like an EMP wave. Redundant backup systems tend not to be shielded all that well, and if the roll bar has its own power supply and continues scrambling their systems, they would be dead in space, unable to shake it off."

Reaching the edge of the saucer section, Rita changed gravity planes once more and began walking up the aft of the vessel, the roll bar in question looming above her. "There's a certain poetic irony in her being hoisted by her own petard, I think. If she's ruthless and follows form, then she'll pay for it. And we can still maintain one fore and aft torpedo launcher in service, so as not to give away our strategy too soon. After all, trying not to kill her means I have to be very judicious with torpedo placement. Thoughts, Miss Dox?"

Looking up and smiling that Rita had taken her dumb idea and turned it brilliant, Dox answered. "We do that, kill her power, we can lock her crew down and beam her to wherever we want her. Force the confrontation on our terms and limit the actual firefight to a minimum."

Pointing to the torpedo launchers on the roll bar, Dox continued. "We'll need Thex on this, but we'll need to make sure the torpedo launchers are fully automated and have their own dedicated power supply for launching torpedoes. We want to make sure that it's independent of the rest of the ship so that we can blow it free without damage to the rest of the ship's power grid."

"Mmmm, not fully automated- I work with a bit of precision with my torpedoes. But certainly an autonomous power supply, for insurance that we don't blow our own plasma conduits in the process and that she'll have power to keep dampening Mother's systems. We'll also have to change the Manticore's combination code, as I wouldn't put it past her to muck with the Captain's starship. And we'll need to go over her systems with a fine-toothed comb in advance to ensure there is no sabotage. Because that's likely high on her priority list as well- strike a blow that looks like ti could be crippling and enabling sabotage under cover of that strike." For an honorable officer and a throwback who was not the least bit up on modern starship warfare, Rita understood how people thought and applied it, producing strategies that were unconventional, but sound.

"Sabotage I'm already worried about. If we're thinking about using my Mother as a spy, it stands to reason that the Captain's Mother has already thought the same. If we're planning now, she likely is too." Dox was thinking out loud as they walked the hull. "I'm already looking over maintenance reports for any abnormalities here on the Hera."

"As far as automation, didn't the Miranda's roll bar torpedo rooms load manually? We can't have crewmembers up here if..." Then Dox froze mid-thought. "Unless we do. Not for real, but if that station up there LOOKED manned to her sensors, she would never suspect what we were planning. She knows that the Captain's crew will be Starfleet. And Starfleet doesn't sacrifice people for a strategy."

"She doesn't know that, in truth, because she doesn't know that Enalia sprouted a 75-kilogram conscience. This IS the strategy meeting, and no one else knows that I'll be there. Spies or no spies, she can't be omniscient. So she doesn't know we wouldn't put people up there." Rita stepped it up to a trot, then a run, speaking as she did so. "Computer, I want to leap from the dorsal of the saucer section and land safely on the 'roll bar'. Give me 1/8th gravity when I jump, please?"

=^= Confirmed, Commander. =^=

Her running start lent her velocity, and when she reached the point of takeoff, Rita Paris launched herself into space to try to make the 18 meter leap, which she accomplished, then her momentum propelled her forward, bouncing along as she did. Hopping, skipping, jumping she worked to deplete her movement before she got over the edge, in the end, calling out, "Computer, restore my relative gravity to 1 G!"

=^= Confirmed, Commander. =^= the computer repeated again. If it knew she had miscalculated, it didn't mention it.

"That'll teach me to show off," Rita grumbled as she picked herself up and inspected herself for injuries. Then, none found, she turned her gaze to the rear of the Miranda class rollbar pod.

Smiling from the Saucer, Dox tilted her head. "Well, that looked fun." Then the portly pilot took a few steps back, realizing it was her turn to join Paris on the roll bar. "Computer, please repeat the gravity protocols from Commander Paris for myself on my mark. First mark, reduce my gravity, second mark, restore it, Please."

After a chirp, the computer replied. =^=Confirmed, Lieutenant.=^=

Breaking into a brisk run, Dox crouched into readiness to leap at the edge of the saucer. "Mark!" As she spoke, the Holodeck adjusted her own gravitational pull as she kicked off the hull. She spun over into a roll in the space between the saucer and the roll bar as she approached the surface head first at an angle.

Putting her hands forward, she yelled "Mark" again and as gravity was restored, she tucked into a roll on the surface. Overshooting slightly, her ample posterior slapped hard on the pink hull as she came to a stop. "Ow." She said with a chuckle. "I need to practice on my zero-g training a little, too." Then she stood up, righting herself and adjusting her tank top as if it were her uniform, looking to Paris to continue.

"Good landing. Starfleet distrusts mechanical handling of ordinance," Rita observed, "even in the modern day. There are still three fire controlmen reloading each of those bays I am pretty certain- two enlisted and one NCO per tube. Unless the Captain has automated them, but she's a big believer in personnel working with advanced hardware. I like the idea of using sensor shadows... I suppose we'll leave it unmanned with torpedoes in the tubes so they can be convincing, and have at least one use before they make tasty tempting bait. A good little bit of misdirection. Sneaky."

"We'll sacrifice one bay each to our ionizer, as ionization still makes controls useless until the charge has abated, even with isolinear technology and gel systems, according to Sonak. Say..." Rita stopped, stared off into space for a moment, then snapped her fingers a few times. "Hey, waitaminnit. We don't have to leave it unmanned. We'll man it with some of our boarding parties. Have a transporter unit in there, so we can have them beam onto her ship because they are inside her shields, unless they are wavemapped, which most don't. Unless she has a cloak, in which case she would. Hmmm... regardless, armed and armored marines to board her vessel and run up the hull to beat their way into her bridge works for me as well. Hopefully, these pirates of hers are made of stern stuff."

"Are you thinking the Wil'I'ms sisters?" Dox added, referring to the intimidating Klingon security officers Paris seemed to be taking a particular interest in the training of. "They seem idea for that task. They have the moves, the discipline and the presence to muscle through and reduce resistance while keeping our purpose on point."

The frosty expression was one that had never particularly been directed Dox's way, but it was a withering look that informed her before the Commander's mouth had opened to say a word that she's steered straight into it.

"No, Miss Dox. Not a single one of my security officers will be aboard the Manticore, not on the day in question, not on any day." As she spoke, it was evident that Rita was choosing to make her true feelings about the affair and the subject know with considerably less filter than usual. Apparently suggesting more Starfleet personnel had roused a defensive streak that was going to have its say. "There is absolutely no way that I would appropriate Starfleet gear or personnel for this mission, which has nothing do with Starfleet, and would not be sanctioned were Starfleet to know of it in advance."

"I will be there, because I promised the Captain that I would, as a friend. I will not be in uniform, and I will officially be on leave of absence for the duration of this Tribunal. You will be there because I have been unable to stop you from getting mired in this pirate business. The Captain will be there because this is her past haunting her. Beyond we three, I will not endanger a single solitary Starfleet personnel for this brutal bout of fanciful theater of blood and revenge. Am I very clearly understood in this regard, Lieutenant?" The tone was unmistakable- this wasn't big sister Rita, who often saw things eye to eye as equals. This was Commander Paris, who was unwilling to have anyone else dragged into the moral quagmire that was the Artan family pirate business.

Listening, Dox went ramrod straight at Rita's tone. She was slightly taken aback at it and realized she had overstepped herself and forgot her place. Paris had made it clear before her feelings on both the Captain's and Dox's own involvement in this situation and Dox forgot that for a moment and clearly screwed up by suggesting the involvement of any of the Hera's security forces.

"Aye, Commander. Understood." Dox replied at military attention now, concealing her shame at her personal failure in the moment.

"Carry on, Lieutenant," Paris said, using the traditional dismissal from attention. Dox had stiffened up being called on the carpet, now she needed her head back in the game with the knowledge that Starfleet was not going to be winning this battle between pirate matriarchs. "We'll have to assume that there will be such troopers available within the pirate crew. Which brings up another point- you mentioned spies and sabotage. We won't know any of the pirate crew, but there is one that I practically guarantee will be aboard with us, and that is a Sarika, I believe? Been active in the pirate fleet and being assigned to take our Baroness' place? Cybernetic eye and hands? If the Captain's mother is who she is painted to be, willing or not I would wager my old gold uniform that one way or another she will be the spy on the bridge, and I expect at least one assassin."

"So bear in mind that we will most likely have to be on the lookout for hostiles among us. All factors I assume will come into play, and discussion of which will stay in this room, Miss Dox. I trust you begin to see the task ahead from my perspective?" Rita had knelt, inspecting the rear mounted cannons, wondering if perhaps a different strategy might be called for, using the cannons for the ionizers and perhaps the torpedo launchers could be used to explode some spatial jamming mines to conflate the situation further.

"Aye, Commander." Dox stood with her hands behind her back, not quite at attention, but far from casual. "The Captain and the Baroness certainly seem to trust Sarika. I didn't get a sense that she was compromised directly but my interactions with her were limited. Are you thinking her cybernetics might be what's compromised?"

The young pilot was now second-guessing her thoughts and pausing a little longer between thoughts and words, not wanting to mess up again but also knowing she still had to contribute. "She's been here. I can look back over the data records to see if there were any transmission frequencies in effect that might have been missed by our basic security screens."

"Good- two set of eyes on it will be better than one. And Sarika may or may not be a spy, but her cyberware may have entirely other ideas. Frankly, it will pay to be paranoid until this entire affair is through." Paris paused at that, realizing she might have gone too far. "I'm sorry, Mnhei'sahe. It's just... this could end your career, and not over something noble, but over a family squabble amongst privateers. You joined Starfleet to get away from all that, and... I think I overreact when you and the Captain are endangering your careers. I apologize for being abrupt."

Still second guessing herself, Dox no longer trusted herself to say the right thing or balance her relationship with Paris as both her Commanding Officer and her friend properly. But she decided to be as honest as possible in the circumstances. "Thank you, Commander. I'm concerned as well. I've already almost lost too much because of this and I know I stand to lose everything. I don't want to throw my career away, now more than ever when all of a sudden I have someone else to worry about losing along with it. And I don't know how I'm going to do that and be what the Captain needs me to be."

"I'm afraid no matter how far I go, I'll never be able to get away from my past. And now I have to go right back into that world to keep the Captain from going further." Dox spoke honestly, but kept her hands behind her back to maintain her composure. "And other than trying to keep a focus on what I don't want to lose, I don't know how I'm going to do what is required of me here. But I'm committed to figuring it out."

"Then we'll do it together," Rita smiled and clasped the portly pilot's shoulder. "Rule number one is we don't drag the Hera or her crew into this quagmire with us. We've chosen to endanger ourselves, we don't endanger anyone else. Agreed, resolution past and we move on from here, plotting our course so we don't run aground or get dashed on the rocks?" Rita did love a nautical theme.

"Aye." Dox replied, trying to relax herself a bit. Her stomach was still twisted in a knot and her mind was still caught up in her concerns about what was to come. "We'll need to start running sims on the inside. Get a feel for what she flies like. And get our own actions in sync."

Thinking of the real Manticore, Dox looked up at her saucer. "There's only going to be ourselves, the Captain and Baroness von Alcott on this mission we know we can trust. You know this class better than anyone. Would it be possible for us to rig it to run the ship on automation from the bridge if we had to? I know there's a precedent for that with a Constitution Class with limited success."

"Sure. She's an old hull but the guts are modern, make no mistake. We can run her on a skeleton crew," Rita admitted. "Although that means fewer hands for repairs. And we'll have to convince the Captain to go it that way. We'll take a look at the bridge and concoct a strategy or two, but overplanning just amps up the stress level for everyone. Don't overthink it. Just like when you are flying in the dogfight, you know you can't really plan that, you just react in the moment. We take our time, we devote some thought to it, we do our research. Maybe take a practice run so we can get a feel for her. But I trust our instincts to react in the moment far more than I trust a few hundred hours in a simulator."

"We are women of action, Miss Dox. When the moment is upon us is when we truly shine."

A slight smile cracked Dox's face breaking through her introspection. "Aye. But you have to admit, I'm very good at overthinking." Dox joked lightly before getting back on topic. "So, we know she's going to be going for kill shots and we aren't. We need to turn that into an advantage. It means she'll likely be on pure offense I imagine."

"If I understand the core conflict here, she needs to defeat Enalia to enforce her will upon her. remember, with a personality like this, it's about control, bringing the other party to heel. Brain dead and on life support but capable of spitting out an heir is fine." Noting the younger officer's look of horror, Rita rolled her eyes. "Snippet of something I overheard my father telling my brother at Christmas one year. Father of the year, but hey, he taught me all about narcissists and manipulative personalities. Long and short, she'll have a few plans in action. We need to have a transporter lock jammer on the Captain's person, for instance, in case she tries beaming through our shields."

"Absolutely," Dox replied. "Keeping the two far apart is a priority. And since she knows the Captain knows about her penchant for ramming, we will need to be prepared for other tactics. She may go off script there so I'll see if I can get more data on her techniques."

"Talk to the Captain to ask about her mother's tactics if you like, but do NOT discuss our strategies with her- understood? In the heat of battle she's going to leave it to us, and again, nothing discussed in this room leaves it- loose lips sink ships, Miss Dox- understood?" It was a bit overboard to not let the captain in on their plans, but the fewer people who knew, the better. That's how secrets were kept, after all.

"Understood, Commander." Dox replied with a thoughtful expression. "Though I'm hoping she won't press the issue and order me to."

"Cap'n knows better," Rita replied. "She's hoping that we are working in the background to pull off a miracle for her on the battlefield, assuming this can't be headed off some other way, which I'm afraid it can't. But we can make sure that in the end, her hands- and ours- are clean of blood."

Sighing, Dox replied. "Unfortunately, I think you're right about that. There's a hope that if we can find proof that the Captain's mother is working with the Orion Syndicate that it would end things right there. The Baronesses insist that it's their one, unbreakable rule and that it would take away all of her support."

"I'm not so confident. I feel like if her Mother is willing to work with who's supposed to be the Artan's primary enemy, there will be others that support her regardless. Others that are likely bristling being Privateers instead of Pirates." The young Romulan pilot shared her concerns with her Commander. "Still, if there's even a chance that it could circumvent this becoming violent it's worth exploring."

"I am in full support of this plan," the buxom bombardier agreed. "Whatever I can throw behind it, let me know, and it's yours. A plan overcome by trial evidence would be greatly preferable to some moronic duel in space like kids playing pirates 700 years after the fact. Failing that, we'll keep working on our moronic duel plans. Although... who told you about that 'working with the Orions' thing?"

"Technically, nobody." Dox replied, walking as she spoke. "Sarika was updating the Captain and Baroness von Alcott of a recent incident where the Romulan Baroness had lost several ships in an attack on the Orion's that went bad. Suspiciously bad, in my opinion."

Then Dox gestured with air quotes as she continued. "Afterwards, the 'queen' stepped in to get revenge for the Romulan's. The Romulan's that are currently a swing vote that could be instrumental in the tribunal. And this all happened far too shortly after I was officially made a Baroness. I felt like the timing was too coincidental. This led to a discussion that there have been a few coincidences since the Captain petitioned for a tribunal. The Captain and Schwein confirmed that there were other clues that pointed to some level of collusion but that there's no proof."

"So I suppose I posited the idea and the Captain and Schwein backed it up. Now we're trying to work up a plan to get someone on the inside to try and get proof, which is where my Mother might come in." Then Dox's tone shifted. "Unless Sarika is compromised, in which case the Captain's Mother will know that that's the plan. In which case we'll need a backup plan."

"Unless there is no proof, and it's a setup she's orchestrating to disgrace Enalia and sway more of the baronesses to her side. That's something Clifford would have done," Rita explained. "Dear old Dad, the original 'Commander Paris'. My insight into 'why people are shitty and untrustworthy'."

"Ugh."

Sighing, Dox replied. "A lot of supposition in every direction. And every direction feels like it's going to bring us right back here. On the Manticore preparing for a battle. With everything that's going on, I feel like no matter what happens at the Tribunal, she's going to force this fight to happen."

"We'll run ourselves in circles trying to out-scheme her, but that's her arena. This is ours. I remember one of the professors at the Academy in philosophy. She talked about... what was it..." Dox paced slightly as she thought. "It was something about how a good mind could only predict the actions of an evil mind so far without becoming that itself. But I figure the reverse might have something to it."

"Her mother will be able to predict what the Captain could do. Maybe even me. But it's like you said... Not you. You could ride on the bow in your golden EVA suit waving a Starfleet flag and she'll still never believe the lengths you will go to do the right thing. She won't be able to predict you. She'll see your desire to not kill her as weakness."

"What she won't expect, Miss Dox, is US," Rita corrected. "Because as much as you may stray, at heart, you're a Starfleet officer too, just like me. And you don't want to kill her any more than I do. She'll know Enalia's sneaky and devious, and she'll know that she doesn't want her dead. I suspect she'll try to trump Enalia more than once before the tribunal is over, through political maneuvering, some hostage-taking, blackmail, you name it. But I agree... it's most likely going to come down to this. Ship to ship combat, because that's what pirates like to do- big bloody spectacles set to stirring orchestral music."

"This we can prepare for. This we can outmaneuver her in. Because her lifetime of experience doesn't stack up against Enalia's knowledge of her tactics, your skill and my unpredictability. Because she is the only one she can trust, and we've got each other. That's the strength of Starfleet- we never stand alone." It wasn't the best of speeches, but it still rang true for Rita, at least, and she hoped it could inspire Dox as well.

For her part, the red-headed Romulan looked up at the simulated saucer of the refit Miranda class starship. "I feel like there's a metaphor here, Commander. With the Manticore. Tech upgrades and a paint job don't make her not a Miranda class Starship. Starfleet at heart. It's like you said... that's how we'll win this. As Starfleet. You, me AND the Captain."

“Indeed, Miss Dox, indeed. Starfleet at heart.”

Dear Kodria,

It will still be ninety-six years until you will be able to read this, assuming we do not somehow negatively alter the timeline and somehow cause you to never come into being. But I am an optimist, so I will write you letters as I march through the decades, and I will assume that any changes that we make to the timeline will not negatively impact your existence.

I guess we’ll find out when you wake up, eh?

Life on the Hera is life on the Hera- never dull, always exciting. The universe that Sonak and I came from was wiped out in paradox by the actions of the Captain since apparently my trouble with transporters hit an epic level and I might have inadvertently destroyed both universes by stubbornly refusing to be beamed back to my home dimension so it could reclaim me. I know, it is selfish, but I was convinced that reality was doomed to collapse anyway as it was an unstable splinter reality of a finite duration.

Never, ever dull.

We are still gearing up for the captain’s tribunal, and you will be glad to know that your Aunt Mnhei’sahe and I have been plotting and scheming to save your grandmother from herself, and from your great-grandmother. We are not positive that we can avert tragedy, but I promise you I will do everything in my power to make sure that the outcome is… better. I won’t say any more than that, but I will write you again when it is all over with, and with a little luck your warning will have changed things for the better.

Time will tell, in a very literal sense.

Sending letters to a niece I won’t meet for another 84 years is an interesting experience even for me, but when you wake up, I will let you have these letters so that you’ll know what happened while you were sleeping. Part of your story occurred before it began, after all, and you have touched lives and made bonds in the past, that will hopefully survive into the future.

For now, know that you are missed and that putting you to sleep and sending you back to the future was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, in a lifetime of hard choices. We would have loved for you to have stayed and become part of the crew, and shared our adventures with us. But every moment you spent among us, every word you spoke, every memory you revealed, endangered your very existence. As much as it broke my heart to have to send you away, it would have been a thousand times worse had I been selfish and kept you close, only to have you wipe yourself out of existence with paradox. It will be hard to wait most of my lifetime to see you again, but I will see you again, so that means the world to me.

The world. I am so provincial in these days of galactic exploration. You can take the girl off Earth, but you can’t take the Earth out of the girl, it seems.

I hope that when you woke you were surrounded by smiling faces, of loved ones you left behind and perhaps even new faces. Whatever the outcome, I hope for the best for you, in all things. I will write to keep you up to date, so I suspect that in 96 years time, there will be quite a few of these. You don’t have to read them all, you know, since I tend to ramble. But know that Doc Asa, Miss Dox, Sonak, myself and your grandmamma are all safe and doing well, and that we think of you often and hope for all the best for you.

Now I have to go get ready for Thex and Tathaa’s wedding, so you be safe, be brave and never forget, you are very special and unique in all the universe.

Love,

Auntie Rita

As the Andorian stepped out of the turbolift and into the now empty shuttle bay, she was wearing one of her casual blue catsuits, as was her Aenar partner whom she had her arm around. She felt warm but weak as the two overlooked the space that had been cleared. It was almost time. Now they just had to get everything set up.

" Okay let's get the overlay laid out and get started," Thex said to her partner, who nodded as she placed the stasis chamber with the cake down off to one side out of the way as she waited for her Andorian to get started. It wasn't long before a semi-transparent overlay lit up the area. Time to get started.

The doors wooshed open to let Sonak enter with hands behind his back. He went straight to her. Of course, he was not smiling at all; yet, there was something almost congenial radiating from his soft grey eyes before he spoke in his characteristically deep, even tone.

''Lieutenant Commander Thex Sh'Zoarhi; may I be of assistance? I may not be familiar with Andorian practices, but I believe I have recently gained some minimal general experience in these social proceedings. I, therefore, offer my services to make this occasion as memorable to you and your mates as it has been for me.''

"Thank you Sonak! And you don't have to address me by rank- just plain Thex, for the moment. As for help, as you can see we have an outlay already laid out so we just need to get everything in its place. Would you mind helping me with a holo trolly so we can get the ice sculptures into position?" The Andorian asked.

''I come to serve,'' the Vulcan replied, doing as he was asked with a definite seriousness, handling the ice sculptures as if they were some very delicate experiment but with an assured hand and a sharp precise eye.

''I must confess to much curiosity in participating in this ceremony,'' he said with frank candor. ''Of course my first goal is to help and share in the social and spiritual experience you are about to live. But I have heard much intriguing data about the Andorian mating ritual. Considering your unique and very complex biology and ancient culture, this will undoubtedly be most... fascinating; and rarely seen if ever outside of your homeworld, is it not?''

"Indeed. Especially the one we're doing with just two of us. Most of us wait till we have the four individuals, but well...." Thex said looking over at the Anear who was beginning to set up the chairs. " Well, I love her, and I want the whole universe to know," Thex said sentimentally carefully moving one of the sculptures into position and making sure the stasis field was intact. No sense in it melting before the ceremony.

The internal cargo doors *swooshed* open, and the ship's Ginger Gentryman entered, carrying a large table, covered in various and sundry edibles and drinkables. There was a shimmer covering the table, like a thin sheet of glass, which extended back to and covered the dapper Intel Chief, who was walking carefully toward the side of the venue.

"...this a good spot, y'all? Ah put t'gethuh a few r'fresh'ments by hand. Ol'family recipes."

He paused near the bulkhead, table still in the air, grinning through his prodigious mouth-broom at his shipmates. He was looking over the brilliant ice-sculptures, admiring them, as he awaited a response.

Thex gave the chief intelligence officer warm welcoming smile. "Good to see you Samuel," she said, looking at the largest ice sculpture. "Uzaveh the Infinite. The creator in Andorian mythology," she explained to the human who the robed Andorian represented in chipped ice represented. "You can put your table down anywhere there's a space."

It was a few moments later that Ensign Mona Gonadie and Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox entered together, with Dox carrying a small box under one arm and looking around at her Shuttlebay somewhat surprised at how empty it was, making a mental note to make sure the moved Runabouts and Shuttles were all where she had instructed them to be to the rest of the Flight Control Department, of which she was the Chief.

Mona whistled softly at how clean and empty the flight deck was. the crews had even gone through and scrubbed the ceiling like she had asked, leaving no grease stains anywhere. For a moment she had suspected them to cover something up with holographics, which she would have easily seen through, but there was nothing at all. "They did a good job cleaning. I'm impressed."

"Commander, I have the table placards printed up for the place settings." Dox awkwardly called over to Thex as she entered.

The Anear who was still setting up chairs raised her hand before she walked over to the pair. " Dox, Mona, it's great to see you." The blind girl said with a grin on her face. " I need a hand getting the tables and chairs set up so could you give a girl a hand?" She asked politely.

Answering for the newly minted couple, Dox replied as the pair began making their way over. "Of course."

When the cargo bay doors next whooshed open, Doctor Asa Dael came bouncing into the room wearing an all blue pantsuit with white blouse. The doctor was trying to honor the couples colors at all times in wedding preparation, and came carrying centerpieces to match. They held a box of six small vases that when activated projected blue and white orchids with a soft spray of ongoing fireworks emanating from the base. A soft fragrance also came out of each centerpiece, which when clustered together created a heady aroma that was making Asa little bit giggly.

“Hi there!” they greeted the room, “Table decorations ahoy! Where do you want them?”

"Asa, good to see you." the Aenar said. "Can you place them on the table and help us get the rest of the tables up?" Taatha asked politely.

Clemens carefully lowered the long table, making sure to keep it rock-solid level as it connected with the deckplating. The moment it did, the shimmering rolled back from the end of the table back to Sam,, then winked out like a soap bubble popping. He pressed a button on the table, and a stasis field of the same type evident on the ice structures popped into place over it. Even the reflections on the dishes and decanters seemed to stall, exactly as they were when the field was enacted, the engineer noted. Those Slavers certainly knew how to manipulate spacetime, despite their lack of decency, he mused. It was good that the Federation had finally cracked the technology that enabled the effect, he mused, as he looked at his crewmates coming together for this happy event.

Perhaps one day, he might meet someone that would make him think about such things, himself.

"Looks great and delicious, Sam! What have you made for us? " Thex said, walking up behind him.

With a flourish (which Clemens, dressed in a stylized Iron Chef uniform, was prepared -for), the Man of a Thousand Cigar Flavors started at the forward end.

"Why, madame, ah threw together a lil' bit o'everuthin' fer y'all. First, ah wanted t'show off some belly-filluhs from mah grammeh's cookbook. This heah is huh counteh-faymuss shephud's pie, made with meat subs'tute, since her ma an' da wuh both veg'tarian. It's chock-fulla yummeh stuff, an' wrapped in a pastreh shell." He gestured at the aforementioned dish as he talked, moving forward down the table, adding, "...this here's blackberreh cobbluh, m'mama's recipe, an' Auntie Sabrina's rhubahb pie, an' ovuh heah, baked pseudo-ham, an' peas n'dumplins, some bah-buh-kew, veggie'taryun, sweet puhtatuh pie, a few gall'ns uh tea, both sweet an' unsweet, a big ol' pone uh coahnbread, a mess uh oakruh, a pot uh pintos, fried 'maters, fried tatuhs, coahn on thuh cawb, lotsa buttuh..."

He went on and on- and it was a twelve-foot table. He'd labeled every dish neatly, and hadn't forgotten stacks of plates and utensils and cups and napkins. By the time he'd finished, several people had asked when the table would be open- to which is reply was a steadfast, "...as soon as th'ladies 'r readeh fuh grub!"

Entering the shuttlecraft bay, which back in her day had been the entirety of the flight deck, Commander Rita Paris was out of uniform for a change. A simple sleeveless cotton sundress still clung to her curves like it was tailored for her, which of course it was. But the high neckline and low hemline combined with the stiffer fabric to lend a bit of modesty to the fabulous first officer. The dress was understated, and she'd put some product in her hair and blown it out to give it some volume, then turned it in one of the high yet tight hairstyles of her era. The dress was a particular shade of blue that didn't match Sonak's uniform presently, but complemented it, as the powder blue of the uniform of his era. Shiny white patent pumps completed the outfit, and her hands were filled with bouquets of small white flowers.

Moving slowly, taking it all in, Rita's brow knitted and she looked puzzled. "Say Thex, did you do all this yourself?"

"Nah, I had help. " Thex said as she placed another table down on the floor. " The flight crew got the place cleared up yesterday, our wonderful Orion helped with the planning, and my boys helped get some of this stuff replicated. Oh, and my beautiful partner helped with everything off course." She said looking over at her Aenar, who smiled back.

''Mutual help and shared effort for mutual benefit is integral part of a fulfilling relationship,'' Sonak commented with all due seriousness as his gaze fixed on the first officer who was also his wife.

"As usual, he’s right, you know,” Rita giggled, offering a warm smile for the solemn scientist who held her heart. “I think we actually have a few Kolari crew members these days, but I know who you mean, Thex. Well, it looks great. I brought your two bouquets- it's an old Earth tradition that gives you something to do with your hands during the ceremony," the throwback from another world explained. "Where do you want me and how can I help?"

" Thank you Rita there very nice." The andorian said as she took the bouquets and placed them on one of the tables they'd be suing to store everything for the moment. " Well can you help me with the last ice sculpture then we can start putting out the andorian ale bottles. " Thex said heading over to the last one which was a large replica of Andor.

While Rita and The worked, Dox and Mona were busy, each with a stack of chairs, helping the young Aneir Ensign put them out. "So, are you excited, Tathaa?" Dox asked while they worked.

"Of course as well as nervous, anxious and feeling light-headed. I'm getting married tomorrow.... well technically 2 hours, but you get my point. Pity my family and brother can't be here, but I'm sure they'll enjoy the recording of it." The anear said as she placed a few of the chairs in there place.

Smiling, Dox gestured to a chair. "Well, if you get too light headed, there are plenty of places to sit down. But I don't know how you're keeping it together as well as you are. I'd be chewing on the bulkhead if I was in your place."

" Oh, i am on the inside. I don't know why Thex loves me and we both want this. We already have the telepathic bond so this is just the formality at this point." The anear replied as she continued placing the chairs around the tables.

"I think that there's something about making something official that makes it more real in our brains.We get nervously in spite of all logic. But we're really happy for the both of you, and I know this is going to be a beautiful ceremony." Dox replied as she carried over a new stack of chairs.

"I agree. This ceremony is going to be amazingly beautiful and I couldn't be happier for the both of you." Mona was carrying chairs as well, but hearing what Dox said about this ceremony made her a bit anxious about their own relationship so she sidled up close and spoke softly. "Minay, do you want a ceremony as well? I'm already bonded to you, and my people normally only perform them when one mate has a weak bond, but if you want one..."

Picking up on Mona's slight anxiety, Dox felt a bit self-conscious for making her feel that way as she responded. "I've... never been big on ceremonies. But looking at us all here, together, they make a bit more sense to me."

Smiling, Dox continued at a bit of a whisper, as she didn't want to distract Tathaa from her day. "I think that's what they're about. Sharing that bond with those closest to you. That, I think, might be nice. But I don't need one to know how I feel about.you."

The brightly plumed Miradonian smiled that smile she reserved just for Dox and snuck her a kiss. "Then we'll hold a private ceremony in our nest tonight, Minay."

Blushing slightly, Dox responded with a quick kiss of her and smile as they got back to work with the chairs.

The anear said nothing as she allowed the two there a little moment of privacy and continued her work. As she finished with one stack of chairs she paused. Someone had left what appeared to be another ice sculptor. Picking up the small item she was surprised that it was made out of crystal and appeared to be in the shape of a female andorian wearing the crimson 2270 officers uniform. " Thex did you replicate this? " She called over to her boundmate as she held up the sculpture.

It only took a second for Thex to be there as she took a look at the item. She felt like she'd seen this andorian before. " No, i haven't replicated this. Odd though she looks familiar."

Taking a look at the bottom the mystery was solved as Thex eyes fell on the description. " From the first of your line to the present and beyond. I wish you all the love I can. I am with you always. Love Vash."

" It's a gift from that jellyfish I call a great great grandfather. It's a sculpture of my great grandmother Tiviri. The former head of internal affairs of Starfleet intelligence. " She said finally placing the sculpture on the lead table. It was a nice gift, but she had plenty of work still to do.

" Now has anyone seen the altar. I need to make sure it's working." She asked her shipmates over at the slowly emptying pile of boxes and storage containers.

“What does it look like, Thex?" Paris asked, as what she envisioned when she heard the word was not necessarily what Andorian culture called the same thing. Better to err on the side of caution and cultural sensitivity, she reasoned.

" it looks like a stone altar with a bowl on top of....." Ah, here it is." Thex said as found the padded storage box. " The pale white marble pillar ended in a large bowl with the whole thing covered in symbols of andor. " Now just need to get this so we can get a good view of the wormhole."

“With the bay doors open, it’ll be hard to miss I suspect. Maybe over here, y’think?” It being Thex’s wedding day, Rita just wanted to be supportive and was aiming to acquiesce to whatever she needed. After all, not long ago she had been wed in this very bay, although in a nice small reproduction of the chapel from she and Sonak’s old starship from a century and a universe away. Given that Thex was willing to include the entire crew, that made her braver than Rita, so she wanted to be supportive.

" Yeah, that's a good spot. " Thex said looking back over her shoulder then to her mate who gave her a nod of approval. " Thanks for all this Rita and everyone. I just hope tomorrow will go so well."

Clemens noted the ladies of the day talking with Rita, and moved in theur direction, awaiting an appropriate break in the discussion.

As they finished, he sidled over to Thex and Tathaa, and 'ahemed' politely.

At their notice, he pulled a small box from his belt, and presented it to the couple.

"Ah know y'all're gonna have a millyun'n'one gifts alreadeh, but ah wanted t'give yuh two moah that might make t'day go a lil'bit easiuh," he explained with a gigawatt smile.

"D'reck'shuns're in th'box, but they're basic'leh environmental field generatuhs. They'll keep both'uh y'all cooluh than yuh s'rroundin's when they'uh activated."

Walking up behind Mona, Dox wrapped her arms around Mona's middle and rested her head on the Miradonian's shoulder as she smiled to Thex. "I know it will. It can't not."

"Tomorrow? Wait, what? This was just a practice set-up? The ceremony isn't today? I thought this was it?" Rita asked, laughing. "We're all here and dressed and there's food..."

" Tomorrow andorian time. " The andorian replied with a laugh. " It's almost midnight back home and the ceremonies should be starting in two hours. Same as our wedding. " She said wrapping her arms around her mate as they looked over the hanger. Everything looked perfect.

"I just like to say thank you, everyone. Thank you for being here and helping out and being the best family a girl could hope for. Everything looks wonderful. Now if you don't mind me and my mate here would like to change into our ceremonial gear."

"2 hours?" Dox looked down at the uniform she wore almost constantly. "Hnave!" She cursed in Rihan, somewhat exaggeratedly at her own need to change. "Yeah, that sounds like a great plan, Commander."

“All right people, you heard the blue blushing bride,” Paris called out to insure she would be heard. “2 hours. We’re staged and set, so let’s all be back here in an hour and a half, looking our best, shall we?”

In the main shuttle bay of the U.S.S. Hera, the senior staff and a selection of guests were assembling for the final preparations for the wedding of Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Thex sh'Zoarhi to Ensign Tathaa. It was coming together to be quite the event, with the main shuttlebay doors scheduled to be open to provide a stunning view of space, and potentially the Bajoran Wormhole.

But even during downtime and celebration, a Starship is never fully inactive. As such, Shuttle Bay 2 sat, jammed with the extra shuttles and Runabouts that would normally be parked in the main bay. It took considerable planning on the part of the Flight Control Chief, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox, but everything was in order. Manning the bay were a few members of the flight crew that had volunteered to be on duty during the event, although the proceedings to come would be simulcast holographically for them to see.

In charge of the department was the young human woman, Ensign Barbara Ann MacNielle, who was reviewing the flight schedule with two other flight control officers. Ensign Raphael Paulson, also from Earth, and Crewman Snart. There was also an extra security presence to insure that the overfilled flight deck was operating smoothly, and so far everything was. MacNielle was a tall, lanky woman in her mid 40's with straight, shoulder-length black hair and a somewhat severe, thin face that was buried in her work PaDD, reviewing the limited flight schedule during the wedding to come.

Walking over to her duty station, Paulson had a slightly smug looking half-smirk. "Ya' Know, you aren't going to get any brownie points with Dox for putting in extra work. She gave us the schedule, all we have to do is sit here, ferry out a few type-15's and twiddle our thumbs."

Rolling her eyes, MacNielle barely looked up from her work as she responded. "Paulson, this is why you're almost never on helm duty. You don't put in the work. You don't advance if you don't put in the work. Lieutenant Dox is usually here after hours working and putting in overtime to be ahead of whatever might be needed."

Tilting his head, Paulson had a half-lidded, sarcastic expression. "You've got something on your nose there, Babs. And there's nobody here to appreciate it. Speaking of which, where's Harnell?"

Referring the missing third member of the unofficial trip of flight officers, Paulson looked around the crowded bay, as crewmembers scurried back and forth, moving cargo and running maintenance drills. MacNielle waved her PaDD in the air. "Ensign Harnell is running a sim in the flight control office right now. Lieutenant Dox has him scheduled to take Runabout 7 to a supply run through the wormhole at exactly the moment of the declaration of union at the Lieutenant Commander's wedding, to ensure that the wormhole opens to bless the union. It's really romantic, isn't it?"

The slightly older officer had a broad smile on her face as she spoke, but kept at her work, reviewing the schedule. "I'm really looking forward to the holocast."

It was at this point that Snart who had been silently listening from the dock control board chimed in.

“So since Gonadie and Dox are canoodling, how long do you figure until we’re doing this again for the two of them?” Snart asked casually, even as the Security officer on duty bristled.

“It is improper to speculate on the relationships of officers, and less so when one is enlisted. You should watch your tongue and not engage in scuttlebutt.” The stoic Amazonian Klingon security officer said frostily, although why Security was being defensive of the flight control chief wasn’t quite clear.

Looking up, slightly surprised at the interjection, MacNielle nevertheless smiled. Then she looked over to Crewman Snart. "What Petty Officer V'Nus said. The Chiefs are professionals on duty, and any relationship beyond that is not our business. Or should I expect you to be chittering about me if I started seeing someone?"

With a smug smirk, Paulson replied. "You? Probably not. You'd have to pull yourself out of that PaDD long enough to actual meet someone." Then he crossed his arms in an exaggerated manner as he paused for a second. "But if that ever happens, yes. Yes, we will absolutely be talking all about it."

Then the young pilot looked up at the thickly built Klingon security officer. "What else are we supposed to do around here when Dox does half the work herself?"

Looking down at the smug young officer with a mixture of surprise and disdain, the Klingon answered. “Respect the rank, respect the position, sir. Look for ways to be helpful. Strive to better the unit, the starship, the fleet. Do not engage in casual speculation and scuttlebutt, because it may very well make its way back to the Lieutenant, who might not be so forgiving. Sir,” the tall and stout Klingon officer replied, as Snart unsuccessfully stifled a snicker.

Following up V'Nus' comment, MacNielle added. "And wasn't it just yesterday that you were complaining that the Lieutenant assigns out too much work? And she's right. Ensign Hovind is still on probationary duty after he thought he could mansplain her job to her."

“Hovind is a toolbag that leaks coolant,” Snart chimed in. “He’s lucky it was only the Lieutenant he mouthed off to. If the Captain or the Commander had gotten wind of him, he might be scraping paint off the hull without an EVA suit.”

“Still not our place. Respect the rank, crewman,” the petty officer fairly snarled, irritated that she had to reinforce this lesson to those who were clearly fleeters long before she had arrived, yet were clearly lacking in discipline.

With his mouth still slightly agape from a snarky follow up he had wanted to express after Snart's last comment, Paulson instead decided it was best to not poke this particular proverbial bear.

As he stood, fidgeting, MacNielle instead looked over to the tall Security officer. "If I may, you're one of the recent additions to Commander Paris' security team, right? Have you been enjoying your time on the Hera so far?"

“I am new to the Hera, yes. There is honor in duty, and I serve my duty with honor,” the Klingon woman replied, then she smiled. “This ship… is exciting. The Commander does not view us as disposable assets. She sets a high standard, and while she makes her wishes plainly known, she encourages us to think for ourselves while obeying orders. It is… a far better assignment than my sister and I had hoped for in our first fleet assignment.”

“Also, your Lieutenant Dox is quite the quvwl. I accompanied her on an expedition to the station, and she is smart, capable and dedicated. She brings honor to her position, and comports herself as one would hope of an officer.” V'Nus did not comment on present company, instead choosing to voice her observations of the chief flight control officer

Slightly embarrassed, MacNielle knitted her eyebrows for a second. "I apologize. I know Lieutenant Dox speaks Klingon, but I'm lost. What's 'quvwl' mean?"

That got her an upraised eyebrow. “Does she? I had no idea- I know she curses fluently in Romulan, but have yet to hear her speak a word of my mother tongue. Quvwl is ‘an honorable personage’.”

Smiling slightly, MacNielle replied. "Yeah. Well, it's in her personnel file anyway, but I've never heard her say anything either." Then she tilted her head as she chuckled a bit. "So, wait. She's cursing in Romulan? So that's what she's been saying. So, do you speak Romulan?"

MacNielle was genuinely curious now and somewhat enthralled as Snart and Paulson listened on, seeming bored.

“Only the dirty words,” the security officer answered with a sharp-toothed smile. “You read the personnel files of your superior officers… that is smart. Knowing under whom you serve is important, and their deeds and recognitions can inspire those beneath them. Unless you are seeking weaknesses in your commanders…?” the Klingon warrior turned Starfleet Security asked, raising an eyebrow as a growl entered her voice. Clearly, she was defensive of the chain of command.

Slightly taken aback, MacNielle stammered a little, Intimidated. "Um... Uh... No... No, not at all. I just didn't want to say anything stupid on duty that could've been answered that way, is all."

“Of course, Ensign. That is not the Starfleet way, no? Here we support one another mutually and we seek to support our commanders, not supplant them. This was made very clear to us in training,” The sturdy security staffer explained, backing away from potentially insulting the young officer.

“You got guts, Petty Officer,” Crewman Snart expressed.

“If that is your way to say I have courage and conviction, then I thank you, shipmate. I will honor my house in service, and I will honor my ship in word and deed. I will honor my shipmates with my actions. Is this not the goal of all Starfleet personnel?” The Klingon warrior cocked her head quizzically.

"Well, that's the idea, but I think MacNielle here read the file because she heard that that's what Dox did with half the crew when she came on board." Paulson's jovial tone was taking on a somewhat more confrontational one as he spoke.

The Klingon woman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “There is no dishonor in following the examples of the superior officers, unless they act with dishonor. Why is this something you sneer at so, Ensign?” While there was curiosity in her voice, and her eyes continued scanning the area, ever vigilant, the security officer was clearly rising to the challenge. “Do you find dishonor in the ensign’s actions? Or the Lieutenant’s?”

Realizing he had stepped In it, Paulson tried to backpedal, being stared down by the imposing Klingon security officer. "Um... Dishonorable? No. It's just..."

He trailed off a bit but MacNielle chimed in to cut him off, irritated. "Oh, just say it Raphael. You think I'm brown-nosing by trying to do my job as well as I can."

Rolling his eyes, Paulson just gave up. "Look, I'm sorry. No, okay. I didn't mean to. Sorry." What it lacked in sincerity, it made up for in frustration.

"Yeahhhhh, thinking you and me should maybe inspect the perimeter, big girl? Give the officers a little time amongst themselves away from providing sterling examples of Starfleet for we enlisted crew." His delivery was snarky and snappy, but Snart still managed to get his point across by getting the Klingon warrior's attention. "Whattya say, Petty Officer...?"

Looking between the officers, the ridge-headed rumbler nodded toward the flight deck crewman. "Petty Officer Third Class V'Nus Wil'I'ms. Yes. This is a sound strategy you propose, let us do this thing. Sirs," With a curt nod to the two flight officers, the somewhat intimidating security officer stepped off with the humanoid with the short-cropped grey hair.

"The traditional naval nomenclature for enlisted working on the flight deck is 'deck ape'. D'ja know that?" Snart struck up a conversation as the duo stepped off to secure the perimeter.

Watching as the two walked off, Paulson knitted his eyebrows indignantly. "Seriously, Snart started all this talking about Dox and Gonadie 'canoodling', but suddenly we're unprofessional?"

MacNielle looked at her fellow ensign with a mix of disgust and embarrassment at both his behavior and her own poor reactions. "Oh, shut up, Raphael."

"Now you too? What is this, dump on Paulson day? Augh," the ensign grunted in frustration and got up to storm off.

"Where are you going?" MacNielle called after the other officer on duty.

"I'm going to the reclamator, you wanna hold my hand?"